#like freshers (and moving out in general) was the only thing i was looking forward to and now thats fucking ruined too

[bisexualastronaut]

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[wickerwax]

QuinObi Week 2024 (25/10)

Day 5: Desert husbands / I missed you sex

soap feelings

There is a light on when he gets home.

Well, if he wants to get all technical about it, he snarks at the Obi in his brain, then there are many lights because the Temple is never fully asleep what with the many and varied species and their biological rhythms that it is home to.

But, as he slips in through one of the lower Shadow doors and drags his exhausted, slightly singed ass through the halls with only the bare minimum of polite nodding at those he passes, he is expecting his rooms to be dark. Empty.

He tries not to think the word lonely but he is a Jedi and self-awareness is part of the striving. Generally. He’s not sure who is even in-Temple right now – although of course, he’s looking forward to catching up with Aayla and seeing how her recent set of exams went. He can round her up for midmeal – since he’ll surely be sleeping through first – although if he wakes up somewhat earlier he might have luck swinging by the padawan dorms – she shouldn’t have started a new class cycle yet, and meditation and katas is generally earlier again...Force, he’s so tired. This is all tomorrow-Quin’s problem. Tonight’s Quin just needs to get into his rooms and not make too much of a mess falling into bed.

The plaque on his door is shined bright and lightly vandalised – Vosiferous sounds like a bastardisation of a Kenobi word, but the handwriting looks like Garen, and the glitter is very clearly Bant’s – little smiling mon calamari faces stuck grinning in all directions. It makes him smile as he keys open his door, braced for the empty to spill out.

Instead comes the quiet glow of the mini light just for the kitchen nook. It smells fresh and sweet inside.

He stops in the doorway. Checks the nameplate. Wonders if his friends have moved the nameplate to a different door just to fuck with him but. No, that’s his collection of sketches pinned to the wall, and his paints in their case on the shelf, and folded over the couch arm is the screaming yellow blanket that a much younger Kybuck Clan had presented him with, as proof of his honourary adoption into their creche clan. (Reeft had been the one to source the yarn and he’d picked it for Quin’s qukuuf and, as dressellians saw a slightly different light spectrum, resulted in the violently highlighter yellow. It was absolutely drenched with love and comfort and safety and it was still one of his most treasured possessions.)

Definitely his rooms then. The blanket was inviolable.

He steps inside, the door swishing quietly closed behind him. The light hums very faintly, warm and welcoming. He drops his bag next to the door.

On the little half bench is the large novelty tankard that made its way home with them after his Knighting, a ridiculous home for a thick spill of bright rhoden flowers on their woody stalks. They smell like green things and nectar and the first time he realised he wanted to hold Obi’s hand and reflexively started talking about anything else and, well, the rhoden bush was there. He walked away with a strong need to meditate for several hours after having inadvertently convinced Obi-Wan that he had very strong opinions and preferences in flowers. Quin guessed that now he did after having one of his favourite people gift them to him so many times.

He breathes in the scent of the rhodens and closes his eyes and can’t fight the lightness that enters his chest.

He isn’t sure what option takes him out at the knees more: Obi-Wan keeping flowers freshly in his rooms just in case, or if he had felt a premonition of his return and made sure it would be a pleasant one.

Deciding to process that when he isn’t running on stim shots and caf, he crosses to the ‘fresher and has the slowest quick clean-up ever. He doesn’t have to move fast so there’s no pressure and therefore he moves like tree sap through ditching his clothes into the hamper to take to the laundry chute later, checks for any damage he might have missed – luckily not – and crawls into the shower to be clean.

His soap sliver has been replaced with a new bar in his usual scent and now Quinlan is having soap feelings because obviously he picked it up barehanded in the kriffing shower and there’s a flash of Obi-Wan and comfort-home safe – peace radiating off it even more than Temple-made soaps usually do – and now he’s crying in the shower, y’know, just a little bit, in a calm and measured Jedi sort of way because he’s loved, he’s so loved-

Quinlan?

Oh, and now he’s woken up the catalyst of his little breakdown.

The sleepy presence gets clearer as Obi-Wan becomes more alert, so Quin only has a moment to stabilise his breathing and press surprise-affection at him while carefully shielding off the rest of the mess. Obi-Wan pauses and then glows back pleasure-affection and that edge of alarmed alertness drops away.

Quin lets the bond go quiet again. He shuffles the rest of the way through getting clean and dry basking in the echo he’d gotten from the soap, and ambles into his bedroom for a clean sleep tunic to find that the sheets are laundry fresh and turned down already.

He stops and stares. There’s a couple of hydropacks on the little table next to the bed where he usually keeps his ‘comm. The sleep tunic he was about to look for is neatly folded on his pillow.

He’s fairly sure it’s going to be soap all over again in here. Worse, probably, since the fibres hold impressions better than something as soft and squashy as soap.

He’s going to sleep so well.

The tunic is like being wrapped in a hug and he almost slides right into bed before he remembers the lights. He doesn’t honestly trust his fine control at this level of tired, and last time he’d risked it for that biscuit he’d broken his heating element somehow, so he drags himself back out to flip them off and sniff his flowers one last time.

There’s a very quiet tap, tap at his door.

Quin can’t deny the sudden speeding of his heart. He carefully makes his way over and keys the door open-

Obi-Wan’s sleepy face is the best homecoming. He’s heavy-eyed and his hair is kind of a mess and he has pillow marks on his cheek and forehead. He’s wearing a sleep tunic that used to be Quinlan’s because it’s way too fucking broad in the shoulders, and he walked here from his rooms in the middle of the night -read: way too early in the kriffing morning – despite being only half-conscious it looks like - for him.

He also, upon the door opening, beams at him and what else can Quin do, really, except swoop him up and into his arms and his rooms?

Obi clearly approves, if the way he winds his arms around Quin’s shoulders and snuggles in is any indication. Quinlan clings a little tighter and tucks his face into Obi’s neck and inhales the soap-and-skin scent of him. He gets a shiver for his trouble, a tremble and a tiny intake of breath and a slightly raspy, “Missed you, Quin.”

“Yeah.” His voice shakes just a bit, “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling. I missed you too, babe.”

And he’s tired, he’s so tired, but he has Obi-Wan all sleep-warm and soft in his arms and when he nuzzles closer Obi shivers again and angles his head away to give him more room, and he’s maybe not that tired, actually. He gets to sleep in tomorrow anyway.

Affection and attraction and interest are uncoiling in the Force between them, weaving through all the missed you and long mission and glad you’re home and same same same same. It’s overwhelming in the best way, much like the way that Obi-Wan is mouthing at his collarbone, and twitching under Quin’s hands as he strokes down his sides, his back, his hips.

“What woke me up?” Obi-Wan asks breathlessly, running his nails down Quin’s arm and dragging his tunic up. “The blanket? The conservator filled with your favourites?”

“Considering I didn’t know you’d gotten to either of those, no.” Quinlan pants, ditching his shirt before tugging him closer and toppling both of them onto the couch. “It was the kriffing soap.”

His entirely too devious lover lights up and then proceeds to kiss him so deeply that his brain leaks out of his ears. Worth it, he thinks, dizzy and lustdrunk, and trying very hard to remove Obi-Wan’s tunic. Worth all of it to come home to this.

“Bant and Garen helped with the blanket,” Obi-Wan tells him far too cheerfully for the blown-out pupils and expression of absolute focus aimed at him, “And, yes, very worth it. You’re projecting, my dear.”

“Good thing it’s on the other arm then or we’d be confusing their very nice contribution with all our sex vibes.”

“You’re too good for sex vibes now? Quin, what a terrible mission this must have been!”

“That-” Quin pulls him back down against his chest, nuzzling at his jaw, “-is absolutely not what I said. You are a demon.”

Obi-Wan is losing the fight to keep his eyes open – Quin knows all his soft spots and lays siege accordingly. “I am the definition of a delight- ah, darling, yes-”

It’s so much, Quin thinks muzzily as they twist to lie sideways, legs tangled and mouths hungry and hands knowing exactly where to touch, it’s so much to know you like this, to hold you.

It is so much to crawl through misery in the hopes of helping and get to come back to you.

Obi-Wan moans and his presence goes all brilliant, “Projecting, Quin.”

Quinlan knows. He tightens his grip on both of them and lets that wave of wonder-joy- so loved wash over and through them and everything is bright bright bright in time with his hand – their hands -

They unspool together, Force presences knit loose and comfortable and sprawling as much as they are in the crude matter on his couch.

Obi-Wan stirs first. He lifts his head enough to squint sleepily at Quinlan. “Welcome home,” he says, and it would be teasingly dry if his voice were less wrecked. Mostly, he sounds like he’s just had a staggering orgasm. Which, Quin is pleased to say, he has.

He gets a raised eyebrow for the incredibly smug expression he can feel on his face but the eyebrow of doom isn’t nearly as effective when he can’t keep his eyes fully open and also hasn’t stopped smiling. “I feel fairly welcomed.”

“Fairly?” Obi says, and he manages to sound unimpressed. He’s still smiling though.

“Fairly,” Quin agrees, “I might need another round to be sure.”

Ah, there’s the bitchy expression he loves so much. “Darling, I’m not sure you can even walk to bed now.”

“If you really wanted to welcome me home-” he wheezes and breaks off at the jab to his gut. “Peace! Force, Obes, so violent. I just got home!”

He gets an eyeroll and a very gentle kiss for his shit-stirring, which isn’t exactly good strategy to convince him not to shit-stir, Obi-Wan. Obi rolls off him in search of a clean cloth – which nails him in the face a moment later, so he found them – and reappears with the judgemental eyebrow back in play.

He is positively harassed off the couch (with a hand up and an arm around his waist) and bullied into bed (snuggled against Obi-Wan’s back) and behaves entirely the whole time (narrowly misses an elbow to the chest for making a “well, come!” pun).

He buries his face into Obi-Wan’s hair and takes a moment to memorise how it feels to lie here and hold him close and safe with the promise of getting to wake up to him for once. Obi soothes a hand over the arm around his waist when he tenses and then goes lax again.

He snuggles closer. “Missed you.”

Obi-Wan is quiet, and for a moment Quinlan thinks he’s already drifted off. Then, Obi links their hands together and lifts them to press a soft, lingering kiss to the palm of his hand. “Missed you too.” he murmurs as Quin goes over all shivery from the feelings pressed gently into his skin. And he thought the soap was bad. Good. A lot. “Woke up today and knew you were coming home and needed to make sure you knew. You were missed.”

“You were missed.” Quin mumbles back as he loses track of further words. Obi-Wan is too safe and too comfortable and close – the exhaustion rears its head again and this time there is nothing to even try and pull him away from sleep. He’s home and has his partner in his arms and nothing to do for now but to rest. He settles, curling close, and sleeps.

Out in the main room, the kitchen light glows warmly.

@quinobiweek

[shootingstarpilot]

Speaking of "kill your darlings," I promised y'all a scene that got axed once Chapter 4 went up, so have this AU version of Cody's return to the Negotiator:

When he blinks, he feels the steel floors of the Negotiator under his boots, and one more piece of Cody clicks back into place.

Helix stands in front of him, eyes narrowed, hands on his forearms–

“–der. Cody.”

“I hear you,” he manages.

The hands squeeze. 

“Good. Then I don’t feel bad about blaming you for my blood pressure.”

“Oh, hello to you too,” Cody mutters. “Aren’t I your commanding officer?”

“I give less of a shit every passing day,” Helix says, and his smile is just a tad manic as he propels Cody in the direction of the freshers. “Like the armor wasn’t enough– the two of you are sickening. Disgusting. I can’t believe I’ve had to put up with you for this long. I can’t believe I did.”

Cody blinks at him. “What?”

Helix kicks the door open and shoves him inside, but Cody reaches out, seizes his arm– because Helix is here, but why had he met him in the landing bay when he was supposed to be in medical with–

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

Helix stops, sighs, his shoulders slumping–

“Pulling the kid out of whatever Force-damned trap the Sith stuck him in,” he says heavily. “Risk of psychic backlash, that’s the only reason I’m not– Stitch is monitoring remotely–”

He stops. Looks down at Cody’s hand. Grabs it before he can think to retreat.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” he says slowly. His fingers press along the bones, searching for fractures, for movement in things that should not be moving– “What happened?”

Cody cringes.

“Jinn grabbed me from behind,” he mutters. “I– reacted.”

The hands still.

“You punched him?”

“Don’t get pissy about it,” Cody hisses. “You could have given me a bit more to work with. I know you said not to start any fights, but–”

He stops. Helix’s lips are twitching.

“Oh, no,” he says flatly. “What a tragedy.”

“Helix.”

“What? Did he punch back?”

“No, but–”

“Then technically not a fight,” Helix says cheerfully, giving his hand a pat and promptly dropping it. “No harm done.”

“I think I broke his nose.”

“No harm that matters,” he amends, and pushes Cody towards the sink. “Wash,” he orders. “Blood on your face. Scrub up. Take an inventory. I will be right outside because I don’t trust you not to pass out and make my life that much harder, you ass– sir. Ten minutes.”

He’s gone before Cody can string together another sentence.

Right. Okay. Wash up. He can do that.

He yanks at the faucet. Splashes water on his face. Soaps up his hands, scrubs roughly at the dried blood, watches it flake off, swirling around the drain, staining the suds pink–

(“A chip embedded here could essentially override your free will–”)

“Stop it,” he says, his voice echoing in the empty fresher. “Stop it.”

Would he have been trapped inside his own head? Made to witness? Or would he have just been– gone?

Obi-Wan trusts him, and he would have–

He hiccups.

They’re alive. The Sith is dead, and they’re alive. He splashes his face once more, washing away the salt, scrubbing at his eyes, and pushes himself up, glancing in the mirror–

And freezes.

The cut had carved upwards across his cheek, ending just under his left eye where the visor had cracked. Deep and bloody and stinging– he’d just counted himself lucky that it had been under the eye instead of over. If the blood had messed with his aim, things could have turned out very differently.

(He’s alive.)

Helix’s reaction–

And Waxer’s expression–

“Looks like the General took care of that one for you, sir–”

The blazing warmth of Obi-Wan’s hand against his cheek–

A silver of clear sky in the storm–

Yeah. He had, hadn’t he?

Arcing up and across his cheek, sealing the cut shut, sharp and jagged and bright–

A thin white line.

Almost like lightning.

Cody stares. Tilts his head.

He raises his hand to his face, mimicking–

Yes. Exactly where Obi-Wan had– before he’d–

He leans forward, braces his elbows against the sink, and laughs until he cries.

Eventually, he grabs a towel. Dries his face. Runs his fingers again over his newest scar.

Helix is waiting for them when he steps outside, and the two of them head for the bridge.

They’ll find each other.

They always do.

The reasons I ended up going with something else:

Pissy Helix is fun to write, but I wanted to emphasize exactly how rattled Cody was, and I felt it was more true to form for Helix to set aside that attitude to make sure Cody was okay when he realized he was dealing with a BIG PTSD flare-up from getting grabbed.

I wanted the scar reveal to come from Obi-Wan's POV, because I felt like a lot of the CodyWan moments so far have come from Cody's POV and it was Obi-Wan's turn to be Absolutely Smitten.

Waxer and Boil have absolutely been telling EVERYBODY what went down, and I thought it was unrealistic for Helix not to know since they had dropped Cody off with him. >:)

[turian]

got tagged by @greenecreek to take part in wip wednesday and i happened to be working on something in the moment that i don't know i'll be publishing anywhere else so ( also, tagging whatever writer mutuals are in the mood! i know that's cheating but <3 ) . actually edit. @anoramactir @bloodmagehawke hello >:)

so yeah this was going to be wyll/tav/astarion (? i don't even know what it started out as) time loop with the next chapter being wyll pov. warnings for body horror and ? a lot of death ? but idk if i'll rework it or scrap it or whatever. + this tav is a vague and deeply unserious construct thus far. and i began this so directionlessly and i think it really shows. tbh i think if i was to rewrite it i'd just start with wyll's point of view and have it center him. uuuh and yeah it's a first draft - here there be monsters and all that

Everything's going fine until Tav shoots some flaming fist bastard right in the arse and they turn their blade on him.

There's an attempt to explain himself (he's generally good at this) but they're on the second level of a burning building and a lot gets lost in translation. His voice, strangled by smoke, will not save him here.

As he falls, he hears Astarion object, which is interesting because Tav had been under the impression that, while he and the pale elf were certainly friends, they hadn't been as close as all that.

Then he feels Karlach topple over onto him, blood leaking, and all coherent thought is replaced by the sensation of burning alive.

-

Tav is in a pod.

Tav is in a pod, and that pod is on a nautiloid.

Tav is missing his sword, his scavenged outfit - and that had taken ages to dye to his specifications, hells - but his flesh is on his body, and does not look charred.

He lies there dazed for a moment, remembering burning.

Then he clambers out of the pod - kind of it to open for him - and makes an attempt at orienting himself.

He needn't strain so hard to remember burning - this nautiloid is, like the first he'd woken on, lit by the flickering amber of a hundred fires. Tav picks his way around them, tentatively at first, until he is better able to withstand the heat from them without getting lost in the burning of his own person.

He's alive, isn't he? So he'll just have to stow burning alive away and unpack it later. Much later, away from the eyes of his allies, especially since he has the sense Karlach will be feeling frightfully guilty about the whole thing. Karlach feeling guilty is terrible for morale, and must therefore be minimized.

Besides, someone's done a bang up job healing him. Nary a burn in sight. A brief swell of hope as he raises his hand to his face and-

Nope, that burn's still there. It feels sore. Fresher than it had been. But that must just be his imagination - and that happens, sometimes, doesn't it? Phantom pains are most certainly and certifiably a thing.

There's one of them blue glowing things at the edge of the room. He stops in front of it and wastes a moment or two on further inspection.

Interesting that all nautiloids have seemingly identical layouts. Then again, they are a hivemind, aren't they?

Are they just the one hivemind, or are there multiple hives? Is there some biological illithid layout imperative?

Is the nautiloid a species within itself? It looks organic. But a lot of things are technically organic.

Anyway, this is only one room. Perhaps he's being too hasty in his judgment of illithid architecture.

Tav moves on.

Just like on the nautiloid that had seen to his infection, this room opens into another, larger room, about - if not exactly - the same shape and size as what he'd previously experienced.

Tav's head is swimming in a pool of deja vu.

Perhaps not all nautiloids are alike, but this one was clearly born of the same production line as the one in which Tav had taken that first doomed voyage. And that's interesting, but it's not something he ought to be wasting time on at the moment, so he continues his march forward.

It occurs to him that he should be very frightened. A bit of desperation would help here. Ironically, that he feels steady at all - though it's more like a daze has settled over him, Tav would argue it is a very steady daze, so it counts - unnerves him.

We are here.

The familiar landscape is apparently so familiar that he's hearing echoes now. But Us can't be here. Us is dead, or maybe just elsewhere.

We are trapped. Help us.

Tav gazes pensively upward.

Or, more accurately, Usward.

Could Tav be dreaming?

Could Tav be dead?

Tav may be dead. Tav's life may be flashing before his eyes at the speed of geriatric molasses.

He takes issue with it starting at the nautiloid, but maybe when life flashes before one's eyes it has to start at the beginning of the end. So as not to over-complicate things or bore anyone or (ye gods) remind them of the moment of their birth.

But. No. The voice of Us is probably just an auditory hallucination. Tav should keep moving. Tav should find the others, if the others can be found.

Tav's legs do not move. Tav continues gazing Usward.

Curiosity is known to be a passionate supporter of bard mortality. It is, according to recent research overseen by a small faction of wizards who claim adherence to the scientific method but have never proven it, sixth in the running for most prolific Faerûnian bard killer. Per capita or whatever.

In other words, Tav takes the neural apparatus to the second floor.

He steps off it neatly, and beholds the nameless corpse from which Us was born.

Here is where Tav begins to speculate a bit more wildly on what exactly is happening to his own brain.

Tav could be in a coma. Oh, or Tav could be a proper illithid now. Perhaps this is what happens to souls once their bodies have gone all squiddy - they end up haunting their own memories. Maybe for eternity, maybe for however long illithids live.

How long do illithids live? And should the natural lifespan of the host body be taken into account? Will Tav be stuck in memory for upwards of a hundred years?

Gods, he should've listened to Gale more.

You've come to save us from this place, says Us upon approach. From this place you'll free us.

Tav sighs. "Might as well."

Pulling a brain from a skull is easier the second time around, which is nice. Tav would expect a memory or afterlife or whatever this is to put up more of a fight, because his brain has, in the past, has demonstrated a pattern of inconveniencing him whenever possible, but he's not going to complain if it wants to give him an easy time now. Honestly, he thinks he deserves it.

"Onwards, then," he tells Us, once they've finished sprouting legs.

They will go to the helm.

They wander down leathery steps. Tav pays special attention, this time, on the off chance that there might be some way out of this memory-dream-afterlife, but all he gets are the halls of the ship leaking nautiloid goo. Were he less distantly stressed, he might be more interested in all the valves and membranes, but upon rescuing Us a sense of urgency emerged within Tav. It is dim, but it is there, and it moves him forward quicker than before.

Onto the exposed walkway. A dragon flies past, the sight captivating enough that Lae'zel manages to startle him.

She lands. He stares. She raises her sword, threats flying from her lips, and then-

Cue the unpleasantness of parasites meeting.

"You know me," says Lae'zel, breaking the script, and Tav blinks in surprise.

"Yes," he says. "I assumed you wouldn't notice. To be honest, that is quite the relief. I feel a great deal less solipsistic now."

"Ghaik deception." Lae'zel's sword swings in what Tav feels is an unfairly targeted arc.

"Wait!" He jumps back, quick as he can, dodging her sword by only a hair's breadth. "I'm not-"

Shit.

Is that blood?

Yes.

Tav was mistaken in thinking he'd dodged Lae'zel's sword by a hair's breadth.

He falls to his knees, and then he topples over unceremoniously. His eyes stay open long enough to watch Lae'zel's retreating form.

Us, on the other hand, stands beside him until what is presumably the end.

