#not hiding on a desert planet chilling

[sandra-has-thoughts]

Yes! I’m super worried that he’s going to die a violent death in  Ahsoka and that will be made to look like a noble thing.  Because he goes down fighting “like a solider should” or some mess.  

Boo to that I say.. BOOOO!!!

Intervention for Rex where a bunch of other clones who deserted surround him and keep asking him questions like "a lifetime of war doesn't sound awful to you? Who was it that told you that all you're good for is fighting wars for people whod spit on you and deny you your rights given half a chance? Why are you proud of only being made to die? Where is anyone arguing for your safety, fighting for your right to freedom from tyranny? What are you running from? What future exactly are you running toward? Is continuing to fight noble or tragic?"

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Ready Or Not, Here I Come

Pairing: TFP Knockout x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains mentions of soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 2875

Summary: Being kidnapped by a giant alien robot who also happens to be one of the most narcissistic assholes on this side of the galaxy wasn't something you planned for today. Unfortunately, things happen, and now you must hide and escape from a mech who certainly doesn't want to let you go.

Knockout fic time ya'll eat up. This is actually my first time writing for him and I did A LOT of research on his mannerisms and personality to make sure I got him right. I also really wanted to play into the fearplay factor and show how terrifying it would be for one of us humans to be hunted by what is essentially an apex predator that has its notoriety spread to numerous planets who have interacted with Cybertronians, especially Decepticons. Feedback and comments are much appreciated! Enjoy trying to escape from this handsome idiot :)

You are screwed.

Like, absolutely, positively screwed.

You huddle in the corner of the empty boxcar, your entire body shivering from cold and fear. The evening is dark, with no light except from the moon to illuminate the deserted trainyard around you. Your breath is labored and quick, coming out in puffs of dragon’s smoke while you tremble and hug yourself tighter, sinking into the little warmth your winter coat provides.

  You feel a vibration pulse beneath you.

  All of your senses are on overdrive. You go still while you strain your ears for the slightest sound of movement, holding your breath and pressing your hands into your forearms.

  Silence.

  There’s only the roar of your own heart.

  Maybe it was from a car, you think to yourself. Or a truck. There’s a road not far from here. It had to be that.

  Convincing yourself you are safe is not working.

  Your body still shakes, and your instincts know, they can sense that you aren’t out of the woods yet. The thing that took you is still out there.

  You want to mutually sob and laugh from the utter disbelief of it. Monsters are real. And you are being hunted by one.

  “Boom.”

  The boxcar trembles.

  Your heart stops and you feel the chilling sensation of numbness prickle over your skin.

  The night is silent.

  “Boom.”

  Footsteps echo in the distance.

  They aren’t human. They’re too heavy, too loud.

  He knows where you are. He’s coming for you.

  Panic sets in. Scrambling to your feet, you leave your little corner and poke your head out of the boxcar’s open door. Fog has set in and turned the trainyard into an eerie maze with paths draped in mist. Your sense of direction is thrown off by the hazy images of the other boxcars all around you. Everything looks exactly the same. This place is huge; how are you supposed to find your way out of it? You can’t even recall the way you took to get to this point!

  “Boom.”

  He’s getting closer.

  “Shitshitshit.” You turn in a circle and pull at your hair while your chest constricts and you feel a familiar tugging from behind your eyes that means oncoming tears. You don’t know what to do. What can you do? How are you supposed to get out of this? You're running out of time!

  Don’t panic. That’s rule number one. Panicking will only make you an easier target. You force your arms to drop. Inhaling deep through your nose and letting it out of your mouth, you close your eyes and urge yourself to relax.

  You will find a way out of here. When the creature brought you here, you saw a gas station about a mile away down the main road that borders the trainyard. If you can make it there, someone will have to help you. You just have to remain unseen until then.

  “BOOM.”

  The boxcar shakes. You wobble a little, and your hope drops.

  “Helloooo!” A prim male voice announces itself. “Little human! I know you're here!”

  You duck out of view and press yourself against the boxcar’s wall. Footsteps echo with the smooth whirrr of mechanical joints moving a massive robotic body through the alleyways of train cars.

  You don’t understand why he’s doing this. You were minding your own business, going about your life like any regular person does, when all of a sudden this…car zoomed straight for you and flashed you with a blinding blue light. Everything had gone black then, and when you woke up, you were trapped in a vehicle with no driver. A vehicle that was talking. Thank god it was still a vehicle with a steering wheel and brakes, because you managed to get into the front seat and crash it into a ditch. That’s how you ended up here. You were running and hiding from a car-turned-giant robot who’s probably pissed you scuffed up his paint job.

  You hear a growl that sends shivers down your spine.

  Okay. He’s definitely pissed.

  “Oh, I know you fleshies love your little games,” the robot lilts, “but I’m not particularly in the mood to play one. So, either you come out now, or I will have to force you out of hiding. Trust me human, you really don’t want to know what I’m like when I get serious.”

  You have to get out of here. If you don’t run now, he’s going to find you, and you’ll never have another chance to escape again. Gathering up what little courage you have, you once again peek outside.

  A pair of massive red eyes stare right back at you.

  A scream is ripped from your lungs. You fall flat on your ass, pushing yourself away from the giant robot looking in. The mech cackles. “Oh, that was priceless! You fleshies are so easy to startle!”

  “F-Fuck off!” you yell hoarsely at him. “Get the fuck away from me!”

  He laughs again and reaches a clawed hand into the boxcar. You shriek and fumble to avoid the oncoming digits. The corner once again becomes your safe haven when you curl up into it, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

  The robot smirks. “All bark and no bite, hmm? I was expecting that. All of you fleshbags are the same. You think you're so tough, until something bigger comes along to snap at you.”

  You give him the most withering glare you can muster, but you guess it doesn’t exactly do the job, since he only chuckles. “If you weren’t such a revolting mass of organic waste, I would actually find you rather cute, you know. Ah, shame. And here I was thinking about being rather gentle with you.”

  “W-What do you want with me?!” You stand up on shaky legs that nearly give out beneath you. “Why did you kidnap me? What did I do?”

  “You really want to know the truth?” he asks.

  “Yes, obviously!”

  He shrugs. “Alright. I was bored. I saw you and decided, hey, why not have a little bit of fun before I go? Is that a satisfactory answer for you, human?”

  You blink dumbfoundedly. “So you…you kidnapped me and drove me out into the middle of bumblefuck nowhere because you were bored?!”

  “Well, I hardly think being bored is a simple reason,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Boredom can be quite the bane to one’s existence. It can lead to all sorts of medical complications. Depression, stress, irritable tank syndrome-”

  “Cut the crap!” You interrupt him with a gnash of your teeth. “This isn’t funny! Take me back to where you picked me up, right now!”

  “It’s quite funny to me.” The mech drums his claws idly against the boxcar’s floor. “You know what else is funny? The fact that you actually think you're in control of this situation. Tell me, what if I were to say no?”

  You open your mouth to retort, but find no sound comes out. The mech raises an eyebrow. His shit-eating grin widens. “What, got nothing to say? That’s fine, I really didn’t expect you to have an answer. Here’s the thing: You're not going anywhere right now. So, kick back, relax. Maybe if you're a good little meatbag, I’ll consider letting you go.”

  “I’m not a meatbag!” You're really starting to hate this guy. “I’m a person! A human being!”

  “Human, meatbag, it’s all the same.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Now, are you going to make this easy for yourself? Or are we going to keep up this argument that is not only petty, but also rather meaningless?”

  You slump back down and draw your knees close to your chest, lowering your head a little and wishing you weren’t shaking with fear. The mech takes great delight in this. He inhales deeply and sighs, shuddering ecstatically. “Ah, there it is again. That wonderful scent of terror. It’s absolutely tantalizing.”

  Your head shoots up. “Wait. What?”

  “You heard me. I didn’t take you just because I was bored, you know. I was also on the lookout for a snack.”

  “You…eat humans?” You gape at him, horrified.

  “Not typically. But ever since my home planet decided to, well, blow up ages ago, my kind have had to resort to some…secondary methods in order to survive.”

  “So, you’re-you’re an alien?”

  “No. I’m just a normal Aston Martin.” He oozes narcissism while he runs a hand expressingly down his shoulder armor. “Notice the expensive color? The gold rims? I’m a real work of art, you know. You should appreciate me more.”

  You feel like you are ready to explode. “Be serious! What are you?”

   He rolls his eyes. “Hmph. No sense of humor. Typical humans. Fine, since you want to be such a downer about everything, I’ll tell you. I’m a Cybertronian, fleshbag. My name is Knockout.” He tapped his chest like you were a child he was teaching basic English to. “And you are?”

  You grumble, reluctant to give up your identity, but feeling obligated to since he just revealed his. “It’s…Y/N.”

  “Hm. Y/N. Pretty name.” He smiles. “So, Y/N. Ready to come out of there and face the music?”

  You shake your head fervently. “N-No way!”

  His eyes glint with sinister mischief. “What if we were to play a little game?”

  “I’m not interested in playing any game with you.”

  “Come on. It’s not like you have anything better to do. Just hear me out. I’ll give you twenty Earth minutes to find your way out of here. If you do, I won’t follow you, and I’ll let you go. But if I do find you…” He slowly gouges his claws against the boxcar’s floor. The wood splits and shatters, leaving behind deep, messy wounds. An impending sense of doom fills you.

  “If I do find you, you're mine,” he says. “And you will accept that with no opposition.”

  You stand up in protest. “That's a terrible game!”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s perfectly reasonable. I’m giving you a chance to prove you aren’t as pathetic as you make yourself look. Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The worst that could happen would be me being eaten by a giant fucking alien robot!”

  “You won’t die.” His voice grows uncharacteristically soft. For a moment, you actually think you see a hint of genuineness in his eyes. “I can promise you that. I don’t digest organics. It’s not good for my systems.”

  You scoff. “Yeah, right. As if I’d believe you.”

  “I can prove I’ll be fair with this.” He rises and takes a few steps back. “I’ll stay right here and even give you a head start! How thoughtful of me. I don’t display generosity like this very often, so my advice would be to take advantage of it.”

  You hesitate and consider your odds. If you remain in here, not only are you essentially trapped, but the mech can also easily shake you out. But if you take up his offer…you might actually have a chance to escape.

  The mech taps his foot impatiently. “I don’t have all night, Y/N. Come out, or I’ll drag you out.”

  Slowly, you inch out of the boxcar. He towers over you, a massive red giant who, now that you fully perceive him, looks more and more alien by the second. Cherry red and silver with accents of yellow peeking out between joints that come together to create something that should not be possible. He’s bulky, yet slim at the same time, with spiky points neatly jutting up from his knees and shoulders. The finials on his head give him a sharp, shark-like look. There’s an equal mixture of danger and beauty surrounding him, and it makes you even more uncomfortable with him being around you. You full heartedly believe he could snap you up in one bite if he wishes.

  He tilts his head with an air of curiosity and offers you a charming smile.  “There you are,” he coos. “Look at you. I knew you could do it. Good little human. You like what you see?”

  You have to look away so he won’t see the way your cheeks flush red. “No, I don’t,” you shakily retort. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Aww, you're flustered. Don’t be embarrassed. There’s no shame in admitting you're attracted to me. I’m a real knockout when it comes to looks.”

  “Oh my god.” You slap a hand over your face. “Oh my god. You are horrible.”

  Knockout throws his head back and laughs. “Get used to it, fleshy. Your feelings will grow for me sooner or later. Now, go on, scurry along now. Remember, five minutes and I’m coming for you.”

  You can’t believe you’ve agreed to this. You don’t want to believe this is happening. A giant alien robot from outer space wants to hunt you down and take you away from your life. How the hell could your day have gone so wrong?

  You find yourself running. You’ve agreed to this game. Now you have to go through with it. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t.

  Your feet clumsily hit the ground and create loud, uneven steps. Too loud. Too obvious. How long has it been? A minute? Or thirty seconds? Nervous sweat beads your brow. Hiding within another boxcar would be too easy. You must use this maze to your advantage. There is no elaborate plan of deception rising up within your mind. When you spontaneously decide to shimmy your way beneath a boxcar, only one thing is certain: you just need to hide.

  The tracks are cold and uncomfortable to lay over. You squirm and hiss through your teeth when the metal presses up against your stomach and legs, but you bear with it and remain in place. There is no sound. Just your breath. Just your heart.

  “Boom. Boom. Boom.”

  Mighty steps shake the ground forcefully. A twin pair of mechanical red-and-silver feet stomp past you, a methodical movement thundering down the line of cars as that of an animal pacing back and forth with hungry impatience, watching first one boxcar and then another, alert for movement inside. There is laughter beyond your cover, mocking you.

  The thunder fades to simple vibrations. You must move. You roll out and stand, going in the opposite direction as Knockout. Steady footsteps. You must remain calm. But your breathing is still uneven and your heart still fights within your chest like a caged bird. You are afraid. So, so afraid.

  “Scccccccrrraaape.”

  Metal screeches. You can hear him dragging his claws across a boxcar’s top.

  “I can smell you, you know,” he gloats sardonically. Hair prickles up the back of your neck. “Do you know what you smell like?” he continues. “Do you want to know?”

  “Boom. Boom. Boom.”

  “The purest energon from the richest of mines. So delicious, so tasty. Oh, I cannot wait to get my jaws around you, little human.”

  You aimlessly turn a corner and see a hulking vermillion frame right in front of you.

  You just…freeze. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you can do nothing but stare at the gigantic robot. He’s crouched on one knee, peering into a boxcar with his back turned to you. You make the terrible mistake of releasing a soft gasp. It’s no louder than the faintest of whispers, but he hears. Of course he hears.

  The robot’s head snaps towards you. Unblinking crimson eyes search for you in the dark, pupils expanding and contracting repeatedly. You remain still. The tension in your muscles burns, yet you refuse to take your eyes off of him.

  He is a piece of tech beyond your understanding. But even robotics can have trouble seeing through fog.

  The mech inhales deeply through his mouth. His pupils become so large they nearly swallow up the red of his eyes. A wide, toothy grin spreads across his face.

  “Hm. Using the fog to your advantage. Clever little one. You're making this much more fun.” He stands. “Unfortunately for you, this liquid vapor does not hide everything.”

  You are whipcord tight, standing there with your feet nailed to the ground. There is a disconnection between your brain and your limbs. The mech has you under a spell, crafting your fear into a paralyzing weapon. You are too terrified to even utter a sound.

  He approaches you, slowly. You have to crane your neck to meet his gaze when he stands directly over you. “My, my,” he croons. “Such a fragile, delicate little thing. You make this too easy for me. Oh yeah, I’m definitely keeping you.”

  Your voice cracks a little. “I thought I was just a revolting mass of organic waste?”

  “You are. But, I’m willing to change my mind. After all, you’ve made this such an entertaining night for me. I’ve come to realize that…I need to see your fear again. This can’t be a one-time thing. It makes me far too…hungry.”

  Your hands shake when you raise them pleadingly. “H-How hungry?”

  He smiles wickedly, tongue running over his teeth. “Starved.”

  You don’t have time to even think about screaming before he lunges, claws caging you in and mouth descending for you, ready to swallow you whole.

[ddarker-dreams]

lock i am dying to know blades view of n darling! please toss us some crumbs i shall devour them 🤞

I'M OMW 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

i went into blade's thoughts on n darling from ch1-ch4 here, but his thoughts have changed somewhat post ch5. i've been wanting an excuse to delve into blade's psychology since he's so tight-lipped and everything takes place from n darling's perspective. the short version would be that his views are a mess. he doesn't know how to detangle them, but i do. 😎

n darling was a faraway oasis in a desert to him, with a tiny trickle of water flowing past the perimeter he couldn't cross. he didn't know much about her personally. what he did know, however, was that being in her vicinity made the writhing within his flesh still. he's been tormented by this affliction for over 700 years. that's an unfathomable stretch of time, especially for someone who was a short-life species. the gifts (or baubles, as ania phaeales nicely phrased it) he left behind on n darling's balcony were some weird cross between courtship and gratitude.

there's a difference between how kafka and n darling soothe his mara. kafka has to tuck memories away, rearrange the mind, build over a crumbling structure to hide the cracks. n darling isn't filling and dumping water buckets from a submerging ship, she seals the hole in its entirety. blade's still himself (whatever that may be) when around her. whereas under kafka's influence, he quite literally has no will of his own. which is fine, but who would settle for average when the best is right near their fingertips?

this is the foundation for the pull blade initially felt toward n darling. the months he spent guarding n darling built upon this in rapid succession. blade came to actually learn about her, not just the relief she could provide him. through their interactions, her convictions, insecurities, and self-destructive kindness became evident to him. she went from being this lofty deity figure to a person. originally, he pointed out flaws in her reasoning just to be contrarian, but her answers came to intrigue him.

he too once thought it his duty to sacrifice every part of himself for a nobler cause — a creed that ended in disaster and torment. she isn't entirely like the naïve yingxing, but that fervor and arrogance... ah. it did something to him. revived one of the few elements of himself he thought dead.

tl;dr blade couldn't be chill about his cool space crush with psychic powers and had to make it an entire planet's problem.

[seagoober]

A Different Kind of Human ( Step 1)

TFP Optimus Prime x Female Human Reader

Optimus had seen countless beings across the galaxy. But she… she was different.

For a desert climate Nevada became confusingly cool when the Sun left the sky to rest behind the mountain tops. The lack of sun rays left only moonbeams to touch the surface of the young planet. The softness of the slight chill in the air was accompanied by the sultry darkness that encompassed the deserts of Nevada.

The night was still and calm. Tiny bugs were serenading the sweet silence of the night. Their soft songs harmonized with the low buzz of the lone Cybertronian wheels gliding on the asphalt of the deserted highways.

Optimus cherished nights like this. Nights where everything is tranquil. His precious Autobots at the base recharging peacefully in their berth-rooms. The Decepticons hiding away in their ship, leaving the beauty of the earth alone for a single night. All around was serene and still.

