#this afternoon and compare how much wider the head is than on the sketch

[eerna]

can you explain your art techniques a little bit further? I just saw your post about arcane helping you drop line art and stuff, and I wanted to understand better (as someone trying to get into digital art)

Sureee, ty for asking! :)

For the first 7 years of my digital art journey I imitated the comicbook-style art tutorials and techniques artists I liked used. This means that I would start out with a sketch, draw the lineart on another layer on top of the sketch, hide the sketch, use solid blocks of color on separate layers for the coloring, and add lighting effects on top of it all. I was never really happy with how it turned out, and I often felt like I shouldn't have gone past the colored sketch phase because the full render would lose so much life. I used pretty much the same brushes I use now, aside from some textured ones, but not to their full potential because they were painting brushes being used for flat shading. Here's a few examples of fully rendered stuff from 2020-2021:

Then, I realized I do NOT have to do things I don't wanna do, and I can totally remove any steps from the process that I wish! I experimented for a while until I settled on a new thing that worked for me. And so my current process is: draw a sketch, color it all on one layer (base colors), add light effects if needed, add another layer on top of everything, and paint until satisfied with the level of rendering. Then I add optional effects, such as fires or patterns. This means I leave the sketch layer visible, so I have to clean it and base colors with erasers as I work, but it enables me to preserve the sketchy energy. The "all rendering on one layer" approach frees my hand and I don't feel pressure to render everything separately and perfectly, which in turn, ironically, makes my art look more detailed because the eye compensates for unfinished bits. In addition, the line between a colored sketch and a fully rendered piece is much thinner, which means I don't have to commit to completing anything, and that is a big deal for an insecure person prone to artblocks. If I lose interest halfway through the lineart-and-blocks-of-color process, I am left with an unusable piece. If I do it halfway through the painting process, I get a charming, messy piece a la my recent Chappell Roan art (I left the armor unfinished, and yet it doesn't clash with the rest of the art). Here's a recreation I did to show what a big difference the different approach makes:

So why didn't I stop doing lineart sooner? I did try, but my attempts tried to replicate what I did when painting traditionally, instead of adjusting to my digital abilities, so it usually looked whack. I remember showing my friends the Rito Village piece back in 2019, which was painted based on a screenshot from the game, and one of them telling me "Don't go back to lineart!" I was like "YEAH I am NOT going back to lineart!!! I will keep painting!!!" Only to realize that painting landscapes with already stylized references and painting portraits were completely different. Here's a painting portrait from one of those trial and error attempts. Later I realized the mistake was working on TOP of the sketch, as I would have done for traditional work, instead of both below AND on top of it - after all, my intention was to preserve the life of the sketch, which was impossible when I couldn't even see it. I also didn't understand color values (or honestly, any color aspects) very well, resulting in some low-contrast, unappealing blobs.

So yeah, my advice to any beginner digital artist is: experiment and figure out what works for you. Think about what makes you happy when creating, and build your process around it. Also, keep researching art theory and applying it to your work. Good luck to you and all other digital artists~

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (1/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: I know starting another mc is not a healthy life choice, but I needed to write this story and I wanted it to have a bunch of chapters, so here it is! Enjoy!

~~*~~ 

There wasn’t much Anne could do except lay back on her unfamiliar bed at create constellations from the cracks in the ceiling. Her heart was so full in her chest that it weighed her down against her mattress, and she reveled in the feeling. Could a person die from so much happiness? Her mother’s book on the language of flowers laid against her breast right above her heart, and she swore its lingering traces of motherly love seeped into her skin like stale perfume in an empty bottle. 

 Diana’s quiet footsteps land in the doorway, but her beloved kindred spirit merely allowed Anne to exist in the quiet of the room. Anne’s happiness bled out of her like sun rays, and it was all Diana can do to keep looking at her.

Then, with the unexpected haste of a well cranked jack-in-the-box, Anne sat up in bed and gave Diana a stunned look.

“I want to hear the whole story,” Anne murmured, half-rushed, half dazed. “Whatever did you say to him?” 

Diana stepped into the room, admiring the cleanness of her bed across from Anne’s. She settled at the side of her best friend’s mattress and crinkled her eyebrows sheepishly.