Kind of them. Comforting, really.

But, comforted or not, Tav dies faintly irritated with himself for not having seen this coming.

-

Tav is in a pod.

Tav is... not dead?

Tav is in a pod, and Tav is not dead.

Tav is without his rapier, but Tav has his hand crossbow, and once Tav has climbed free of said pod and wandered to the second room, Tav has Us, which is sort of like having a decent weapon. A little pink fleshy weapon with legs. Claws, too, and aren't claws multiple weapons? Or do they just count as one?

Tav decides they just count as one.

Instead of going the same way he'd come this time, he busies himself looking for someone who won't immediately stab him. Shadowheart is further ahead and therefore inaccessible, but Astarion and Gale and Karlach and Wyll had all been on the ship as well, hadn't they? Astarion had complained of Tav running straight by his pod, and Karlach and Gale had seen him.

Unless Tav's memories are playing tricks on him. All of this may just be Tav's memories playing tricks on him.

Gods, their pods must all be past Lae'zel too.

Can he sneak past Lae'zel?

No. No, he definitely can't.

Waiting for Lae'zel to go on ahead of him is an option, though. He can wait in this room and watch until she flips through the air and into battle. And then he can follow after her, and...

Catch up. Eventually. Yes.

And not get his throat cut this time.

Or Tav can come up with a way to demonstrate to Lae'zel that there is no ghaik trickery in play here.

The trouble is Tav personally also suspects ghaik trickery, which limits his ability to sell the story somewhat.

Tav is a very good liar when he can convince himself he's telling the truth, but he can't quite get his head right at the moment. Probably because of all the dying. Tav's not sure. He's invested in psychology because he's invested in charlatanism, not because he's invested in mental wellness.

Suspicion of ghaik trickery is some common ground, though, isn't it? And where there is common ground there is leverage.

Right, so. Lead with the ghaik trickery, appeal to Lae'zel's team spirit, get Shadowheart and possibly the others. And then... profit.

Tav isn't sure this is a good plan, but that might just be a confidence issue.

Tav tries very hard to drum up some confidence.

We are going to the helm, Us reminds him.

"Right. Yes. We are going to the fucking helm," Tav agrees. "Tymora willing." He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and goes.

They wander out onto the open walkway.

This time Tav is ready for Lae'zel, and when she comes whipping through the air and lands before him, he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace and steps out of sword-reach.

"Hello, Lae'zel. I think we may be in an illithid memory prison. You likely don't remember me, but we need to get off of this ship, and I know the way out. I also know of several allies who are likely either on the ship or trapped in the same, er, memory prison that I and perhaps also you are."

He's missing something.

Oh, right. "The intellect devourer is not currently a threat," Tav adds hastily.

Lae'zel sneers at him. "You are mad." She seems at war with herself for a moment. Tav assumes the war is between killing him and using him as cannon fodder. It seems cannon fodder wins out, because Lae'zel offers Tav a nod, even as her eyes remain narrowed in suspicion. "Very well. We are wasting time. Forward."

The bard moves forward.

Lae'zel moves forward directly behind him.

Now three in number, they make quick work of the imps in play. And then forward again, and-

Tav makes a beeline for the pod currently host to Karlach.

This is good. This is progress.

"I need leverage." Tav pulls off saying this like a professional. He is not an artificer, but he has impersonated one before, and likes sometimes to slip back into that brusque engineering persona. Tav likes to think that was him in another life, before most of the honesty left him. He gestures to the groove on the pod in which the aforementioned leverage might fit. "Lae'zel, could you pry this open with your sword?"

"We are wasting time," says Lae'zel.

"No you're bloody not wasting your bloody time," says Karlach, muffled by pod. She bangs her horns against the transparent pane, and it cracks.

"Or just smash it, Lae'zel," Tav says. "Come on, I know you can do it. You won't even have to break a sweat. You will bring honour to your queen!"

Lae'zel shoots him an absolutely foul look tinged with even more suspicion than before, but she does smash the pod.

From it bursts one leather-clad fiery tiefling. "Gods, thought that was going to be the end of me." Her golden eyes fix on Tav. "You know a way out of this mess, soldier? Oh, shit, introductions. Name's Karlach."

Tav is very glad Karlach can't remember possibly burning him to death that one time. He offers her one of his most winning smiles (he has a whole closet full, organized from least to most winning) and sticks his hand out (reflex) before putting it back into his pocket (sense has kicked in). "I'm Tav, that's Lae'zel, this is Us. And... yes, actually. We were just on our way to the helm."

Friend! Us skitters in a little circle around Karlach, wide enough that they are not burnt. To the helm we go! We are going to the helm!

Tav wants to keep them. Tav wants to carry them around in his bag like a little lapdog and feed them only the best-

What do intellect devourers eat?

Only the best intellect, he supposes. Academics and suchlike.

"Helm it is, then." And with that, Karlach's off at a brisk pace.

Then she's back. "Helm's this way, yeah?"

Tav frowns. "I think... yes. Yes, that's the way."

"To the helm," says Karlach. She begins again to move.

Lae'zel follows efficiently, Us jauntily, Tav somewhat pathetically. Tav's day job is the sale of snake oil, which doesn't demand much cardio. He has, by now, worked up a sweat.

He keeps an eye out for Gale or Wyll or Astarion as they go, but no other pods bear familiar faces.

For reasons mostly related to being a selfish bastard, it does not occur to Tav to save the unfamiliar ones until they're already in the room with Shadowheart's pod.

But then it does occur to him, and he's about to say something about it to Karlach, who is certainly the only one present who'll sympathize, but she's found Shadowheart's pod already and is seemingly searching for a way to crack it open.

"There's a key thing in the-" Tav says, but he's struck silent by awe mid-sentence as Karlach takes the roof of Shadowheart's pod in both hands and gives a great wrench and-

"Wow," says Tav.

Karlach grins at him. Prying the pod open seems to have left her slightly electrocuted. Her hair's a little spikier than it was before, and she's swaying a bit.

Shadowheart pushes herself up off the ground. "Than-"

Tadpoles meet.

Not Tav's tadpole, this time. Tav is uninvolved. So while Karlach and Shadowheart have their moment, he leaves them to it, and gets to sifting through the other pods in the room.

Quite a few of the people interned are entirely unconscious. None thus far are Gale or Astarion (or Wyll, for that matter, though Tav's not sure Wyll got a pod. Had Wyll seen him on the ship? He hadn't, had he?)

Whatever. He'll find who he'll find. Wyll included, hopefully. Or Wyll will find them. That'll work too.

Tav continues into an adjoining room, quick as can be. He searches pod after pod, until-

Wide red eyes meet Tav's.

"I'll get you out in a moment," he tells Astarion. "Just let me figure out how." There are some wrong moves he's willing to make, but any that might run the risk of turning one of his allies illithid are off limits.

Actually-

"Karlach? Do you think you could-"

Oh, right. Karlach isn't in the room.

Tav jogs back into the Shadowheart zone, miserable at the exertion. He'd been athletic once, but that was another buried personality that had fallen out of favour with his criminal lifestyle. Gods, he could have been an acrobat.

Now is not a good time to get bogged down in regrettable life choices, though, is it? Onward.

Karlach spots Tav the moment he's through the illithid sphincter-door. She's standing by the door that leads to the helm. Shadowheart and Lae'zel are already out of sight, no doubt prioritizing the helm over newfound bards. "Coming, soldier? Got to land this thing."

"Actually-"

"Come on! Don't want you getting left behind."

"I need help. My-"

"Your what?" Karlach takes a step toward him. She seems a bit concerned. Well, a lot concerned, but there's a fresh bit of it directed solely at Tav instead of at the situation at large now.

"My friend," says Tav. Calling Astarion a friend seems like the sort of thing that should be a lie, but doesn't really feel like one. "He's in a pod. I need your help getting him out and then we can-"

"Shit." Karlach casts a look over her shoulder. "Gimme a minute, yeah?" she calls.

Objections from Shadowheart and Lae'zel are voiced, but Karlach's already running Tav's way.

"Where's your friend?" she asks.

Tav shows her.

Karlach makes quick work of Astarion's pod, just as she had before with Shadowheart's. This is, however, the second time she's been electrocuted on behalf of rescues, and when she stumbles back there is a moment Tav is genuinely afraid for her.

But she steadies herself, and as soon as she has, Tav heals her.

The trouble with healing your allies is that it takes your attention off of people who do not yet know they are your allies.

Distraction is known to be a passionate supporter of bard mortality. It is, according to recent research overseen by a small faction of wizards who claim adherence to the scientific method but have never proven it, fifth in the running for most prolific Faerûnian bard killer.

Per capita.

Astarion's dagger is at Tav's throat now. "No sudden moves, now. Best we preserve that darling little neck of yours."

"For Tymora's sake," Tav hisses. He tries to wriggle out of the hold, but his dexterity fails him, as does his wit. There is a sharp pain at his throat.

"What part of no sudden moves don't you understand?" Astarion barks at Tav.

Tav slides slowly to the ground. I wasn't thinking, he wants to say. Because Tav is choking on blood, he doesn't quite manage.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

"For Tymora's sake."

He goes through the motions again at a run. A very uncomfortable run. Dying in the midst of your cardio ensures you reap none of its benefits.

Grab Us, convince Lae'zel not to kill you, get Karlach, Shadowheart, bring Karlach on the little search for Astarion's pod this time and shave a little time off that way-

So far so good. Tav and Karlach stand before the pod that holds one sunless magistrate.

Tav's a bit cross, throat still phantom smarting, so this time his first words to Astarion are as follows: "Do not slit my fucking throat," all but shouted through the panel between them.

"Er, Tav?" Karlach's eyeing him.

"Yes, Karlach?"

"Thought you said this was your friend...?"

"Well." Tav shrugs. "Usually. Yes."

Karlach nods. "Got a few like that myself. Right, here goes nothing."

She yanks the pod open and stumbles back. Tav heals her before Astarion can get his bearings and - this is important - without turning his back on the elf.

Astarion keeps his eyes on Tav, though Tav can tell the elf is also holding Karlach in his peripheral vision. "I think you've fallen victim to a case of mistaken identity, my dear."

"Mm." Tav crosses his arms. "Yes. You may simply have generic features."

Astarion smirks at him. "Ever heard the one about pots and kettles, darling?"

Karlach clears her throat loudly. "Ship's crashing. Do this later, yeah?" She looks around, and then at Tav. "Think there's a way to get the rest of these people out of their pods?"

Tav tears his eyes away from Astarion for a fraction of a second before thinking better of it and whipping his neck back in the vigilant direction quick as he can. Astarion hasn't moved. Thank Tymora.

Astarion is still glaring at Tav.

"We could try, but... are they conscious?" The bard's teeth worry at his bottom lip. "Let's... land the ship properly this time. And then we can get them all out."

That'll be great. They'll have a little army of tadpoled individuals.

"Brilliant. Well, come on, then. 'Fore Shadowheart 'n' Lae'zel wander off without us." And with that, Karlach's turned on her heal and zoomed back helmward.

Tav keeps his eyes on Astarion.

The elf rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to slit your throat. Stop wasting time."

For a beat, neither of them move. Their eyes narrow. The air is tense, as are rogue and bard respectively.

But then Astarion throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, and follows Karlach, and Tav follows Astarion in kind.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel are ahead. Karlach catches up first - just in time for Lae'zel to stop them all and make it known that once at the helm, all must do as she says.

Shadowheart, unsurprisingly, objects.

Tav casts an eye over at Astarion while this objection is taking place, expecting a quip of some sort, but Astarion's eyes are dark and his mouth is set in a grim line and he looks past Shadowheart and Lae'zel, perhaps imagining the battle ahead. Perhaps calculating his chance of survival.

Tav nudges him gently. "It'll be alright. Just- get behind me if you need to."

Astarion scoffs at him. "The devil would make a better shield. But thank you. I suppose."

Tav is too busy feeling insulted to point out that Karlach is actually a tiefling.

Astarion takes a steeling breath. "Forward, then," he says, as far as Tav can make out - the words are barely a murmur.

Tav watches the elf. He's about to say something encouraging, but his tongue ends up in knots instead, and by the time speech is possible again Astarion has already gone after the others and into the fray.

Forward.

Tav moves forward.

From that point on things go from middling, and then to bad, and then to very bad, and then to worse, and then finally to the worst. This all happens in the span of half a minute.

Middling: Tav moves toward the helm.

Bad: Tav must somehow glide through a caustic puddle of brine.

Very bad: Tav slips in the brine and falls.

Worse: Tav cracks his head on the ground and blacks out for a moment.

The worst: An imp shoots fire at him, which is when Tav realizes this brine is flammable.

He writhes around a bit until death shows up for its petty little reset by way of a sharp pressure to his brain.

-

Tav is roused from fiery blankness to find he is once again in his pod on the nautiloid.

He feels rather like an arrow's just gone through his head. There's no arrow now, of course. There is only the suggestion of an arrow. The extremely strong implication of an arrow.

He excavates himself from his pod with considerably more malaise than last time.

That he's begun to think of it as his pod in the way one might think of a pestilent little hovel as their pestilent little hovel is disturbing. Tav had until now been likening the pod to a conversation he'd not yet worked out how to leave.

Not a home. Not a place in which he's doomed to live. He prefers his actual pestilent little hovel, which was in a breakneck little alley not far from a tavern or two. That hovel had been a colleague rather than an unwanted housemate, whereas this pod clings to Tav. This pod won't even do the bloody dishes, and yet still it fucking clings.

Tav is a believer in the Baldurian dream, when it suits him. He is a believer in having nowhere to go but up. He is a believer in trying the broken ladder again, even after the thousandth time you've fallen off of it.

Or, well, some of him believes in such things. The rest of Tav has more sense. The rest of Tav also isn't currently interested in dying again.

But you will die, says one of Tav's inner voices. Regardless of your participation in the loop, it will kill you.

But, Tav argues, I will then be given another chance to participate in the loop. Presumably. Or I won't, and that will have solved the problem of my being trapped in it.

He wanders into the next room and breaks Us out of cranial prison. Tav has by this point grown to think of Us as a dear friend and the only one he can really trust to have his back. Us is ever present. Us will remain ever present if Tav never makes it onto the beach again.

Tav could just enjoy eternity here.

We must go to the helm, Us says.

"I'm actually just going to relax a bit," Tav explains to them. "You're welcome to go on ahead, but there's a- er, someone in the hall over there that might kill you if you wander around unaccompanied, so I might advise against that." He leans back on the leathery ground and sprawls his limbs out like a starfish and pretends he's staring at the stars.

We must connect the nerves, Us insists.

"Someone else will connect the nerves. She's very enterprising. I have the utmost faith in her."

Us nudges him. You are being somewhat unprofessional, friend.

"Oh." Tav weighs the accusation. "Yes, I suppose I am. I'd apologize but, well. I've actually been to the helm before. I'm getting a bit annoyed by it."

Us is quiet for a long moment. I do not understand.

"Have a look through my memories if you like. I'm just going to have a nap while you do that, though. Night, kid."

Tav shuts his eyes. Dozes. Drifts.

He's just awake enough to enjoy dreams and reality simultaneously after the gentle pressure of Us taking him up on the offer to peruse his thoughts fades out.

This dream is sort of a nice one. Wyll's in it. Tav sits at his side, mug of ale in hand.

It occurs to him to show off a bit. "Hold my ale," he tells Wyll, and then he begins to hover.

But someone's hands are on Tav's shoulder, trying to pull him back to the ground. "Quit it," Tav hisses, and tries to knock those hands away.

"Wake up," says Wyll. "Tav, this is not the time to sleep in!"

Strange. Wyll's voice is coming from behind Tav, not from Wyll's seat on the riverbank.

"Do you hear that?" Tav asks Wyll. "That ghost is very good at impersonating you."

Wyll looks confused. "If there is a ghost, Tav, I can neither see nor hear it."

"It's right behind me," Tav insists. "It's trying to fuck up my flight trajectory."

"Is it a flight trajectory if you're only hovering?" Wyll asks.

"They're definitely the same thing."

"I think you'll find they have different connotations," Wyll says, finger raised. Wyll often raises a finger when dispensing wisdom.

It's quite endearing. Tav is oft endeared.

The ghost gives another tug. "Please wake up. I would rather you not perish in the wreck."

This is when Tav wakes up. He makes a noise befitting someone just waking up which is mostly made of consonants and confusion.

Then he sits up, eyes wide. "Wyll?"

"The very same," says Wyll, with about as much good humour warranted in such circumstances. "Good to have you with us. I fear we are in dire straits - but there is a chance we right this ship, and I would see us take it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was going to sit this round ou-" But Tav can't do that to Wyll. It's Wyll.

Wyll - and also Karlach, come to think of it - are some of those rare examples of good people that do not make Tav want to electrocute himself. Instead they make him want to do better.

Tav believes this is what is known as "cruel and unusual punishment."

Thing is, Tav's done a lot of work to accept being as horrible as he is, to hone his horrible qualities, to keep them sharp as a githyanki blade, and here Wyll and Karlach are being good bloody examples who don't even have the grace to be annoying about it.

Well, here Wyll is. Karlach's in the general vicinity, but her hereness is less... here.

"Never mind what I was just saying," says Tav wearily. "I know the way to the helm. I'll show you, shall I?"

Wyll looks about to laugh, but before Tav can get to wondering why, he nods, and makes a rather princely gesture in what is actually precisely the right direction. "By all means, lead the way."

Perhaps Wyll studied illithid architecture at some point.

Or could just be a coincidence. Who knows.

Tav's pace is tethered to his malaise. He drags himself through the ship like a weight chained to his own leg.

Wyll is ahead at first. Lae'zel is gone and the imps are already dead - there is no barrier between Wyll, those trailing him, and the fulfillment of their helmic aspirations.

No barrier save Tav.

Wyll turns at first with impatience. "I beg you keep up. Our time here is short, and we have already been delayed."

"Sure." Tav tries to force pep into his step. Pep doesn't take, so he tries next for urgency.

Urgency doesn't take. Wyll casts a glance over his shoulder again.

Tav expects another round of impatience. But no, this is a different side of the hero - Wyll looks perturbed.

There is a pause of the sort that makes Tav squirm. He senses he is being worried about. Likely sincerely, hence the squirming.

"Are you injured, Tav?"

"Physically? No." Tav pushes himself into a very light jog. I am not stuck in a time loop, says the jog. All is well, says the jog. Please continue on without me if need be, as I am far less in shape than I look, says the jog. "Er. Fight or flight instinct might be on vacation."

"I am familiar with the feeling," Wyll admits. "When one spends much of their time courting danger, I fear one risks becoming inured to it."

"You don't know the half of it," Tav says. He would sigh, but he's trying to preserve his energy. Speaking is enough trouble as it is. "We should get As- Assistance. Er. Break some more people out of pods...?"

Imps materialize in their path.

Wyll stabs one aspect of the imp blockade through the heart, and over his shoulder, as easily as he were not exerting himself at all, says: "If we see any other captives are conscious, we may free them. I wish that we could do more, but we have little time. The ship is falling fast."

Tav has the grace to feel a bit of nap related guilt just then. Most of his guilt is busy elsewhere, though, because he's just realized he must have left his flute and little crossbow where he'd been taking said nap. Which is sort of nap related guilt, but only tangentially. "I know where someone is. Couple rooms away. I... was moved."

Us savages an imp with their claws.

Wyll skewers another. "They will have a better chance of survival if the ship does not dash itself on the rocks of Avernus."

"They're claustrophobic," Tav lies. Well, he isn't certain it's a lie.

"And how would being buried in rubble serve them?" The imps have been dealt with. Wyll places a hand on Tav's shoulder.

It is firm. Reassuring.

If Tav didn't know Wyll, he'd feel a bit condescended to.

"Your friend will be alright, Tav. I swear it."

"Ally," Tav corrects out of reflex.

Wyll's lips twitch with amusement. "Very well. Your ally will be alright. Eventually."

And then Wyll takes Tav's hand, and their pace grows breakneck. A rush to the helm. Tav has barely the time passing through room after room to note that Shadowheart has been freed from her pod.

That's something. That's-

They reach the helm and ah, good. There's Shadowheart, there's Lae'zel, there's-

Cambions. Two whole extra bloody cambions.

They'd been advancing on the others but now they turn on Wyll and Tav.

Wyll is ready. Tav not so much.

The whole left the flute and crossbow somewhere else problem rears its ugly head yet again.

Fuck it. Bard mode. He can still whistle. Or sing, if everyone he's loyal to in this fight ends up killed or deafened.

Tav can in fact sing quite well. It's only out of an interest in the preservation of allied hearing and sanity that he doesn't.

It's not that his vocals are discordant, exactly. It's more that they're a bit maddening. Tav might have had a great great grandmother that was a harpy or something. Some gene that opted out of the family line until the time came for him to be born. He's not worked out how to control it yet.

He's actually given up on working out how to control it.

So. Whistling. Whistling is bad, but not as bad. It helps that Tav is legitimately sort of terrible at whistling. He can pull it off six times out of ten.

He's about to start when a fireball comes out of nowhere.

-

"Pod. Hello, pod. You're supposed to be opening."

The pod doesn't listen.

"Excuse me, pod." Tav bangs on the glass.

Yet again, no response from the pod.

"Well. Fine. See if I care."

Tav sits in his pod for the duration of this loop. It's... not great, but it's a little novel. Good to know random things can go wrong that hadn't before.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav thinks alright, might as well give it another go.

Tav gets into a fight with an illithid he's never seen before and loses.

The novelty of loops being a tad unpredictable wears off quick.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav makes a beeline for Lae'zel. He looks for Wyll all the while, hoping he might come out of the woodwork early or something. Hoping unpredictability might work in Tav's favour for once.

No such luck.

Tav and the company he and Lae'zel gather go to the helm.

Tav gets gored by some porcine hellion's tusks.

Tav bleeds out on the floor.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav is knocked off the ship by turbulence before he can even say hello to Lae'zel.

As he falls, he gets to wondering if maybe novelty is actually a bad thing. Maybe the fact that this can get worse is not something Tav should be happy about.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav goes through the motions.