Except the Prime’s own thoughts. His processor was running in overdrive: disturbing the hushed nature of the evening.

The electrowaves inside his processor refused to be still. Waves upon waves of thoughts coursed in Optimus’s helm as his alt-form went to the unknown. The chattering of his mind didn’t cease even as his tires slowly stopped and his physical form came to a rest.

Optimus simply sat there in his alt-form as another wave of intrusive thoughts filled his processor. Time was non-existent, the Autobots were nonexistent, the Decepticons were nonexistent, he himself was nonexistent. The only thing real was the hushed voice he filed far away in his deepest files every day cycle.

‘How much longer with this war go on’

‘Am I doing what’s right?’

‘Can Megatron truly be stopped?’

‘How much longer can we last without substantial Everton reserves’

‘Am I worthy of the title prime?’

‘Am I even enough-‘

Optimus’s inner voice was halted in its wake of self destruction by an ambrosial melody. The honeyed voice singing this sweet serenade was only accompanied by the gentle tune of what Optimus assumed was a string instrument. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know that it was lovely.

His optics inside his alt-form lightly closed as he basked in the heavenly symphony only he was present to witness.

Her ethereal voice easily rounded around the notes of the melody. Each staff of the music was delicately executed to create a lyrical wonder that had Optimus craving more of her harmonious singing.

The words of her song were sad but not entirely so. They were reminiscent of a sort of melancholy with a bud of happiness at the center. The lyrics were bittersweet but still had a comforting warmth that enveloped his whole spark.

As gently as it started, the sweet notes of the music died out as she finished her song with a delicate vibrato. His optics opened to bare witness to this human who calmed his never ending worry.

She was quite a bit away. Perched on the roof of (what he assumed was )her vehicle, her legs swaying back forth rhythmically as she began to strum her wooded strung instrument again. Her fingers skillfully switched positions as the notes changed and she began to hum.

‘How long has she been residing here?’ Optimus wondered. It was unusual for a young woman to be playing music to herself in an abandoned parking lot. Optimus only grew curiouser and curiouser.

Her gentle strumming stopped as she turned her head to the rising the sun. Optimus’s optics were basking in the beauty of her form as the sun-rays surrounded her. Humans were a wonderful species, one that Optimus swore to protect with his entire spark.

But she… she was a different kind of human. One that he couldn’t even begin describe with his vast vocabulary. Her hair flowed as she turned to face his alt-form.

Optimus was one who understood what the human standard of beauty was, but she was most stunning individual he had laid his optics upon. No bot on Cybertron could compare to her radiance. Her eyes glanced over his alt-form, nothing else present but serenity in them.

Oh Primus her eyes. They were like two stars plucked from the sky. Optimus had seen countless optics and some human eyes, but hers. They were otherworldly in their radiance.

Only then did Optimus realize that it was sunrise. It had just been the early whispers of the night, how did he lose track of time so easily? How long was his processor buzzing with worry and distress?

Ratchet would be rising from his short recharge soon. Optimus had to leave the human and her vehicle alone as to not raise suspicion or anxiety back at base. He was about to start his engine when the girl moved.

She gently climbed down from the top of her car with her instrument at her side and started walking towards him. Her footsteps were muffled, barely even making a noise.

She stopped a right by his driver side door and she climbed up upon him. Her actions startled Optimus to his spark. Did she know what he was? Did she see him staring?

His processor started to buzz with distress again when she placed a small sticky piece of paper on his windshield. She took out a decorated pencil and wrote something on the note silently. Putting her pencil away, she then placed a few bills under his windshield wiper, making sure to hide the money from any prying eyes.

“There you go. You must’ve been here for quiet awhile. Safe travels Mr. Trucker”

Her voice was like nothing he’s heard before. It was just as harmonious as her singing but more delicate. She carefully climbed down and went back to her car.

Her engine started and slowly her car left the parking lot. Optimus was unmoving. Stunned from the sheer kindness this human had given him.

Optimus checked his inner clock and cursed. He had to get back to base now or Ratchet will lose it and send everyone looking for him. He’s a prime and he has greater responsibilities than loitering in a parking lot.

He started his engine and pulled out of the parking lot. As he began the trip back to base, Optimus could only think of that human and the note she left him. That ethereal human that could be ascribed to myths of Cybertron.

She truly was a different kind of human.

Hi! This is my first fanfic on tumblr so I hope you liked it! Big daddy prime makes me very happy lol. I have a narrative in mind where I want this to go. Lemme know if y’all want more! I’m also open to doing other bots too. I love all the TFP bots!!!

Btw the reader was playing a lute and her car is a Chevy Spark LT. and yes the name is an Aurora reference. Her music is top teir. I was inauthentic reader singing black water lilies or this could be a dream but is up to interpretation.

See you next time fireflies!!

[electricsynthesis]

so it’s a safe assumption that alteans are humanoid bipedals that range from about 5’-6’ feet tall in adulthood. they have rudimentary shapeshifting that we have only seen used to change: height, skin color and ear shape. supposedly this is to make them better able to “blend in” with local populations but evolutionarily it was probably— whatever. That isn’t what this post is about. Alteans look like humans

we know that the blue lion was sent to earth 10,000~ years ago. presumably alfor sent it there. (Because the show sucks, I cannot say this for sure as I don’t remember this ever being exposited very effectively.) i can’t imagine alfor himself brought it there. We are unaware if her paladin was involved in this endeavor. But it can be assumed that some alteans aided in the process of it being moved. so we can reasonably assume that there were alteans on earth 10,000 years ago.

we know that the local populations of the Vague Unspecific Southern US Desert 10,000 years ago were aware of the blue lion. not to mention there is some either technological or mystical shit going on in those caves, either one implying altean influence. the cave carvings (human art) light up mystically (presumably from altean quintessence magic idk). so if there were alteans manning the blue lion being dropped off, it is also reasonable to assume that the humans interacted with the alteans.

so here I pose a question to you: if you were aware that a fascistic government was attempting to systematically kill your species + planet, and you were aware that your government was expecting the fascists’ success so much that it, instead of using your godlike weapon of war, instead chose to hide said godlike weapon of war on some backwater planet in the middle of nowhere. And you were sent to go be the one to hide it. Would you go home. Or would you stay on the primitive but safe backwater planet. maybe even hang out with the godlike weapon of war. make cave paintings of it. Chill with the locals.

I’m saying that theres altean dna mixed somewhere in the cocktail of the human genome in prehistory. I am saying humans are evolutionarily descended in some small way from alteans. Homo erectus more like homo alteanus I don’t know there’s no punchline here

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Every Night - Echo

This can technically act as a standalone, but this is actually a fanfiction for my fanction requested by @shersten-the-golden and doubly requested by @actuallybarb. Meaning: this is not canon in my fanon; however, this is some delicious Echo angst and even more delicious fluff. So. Enjoy.

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

This can be read anytime after Panic but was written after Hunter Fever Pt 2.

Warnings: Body dysphmorphia from prosthetic limbs, angst, procrastination, kissing with vague reference to more if yuh wanna read it like that.

WC: 2,626

If asked, I couldn’t say what it was that woke me. The unhurried cadence of Wrecker’s unabashed snoring had long since become an ambience as familiar as the sound of my own heartbeat, and whatever noises echoed beyond the Marauder’s walls were quieted to the point of utter disregard as we slept within the comfort of our durasteel home. Tomorrow, we’d move out in search of whatever target had the misfortune of catching our superior’s attention, but, for just that night, we were free of worry and obligation.

Still, I couldn’t sleep. Resigned to searching out some reason for my restlessness, I crept from the medbay, bare feet revolting against chill of the metal floors as I tread silently through the bunkroom. All but Echo lay in blissful states of sleep atop their cots. Glancing briefly at my chrono, I felt myself frown: Echo should have woken Wrecker nearly an hour ago to take watch…

Moving with greater purpose, I made my way through the halls of the Marauder, pausing just long enough to slip into boots as the ramp lowered before treading out into the chill of the night. The apparent desert of this planet made the biting cold in the air all the more poignant, and I quickly found myself wrapping my arms about my chest as I began searching, certain the temperature was all the more troublesome for Echo. Rusty boulders the size of walkers obscured much of the endless seas of rock and sand stretching endless around us offering just as precious cover to us as it did to any potential threats, but, unless something had gone terribly wrong, I harbored no doubt that he would be nearby.

My hunt lasted mere minutes before spotting a flash of crimson and grey atop one of the nearby stones. He sat gazing blindly toward the distant horizon where the pale blue moon was just beginning to vanish, one leg hiked up to his chest while the other lounged lazily over the uneven rock. Something quieted me in that split second before calling out to him, some wisp of understanding my conscious mind hadn’t yet understood, but then I noticed the way his hand gripped mercilessly around his knee, fingers straining against the metal joint. I saw how faintly his breath shook despite the carefully regulated rhythm.

He was crying.

I lingered for barely a second longer in that glimmer of indecision before starting toward him. Still, it wasn’t until I pulled myself over the ridge of stone that he noticed me, body tensing violently beneath a sharp gasp before turning quickly away as though there was some hope of hiding the lines of tears streaking his face. I offered no sign of even noticing his reaction as I settled down beside him, knees tucked to my chest to watch the moonset despite the nervous glances he kept sending toward me.

“I still can’t touch the scars.” There was no sorrow in my softly spoken words; no precursor to the truth I was so loathed to admit to anyone else. “If I let myself think about it – that it’s all metal and wires in there instead of bone, I can barely walk on it.” I didn’t need to look at him to feel the understanding slowly sink in; to see him quiet in the wake of my admission.

“When that EMP went off, and it went dead… I was so… so mad.” I told him with a scoff. “I was mad that I had to rely on this thing that had failed me where my body wouldn’t have. I was mad that I fell so quickly into that panic… I was too busy being mad and scared, that I never gave myself time to be grateful that, even though it isn’t perfect, it’s better than having nothing there at all… To be honest, I’m still pretty bad at that last part.” Only then did I turn to look at him, searching for him only out of the corner of my eyes in case he shied away from my gaze, but he wasn’t looking at me.

Attention locked on the artificial joint still trapped in his hold, he wilted before me, tension abandoning him into something too near despair for my heart to even bare witness to without twisting.

“I just…” The air stilled in my lungs at that first attempt to speak, at the way his voice caught on faltered breath, forcing him to pause before trying again. “I woke up like this… I didn’t… And there wasn’t time to even understand what… what happened.” I wasn’t there for his rescue, but I knew bits – I knew of the state he was found in and of the battles he faced immediately after… It took me nearly a month to learn to walk. He had to fight for his life without being granted even a moment to begin to come to terms with his new body.

Without a word, I reached out and rested my hand atop his, touch barely there until he hesitantly uncurled his fingers, amber eyes studying his own movements as he slowly allowed himself to return that touch, and then he was clinging to me, grip strong enough to make the joints ache, but I merely offered him a small smile. Brows drawn sharply together, teeth ground, he let his chin fall to his chest as his shoulders bucked slightly.

“I know I should be… I can still function, so I know it shouldn’t…” His lips wrenched into a scowl against the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“Echo,” I barely breathed his name, shifting nearer to him until my thigh brushed his hip. “There’s no ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ with this.” He turned slightly away from me, but I could see the rage in him, the desperate sorrow and regret. “You have a right to be angry; to be sad… It’s okay to feel those things.” I reached my other hand toward him, gently whispering up his jaw, his cheek in a silent plea to face me; to believe me, but he wasn’t quite ready yet, so I merely waited, thumb brushing along skin that was so pale for so long but was finally regaining that stunning gold.

His other arm started to raise, as though moving to reach toward that touch, but then he stopped, eyes shifting only briefly to the scomp before closing with a deep, shaky sigh.

“I’m… There’s barely anything left of me to feel…” I could hear how the words wanted to lash out, how they longed to veil that sorrow in an anger that wouldn’t come, that he’d never allow himself to direct towards me, and that simple realization threatened to ruin me. My fingers shifted more firmly against him as I leaned forward to try to face him.

“I feel you, Echo.” My gentle smile sang through the quiet words, just managing to draw his attention back to me for a moment before his brows drew together, gaze dropping to glare into the stone beneath us.

“Don’t do that.” The heartbreak in his voice felt like a dagger tearing through my chest. I froze, struck by the sudden chill radiating from him.

“Do what?” I heard the question fall from my lips, bathed in a confusion I felt lost in, studying him with the entirety of my being for some clue as to what I’d done, some hint as to how I might help him.

“Act like nothing’s wrong with me, like all this metal and wire isn’t…” His jaw snapped shut around the words, body tensing more with each passing second.

“Isn’t what, Echo?” I pressed. That earlier softness was gone. I wasn’t asking him to answer me; I was demanding that he answer it for himself, but he kept that glare trained pointedly away from me, cheeks taut from how he ground his teeth. “No – hey; don’t do that. Dammit, look at me.” I couldn’t tell if I was begging or ordering, but the desperation was clear, hand pulling more firmly against his jaw. With a resigned, impatient sigh, he reluctantly yielded beneath my touch, weary eyes dragging up to meet mine.

“Do you really think it bothers me?” I asked, torn between horror and insult, freeing my hand from his that I might bring it up to cup the other side of his face as well. “I want you to look me in the eyes, Echo, and tell me: do you really think I care about that – do you really think I see you any differently because of it?” Beneath the faintest hint of anger in my words, all I could hear was my plea for him to deny it, to offer some reassurance that he knew me better than that…

He clung to his empty impatience for mere seconds, breath just catching in the beginnings of a retort he wouldn’t let himself say.

But then that feigned disinterest began to crumble, and the devastation and sorrow and pain broke through. His head hung limp in my touch, eyes shutting against the tears he had no hope of holding back, and I immediately drew him against me, pushing myself onto a knee to reach him.

“I didn’t know you before,” My lips dragged atop the cool skin of his forehead, “but Echo, I don’t need to… I know you now.” I cherished the prickle of facial hair beneath my palms as my thumbs delicately swept away each drop that slid down cheeks no longer gaunt with famine. His hand hesitantly released that death grip on his knee and slid around my side, my back, movement tentative, almost shy, as though certain I’d balk at the contact at any second, but I merely dropped my forehead to rest against his.

“You’re brave, Echo,” I continued, murmuring praise into what sliver of air lay between us. “You’re loyal, and you’re smart, and you care so damn much…” I let my touch slip back just enough for my fingertips to brush against his headpiece, “This… doesn’t change any of that…” His arm trembled as he clung to me, chest bucking beneath tense breaths as he fought for some glimmer of control. “It doesn’t change how deeply I trust you… how much I enjoy your company…” He pulled back just enough to glance up at me, and I broke beneath the desperate need screaming from those stunning eyes.

“You may be different,” His gaze refused to leave mine for even a moment, as though my every word held a secret too precious to risk missing, “but that doesn’t mean ‘bad’… that doesn’t mean ‘less’… especially to me.”

I barely noticed him move, but my entire body lit at his touch, unable to silence the tiny gasp. There was no hunger driving him toward me, no eager want spurred into action by a burning lust. He kissed me with a gentle devotion, worshiping me with every tender, subtle shift of soft, plush lips. He kissed me with such care, I forgot the dangers of war around us; I forgot the labels of medic and soldier. I forgot about the biting cold of the night and the threat of the mission looming with the inevitable rise of this planet’s golden sun. Shamelessly, I forgot about the very existence of reality outside the consuming love in that kiss, and, shamelessly, I kissed him back.

The instant I returned that quiet caress, a nearly silent sob escaped him, and I could have moaned as his hand trailed up my spine, palm cradling my neck for mere seconds before letting his fingers tangle into my hair, hold just enough to beg me not to pull away… not yet. The world could have erupted into fire, and I wouldn’t have been able to tear myself from him, chest trembling with fleeting gasps beneath the violent need burning through me.

The stiff bar of his scomp stretched across my lower back, and I eagerly yielded beneath the gentle pressure, twisting further into him as he held my chest flush against his, hands ceaselessly dragging him toward me. Time didn’t matter as I finally tasted him, welcoming the fleeting dance of his tongue with a growing frenzy, and I couldn’t silence the tiny whimper as the nerves sweeping down my spine flared to life in a burst of static and heat.

With a gasp, he pulled back, wide eyes staring at me with some crippling cocktail of shock and fear and guilt. Frowning, I strained to regain even the beginnings of thought with which I might quiet that frightful doubt.

“Kriff, I… I’m s”

“Don’t.” That single word fled in a tiny huff, mind finally regaining the capability of at least enough logic to speak, driven by the desperate need to rid him of every whisper of fear. “Don’t you dare…” I was panting, fingers still dancing softly against his jaw, body still pressed to his. “Don’t apologize… not unless you regret it.” He looked trapped, terrified to respond even as the faintest whisper of hope lit in that stunning amber. I felt my jaw shift, but whatever words vied for speech fell silent beneath my silent plea for him to kiss me again.

He lingered in the briefest echoes of uncertainty, but, when my lips sought his, when I stole that final stretch of meaningless distance for only the faintest of touches… when I pulled back too soon, every fiber of my being begging him to follow me, that final shred of reservation caved. I didn’t try to fight the breathy moan of relief that left me in a deep sigh, body melting into him.

I could feel his smile, could feel the tension flee him even as his chest swelled with glee. Still, his every touch was impossibly gentle, reverent, and my heart surged at the depth of safety I felt in his embrace, at the love pouring through him with every lingering press of his lips to mine, with the tender sweep of his thumb along the back of my neck. I wanted to live in that moment for the rest of time, relishing the gradual shift into almost lazy, unhurried touches as we merely allowed ourselves the freedom to explore this, to explore each other safe within the knowledge that there was nowhere else either would rather be.

When he finally pulled back, there was no fear or doubt or regret in those golden eyes, and I couldn’t help but light at the simple joy I found there instead.