“I might’ve read him the riot act after he told my father he wasn’t engaged,” Diana began. The guilt in her voice drained away and she grabbed Anne’s hand. “Dearest, he never received your letter. You should’ve seen his face when I told him there was one.” 

Anne’s jaw dropped. She stammered for words, “I...But I left it...How do you even miss a letter like that in broad daylight?” She blanched. Regret dripped into each of her words as she said, “Oh, I know exactly how. For instance, if a person where to, say,  tear up the letter before reading it and then throw it out her gable window…” Anne groaned. “What did it say!?” 

Diana, piecing together the rambles, grabbed Anne’s pen from her side table and handed it to her. 

“You can just ask him, you know.” 

Anne held the pen in her hand as if it were made of solid gold and jeweled with ancient crystals. For some reason the sight of it makes her remember him at her doorstep, chest heaving from running. His eyes had been filled with such overflowing devotion that Anne thought she’d drown the closer she grew to him, but there was no where else she wanted to be. The overwhelming feeling begins to fill her chest once more and she takes a deep breath.

“Are you scared of what he’ll say?” Diana questioned quietly. Shaking her head, Anne bit her lips and tried to remember the exact feeling of when Gilbert had kissed her.

“No, something tells me that anything he has to say will be such wonderful poetry.”

“Gilbert isn’t very poetic.” 

“On the contrary, dearest Diana, there is always something inherently poetic when a man reveals to you the contents of his heart.” 

Diana grabbed one of Anne’s pillows and stuffed it against her chest. For a moment, Anne wondered if it was insensitive, talking of love when Diana had ended her own romance with Jerry so abruptly. But then Diana smirked and plopped down unceremoniously on the bed.

“I see how it is! You kiss a boy once and suddenly you’re an expert?” she teased. A thrill went down Anne’s spine and she smothered a squeal with both hands over her face. 

“Three times, Diana! We kissed three times! ” she shrieked, so lovesick that Diana couldn’t help but laugh. She couldn’t wait until they told Cole, and Aunt Jo, and-

“You kissed whom three times, Anne?!” 

Anne and Diana’s laughter ended abruptly on their lips when Josie Pye came into the room. She was followed by the other three girls, who waited on baited breath for Anne’s answer. Biting back a chuckle, Anne did her best to keep her face neutral. They all looked so silly! Ruby’s eyes were wider than Anne knew they could be, and Tilly was pressing her lips together to physically lock back all of her questions. 

Anne and Diana righted themselves on the bed, backs straight like the proper ladies they were. She spoke in the most neutral tone she could muster -  which was not very impressive, considering how happy she was to be confessing that she had kissed - “Gilbert.”

Their jaws dropped to the floor with a silent BANG, and Anne wondered if maybe one of them still liked Gilbert, after all. Her doubt only lasted a second, and suddenly the room  erupted in shouts of triumph and delight and confusion. They threw questions at her, all of which Anne tried to answer as best she could.

“Gilbert Blythe!? Anne, you never said you liked him! When did you start-” 

“Earlier this year! Maybe always? Definitely always.” 

“Is he good at kissing?” 

“I don’t have much experience to base it off of, but it was incredibly perfect” 

“I thought he was engaged to-”

“I thought so too, but apparently he ended things with her to pursue his ‘unrequited love.’” 

“Unrequited love?” Diana cut in. “He really thought you didn’t return his feelings?” 

Anne shrugged.

“There were a lot of misunderstandings, I think. I still don’t know for sure how it all transpired.” 

There was a pause before Jane crossed her arms.

“Well, where is he?” 

A twinge of disappointment hit the back of Anne’s heart. This day had been so beautiful in ways that even she could not have imagined, but the entire summer could have been that way if she hadn’t been so…so foolish ! All they’d gotten was a few moments before he was swept away to Toronto. Her little twinge of disappointment was overshadowed by how proud she was, and how much she loved him, but it was present enough that her eyes fell to the floor. 

“He’s attending University of Toronto. Miss Stacey contacted a friend of hers, I think. He said it was imperative he arrive today. It’s quite a long train ride, so that’s where he is right now.” 