Tav and company go to the helm.

Tav only gets shot a little bit.

Shadowheart connects the nerves.

So far so good.

Tav falls, and wakes on the beach.

It seems they've all been scattered by the crash. Lae'zel's nowhere to be seen. The others aren't either. Tav is about to wake Shadowheart when he remembers the predicament Gale was in the first time they'd all met, and that becomes his top priority.

Unfortunately Tav has forgotten about the intellect devourers milling about in the ship's burning remains.

He doesn't keep his distance.

It is a very short fight.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Things are a bit tenser than usual this time. Because Tav knows he can make it to the beach, at least in theory, he is determined to do so. He is also a bit devastated at his prior inability to remain alive on the beach, which manages to throw him off enough that there are several near misses as he makes his way there this time.

Someone (Tav isn't even certain who, as he's busy trying not to die when it happens) does manage to connect the nerves of the transponder, and the ship goes crashing onto the beach.

Tav goes crashing with it.

Thank Tymora, he thinks, when he opens his eyes to find he is once again somewhat covered in sand.

With some effort - his muscles ache, his bones creak, he feels a hundred years older than he is - Tav pushes himself into a sitting position.

There's Wyll. Wyll is running toward him.

Tav blinks. More novelty, it seems. At least this is the good sort.

Wyll stops at where Shadowheart lies first. He kneels to rouse her.

Tav decides he's not really needed for this and slumps backward onto the sand. Then Tav remembers the plight of Gale and sits bolt upright again. Pushes himself to his feet.

He sways a bit. Not because he's infirm, but because his balance hasn't really come back yet.

Gods, he used to be so poised. So bloody catlike. And now look at him.

"Excuse me! Hi, we haven't met before, but I happen to know of someone nearby in need of our assistance." He recalls Lae'zel in the tiefling trap. "A few someones, actually."

Wyll smiles. It's an interesting smile. Some combination of amusement and relief, or else just amusement born of relief. "Of course. Allow me to introduce myself. The Blade of Frontiers, at your service."

"Charmed. I'm Tav. Let's get to it, shall we?"

"Of course. I take it you're unharmed?"

"Mm. Mhm. Bit groggy, but. No rest for the wicked," Tav tells him sagely. "You know."

"No rest for the wicked indeed. I suppose you're casting yourself as the wicked, then?"

"It's all about perspective," says Tav sagely, as if this means anything at all. Sometimes Tav just says things. If one says things with enough conviction they tend to go unchallenged, either because you've been believed by default or because people don't feel arguing with you is worth the headache. "You're good to travel together, yes?"

"It would be my honour."

"Great," says Tav. "I'm sure it would be my honour too, if I had any. Let's get moving. There's some-"

"Intellect devourers?" Wyll shakes his head. "Cleared out. Before you awoke, I imagine."

"Oh. Good. Well, there's also a wi-"

"The wizard trapped in the rune? He and another ally of ours have gone on ahead to free Lae'zel."

"Oh. Well, we should go and free our gi- Hm? What?"

"All of our band is present and accounted for save one," Wyll tells him. "And we will find her at first light, I swear it. She must not face violence at the hands of her pursuers."

"Hm." Tav kicks a rock. It rolls about a foot before coming to a stop by the unseeing eyes of some mangled fisherman. "Right. Okay."

"We must first see to the safety of the grove."

Tav frowns. "Yeah." His mental processors are working overtime. Something is... weird.

Wait a fucking moment.

"How do you know my name?"

Wyll blinks. Smiles at Tav. "You just introduced yourself."

"But I mean-"

The Blade ducks his head. He still looks amused, but Tav catches the way his eyes dart behind him to where Shadowheart stands listening. "Let us speak on it later. The safety of the grove must be our priority."

And then Wyll offers Tav a hand and Tav, after a moment of undignified staring, takes it.

[kriimhild]

Daily Daycare - A story from the Pizzaplex (a small slice from a very late chapter)

I am still learning how to write in English, please forgive my bad spelling.

Warnings:  Disturbing description! Bad words!

The Pizzaplex was built on the ruins of the original restaurant, although very few people know this... the cult started to rebuild it from the ashes after a series of failures by previous companies. However, when the VR game was being designed, the developer had no idea that it had been 'taken over' by the then cult leadership of Fazbear. To this day, Vanessa resented the scam and suspected something was amiss... she wouldn't have been the first person the Glitch found. Hiding behind Vanny's mask, Afton was experimenting with a new vision, and it was an organization. He couldn't commit the murders alone, half in digital hell. But the scent of freedom was closer than he thought. This basement, this place, the musty, familiar smells of old ruins... he was home. And home it would return.

Dave wasn't a full member yet, but Nigel knew a thing or two about blackmail. He couldn't quit, he couldn't die. Those who tumble into the afterlife in the shadow of William Afton are rumored to be tormented in the afterlife by murdered souls. There were supernatural forces at work in this place with whom it was not worth holding a grudge.

  Disturbing parts

Almost nobody. There were beings out there who could hear them and see them. But they were also considered prisoners in another sense.

The man followed Nigel, a little hunched over. Dave's job was to retrieve the Remnants, the chemical part of it. Dave was a piece of shit, but without him there would have been no way to preserve the children's bodies in containers, reusing their essences over and over again. Many people made sure the souls couldn't leave the tanks. Since their murder they have been floundering in their tanks like a bird in a tiny cage.

Dave made eye contact with one of the bodies, the lifeless little face looked blankly over him. Sometimes they found their way back to their bodies, moved them to break free, but this body no longer belonged to them. They were uncomfortable... Confinement does not bring peace to a restless soul.

There was a row of tanks on the ground below, and many more high above. They could rotate the fresher bodies and souls, while the older ones gathered enough anger or grief to generate new energy.

Dave disagreed. It was all fucked up shit. Sometimes he spoke to the souls, but they didn't respond. No one could hear them...

"All right, Daveyboy, let's rotate them, let the current ones rest, and say... bring those forward." He gestures.

Dave walked over to the joystick and moved it in the desired direction.

"Nigel... l-listen... why are you doing this? What's your... motivation?"

"What? What's my motivation?” he glared at the other. “We're working towards a better world. You may not see it now, but seriously, farmers fertilize the land and they don't let the smell of shit hold them back because they know it's going to make a good crop, you know?"

Dave stared at him for a while, then pointed up.

"But child murder?! Nigel they are bloody kids man! The ones WE made disappear! They're in every bloody newspaper and we're suspected!"

Nigel just shrugged.

"At least none of them have their own cars, eh? And their suspicions are not enough, have you ever seen a single policeman here? Even in the Plex they only come when we call them. Because they know what's good for them, and so do you. They, me and you are paid handsomely, but unlike them, our place is guaranteed in the brave new world that is coming.”

"The brave new world we enter as child killers?" Dave got to his feet and as he started pacing, he held his head. "Why the fuck do you want Frankie involved? She's not good for these purposes, you said so yourself! Well impress that on the rabbit! At least not her!”

"Dave, Dave, Dave... it's like you don't understand our purpose. We want there to be life on the planet for millennia to come, but with overpopulation like this it will never happen. Sure, I understand that parents can't make the hard but right decision... but we can help. Even if they don't know it. The only difference between children and adults is that they haven't created so much waste." At the mention of Frankie, Nigel grins broadly.

"And Frankie is just the perfect person for the job. Other than us, of course, I certainly don't think she has the stomach for this kind of groundwork... but she’s very, very good with animatronics. She sees them as much more than just machines... and we both know he's right, don't we?"

“W-what do you mean? What are they if not just machines?” Dave trembles.

Nigel spread his arms.

"We don't know exactly! Hahaha! Something completely new and wonderful! A new life form that understands us, is partly of us, but more than us! And unlike us, it doesn't want to eat up the whole planet!”

The cult, like most cults on the planet, can seduce a wide variety of people, some for this, some for that. In Nigel's case, the lust for power and a high level of misanthropy was their hook. Through Vanny, Afton had the perfect answer to every question. They may not have been telling the truth, but Nigel believed them completely...

“And if there are only animatronics on this planet, how many new nuclear power plants do you think will have to be built? Nigel, that's not the solution to our survival... animatronics are just... they're causing problems in the ecosystem in other ways.” Dave rebuts. “What if one of them finds out? What if they ask you questions?”

“Daaave.” Nigel laughed. “You're missing the bigger picture. Say, for example, how long can Sun and Moon last without oxygen?”

“And how long can you last without oxygen if they find out?” 

“You have questions and doubts, which I understand, of course, but you get bogged down in the trivial little things. The ones we have here are not yet complete. I can still stop any of them if I want to. The ones I can't, well... then they can do much more than me, right?”

Dave squeezed Nigel’s arm where Moon had earlier hurt it.

“And what do you think this is a sign of?”

Nigel grunted at this, but endured the pain. He began to feel that it was time to ask Vanny if Dave could have an accident at work. He talks more than he works, and increasingly doubts that he can really be compensated. But of course, until he gets permission, he's not giving up, just in case...

“I had to test how far they could go. This - he pats on his wound - is a GOOD sign of Moon, even if you don't understand it. It shows they are getting closer to being ready.”

Dave's face then smoothes out completely, but pales in shades.

"You're... specifically programming them to kill people. To help Him clean up the planet?”

Nigel waved his hand.

“Please. Killing people isn't the main purpose, it's just a tool. The main purpose is their freedom, and yes, cleaning up the planet. You're worried about the ecosystem, but you know that Monty, for example, can take better care of the plants than the whole crew here.”

"Then why do you want to punish them for it?” he pointed to Nigel’s arm.

"I don't understand why there's all this dancing around."

"Ah, so that's what you're stuck on? Understandable, when I think about it. Right... If they were just machines, I'd tamper with their programming to prevent a repeat of the incident. But they're already much more than that, as Moon's aggressive outburst proved. By educating them, I'm educating them to the real consequences. On the one hand... and don't tell anyone this... on the one hand, it will give me as much satisfaction as putting a man in his place. On the other hand, objectively? If they learn to fear the consequences, they'll be smarter and more clever next time."

Not that it matters if Dave want to tell anyone. The only one who would believe him is Vanny, who is aware of it... anyone else would just send the guy to the rubber room.

And Dave knew that no one would believe him... That's why he can't run away...

“Let's just... keep working.”

[esamastation]

Cody kind of finds out that Obi-wan is touch-starved and gets creative to find reasons to lean against/hug the man. Once that gets familiar, they just start to slide into a relationship

Cody doesn't really think anything about the first time it happens. 

It's been a long day and they're all tired, even the General who can usually keep going on trice as long as anyone else is sagging where he's sitting. Cody had gone to him to pass the freshly tallied inventory, how much ammunition and equipment they had left, how many weapons, how much food.

They'd been in a canyon then, the space was limited – the AT-TE took most of it. So they'd been crowded around the edges of the canyon, taking cover under and behind any rocky formation they could. To keep their discussion somewhat private among the troopers, Cody had been standing closer to the General than usual, right next to him, all but leaning over him as the General sat on a rock and perused the datapad. And as they talked the General had begun to… very slowly, very subtly…

…lean against Cody's thigh.

Cody chalked it up as the General being exhausted, which was proven correct by the fact that the man later went to sleep without his customary meditation. He didn't think much of it after that – even if the weight against his plastoid armour had been a strangely pleasant one at the time and Cody had very vehemently not minded it.

But then, some days later, it happens again. Not precisely that exact thing, but something similar. It's after a skirmish in the canyons – they've won a little more ground and set up a secure perimeter, and they're having a meal. There are no tables, no chairs, so the men are scattered around sitting on rocks, and so is General Kenobi too – and so is Cody. They're sharing the same rock, even – which is a weird sort of humble honour, all things considered. His rank as Marshal Commander earns him the right to share a rock with their General. Now that's privilege.

Cody had been wondering if he should share the thought, not entirely sure why he finds it amusing, when behind him General Kenobi shifts a little, trying to find a better purchase on their privileged rock. There's a clack of armour against armour, as their backs touch, and it brings Cody out of his thoughts.

"Well," General Kenobi says. "Here's to the nobility of war."

"Sir?" Cody asks, tilting his head to look at him over his shoulder.

The General hums with wry amusement. "I was just thinking of all those advertisements we did, about what honour it is to serve the republic, about the great duty we were embarking upon, how glorious. Here we are, all sharing rocks," he chuckles and glances at Cody in turn. "Truly, we have attained greatness here."

Cody snorts, not sure if he gets the joke or not. "I was just thinking something like that, sir," he admits. "About how rank allows us a shared rock. What a privilege it is."

Kenobi snorts into his rations. "It has indeed been a privilege to share a rock with you, Commander."

Stars, they're probably both sleep deprived, Cody thinks with rueful amusement, and then he notices it – the weight pressing against his back plate. Kenobi is leaning against him, just a little.

Once it's a chance, twice…

Hm.

Cody tests it, a day or so later. They're trenched in the canyons now, setting up a line – and it looks terribly like they'll be stuck there until air support could get to them. While the troopers set up defences, Cody talks tactics with the General and stands a little closer than necessary to him, offering without words his side to the man. And again, eventually, Kenobi ends up just barely leaning towards him.

It's a weird sort of thrill, to have noticed it and now that he has, Cody can't help but test it. he thinks of all the times he'd had to physically catch the Generals attention, to draw him away from whatever he was feeling with the Force, thinking of how he reacted every time…

Cody spots the General, sitting near a set of ladders set to the canyon walls, and walks over to him – careful to make his approach quiet and unnoticeable, though not obviously so. Used to men moving all around him, General Kenobi doesn't look up, keeping his eyes on the datapad. Cody could call for his attention verbally but…

He puts his hand on the General's shoulder instead, applying enough weight for it to be felt through the armour – and then he watches as an immediate reaction runs through the man. He sits up straighter, his shoulder pushing against Cody's hand, and tenses completely, and then relaxes immediately after. "Cody," he says, turning.

"Looks like there will be a sand storm, sir," Cody says, his mouth suddenly, confusingly dry. "You should get to a tent."

"Ah," the General says, blinking. "Yes, of course – thank you, commander."

There is no stopping it afterwards – Cody has caught a glimpse of something in the General now, and he wants to see it more. So, he… pushes on.

In the following days he gets the General to lean against his side on four different occasions. He sees the stop, tense, relax reaction twice, once when he touches the man's shoulder again, once when he puts a hand on the man's back. The greatest reaction he gets is when his hand slips from the plastoid gauntlet to grip on the General's elbow instead, gloved fingers slipping where the armour doesn't cover. He can feel the bones of the General's elbow through his gloves and through the man's clothing, and then he notices the reaction.

The General swallows, blinking, staring at nothing for a moment – it takes him a moment to catch himself, but the break in his usual character is so obvious that Cody's heart begins to pound. For a moment, the General was held, utterly stalled, by Cody's fingers on his elbow.

Then the moment is over and they're planning on where to put the guns.

There's no stopping it afterwards – Cody couldn't have stopped if he wanted to, and he doesn't particularly want to. It's – he's flirting with the regs, he knows that, this sort of thing could get him reprimanded or demoted or worse – but Kenobi never makes any motion or allusion to any of the sort. Cody isn't sure the man has even noticed. So, Cody pushes on.

He takes every opportunity, every bit of privacy, to touch. He's careful about it, he's neither stupid nor willing to put his own or the General's reputation on the line. But behind cover, in the man's tent, at meal times… he will find some excuse to touch. Hand on shoulder, tap on arm, shoulder pressed against shoulder as they sit side by side to share a meal – he gets creative when he has to. Once, he gets his boot to rest against Kenobi's for nearly half an hour, and he's absolutely certain Kenobi feels it.

Something changes somewhere along the way. Kenobi's reaction never stops being gratifying in a weirdly heartbreaking way, but eventually he stops being surprised by it. At first Cody is worried the man noticed, that he's – aware of what Cody is doing. But there's no words, no reprimand, Kenobi doesn't so much as give him a knowing look. But somewhere along the way, he stops being surprised.

He gets used to it. Cody thinks he might even on some subconscious level start expecting it. Every time Cody gets close enough to touch, Kenobi expects him to. And so Cody does, with increasing thrill and something like hope, that maybe, maybe something impossible might be possible and then…

Then their campaign in the canyons end. The planet is theirs, the Separatists surrender it to their rule, and the 212th is recalled to space. And along with the crowded canyons and sand storms and convenient moments in privacy… go with all the excuses to get too close.

Cody tries not to be disappointed, tries not to regret it. The whole campaign had been a dredge from start to finish and he's by far not the only one looking forward to regular chances to use freshers and cleaners. But he's disappointed anyway.

He swallows it and goes back to work, filling in requisition forms by the dozen to replenish the gear they lost, the ammunition they spent – the men they lost.

"Ah, there you are," Kenobi says, seeing him in one of the offices. "No, don't get up," he waves as Cody moves to stand to greet him. "Stars know we've all earned the right to use chairs for once. Are you done with requisitions?"

"Almost, sir," Cody agrees, resting his elbow on the backrest of the chair to look at him. "Do you have any additions?"

"Some, yes," Kenobi says and comes to his side, to his personal space, pressing against his back. "Can I see?"

"Of course, sir," Cody says, even as his body feels like it's suddenly been dunked into a hot pool of water, and lifts the datapad for the General to look. Kenobi leans over his shoulder a little, reaching one hand to flick through the forms.

His other hand finds itself on Cody's shoulder, resting on his pauldron, pressing down.

For a moment Cody just sits there, frozen, holding the data pad and barely breathing.

And then he forces himself to relax and very carefully, very subtly, and lets himself lean back against the man. It feels like connecting a broken wire, restarting a stalled engine, and Cody thinks that's it and is more than satisfied by that. Maybe, even outside the trenches, they can have… something he doesn't dare to name, and but leans towards anyway. It would need to be careful, a thing of stolen moments with no shared words, but maybe it could happen, maybe he wouldn't get into trouble for wanting it, maybe…

"What do you say to more air support?" Kenobi says. "As much as I enjoyed the canyons, I would rather not get our men trenched so easily again."

"I wouldn't say no," Cody says. "But I think it might be a little too much to hope, sir. Ours is an Attack Battalion, after all. We're made for ground assaults."

The General sighs and leans back a little, thinking. "That is true, I suppose. One can hope, though, no?"

Then Kenobi's bare fingers wander over his pauldron to his neck, and to bare skin, to simply rest there, his thumb brushing against the closely cropped hairline, and Cody thinks he might be in trouble after all.

[echos-newlegs]

Can I request 8 from the list with Tech?

Stop Thinking

Ahh yes!

Tech x Reader: "No, no- I liked it."

Warnings: slight cursing

Tech licked his lips. Squinting with furrowed brows as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was feeling self conscious about himself, and it didn't help you and the others decided to head for 79s. A place full of regs.. Normal clones. Perfect clones. Clones you seemed to get along with as well as you got along with him and his brothers.

"Tech, you about ready?" Your voice called from outside the door, and he felt his breath catch. "I uh, yeah, one second." He called back. Running his fingers through his hair one last time. Then slipping out of the fresher. None of you were dressed fancy. You all had your blacks on and lower armor still attached. The others already waiting outside while you stayed back for Tech.

He looked over to you. You were seated on a chair. Fixing your boots, then straightening up when you saw him trail out. "You feeling okay?" You asked. Looking at his slightly distressed form. Hands trembling a bit. "Yeah, I'm fine." You frowned. You knew he wasn't, but you didn't try and press it.

You stood up, looking up to the taller male with a small smile. "Ready then?" He nodded. You opening the door and heading out of the Marauder. Closing the door behind the two of you. He was quieter than normal as the two of you trailing behind his brothers as they bickered and rambled.

You were concerned to say the least. "It's really nice tonight, " you tried to start a conversation and he looked over. Nodding a bit. He was thankful you were trying. His mind was wandering, degrading every little thing about himself. "It really is, the stars are beautifully aligned, too." He commented, and you smiled. Looking up as the five of you went to get a cab.

You and Tech had to take a separate one. The ride was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. You were relaxed and he felt a little better just with you. You never once treated him differently for being defective. You treated him with the same respect you did other clones. If anything, you were a bit nicer to him than most. Always holding conversations, smiling his way, or going out of your way to help him. It always made his day a little brighter. Especially on days like these.

"You gunna dance with me?" You asked as you both approached 79's. You've only danced with him once. It was when you were both pretty buzzed, he was actually drunker than you. Which was a shock, but you never forgot it. It was one of the best nights of your life, and by the way he smiled fondly and his cheeks tinted pink. You were sure he at least remembered a bit of it. "Sure," you giggled a bit at that.

You walked out of the cab. Tech waiting for you to catch up with him. Two of you walking in to see the rest of the gang towards the back where they normally sat. You were going to head back there, but was stopped by the 104th. "Y/n!" Comet and Sinker nearly screamed as they ran over to you. Making you smile and snicker. Giving Tech a small glance as if to say you would join him in a bit. It didn’t take him long to disband from your side and head for the others.

You could practically feel who you assumed was Crosshair glaring daggers into the back of your skull for the five minutes you were talking to the troopers. You were just catching up, it was harmless. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Sorry, I’m back,” you spoke with a small laugh as you sat at the booth the bad batch took over as theirs. “Welcome!” Wrecker chirped. Shoving you lightly with a snicker, and you snickered back. Eyes moving to Hunter and Crosshairs. “What..?” You spoke with a bit of a frown. “Why were you talking to them?” Cross spat, and you sighed. “Cross, I used to work for the 104th, I’m not about to ignore them. How’d you feel if I got assigned another troop and I just straight up ignored you guys?” You spat back. You noticed Hunters expression changed. He seemed to change his view point on it all, but Crosshair just scoffed.

“We should just enjoy our drinks-“ “Can it, Tech,” Cross sneered, and his eyes moved back to yours. Leaning over the table, but you didn’t back up. “They’re regs, we don’t talk to them, what part of that do you not understand?” It was your turn to lean in now. Furrowing your brow. “What part of you don’t run my life do you not understand?” You snarled. Smacking your hands on the table and standing.