“I should skip watch-change more often.” He murmured, and I could feel the huffs of laughter in his words. Beaming, I couldn’t help but mimic that glee, shoulders shaking beneath a soft chuckle.

“Yeah? You going to make me come hunt you down like this every night?” I asked, brow hitching, and his smile only grew.

“Depends… would you come looking for me that often?” He teased back. I nearly rolled my eyes at him, but caught myself, struck by the overwhelming warmth fluttering about my chest.

“Yes.” I murmured, leaning in for another fleeting taste of those lips. “Every night.” The quiet that stole over him was more precious than any treasure coveted by man, more profound than any combination of pretty words strung together by poet or philosopher. In that gentle silence, I kissed him again, grateful for every second the darkness of night lingered, delaying the coming morning when I’d finally need to drag myself from his touch, when we’d be forced to remember the awaiting mission and unending war. For however many minutes and hours remained veiled beneath the breathtaking dance of distant stars, we existed only in the comfort and safety and desire of each other’s touch.

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[cobbssecondbelt]

Dincember 2023 - Day 2: Fire

Night time fell quickly on Tatooine. Without warning, the burning air turned bitter with a chill, blowing a breeze that felt like a blessing at first, before giving up all its mercy like everything else having to fight its way through the desert. Beige dunes and orange ridges turned blue, carefully looked upon by the watchful eyes of three moons. Tatooine had a unique way, especially at night, of making anybody feel always and never alone all at once, as if the planet herself was a constant silent looker, frowning upon every stranger who dared stomp over her cracked skin.

Din had camped among Tusken company more than once, but if he had to guess, he would affirm with confidence that Marshal Vanth never had. The jitter in his leg, the jitter in his eyes, the jitter in his fingers; he was a man ready to run and scowl and shoot, boiling with the anger of a prey who had grown a little too comfortable in the wolf skin it was hiding under. Din could understand, which doesn’t mean he pitied, for he knew the man was plenty competent. Few were those who got to live long enough to see their hair turn gray on this planet, and any silver mane was a trophy in itself, a well-earned one at that.

Vanth remained quiet after his little hissy stunt. He only began to settle once the Tuskens left one by one to retreat to their respective tents, until they were the only ones left by the fire. Din couldn’t help studying him from the corner of his eye. What a strange man. Loud but quiet, calculated but impulsive, angry but kind. Decades of bounty hunting had given Din a keen eye for puzzles, and this was an enigma he was oddly determined to solve.

‘’So,’’ Vanth eventually said. ‘’You really think this’ gonna work?’’

‘’Yes. The Tuskens know those territories better than anyone.’’ It didn’t seem enough to convince the antsy marshal. ‘’I know what you think of this, but you have to trust them. It’s the only chance we got.’’

Cobb kept his eyes on the fire, watching the embers pop. He choked out a scoff. ‘’You think I’m a bastard, don’t you?’’

Well, 

‘’I do.’’ The answer startled a quick chuckle out of Vanth. Although, for once, he didn’t seem shocked. Din rested his elbows on his knees with a tilt of his head. ‘’But that’s not my problem to fix.’’

Cobb rolled his eyes. 

‘’We’ll see about that…’’ he mumbled, the rumor of a smile ghosting over his thin lips.

They fell silent, letting the minutes stretch, easily, lazily, and for the first time in probably way too long, Din almost felt as if he had all the time in the world. 

Unsurprisingly, Cobb broke the silence first.

‘’Can I ask you somethin’?’’ he asked, voice gone soft, gaze up towards the night sky. 

‘’Yes?’’

‘’You must travel a lot, right?’’

‘’I do.’’

Cobb toyed unconsciously with a string coming out of his right glove. ‘’What is it like up there? In space?’’

Din turned his head to look at the man properly, before leaning back to look at the sky. The stars had fully come out by now, hundreds visible from the ground, and so many thousands more to see from up way above. Thysk was shining bright tonight, always by Chenini’s side.

‘’It’s quiet. Quite… quite beautiful. Peaceful.’’

‘’Doesn’t it get lonely?’’

Din’s fingers stilled from where they were rubbing idly at his vambrace.

‘’Sometimes.’’ he murmured.

Cobb nodded. ‘’Good to know.’’ he said, mostly to himself.

‘’You’ve never been?’’

‘’Mm?’’

‘’In space.’’

Cobb chuckled with a rise and fall of his eyebrows. ‘’Nope.’’

‘’Oh.’’

‘’Yeah.’’

The fire was dying out. The chill in the wind was getting more biting. At Din’s feet, Grogu groaned in his sleep, curled up in a heap of beige robes.

Cobb sighed and brushed the sand off his lap. ‘’Better hit the sack, got quite the day tomorrow.’’ he got to his feet with a grunt and a few pops from his joints. He eyed the tent that had been assigned to them through eyes still squinted in apprehension. 

‘’I’ll be right behind you.’’ Din replied as he bundled Grogu in the crook of his arm and kicked some sand over the remains of the fire.

He watched the marshal go, the lanky length of him swaying through camp with what could have been mistaken for nonchalance, if it hadn’t been for his right hand hovered over his holster, still ticklish. 

Soon he was swallowed by the night, and Din followed him, a fuzzy kind of amusement fluttering against his sternum and an absurd proposition juggling in his mind he would never dare to offer.

[hythlodaes]

wishbone

8.8k words | minaiph x cadrien (belongs to @lavampira ) —and you play along, because you want to die for love, you always have.

—

She calls you a fool—often. 

The funny thing is, you don’t remember meeting her. There were all the times she held you as a baby, the way she watched over your first steps, how she kept a silent eye on you in the academy, but none of it meant anything to you. Back then, neither of you knew that you’d grow together—that a galaxy preparing for war would use you both as a weapon in it. The beginning of your life was a dry desert planet, barren and empty, but still carried the whisper of a promise. You will have a future away from here, she would tell you, Just don’t be a fool.

But you couldn’t help it, because you are reckless and angry, and you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. Defiance sings through your blood, defiance spills from your lips without fear of repercussion. It holds you back time and again, it keeps you in place, keeps the anger alive, and then it bends until it breaks, and you’re brought to your knees before a council, where only the words, I will train him, stand between your life and death. 

And when she calls you a fool afterwards, you’re too distracted to see the relief worn openly on her face. Because there is one person who needs to know that Korriban’s sun will rise on you both tomorrow, and he’s facing you with his mouth pressed into a thin line, the set of his jaw tight enough to snap. 

He is the one person who matters most to you in this life—the only thing you need to keep. 

When everything else falls away, he stands alone. 

—

The walls echo with their footsteps, a start and stop rhythm that doesn’t shake away the emptiness of the tomb. Min has to ignore it despite the way it sends a chill up his spine. It’s the emptiness of silence, of death, of dust drifting through the torches’ glow, making the air thick, making it hard to focus. 

“This would be easier with music,” he complains, but he half trips over his steps while Cadrien’s hands tighten against him in an attempt to stay steady. The taller boy is more certain of himself even if he says otherwise, only agreeing to teach him because of Min’s relentless asking. 

“It would be easier if you paid attention,” Cadrien returns, but Min can hear the amusement in his voice even as he pretends to be annoyed. He readjusts their frame, pushing Min’s shoulders back and raising his elbow higher. 

Perhaps a tomb isn’t the best place for dance lessons, but the privacy it allows makes it a better option than anywhere else on Korriban. Min pretended not to notice the way Cadrien tensed when they first went in, the way each breath was too measured, too controlled. Min knows his history, knows the memories that must creep in for him, and yet he relaxes as he focuses on Min, half-dragging him in wide loops as the dance steps dictate. 

One, two, three—no, your left foot. Back again, with me, now turn. 

Min, for all his grace in combat, can’t seem to get it right. 

“You’re definitely getting worse,” Nia says. She watches them from her perch on a flat rock, her hands loose and shoulders relaxed. When Min glares at her, she doesn’t bother hiding the smirk on her lips. 

He opens his mouth to retort, but the hand at his waist squeezes and Cadrien says, “Just ignore her.” 

“Keep laughing,” he says anyway, because he’s never been able to ignore anything in his life—especially not Nia. “We’ll show you.”

“When? At your wedding?” 

Min’s mouth drops open, he stumbles over his footwork once more, and looks to Cadrien. “Can you believe her?”

“I told you to ignore her.” 

Nia’s laugh fills the tomb again. She’s never had a problem teasing Min about anything, having known each other for years now, and it’s no different when it comes to his friendship with Cadrien. It’s a joke—he knows it’s just a joke, but something about it makes his stomach itch. It always raises a question he never really allows himself to ask. 

He trains his eyes on the other boy despite the way she watches them. Of course Cadrien is handsome, that’s just a fact. No one could look at him and not be impressed by the strong line of his jaw or his broad shoulders. There is no doubt of his power, even at seventeen years old, but Min’s drawn more to the way the sun shines through his thick, dark hair, or the amused smile that crosses his lips when Min won’t shut up. 

That doesn’t—that doesn’t mean Min likes him. 

He turns his head away, and when he catches Nia’s eye again, her smile is much more certain, more knowing.

It’ll be a long time before he sees what she sees. 

—

Sometimes it seems like Cadrien knows Min better than he knows himself. 

It’s the way he stops walking the moment Min does, meters ahead but not any less aware of him. They move like ghosts through the dark, cut from the same cloth—tall and broad shouldered, with their long, silent strides dragging their cloaks behind them through the streets of Kaas City. 

They’re a fearsome sight—more men than boys these days, even if some Sith are slow to see them as such. 

The rain has held off but it’s only a matter of time, now. A chill curls through the fine misted light from streetlamps and towers stretching into the cloud filled sky above them. Cadrien is just a shadow ahead of him, and he doesn’t say anything, but Min can feel the question in his posture, the way he tilts his head slightly to one side as if to ask, What’s wrong?. 

They’ve been following the same target for close to an hour now, more interested in where he’ll lead them than the man himself. Tali warned Min to keep quiet, her words directed at Cadrien rather than her own apprentice, which is fair, he supposes, since he’s barely contained his frustration with the silence between them. It stirs in his chest along with the words that he keeps swallowing back down, and some part of him considers intentionally failing this task just to get it over with. 

Cadrien shakes his head at him, gesturing for them to keep going, and this is the part where Min wonders if he can read his mind. 

It’s how Cadrien knows what he’ll say before he even speaks, how he can react to his thoughts alone and still be right. Of all the useless things that come out of Min’s mouth, Cadrien always seems to see past them, understanding him in a way that he’s come to rely on. Despite the mask across Cadrien’s face, he sees Min for all that he is. 

It’s the thought that keeps him awake at night. It stabs through him with fear and denial and everything he’d claim to be better than. To be seen—to be seen through—leaves him so completely vulnerable that he can’t breathe. This hunger lives in his chest, this desire comes to life around Cadrien and it’s acid in his lungs. He burns to say it, can hardly keep it down, and he can only imagine the way it surrounds him, how Cadrien must look at him and know this, too. 

Still, he waits for Min to catch up with him until they’re shoulder to shoulder, the heat of Cadrien’s body breaking through the cool night air. Stay close, Cadrien mouths at him, and part of Min wants to own up to it, to give a name to what could potentially exist between them. An even greater part of him wants to take just that one step closer, breathe in the same air as him until one of them closes the distance between them and—

A hand on his wrist stops his train of thought. “Focus,” Cadrien whispers, but Min wants to know how he’s supposed to do that with his calloused fingers pressed into his skin. 

“Are we talking now?” he whispers back. 

Cadrien shakes his head and loosens his grip until it falls away. Min parts his lips but, for once, thinks better of it, instead reaching his senses out and finding their target once again. When he looks to Cadrien, he’s met with a nod, and together they slip back into the shadows. 

—

It starts before you’re even aware of it. 

It starts with two teenage boys on a cold desert planet. You find each other in an ancient place, where distrust has been built into the very foundation of the temples around you. You’re taught to keep your guard up, that power means cutting down those above you, and that you should never, by no means, feel safe. 

You build your friendship anyway. You grow closer and closer despite the warnings, despite the knowledge that someday you will betray each other. You live a dual life—constantly watching your back, checking over your shoulder, and yet giving him your trust.

Then he takes a blade that was meant for you. 

What would’ve killed you nearly kills him, and you carry his unconscious body through broken down buildings, gritting your teeth with each step towards the medbay. You’re only nineteen years old. You can’t make sense of it—anger and pain and fear run a river through your mind, and each beat of your heart says, You might lose him, as the blood spills from his shoulder.

But the only word you’re left with is, Why? 

You wrestle with it in the days it takes him to recover, only stepping away from his bedside to track down the person who did this. There’s a certain satisfaction in your revenge, in the pain you cause in return, but it doesn’t last. Cadrien’s still in the medbay, still unconscious, and the only thing you can do is watch over him until he stirs awake. 

And when he does, the relief of hearing his voice again shakes through you. Somehow you know that the rules no longer apply to you—not here, and not like this. Because he has proven that he would lay down his life for you. He has shown you that you mean more to him than Sith ideals, and it’s then that you begin to truly question this underlying thing. What has lived quietly in the back of your mind for so long suddenly becomes unavoidable. 

It’s the curve of his lips when he speaks, the lines of his body when he stretches before you train, how you look for any excuse to touch him. It’s the way you can never quite keep your gaze off of him, always drawn to him whenever he’s in the same room. This deep rooted desire has never made sense on its own—not until it goes beyond physical want. 

There are the late nights spent murmuring useless words just so he’ll stay a little longer, planning a future in your mind where you fight side by side. It’s the way anything could happen and your first instinct is to tell him about it, when you ask him question after question just to hear how his mind works. There are the hours upon hours spent sparring until you have each other’s movements, your very thoughts, memorized. 

When you drag it into the light, visible and unavoidable, there is only one thing you can call it, only one answer to all the questions in your mind—

It is love. It has only ever been love. 

—

Min likes Altair from the start. 

They’re Cadrien and Min’s point of contact, standard procedure for any mission, but it’s different this time. Their conversations last longer than necessary, delve into things that have nothing to do with work at all. Min thinks they’re funny, but he especially likes the way Cadrien seems at ease around them, how they talk even after the mission is long over. 

They’re fast. Agile. They move with a grace that Min is slow to admit rivals his own, and the two of them spar for hours, a blur of light between their dualsaber and Min’s twin sabers, both of them pulling out every trick they have just to show off. 

But with Altair comes Eli. 

Eli is a definitive answer to all the questions in Min’s mind. There are things he hasn’t dared let himself hope for, and yet some part of him must have thought there was a chance. Cadrien has never once shown him that his feelings are reciprocated, but it still comes to an end with three words: I’m seeing someone, and Min feels a crack in his heart that he covers with anger. 

He pretends he’s upset that Cadrien kept it from him. His reaction is illogical any way he looks at it, but it’s better than saying, I didn’t know you were interested in anyone. I wanted it to be me.

Min avoids Nia’s watchful eyes, ignoring her pointed questions that strike through his heart, but his anger dies out completely at the press of Altair’s lips when they say, He asked for this. 

Min thinks he can do it too—he can meet someone else—until he’s too drunk to see straight and there are hands on him, the wrong hands on him, and all he can think is, This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

That’s how he ends up in Cadrien’s apartment, an apology on his lips for storming off. That’s how he ends up under a blanket on his couch, a glass of water in his hands, as he slurs, You’re my best friend, Cade. I’m so stupid. 

But Eli and Cadrien don’t last for much longer, and Min thinks Eli’s the biggest fool in the galaxy for letting Cadrien go. He had the chance to be with the best person Min knows, someone Min wants with all his heart, and yet he didn’t hold on.

Min wonders if Cadrien is heartbroken about it, but jealousy is a bitter, bitter taste in his mouth, and he never asks. 

In fact, neither of them say a word about it. 

—

There’s one morning, later, on Voss. Min wakes before the sun rises and steps outside intending to go for a run, but he finds himself distracted by the way the misted light drifts up from the horizon and lines the still dark silhouettes of the trees. The cool air drives a chill up his arms as he sits in the grass and hugs his knees to his chest, simply breathing in the morning. 

He hears Cadrien before he senses his presence, so certain of the sound of him that he smiles before he even turns his head to see him approach. Things have been different between them lately, and Min can’t help but blame himself for letting his feelings get in the way. Even now, he admires Cadrien wrapped up in his cloak, the morning light covering him in a pink tinge as he takes a seat beside him, both of them murmuring good morning. 

And something about the coolness of the morning makes Min shift the slightest bit closer, not touching even though he swears he can feel the warmth of his body next to him. He keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon, watching the sun finally spill through the spaces between the trees—golden light over a sea of red orange, red yellow, red, burning red. 

Min hasn’t seen many sights like this. A majority of his life has been spent on the cold emptiness of Korriban, or the gray ceaseless downpours of Dromund Kaas. He finds himself in awe, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and in a quiet voice he asks, “Can you sense the sunrise?” 

Cadrien takes a breath. “Somewhat.” 

And Min remembers a time, years ago on Korriban, when Cadrien first let him in. It felt like trust, it felt like a definitive line they crossed as friends, when they kneeled together, heads bent towards each other, and Cadrien showed Min a glimpse of how he sees the world around him. 

“I know that it’s there,” he continues. “I can feel its energy. Everything is brighter because of it.” 

Min lifts a brow tendril. “Even me?”

“Something like that.” 

And Min thinks about it for a while as they lapse into the quiet of the morning. There’s a question that’s always been in the back of his mind since that day, even moreso since he realized the depth of his feelings for him. Because Min knows that physical attraction is not a two way street, here. He will never be handsome to Cadrien, will never draw him in by appearance alone, but still—

“What do I look like to you?” he asks.

The question must catch him off guard, given the way Cadrien pauses. 

“You’re—“ he starts, and it’s so unusual that he’s at a loss for words that Min figures it must be hard to describe. They understand the world so differently, and Min’s grasp on his perspective must limit the language to describe it. 

Still, Cadrien seems to gather himself, and then: “You’re vibrant, Min.”