Anne couldn’t help but smile. How sweet he looked from the back of the carriage. She had half a mind that he would’ve given up college right then and there if she asked him to stay. As wonderful as it would have been to spend the afternoon in his arms, kissing and clearing up all the confusions, his future came first. Now that she was part of it, she didn’t feel so afraid to let him go off into that bright, expansive world.

“So I guess that means you’re courting him now,” Ruby said excitedly. 

Anne looked down at the pen in her hand, then at her group of friends. Was she? Anne wanted to court him, even if it was for a long time. Not to mention, he’d broken off his courtship for her. Anne’s stomach fell to the floor when a rush of affection overtook her. Gilbert Blythe had turned down a girl who was everything Anne had once wanted to be, and the Sorbonne, so that he could try again with her. 

“I...I suppose I am courting him, in a long distance sort of way,” Anne concluded carefully. “I’m adding that to my list of follow up questions. I want to know for sure.”

“We’re happy for you, Anne,” Diana said, placing her head on Anne’s shoulder. Resting her cheek on Diana’s new updo, Anne heaved a sigh of relief. What a gift days like today were, where Providence proved he had not left her behind. Wrapping her fingers around Diana’s, Anne brought their hands up to her lips. 

“Shocked, but happy,” Josie supplied in a Pye-ish voice. “But can we eat now? I came up to tell you lunch is ready?” 

The girls began to file down the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the tall walls of the house as they clambered down the stairs. Diana stood in the doorway once more, watching as Anne pressed a kiss to the pen in her hand and placed it on her bedside table. There’d be time for writing letters later. For now, Anne had her own future to step into once and for all.

~~*~~

During the moonlit peace of the evening was Anne’s favorite time to put her heart to paper. As she sat down at her new desk, she wondered if pen and paper had ever been put to better use.

Dear Gilbert, 

I look like my mother. I look so much like her, in fact, that for a brief moment I thought I was looking down at my own reflection. But the glorious name “Bertha” was scribed atop the portrait, and an equally lovely name was signed across the bottom, “Walter.” How those names fill me with such warmth to say on my lips. 

I do believe I’m leaving out an integral part of this story. Matthew and Marilla visited today. They had gone to see a woman I lived with as a child and brought with them a book on the language of flowers. (Expect some pressed blossoms in your near future, I have much I’d like to say to you!) The darling book had once belonged to my parents, and it was there my father sketched a portrait of my mother. 

I will be forever astonished at how a girl like me, who had such meager beginnings,  could come upon such a wonderful family! Not only Marilla and Matthew, but the kindred spirits I’ve collected along the way. (Of course, your name is written on that list and underlined twice.) Today has taught me an eternal appreciation for love, and I find myself overwhelmed by the intensity of it. I wonder if you know the feeling. 

As you’ll recall, I have several follow-up questions, but in exchange for your honest answers, I feel it’s only fair to offer you some explanations of my own. It’s just that I’m unsure where to begin. What do you already know? Hmm…The beginning is as good a place to start as any. 

Gilbert, you must understand that love is such a young concept to me. I have only been on the receiving side of love since shortly after arriving at Green Gables, before which, I’d never even observed it with my own eyes. I’ve had being loved by family mastered for quite some time, thanks to Marilla and Matthew, but allowing you to come into my heart was so much different.  Trying to translate what I’d read in books and compare it with what I truly felt was much harder than I anticipated. 

Oh, it wasn’t the loving part that was hard. Loving you is as easy and breathtaking as stargazing from my new window. But realizing it, letting it happen, allowing myself to believe that a person like you could care for me...that was where the difficulties arose. It wasn’t until everything was still and I was content that you hit me like a roll of thunder. I sat up in my bed and exclaimed, “I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!” Gave Diana quite the scare. 

 I’m sorry it took so long for me to come to my senses. Part of me wonders what would have happened if I’d realized sooner. Nevertheless, I’m exceedingly grateful that you appeared at my doorstep today, as magnificent as ever, to take one last chance. 

You’re likely curious about the note I wrote you. To be honest, I cannot explain to you why you never received it. I left it right underneath the water jug on your kitchen table. I wonder where it is now. Thankfully, the contents of the letter were quite short and, in more ways than one, sweet. I’ve inserted a new copy inside this letter so that you can have what you were originally meant to have. 