“Wait, where are you going?” Wrecker asked, and you didn’t even turn to answer. “The bar.” Tech sat there and sighed. Head in hands. “They mean no harm and you know it,” “Tech we know as good as you that you feel insecure when she talks with the Regs.” Tech snapped his attention to his brother. Frown forming on his face. Nostrils flaring, “You don’t know bantha shit,” he snapped, and headed off to the bar as well.

It was nights like these he wished he was normal. Kriff, he loved his brothers, but their attitudes were always too stern and glum. He needed change, so he decided to accompany you at the bar with Comet, Sinker, Boost, Wolffe, and a few other troopers.

You noticed him approaching, smiling, but then frowning a bit. “If you came to drag me back to the table I won’t. I’m not letting Crosshairs petty attitude ruin my night.” He shook his head, fingers fiddling with the armor on his thighs. “No, I came to join you, actually.” Your smiled returned. Shoving Comet with a grin. “Move over, Tech sits by me!” Comet grumbled a bit, but did as told. “Yes, Sir,” he spoke and you rolled your eyes with a toothy grin.

“Alright Tech, this is Comet, Sinker, and Boost, that over there is Wolffe.” Everyone but Wolffe waved. “Don’t let him scare you off, he’s actually quite enjoyable.” You informed Tech with a grin. Shooting Wolffe a wink, which made the commander roll his eyes. Lips curled just shy of a smile. “Everyone, this is Tech, a good friend of mine.” He knew it shouldn’t, but you addressing him as a friend and not a coworker made his chest bubble with joy. Smiling as the others waved and welcomed him.

You, Tech, and The Wolfpack all participated in some drinking games with one another. One of them was ‘take a shot each time you could make Wolffe roll his eyes, two if he rolled his head and eyes.’ Though after some time you all moved to a different one since the buzz was hitting and Sinker was singing ‘Sweet Caroline,’ in a near scream.

You were laughing and enjoying yourself, and Tech spent most of the time looking over and studying your face. The way your nose scrunched up when you scolded one of the troopers, jokingly. The way your eyes nearly closed when you were laughing at a joke. Or even just the way your smile never seemed to faulter. This is what he wanted. He wanted an environment like this. One with you happy constantly. Where you weren’t scolding his brothers for something stupid. Or even himself. He began to wonder if you should transfer back to the 104th, or another legion in general.

His thoughts got the best of him again. Zoning out as he played with an empty shot glass on the counter. Coming back to when you nudged his side. “Hm?” “You good, Tech?” You asked, and his eyes widened. Realizing he was zoned out. He nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah uh, yeah I’m fine. I just uhm.. need some air, is all.” He spoke, turning in the chair and heading off to the doors. You weren’t about to let this slide any longer.

You jumped off your stool, heading for the door with him. Catching it before it closed. The music still able to be heard outside the door once shut. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, watching him turn around with a near hurt expression. “Don’t lie, either, I know you aren’t okay, I’ve been working around you long enough to know that.” You spoke. Approaching him a bit closer. You watched as he caved in. You could see it by the way he seemed to slump forward. His light eyes seeming to shatter. Worrying at his bottom lip.

“Y/n?..” he spoke, and you tilted your head a bit. “What is it, Techy?” You didn’t use that nickname on him much. Mainly only for your ears to hear. You weren’t sure of it at first, but he seemed to take a liking to it. Tech closing his eyes and sighing at the nickname. Then slowly opening them again. “I don’t think you belong with us.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows. He could tell his words hurt you, and he knew they would. “What?” Your voice wavered a bit. “I don’t mean it in anything against you, Kriff. You’re absolutely perfect, but you just seem so much happier with the 104th.” He told you. “I want what’s best for you, and well,” he chuckled, beginning to pace in front of you. “Quite honestly we aren’t the best. We’re stubborn, hard to work with, and quite un-enjoyable half the times.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “And you think the Wolfpack is any better? Did you see Wolffe? His scold is worse than Hunter and Crosshairs combined, and he holds a grudge as long, and if not longer than all of you. Then Sinker? Boost? Comet? For stars sake they’re a handful, they’re crazy, and chaotic, and Tech. What I’m trying to say is every clone unit has its flaws. No matter what. Whether it be the commander, Captain, General, Arc Trooper, whoever. There’s flaws in everyone.” You told him.

He stopped his pacing. Watching you as you told your spew, “and honestly, Tech. You aren’t in the authority to tell me what is good for me. I enjoy you all, even if I disagree with you all at times. I don’t expect a perfect troop. We’re in a war for makers sake,” you spoke, and noticed him shift at the mention of the war. “I enjoy all of you. Tech.. I enjoy you.” His eyes lit up at that. Then he looked back down.

“I’m not like them though, I’m blind, I can’t see without.. Without these,” he tapped his goggles. “I’m tan, sure, but I’m lighter than even my brothers and.. I stand out, and I hate it, y/n,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I feel like I’m not good enough,” your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at his words. Stepping closer. Pausing when he seemed to tense. Reaching out to place your hands on his shoulders as if to ground him as you looked up to him.

You just stood there, watching his eyes look over yours for a moment. Searching for an answer, like he always was. “Tech, stop thinking.” He furrowed his brow. “You’re overthinking all of this, you’re good enough, in my eyes you are.” You told him. Watching as he seemed to relax under your touch. Hands running up to rest on the sides of his neck. Thumbs rubbing his exposed skin. Making him shudder. “I don’t care if you’re different,or that you need glasses. Tech, you’re absolutely perfect to me. You’re brilliant, handsome, and a fucking badass.” You both snickered at that. Techs fingers tapping at his thighs.

“Thank you,” you smiled and nodded. “‘Course.” The both of you standing there for a second. Taking in the moment and the touch of one another. Then you made a move that you immediately blamed on the booze. Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and he froze up. Eyes widening. “Sorry I-“ you blurted, taking a step back. Pulling your hands from the base of his neck, but he caught them with his. His hands carefully holding yours. “No no- I liked it,” he assured, and you both smiled. Cheeks tinted pink. “Well..” you hummed, “you still up for that dance?” He chuckled and nodded. “Always.”

[crab-instruments]

Dust in the Wind Part 1 (tbb)

Master Part 2>

Pairing: Hunter x Reader

Rating and warning: General audience, not much happens (yet)

Words: 597

a/n: hello, I’ve never written a fic before, but I’ve had ideas. This is the first time I’m trying to. If it works out, this will be a Hunter fic, slow burn, multipart mess. It’ll be based much after the events of episode 12, since that’s the time of writing, not connected to the show. I don’t know what I’m doing, I just have an idea and a need to push it out there, and possibly make some other readers, like myself, happy there is more content to consume. It’s not beta-read. I thought that maybe if I wrote and posted it, I’d get it out. Nothing happens here. It’s just an intro. Holy Kenobi, what am I doing?

You clutch your backpack close to your stomach as you run, unable to have put in on fast enough. You push past people on the street, rounding a corner, finding a landing dock. You look behind you, catching a glimpse at your chasers before disappearing from their view. You hoped you had more time here, just starting to get used to the area, kriff, you even had a favorite stall to buy fruit from.

However, now wasn’t the time for worrying about that. You needed a place to hide.

The lot was empty of people, only ships and crates. Your footsteps echoed as you frantically weaved through the ships. One ship, a ship that certainly looked like it had seen its fair share of battles, had the loading ramp down. Bingo.

A quick look showed no one was in your immediate area to see you slip into the ship. Standing in the main hold of the ship, you quickly found an area to hide in, the refresher. You quickly ran in and shut the door. The grip on your backpack was tight, showing the whites of your knuckles. You push your back against the wall, sliding down to your knees.

I’m safe… for now. Breathing felt hard, but you closed your eyes and focused on keeping quiet. You listened real hard for the sounds of footfalls. After a few moments, you heard what you were listening for, fast and heavy, but the voice that followed wasn’t the one you expected.

“Tech, get us out of here, fast! We are being followed!”

By the amount of footsteps, you could tell there was more than 3 people jumping on the ship. It rocked, knocking you out of your cocoon. Shots were fired. The ship climbed in altitude and your life on this planet seemed to come to end as your immediate options were slowly dwindling.

This wasn’t what I planned to do today...

“Jumping to hyperspace!”

Your body lurched to the side. Your arms flew out to find purchase on something and your right arm slammed into the wall behind you.

Oops

When things seemed to settle, the realization that you are a stowaway on a ship that you don’t know the crew of sets in. How do you even begin to explain your situation? They seemed to be running away from less than stellar circumstances, what if they aren’t understanding of your situation?

Your eyes shot to the door as you heard muffled voices outside and footsteps came closer. Your presence was known.

First impressions are everything. Do you go out swinging? Do you beg for your life?

The door slip open with a hiss, with 3 men with dark gray and red accented trooper armor looked at you. The man in front had longer hair held out of his face with a red bandana. The two others seemed to fade back as you stared in his eyes, frozen, like a lothcat in a speeder’s headlights.

His face seemed to softened from the surprise, seemingly coming back to the situation.

“Boys, step back, I’ll handle this.”

He stepped forward and shut the door.

Your mind raced. It felt like the thoughts in your head spun like a wheel in one of the game holoshows you saw, not slowing down on a next move.

The man in front of you kneeled to get to your eye level, let a breath out, and looked at you with the most beautiful of eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you but what are you doing, sitting on the floor in our ‘fresher?”

What a good question.

Part 2

[tennessoui]

obikin 28,11 :3

kit to kit: oh, 28, knocking on the wrong door, that can be a cute modern quirky au

kit to kit: yeah totally sure !!! you know what it could also be? 4.2k of dark canon AU that is dub con due to identity issues that definitely ends with anakin tied to a bed with future plans of stockholm syndroming him!!!

(so read at your own risk here this is definitely on the darker side of these prompt fills)

28. Knocking On The Wrong Right Wrong Door AU (4.2k)

The storm’s picked up to dangerous levels by the time Anakin and his padawan have picked their way out of the smoking rubble of their ship and made it into the nearby town.

“Think of it this way!” Anakin yells over the howl of the wind. “The rain’ll put out the rest of the fire!”

The look Ahsoka gives him is cold enough to freeze the rain that’s pelting down on them.

“I hope Master Windu grounds you for destroying another one of the Temple’s ships,” she snips at him, looking deeply unimpressed with his dramatic expression of hurt and betrayal.

“No one keeps count of that stuff, Snips,” Anakin grins. “And anyway, if I get grounded, you’d definitely be grounded with me. As my Padawan.”

“I’d be promoted, actually. They’d knight me on the spot the first time I come back with all my ships intact.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to shake him to his bones and a seriously bright flash of lightning that connects with a wind-swept tree next to them.

“Shelter!” Anakin yells over the renewed rain. “Come on, Ahsoka!”

The town is small, but there has to be some sort of hotel or lodge or--

“We don’t have any credits, Master!” Ahsoka cries, running after him.

She’s right. All their funds were in their ship, and neither of them had thought to grab them.

Kriff it all.

He changes course as soon as they get to the outskirts of the village.

He pounds on the door of the first cottage they come across. Either no one’s in or they’re particularly unfriendly, because the door stays firmly shut.

He hits the wood harder, setting up a constant rhythm. In a second, they’ll run to the next house, but there’s something about this place that feels right. Surely if only Anakin could knock loud enough to be heard over the storm--

The door cracks open and warm yellow light spills out over the doorstep.

“What?” The man asks stiffly. Anakin can only see a sliver of his face--one blue eye, dark red hair, and a beard.

“Good evening,” Anakin says, putting on his best Jedi voice. “I am seeking shelter from the storm for myself and my companion. We--”

“There’s an inn next to the school in town. Goodnight.”

Anakin wedges his foot in just before the man can close the door. “Please sir, we don’t have any credits--”

“Unfortunate. Goodnight.”

“Please, sir. My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a General in the War. Shelter us tonight and the Jedi Order will see you repaid in full!”

The man pauses and looks him up and down slowly. The door opens a little wider. “Skywalker?” He asks, sounding suspicious.

Anakin nods eagerly. He doesn’t particularly like dropping his name like that, especially not on strange planets, but he needs to get his Padawan out of the storm. “Anakin, yes. We won’t hurt you or anything, sir. I swear.”

“Come on, Anakin,” Ahsoka says from behind him. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Someone else will let us in.”

The man tears his gaze away from Anakin, the first time he’s done so this entire time, and looks over Ahsoka as well. He opens the door even farther. “I’ll let you in,” he decides and Anakin has to fight the loud sigh of relief. “But I would like you to give me your weapons for the night, please.”

The man looks back to Anakin with a smile. It changes the lines of his face, softens them until the man looks pleasant instead of harsh. He has a nice smile. He has a really, really nice smile.

“No--” Ahsoka starts to say, sounding offended, but Anakin, still dazed by the flash of the man’s teeth, is already saying, “Yeah, of course. Here you go,” and giving his lightsaber to the man as soon as he opens the door all the way.

“Thank you, Anakin,” the man replies with another one of those smiles. Anakin can feel his face heat up at the way his name sounds rolling off this man’s tongue. “And thank you, young one,” he says when Ahsoka reluctantly thrusts her own lightsabers towards him.

“I’m not young,” Ahsoka takes great offense and the man looks apologetic.

“‘Soka,” Anakin reprimands immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

She stares at him in astonishment. He doesn’t tend to correct her that harshly, even when she’s been snippier to foreign dignitaries. But the man doesn’t deserve an attitude from either of them. He’s letting them stay in his house! He’s gorgeous! He’s going to house them out of his own generosity for the night! He’s very, very fit!

“The sitting room is just down the hall and to the right,” the man says, with a tilt of his head. Anakin obediently pulls Ahsoka along. “I’ll just go grab you some dry clothes to change into.”

Behind him he hears the man lock the door. That’s good. Safety is important and he obviously seems a little paranoid. It’s now Anakin’s full time mission to make sure the man knows he can trust him. Them.

Them.

“I have a really bad feeling about this, Anakin,” Ahsoka hisses as he practically shoves her down the hallway and into the sitting room, which looks nice and cozy. There’s a couch and everything, with a Holo projector balanced on an old looking low table.

“I’m feeling much better about this than about our odds in that storm,” Anakin argues back in an undertone. There are footsteps above them, so the man’s bedroom must be on the second floor. Anakin wonders what it looks like, and Ahsoka seems to catch on with where his thoughts are because she hits him on the shoulder.

“You’d know what I’m talking about if you were thinking with your brain instead of your lightsaber, Master.”

He opens his mouth to tell her how rude that is and also how very wrong, as Anakin can think with both, thank you very much, but the man appears in the room with them before he has a chance to.

“They won’t fit, obviously,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as if he’s embarrassed to have surprise guests in his house and not have their correct sizes in his closet. “But anything’s better than what you’re wearing now, I thought.”

“Yeah!” Anakin says eagerly. Ahsoka gives him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms. “I mean,” he coughs. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

The redhead gifts Anakin another one of his smiles. This one makes his blue eyes crinkle, which just might end up being his cause of death. Enshrine him in the Jedi Temple and at the plaque on his fee put “Here Lies Anakin Skywalker: Dead Because An Attractive Stranger Treated Him With Human Decency”.

His padawan rolls her eyes and takes her proffered stack of clothes. The man shows her where the fresher is and she stalks into it.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologizes immediately when the man turns to look at him with a lost look. “She’s just mad at me for crashing our ship. We were flying fine one minute and the next we have to make this emergency landing that turns out to be a bit--hard on the landing. And….you didn’t ask, did you? Kark. Sorry.”

The man smiles again with an amused shake of his head. “It’s alright, Anakin, I was wondering anyway.” He holds out the clothes for Anakin to change into and Anakin grabs them because it’s something to do that isn’t keel over from embarrassment.

Or, of course, kneel down to show this stranger how much he appreciates his kindness.

Anakin wills that thought--and it’s gorgeous mental image--away. He just hasn’t had sex in a while, not since he and Padme had gotten divorced. Usually, he needs that intimate connection with someone before he even thinks about sex, but maybe when he’s too horny it doesn’t matter anymore? Because he doesn’t even know this man’s name, but when their hands brush as he receives the stack of clothes, he feels as though the lightning from outside is shooting down his spine.

“Um.” He says, like the intelligent war general he is.

Has the man moved closer? Are his eyes dark or is it just the lighting? Is he interested in men? Is he interested in Anakin? Also, what is his kriffing name?

Anakin glances down at the clothes, preparing to ask at least one of those questions, before he realizes something. “There’s no shirt here?” He asks instead of anything much more pressing.

The man’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Oh, blast,” he mumbles, already turning to leave. “I’ll go grab you one, I’m sorry, I knew I forgot something.”

Anakin finds himself feeling hopelessly endeared by the man’s awkward flailing. He wonders if he’s managed to fluster the man. The idea feels amazing in his mind.

Grinning to himself, he starts shucking off his wet clothes. He can at least change into the pants while he waits for the man to come back, and if his timing is right---

He’s tying the loose pants tight around his waist when he hears footsteps in the hall.

Yes.

He turns around, shirtless, to glance at the man in the doorway, who’s stopped to stare at Anakin.

Anakin tries not to preen too obviously. Jedi training has done ridiculous things to the muscles of his back and chest, and he wants the man to look. To appreciate. To want.

And the man looks like he does. The man looks like he wants a lot.

There’s something dark and dangerous and wild and unrestrained in those eyes. Anakin wants closer.

He drops his shoulder and turns to face the man completely, letting him look his full. His gaze feels like a brand on every part of Anakin it touches. His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt he’s holding when Anakin stretches his arms above his head as he yawns in a pathetically fake manner.

The man takes a couple of steps forward and Anakin stills in anticipation. He had thought he’d looked beautiful smiling, but this--this naked, dangerous want for Anakin that clouds his face--is so much more attractive. It would take one word from the man and he’d be on his knees. His back. His front. He’s not picky, he’s too busy feeling like his whole body is a live wire.

The door opens and Ahsoka’s deeply unimpressed tone effectively snaps the tension in the room. “What are you doing.”

“Getting dressed!” Anakin yelps, taking the shirt the man extends to him and putting it on immediately.

The man sends Ahsoka an unreadable but dark look before blinking a few times and smiling at her. Whatever had been on his face is gone and Anakin can’t help but think that he must have imagined it.

“Please, sit. Are you hungry?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. “Fixing you two a meal would be the least I can do for the galaxy’s heroes.”

Anakin flushes and preens as he follows the direction, the man’s praise wrapping like a warm blanket around his mind.

Ahsoka is less taken in, even as she settles in on the couch next to Anakin. “You could tell us your name,” she says, arms crossed. The look is ruined by the way the gray tunic the man has given to her is big enough to fall off one of her shoulders.

The man freezes for a second, barely noticeable if Anakin was not watching him as intently as he is. Then the stranger’s shoulders droop for a second and he looks so sad that actually Anakin doesn’t care if he never learns the man’s name. He’ll call him Dear for the rest of his life.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man eventually murmurs, sitting delicately on the arm of the comfortable looking chair and giving them a half-sort of smile. “At your service.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow at the name that feels like it should be familiar. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. It’s pretty. He likes it.

Ahsoka jumps to her feet. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” she says and turns to Anakin as if that’s supposed to mean something to him. He blinks up at her in confusion. “You’re the Jedi that Fell after Qui-Gon Jinn died!”

Anakin rises immediately, brain trying to process this new information. Yes. Yeah. Obi-Wan Kenobi. They’d met. They’d met on Tatooine. Kenobi had been Qui-Gon’s padawan. He’d killed Maul after Maul killed Qui-Gon. And then...he’d left the Order. Anakin had been assigned another Master. He’d forgotten all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I didn’t Fall,” Obi-Wan Kenobi corrects from his place on the chair. “Please, sit down.”

“You left the Order with Dooku!” Ahsoka accuses. “And you’re trying to tell me you didn’t Fall?”

Anakin’s hand goes to his belt automatically, but he doesn’t have his lightsaber. He’d given it to Obi-Wan.

“Look at my eyes, young one,” Obi-Wan demands in a cold tone. “Are they Sith-gold?”

Anakin hesitates. Obi-Wan has a point. His eyes are blue. And surely they’d know if there was another Sith afoot in the galaxy. Sith don’t like keeping quiet about themselves, from everything Anakin’s learned about them.

“You’re old enough to know how to hide that,” Ahsoka challenges immediately, which makes Obi-Wan wince.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He asks with a forced laugh. Then he looks at Anakin, and his face turns pleading. “Anakin,” he says gently, slowly, Ah-na-kin, “I’m not lying. Please believe me. I--I didn’t leave the Order to join the Sith. I left because they wouldn’t allow me to train you, Anakin.”

Anakin feels like the shipwreck from an hour ago caused less whiplash than these few sentences. “Me?”

“Qui-Gon begged me to train you as he lay dying in my arms,” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches and his face looks sad again. He closes his eyes as if to ward off the memory and when he opens them again they look wet. “When they wouldn’t allow me to, I realized there was nothing in the Order left for me. Dooku, my master’s master, came to me and asked me to leave with him. I had no idea that he would Fall. As soon as I realized what he had become, I ran. That’s why I’m here, Anakin. Please believe me. I have no involvement in the war, on either side.”

Force help him, but he does. He does believe him. He looks so honest, so heartbroken. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi? He can’t really say he remembers enough about what Kenobi had looked like all those years ago to know if the man in front of him could be an older version of the Padawan he’d met. He doesn’t actually remember anything about Kenobi, except--

“Hey, wait a second, you called me a pathetic lifeform!” Anakin says indignantly, a nine-year-old’s rage welling up in him at the memory.

Obi-Wan blinks at him and then bursts into laughter. It sounds like rocks, sliding into the ocean. Sith don’t laugh like that. He can’t imagine Ventress laughing like that. Or laughing at all, aside from a sinister chuckle.

Obi-Wan wipes the wetness from his eyes and grins at Anakin. “I’d forgotten about that,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Anakin pouts. “I was standing right there.”

“Making moon-eyes at Queen Amidala, yes,” Obi-Wan raises a sardonic eyebrow. “I thought you were sufficiently distracted. She was quite prettier.”

Anakin’s first instinct is to say, I’m prettier, but that’s not actually appropriate, and maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t agree with him anyway.