Somehow he wasn’t expecting that. “Vibrant?”

Cadrien ducks his head. “Everything about you is loud, you know. You shine through the Force, and it’s...so bright..”

“Brighter than the sun?” he jokes. 

He looks over to see Cadrien cover his mouth for a moment, resting his chin on his closed fist, and with a small smile he says, “Yes, much brighter than the sun.”

Min lets the words wash over him, eyes fixed on the horizon as the most beautiful light slips over the landscape, the tinge of its warmth touching his skin the same as it touches the pink lined clouds in the sky, reflecting its light in defined streaks. He can’t fathom it. 

He runs it through his mind again and again, quiet for once as he breathes in the cool morning air. To compete with such a sight—

Perhaps, he realizes for the first time, he could still be beautiful to Cadrien. 

—

They go to Alderaan. 

It’s Min’s idea, one that he foolishly goes to Nia for help with. She finds them accommodations, sits with him while he packs, and teases him until he snaps at her to leave him alone. 

What’s more platonic than sharing a cabin in the woods?, she’d joked. You know he’d sleep with you if you just asked, you don’t have to go through this much trouble.

But it isn’t trouble, because it’s Cadrien. Because it isn’t like that with them as much as Min wants it to be. They’ve been through too much at this point for him to believe it could be possible, but they’re on the edge of something—they keep getting closer and closer, but it’s a collision course that Min can’t predict the outcome of. 

What’s on Alderaan? Cadrien asked when Min invited him, his voice carrying the most careful hint of amusement over the holocall. 

I want to see the mountains, Cade.  

So why do I have to be there?

Min just smiled. I’ll need someone to talk to. 

He bit his lip at the quiet rumble of Cadrien’s laugh, the warmth of it spreading through his chest as he tucked the sound in the back of his mind. 

He feels this warmth even in the Aderaanian cold. The cabin is smaller than he thought it would be, and there’s no means to heat it save for a fireplace that Min tries and fails many times to start. He can feel Cadrien observing him the way he does, when he’s simply taking everything in and analyzing it, but he doesn’t speak up until Min finally gets the fire lit. 

“Only one bed?” 

And Min feels his heart stutter to a stop. When he glances over his shoulder, Cadrien’s face is carefully neutral, so Min tries to laugh it off. “Nia chose the place, I guess it’s her idea of a joke.”

It isn’t a lie, but the veil over the truth feels so transparent. 

“You know how bad her sense of humor is,” he tries again.  

Cadrien makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, but his expression doesn’t waver. Min makes himself to turn back to the fire. The flames flicker around the kindling, and he can feel himself reaching for words that, surprisingly, aren’t there. 

“I mean, I can sleep on the floor if you don’t want to—” 

“It’s fine,” Cadrien says, his voice clipped. 

And Min wants to question him, to ask, Are you sure?, but Cadrien rarely says anything without meaning it. Focusing on the issue would only make it into something bigger and that feels dangerous. Every day they inch closer to their collision—it’s all he can do to keep it from happening.

He snaps another loose piece of wood and throws it into the fire, glancing over his shoulder to ask, “Want to go for a walk?” 

—

The air is thin, but Min fills it with empty chatter as they follow the trail up the mountain behind their cabin. It gets harder to breathe the further up they get, and he huffs between words, finding himself losing focus as he struggles not to slip against the icy path or trip over hidden roots in the fresh snow. 

He stumbles once, feet slipping out from him for a moment, but Cadrien’s there, steadying him with an arm around his lower back. Min snaps his attention to him, his mind solely on the warm press of Cadrien’s fingers against his cloak, and he murmurs a quiet, thank you. Cadrien pulls away immediately and Min wishes he wouldn’t, that he’d stay close, keep his arm around him or take his hand in his. 

To be Sith is to strive for power. It’s a lifetime of consumption, of a hunger that rises and falls in waves of anger, that never dies away. There is only passion. There is no room for affection, not for anything soft, or tender, or weak.

And yet Min wants these things so badly it hurts. 

He huffs out a laugh when they reach the top. He said he wanted to come here for the view, but he finds that it doesn’t mean anything to him. His mind buzzes with a rush of thoughts that distract him from the sea of mountains against the pale blue sky, dotted with snow covered trees. Still, he takes out his camera and snaps a few pictures of it all, the sound of the shutter loud against the hushed winter silence. 

All the while Cadrien faces the sun. Weak light falls over the slopes of his face, across his mask, through his jet black hair. Min aims his camera at him but feels it lower from his eye, letting himself look at Cadrien without the lens between them. 

He’s gorgeous. He’s so completely, effortlessly beautiful that Min has to wonder if he’s real, sometimes. 

“Alright?” Min asks. 

And Cadrien just tilts his head towards him. “Hm?” 

“You’ve been quiet.” 

“It’s peaceful,” Cadrien murmurs, his broad shoulders relaxed, the line of his lips curved up at the corners. A long moment passes, but then, “I was thinking of Jaesa. She grew up here.” 

“Oh,” Min says, uncertain of how to respond to that. He knows that Cadrien looks up to her in many ways, that she’s had an influence on him beyond Darth Vicari, even. It isn’t necessarily something they talk about, but it’s obvious how much Cadrien respects Willsaam. 

Min breathes in a long breath of the crisp air, the scent of pines lingering. “It’s a lot nicer than Korriban.” 

“Yes,” Cadrien says, and hums a short sound. “It is.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Cadrien doesn’t say anything at first. It’s one of the things Min loves about him, how he genuinely considers each question Min asks. It’s always reassuring to know that he means what he says.  

In the end Cadrien just shakes his head, but a small smile fits across his lips. “I think I understand her a little better now, is all.”

—

That night the fireplace paints their cabin in flickering shades of orange. The glow pulses through the room as the dark settles around them, and Min doesn’t know what he was expecting from this getaway, but this isn’t it. 

He feels like a live wire—exposed and raw—like his emotions must be spilling out everywhere for Cadrien to see. Everything about this seems unfair, from the warmth of the cabin to the single bed that looms over them their entire dinner, just waiting for them. 

And when they’re both too tired to stay up any longer, it’s still there. Min considers renewing his offer to sleep on the floor as he changes into sleep pants and a soft shirt while Cadrien washes up in the bathroom. His hands fumble folding his clothes back into his bag, but he stops what he’s doing when he hears the bathroom door click open and looks up. 

His stomach drops.

Cadrien stands shirtless before him, and Min can’t help but stare at his bare chest, the way the flickering light of the fire ghosts over muscle and warm skin. It brushes over the bulk of his shoulders, the strong line of his neck, and down the curve of his pecs. Min can feel his heart pounding, the thump of it painful in his chest as Cadrien draws closer, and he hates himself for looking at him like this, desire running hot through his blood until it aches, because everything in him says to reach out and touch him but he can’t. 

And isn’t that the problem? It’s a constant fight to hide his love away, but desire is so hard to quiet down, to hush, to say, You don’t have a place here. Does Cadrien feel it in the weight of Min’s gaze? Does his energy give it away—the shameful truth that he’s thought about it? That he’s wondered what Cadrien’s body would feel like against him, that he’s imagined how his lips would taste, if they’d fit together in this way too?

But these are shame streaked thoughts, things he would die before admitting. 

“It’ll be cold in the morning,” Min says in a tight voice. “I don’t know how long the fire will last.” 

Cadrien makes a sound somewhere in the back of his throat as he pulls down the blankets on his side of the bed. Min just watches for a moment, his nerves keeping him in place as he tries to process the fact that he’s really about to get into bed with Cadrien. 

“I should be okay,” Cadrien says finally. “Will you need another blanket?” 

Take a deep breath, make a joke, don’t give yourself away. 

“I don’t think so. I have you, don’t I?” His voice sounds forced, the joke falling weak and flat from his lips, and Cadrien must notice, but he still lets out a short laugh before he sits down on the bed. 

“Are you threatening to cuddle me?”

“You run hot,” Min answers, looking down at his hands. “I’m only thinking of my survival here.” 

“I see how it is.” 

Min makes himself smile as he gathers the nerve to cross the distance between them, curling up under the blanket before he can think twice about it. Cadrien still sits up beside him, and Min looks over to see the angry lines of scars that cross his bare skin—evidence of the life they’ve lived. His hand twitches at his side, tempted to reach out and trace the lightning paths with his fingertips, what Cadrien once suffered through and survived, but he forces his hand into a fist instead. 

Cadrien turns his head towards him for a moment before he lays down and pulls the blanket over himself. Like this, the glow of the room closes in on them, and Min can feel it like a weight on his chest—the lack of distance between them, the sound of their breathing, the way that he wants and he wants and he wants. 

“Comfortable?” Cadrien asks, and Min nods because he doesn’t trust himself to talk right now. He’d complained about the cold, but right now he feels hot all over, their proximity closing in the space around them. Their bodies naturally turn towards each other, their faces inches apart, and Cadrien looks so good. He always does, but there’s something softer about him like this, with his loose hair, his sleeping mask, and the blanket draped over the scarred line of his shoulder. 

It could be so easy, if things were different, to lean over and kiss him goodnight. 

How many times has Min given himself away like this, and how many times has Cadrien seen right through him?

“Min?” Cadrien asks, quieter this time. It’s strange to hear his voice sound so small. 

“Yeah,” Min chokes out, and clears his throat. “I’m comfortable.” 

He curses Nia for putting him in this position. He just knows he’s going to ruin their relationship. It’s something he had to accept when he realized that his feelings weren’t going to go away, that all they do is grow stronger and stronger, that it just gets harder to hide them. 

Perhaps the collision course is this: the inevitability of Min admitting how he feels. He knows Cadrien won’t hate him for it, that he’d probably even pity Min, say that nothing has to change, but it would anyway, wouldn’t it? There isn’t a way to come back from something like that, there isn’t a way to pretend that those feelings aren’t there. 

There’s a nudge at his hand, and Min blinks back at him. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Cadrien says, and there’s the slightest pull of concern on his lips. “What’s wrong?” 

“Things have changed,” he says, and he’s thinking about their relationship, but it’s true as a whole. From the death of the Emperor to the rise of the Dread Masters. From Cadrien’s relationship with Eli to the way Min felt meeting Cadrien’s moms, like he could call them family too. 

And it’s Cadrien’s injury that lingers the longest in his mind, what woke him to all these feelings that have spilled out since. Life is so, so different from those days on Korriban. “It’s going to keep changing.”

“You shouldn’t worry about the future,” Cadrien says. 

“Why not? You do,” Min returns, because Cadrien worries enough for the both of them, always looking at problems forwards, backwards, sideways. He’s been good for Min in that regard, who’s always been impulsive, who would rather act than think it through, but he knows that it takes its toll on the Miraluka.

Like now: a sad smile crosses Cadrien’s lips, and Min presses his knuckles a little further into Cadrien’s where the backs of their hands are still touching. 

“We make the future for ourselves,” Cadrien says, and there’s a determined grit in his voice that’s impossible to miss, one that Min has heard countless times but never in this context. 

“Then what about us?” he asks before he can think better of it. It just comes out of his mouth and there’s no stopping it, no taking it back.

Cadrien goes completely quiet, completely still. “What do you mean?” 

And how can Min answer that? What else is there but them? They’ve lived such parallel lives these past few years. They work together and yet still spend all their free time together. They’re given a choice every day to stay on this path, and they both choose it again and again. Min doesn't know what he’d do if that ever changed. He can see the future so clearly, how easily this could shift into a life spent together. Does Cadrien envision this too? Can’t he understand the way Min wants to stay by his side?

See right through me, he begs in his mind. Just like you always do.

“Do you—” he starts, and forces himself to take a breath before his heart threatens to pound out of his chest. “Do you include me in your future?” 

And he wants to memorize the small smile that crosses Cadrien’s lips, how soft his voice sounds when he admits, “You’re always there, Min.” 

It isn’t fair. In moments like this, Min can almost believe that there’s something between them. He can almost imagine a life where this is a daily occurrence, a space they carve out for themselves. The two of them, always together the way it was meant to be. 

Tali’s right—he is a fool. 

It’s more difficult than he thought it would be. It's everything about Cadrien—absolutely everything about him. All Min wants is this, every night. All he wants is to cross the space between them and hold Cadrien close. 

And undoubtedly, in the morning, he will want him then, too. 

“The Claws of the Empire, right?” he asks. It’s a nickname for them that gets passed around the Sith Sanctum more and more. They’ve been seen as a pair for some time now, but somehow calling it by name makes it seem that much more certain, that they are an extension of each other in all ways. 

Cadrien laughs a little. “Yes, that too.” 

Min takes a deep breath, his voice just a murmur when he says, “Goodnight, Cade.” 

“Goodnight.” 

—

The wind howls outside but Min listens to the sound of Cadrien’s breathing, wondering if it’s steady enough to mean he’s asleep. Min knows he should try and sleep himself, but he keeps his eyes open, staring at the slotted wood ceiling while the firelight’s glow lessens. The whole room breathes with it, getting darker and darker with each hovering breath. 

He doesn’t think about much and he doesn’t feel the need to. The restless energy that always stirs inside of him finally feels calm, Cadrien’s presence beside him more comforting than he remembers it ever being. 

The dying light of the fire, the steady in and out of Cadrien’s breathing—it takes some time but eventually Min sinks into it, and he falls asleep. 

—

It’s completely dark the next time he opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, but it comes back in flashes: Cadrien’s head tipped back with the weak sunlight falling over the slopes of his face, Cadrien’s arm around him for just a moment, Cadrien facing him in this bed, his face half hidden by the pillow. 

A chill shakes through Min and he tightens his grip around the blankets bunched in his hands. 

Beside him: a small shuffle, and then Cadrien’s whisper: “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Min whispers back. Even like this, their voices sound too loud in the dark, and the cabin around them feels even smaller now, in a way. Min’s tired mind just wants to curl into it, to share this space without a second thought as to what it could mean. 

But then Cadrien asks, “Are you cold?” 

He is and he isn’t. He’s warm beneath the blanket but he can feel the chill creeping in, washing over his exposed skin, making the tip of his nose, his lips, feel cold. It won’t be long before the dying fire brings in the bitterness of the snow beyond their cabin.

“Yes,” Min whines, too tired to deny himself this: “You promised to cuddle me.”

The Miraluka sighs. “I think you might have that backwards.” 

“You would have me freeze to death over semantics?” 

Cadrien’s deep laugh fills the space between them, but it dies off for a horrible moment of silence that Min doesn’t know what to do with, but then: “Fine, come here.”  

Min pauses, uncertain of how serious Cadrien is. The line blurs between the joke and the offer, and Min hates the hope that outweighs his nerves when he asks, ”Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Cadrien says. “I won’t let you freeze to death.” 

Min shifts closer before he turns onto his side, blinking at the dark shapes of the cabin wall in front of him as he tries to prepare himself for the way Cadrien closes the last bit of distance between them, his chest slinking along Min’s back as his heavy arm reaches around his waist and pulls him that much closer.  

“Is this okay?” Cadrien asks. 

Min takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but all he can focus on is the warmth of Cadrien’s body surrounding him, the way it settles something in his chest. For all the times Cadrien’s protected him in a fight, he’s never felt as safe with him as he does now—body curved around him as the wind rushes beyond the walls of their cabin and fills the silence between them. 

If they really were just friends, he’d make a joke about it—something silly to ease the tension in the room. They could laugh it off, tease each other for how ridiculous the situation is, and forget about it in the morning. 

If they really were just friends, Min wouldn’t be wondering if Cadrien ever held Eli like this, if it felt this safe, this secure. He wouldn’t wonder if Cadrien could ever change his mind and think of Min with the same kind of affection. 

Another deep breath. 

He adjusts his weight a little, pushing back against Cadrien’s chest. He hesitates, but he puts his arm over Cadrien’s, holding it against his own chest and asks, “Are you comfortable?“

Cadrien is quiet for a moment, but then, “Yeah.��

Min doesn’t know if he can sleep like this, doesn’t know if he wants to. He thinks maybe he would stay up all night just to feel Cadrien against him. He wants to memorize the feeling of his arm holding him close, the way he can feel his soft exhales against the back of his neck. 

It isn’t fair for him to get what he wants. It isn’t fair because he knows he can’t keep it—this is a one time thing. It’s too easy to imagine what life could be like for them together, how happily he would fall asleep like this each night. 

But still, he won’t ignore what he has. He focuses on all the places where they touch, taking in a deep breath as the tension begins to leave his body, and closes his eyes. 

For all that he wanted to stay awake, being surrounded by Cadrien’s warmth and listening to the even cadence of his breathing pulls him under mere moments later. 

—

In the morning, he’s still warm. Time moves like honey as he opens his eyes, the slow pull from sleep both sweet and comforting. Cadrien’s arms still circle him, but they’re chest to chest now, their faces only inches apart. Cadrien’s thumb draws small circles against Min’s back, but each breath is long and dragged out, like he’s only half awake, half aware that he’s doing so. 

“Good morning,” Min murmurs. 

Cadrien’s only response is a small, annoyed groan. 

Min laughs into the space between them, pulling away slightly to get a better look at him. The morning light drags in through the window and brushes over the planes of his friend’s face, contouring the lines of his cheek, his jaw, the warm expanse of skin down his neck, his shoulder. He knows Cadrien can feel his gaze but he looks anyway. In the warmth of a sleep slow morning, their collision course doesn’t seem as frightening. 

Perhaps it’s what gives him the courage to move his hand, originally pressed flat to Cadrien’s back. He lets his fingertips slide across his skin, pulls them forward into the dip of his waist, watching Cadrien’s jaw twitch ever so slightly. 

He’s never touched him like this before. The thought has him falter a little, but Cadrien doesn’t say anything, doesn’t flinch away. His permission is wordless, his skin warm and soft beneath Min’s fingers, which he drags across the plane of his ribs, skipping up to his bicep and the contours of his muscle. 