There are more questions I have, but I think I’d rather hear what’s on your mind first. (Not that I can mail this until you write to me first with your return address.) There is one thing I will ask because, though I’m 99% certain I know the answer, I’d like to be entirely certain: are we courting? If you’re waiting to hear what I think on the matter first, I’d like to court you, even if it’s a four year process. Or longer. Truly, Gilbert, all I want is you. 

Oh - and how much does train fare cost from PEI to Toronto? I’d like to start saving as soon as possible to come see you. 

Alright, my love, I think I have sufficiently taken up an adequate amount of your time. Please know that I’m thinking of you during your first days of college, and I already miss you beyond words. 

Yours always, 

Anne 

(PS: Where in the world did you learn to kiss like that? No - don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.) 

[folkloreguk]

Like A French Girl - opt. bias [m]

A/N: Hi I’m finally posting again! I missed writing so much and I’ve been getting many sweet messages that I can’t thank you guys enough for :( PS. I hope someone gets the reference of the title kdnjskf

words: ~3.6k

genre: smut, optional bias (male)!!!, art major!bias

[masterlist in description]

“Tomorrow? I need to study,” you said as a response to your friend. Instantly, he groaned.

“I swear if I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that to me, I’d be rich,” he said, annoyance in his voice. “Just hang out with me, one day won’t make you fail the exam.”

You had met him at university. He was an art major. Always talking about the music he was passionate about, always having paint stains on his skin, always dressed in the most fashionable clothes. And always wanting to spend time with you, apparently. Not that you minded. No, in fact he was on your mind every day. He was cute, funny and had the kind of mindset you admired in people. But you had sworn yourself you wouldn’t let a boy get in the way of your education. And so, although you saw him day to day at break time, you hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of the university buildings with him.

You looked up at him from where you were sitting at the table in the cafeteria. He was wearing your favorite shirt of his. The next second you wondered when you had decided you had a favorite shirt of his. And now he was smiling at you so sweetly, you almost wanted to give in. But you couldn’t.

“The exam is on the day after tomorrow, so no, I can’t hang out tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sorry, there’s so much I still need to get done.”

“I bet you’ve been studying for weeks already,” he went on. He knew you way too well already.

“Maybe so, but it’s a big exam,” you said matter-of-fact.

“Alright, in two days then,” he decided, as if he made the rules. You tilted your head at him.

“You come by my place after the exam,” he said. “We’ll relax, and I promise I’ll let you forget about studying, even if just for one day.”

Even though you didn’t take him as a fuckboy and you were sure he hadn’t meant it like that, the way he had said the words made your stomach twist with some emotion you couldn’t quite describe. So, you thought about it, but he was right. You needed a break, especially after the exam was finally over. 

“Alright,” you nodded, earning a happy grin from him. “I’ll let you know when the exam is done.”

From across the room you saw a group of people who were rather familiar to you.

“H/N, your friends are waiting,” you pointed out, as they waved at him. They had their self-painted jackets and dyed hair, and H/N gave you just one more nod and a gentle smile before he said his goodbye to join them. See you in two days, you thought.

The next day, all you thought about was him. You could’ve might as well just hung out with him the whole day instead, now that you could barely focus any way. Just one more day, you forced yourself to concentrate. For a while it worked, until he was on your mind again. It made you almost nervous to see him the next day, knowing your unconscious apparently was practically dying to spend time with him.

By the day of your exam, your unconscious thoughts had turned into conscious ones. As you walked to university, you saw him in everything you noticed around you. And when you sat down to write your exam, you inwardly scolded yourself to get it together for an hour or two. You can see him after this, you told yourself, but please don’t mess this up.

And surprisingly, it worked. The second you started writing, you became invested in answering the questions and tried your best, as always. You didn’t waste one second on looking at the clock, or spent one more thought on him. When you finally finished the exam, you were positive you had set a new record for acing an exam in such a short time. Quietly, but faster than you usually would, you walked to your teacher’s table and handed over the paper. One more friendly smile at them, and you left the room in a hurry.