“Do you believe me, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asks, turning to her while Anakin is working on controlling his flushed face.

Anakin’s padawan is still standing, but looks unsure. “I...I don’t know.”

“Then we can talk more about it over a cup of tea,” Obi-Wan decides, standing up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

As he walks past the couch to get through a door that must lead to his kitchen, he brushes his hand along Anakin’s shoulder and neck.

Anakin would like to say he handles this touch with grace and aplomb as befitting a Jedi Knight, but the look Ahsoka gives him makes him feel much more like a pathetic lifeform than a Jedi Knight.

“We can trust him,” Anakin mutters to her. “I remember him.”

“It’s been years, Anakin,” Ahsoka mutters back. “Even if you remember everything he’s ever said to you, he could be a completely different person. He probably is.”

“It’s just a night, Snips,” he reasons. “And there’s no alternatives. And I think we can trust him.”

She hesitates for a second and then exhales. “Fine,” she agrees. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Anakin grins in response.

----

Halfway through tea, Ahsoka starts nodding off.

“Crash landing takes a lot out of anyone,” Obi-Wan says sympathetically with a wink at Anakin, who puffs up in indignation. Before he can say anything in defense of his very necessary landing, Obi-Wan has taken Ahsoka’s tea and put it gently on the table. “Come on, girl, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. I have a spare room.”

Ahsoka goes easily enough, in a way that makes Anakin feel bad for how short-tempered he’s been with her in the past few hours. He’s been stressed, she’s been stressed, but she’s just a youngling still. She’s probably been exhausted for so long now.

“Could you put our cups in the sink, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks as he leads the Togruta out of the sitting area.

Anakin complies immediately, carrying each mug like they’re something special and precious before dumping out the contents into the sink and filling each with water.

He thinks about washing them and putting them into cupboards, but he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to think that’s he’s rifling through his cupboards or anything, so he goes back to the living room to wait for him.

Obi-Wan returns just a few seconds later, smiling slightly to himself.

“What?” Anakin asks immediately. If there’s a joke that Obi-Wan finds funny, Anakin wants to hear it too.

“Just something Ahsoka said,” he replies, looking fondly down at Anakin.

Anakin’s feeling too persistent to be sidetracked by that though, so he raises both his eyebrows.

“That she’d skewer me on her lightsabers if I besmirched her master’s honor, no matter how much he asks for it,” Obi-Wan recalls with a perfectly straight face.

Anakin buries his blushing face in his hands instantly. “Force,” he mumbles.

Obi-Wan laughs again. It’s just as pretty as last time and it makes Anakin peek through his fingers.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan soothes. “I told her I thought I would be quite good at resisting any sort of begging from you.”

Anakin’s first thought is, of course, Want to bet?, but that’s hardly a thing to say to a near stranger. Even if he is very handsome and he has looked at you like you’re a feast and he’s a starving man just a few hours ago.

No, Anakin. Bad Anakin.

“So that’s me for the couch then, yeah?” He says in a totally normal and not at all high-pitched voice, standing so he can go fetch a blanket.

The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes freezes him where he is. They’re filled with that same dark want from before paired with a promise. “If you’d like,” Obi-Wan murmurs and then just to make sure there’s no confusion, he holds out his hand. “Or….”

Anakin doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s interlacing their fingers.

-----

When Anakin comes to, there’s light streaming in through the windows in Obi-Wan’s bedroom. He grumbles and tries to roll over.

He can’t.

Both of his arms have been securely tied over his head, and there’s a gag in his mouth.

Really, his first instinct should be panic and not a sort of sleepy arousal at what Obi-Wan plans to do with him like this.

But no. The panic doesn’t set in until he sees Obi-Wan by the window, deathstick held between his lips as he listens to a holocall.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, exhaling a line of smoke out the window before turning to look at Anakin. He nods his head in greeting, as if this is a normal scenario. “Yes, he’s just woken up.”

When he turns his head back to the window, the yellow of his eyes catch on the sunlight and gleam bright gold.

“The padawan has been dealt with,” Obi-Wan continues, which makes Anakin lose any sense of calm he still felt. He’s cut off from the Force so he can’t feel his bond with Ahsoka. Fear and fury wash through him equally at the thought of Obi-Wan, this Sith lord traitor and dirty liar, dealing with Ahsoka.

Oh Force, she’d been right. She’d been so right. Had she paid the cost for Anakin’s blindness?

“Yes, Master. Tell Sidious he can expect his Chosen One kneeling before him in chains as soon as he deposits the credits into my account. I’ve sent multiple pictures already as proof that Anakin Skywalker is alive and bound.”

Anakin tries to yell through the gag, but it’s ineffective and only causes Obi-Wan to look at him with an amused eyebrow raise. “And awake,” the Sith traitor purrs into the comm. “Must go now. Remember, Dooku. My credits.”

With that, he ends the comm and stubs out his deathstick with a flourish, walking around to stand at the foot of the bed with all the grace of a predator who knows its prey is well and truly cornered.

“Good morning, darling,” Obi-Wan croons. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

Anakin glowers at him. He’s never hated anyone more than he hates Obi-Wan Kenobi at this moment.

“Your padawan is safe,” Obi-Wan starts, sitting on the bed by Anakin’s midsection and tracing a hand down his bare chest. Anakin twitches away from him. “No, really,” the Sith promises in a soothing voice. “I drugged her last night of course, but you have to admit she looked like she needed a full night’s sleep.”

The tea. Force, the tea. If Anakin had thought to check the tea, or to follow Obi-Wan into the kitchen and watch him make it, they wouldn’t be here in this position. He wouldn’t be here in this specific position. Force.

“And this morning while you slept, I carried her out to my ship--or Dooku’s ship, I suppose--and put her on route to the Jedi Temple. She’ll arrive in a day or so, probably. I even gave her food and drink to survive comfortably until then. There’s no need to worry.”

Anakin tries to convey the level of disbelief he has for that statement in a single glare. Obi-Wan shrugs languidly, hand still touching his skin in a way he’d enjoyed last night. His body hasn’t gotten the notice that it shouldn’t enjoy Obi-Wan’s touch anymore, which is making this whole bound and gagged thing really awkward.

“Well, for her, I suppose.” Obi-Wan chuckles and pulls his hand away so he can light another deathstick. He takes a drag and then exhales. “I’ll even let you comm her. It’s actually quite important that you do. You see, I told her that I would kill you if she tried to come back here without first going to the Temple. She seemed to believe me.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, as if they’re sharing a joke at Ahsoka’s expense.

“Like I’d kill you,” Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, shaking his head and bringing the deathstick back to his mouth. “I told her I’d let you comm her the second she lands. Of course, she will be surrounded by Jedi masters, who will be very interested in hearing my proposed trade deal, even if she isn’t. I will give them the name of Darth Sidious, my master’s master. I will give them proof enough to end the war and have him arrested and tried for his crimes. And they will give me you.”

Anakin feels his eyes widen at the words. It’s so unexpected that even if he weren’t gagged, he wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say.

“It’s perfect, really,” Obi-Wan murmurs, a hand coming up to stroke through Anakin’s hair. “Sidious thinks he is about to get his hands on you, as that has been the plan for weeks now. He has paid good money for you, you know. I almost feel bad for deciding to break our agreement. But you just fell apart so beautifully under my hands last night, darling. How can I give you up?”

Anakin shivers as the memory of last night washes over his mind. He’s never felt more ashamed and yet still guiltily pleased with his performance. The praise he's getting. Force it feels good to be praised.

“So Sidious thinks he will get you, the Jedi will get Sidious, Ahsoka will probably get knighted, and you will be where you belong,” Obi-Wan blows out smoke and then leans down to grin into Anakin’s face. Anakin has to tell himself not to look away. Those yellow eyes are filled with a recognizable lust. It had been so attractive last night. It’s still attractive now, if he’s being completely honest. Force, what is wrong with him?

Obi-Wan’s hand leaves his hair to press delicately on a new bruise on his throat. “You will be with me.”

[s1st3r]

You Have No Idea (Hunter x Reader)

Warnings: Mention of blood and injuries.

Summary: A part 1? Hunter is smitten... :3

Author’s Note: I actually wrote this before I even knew about the Bad Batch series being released lol. Ok this isn’t fantastic but I wanted to share it with you guys to see what you think and if I should continue the story. It’s kinda slow and anti climactic soz. But I was thinking of making it maybe a multi chapter thing? Let me know what you think.

A loud bang and commotion just outside the Marauder had you and Crosshair racing to the entrance. The hull opened to reveal Hunter covered in mud and grime as well as an equally dirty Wrecker behind him; extended between the two, was a small makeshift stretcher.

Oh no. You stared wide eyed at the groaning Tech that rested atop the scrap canvas material as the two boys settled him gently on the floor. As soon as they were safely nestled in the hull, Hunter collapsed to the floor, resting his back against the nearest wall. His eyes flicked to you in exhaustion and you snapped from your daze.

“Cross, grab me some warm water and a cloth.” On your command, the sniper swiftly turned and made his way to the refresher as you stepped forward and knelt next to Tech.

“Wreck,” you called, as you efficiently assessed the wounded trooper.

“What can I do?” The big man turned to face you as he patiently waited for your instruction.

You marvelled at how much they trusted you now.

“Grab me the med kit from my quarters.” Before you had even finished your request, Wrecker was halfway down the ship, retrieving your pack.

Removing his chest plate and putting pressure on the chest wound that left Tech grappling for conscience, you briefly glanced at Hunter in concern as he stiffly shifted in his place.

A moment passed and both Cross and Wreck had placed your supplies to your side. You immediately got to work on cleaning and bandaging the wound.

Years of medical experience kicked in as you scanned the extent of the injury. Noting it wasn’t as bad as it looked, you made quick work of patching him up.

Wrecker, Crosshair and Hunter had been quiet as you worked. They had quickly learnt, when working with you, that you preferred silence when you were concentrating.

By the time you were done, the water had long since gone cold and was tainted a dark pink.

You sighed as you leant back to sit on your heels.

“He’ll be ok,” you breathed as Tech lay passed out before you. “There was no internal damage,” you report, “but he lost a lot of blood. He’ll need bed rest for the next couple of cycles.”

With a grunt of effort, you pushed yourself up from the ground and wiped a forearm across your forehead.

“Could um,” you sighed and tried again, “could you guys take him to his bunk?” With the adrenaline of the emergency gone, you felt smashed.

If that’s how I feel, these guys must be beat.

Carefully, the boys lifted Tech from the uncomfortable durasteel floor and made their way down the hall with Tech draped between them. As you watched them go, you saw Hunter flinch in your peripherals as he tried and failed to reposition himself.

Now your second patient.

“You’re hurt,” you state, already pulling out the appropriate instruments.

“I figured it could wait a bit,” Hunter mumbled as he let his head tip back to rest against the wall.

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff as you shuffle towards him. You felt the heat of a blush rise to your face as he smirked at you.

Fighting the ever-increasing blush, you set to work and lent forward to disconnect his chest plate. Now, with his top armour promptly removed, and his blacks peeled down to his waist, you chastised yourself as your thoughts wondered, and realigned your focus to the task at hand.

He looked so exhausted and, after running a quick scan, you realised that that might actually be his primary health concern.

You had noted a broken rib, bruises, strained muscles, but it seemed that the general wear and tear of mission after mission had finally caught up to him, causing extreme fatigue.

“Broken rib, couple of bruises and scratches,” you mutter as you move your hand over the expanse of his chest to evaluate. You could feel his gaze steady on you.

Hunter sucked in a sharp breath when you fixed the bone back in place without warning.

“Sorry,” you cringed.

He let out a breathy laugh, “no you’re not.”

“Nah I’m not,” you sarcastically agreed as you collected and reorganised your supplies.

Quickly, you rose to your feet, grabbing the bowl of bloodied water you had used for Tech and moved to replace the dirty water with warm, clean water.

You returned with the bowl and plopped beside the Sargent. Cautiously, you rinsed another clean cloth you had salvaged and proceeded to dab at the small cuts.

His forehead was still covered in dirt and mud, so you moved the cloth to gently wipe his face. At this, Hunter closed his eyes and sighed.

“You should get yourself cleaned up properly in the ‘fresher,” you suggest, scrunching your nose in exaggeration as you reluctantly pull away.

“Yes ma’am,” came the quick quip. You sat back and watched as the Sargent pushed himself to his feet and shuffled his way down to the refresher.

“And don’t forget to rest!” You call. You don’t know why you bother; you know he won’t listen to you even if he heard you.

As you hear his footsteps recede, you quietly sigh. You sit in the main hull alone, cleaning up the remaining mess.

***

Your gentle hand brushed over his chest as you scanned for injury. It’s strange how you knew so much about him. His biology, medical history, when his senses became too much. You could tell something about him was off from the other side of a starship cruiser just by a slight change in posture or tone.

Yet somehow, you had no idea what you could do to him.

Watching you work as you attended Tech’s wounds, he noted how calm and confident you moved. After a while of you joining the Bad Batch on various types of missions, he grew to trust and appreciate your skills as a medic. They all did.

Much like them, you were highly successful in your field. But only because your stubbornness determined that you were going to single handily ensure this war had no casualties. He knew the GAR was the closest thing to family you had in a long time, naturally, you would take any and every death personal.

It was your skill, intelligence, compassion, determination, and stubbornness that were qualities Hunter found increasingly irresistible. So, as he had observed your movements, he took the chance to admire you.

But when you attentively pressed the warm cloth to his forehead, he couldn’t help but sigh as he relaxed into your delicate touch. This was more than admiration for a fellow soldier. And you had no idea.

~ Sister

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[starlightrows]

In The Eye Of The Beholder

Chapter 3

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), mild anti-clone sentiments,

Summary: Commander Wolffe returns to Coruscant for a check in appointment for the study, and scores another date with you!

As time passes the irritated skin around the scar crossing Wolffe’s face begins to fade. He’s back on deployment now, somewhere in the galaxy leading his troops and carrying out orders. But he is still part of the study on the effectiveness of his prothesetic, he obviously can’t come in for case study updates in person, so instead he has scheduled holo calls with you.

The holocalls should really only take about fifteen minutes, thirty if he’s experiencing issues that require scheduling an in person appointment for adjustment or troubleshooting. But each call lands up being closer to an hour, or two depending on how much time he could truly get away with not being on duty.

You talk about your job, he talks about the war effort. You tell him funny stories from your time studying in medical school. He tells you about the stupid things he’s witnessed various memebrs of his squad (and other battalions) do. You describe what it was like growing up on your homeworld. He describes growing up with three million siblings on a planet that never had a day without rain. Food, music, sleeping habits, things you love, things you hate. The two of you never struggle to find something to talk about.

When he isn’t talking to you on holocalls, you’re always on his mind. Every little thing he sees and does, he finds himself thinking of what kind of comment you would make on the situation. Would you laugh at his brother's antics, or scold them alongside him? What advice would you provide when he is faced with a tough decision? He finds himself looking up into the night sky when stationed on far away planets and wondering just how much distance is between the two of you at this moment, and how long would it be before he could close that distance?

His answer comes sooner than he expected it would. General Plo informs him that the battalion will be returning to Coruscant for the purpose of several squads being transferred or reassigned to the battalion as well as the General needed to attend a series of council meetings in person. General Plo also mentioned that it would be best if he contacted you to schedule a check in for his prosthetic.

Briefly Wolffe wondered if the General knew of his evening he spent off the base with you, but ultimately decided two things. He probably did not, the General is a busy man with many responsibilities, too many to notice the comings and goings of every trooper (or commander) that serves under him. And, even if he did, he didn’t care.

Wolffe uses the excuse to schedule a case study appointment to take over an hour to himself in his quarters talking to you on the coms. He tells you he is returning to Coruscant, and he’ll be stationed there for at least four days. Internally he debates asking you outright to go out with him again. He doesn’t normally get much enjoyment from going out to the bars, but he had so much fun dancing with you last time. To his delight you beat him to the punch.

“So, if you’re gonna be planetside for a little while would you consider coming with me to see some live music and have a couple drinks?” You ask with a hint of heat creeping up into your cheeks. You’ve been looking forward to taking a night off to enjoy this free outdoor concert, but if Wolffe could come with you it would be all the more special.

The grouchy commander with a charming smile and quick wit has grown on you. After he tried to leave before, you were afraid that you’d made a mistake inviting him back to your apartment for sex. But he’s proven you wrong in the last couple months. He’s eager and engaged in your biweekly holocalls. And moreso, he seems eager to see you again.

“I could go for some music and drinks. You gonna dance with me again?” he teases

“Get enough drinks in me and you just might get your wish, commander”

In a few days time, you hear from him that he’s arrived on Coruscant and he’s looking forward to seeing you. Unfortunately you can’t get away from work the first day he’s planetside, with your date scheduled for the second day of his shore leave. You’re distracted throughout that day, thinking about seeing him again. You briefly considered comming him at the end of your shift to invite him back to your apartment. But you decide against it, he’s probably enjoying some downtime with his brothers or by himself, and he’s already agreed to spend time with you tomorrow.

Your assumption is partially correct. He is spending some downtime with his brothers in the barracks in the Coruscant base, they’re passing around a bottle of spotchka playing drinking games. Wolffe is having a good time, but he would honestly rather be with you.

The next morning he turns up at your office in his officers uniform for his case study appointment. You welcome him inside in a professional manner, but the second the door is closed you take his hand and lean up to kiss his cheek.

“Welcome back Commander,”

The appointment is relatively quick, just a series of eye movement tests and a questionnaire on symptoms and side effects he’s experienced since having the prosthetic placed. Though it does take all of your concentration to focus on actually collecting the data and not getting sidetracked by flirty conversation. There will be time enough for that later.

When the appointment is finished, you excuse yourself to go to the fresher and change into something more appropriate for spending the day out. You returned looking lovely in a comfortable but stylish outfit. You lock up your office and the two of you set out for the day. The concert isn’t until later in the afternoon, leaving plenty of time to stroll through the various levels of the city.

As you go along, you begin to notice more and more eyes on the pair of you. Many civilians are of the opinion that the clones should not be permitted to spend their off hours among the population of civilized planets. People are afraid of them, bred for war… the words scary, hostile, and unstable often get thrown around. You make a point to keep in step with Wolffe and enjoy every moment of your time with him. People can stare all they want, you’ve been looking forward to this.

The pair of you arrive at the outdoor venue and find a high table that gives you a good view of that stage without being too close. You order drinks and finger food to snack on while you wait for the concert to start. The sun is quickly setting, the lights meant to illuminate the stage and patio come on.

Wolffe looks dashing in his officers uniform, but you can’t decide if it is more or less comfortable than the armor. You’ll have to ask him later, because now the musicians are starting to play. The music is fun and lively, loud enough to drown out the two of you talking and laughing, but not loud enough you can’t hear each other like at the club last time.

Wolffe didn’t initially think going to see live music in a small venue like this would be enjoyable, he’s not really a music person as it is. But he has a great time, music is so much better hearing it in person, and all the more fun when you have a pretty date who likes to dance after a couple drinks.

It’s not raunchy sexually motivated dancing like before, though that was fun too, your dancing tonight is playful and fun. Your smile shines bright under the twinkling patio lights as he spins and dips you. When the concert ends there is applause from the audience thanking the musicians for their fantastic performance. Wolffe is almost disappointed the show is over, if he had it his way he would get to twirl you around and make you laugh all night long.

Well… that might still be an option in another sense.

Your apartment isn’t too far away, so you walk with your hand in the crook of his arm back to your place. When you get inside you offer him a glass of wine, and sit together in your living room.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” you say warmly

“How could I say no? I love to see you dance,” he replies with a hint of a smirk. You lean in a little and hold his gaze with lips ever so slightly parted, an invitation if he’s willing to accept it.

He does, closing the gap between you to smooth his lips over yours in a kiss. You taste the wine on his lips, dark and sweet. You let your jaw slack a little as his tongue gently pushes past your lips to explore your mouth. Warmth pools low in your tummy, the hand he has placed at your waist is distracting since his thumb slowly stroking over the bottom curve of your breast. But you stay focused, you’ve got something in mind for tonight.

Breaking away from the kiss you make your move, pushing him away from you and back into the couch. “I want to do something for you,” you say in a low sultry tone, hoping he’d trust you enough to lead. He quirks a brow, curious as to your intentions.

You slide off the couch and settle yourself at his feet, pushing his knees open. He eyes you with an air of caution “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. But damn does he want it, just the sight of you slipping down between his legs already has him half hard.

You run your hands up the outsides of his thighs, and curl your fingers around the top of his trousers. “I want to do this”

He nods and settles back with a smirk “You were planning this weren’t you?” He growls as you work his pants off. You give him an innocent look and bat your eyelashes teasingly. You free his cock from his grays, curving up towards his stomach, hard in anticipation.

You reach out and take him in your hand, licking a stripe up the underside of his shaft and closing your lips over the head. He lets out a groan as you take him deeper into your mouth, sucking as you go.

“Such a good girl taking my cock” he groans.

You begin bobbing your head clinging to his thighs for support. You could feel yourself getting wet with arousal too, his groans and praise getting to you. You use your hand to pump the base of his cock you can’t get to with your mouth, and the other to start massaging his balls. His grunts and moans began getting louder and more desperate.

“I’m close” he moaned “Go on baby, finish me off”

You took him down into your throat, as deep as you could before starting to gag and sucked at him, coaxing him over the edge. You could feel him tightening up, his feral grunts and moans becoming erratic and unrestrained. You pull off of him about half way and open your mouth wide, stroking his cock in quick firm movements. His head drops back onto the couch, grunting and panting as he cums into your waiting mouth.

His head snaps back forward, eyes taking in the sight of you with his cum painted over your lips and in your pretty mouth. He leans forward, reaching out to pinch your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. You poke your tongue out just a bit, and let him admire the sight of his release.

“Swallow it” he growls

You respond by licking your lower lip and drawing your tongue back into your mouth swallowing whatever you hadn’t already. He surges forward and crashes his lips down on yours. He pulls you up from your spot on the ground, and into his lap. His hands are everywhere, roaming down your back, over the curve of your ass, around to your tummy and up to cup your breasts through your pretty little shirt. He finally breaks the kiss, panting from exertion but still riled up.