Then Min’s eyes fall on the scar on his shoulder. He’s seen it many times but never quite like this, with sunlight streaming across it, highlighting the gnarled and discolored ridge that curves across his skin, forcefully pulled back together from the medic’s healing. It’s ugly, but it’s the only reason Min’s still alive, and it’s horrible to think that Cadrien will always carry a reminder of that day, as if the only reward for such a selfless act is to be marred for the rest of his life. 

Min’s fingertips ghost the edge of it. “Why did you do this?” 

And he can’t help but feel like he’s gone too far—voiced something he shouldn’t have. The cabin is silent for a long moment, until Cadrien sucks in a deep breath and pulls Min’s hand away. 

“I had to,” he says, as if it’s that simple. His grip is strong as he lays down their hands in the small space between them, and he lets go. “It was my only choice, Min.” 

—

Still, you don’t understand. There was more than one choice—in fact, there was an obvious choice: to let you take the hit and finish the mission. The logical, rational choice, would’ve been to protect his own life instead of giving death a chance at him. Not for Cadrien, who thinks everything through, who has suffered and nearly died once before, who would’ve known the risk he took in that moment. 

Then one day, you’re given the same choice.. 

It always comes down to this: you live a life of violence, so there will always be a fight. 

A fight where you have one glaring weakness. 

You’ve always wondered if it’s selfish to die for someone—to spare their life only to make them go on without you. It’s a thought that crossed your mind in the days Cadrien took to recover, but when it comes down to it, you realize he was right. 

I had to, he told you. It finally clicks together: there is no other choice. In the end, your only thought is, Did he feel this way? When he saw the blade poised above you, was it the same desperation to keep you alive? Did he also weigh the cost of his own life and deem it worthwhile?  

Call it what it is: love and devotion run in parallel lines. You have killed for him and you would do it again, but this is the first time you realize that you would die for him. You would tear down the galaxy if it meant keeping him safe. You know his strength, know the fear that keeps people bowed at his feet, and still somehow you need to protect him; it’s your only option. 

You are two halves of a violent whole—kings that have earned their roles through blood. Together has become the strongest word you know, and you wonder how it’s possible for you to love someone this much in a galaxy where you have only been taught to hate. 

You tell him that, because you think it might be the last thing you ever say. 

You tell him that, and then everything changes. 

—

Min thought he knew everything there was to know about Cadrien. Their years spent together have summarized them both, read them inside out, bared their all to each other in both their highs and their lows. He thought there was nothing else—the mystery solved, the final stitches sewn in place—

He was wrong. 

All of the walls come down between them, all the strongholds that have kept their feelings to themselves for years. They’ve been best friends for so long, but it still has to change. They have to leave room for the sides of themselves that are completely, openly in love. 

Min has moments at first, times where he reaches out and pulls back before he remembers that he doesn’t have to, where he hesitates before he kisses him or before he pushes back that stubborn lock of hair that falls over Cadrien’s forehead. Confidence grows with each day, with each gesture of affection. It’s the way their hands lock together, the way Cadrien fits in his arms when he holds him close, the way they can still joke and laugh until their sides ache. 

It’s how soft Cadrien’s voice sounds when he murmurs, I love you, into his neck, when his lips just barely touch the shell of his ear until Min feels dizzy with desire. He can’t see straight sometimes, his blood buzzing through his veins like star trails, but he has the freedom now to act on it. 

It’s unexpected but it isn’t. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, because it’s Cadrien and it’s always been Cadrien, but it’s a vulnerability neither of them have shown each other before. 

It’s a constant thing—this learning and changing—and Min’s still getting used to it. He learns to let go completely, to let him in all the way, loving him inside and out as something whole. Complete. He lets Cadrien cradle his face in his hands like he’s something precious and important rather than the ruthless, vile creature he truly is. 

Each morning he wakes beside him, and every so often he thinks about that time on Alderaan when he wanted and wanted, but couldn’t let go. It’s different now—their collision burned all the way down and brought them new life. In the morning sun, Min reaches out and he’s met halfway.

Cadrien presses his love all over him: with his touch, with his words, and Min has to remind himself that it’s okay to accept it. He learns that feeling this good, this safe, is something he can freely give in to. In a life of jagged emotions—violent peaks, and bloody lows, he can have something soft and loving. 

It takes longer than he expected to adjust, but it really doesn’t take him that long at all. Min learns quickly how fun it is to sink his teeth into Cadrien’s bottom lip and run his hands through his carefully styled hair until Cadrien pulls back with a huff and a quiet, Brat. 

—

Min scans a crowd of suits and ties and long, expensive gowns, waiting for the moment his eyes land on Cadrien. It’s easier said than done—Cadrien’s not exactly one to blend in, but among the Sith and the Kaas Elite, all the inflated egos and self congratulatory conversations, he’s lost his boyfriend. 

He smirks against the glass of champagne pressed to his lips. He’ll never get tired of calling him that.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Nia says beside him. Min snaps his attention to her, finding it hard to believe he could look away from the gown she’s wearing—sheer and silver, hugging her curves and shining. She stands out in a way that he knows she loves.  

“Sorry,” he says, but he’s back to scanning the crowd a moment later. 

“You’ve got it bad,” she says, and he can hear the smirk in her voice, but then he sees Cadrien across the room. His presence alone commands attention, nevermind the figure he cuts in his suit, his slicked back hair, the sharp line of his jaw. Min glances back at Nia, Can you blame me?

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Go get your man.” 

And then he’s crossing the room, taking in the sight of the Miraluka. He stands alone in the crowd, invisible and blinding all at once. The smooth black suit he wears highlights the muscled outline of his torso, his arms, cutting down to his waist. No matter how long it’s been, Min can feel his heart racing in his chest, forever in awe that Cadrien is his. 

“Do you know how unfair it is that you look this good?” Min murmurs, confident that Cadrien’s been aware of his presence a lot longer than Min’s been aware of his. “What do you say we get out of here? I can think of a few places we’d have enough privacy for me to—”

“Minaiph.” His full name sounds like a curse in Cadrien’s mouth. His grip is suddenly tight around Min’s wrist, stopping the hand that was traveling down Cadrien’s waist but not letting go.

“What?” Min returns, the end of the word curling up with his grin as Cadrien lets out an exasperated laugh—a sound he’s come to be very familiar with. 

“I just got here,” Cadrien murmurs, but the wry curve of his lips isn’t saying no, exactly.

“You haven’t missed much,” he says. “Boring party with boring people.”

“You were just speaking with Nia.”

“I rest my case,” Min jokes before he heaves a sigh, turning his attention to the rest of the party. They’re hardly spared a second glance, everyone’s either too focused on themselves or too used to seeing them together. He returns his gaze to Cadrien to say, “Fine, then will you at least dance with me?” 

The Miraluka takes a moment to consider it, and the slightest bit of amusement creeps onto his lips. His grip on Min’s wrist loosens so he can slide his hand down into his, their fingers locked together. “You’re a terrible dancer.” 

Min snorts. “You’re the one who taught me, if you remember correctly.” 

It feels so long ago now, but he can still hear the way Cadrien’s instructions echoed in the empty tomb, how their steps collided and tripped over each other, how Nia’s head tilted back as she laughed at them. Something warm blooms in his chest, then. Affection, love—all of it seems to run together now, a feeling that belongs to Cadrien alone. 

“Come on,” he says before Cadrien can answer, tugging his hand as he leads them away from the crowd. 

“Where—” Cadrien starts, but he never finishes his question. Min opens the door to the balcony beyond the main hall, kept empty by the cool, foggy air. In the shadows Cadrien is blue all over, and the sharp lines of his suit blur in the dark until Min’s left with just the impression of him. He wonders if this is how Cadrien sees him too, if they’ve met somewhere in the middle—a place only they can find together. 

He remembers having to look up at Cadrien the last time they danced together, but tonight he has to angle his eyes the slightest bit down, their frame so much larger than it was when they were teenagers. He still can’t dance, but it doesn’t make a difference this time. They hold each other close, their hands so much more certain, and Min listens for the familiar cadence of Cadrien’s breathing over the muffled sound of the music that drifts outside. 

“Cadrien,” he murmurs, angling his face a little closer until he can feel the warmth of his skin. 

“Yeah?” It takes a moment for the word to come out, and warmth curls through Min’s stomach at how content his voice sounds. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asks, and he has to bite down on his lip. It sounds ridiculous, even to himself, but some part of him needs to say it, to never let Cadrien doubt for a second how completely loved he is. 

“Apparently not enough to embarrass yourself by dancing in public with me,” Cadrien returns, and Min doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s smirking. 

Min’s head tips back as he laughs, and he swears Cadrien’s hold on him tightens. Maybe it’s the champagne, but he feels a little light-headed, a little far away. The distant lights of city towers look like stars, cold and meaningless, but the warmth of his man chases away the chill of the night, leaving him burning all over with his touch. 

“We both know that I’d embarrass you long before I’d embarrass myself,” he explains, and gives up on any pretense of dancing, anyway. He tilts his head to fit in the curve of Cadrien’s shoulder, his chin digging into the scar that once saved his life. “Frankly, I’m doing you a favor.” 

“You’re doing something to me, alright,” Cadrien murmurs, the words pressed against his temple. “I love you too, you know.” 

He does know. He knows it like he knows the weight of his lightsabers in his hand, like he knows the beat of his own heart. It’s something he can look back on and see woven through his whole life—how the shadow of it followed them until they finally got it right. And maybe he is the fool Tali always called him, but it’s worth it. 

It is absolutely worth it. 

[full-of-mercy]

Nobody with a lick of sense aspires to walk across the desert on their own two feet. Then again, neither of them are the most sensible of individuals, and needs must. Not their first time, separate or together. It's easier at night, better to keep moving lest the chill set in. Something about walking in the dark - dark that might as well be clear as daylight to sensitive eyes - feels like a curtain of privacy drawn around them, even knowing how prolific and vast the Worms' sensory network is.

Vash hides nothing on the trek back to Hopeland, and Wolfwood does nothing to hide his disbelief turn for turn, even if it is clear that it rings a knell of something familiar in the back of his brain. Something breathless, breathless enough that he trips over into ribald laughter at news of Livio's exploits. Still a crybaby.

Still alive. Trying to make a difference. The Eye of Michael's horrors run more than skin-deep, and it will be a battle for the rest of his life. The reality of that strikes home, strikes Nicholas quiet and thoughtful, and apart from a few prodding interruptions (whaddya mean they're reporters now, can't they leave it alone), he listens better than it looks.

Two years gone. Unbelievable. But he's always had a strange relationship with Time, too old in a body too young, too young in a body too old.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. He can extrapolate, even if it seems like he isn't paying full attention. The conflict with Knives changed the face of the planet. The Earth fleet was just a potential threat last he recalled, but knowing what he knew from his suicidal rescue mission against the Ark, it was only a matter of time. People are people. Humans are humans. Communities band together into their tribes, and those tribes clash, sometimes even in the face of an overwhelming adversary.

After hours, they arrive at the stonemason's place.

Marlon's Monuments, specifically. Granite dust mingles with the dust of disuse, abandonment. Cold clings to stone. It must have laid empty since Hopeland was evacuated. There's always a need for headstone markers in communities where people live and die. Wolfwood's focus drifts across the collection of tools on a scrap pegboard, all right where they were left. Somehow. He's quiet as he leans his burden up against the wall, surveying entrances and exits. Quiet, too, as Vash asks. He takes a restless moment, prowling, peering into the adjoined living quarters. His shoulders droop a little, shedding some tension as he discovers nothing alarming. Sleeping surfaces, shuttered windows. A basin sink. A meager kitchen. No bodies. Maybe the old man and his son set up shop elsewhere.

"...I don't know," he rasps, frowning at the quality of his own voice. Must just be dehydrated. Yeah, that's it. Water is important, and the sink is a likely source. He wipes a couple of yellowed glasses with his sleeves, testing the spigot with careful fingers. "It's a little jumbled in my head. I remember - walking away." The end. A final afternoon after a battle won, a life saved. Clawing desperately in silence, clinging to life as the serum and his wounds dragged him under. "Some of the stuff you were saying, it--"

Slow. Slow, the trickle of water that doesn't smell of anything. It's even almost clear after the pipes tremble and sing, disgorging a few globs of sand as the flow strengthens. Enough to fill drinking vessels. Once, one glass downed, refilled. Just as halting, Nicholas describes more sensations than sights, like trying to grasp the scattered grains of a dream. A feeling of connectedness, overwhelming fear and urgency; pinpoint glimpses of Vash, of the others, trying to reach out like trying to scream through a wall or a keyhole. He makes an offhand comment about 'haunting the shit out of' everyone, tries to joke about it, but it falls flat.

"Woke up about a week ago, give or take."

Alone. Buried. Wrapped in a shroud of organic matter. Vash's name on his lips.

"Had to get out of there, restock, find you. Made it to one of Conrad's old waystations before turning back."

He looks back over his shoulder, searching.

"...Am I even supposed to be here?"

They have much ground to cover and a two year gap to account for. The tears have dried, but his smile remains as they climb arm-in-arm over waves of sand. 

Vash begins his recounting of events after the burial. He isn't quite sure how to broach that topic quite yet, what really happened, what it might mean beyond the obvious or how he managed it in the first place. There will be time for that later, when they have a sense of privacy beyond the ever-present compound eyes and sensing organs of the Worms in the sky and in the ground beneath their feet. 

Livio, Elendira, the fight with Knives, the Earth ships. Vash hides nothing.

Slowly but surely, with the aid and Plants provided by the Earth fleets, humanity's struggle on this dusty planet has evolved from a scarcity of resources to a treasure hunt for riches. Early bubblings of growing conflict. Rumors of a precious, mysterious melange produced by Grand Worms that could vastly increase the life expectancy of a normal human being without negative repercussions and countless other possibilities and applications not yet uncovered. The Earth researchers coveted it, and the descendants of the unwitting colonists who were forced to call this planet their home guarded it zealously from newcomers who claimed to extend a benevolent hand to their long lost brothers and sisters. 

Livio, like them, cannot wipe the blood from his slate. But he can try. According to Livio, he has endeared himself to Chronica, one of the Independents that had arrived with the Earth fleet. Vash can’t help but grin when he delivers this bit of news, as if it is valuable gossip. 

The darkened windows of outlying buildings around Hopeland, some at various stages of weathered crumbling, greet them just as the pre-dawn sky begins to lighten. Pastels in rose gold and lavender, gradually deepening to the cloudless blue they both knew well. 

He ends his retelling with the eventual career trajectories of the girls, Meryl and Millie both, who continue their chase of the Humanoid Typhoon across No Man’s Land. Investigative reporters who now sought to reveal the truth of Vash’s exploits, that he had been responsible for a peaceful resolution to Knives’s crusade rather than aided him. That does nothing for the bounty that remains on his head, nor does it help him evade federals, hunters, and Earthers alike. The destruction of Earth’s state of the art space destroyers is still recent memory, and Vash is still guilty by association.

“That’s…everything, mostly. I spent a few days in December before I came here. You were already gone by then.” Creaky floorboards greet them as Vash braces his shoulder against the door and pushes it open with a cascade of dust. It was likely a stonemason’s house at one time. Slabs of granite and sandstone are still stacked at the back of the room. Vash’s gaze lingers on them before his attention returns to Wolfwood. “What happened?”

[heliads]

Hope For The Best

Based on this request: "Newt x Reader (TMR) // The reader gets the flare but so does her brother minho and newt panics"

masterlist

You stand staring at the building before you, the massive monolith of crumbling concrete and rusty iron rails that lead to nowhere. You should be used to the Scorch by now, the kind of rotting waste that perpetuates just about everything, yet something about the once-towering skyscraper still chills you to your core.

Someone comes to a stop beside you, looking unhappily at the broken windows, how they gape like empty eye sockets in the metal bones of the place.

“Are you sure we have to go in?”

You glance over at Newt, unable to hide a smile at his obvious unease. “What, this doesn’t seem like your idea of a good time?”

Newt gives you a look. “Well, seeing as trying to seek out rabid madmen isn’t exactly a picnic, I’d say that going in one of the worst looking buildings isn’t the best of ideas. Remind me why we’re doing this, again?”

You turn back towards the building. The other Gladers are slowly but surely catching up to you, and Thomas has already gone up ahead to scout the place out.

“We need to get out of the sun before the morning lengthens, and even if this looks like a haunted house come to life, it’s better than burning out here. Besides, Thomas thinks we should be able to find some members of the Right Arm around here somewhere.”

Newt groans. “Right, Thomas. Tell me why we’re stuck following the most foolhardy Greenie we’ve ever had since you or Minho?”

You chuckle. “Because he got us out of the Maze, and we like risking our lives for nothing.”

Newt squints. “Do we?”

The sound of footsteps can barely be heard over the roaring of the wind, and then your brother is standing on Newt’s other side, grimacing up at the rotting building. Minho has been the bravest of your lot for a while now, ever since he decided to become a Runner, but even he doesn’t like this latest destination.

“Of course we like risking our lives, Newt, what else would we be doing? Slogging through the Scorch merely to survive? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Newt throws up his hands. “I can’t handle both of you being sarcastically pessimistic. One at a time, please.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “You had to deal with it back in the Maze, and we’re not going away.”

You match your brother’s grin with intensity. “Exactly. Just admit that you find us extremely funny, you can’t deny it any longer.”

Newt pushes both of you away from him, although he’s clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “Alright, shut it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You and Minho exchange teasing glances behind Newt’s back. “Of course we don’t.”

Up ahead, Thomas signals for the rest of you to join him, and an anxious mood settles back over the three of you, troubling you with whispers of what might happen in that building. You can’t immediately spot any Cranks, but you swear you saw flurries of movement in some of the broken-out windows, like there’s still rot remaining in the broken teeth of this skyscraper.