It was late afternoon when you pulled into his driveway. You reminded yourself to wipe the silly smile off your face before you rang his doorbell. But you should have known, the second he opened the door, the grin was back, brighter and wider than ever.

“Didn’t you say your exam was supposed to start at four?” he asked while he pulled you into a hug. He smelled faintly of cologne and you couldn’t help but close your eyes for a second.

“It did start at four,” you said, grinning. “I hurried so I could get to see you sooner.”

Just after you had said those words, you were worried. Were you being too honest? But your worry washed away when he gave you his famous smirk.

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning against the door frame and eyeing you intently. You weren’t used to seeing him flirt with you. Frankly, it made your insides feel like they were being turned into jelly. In a good way.

“I thought we could order food and watch a movie, but whatever you wanna do, I’ll probably be cool with it,” he announced, as you followed him into his room. He was sharing a dorm with his friends but judging by the open doors and lack of noise, they didn’t seem to be at home.

Again, you told yourself he hadn’t meant for his words to sound so suggestive. When you looked into his flirty eyes, however, you weren’t so sure anymore. But it wasn’t like you were casually going to tell him you wanted to hook up with him.

“I’d love that,” you said instead. You joked around while you decided on the food you would order and set up the movie on his laptop. While you waited for dinner to arrive, you asked him about his art and what he had been up to. Watching him talk about painting was probably your favorite thing to do. His eyes lit up with excitement and you could practically feel the passion he had for what he did. Wherever you looked, his room was full of art supplies and his walls were covered in pieces of paper with messy, but beautiful sketches. You could have listened to him for hours, but finally your food was delivered, and you could start the movie.

The two of you made yourselves comfortable on his bed, shoulders touching slightly. Whenever he laughed at a joke, you felt his body shake and it took all of your will for you not to snuggle into his frame right there and then. Warmth radiated off him, and you knew you would never grow tired of hearing his giggle. Focus on the movie, you told yourself. But it was no use, the harder you tried to concentrate, the more he seemed to distract you. In the end, you sat through the movie, and even though it was funny, you barely made it through a minute without thinking about him being right there next to you.

“I’ll go get a glass of water, do you want one too?” he asked when it was over. You snapped out of the way you were staring at his body and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m good, thanks,” you said. While he left, you turned around, rolling onto your stomach on his bed. As you looked off the edge of the mattress, you noticed a stack of paintings on the floor next to the bed. Curiously, you scooted closer and reached for the papers.

“Do you want me to show you my pictures?” he asked, his sudden appearance surprising you. Happily, you nodded and he walked over to you, sat down on the floor and leaned against the bed where you were laying. You looked over his shoulder as he explained one picture after the other. It was one thing to simply look at his art, but it fascinated you endlessly, hearing his thoughts about the paintings.

When you spotted a painting of a naked woman, you felt a little uneasy. In fact, there were multiple ones of this kind, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking him about it.

“Is this someone you know?”

He chuckled, and you tilted your head in confusion.

“No, this isn’t anyone, I painted this out of my imagination,” he explained. “I love drawing female bodies.”

You weren’t sure how to reply to his words. All you knew was how close his neck was to your lips, and all it would have taken was for you to lean forward slightly and you could have kissed him there.

“It’s kind of hard, you know,” he said, “Finding a girl that’s willing to let me draw her…naked.”

There was a silence following his words. You weren’t sure he was asking you what you thought he was. Then, he turned his head and your heart skipped a beat at how he looked into your eyes. It was late by now, and you knew you trusted him with your life. So, you told yourself to just give it a shot. He couldn’t say anything worse than no, right?

“I’m don’t know if you’re asking me whether I would let you draw me naked, but if you were, I’d say yes,” you said. Instantly, he grinned.

“Are you serious?” he asked, turning to you. Maybe a little too quickly, you nodded.  

“If you promise not to show anyone,” you said, sitting up on the bed.

“Of course, I’d never do that,” he said, and you knew you could trust his words. “It’s not about me finding female bodies especially attractive, I mean, I am attracted to girls, but you know what I mean? I like the curves and the softness compared to a man’s body.”

For a moment, you looked at him in awe. He managed to see art in everything. You wondered what it would be like, to see the world through his eyes for a day or two.