“Let me return the favor,” he growls, flipping you over, taking you down to lay back on the couch. He takes his time, peeling off your pants, stripping your top off, and undoing the clasps of your bra. He leans over and kisses you again with a kind of intensity you’ve never experienced before. It’s not exactly rough, it’s hungry and desperate. His hands massage your breasts, deftly rolling your nipples between his fingers. You moan into the kiss.

“You like that baby?” He trails his lips down your neck, and kisses them hollow at the base. You wiggle your hips, the wetness pooling in your nether regions becoming a little uncomfortable. He chuckles darkly, and resumes kissing his way down your body. He stops just at your panty line, looking up at you with a bit of mischief in his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, he carefully bites the waistband of your panties and begins to drag them down. Your breath hitches at the sight, and you lift your hips up just a bit to help him get them off. When he gets them down to about your knees, he releases them from between his teeth and uses one hand to tear them away.

Then he’s leaning back down, and leaving a trail of wet kisses and little bites from the inside of your knee up your leg, getting closer and closer to where you need him most. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs and lifts you about an inch or two off the couch to his waiting mouth.

His tongue slides between your folds and he begins to lap at your wetness. He teases your aching hole with the most tantalizing strokes of his tongue, switches it up by nosing his way up to your clit and suckling at it, squeezing your ass and moaning into you.

You’re moaning, panting, flushed with heat and getting closer and closer to a release.

“Wolffe,” you moan “please… please… please… make me cum”

He glances up and sees your eyes have fluttered shut, your head tipped back and chest heaving with strained breath. He speeds his movements, suckles at your clit with alternating flicks of his tongue and groans at the sounds of your pleasure.

Your hands twist around the edge of the sofa cushions, needing something to cling onto as your climax overtakes you. Your moans and whimpers stall out, and your voice cuts off as you cum. Your legs tremble in his hold, signaling him to slow down his movements and pull away from your glistening cunt as you come down from your high.

He crawls back over you, catching your lips in another kiss. You taste yourself on him, and come back to reality.

“Stars….” you whisper, breaking the kiss “You didn’t tell me you had a secret talent, Commander”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret would it?” He kisses you again, the desperation has subsided but the hunger is still there.

“You gonna try to take off on me or are you sticking around for breakfast tomorrow?” You tease him. You get the feeling he knew he was welcome to stay again, but still make the joke just in case.

“If the offer is on the table?” He quirks an eyebrow at your comment, and gives you a smirk.

On the table you think to yourself maybe next time….

Tag List: @ems-alexandra @thefact0rygirl @ajeff855

[seodami]

Dearest treasure | KTH

|PART 1| |PART 2| |PART 3|

Summary: Every kid in town was afraid of Kang Taehyun, the old -slightly creepy- man living alone for years and years in the same run down house. Every night he would go into his backyard with a shovel and dig a hole into the earth. No one knows why and there are kids rumouring about him burying people. Jungwon was a bright kid, wanting to find out the truth behind this widely spread rumour for a school project. And what he found out would change his life forever.

Genre: fluff, angst, flashbacks, story of life, snippets of life, tiny bit humour

Warning: old Taehyun, mention of death, mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts, death

Word count: 10152 (all 3 parts together)

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x reader, (Yang Jungwon)

Note: Wow okay so this story took me a while to write and I listened to hours of das music to finish this🥺 this was honestly an emotional rollercoaster. But I’m so glad it’s finally finished so I can post it on here yayyy!!! I hope you like it an enjoooyy (please tell me if you cried I would really appreciate your responses haha bc I did)

Main Masterlist

2089 (present)

Jungwon took a glance down towards the camera clasped tightly in the palm of his hand. With a heavy breath, his eyes slowly moved up to the big house in front of him. Former white paint - now a dirty grey almost everywhere - was already peeling itself from the walls, dozens of thick ivy tendrils sneaking up to the dirty windows and even further. It looked just like the old spooky houses, Jungwon had secretly seen in horror movies his parents were watching. And it especially felt like it as well.

The cold wind was slowly whirling around the dead leaves on the ground, freeing the view to numerous mounds of earth spreading over the whole front yard and probably even backyard. Some were fresher than the others. Some were older than the others.

Jungwon could feel a wave of goosebumps hushing over his body, clearly not only being the cold winds fault. With one last reassuring nod to himself, he courageously made its way over the small path through the chaotic front yard towards the old wooden front door.

It had terrified him when he was a bit younger to even lay eyes on this house, let alone go any near it, and quite truthfully, Jungwon still felt a tiny wave of fear coming through. He had heard many things around this neighbourhood and school...creepy theories as to why the old man living inside this house was seen digging holes in his garden. From murder to even paranormal activities, everything was possible, referring one of the older kids at school, Park Jongseong, who tended to love scaring innocent young students with these stories. And he even heard parents trying to discipline their children, threatening them to pay ‘Killer Kang’ - that was the old man’s unfortunate nickname - a small visit if they did not behave. It was as if this small town didn’t have anything else to talk about than a lonely, slightly creepy, man. And if he remembered correctly, he never saw or heard anyone even trying to talk to him. So what did they know?

Jungwon heard a lot. To say the least, he questioned himself quietly if he should have just chosen another topic for his video and interview for a school project. He could have. But something deep down told him quietly not to judge too quickly, not to judge a book only by it’s cover. His parents and his grandmother taught him that early on and it stayed with him ever since. He wanted to give this poor scrutinised man a chance to actually explain himself. Why was he always digging these holes into the ground? Maybe he really was a serial killer and this would be Jungwons biggest mistake, but where’s the fun in not even trying? Right? He could only lose, well...his life...

The 14 year old boy quickly shook his head, trying to stay positive. And then he finally pressed the rusty bell on the side of the door. He heard nothing at first, it was as quiet as it could get, no steps, no talking, no TV. The eerie feeling hanging in the air didn’t make it any better for Jungwon to stay calm and not giddy. “You can do this! He’s not even creepy.” He tried to hype himself up.

He almost wanted to ring again, as his heart sunk. Damp slow steps were coming closer and closer, making him hold his breath unconsciously. The door opened in an awful slow motion, revealing the old man everyone was afraid of. White hair framed his sunken in face full of deep wrinkles. He used a walking stick to stand, his position was crouched forward, so he was about the same height as him, maybe even a bit smaller. And when Jungwon met his eyes, there was a glint in them, that almost scared him off like all the other kids would have. But he stayed put.

The man didn’t say anything, just stared at him, awaiting him to explain this very unusual visit. Nobody had ever dared to ring his house. Not even the mailman thought of doing so.

“Good Morning Mr Kang. Uhm ...I am Yang Jungwon.” The young boy began with slightly unstable voice, trying to get a hold of himself. “I am a student at Namgang Highschool and we are currently doing individual video projects containing an interview with someone we find fascinating and want to learn more about. And...I was wondering if...if maybe it would be possible to...interview you?” Jungwon managed to squeak out, hiding his trembling hands from Mr. Kangs boring hawk eyes.

He still hadn’t said anything, looking up and down the underaged student. Then his eyes met his shaky ones again. “Is this a joke again, boy? Because I have no tolerance for silly boy pranks.” He finally muttered out in a harsh tone, letting Jungwon flinch the slightest. He quickly shook his head, implying that this was his last wish to do.

“No sir, no I swear this is a very serious question and project. I wouldn’t dare to do anything but.” The boy rambled, now fiddling nervously with the hem of his uniform jacket. The man pulled his glasses somewhat higher on his nose before he gave the student a hesitant nod.

“You are the first person for years daring to come talk to me...” he noted absent minded, eyes wandering behind the boy to check if there really weren’t any stupid kids hiding inside the bushes. “How...extraordinary.” He muttered, clinging onto his walking stick as he began turning around.

“You said fascinating people, boy? I have to disappoint you, there is nothing interesting about me, I dare say.” A small sigh left his mouth, beginning to close his door slowly but Jungwon was quicker. What had gotten into him? Was it the surprise at his not so cold attire or maybe has he just gone crazy? But Jungwon wanted to know more about his story. There had to be more.

“Sir, no please. You may think so but quite frankly you are the talk of town every day.” Jungwon began but got stopped hearing the other one scoffing displeased. “Killer Kang...I know this nickname they all give me. Do you use it too? I don’t want to have anything to do with people like this.” His tone got harsher again.

Jungwon frantically shook his head again. “I don’t. I would never. This is the reason why I chose to interview you in the first place. I want to hear your part about everything. I think it is only fair to give you a proper chance to explain. They just don’t know.” He gave the man a pleading look. Mr. Kang hesitated again, letting the boys words sink in. He didn’t seem like he could harm a fly, he thought. Was is worth the struggle?

He didn’t know what or why he was doing it but the next thing Jungwon saw was him walking slowly into the house again, leaving the door open. Should he follow? A quick look over his shoulder told him he should. Jungwon couldn’t believe he really meant it so he still stood unsure, fiddling with the silver camera in his hands, metal cooling against his sweaty palms. “Are you coming, or what?” The now softer voice of the white haired man asked still trotting forward in a steady pace.

This woke Jungwon immediately out of his trance, stumbling clumsily stuttering and rambling while thanking him over and over again. He had made it.

He entered the dark hallway, suddenly being hit with a strong smell of a typical musty grandparents house. It remembered him of his own grandmother’s one, where he spent almost half of his childhood. With one swift movement, he gently shut the door and followed the tracks of this houses owner without forgetting to put his shoes off. There were some stacks of newspaper laying around randomly, old picture frames hanging on some of the white and dark green walls and old brown rugs adorning the cold floor. He noticed a small picture of a young lady in a baby blue dress, sitting on a self built swing while smiling ear to ear. But he quickly moved on. It was as every other old people’s home, Jungwon thought.

“Boy, say, do you want a cup of tea? Or water?” The young student heard the now calm voice asking him, seeing as they arrived in the living room. An antique looking glass chandelier was hanging right in the middle, brown couches placed generously inside the big room. Jungwon was surprised. He expected to shake with pure fear in his veins, but why did it feel like he was just visiting his grandparents? A friendly visit. That was the first moment he knew he misjudged the famously feared old man.

“No thank you. I was wondering if I could maybe...film the whole thing? The interview? I prepared some questions already if that is fine with you.” Jungwon timidly pulled out the camera behind his back and soon enough some pieces of paper. There was a moment of silence, Mr. Kang just looking speechlessly at the innocent and oh so polite brown haired boy. His heart already told him, despite his inner conflicts, that he was a nice boy. A really well-behaved kid. He could tell him, he could understand, and maybe even help. At least that was his hope.

“You are really something else. Jungho was your name?” With small steps he wandered to one of the couches, plopping down painfully slow with a nasty crack of his bones into an already deep hollow on the couch. Just like his grandparents. Jungwon by now was really overwhelmed by the mans compliance and...kindness?

“It’s Jungwon, Mr. Kang.” He added, earning an understanding nod from his side, followed by a motion of his hand for him to sit down. “Of course, of course. You can set up the camera on the table if you have to. It was a long time ago since...anyone filmed me.”

It didn’t took long for the eager student to put his camera on the table in a good angle. His script was already sprawled all across his lap and with nervous looks in between, he asked the man if he was ready to begin the interview. Jungwon was aching to know the truth behind the misunderstood lonely person in front of him. He finally wanted to clear the unpleasant rumours about him, wanting to know what really was behind his actions.

“Ready, boy.”

Jungwon clicked the red recording button on his camera, sitting down on the couch behind it. And he did not waste any time to start.

“My first question for you Mr Kang, has to do with your widely spreaded nickname. As you told me earlier, you were already aware of such name. What do you think about it?”

It was the second time, he heard him scoff in annoyance. “It’s ridiculous what people tend to gossip behind someone’s back when they are bored. Whoever believes these ignorant, mindless comments should go to school again and get educated. This nickname... ‘Killer Kang’ -“ he stopped to caugh out loudly, repositioning himself more comfortable in his seat before continuing to talk. “ - holds absolute no truth in it. I can’t seem to think why somebody even invented it.”

Jungwon immediately nodded in agreement, earning a small nod from the man himself. “That was exactly my point. It looked almost like people just invented some crazy untrue theories when they cannot seem to understand a certain...action.” He tried to find the right words. “It’s probably nothing new to hear, but people around this town, I think they came up with this name solely to...to find an explanation as to why...the holes...I mean you digging them with a shovel in your garden...is that...” he lost his voice in the end of his sentence, not wanting to say any wrong words.

But Mr. Kang just nodded, looking out of the window with a distant look. He suck in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s probably not the answer you or all the people would like to hear. All the foolish theories. It’s something far more...simple.” He looked over to Jungwon, soft eyes under the thick crease above them. He was ready to tell someone. Just anyone. He longed for a conversation for too long, maybe that is why he agreed in the first place.

He was so lonely.

“Let me tell you my story right from the beginning. I hope you do have some time, boy, it might be a longer story.”

And then he began to tell his story. Your story.

[glimmerglanger]

Hello glimmer! I know spicy Sundays just started but since most of the spicy asks you get seem to be for obi kin, I wondered if you had any codywan requests? if not, perhaps would you be open to some kinkier codywan times? we’ve seen many variations of obikin getting rough and i love how soft codywan is but do you think they ever got up to some shenanigans that left them both completely like 🤯🤯🤯 afterwards?

Anonymous said:

hii i was the anon who asked about spicy codywan and suddenly i’ve forgotten every kink i’ve ever read and blushing like a victorian maiden. hm, just them being rougher in general? omgim so sorry i’m really bad at being specific but maybe like some post-battle adrenaline/i gotta have you now energy? possibly some manhandling or cody holding his wrists down or unplanned multiple orgasms? *covers face* whichever ones you’re comfortable with of course! thank you!!! <33

:D Thank you for the request for spicy Codywan times! Your asks really also got me thinking about different vibes for different ships. I really do tend towards softness with Codywan. In fact, this is still pretty gentle! However, it’s also manhandling and holding down and--

Anonymous said:

psst glimmer, i found ur writings on the subj of *overstimulation* to be most edifying. would u ever think about writing more, just as a spicy prompt in and of itself? Because ur spice week fic was incredible, but i would be equally thrilled to read it in any other ~circumstances~ if you ever felt up to it. thank u for being u, bye!

overstimulation :D

ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ENJOY! It is time for Spicy Sunday! Codywan (obviously), established relationship, set during the Clone Wars. Not safe for wizards! Very spicy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan was sprawled delightfully out on his side by the time Cody came out of the fresher with a damp rag. Obi-Wan had made vague noises about getting up to clean himself off, but hadn’t put up much of a fight when Cody nipped his shoulder and suggested he stay the kriff put for five clicks. 

Cody had barely been gone a minute - just long enough to wash himself off, cleaning come and lube off his cock and thighs - and he stopped, hit low in the gut just by the picture in front of him. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten lucky enough to end up in Obi-Wan’s quarters regularly, how he’d managed to secure what they had, the hastily snatched moments of connection and pleasure.

But it had led to this, to the line of Obi-Wan’s back, his head braced up on one arm, legs both above the blankets, long and lean and freckled, here and there. He was rolled away from the fresher, his skin painted blue by whatever he was reading on the pad in front of him.

He looked…. Soft. Warm. Relaxed.

All the things he hadn’t looked for days on end on Tripludil. Cody shook his head, once, and made his legs move forward again, bracing a knee on the bunk. “Mm,” Obi-Wan said, glancing over his shoulder, a drowsy smile on his mouth, “I was wondering if you were just going to stand there staring.”

Cody flushed, just a little, shifting fully onto the bed. “Can’t blame me for enjoying the view,” he said, and Obi-Wan snorted a little laugh. It was so good to hear him laughing, but the sound was rougher than it usually was.

Obi-Wan had screamed, on Tripludil. Long and ragged, when--

Cody shoved those memories to the side. Obi-Wan was fine. Bones had said so, after patching him up. He was fine, and Cody knew that, too. He’d performed his own assessment with hands and mouth.

“Enjoy away,” Obi-Wan said, “but if I could have the rag…?”

“Mm.” Cody considered and then shook his head, sprawling down beside Obi-Wan. “No, I’ve got it.” He put a hand on Obi-Wan’s thigh, muscles firm under his palm, smooth scars under his fingers, old wounds. 

“Oh, that’s--” Obi-Wan said, and trailed off with a little indrawn hiss when Cody pushed his thigh out, a little. 

“Let me,” Cody murmured, though, honestly, the view was distracting him, again. He could see reddened marks on Obi-Wan’s hips, put there by his hands. There were smears of wet, across Obi-Wan’s ass and his inner thighs. Cody wiped at one, nudging Obi-Wan’s leg further out and swallowing.

He’d been half-hard since he came out of the fresher and got an eyeful of Obi-Wan, sprawled out and fucked out. His cock ached, fully hard against his stomach, as he trailed his hand up a little higher. Obi-Wan’s rim was reddened. Shiny. There was a smear of come, across the firm curve of his ass.

Cody dropped the rag, forgetting about it. He slid his fingers through the come - his come - instead, listening to Obi-Wan take a hitching breath, somewhere further up the bed. He pushed his fingers across skin, inward. 

He wasn’t thinking, really, when he brushed fingers across Obi-Wan’s rim, and he was so soft, there, so hot when Cody slid a finger into him, eliciting another gasping sound. Obi-Wan was stretched, still. Cody had fucked him hard - needing it, needing to hear him cry out in something besides pain, needing--

“Fuck.” Cody stared as he slid his finger back out, again, all wet and slick with his own come, the lube they’d used. Obi-Wan felt hotter than usual, but he would, Cody thought, all tender and just-fucked. His skin was hot and reddened and he groaned, loudly, when Cody slid another finger into him. 

Obi-Wan shifted, and Cody reached up without thinking, put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and pushed, rocking up onto his knees. He felt the moan in Obi-Wan’s chest, it reverberated up through his hand as he twisted his fingers, so achingly hard again, just like that. 

“That, ah, doesn’t feel like cleaning me up,” Obi-Wan said, his voice raspier. The light on his pad had gone off from lack of use. The only light came from the fresher, illuminating Obi-Wan’s bent leg, his back, the lovely movements of Cody’s hand.

“You weren’t that messy,” Cody said, his voice gone lower. It was true enough, anyway. He’d taken Obi-Wan into his mouth, earlier, swallowed him down and licked up any smears he’d missed. And he’d pushed his come back in. Obi-Wan wasn’t, truly, messy at all. Just warm and soft and safe, gasping when Cody tugged against the rim of him from the inside.

“Are you planning to fix that?” Obi-Wan asked, all breathy and that was, really, a brilliant idea. 

Cody swore, twisted his fingers and fucked in a third, fascinated by the way Obi-Wan stretched around them, by the heat radiating off of him, by the slick wetness, by the way Obi-Wan tilted his hips up, groaning.

Obi-Wan shifted again, on the bed, and Cody leaned more weight on his shoulder without thinking, an automatic response because he wanted Obi-Wan to stay right where he was, right on his fingers. He adjusted the angle, and Obi-Wan’s breath punched out as he got it right.

Obi-Wan was rocking his hips, just a little, back into Cody’s touch, down against the bed. Cody wondered if he were hard again. If he could come again. Cody had made him come that way before, taking him apart from the inside, applying pressure just so and--

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan ground out, hands clenched in the blankets, face turned to one side, breathing faster. “Fuck, Cody--”

“Yeah,” Cody agreed, because he’d gotten too used to hearing Obi-Wan’s voice wrecked and cracking for all the wrong reasons. He adjusted his grip, palm on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, constant pressure to keep him still. “Come on, just like that.”

“I--” Obi-Wan shivered, and he looked achingly tender, stretched so well around Cody’s fingers, slick and hot and good, the little movements of his hips getting jerkier. Cody felt it when he came, felt it in the way muscles tightened around his fingers, in the way Obi-Wan’s breath punched out, in the way he sank against the mattress. 

Obi-Wan just melted, all the tension gone out of him, and he’d be laying in a mess. One that needed cleaned up. Still, Cody thought they could probably make it a little bigger, before cleaning it away.

Obi-Wan gasped when he slid his fingers out, looking over his shoulder with bleary eyes as Cody shifted. It felt good to blanket Obi-Wan’s back, to settle against him, sucking a kiss onto his shoulder. He fit perfectly between Obi-Wan’s thighs, cock sliding against slick, hot skin, and Obi-Wan--

Sucked in a breath beneath him, making a hoarse little sound.

Cody’s heart was pounding too hard. He ached with the desire to grip Obi-Wan’s hips, tilt them just so, and fuck in. Obi-Wan had felt so good around his fingers - around his cock, not so very long ago - and he wanted. 

He panted, nuzzling against the back of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “Can I?”

There was a beat where Obi-Wan said nothing, thinking, fuck, and then he jerked out a nod and rasped, “Yes. Kriffing--yes.”

Cody swore, pushing up and kissing his mouth, hard and fast, nipping at his bottom lip. Obi-Wan groaned, thickly, when Cody shifted back, sliding both hands down his body, gripping his hips and urging him up onto his knees.

There was a mess under him, come smeared across the blankets and his stomach. Cody had done that, made him feel that good. And, fuck, Cody wanted to make him feel better, wanted to overfill him with pleasure, wanted--

To grip Obi-Wan’s hips just so and press the head of his cock against hot, reddened flesh. It had to be tender. The knowledge of just how tender made his gut tighter. They’d spent little time on prep, the first time. And Obi-Wan had only just come, he had to be aching, feeling it as Cody pushed forward.

Obi-Wan moaned, shoulders rounding over, his hands fisted in the sheets, pulling at the blankets. Cody stilled, barely inside him, and rasped out, “Is it--?”

“Good,” Obi-wan gasped out. “It’s good, Cody, I can take it. Just--fuck me.”

And Cody had never been able to deny him anything. Not since the first time they’d met. He swore, breathlessly, and slid the rest of the way in on one stroke, treasuring the sound Obi-Wan made, the hot softness of his body.