But if Thomas thinks it’s the way forward, it’s the way forward. You’ve come too far to have misgivings; every place around here is dangerous, and at least now you have an excuse to draw close to your friends, instinctively watching each other’s backs. All the cowardly have died throughout your journey, as have the overly brave. The only ones left are you lot, the ones who’d do things they’d rather forget just to go on drawing breath. No matter if that life seems less and less sweet with every day, you keep going. You’ve done too much to give up now.

The shade of the building is bliss compared to the heat of the sun outside. The solar flares did a number on the planet, and even though it’s been years since hell itself came to pay a visit, the climate has yet to fully recover. To call the Scorch just a desert is to call a knife in the chest a mere triviality, the Flare a dismal cold. Even if it’s risky to go into such an enclosed space, you can’t deny that it’s nice to be out of the sun’s direct line of vision.

The Gladers stay close, and the sound of nervous breaths and scurrying footsteps becomes the norm. It’s silent for now, although if you try hard enough you swear you can make out shuffling from further floors, maybe a clanking of chains. You’re not quite willing to try that hard, though. For now, you just need to make it through.

You glance to your right and see Newt, brow furrowed as he walks. You don’t think you’ve trusted someone as much as Newt in a long time. The only other ones who are even close to him are your brother, out of some combination of familial obligation and inherent respect, and Alby, who is long since dead. Losing Newt would mean you lose yourself.

Newt glances back at you, as if he can sense your eyes on his frame, and smiles. He reaches down to take your hand, careful to do it out of Minho’s peripheral vision, and squeezes your fingers. It reminds you that you’re not alone, that even though you can’t seem to shake the relentless fear that something is about to go terribly wrong, you’ve still got Newt.

Thus, when your hands are linked, you can sense it when Newt stiffens. His shoulders are hunched, head scanning the semidarkness around you. You know exactly what caused this sudden stress: a sound, echoing through the seemingly empty building. It sounded like a cough, a wet sort of noise, followed immediately by a spitting, perhaps of blood. It can only come from a Crank, and you’ve long since learned that if there’s one, there’s many. You may be trapped.

Thomas hears it too, and, automatically assuming the role of leader once more, silently gestures for everyone to head towards the stairs on the opposite side of the hall. You can see a glimmer of light from above, and remember seeing a large bay of broken windows a story up. If things go south, you’ll be able to crawl out through those gaps in the metal.

As it turns out, things are going very south indeed. Scarcely a moment or two after Thomas gives his silent instruction, you see legitimate shapes moving in the shadows around you, rustling at the edges of your vision as if daring you to notice them. A few people in your group get nervous and start to move a little faster, and it is this very action that finally spooks the watching Cranks into action.

They start to pour from broken doors at the end of the hall, shoving each other and stumbling over limp bodies in an attempt to reach you.

Minho’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer quantity of the Cranks. “Go, go! Get upstairs!”

No one needs any further motivation, and your harried footsteps quickly become a sprint as you throw yourself towards the upper floors. You do have an advantage over the Cranks, which is that you’re far more nimble than them and therefore are able to ascend the stairs much faster, but what the infected lack in agility, they make up for in brute strength.

Thomas skids to a stop in front of the windows, helping Teresa get out and then Winston, Frypan. You and Minho step in between your friends and the Cranks, hurling bricks and other pieces of rubble at the infected, anything to stop their reckless forward motion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Newt hesitate, turning towards you instead of jumping out the window and to safety. You shake your head. “Go!”

He wavers a moment longer, then jumps. What Newt doesn’t see is that in your moment of distraction, most of the Cranks make it to the second floor, and suddenly, you’re way outnumbered.

You and Minho are halfway down the hallway from the bay of broken windows, and the short distance feels like miles when a dozen or two Cranks are lunging at you, jaws snapping like beasts. Minho yells for you to run, and you do, faster than you’ve ever gone before. Running out of the Maze is nothing like this; nothing has ever chased you in this way.

The Cranks have nothing to hold them back, no natural limits that their bodies set up to save them, and so they’re able to quickly close the distance. Thomas is waiting by the windows, but you and Minho yell for him to get out. You shove a Crank away from you, then two, and throw yourself out into the air. Minho is right behind you.

You hit the ground with a thump and start running. The Cranks fling themselves out into the empty space, some not bothering to catch themselves in a contained roll and accidentally snapping their necks on too hard a landing. Once in the labyrinth of ruined streets of this former city, you and Minho are able to lose the Cranks that had followed you.

Once the adrenaline fades, you realize that you can’t seem to shake a strange pain. You didn’t think you’d been injured, except perhaps for the fall. Minho is stumbling too, glancing around himself as if expecting to see a bullet wound. You see it on your brother before you see it on yourself- the bite wound on his back, matching one on your leg. Just when you thought you’d both gotten out, you’d been held back by something far worse.

Minho’s face is ashen. “No. This can’t be right. You were supposed to make it out.”

You let out a half laugh, crazier than the infected you left behind. “You were supposed to make it out too, you idiot.”

Minho storms towards you, eyes mad with loss. “Not like that. I made Newt swear that if anything happened in the Maze or out here, he would get you to safety. That’s what I was supposed to do. I’m your brother, aren’t I?”

He says it as if he’s doubting himself. You just shake your head.

“The same thing goes for me. Look, we have to find Newt and the rest or they’ll go charging back in there trying to find us. We can tell them then.”

Minho’s eyes are hollow. “What would we even tell them? That we’re about to turn into shuck-face lunatics? Start ripping out the throats of our friends with our teeth?”

You shrug, already starting to move. “We tell them the truth, and deal with it accordingly.”

You two manage to catch up to the other Gladers in a matter of minutes. Newt stumbles out of the group, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so relieved as when he realized you were still in one piece. His smile drops, though, when you say that you and Minho have something you need to tell the group.

Of everyone, you think Newt takes the news the worst. The second you and Minho tell everyone that you’ve been bitten, you’d think Newt was the one to receive the death sentence, not you and your brother. His face hollows, as if you’ve witnessed him starve on nothing but words.

“How did it happen? You were right behind us. There’s no way you were bitten. Maybe it was something else.”

Minho laughs hollowly. “What else would it be, someone’s pet dog? We were trying to fend them off, and they got closer than they should have. Nothing more than that.”

Newt’s eyes flash; with what, you’re not sure. Anger or grief, they both go hand in hand. “We should have stayed and fought. All of us.”

You shake your head. “The only thing that would have done is have more of you bitten. We can’t change things, Newt. We have the Flare.”

Saying it like that is far too final, and it shakes Newt like a blow. He can’t seem to form another word, and his eyes keep flickering between your wound and Minho’s, over and over and over again.

Teresa comes up behind him, looking confused. “It shouldn’t matter, though. I saw some of WICKED’s files when we were escaping their labs, and didn’t Janson say that most of us were immune? You should survive, right?”

You gesture towards the bite mark on your leg, which is already starting to blacken. “Then why is it doing that?”

Teresa falters. “Maybe the disease mutated. That’s how this whole thing started, anyway. Viruses change.”

Newt turns towards her. “So does that mean they’ll be alright or not?”

Teresa shrinks away from him and his relentless hope. “It means we wait and see.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Newt so afraid. Later that night, when everyone’s asleep, he finds you, and you sit together, talking the whole thing over.

“I can’t lose you, you know. Not at all.”

You smile gently at his words. “I don’t want to lose you either, Newt, but it’s not really like I have a choice.”

He takes your hand as if by impulse. “Fight it. If anyone can make it out, you can.”

You look away. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can fight. If I could, I would, trust me, but I can only hope that it won’t kill me.”

Newt chuckles quietly. “To be fair, I could see you trying to fight it. Any illness should watch itself around you. I’m half afraid already.”

You laugh, treasuring how it makes your chest feel so much lighter. “I think it’s going to be alright, Newt. Really. I think Teresa was right. I don’t feel sick, just tired.”

Newt squeezes your hand. “That had better be true, because I don’t want to think about having to go through all this without you. I mean it. I can’t lose you.”

Looking at him now, it hits you for the first time how honest he’s being. Newt genuinely cannot see a future without you. You lean your head onto his shoulder, and he pulls you closer. You can only hope that you and Minho really are immune, that you’ll make it through this without losing your mind. If you do, there’s something you really need to tell Newt, about the fact that being near him makes your heart skip a beat, how he makes you have hope for the future even though nothing seems worthwhile. You have a feeling that he thinks the exact same thing.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv-blog, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42

[labyrinth-runner]

Alright i gotta go with Obi x reader, him kissing her because she's oblivious to his feelings for her under the stars

The chill night air was refreshing on your skin as you walked through the dunes. Most feared the night on Tatooine, for dangerous things lurked within the sands. But, you knew better. You absentmindedly grabbed a handful of sand as you slid down a dune. Letting the grains of sand slip through your fingertips, you couldn't help but think how memories accumulate into a life.

Sand itself was a special medium. Sure, it could be messy, but it could be shaped into temporary structures. It could be struck by lightning, altering the very matter of its existence into glass. Endless possibilities lay within the desert sand. Endless hopes. Endless dreams. Endless memories.

Your eyes drifted down the mountain ridge to the abandoned farm. Officially, it was abandoned. Left by the farmers who originally owned the property due to fear of the raiders whose Banthas migrated through the area once a season. In truth, it wasn't the best place for a farm. The ground was hard to milk any moisture from. Whoever lived there would have enough just to get by, but not enough to sell. No, if you wanted better prospects, you had to go further south. The only people who would want to live there didn't want to be found.

You saw him before he saw you.

His back was towards you, his broad shoulders covered by a brown cloak that billowed in the wind. He always looked so majestic, which was out of place in such a place as Tatooine. This wasn't the home of the mighty. This was the home of thieves, beggars, and those in hiding. His spirit didn't belong here. He was too upright. You hadn't understood why he felt the need to whither away under the harsh judgment of the twin suns until you saw him with the boy. Then, you understood. He was here to atone. Sinners and saints came to Tatooine on a daily basis, but he was the first saint you'd ever see stay.

Silver metal glinted at his side. It had been a while since you'd seen the lightsaber. An unease set into your chest. Perhaps he was leaving. Perhaps he had a duty to attend to. Perhaps he was going back.

He'd told you vaguely about things he left behind, but you knew he still carried it all with him.

"You missed the sunset," he said as you came up behind him.

"I saw it on my walk over."

"Sunsets are better when they're enjoyed together." His eyes creased as he smiled. "Come, I have a surprise for you."

You raised a brow at him. "You've never enjoyed surprises."

"Not when they're for me," he said, a sad smile on his face. He'd had a fair number of surprises in his day. None of them ended well. "Come."

He held his hand out to you. His hand was rough from working the sand. Callouses formed prior to his time here had set in fully, calcifying in his hand, becoming permanent scars of what they used to hold. You ran your thumb over his knuckle as you slipped your hand into his.

You were never one to believe in the will of the force. After all, it was hard to believe in something mystical and all powerful when you lived in the outer rim. People came here to be forgotten. You'd come here to be forgotten. But, then you'd met Obi-Wan.

It was then that you learned you would always be remembered.

He guided you through the dunes towards a small fire. Laid before it was a blanket covered with a spread.

"A picnic?" the words caught in your throat. You'd only been on one other picnic in your life, far away on a planet of green. It had been one of your fondest memories with your family before the clone wars ripped your home world apart. "What's the occasion?"

Now you were truly scared that he was leaving.

"Do you know it's been two years since I met you?" he asked, reaching forward to smooth hair out of your face.

You sat down on the blanket, warming your feet by the fire. "It's been that long?"

He sat down next to you and began unpacking the food in front of you to pick at. "You've made it easier to be here."

"I'm sure you still miss the Order," you replied, wanting him to just tell you that he was leaving to go back.

His eyebrow rose in shock for a moment. It had been a while since the two of you had discussed the other Jedi. He stared at the flames, quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "It was a large part of my life, but the Order is a lot like the stars in the sky to me, now. Stars can be seen for years after they're gone, and we still use the ghosts of them to guide our paths."

Your gaze fell to the lightsaber at his side. "What's your path?"

"For a while, I thought it was to protect the boy and to keep my life as close to that of a Jedi as I could. I held tight to what I remembered, afraid that if I stopped, then I would forget."

"Forget what?"

"My purpose. My friends." The life I knew, he wanted to add. "But, the Force moves in mysterious ways. If the Force wanted me to continue to be a Jedi, it wouldn't have brought me here."

"Then you are leaving to be a Jedi somewhere else," you sighed, unable to focus on what he was saying.

His brow furrowed as he looked at you. "No."

"But, you cannot be a Jedi here."

"I cannot be one anywhere else, either," he replied. He took his lightsaber from his side. "A Jedi's lightsaber is his life. That is why I want you to hold onto this for me."

"I don't understand," you murmured as he held it out to you. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm meant to be here."

"To protect the boy." You pushed the metal back to him. "You'll need that in order to protect him."

He ran a hand down his face in disbelief. He fixed you with a look, studying you for a moment.

And then he kissed you.

Your eyes widened before you melted into him, laying back on the blanket as he deepened the kiss. Your hands came up to cup his face as everything clicked. He was meant to be here. With you. He trusted you with his life, and wanted you to have the most important thing to him because you were important to him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi loved you.

You remembered how he first looked when you met him. He had been so beaten and sad. Now, the sadness was still there. It would always be there since he had so much to mourn for, but now he smiled. Because of you.

Pulling back, you looked up at his brilliant blue eyes, glinting in the glow of the flames. "I love you."

"Will you accept my lightsaber now?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes." You grinned back.

He poured you a drink and the two of you spent the night talking and kissing until the fire died and the first of the suns began to rise.

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Tales From a Smuggler

Part 1: The Offer

Din x Smuggler!Reader

(Slow burn, multiple parts)

Summary: You are picking up a shipment of illegal merchandise and run into some trouble while trying to refuel. When a mandalorian shows up to help, he makes you an offer you can't refuse. Little did you know the trouble it would bring.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1,897

AN: No one asked for this but I wrote it anyway! I hope you guys like it! It is going to have multiple parts so if you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

You hated pick-ups on this planet. There was so much sand and it always managed to get everywhere. You would be cleaning it out of your landing gear for weeks. But, like always, the money was good enough to keep you coming back.

You sat by the loading dock, watching as a masked crew hauled box after box into the cargo hold. This was an average job, a legit shipment with a couple of “added” boxes that came with a credit bonus. The money was worth it, as long as you didn’t get caught. The way you saw it, being a smuggler was just providing a service. You didn’t even know what was in the boxes half the time, just picking them up and dropping them off.

You looked at your data pad, it had the official embargo of your ship. What you were hauling for who and where. It was what you would show any officials that you ran into on your journey. It was normally too much of a hassle to open all the boxes and confirm their contents with the manifest, lucky for you.

Looking up, you saw the dock manager approaching. He was a large man, covered in drab brown robes, similar to yours. You recognized him from your previous pick-ups here. Meeting his gaze, you didn’t bother removing the mask that covered most of your face, only nodding in acknowledgment.

“We are almost finished loading.” he said standing beside you, watching as the last few crates were onboarded. You stood turning to face him as he did the same. He leaned in closely, taking your hand, in what would look like a handshake to anyone watching. “Same deal as last time. You get the rest on delivery.” he said quietly, letting the bag of credits slip into your palm.

“It might take longer than normal.” you say, slipping the bag into your pocket along with your data pad. “I hear there have been an increase in searches these days, gotta be extra careful.��� you add. He nods in understanding, taking a step back.

“Do what you need to. And remember, if you do get caught… you don't know me. “ he says with a chuckle, but you can see in his eyes that he is deadly serious. Despite the heat of the desert, a chill runs up your spine.

Turning, you board the ship, closing the hatch behind you. Looking around, you quickly counted your cargo making sure they had loaded everything. Unfortunately, getting caught wasn't the worst thing that could happen in your line of work. If you showed up to a delivery and something was missing, it was as good as a death sentence. Satisfied that everything was in order, you made your way to the cockpit.

Your ship was nothing fancy, an average shipping freighter to the untrained eye. The only thing that set it apart were the expansive smuggling compartments hidden across the hold. They came in handy when you needed to hide something in a hurry.

Strapping yourself in, you looked over your control panel. Everything looked good, except for one thing. Your fuel. You groaned, leaning your head back against your chair. Another drawback about picking up at this station was that they didn’t offer fuel services. The closest one was across the planet, in a service port not known for their hospitality. It was not the type of place you wanted to be caught with a valuable shipment. There was a reason your employer kept his warehouse as far away from it as possible. If anyone caught wind of what you were hauling, you would be robbed before your tanks were half full.

Seeing that you had no other choice, you gritted your teeth and fired up your engines.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with.” you mumbled to yourself, starting for the port.

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Approaching the station, you triple checked to make sure all of your hatches were secure. Preparing for landing, you reached under your control panel to retrieve the blaster that you stored there. Normally, you were more of a runner than a fighter, but in a place like this, it helped to look as dangerous as possible. Securing the weapon in your thigh holster, you made your final descent into the fueling station.

Upon landing, a small group of droids rushed forward connecting the fuel hoses. Night had fallen over the desert but you pulled your mask over your face anyway, always favoring anonymity in situations like this. Exiting your ship, you headed for the port masters desk. He watched you as you approached, sizing you up with a bored expression.

“How much to fill the tanks?” you asked, watching as he narrowed his eyes at you, obviously not expecting a feminine voice from under the mass of brown robes.

“5,000” he said flatly, watching you take out a bag of credits and place it on the desk. “It might take a while.” he added, reaching forward to collect them. “It’s a pretty big ship, takes a while to fill the tanks.” In any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes. It was your ship. Of course you knew how long it would take to fuel. Not wanting to cause problems, you remained silent, simply nodding instead.

You made your way to the cantina next to the station so you could keep an eye on your ship. It was crowded, filled with an assortment of strange and sometimes dangerous patrons. You chose a seat close to the exit, hoping that if anything happened you could easily slip out. You ordered a drink, but it remained untouched in front of you. You knew that this port was filled with the worst kind of criminals, not the kind of place to be off your guard.