“Do you want me to stand up?” you questioned, a little unsure. He was already rummaging trough his desk, finding a sketch book and a pencil.

“It’s okay if you stay on the bed, it’ll be more comfortable for you,” he said. While his attention was on his sketchbook and he grabbed a chair to sit on, you removed your shirt. Something about the way he talked about drawing made you feel so much more comfortable than you thought you would be. Slowly, you took off one piece of clothing after another and tossed them toward the edge of his bed, so it wouldn’t be in his view of you. When you were completely bare, you looked up at him. For a moment, you stomach twisted, knowing he was going to look at you for a while. But his gaze was different from other boys’. He didn’t seem to care how your butt looked or how big your boobs were or whether your stomach was chubby or flat. The way his eyes scanned your figure and then went back to his sketch book didn’t feel inappropriate but rather professional.

“Just try to find a comfortable position you can stay in for some time,” he said.

“Okay,” you answered, shifting a little. “Is this good?”

“Perfect,” he said. Then, he began to draw. There was something therapeutic about the sound of the pencil on the paper, in the middle of silence. From time to time, you closed your eyes, listened and relaxed. Other times, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching him. His gaze switched between your body and the paper tirelessly, and there was an expression of concentration on his face you had never seen before. You noticed his hands sketching with skill, and how he used his fingers to blend out the harsh lines.

He really didn’t seem to see you as more than a model to practice with. And even though it made you feel comfortable, there was a desperate part of you that wished it was different. It wished he would imagine dirty things when he looked at your nude body and did not only see curves and edges to sketch. You felt a little shy, thinking such inappropriate things while he was in the same room with you. But in the end, you didn’t think he would notice, judging by how focused he was on his work.

“Almost done,” he said under his breath. “Are you okay? You’re not cold, right?”

“I’m fine,” you replied, and your heart skipped at least three beats when he made eye contact for a moment. But as suddenly as the tension had risen, he went back to his sketch book. Another few minutes you lay in silence, waiting for him to complete his artwork. When he did, he held the sketch book an arm length away and mustered it critically.

“Can I see it?” you asked. Without hesitation, you sat up and he handed you the book. Only when he sat down next to you, you realized how he was fully dressed and felt insecure for a moment.

“This is beautiful,” you said. You meant it. No one would ever be able to take a photo of you which would make you feel as beautiful as his drawing of you did.

“It was a lot harder than I thought,” he admitted, scratching his head nervously.

“I think it looks amazing,” you assured him. “Besides, you’ve drawn female bodies a lot, haven’t you?”

“Thank you,” he said. “I have. But this was different. It’s��distracting.”

You didn’t know what to say. He had been distracted by you?

“But…you seemed so calm and…not fazed,” you said.

“I guess I’m a good actor,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by saying this.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” you replied, maybe a little too straightforward. He looked at you and you looked away shyly. This whole time you hadn’t been more aware of your bare body in front of him than right then.

“It doesn’t?” he said. In a different situation, you wouldn’t have had the courage to say it, but the way he smirked let you know he was thinking about the same thing.

“I like it,” you told him. “I actually felt a little disappointed at how little you seemed to care.”

“I swear to you it only looked that way,” he said. You suddenly realized how close he was, making your heart flutter in your chest. “It took me a lot not to stop everything and ask if I can finally just kiss you.”

You completely lost your breath at his words. When you looked into his eyes, they mirrored only honesty, and a little unsureness. So you didn’t want to make him wait. Instinctively, you leaned forward and closed the gap between you two. The second your lips crashed onto each other, it felt as if your whole body was ignited.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer with an almost demanding way you instantly loved. Without hesitation, you climbed into his lap, now being more than just okay with being completely naked. His tongue met yours and you let him take dominance, while you pushed your hips against his crotch. A breathy moan erupted from his throat at the friction. Finally, his hands were on your skin instead of only his eyes that had watched you for far too long. He grabbed every inch of skin he could while you got busy with his shirt.

“Lift your arms,” you said, in the middle of a kiss. So he did, and you got rid of his shirt. You barely had time to admire his body before he connected your mouths once more. When his hands travelled lower, softly touching the insides of your thighs, you whimpered in impatience. Demanding more friction, you rolled your hips over his. The way the rough material of his pants felt against your bare center left you in complete awe, and you instantly wanted to do it again.