Obi-Wan couldn’t run off, headlong into danger, not with Cody buried inside him. He couldn’t throw himself into the path of this monster or the other, not the way he had on Tripludil. No one could hurt him, make him see things that weren’t there, make him scream--

Obi-Wan made a sharp, ragged sound when Cody slid out and fucked back into him, hard. Cody wondered, hands on Obi-Wan’s hips, shifting so he could see the way Obi-Wan took him, the wet slide of his cock, if Obi-Wan had ever screamed for pleasure, instead of pain.

He shivered down his back, and Obi-Wan shifted, down on the mattress, as though to rise to his elbows, and--

Cody didn’t really think about leaning forward, over him. He didn’t really think about taking his hands off of Obi-Wan’s hips. He pressed down on one of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, got another ragged, hungry sound at the effort. 

Obi-Wan reached a hand back, fingers flared, and Cody didn’t know what he was reaching for. He snatched Obi-Wan’s arm, heard him groan, and dragged his wrist up, arm twisting, pressing Obi-Wan’s wrist to his back. Cody tightening his fingers, keeping Obi-Wan just so, safe and--

“Oh, fuck,” Obi-Wan gasped, eyes wide and dazed, flushed across his cheeks and down his neck, all over his shoulders. His fingers clenched and unclenched on nothing, his pulse racing under Cody’s palm. There was a steady banging sound from somewhere, but Cody couldn’t tell from where and didn’t fucking care, at that moment.

He just needed to - to keep punching those perfect noises out of Obi-Wan’s chest, to watch his expression go all pleasure-drunk, to fuck into him, holding off his own orgasm as long as possible, because he didn’t want to the moment to end.

Nothing could last forever. 

Cody came, breathing hard, with sweat running down his back. He jerked his hand off of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, bracing on the bed as his weight came down, as he slumped, buried as deep as he could get.

He still held Obi-Wan’s arm, twisted up against his back, smashed between their bodies. He made himself let go, breathing against the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, the skin there hot and damp with sweat, and rasped, “Fucking hell.”

Obi-Wan groaned in agreement, nodding a little against the sheets, and it took Cody’s orgasm-slow thoughts a second to notice the tension still in his shoulders. It only took another second after that for Cody to slide a hand onto Obi-Wan’s chest, down his stomach, finding him--

Hard and waiting.

Obi-Wan jerked, when Cody curled fingers around him. He gasped out, “Ah!”

“No?” Cody asked, stroking down over his cock, enjoying the idea of touching Obi-Wan, of bringing him off while Cody was still buried inside him, softening. But twice in a night was pushing it for Obi-Wan, already, a third time was--

Obi-Wan squirmed around him, under him, muscles twitching and jumping. He panted out, “I don’t know if, ah, if I can.” 

Cody stilled his hand, breathing hard, working to focus. He nuzzled into the short hair at the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and rasped, “That’s not a yes or a no.” He pressed a kiss to the soft, delicate skin beneath his lips, where no one else got to touch Obi-Wan. Not like this. “Tell me what you want.”

Obi-Wan shivered. Cody felt it, translating over between their bodies, and waited, fingers just curled around Obi-Wan’s cock. 

He felt a kick in his gut when Obi-Wan finally rasped, “I want - ah - to find out. If i can.”

“Good,” Cody panted out, too gone to try to prevaricate, to find any less honest response. He took his hand away, just long enough to smear palm and fingers through the mess on Obi-Wan’s stomach, between his legs. Obi-Wan cried out when Cody gripped him again, stroking him sure and fast, just the way he’d learned that Obi-Wan liked.

And, oh, the sounds Obi-Wan made, the way he turned his face against the sheets, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open around gasps, so hot where Cody was sunk into him, was….perfection itself. Cody pressed kisses to his neck, his shoulders, wherever he could reach, listening to him groan, feeling the muscles in his back and thighs tensing. 

Feeling himself get hard again.

It took a delicious stretch of time to coax out Obi-Wan’s orgasm, and Cody enjoyed each moment, each tremble and shake of it. And when Obi-Wan spilled over his fingers - he came almost dry, which set off a wave of satisfaction in Cody’s head - Cody was still sunk into him, impossibly hard agan, because how could he not be, not after--

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan groaned out, when Cody shifted his hips, and, then, before Cody could ask, he gasped out, “yes, fuck me, please.”

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Monster - Part 1

AO3 Link

Characters: Commander Fox (Main), Captain Rex, Commander Thorn, Corrie Medic Triage (OC), Anakin Skywalker, Fives.

Summary: Fives' death through the eyes of Commander Fox.

Warnings: 16+, swearing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.6k

Click here for Part 2

Author’s Notes: First trip on the angst train folks. I've had this in my head for ages because I wanted to try something that wasn't relationship focused and I'm still not over this whole storyline with the chips, they were so darn close to exposing ol' sheev. Fox deserves some spotlight but i'm very sorry it had to be on this. I have got a part 2 practically written up already but wanted to test the waters with this bit first. Let me know what you think!! Fic below the cutoff :).

The title is from the song Monster by Starset. If you're after some good sci-fi related songs for the feels, Startset is where it's at.

Under the knife I surrendered The innocence yours to consume You cut it away And you filled me up with hate Into the silence you sent me Into the fire consumed You thought I'd forget But it's always in my head

Each step was quiet, calculated as CC-1010 moved into the storage bay. His men following his lead as they prepared to surround their target. General Skywalker was verbally defending the Chancellor from where he was captured in a ray shield. The target was unaware of their presence, time to move in.

Set to stun.

“Stand down, soldier! Get on your knees!” CC-1010 commanded, surrounded by his Shock Troopers. The target looked over at the unattended pistols. “Don’t do it solider.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“FIVES NO!”

Threat. Eliminate the threat.

Good soldiers, follow orders.

Set to Kill. CC-1010 never missed.

No.

Rex was screaming.

General Skywalker was ordering the Guard to lower the ray shields, not that CC-1010 could hear him over the ringing in his ears.

No.

The Captain was at his ARC-Trooper’s side, cradling his head. The blaster wound a disgusting contrast to the pure, shiny, white plastoid of his armour. The blaster wound that CC- no, that Fox inflicted.

No no no no no no.

The pistol fell from his hands and clattered to the ground as Fox came back to himself, the only sound which could be heard among the silence apart from Rex’s begging to Fives to stay with him.

Fox tore off his helmet. He couldn’t breathe. Fuck. The weight of what he just did crashed into him like a tsunami, threatening to take him down, tear him apart.

He stared at his gloved hands which shook uncontrollably. He tried to stop them but his brain didn’t have control of his body anymore. His men were looking at him, he could feel their gaze tearing into him like a jury to a defendant. Watching as their Commander fell apart.

He fell to his knees. No longer able to support his own body weight alongside the weight of his actions. He’d just killed another clone. One of his own vode. His own flesh and blood. That’d never happened before. Sure there had been traitors before among the clone ranks, but they’d never been executed on site. They’d never been pursued by Fox. Lucky them.

The chancellors’ orders echoed in his ears. “Eliminate the threat, Commander.”

Not bring him in for questioning. Eliminate him. No court hearing, no hearing Fives’ side like Slick and others before him. Just execution. And Fox was his executioner. Fuck he was going to vomit.

“Rex” Fox didn’t realise he was speaking until Rex’s eyes met his over Fives’ lifeless body, which he continued to cradle like his last hopes in this war.

Rex’s eyes were cold as ice, the power behind them attempting to freeze Fox to his very core. He didn’t blame him.

The heartbreak at losing another member of Torrent Company cracking the Captain’s usually unshakeable composure. As it fell apart piece by piece in front of Fox’s eyes, he was left staring at his little brother. His Rex’ika. Distraught, heartbroken, empty. He wanted nothing more than to protect him like back on Kamino, when Rex was a young cadet who feared the thunderstorms of their home planet. But Fox couldn’t protect Rex from this, Fox was the reason behind his brother’s agony, his loss. Fox was the monster.

“I-…” he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t explain himself. What could he say? I didn’t have a choice, I had to follow orders? That wasn’t going to fix the hole left in Rex’s heart. For losing Fives and for losing Fox too, because the Commander was sure he was dead to him.

Rex finally pulled his eyes away and it broke Fox’s heart. The Captain looked back down at his friend in his arms, his brother. He brought his forehead forward as he raised Fives’s, meeting him in one final Keldabe as he recited the Mando’a that had become far too familiar for them all. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. He cradled Fives close to his chest and hooked a hand under his legs as he got to his feet.

Rex’s face was stony, emotionless as he carried his fallen brother out of the storage bay. He held himself together as he brushed past the helmet-less Shock Troopers who stood stock still around their shaken Commander. He didn’t even spare Fox a glance. General Skywalker was hot on his Captain’s heels, going to offer support where he could. Just like that they were gone.

“Sir-“ one of the troopers went to place a hand on his Commander’s shoulder.

“Tell the Chancellor it’s done” Fox snapped out, the words tasting like bitter bile in his mouth. He did his best to regain himself as he grabbed his bucket, re-securing it and his emotions behind as strong a wall as he could fortify in his current state. Still shaking hands clasped around the dropped blaster and Fox finally returned to his feet, slightly unsteady.

“Return to base” his orders were flat as they came through the helmet. His soldiers didn’t react for a moment. He looked each of his men over, their shock at watching what happened bared to the world on their faces. He couldn’t take it. “Now.” Finally they nodded and made the move to leave the Gods-forsaken place.

Everything was a blur; people, places, all fading into nothingness behind Fox as he paced back to his office. His safe space. His feet carried him while his mind drifted, almost leaving his body in an attempt to protect himself from the internal horrors that threatened his grasp on reality.

Next he knew he was back in his office, no idea what route he’d taken to get there. The door had barely shut behind him before he stumbled to the small refresher attached and vomited. Choked sobs wracked his body as he emptied his stomach, tears creating salty tracks down his cheeks.

Once his body stopped torturing him, he finally backed away from the toilet and crawled to lean against the ‘fresher wall. His legs sprawled out in front of him as he threw his head back against the cool tiles. The sharp pain from the action doing nothing to bring him back, to distract him from the agony in his mind.

————

“Fox, Fox!! It’s Thorn, are you there?” The heavy gunner shouted from outside, his fists banging on the door demanding entry.

Nothing.

Thorn had heard what had happened, half the Guard already knew by now. Fox had been ordered to execute another clone by the Chancellor. As soon as the confirmation reached his ears, the Commander dropped everything to find his superior. He’d been friends with Fox long enough to know when he was nearing his breaking point, and he knew that this would throw him off the edge of his sanity.

“Kriff, Fox. I’m coming in!” He announced before punching the code in and rushing in to find his friend.

What Thorn found wasn’t pretty. Fox was propped up against the fresher wall, his head covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his amber eyes glassed over as he sobbed. He looked absolutely wrecked.

Thorn dropped to his side and took hold of his hands in an attempt to ground his friend. “Fox, hey Fox, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“I heard what happened. I need you to come back to us, yeah. Maker, we need you Fox.” That got his attention, Fox’s watery eyes met his, but the Commander wasn’t fully present behind them yet.

“It wasn’t me” Fox choked out in barely a whisper, tears flowing freely again. Thorn moved forward and pulled the Commander into his arms, their armour fitting awkwardly against one another but it was enough. The broken man clung to his brother as he continued to repeat his words in a tear filled mantra against Thorn’s armour.

After what felt like forever, the shudders that tore through Fox’s body eventually died down to something more manageable. Thorn took that as his moment to try and get his Commander sat up again, maybe even get some water in him. He began to pull away slightly so he could look him in the eyes but as soon as he did, Fox started babbling again. At least it was a few more words than before.

“I set the gun to stun, I swear. I don’t know what happened. Once I saw Fives, everything went dark.” He tried to explain with as much coherence as he could. “They’ll never forgive me for this.” Thorn knew who he was talking about, his batch mates. Cody, Wolffe, Bly, Ponds and Gree. Fox had felt that their relationship was strained ever since he joined the Guard and his brothers went out to fight on the front lines. He’d become the cold leader of the Coruscant Elite Guard, he had the ‘cushy desk job’ while they had to watch their men die day in and day out on the battlefield. The sad truth was that they’d never understand the things the Guard had to go through each day. One night after a particularly tough day, he’d listened as Fox admitted that he wished he could provide his men with honourable deaths in battle to save them from their fates within the Guard.

Thorn’s chest felt like a vice as he cradled his friend, trying to absorb some of his pain as if it would help make things a bit easier on him. He’d never seen Fox like this and it was killing him. Why did the Chancellor always place the worst jobs on the Commander, why did he have to keep him so close, right under his thumb ready to make him do the dirty work. Never thinking about the aftermath, because the clones didn’t matter. So long as Fox kept showing up and performing admirably on the surface, the day to day pain and suffering wasn’t of concern to the Republic, least of all to the Grand Chancellor.

“Fox, I’m going to call Triage alright? He’ll know what to do.” Thorn announced softly, not getting much of an acknowledgment for his words as Fox started to drift off in his arms, his body’s exhaustion overtaking him for a blissful moment.

Continue to Part 2

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[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader

A/N: Not much happens, well it does but it’s a bit of a filler as we bleed into the TLJ. Hopefully you’re enjoying the different take. After this we delve a bit more into Kylo and RC and their dynamic.

Warnings: Ilum dies, we hate the Resistance, Hux is pissed, Kylo is nearly dead, it’s not been beta read and I probably could have fleshed it out a bit more but I’ve been staring at it for weeks and not changed a word so…..enjoy.

Word count: 3843

Read Chapter 7 here on AO3.

He needed to concentrate but he could still feel the touch of your thigh in his hand, the smoothness of your heated skin, the way your muscles had tensed against him, the feel of your body as you flexed against his and your back arched forcing the cries out from your throat….. “General?” His body sighed slightly, the sound of his title pulling him back to look at the screen before him. The X-Wing was being tracked by the sensor droids on the base and Hux watched its flight path for a moment.

“Should we send out our fighters?” Asked Colonel Datoo.

“No. Track the ship back to where it came from,” Hux looked up smugly. “They will lead us right back to their hidden base and we will snuff them out at their very core. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, General.” Hux strode away, so cocksure with the strength of the shields around the base. The Resistance could send all their….now depleted….fleet out here but nothing could get through the shields. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked, looking ahead from under the visor of his cap as staff and personnel scurried out of his way. He was heading to your quarters, he didn’t know what he was expecting, all he knew was he’d had a taste of something from you and he instantly wanted more. He knocked on your door trying to ignore the nervous flutters in his stomach, tugging at his gloves in an effort to stop them betraying how anxious he really was. A frown marred his features and he opened the door, finding your room empty. His eyes were drawn to your bed where the dress you’d been wearing today was laid out on the covers, a noise from the refresher made his head snap to the side and he suddenly realised you were possibly naked, showering in the ‘fresher. I should not be in here….the thought crowded his mind and he began to back out of the room when the door opened to reveal you, wrapped in a towel. Your hair wet and glistening, droplets ran down the bare skin of your shoulders and he swallowed feeling incredibly unsettled that he had just let himself in like this but seeing you at such a moment set his body alight and he could feel the telltale embarrassing blush creep up his neck. He dragged his gaze away from you to stare unseeingly out of the window, his hands gripping each other so tightly it began to hurt.

“I—I came to tell you the ship was of no consequence.” He took another step back towards the door.

“Is that all?” Your sultry tone halted him and he dared to sneak another look at you, the towel was held together just above your breasts with one hand, it sagged down around your shoulders and when you walked towards him your legs appeared through the gap in the fabric. He watched you approach, his heart beat erratically and all the air left his body. For such an intelligent, quick thinking, steadfast man he was constantly surprised with the way you effortlessly stole all his faculties. He stepped forward towards the window, his disquietude suddenly getting the better of him and he had to move.

“The Resistance can throw whatever they like at us, the shields will hold.” He was pleased to observe his voice was strong even though his insides had turned to liquid at the sound of your towel falling to the floor. The rustle of your dress made his heart thump, it sounded loud to his ears like the sounds of troopers quick marching through their drills and he mentally counted each beat, trying to gain control over his body once again.

“Armitage?” He turned sharply, to see the bare skin of your exposed back, your hands clutching the dress against you in an effort to hold it up. You looked at him over your shoulder, the subtle lines of your back flexing with the movement of your neck. “Can you fasten it for me?” He stepped forward, seemingly under your spell once again pulling his gloves off knowing the supple leather would hinder his movements. He held his breath, gently pulling the fabric together, highly aware of the way his fingertips skated over your soft skin. His eyes travelled up the line of your spine, drinking in every tiny detail he could, the way your neck corded, the slight pull of your shoulders as the dress got tighter with each thread of the cord. He heard you inhale just before he pulled the cord tight, your body jolting slightly at the motion and you almost fell back into him but his hands splayed against the curve of your waist to steady you.

“Is…is this acceptable?” He asked softly.

“Yes,” you breathed. He lifted a hand not being able to stop himself, leaning forward he breathed you in deeply trailing a fingertip down the captivating curve of your neck. He dipped his face closer to you, feeling you press into him, letting his lips ghost over the delicate skin just under your ear, his fingers beginning to encircle your neck as you tipped your head back. His other arm snaked round to embrace your waist, the soft folds of his coat enveloping you. His hand tensed against the underside of your jaw and he felt the ripple from your throat as you swallowed, Hux’s body responded almost immediately, the heat that had been simmering inside him roared to life taking all of his self control not to rip the dress free of your body and take you in anyway you’d let him. His eyes closed in a mixture of relief and disappointment as his comm sounded, shattering the moment. He let you pull away, hating the way your warm body left the feel of his hands, his back straightened up and he cleared his throat.

“I should go.”

“Yes General, I can imagine you’re quite popular right now,” there was no hint of annoyance in your tone, more admiration and acceptance for his position and what he’d just achieved. He stepped up next to you, looking down at your slightly bowed head, an echo of the confidence he had earlier crept over his body and before he knew what he was doing he gripped your face firmly with one hand, pulling your lips to his in a hungry kiss. A soft moan spilled from you and he released you, refusing to look back or he’d never leave your room.

You gently sucked your lips into your mouth, relishing the lingering taste of him, wishing you’d had more time together. But you understood he was needed. He had just done something catastrophic, an action that had torn the very fabric of the Galaxy in proportions the Empire could only dream of. He couldn’t abandon it now. Your dress dragged along the floor, the coolness seeping through the soles of your bare feet as you paused by the window. You knew enough about the rankings within the army and the next for Hux would be Grand Marshal, a position that gave him ultimate rein over the navy as well as the army. In your eyes he should be there already, the man was a technological and strategic genius, from what you’d been told anyway. You father had done his research in Hux before he handed you over on a silver platter, you weren’t angry anymore though. It was probably the best thing your father had ever done for you.

“Where is the droid?” Hux asked haughtily as he kept up with Kylo’s long strides. “This elusive BB unit that I am beginning to think doesn't exist!” He had returned from Takodana in Hux’s mind, empty handed.

“The girl has seen the map, we don’t need the droid.” Hux wanted to roll his eyes but he had first hand seen Ren pull buried information from people’s minds, they didn’t always recover. But what was one Resistance girl? Kylo paused at a closed door and Hux knew the prisoner was behind there. “She’s all I need, all we need.”

“She better be.” Kylo stared at Hux through the mask for a few more beats before disappearing into the interrogation room. He glared at the door before turning smartly and heading back to the control room to check on the Resistance ship. He refused to have everything fall apart this time and was determined to keep on top of it.

“Report!” The Colonel stepped up next to Hux.

“We tracked their reconnaissance ship back to the Ileenium system.”

“Good,” Hux smiled smugly, Starkiller didn’t need the cool down period that the Death Star had and he puffed out his chest slightly, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he turned to the Colonel. “Charge the weapon, we can rid the Galaxy of their filth once and for all.”

“Yes Sir! Begin charging the weapon!” Hux looked out at the snowy world laid out before him, the energy from the sun was drawn into the planet and he mentally took himself through the stages of what would happen. It was working better than he could have ever dreamed.

“I must report to Leader Snoke.” He turned abruptly and began to head to the Assembly chamber. As he neared he could hear voices and his skin bristled at the fact Kylo Ren was already in there having an audience with Snoke. Hux pushed the door open quietly.

“She’s strong with the force, untrained, but stronger than she knows!” Hux sighed at the whining tone to Ren’s voice but he noted the fact this new prisoner was force sensitive, extra measures were going to need to be put in place so she didn’t escape.

“And the droid?” Asked Snoke angrily. Kylo paused and Hux chose this moment to step forward, full of self satisfaction that he had the opportunity to drop Ren right in it.

“Ren believed it was no longer valuable to us.” Kylo turned his furious gaze onto the General, Hux held his gaze as he stepped up to the stage, getting across he wasn’t intimidated by the force user at all. “That the girl was all we needed. As a result the droid has most likely been returned to the hands of the enemy. They may have the map already.” Kylo dipped his head and Hux smirked, his chest filling with elation that he had finally pointed out Kylo’s mistake.

“Then the Resistance will need to be destroyed before they can get to Skywalker.” Hux looked up almost bursting with pleasure that he had already started solving that.

“We have their location. We tracked their reconnaissance ship to the Ileenium system.” He stated gleefully.

“Good. Then we will crush them once and for all. Prepare the weapon.” Hux turned to face Kylo, his lip curling seeing the hatred burning from the taller man’s gaze. He didn’t care, he was about to obliterate the Resistance, blow them out of existence, rid the Galaxy of all the scum it was riddled with. He daydreamed as he marched down the corridors, finally receiving the promotion he had wanted all this time, no, the promotion he deserved. If it wasn’t for Hux the First Order wouldn’t be the incredible machine it is today, he was the one who had streamlined his fathers training techniques with Phasma’s help. He frowned slightly wondering where Phasma was, but he had told her to watch over you…he shrugged to himself. No doubt she was keeping you company.

He reentered the control room, noting with satisfaction the weapon was charging very nicely, the light outside had begun to dwindle, throwing long shadows across the snow and rocks as the very essence of the star was sucked into the core of the planet. No one else in the Galaxy had the power that Hux had at his fingertips, not Ren, not even Snoke, not anyone.