Unfortunately, your arrival had not gone unnoticed. A large crolute eyed you from across the room, a small group of scavengers gathered around him. When you had seen him, it set your hair on end. Every instinct in you screamed for you to leave, but where could you go? The cantina was crowded and you hoped that would deter the gang from any type of action, the streets were deserted at night you would be easy prey.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as the crolute made his way towards you, your hand instinctively moving to the blaster concealed in your robes. Finally he came to stand in front of you.

“Hey! You came in on that freighter.” it was a statement. You struggled to remain still as he stood over you, his group trailing behind him. “What are you hauling?”  he asked, leering down at you. Swallowing past the lump in your throat you tried to force your voice to be steady.

“Droid parts.” you said simply. He eyed you unconvinced. Your hand tightened around the hilt of your weapon as he leaned in closer. A twisted smile split his face, filling you with the urge to run.

“I think you're lying.” he said quietly so no one else in the cantina could hear over the noise, you could feel his hot breath against your face. “And I think that whatever you have on that ship is mine now.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you saw him reach towards you. You moved to pull your blaster but before you could even get it out of the holster there was a flash of silver and the large crolute was thrown to the ground.

In his place now stood a large figure, clad in shining armour, a blaster pointed at the gang of scavengers hurrying to help their leader up.

“A mandalorian?!” the crolute gasped in fear. The cantina suddenly fell silent. All eyes were on the heavily armoured man as he took a threatening step forward, gesturing to the gang with his blaster.

“I suggest you leave.” The mandalorians' modulated voice said calmly. The gang scrambled over one another in their hurry to get out of the way, apparently valuing their lives more than whatever you were hauling.

Thinking that you had somehow gained the attention of someone more dangerous than the gang of scavengers, you quietly slipped out of your seat and out the door, while the mando was focused on the crowd of onlookers.

Once outside, you hastily made your way to your ship, cursing at yourself.

“You idiot! Why didn't you just stay at the station?? Cause then they could have come looking for you there!” you argued with yourself. You could hear the mandalorian chasing after you, prompting you to quicken your pace.

“Wait! I just want to talk!” He called catching up with you and grabbing your arm. Spinning quickly, you jabbed the barrel of your blaster into the space between his armour under his arm.

“You had better let go of me mandalorian, because I may not be a marksman but at this range, it would be hard to miss.” You hiss threateningly narrowing your eyes on his visor, pressing your weapon hard against his ribs. He paused, his grip still firm on your arm.

“I need your help.” he said, his grip loosening. His words shocked you.

“What?” you asked furrowing your brows.

“I need your help getting off the planet.” he began. “Those scavengers thought you were a smuggler and based on your response, I would say they were right.” he explained. You bristled slightly at the fact you had been spotted as a smuggler so quickly. Sighing, you lowered your weapon and he released your arm.

“I can't help you.” you said holstering your blaster again. “I have places to be.” you say turning to leave.

”I can pay you.” He adds quickly, causing you to pause, a small smirk pulling at your lips.

“I don't think you could afford-”

“60,000 credits.” the smirk fell from your face. That, along with the payment for the shipment, a payday like that had you feeling dizzy just thinking about it. “60,000 to get me and one other off this planet.” he says, but his words fall on deaf ears as you run through the pros and cons of taking this offer. There is a long pause before you respond.

Turning back to him, you look him over. He was a large man, definitely dangerous. If something were to happen and he decided to kill you there would be little you could do to stop him. But then your memories returned to what he had done for you in the cantina. You owed him in a way. And if the money was good…

“You’ve got a deal.” you say taking a step towards him extending your hand. He reached forward, taking your hand in his. You gripped it tightly, despite it being larger than yours, before adding “but it’s my ship mandalorian, and you follow my rules or I will dump you body in space without hesitation.” you say firmly. You were met only with a nod of his helmet.

“Good.” you said, releasing his hand. “I’ll be leaving in 30, either you be there or you get left behind.” you say before turning for your ship. You didn’t normally smuggle people but with the money he was offering it was hard to refuse.

“What is the worst that could happen?” you mumbled to yourself.

Part 2, Part 3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

AN: This is my first Mandalorian Fic, so please let me know what you guys think. I have an idea of where I want the story to go and trust me there will be a lot of pinning and longing in the upcoming parts.

[sirowsky]

Chapter 8 - A Desolate Walk

Description: Now completely alone, Din has no choice but to head out into the desert and try and find a way off the planet. But what he does find, is about the last thing he'd expect. (Dual perspectives)

OBSERVE! Creator chooses NOT to include warnings on this series. Read at your own risk! Be aware that this story will include violence and is not suitable for minors! 18+ONLY.

Word Count: 3756 Masterlist (This Story) Author’s Masterlist

Link to Chapter 9

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   Pagwu is not a warm planet. Even in the height of the harvest-season it only ever gets warm enough for the locals to manage without a jacket, and that season is passed now.    Din stays warm for as long as he walks, but whenever he stops to rest, or flies up to check his surroundings, he’s instantly bothered by the chill, and by nightfall it’s going to get much worse.

   There’s nothing to burn to keep warm either, so the best he can hope for, is that the setting sun won’t bring too much strong winds and that he can keep moving under the starlight.    He’s lucky enough that the skies stay clear and that the night is calm, but the temperature drops dramatically shortly after all daylight has faded, and he’s forced to stop and hunker down.

   It isn’t long before he’s shivering, and then begins to lose all feeling in his fingers and toes, so he gets up to move around a little, trying to get his blood warmer so it’ll flow better.    But while standing upright, he spots something in the distance. Perhaps half a mile away, further into the badlands, there’s a reddish glow coming from somewhere.

   It could be the demon’s own glow, but it looks too big and too red for that.    Regardless of what it is, there’s a good chance that it comes from a heat-source, and that makes it worth investigating if he’s going to survive the night.    So, he sets off towards it, moving slowly both because his feet hurt and because he’s going straight into the badlands, which requires caution even in full daylight.

   It’s a slow and dangerous walk over the brittle glass-like floor, reaching down through layer after layer of the ground. He has to move carefully and follow the natural veins that formed where the ground was strongest, back when this area was burned.    But eventually, he gets close enough to make out what the red light is coming from, so he stops to assess.

   A fissure has opened up, deep underground, probably from a recent cave-in that exposed the scorched earth which still simmers, even after thousands of years.    He doesn’t go any closer than that the heat reaches him, before Din takes a seat on what looks like a sturdy block of rocks, finding them warm to the touch, despite being around a hundred yards from the mouth of the ravine.

   The warmth instantly makes him feel better, but hunger and thirst are becoming a real issue after an entire day of walking, and he has no reason to believe that he’ll find a solution to either anytime soon.    Without water, he won’t last more than another day at most, so he’ll have to get as much rest as he can tonight. He’ll need all his wits about him tomorrow.

   Dawn wakes him, the warmth of the sun starting to compete with that of the fissure, and he stands and starts moving, checking that everything is working and that nothing hurts. He also takes a closer look at his helmet, discovering that it seems intact, but that the digital functions of the visor have been damaged. He can still see through it, but not in the dark.    However, since there’s no one to hide his face from out here, he keeps it off.

   He makes his way back to safer ground before resuming his slow trudge to the west, but a few hours later, he stops when something catches his eye further ahead. It’s just a glimmer of something reflecting the sun, but there shouldn’t be anything that shiny around here.    Curious, and still hopeful that he might find something that could save his life, he heads straight for the glinting light.    But getting there only confuses him further, because it’s a piece of metal.

   A rod sticking out of the ground, polished by winds and sand until it glistens, but there’s no reason for it to be out there.    He tries pulling on it, in case it’s a trap of some kind, or just stuck down in the ground by someone’s hands, in which case it should be relatively easily pulled up.    But it isn’t. The thing doesn’t budge a millimetre, suggesting that it runs much deeper than it would appear.

   Perplexed, Din looks around, searching for any further details that could help explain this curiosity, but finds nothing. The surrounding ground is completely flat, enabling him to see for miles in all directions, and nothing stands out.    Further investigation is unlikely to help him in any practical sense, and he desperately needs to find some sort of fluid, or he’ll soon be forced to a permanent stop.

   In the late afternoon, once more closing in on sunset, he finds a sheltering cliff to sit down and lean against. And once his tired legs, turned stiff from the monotony of walking for two days, agree to bend and let him sit down to rest, he suddenly feels certain that he won’t ever get up again.    There will be no fissure to keep him warm tonight, and the extreme drought of this world, all moisture absent even from the air, has left him dehydrated to extreme levels already.

   He has no idea how far he’s walked, only that his bearings haven’t changed. He’s kept the badlands to his right the entire time, staying close to the edge of the charred soil all the way.    So, if there had been a hidden port where he thought that it would be, he would’ve found it by now. And that realization is wringing all desire to keep looking, out of his mind.    What Din wants now, is just to rest.

   He watches the sun set, relishing in the fact that he gets to see something like that with his own eyes for once, and somehow, the idea of dying here starts to feel less worrisome.    There are much worse ways to go, after all. He’s come close many times. And while those deaths might have been more honourable than dying of thirst while marooned on a dead planet, he feels no shame for these circumstances.

   Coming here in the service of a friend, trying to save innocent children, aren’t things to be ashamed about. And neither is his failure. Not when his opponent is this ancient and legendary warrior that not even his ancestors ever truly defeated.    No, he doesn’t feel humiliated. He feels only sad.

   The sun drops below the horizon once more, and the dark brings the icy chill with it. But he doesn’t get up to try and keep himself warm this time.    The cliff feels increasingly comfortable even as he rests his unprotected head against it, too tired now to even keep his eyes open, and quickly losing all feeling in his limbs.

   Wanting to see the stars one last time, he musters the strength to peek upwards, and there’s a great deal of comfort in how well he recognizes them. How reliable they are to rarely ever change or move. Constant and so beautiful.    Soon though, his gaze falls back towards the ground, and a spark of energy jolts through him, when his eyes are suddenly looking into glowing red ones.

   But that spark fades as quickly as it flared, because that was the last bit of strength he had.    He wants to tell you how he misses you, how he wishes that you’re still there, but darkness is falling over his mind. A deep and permanent darkness that won’t be chased away.    The red light slowly disappears, and nothing takes its place. Because there is nothing more.

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   The demon moves fast across the empty plains. This is its home, where its kin have lived for ages, where it evolved into a stronger being, and fought for its life and freedom.    But it doesn’t think like that.    It doesn’t know the memories that exist within its own brain, nor does it care to learn about them. It cares only about the flame.

   The heat from within that must never be allowed to be extinguished. It will only burn brighter if it fears that such a thing might happen, because the fire must never die.    There is no reason to think that there’s any danger of that now, though, where it moves over the vast open spaces without another living thing around.

   Until there suddenly is.    It can detect shifts in temperature of just a tenth of a degree, so in terrain like this, it knows when it comes across an anomaly long before it reaches the source.    And this particular source, is something it knows. Something that makes those memories want to be known. Something so significant that it awakens a higher level of brain-function in the beast.

   A human.

   The enemy. Those that kill unprovoked and take what isn’t theirs. Yes, it knows this heat. This monster and child-murderer.    But there’s something more, underneath the memories, deep within the flame that lives in its chest. Not born of heat, but warmth.    Something curious and strange that it doesn’t understand.

   Despite this, the demon calms at the sight of the human, as that warmth spreads and makes all fear and desire to fight float away.    But the man is dying. His temperature is not what it should be, and his heart has almost stopped, ground to a halt by the cold.

   It should not for any reason want to help this man, but it does. More than that, the warmth inside is compelling it, stoking and flaring until the air heats around the beast, and reaches the man on the ground.    He begins to warm, and his heart regains its strength, but that makes the creature nervous.

   Because while it still can’t remember as other beings do, it knows in its blood that this human is dangerous, more so than most others. He knows how to harm its kin. How to stop the flame.    But for some reason, it still can’t leave him for dead, so the demon beats its tail against the ground, setting the stone floor on fire and making sure that it keeps burning.

   And then it quickly runs off, soon forgetting all about humans and the danger they pose, as the distance between them increases.    Until the beast is once more roaming the plains, blissfully unaware of the man that will soon awake to a hundred questions that no one living can answer.

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   He feels warm. That’s the first thing that enters his mind as he begins to wake, although it’s far from the first time that he is left wondering how he’s alive still.    The demon was there, he knows it, so it must once again have spared him, stoking his hopes that some part of you might still remember him.    More interestingly, though, it apparently left behind something for him.

   Just a few feet to his left there’s a small fire, but unlike any he’s ever seen before.    Normal fires burn upwards, as the air is heated and shifted up, but this flame looks like the top of a vortex in a river, swirling calmly at the surface. Round and round at a constant speed and seemingly without needing any fuel at all, beyond the stone upon which it sits.    And it’s surprisingly warm for something no bigger than a drinking cup.

   He huddles around it, feeling himself return to life a little more with each passing minute. And when it hasn’t shown any signs of waning after more than an hour, Din decides that it’s probably safe to sleep for a while, quickly dozing off once he closes his eyes.

   Again, he wakes up when daylight breaks over the horizon, finding the flame still swirling calmly before him, having lost none of its intensity. But he has to get up and keep moving now, and he can’t bring the flame, unfortunately.    Not that it makes that much difference. If he can’t find water today, he won’t last any longer, cold or not.

   He tries gathering up some dirt to throw on the fire, but it isn’t enough to smother it. It just frizzles and keeps going, undeterred. Realizing that he’s going to have to gather up a lot more dirt, which he isn’t in the mood for wasting time on, he sighs with exhaustion.    Surprisingly though, even that small huff is enough to make it vanish, leaving behind nothing more than a little patch of scorched rock, and drawing his mind to the thought that he was lucky not to have put it out accidentally in his sleep.  

   Getting up, he feels unsteady and has to just stand there for a moment to get his bearings. Then he sets off, no longer sure if he’s even searching for a port anymore, as it’s starting to feel more like he’s just trying to outrun the inevitable.    But humans are hard-wired with survival threads and cords, so despite his lacking energy reserve, burning throat and aching body, he trudges on.

   Mile after mile, hour after hour, he walks, quickly losing track of where the badlands are supposed to be to keep him heading west, and before long, he can’t see the black mass of the area anymore.    Logically, that should mean that he’s moving south, the only direction where it can’t be seen, but even though he knows that he can’t coerce his brain into finding north again.

   Din is lost and getting increasingly disoriented and confused, until he’s suddenly certain that he’s seeing another human being coming towards him.    But that’s impossible. He’s hallucinating, he must be. Shit.    He drops to his knees intending to rest, but once he’s down, he knows he won’t have the strength to get back up.

   A cool hand touches his cheek, urging his head backwards, and he’s sure that it’s a dream. That he’s imagining your touch in the final moments of his life, like before in the keep, when he just wanted to see your smile.    But then something cold and wet dribbles over his lips and survival kicks in again, sending fresh bouts of electricity through those wires, making him seek out the liquid, greedily trying to grab whatever thing it comes from.

   He meets no resistance, and gulps down mouthful after mouthful of fresh clear water, making him more lucid and returning him to reality with each lifegiving drop, until he has to stop to breathe.    Only then does he look up to find that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. There was a person coming towards him, and she’s standing before him now, wide-eyed and at least somewhat frightened, so he tries to pull himself together.

   “Thank you…” his throat is still raw and sore, but he recognizes that it sounds wrong in a different way as well, only then remembering the helmet and the creed.

   He’s so used to the modulator that hearing his own voice without it is jarring. He’s not one to talk to himself, and certainly not during the few moments of a day when he normally removes it.    But he won’t be able to see much through it now, and since his current company has already seen his face, he decides to let it be, just as the middle-aged woman starts to speak.

   “You’re a hunter. How did you end up out here?” she asks, her voice smooth and pleasantly calm despite her obvious concerns.

   “Ig’wu was destroyed. I walked from there…” he answers hoarsely and sees her face twist in shock.

   “Ig’wu? No, traveller, you couldn’t have walked that far with no shelter or water, it’s impossible.”

   “Where am I?” is his only response to that, wondering just how far he’s strayed.

   She hesitates, but not out of desire to hide anything, her face is open and honest. It seems more like she’s worried that he won’t believe her.

   “We’re less than a standard mile west of where the city of Cai’ilo used to be.”

   He knows that name. It was one of the first cities on Pagwu, and for a long time it was the capitol. Around fifty thousand years before the first demons even appeared.    He also knows that it’s over ninety miles from Ig’wu, and that’s if one is moving in a straight line heading southwest, which he clearly hasn’t done.

   “No, that can’t be right, I was moving along the badlands, I didn’t stray south until today… I think,” he tries to clear his head enough to be certain, but it’s all a bit foggy.

   “Well, that explains it. The black earth is still burning, deep under the surface. It spreads a little further south each year,” she explains, and he’s somewhat baffled to hear this.

   “What? How did nobody in Ig’wu know that?”

   “How do you know that they don’t?” she replies, her use of the present tense making him realize that it’s a moot point.

   “I guess it doesn’t matter, they’re all dead,” he says, handing the now empty water flask back to her, which she takes with uncertain movements.

   For the first time since coming across him, she seems to really look at him, and there’s something very humble in her frame when she speaks again.

   “The damage to the sheen of your armour… only a demon’s flame can do that,” she observes correctly. “So, either you inherited that armour from someone who fought in the wars, and never had it repaired, or you’ve been touched by the flame yourself.”

   This woman doesn’t seem as frightened to speak about the demons as most folks here, but he can’t know how she might react to hearing that he was engulfed by those flames and came out unscathed.    Anyone on Pagwu would be shocked and maybe even appalled to hear such a thing, so he opts to share only parts of the truth instead.

   “Three days ago, Ig’wu was completely destroyed. And I was there.”

   Her expression shifts several times but eventually lands on stunned.

   “The last city… has fallen. May the stars keep those lost souls,” she offers in prayer for the dead, before her face takes on a harder edge. “So, the demons have returned?”