“You look amazing,” he said, groaning as he watched you move against him. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You looked into his eyes at his sudden confession and kissed him deeply.

“Me too,” you agreed, and he grinned happily. As you grew more impatient, you tugged on his pants, opening them at the front. When your hand brushed over the outline of his hardened member, he moaned in need. You realized you weren’t going to be able to take off his pants, sitting on top of him. So you quickly moved off him, and he understood instantly. You watched while he shed off the rest of his clothes. Then, he slid back next to you, now leaning against the headboard. You had barely swung your leg over his waist to straddle him again before he pulled your lips against his.

You let out a surprised whimper when you felt his fingers push against your center, but quickly reacted, moving your hips against his hand. In return, your hand wrapped around his length. His moans were husky and sounded like music to your ears when you moved your hand up and down. It was hard to focus on your actions when his fingers were drawing random shapes against your clit, making you see stars in front of your closed eyelids. Your mouths collided messily, your breaths mixing up while you moaned against each other’s skin. You ran your thumb over the tip of his member slowly and watched his reaction as his brows furrowed and his eyes closed tightly.  

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” he spoke in a desperate tone. You couldn’t have agreed more.

“Do you have a condom?” you asked. Eagerly, he nodded and reached over to the drawer of his bedside table. You took the package from him and slid the material over his member. Your eyes locked gazes as you positioned yourself above him.

When you lowered your hips and he filled you up, you both sighed in unison.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing your sides. Slowly, you started to move, rolling your hips forward. He guided your movements with his hands lazily. You watched him as his head hung back against the wall, mouth slightly opened and eyes fluttering in pleasure. He tried to keep them open, though, wanting to see you. The look he gave you and the way he was biting his lip only turned you on more.

You altered the tempo from time to time, earning a reaction from him whenever you sped it up for a while. As he leaned forward to you, you wrapped your arm around his shoulder. Your foreheads touched and you could feel his hot breath on your lips, before he pressed his to yours.

“Do you feel good?” he asked under his breath. Instantly, you nodded. Your mouth formed an O-shape when you felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing circles onto your sweet spot.

“You feel- so good,” you whimpered, your head feeling almost dizzy from pleasure. He was now quickening his pace, pressing down harsher on your center. You felt yourself getting closer to your release but remembered to keep moving your hips. It was difficult to keep a steady rhythm when his fingers worked pure magic on you, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“H/N,” you moaned, “Please don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. In fact, you felt as if your words only motivated him to do more. His length kept brushing over your g-spot, and you closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked, his lips brushing along your neck softly. Too lost in the feeling, all you could do was hum weakly in agreement. His free hand roamed along your body, playing with your nipples and softly running over your neck.

His name fell from your lips a few times, before you shut your eyes tightly and allowed yourself to fall. He rode you through your orgasm, slowing down the movement of his fingers, but steadily supporting your hips in moving. He groaned as you tightened your walls around him, and you felt him buck his hips upward. Although you felt sensitive, you tried your best to keep rolling your hips into his.

He reached his high close after you. He thrust upwards and his fingers dug into your sides, his mouth falling open from the intensity. You moved on top of him slowly, making sure he was feeling the best way possible. You’d never forget the way he said your name right then.

For a while, you sat in silence, your breathing calming steadily. His skin was hot against yours, and his fingers that combed through your hair soothingly made you feel sleepy.

“Can you stay here?” he asked. His eyes were almost pleading, but you never took ‘no’ as an option either way. He grinned when you nodded in agreement and leaned in to kiss you again.

“Do you think we could go on a date some day?” he asked on. Your heart felt especially happy at his request. A part of you had been worried he had only wanted you in a sexual way, but now that you knew it wasn’t like that, you could only grin as wide as he did and say ‘yes’.  

[caiminnent]

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo​, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo​)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

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

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

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

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

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

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

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

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

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

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

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

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

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

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

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

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

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

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

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

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

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

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

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

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

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

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

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

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

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

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

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

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

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

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

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

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

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

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

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

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

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

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”