“General!” He turned to see a trooper had entered. “The prisoner has escaped.” Hux clenched his fists as pure unadulterated fury swept through him. Yet again, Ren had brought some lowlife into the clutch of the First Order and yet again he had let them escape!

“Double the patrols, alert all battalions I want her found!” He yelled his finger jabbing violently at the floor. “How long until the weapon is ready?” He half shouted into the room not caring who answered him.

“About 20 minutes Sir.” Hux rolled his shoulders slightly. Not a lot could happen in 20 minutes. Everything was going to be fine. He twisted his gloved hands together as he watched the sun diminish more and more but he couldn’t shake the almost overwhelming anxiety that was there waiting, at the edges of his mind. He was on the verge of something catastrophic for a second time today, a life changing moment for the Galaxy but more for the First Order, for him. Ridding them of all opposition was a dream no one else had achieved, until now. And he was going to do it. The echo of his fathers voice rang in ears, all the things he’d ever said to him, all the behaviours he’d beaten into him, all the words he’d berated him with all came to this moment.

“The hangars have been locked down.” Hux nodded in acknowledgement once again looking round at the screens and seeing there was only minutes left. Nothing could go wrong. The Jedi girl will be killed, the Resistance are going to be wiped out….

An alarm went off, one Hux hadn’t heard before but he knew exactly what it meant. He looked at the screen, frowning heavily that this was even happening, it wasn’t a test or a system error.

“Er, General, did you authorise the lowering of the shields?”

“No I certainly did not!” He snapped.

“Main planetary shields have been dropped, not localised but right across the board.” Hux spun round in disbelief making the technician wish he’d never opened his mouth.

“Cause? Possibly external?”

“It doesn’t show here sir.”

“Get the technicians down there at once!”

“Resistance craft incoming!” This wasn’t happening….

“Dispatch all squadrons! Take out every attacking craft no matter the cost.” If the Resistance had no disregard, then neither did Hux. “When this is over I do not want to see a single X-Wing aloft.”

“Yes, General.” Activity in the control room increased but all Hux could see were the X-Wings flying in and bombing the thermal oscillator, they were trying to destroy it. Hux turned to the officer with one final order. “Engage seekers.” He saw the hesitation cross the young man’s face and annoyance flared in Hux.

“But sir, in an atmospheric skirmish the seekers will have a hard time distinguishing between our fighters and those of the enemy.” Hux glared at him with a steely gaze before turning back to watch the appalling spectacle before him.

“There is no time to worry about collateral damage. Give the order.” Alarms rang out around him as he watched the futile attempts of the star fighters, did they realise what they were risking? Of course they did. Yet another show from the Resistance and their disregard for the lives of everyone here. Officers and technicians alike stared out in abject horror at the reckless acts of the Resistance fighters as they came over for another pass. Hux looked up, seeing the first wave of fighters intercept the X-Wings finally. Hopefully this infuriating inconvenience would be over soon.

It was mild at first, the tremors that ran through the ground and tickled the underside of your feet. You stood, your eyes drawn to the explosions happening over the ridge. A furious battle was happening in the sky, TIE’s and X-Wings battling for dominance, twisting and turning in the battle to survive. Fury swept through you, the audacity of the Resistance really knew no bounds, but what did they think a few X-Wings would do?

You stumbled, your hands flying out to support yourself against the transparisteel, a bright orange glow erupted and you couldn’t draw your eyes away from the large plume of smoke that rose from the site. A wound ripped the surface of the planet and the ground heaved again. Your mind flew to Armitage, you had no idea where he was, you didn’t know your way round but you knew everyone on this base had to leave. You remembered what he’d told you about the inner workings of the base, if the containment field failed everyone within the gravity pull of this planet was dead. You left your room, desperately trying to think of where Phasma could be, the comlink she’d given you was back in your room. You debated turning round, but your balance was tipped, slamming you into the wall and you knew you couldn’t, it was too late. The rough rock sliced your arm drawing tears from your eyes as you carried on stumbling towards the hangar your ship had landed in, but as you stepped through the door the cold wind blasting in made you lift your hands to protect your face. The engines roared to life as the ship lifted off the ground.

“No! Stop!” Your voice was drowned into insignificance and all you could do was watch your last hope fly into the dark sky. The hangar shuddered around you, rocks shifted loudly and you knew you couldn’t stay inside. The air was biting and aggressive on your skin, you weren’t in the right clothing to be out here at all, your blood red dress was like a stain on the snow. Maybe someone would see you but every ship you saw either exploded or screeched away, no one was looking for you. The ground shook, trees bowed and screamed in protest as a deep orange glow appeared between the trees. You peered through the snow, sure you saw movement and you headed towards it hoping they could help you. The nearer you got to more obvious it was this person was injured, you rushed forward as they fell onto all fours, his dark head of hair bowed in distress.

“Kylo!” Your shivering hands were on him, coming away slicked with blood. The cut to his face was deep, blood was smeared all around the wound before freezing on his skin.

“You’re cold,” he huffed, his eyes closing as he fought the agony he was clearly in.

“I-I kn-know!” He reached for you, enveloping you in his arms but leaning heavily, using you for support. “I d-don't know w-where to go!”

“You need to keep moving.”

The ground rocked violently under your feet, you tried to support Kylo but his massive frame sagged heavily against you, his blood bleeding into the material of your dress. The snow and freezing temperatures were making your feet feel numb and you stumbled. You both fell, Kylo grunting in pain as you knelt next to him trying to stop the tears from falling.

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered. His gloved hand cupped your face, his expression tight as he fought the pain that rippled through his body.

“They will find us,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. “He is coming.”

“They w-will never f-find us!” You sobbed, looking up and seeing the red lava erupting from the centre of the planet, the pressure becoming unstable as cracks appeared all around you. Heat blasted you in your face, whipping your hair back and you hunched over the injured man in a last wild effort to protect him. Your heart was pounding, there was no way out, no escape from the inevitable doom that bore down on you. Your heart fluttered wildly as you thought of Hux and how you weren’t going to see him again, not feel his hair under your hands, his body against yours. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, didn’t want to stop them as you wept for your life that was ending all too soon.

Kylo murmured your name, his thumb wiping away the tears already freezing on your cheek and brushing some stray hair from your face. Your gaze was pulled from the dying planet down to his wide hazel eyes, the world falling away around you creating a bubble where it was just you and him. Your panic trickled into nothingness the longer you stared at him, tracing the line of the gash marking his fair, freckled skin with your eyes.

“The world is falling down,” you whispered, not sure how you were managing to hear yourself so clearly as your end came racing towards you.

“I know.”

“We can’t get out.” His hand tightened against the side of your face, his eyes searching yours.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to die like this,” you sobbed. He pulled you into his chest and you buried your face, fisting your hands tightly in his tunic as you held onto him. You tried to ignore the increased vibrations from the ground below, the deep roar as the lava spewed high into the sky, the ripping and tearing of the trees as they bowed under the pressure. The sound of the earth cleaving crashed around you and a scream left your mouth as Kylo gripped you.

Suddenly pressure wrapped around your middle, pulling you off Kylo and you automatically fought, reaching for him until you saw who was pulling you up. Hux carried you to the ship, watching over his shoulder as the troopers helped Kylo up and followed you onto the ship. Hux’s eyes were wide as he bellowed orders, fear laced his tone but his hands never left you. His fingers were digging in painfully to your freezing skin, it wasn’t until you started shaking, your teeth rattling that he finally looked down at you. Were you dreaming? Is this what death felt like? It couldn’t, because it hurt. He didn’t say a word, his eyes magnetising to yours and for the first time you saw they were red rimmed and shining with tears. You barely noticed the blanket he pulled over your shoulders wrapping you up tightly before he pulled you to him, holding you against his chest where you could hear his heart galloping erratically. From where you were sitting you could see the surface of Ilum through the cockpit viewport. The earth heaved until finally it exploded, the blinding orange glow lighting up the entire ship, just as the white sliding lights of hyperspace sucked the Command Shuttle into light speed. The silence was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing and Hux’s heart pounding into the side of your face. You’d survived.

You turned your head to see Kylo slumped in a seat with Phasma, her helmet off as she tended to his wounds as best she could. Pain crippled him, you could see it in the way he held himself, in the rise and fall of his chest, it shone out of his gaze as he looked at you. But only you saw it.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 13 - Sketch/Ache

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, so close yet so far, 3k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: death mention

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

October already? Looking at the work schedule posted on the wall, Willie ran a hand through his hair. The time really was just passing him by, huh? Another day over, he grabbed his skateboard and strapped on his helmet.

“Hey, Willie?” His manager, Kyle, called after him before he got through the back door.

“Yeah, man?” Willie turned to answer him.

“This Saturday we need some extra hands while we’ve got a group performing. Could you be there?”

“Totally, man,” he said, smiling with assurance before heading out into the street. Los Angeles was fresher than Vegas, at least for him. He loved the breeze from the ocean that swept in every evening and being near the water in general. There was so much more to do, as well, and he didn’t think he’d ever exhaust that list. Just the number of places to skate was constantly growing, without mentioning the rest. Of course, he had been hoping to do some of them with Alex by now, but that was easier said than done. Sunset Curve didn’t seem to be doing too many shows at the moment, and that was all he really had to track him with.

Stopping at an antiquated apartment building, he headed down a stairway into the basement and burst through the door.

“Guess who’s home!” he cried. Sheldon came pattering over with his ever-cheerful prrrp and rubbed against his leg. Kneeling to pet him, Willie chuckled. “Aww, I’m happy to see you, too.”

He immediately went over to the cat’s bowl and poured some food in, listening to Sheldon purr loudly as he ate his dinner. Willie grabbed some food for himself to snack on as he sat at his desk and looked at the unfinished drawing that had been left there early that morning. He’d begun covering his walls in sketches again, and this time he didn’t have to be afraid of everything being torn away. In fact, Willie couldn’t even believe he had convinced himself that his life was fine when staying with Caleb.

Things had changed entirely. Since his brief adventure out in the desert, Willie was fully independent. He owed most of it to Bessie, still, and he thought of that woman every day. She hadn’t left him any way to contact her, otherwise he’d want to send her a thank you card at least once a week. It even overshadowed the fact that he’d actually ridden in a plane with Harrison Ford.

Willie remembered how incredibly short the flight had been in comparison to the rest of his journey. Bessie had donated an old cat carrier that they strapped into the cabin for Sheldon while Willie joined Harrison in the cockpit. It was nothing like watching the man fly the Millenium Falcon, except that it felt like they had gone into lightspeed and landed not too long after taking off. 

“You should be proud,” Harrison had told him. “You didn’t get sick.”

It had taken Willie until after they landed at the Santa Monica Airport to realize that he’d hardly spoken a word because he kept looking at him in pure shock at the reality of the man. His embarrassment must have appeared obvious, because Harrison Ford leaned down to look him in the eye.

“I’ve seen it a million times, don’t worry about it.” There was something sage about the resting expression on his face.

Chuckling in a flustered manner, Willie tried to think of the best way to thank him.

“Well, that was...that was really amazing, Mr., um...Mr. Ford. Thank you.”

The old actor smirked a little. Willie had seen a handful of actors come through the diner in Vegas before (at least, he’d been told they were famous, since he didn’t recognize most of them), and none of them were nearly as friendly.

“Willie, right?” Harrison had asked. It was enough to get him starstruck all over again, but he managed to nod. “Well, since I’ll never see you again, I’ll give you some advice.”

Willie listened intently.

“If you believe something is worth it, don’t quit. From what I already know about you, it doesn’t look like you do, so I have an extra piece of advice for you: planning and preparation is everything.”

Thinking back to when Bessie had scolded him about not riding the bus, Willie cowered inwardly. He couldn’t imagine how stupid he had sounded then.

“Do you know where you’re headed, kid? I can call a cab to take you anywhere you need.”

“How come you’re so nice?” Willie blurted. He hadn’t meant to.

Harrison Ford bowed his head, still smirking, and looked back up.

“I was twice your age before I really got anywhere. Now I’m just an old man who still does the job. Doesn’t mean I’m always nice, but sometimes….” He shrugged and gave him a wink.

Nodding, Willie had thanked him again. Harrison Ford held out a hand, which he shook with great enthusiasm before accepting the offer for the cab and saying goodbye. When he’d asked to go to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the cab driver had looked at him in confusion.

“You do?” the guy asked. Seeing the definitive nod from Willie in the back seat, he just looked resigned. “Okay.”

Shortly after being dropped off, Willie had realized why the cab driver had responded that way. Standing before Grauman’s Chinese Theater, the street was just another place covered in gum, surrounded by people dressed as other celebrities. He saw other people taking pictures with them, and saw that the ones all dressed up were being paid. Some young woman dressed as Marilyn Monroe was doing her best to catch his interest with a flirty pose and a wink. Awkwardly smiling, Willie turned away and went to explore that area of the city. It was a good thing he hadn’t owned a camera then.

Now, he had decided to get a cheap one, just to capture anything he found interesting when he saw it. He’d accumulated a handful of things in the past few months: the basement apartment, a mattress, his writing desk and chair, and his job at the record-store-slash-cafe, among other things. The fridge had already been in the room, which was a nice perk. It was cool enough that the owner of the building had been willing to rent to him even though he was still underage. Working at the record store was much better than both the diner and the hotel, although his hopes of having Alex or his friends chance to stop in were dwindling some.

For now, it was much like before he’d left Vegas, only without Caleb’s dark shadow constantly looming over him and a few more memories restored. And, of course, he could keep Sheldon with him. It was strange how meeting Alex and being at the Pearl already felt like a dream. Willie often had the thought that maybe he should move on and start planning out whatever he wanted now. Maybe Alex had just been the catalyst to get him out of a bad position and help him move forward.

Staring down presently at the drawing on his desk, Willie sighed. Alex’s smiling face (what he could remember of it) beamed up from the page. Sure, he could tell himself to be over it, but was he really? Sheldon began running about the apartment like he was being chased by an invisible foe, creating a distraction from Willie’s thoughts. After a while, he went to bed and lay awake replaying in his mind the last few moments he’d actually seen Alex. It was still so vivid. If it was no longer important, why could he recall it so well?

He watched as Alex stood up and held out a hand toward him. Taking it, he was impressed by the strength with which he was lifted off the surface of the observation deck. His mind returned to earlier that day when the situation had been reversed, and he wondered if Alex had felt the same exhilaration from that moment of closeness. He already missed the feeling of Alex’s fingers through his hair. Gaining his balance, he let go of Alex’s hand and a nervous giggle escaped as a bout of giddiness came over him. 

“You alright there?” Alex teased, grinning.

Shaking his head, almost to clear it like an Etch-A-Sketch, Willie grinned back.

“I’m having a good time,” he told him.

The warm smile that spread across Alex’s face and the way his eyes lit up deserved to be captured forever. Willie was sure he could fill a thousand pages of sketches, even if they were all of that one expression.

“Me, too,” Alex said, eyes wandering all over Willie’s face.

Before Willie could blush too hard, he picked up his skateboard.

“I know some shortcuts that’ll get us back to the hotel pretty quickly,” he started, pressing the button for the elevator. He didn’t want to go back so fast, but he had to remember his early work day in the morning. Caleb always had some sort of laundry list on the days he didn’t immediately go in to work at the diner.

“You’ve been a good tour guide so far,” Alex said as they stepped into the elevator.

Casting a wistful look back at the splendid view of Las Vegas, Willie watched the doors shut. Once they got out to the street again, Willie looked up at the hat sitting on Alex’s head. Impulsively, he lifted it up and put it on backwards, grinning at Alex.

“How does it look?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Alex’s jaw hung open for a moment, his nervous smile betraying him.

“It looks good,” he said in a breathless manner. It was such a cute expression, Willie wished he could make it happen again.

Alex was wishing right then that he could keep a picture of Willie with the hat on. He usually didn’t let people just steal it off his head, but when the result was that handsome he wasn’t going to complain. He’d wait until they had reached the hotel to ask for it back.

“So,” Willie started saying. “Back to L.A. in the morning, huh?”

Ah yes, the feeling of being crushed by reality. Alex bowed his head. He wasn’t excited to address it.

“Uh, yeah,” he sighed. “You know, when I got here I was hoping to just get the gig over with and leave, but that...I kind of forgot about that.”

He glanced up at Willie, not sure how much he should go into detail about why he changed his tune.

“But then you met Sheldon and he was the coolest cat ever, right?” Willie teased.

A chuckle of genuine entertainment escaped his throat. Did Willie know how charming he was? Alex wished he knew how to tell him.

“Yep, it was definitely the cat,” he responded. “Although the owner isn’t too bad, either.”

He got a casual shrug in return.

“Well, I know I’m busy, but I could call you,” Willie offered.

Fear pinched everything in Alex’s chest. It almost made him stop in his tracks.

“God, I - ” he started awkwardly, forcing his body to keep moving. “I can’t. I seriously wish I could, but that’s just...not possible.”

He already hated the words the moment they’d been spoken. His parents suspected enough things about him and his activity with the guys in his band, but they would make his reality pure hell if they ever picked up the phone from a guy they’d never met who had shown as much interest in him as Willie. While he felt fine being open just about anywhere else, at home was where he remained most guarded.

Willie was looking at him with slight disappointment.

“That’s too bad, I guess,” he said. “At least I know I won’t be going anywhere for a while, so you know where to find me.”

It was the only consolation they could afford. Alex wanted to make plans right then and there.

“And what would we do if I did find you?” he asked, knowing he was prodding for signs that he wasn’t the only one with hopes. He tried to relax his stride to appear more casual.

“Lots of possibilities,” Willie told him. “I haven’t shown you my favorite museum, or seen you skate - ”

“Just putting it out there,” Alex interrupted, raising a hand. “I cannot skate.”

Willie blew a raspberry. “Maybe not now, man, but you will by the time I’m finished with you.”

The way he wiggled his eyebrows made Alex think of something much different than riding a skateboard. He cleared his throat nervously as he looked up at the street they were on. The hotel was already a block away.

“Whoa, how’d we get here so fast?” he wondered.

“I know my shortcuts,” Willie said proudly.

Unfortunately, he did. Alex wanted more time to figure out a way to see Willie in the future. There had to be a possibility in the future. His long legs could only go so slowly, however, and soon they were stopped outside the hotel doors.

“Are you gonna make it home okay?” Alex asked. “Wherever that is?”

“I’ll be fine,” Willie shrugged plainly. “It’s not too far.”

For a minute, they stood in awkward silence. Alex could feel his entire body burning to make some gesture that left Willie with the right impression. What would be too forward? A hug? A kiss on the cheek? He’d already checked off holding him and running his hand through Willie’s hair, so he wasn’t going to simply send him off with a hand wave or something.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow before you guys go?” Willie said, smirking optimistically.

“Yeah, maybe,” Alex said, trying to return a smile with the same optimism.

“Oh,” Willie sputtered. He took off the hat and tried to place it back onto Alex’s head properly. It didn’t work, but Alex simply adjusted it into its comfortable backward position. His fingers twitched under the temptation to touch Willie’s hair again.

“One of these days…” he muttered.

“Hm?” Willie perked up curiously.

Oh, no, he’d said it out loud. Damn. There was no way he couldn’t follow up.

“Uh...one of these days I’ll be around here again,” he said, nodding to reassure himself. “I’ll come looking for you.”

Willie could only look up at him and smile.

“I…” Alex began to scratch the back of his neck, but forced his hand down into his pocket. It had to be said. “I definitely like you.”

He watched Willie’s face morph from surprise into a smile, and finally his trademark eyebrow raise.

“So do I,” Willie said, biting his lip.

They both giggled, now that their feelings were out there in the open. It only made Alex ache more to stay. Willie placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You take care, Alex,” he told him.

He nodded. “And you be safe, Willie.”

He got one more glance into those gorgeous brown eyes, longing to toss in a line and anchor himself in them. The dim lights from the street played off of the natural glimmer that was always present.

Feeling Willie’s hand slide off his shoulder and down his arm, Alex could’ve sworn there was a tiny squeeze he received at the end of his fingers before Willie let go and got onto his skateboard. He watched him leave until eventually he was staring out into the darkness all alone. Reluctantly, he headed back up to the hotel room.

Alex was lying awake in his bed, silent tears falling down his cheeks at the bitter memory. His last words to Willie had been powerless to protect him. What sort of sick and twisted universe would let that happen? He knew he had no control over those circumstances, but he still felt that if anyone died in a fire, it should be him. Willie had been too wonderful to deserve it.

Turning to his side, he still hated the sobs that wracked through his whole body months later. Most people would deem it pathetic to hurt this much over someone he’d barely known. It was strange, but it felt almost undeserved, like mourning as he did wasn’t allowed. What about the people that Willie had spent time with every day? How could Alex begin to fathom their pain? To them, his sorrow would appear as empty as if he were crying over Freddie Mercury. This hurt far more than when he’d cried over Freddie.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t tell his family. The guys had been okay at letting Alex have his space, but his parents kept making comments about his sudden upset over everything. They would only see death as something bittersweet, a “better place” to go for people who were doing the right things. Of course he was terrified of death - he wasn’t exactly considered worthy of anything good, by their standards. That only made the loss of Willie that much worse. He hadn’t bothered to explain himself to Abbey. He couldn’t put that emotional burden on her.

Before he could let his mind wander further into the dark, Alex tried to find something else for his brain to put on cycle. Oddly enough, it went back to singing for Julie’s mom at the hospital. The words immediately began to repeat in his mind: we all live in a yellow submarine…. It wasn’t a song that he truly loved, but it was catchy. It was the one Willie had suggested they do. Alex remembered how he’d imagined everyone in that room in their own world together, safe and free from worldly cares. Somewhere full of color and warmth and people could be happy as they were.

That’s all he truly wanted. Maybe he would have that with the band, and maybe he’d get away from his parents and finally be free from all of their pressure, and maybe one day he’d recover and find a guy like Willie again. He wasn’t sure what he really believed just yet, but there had to be something good worth holding onto. If it was just some stupid world where he and his friends lived in a yellow submarine, so be it.