   “Thus far, just one,” he clarifies, and watches her eyes widen.

   “One? A single creature burned down all of Ig’wu?”

   “In one flame,” he says, to which she can’t stand still anymore, starting to move erratically over the ground before him.

   “That’s… oh, goodness. I knew it… they warned us about it. This is the moment I always feared,” she rambles, making him nervous.

   “What are you talking about?”

   “Not all of us agreed with the wars, Mandalorian. Not all of us believed in slaughtering children for trespasses they hadn’t even committed yet,” she carries on, getting anxious and speaking quicker. “Some of us thought that they deserved to be understood before they were studied like science projects. We tried to interact with them peacefully, to learn how intelligent they are, and we discovered things that were considered so controversial that we were banished from society.”

   This baffles him, primarily because he’s never heard of any settlements outside of the cities that survived. Not just against the drought, but the demons as well. But this woman herself is proof that it might very well be true.

   “Who are you?” he questions calmly, and she comes to a stop.

   As if suddenly realizing that she’s forgotten her manners, she sighs and comes to stand before him, taking a few slow breaths to settle down.

   “My name is Neaba,” she introduces herself while offering him a hand to get up.

   He takes it and lets her help him to his feet. He has no social obligation to reveal his given name, as Mandalorians aren’t expected to, but he also has no reason not to.

   “Din Djarin,” he says once he’s back on his feet.

   “Can you walk?” she asks, and he nods even though he’s still swaying a little, so she pulls his arm over her shoulders to help steady him. “Then we should get going, it’ll be dark soon.”

   The water restored some of his strength, but he’s still exhausted and hurting all over, so it’s a slow walk, and neither of them try starting any conversations along the way.    But just like she said, half a mile later they reach a settlement, and he limps in among the shacks and huts feeling utterly lost, because this isn’t supposed to be possible.

   Hundreds of people are coming out into the rudimentary streets to see him. Hundreds of people that shouldn’t have survived at all.    He can hear children playing and laughing, while all the adults are either silent or murmuring between themselves as he passes, clearly equally surprised to see him.    Neaba directs him to a house in what appears to be the main street, and helps him in.

   It’s apparently their healer’s place, and he’s brought to a bed and asked to sit down before the healer looks him over. Within minutes, a tray of food and more water is delivered, and the doc orders him to eat and then sleep, neither of which are orders he’s inclined to argue against.    On a full stomach, he falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

   Neaba wakes him the next morning, not bothering with any pleasantries before she tells him to come with her, leading him to a big structure and walking inside.    When he follows her, he finds himself standing in a large hall where every piece of wall is covered in writing and images. Sketches made with charcoal, depicting demon anatomy and mobility, diagrams of known functions and abilities, maps of known conflicts and the creatures’ movements over the millennia.

   “What is all this?” he asks after he’s looked around for a minute.

   “This is a thousand years of studies conducted without instruments or through conflicts. This is everything we know about them from simply watching and mapping them in their natural state.”

   Why is it so surprising? Humans are fascinated by all things they can’t understand, and someone will always start studying those things. It’s inevitable.    Of course, everyone assumed that those studies were performed by the King’s science department, not some unknown group of survivors in the middle of nowhere.

   Din had believed that that science team had uncovered a lot of information about the demons, but seeing this room makes him understand that no one in Ig’wu had any real clue about what they are.    And neither does he.

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Link to Chapter 9

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I’d greatly appreciate it <3

@idreamofboobear @tanzthompson @winter-fox-queen @tiffanyleen @shsoba05 @toomanystoriessolittletime @nolanell @myfavpedrothings @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @tintinn16 @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @sj-draws00 @gallowsjoker @spishsstuff @little-mrs-morales @bilibiche @gallowsjoker @insomniamamma @thelion-sroar @brunette-overalls

[ahsokasupremacy]

being anakin is so funny in like the worst most awful way. he’s a literal chosen one demigod child of a prophecy but the reason the jedi council has never found him before is because he lives on a hot ass dry ass sucky ass desert planet in buttfuck nowhere on the outer rim. when qui gon meets him as a nine year old, he’s just casually like yes my mom and me are unpaid laborers yes this normal. also we have bombs in us and if you try to leave your body goes kaboom :)) then you think maybe qui gon is gonna do the right thing and free him but actually anakin, the NINE YEAR OLD is the one who saves them. and it’s by fucking podracing his hyperfixation literally comes in clutch and saves his own life. and then qui gon’s immediate reaction is “oh shit, someone should enroll this demigod kid in space wizard first grade.”

when he’s nineteen he literally jumps straight out of a window to chase down padme’s killer. he tells obi-wan that he always wanted him to be his father (to which he gets rejected and brother-zoned). literally padme even rejects him too like both of the most important figures in his life are like ew anakin no. also if you really think about it he’s the third wheel here because padme and obi-wan are actually good friends and much closer in age whereas anakin was like an annoying little brother to them. all this is despite the fact he is supposed to be THE MAIN CHARACTER in HIS MOVIE!! and then, he somehow manages to hunt down a SHAPESHIFTER. you would think that, the shapeshifter being able to change and hide their form and anakin being unable to disguise his very obvious jedi robes, this would be an easy win for the shapeshifter. oh yeah also all of this all happens literally in the same night. then like, a week later boom he’s married to padme.

later in life when he’s in the suit, everything is literally his own personal living hell. he can’t sleep or eat and the only times when he falls asleep, all his dreams are garbled nonsense overstimulating noise and a supercut of his worst moments. and then he just wakes up from that bone-chilling soul-wrenching horrifying nightmare and is like “oh well time to go to work at my dead-end job 😒 another day another slay time to kill some younglings 😐” as if it’s nothing

[ultravioart]

1) yes! she's the mastermind anime villain to woy's goofy looney tunage 2) FOR REAL?? That is hilarious I had no idea And LOL... yeah I am contemplating ideas bc I REALLY want Peepers to get a proper punk disguise... let him embrace the inner goth/punk nerd vibe instead of being a Spirit Halloween Prep lol. A black wig makes more sense for the cheerfit imo, but I bet it was decided as blonde because yellow fits Hater's theme and also Hater likes blondes LOL. I'm guessing the cheerfit must have been from a pile of stage costumes because I can totally see watchdogs dressed up as cheerleaders and doing cheer acts to cheer on Lord Hater: "H-A-T-E-R Who's the number one superstar? Lord! Lord Hater! Lord-Lord! Lord Hater, woo!"

For the au I imagined Peepers would use some fancy spytech contact lens to cover his iris to avoid retina scanner detection. The contact would also act as a physical mask, hiding his identity/making his iris look different and unrecognizable as "Peepers". A spy watchdog in "The It" used contacts as spy gear, so it seems like a fitting spy gadget for a mission like this. And since Peepers is wearing his 1/8th inch a day taller boots that Wander made lol, I think he may pass as a slightly petite watchdog instead of a very short "obviously Commander Peepers" watchdog. I also doubt Dominator would expect Mr. "Cartoon Napolean Complex" to ditch his tall helmet willingly, so seeing a watchdog in a wig that claims to have defected from the Hater empire is... sus. but not obviously Peepers at first glance. Or at least, I would assume so? More au stuff below:

(And I know Dominator basically gets caught by the WoY Space Cop "star force enforcement force" in the first episode of s3 based on Q&A, but I have no idea what SFEF look like beyond possibly being 3 characters, and maybe similar to Kid Cosmic's Earth Force Enforcement Force. So I'll just pretend that arc doesn't happen yet... lol... Let's just say she gets stranded on some deserted planet when her travel bubble pops instead.) In the Dominion au Peepers sets out to meet with Dominator before she fully rebuilds, so he has a chance to bribe her into agreeing to a team up. I imagined a really silly scene of CPeeps landing on the planet Dominator was stranded on to make contact with her. Dom's newly claimed area is a post-apocalyptic small town, nature overgrowing, but still desolate. --- Peepers walks out with his cheerfit disguise on (+ his helmet on), but as he sneaks towards her area of operations, he spots a large "DORKS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT" poster with pictures of Wander, Sylvia, Hater, and Peepers. Peepers slowly looks up at his helmet's GIANT lightning bolt, wondering if it may be a bit too obvious. ......................Nah! A tumbleweed rolls behind him, and he notices it gets stuck on a little dead tree, creating his perfect silhouette (Peepers+tall helmet). and not a millisecond later: BAM!!!!!!! the shrub gets SUDDENLY stopped to death, LASERED, and mass obliterated with a GIANT explosion from patrolling Dom bots, no pause, no chill, 100% maximum carnage. Peepers stares at the forming giant mushroom cloud as it rips. He gets all deflated taking off his helmet, and walks back to his ship, hopelessly muttering to himself: "Well there goes the last of my dignity..." --- lol Since Dom doesn't have her tech/backups anymore, she has to go off of her own memory to rebuild. Interplanetary communications are down but she managed to make electric powered Dom bots from scraps for protection and labor. They have basic salvaged scanners and laser weapons, but they run on batteries/janky engines and tend to be more unreliable than the previous Volcanium X powered Dombots. Her area is cleared of major vegetation to avoid allergies, as she is allergic to the flower that regrew the galaxy. Peepers presents himself to the bots, makes his pitch to Dominator through coms, and manages to get past the bot's crappy scanners/voice recognition, which identify him as a stranger. He then is escorted by the bots to meet Dom, who is busy repairing a ship. She is desperately trying to get it up and running again so she can get off planet and rebuild properly. She knows she can't use a watchdog as a hostage since lmafo the Hater empire literally does not care, but she is curious about what this weird defecting watchdog is all about. More TBD scenes happen and eventually Dom would agree to team up for the moment and after a bit they vibe enough that she gives Peepers a makeover, giving him the punk/goth outfit. (Mostly to rid of any bugs/spy coms, but when she finds none she's like :o oh this watchdog is for real for real stupid... maybe the story is legit.) The two could break into an abandoned shop to get Peepers a new look. Or maybe they fix the ship, fly to that city planet from "the night out", and rob a shop for valuables and clothes and have an evil bestie makeover montage with lots of stick ups and crime lol. I can image that city planet may be building back up by the time Peepers teams up with Dominator, and a seedy underbelly is always ripe for the Dominating. Still idk, I just REALLy want to keep that (stares at a giant explosion) scene with Peepers bc LOL it's very funny to me. That scene comes across better in animatic/comic format tho, i WILL draw it out one day.

you know what. i know dominator is 1) not one to fall for ur typical dumbass cartoony antics she is physically incapable of such and 2) she canonically stalked all of the other 4 mains for like a year or sometihng, SO SHE IS DEEPLY FAMILIAR.. WITH WHAT THOSE DORKS LOOK LIKE AND WHAT THEY SPEND THEIR TIME DOING WHEN THEY BREACH CONTAINMENT  but also. also. she’s a forgetful asF adhd kween who pretty much NEVER interacted with peepers (aside from that 1 time she bitchslapped him and he Died) so .  you know what. i think she honest to god would NOT recognize him in a decent disguise for at least… a good several minutes.. and then maybe if she DOEs  recognize him she’s just like idc i’m bored and this is myfavoritedorkybrandof entertaimnent…..  i will just go with this. also LMAO

[myaimistrue]

bright as ever

Obi-Wan wakes to the sound of sand shifting under someone’s feet.

read my first non-supernatural fic in actual years under the cut or on ao3 here!

Obi-Wan wakes to the sound of sand shifting under someone’s feet.

Tatooine is a quiet planet. Most evenings, Obi-Wan falls asleep to a silence unlike any he’s ever known, to the impossible hush of the desert. Only the faintest sounds of wind carry over the dunes. So it’s easy to hear any disturbance—to hear footsteps.

He slips out of his bed. The floor is cool under his feet.

Perhaps he should wonder why he doesn’t reach out in the Force. Perhaps he should be more on guard. Perhaps he should even be frightened. Yet all that seems to matter, regardless of his own safety, regardless of the danger, is for Obi-Wan to know the source of the sound. To know who is out there.

Outside, the sky is a deep, beautiful indigo, starless and ancient. But there’s nothing. No footsteps in the sand. No sound. 

“Anakin?” He says. The name tastes like ash in his mouth.

The Force slams into him all at once, sunburst and flame and a heart-rending shout. A hand touches his shoulder. 

***

In the early dawn light, Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

Meditation isn’t difficult when one lives so far from society. There are no distractions, nothing but the in, out, in, out of his breathing; it’s the easiest meditation has ever felt for him. Master Yoda would be proud of how quickly he reaches serenity. 

Life is simple, here. He works, he watches over Luke, he cares for himself and his home. He does what he can. It’s uncomplicated. Plain, as a Jedi’s life should be.

Lonely, something in him whispers. It’s lonely.

***

Obi-Wan is standing in the sand.

It’s late. The air is much cooler than usual; a chill runs through him, barefoot and in his sleep clothes. Unthinking, he extends a hand to summon his lightsaber. Nothing comes. Briefly, he’s alarmed, and then it comes back to him. He’s no longer a Jedi. His saber withers away somewhere beneath the sand.

Someone is watching him. 

“Anakin?” It’s as though he hasn’t said it in years. Is that possible, he wonders? How could he not say his name? How could that be possible?

There’s no response.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says. He knows now, can feel it suddenly vibrating through the Force, that Anakin is here. Somewhere, just out of his line of sight. Somewhere close by. 

A whisper: How could you?

Obi-Wan wakes up.

***

The cantina is usually not a place Obi-Wan spends his time. If he finds himself in town, he’s simply visiting the market to stock up—rarely has he ever had the time or desire to get a drink. But the dreams he’s been having are troubling. He knows alcohol can’t solve the problem, but he also knows that affording himself the luxury of a few drinks won’t make it worse.

It’s a quiet night. Obi-Wan finds a spot at the end of the bar where he can remain in the shadows; with his hood pulled up, it may be a little more cautious than strictly necessary, but he won’t risk being recognized.

He orders a drink. A few barstools down, a man watches him do so. Obi-Wan shifts subtly in his seat to turn his face away. 

“Hello,” the man says. He’s drinking something bright orange, and judging by the slur of his words, he’s clearly had quite a few.

“Hello,” Obi-Wan says. The bartender sets his drink down in front of him, and he takes a long sip. He feels the familiar burn down to the tips of his toes. At one point, he was someone who enjoyed a good drink, who had favorites and preferences and opinions about it. He hasn’t been that person in a long time.

“What are you drinking?” The man asks. He’s projecting drunken lust so intense that Obi-Wan feels it hanging over them like sweet-smelling smoke. “I can buy your next one.”

The man is handsome. He has a strong nose and lovely eyes, and for the briefest of moments, Obi-Wan imagines himself agreeing. Flushed skin against his, open mouths and sliding tongues. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, “But I’m going home after this one.”

The man is polite about it and doesn’t push any further. But Obi-Wan suddenly feels exposed, like the risk he’s taken with himself is far too great. That man could be an agent of the Empire. That man might try to get to know him.

Obi-Wan finishes the rest of his drink quickly and leaves without a backward glance.

Later, warm with the buzz of alcohol and the comfort of his own bed, Obi-Wan is still thinking about it. The man had smiled so much like Anakin had: an edge of arrogance, a flash of teeth, a wild brightness.

It’s been so long since he’s seen it. The thought occurs to Obi-Wan, and it’s sickening. He focuses all of his energy on piecing together all the small details of Anakin’s face, trying to sharpen every part of him blurred by time. The freckle near his eye. The distinct turn of his mouth when he was displeased. Obi-Wan falls asleep that way.

***

He’s sitting on the edge of a cliff. His feet dangle in the open air, and in the darkness, Obi-Wan can barely see the bottom of the canyon.

He wants to look over his shoulder. He’s fairly certain that someone is standing behind him; Obi-Wan can feel him shift, can sense the slightest movement in the sand.

“Why won’t you let me see you?” he asks.

The wind picks up.

“Anakin?”

***

Luke and Leia turned three only a few days ago. It’s difficult to imagine it could’ve been that long since everything happened, but as Obi-Wan watches Luke toddle around in the sand, he’s faced with proof. Three years since his world ripped apart at the seams. 

Beru scoops Luke up, and the child laughs, a wild sound that makes Obi-Wan smile. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he wonders what it would’ve been like, if he hadn’t surrendered Luke to his aunt and uncle. If he had taken Luke himself, to some isolated planet on the edge of everything and raised him as his own. Told him stories of his parents. Kept him safe, without this terrible distance. But that could never be.

He wonders about Leia, too. He knows Bail and Breha are looking after her—there is no one he would trust more—but it’s hard to not know anything about her. He wonders if she’s as talkative and curious as Luke has grown to be, or if she’s a more reserved child. He wonders what she looks like. If perhaps she favors Padme as Luke favors Anakin. He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to meet her.

Beru has taken Luke back inside, presumably to wash up for dinner. Tentatively, he reaches out, and Luke’s contentedness, his childlike happiness, is palpable. The feeling of it is as though Obi-Wan is running his fingers through a warm bath. This is what he was looking for, when he came here today. Being able to reassure himself that Luke is safe and cared for—it’s a comfort Obi-Wan doesn’t take for granted.

He lingers, but knows when it’s time to return home. The suns begin to set.

***

How could you? It’s screaming out around him, the sand beneath Obi-Wan’s feet whipping wildly with anger. How could you do this to me?

“You left me no choice,” he says. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You destroyed me!

Obi-Wan falls to his knees. The voice is growing louder and louder, raw and brutal in its rage. “I’m sorry,” he cries out. “I’m so sorry.”

I trusted you like no other, the voice howls. Obi-Wan presses hands against his ears, desperate to block out the sound. I loved you. And you tore me apart!

Flame bursts forth from the sand. The fire roars around him, growing closer and closer. It wants to consume him.

“Anakin—”

The Force flares wildly, an anguish so profound that Obi-Wan doubles over.

I’m lost, the voice whispers. You lost me.