#when your literal heart is carved out of your chest against your will and replaced with something that will severely curtail your lifespan

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steven haines; my drug is my baby (nsft, smut)

It's hot out and Steve's wide awake. His bedroom windows are opened and there's a soft breeze rolling in, toying with the curtains and leaving a soft trace on his warm skin. He sighs and rolls on his stomach, blindly reaching out with one hand, until he touches his phone. His hand clutches around it and pulls. The display blinds him for a split second and he curses under his breath. No new messages.

He's not really surprised. The only person messaging him these days is 14 but they aren't really talking right now, with both of them still being so goddamn angry, so that's that.

He mindlessly checks his social, a former frat getting married, another couple buying another dog and someone's new car. He doesn't care, he can't even bring himself to act, to convince at least himself, that he does. He's missing something. Someone.

His thumb hovers over the display.

No. Yes. No.

He can hear the city breathe. Cars honking, the tram and a slight wind rustling the few leaves this grey concrete hell hole still has to offer. He misses the sound Warren makes, when he's asleep, how soft his breath is.

Steve shakes his head, as if that would have him get rid of the thought more easily. He misses his warmth, how he sometimes hooks one leg around his, arms stretched out. When he's asleep they don't fight.

Steve knows that he can't blame it on 14, they both are to blame, they both are equally responsible. If one of their superiors ever were to find out what they had been doing these past months they'd both vanish from this earth, erradicated like they'd never exist, justified by their act of treason.

And yet there they are: fighting. Rather with their fists and teeth, than with words. His colleagues start to notice the bruises (and even though they don't say a word he is still paranoid about it). Not all of them are born out of aggression, most are a result of the lust that captures their fucked up minds once the violence starts to blossom between them. It turns them on, it turns Steve on, when Warren's hands connect with him in the worst ways possible. It makes his blood sing and his dick hard and he just wants. Wants to press the other man down and take take take until the taking becomes an act of giving, which always errupts the most beautiful sounds from Warren.

He hates himself for the thought, but everything could be just perfect, they could be perfect, like handmade pieces carved to only fit each other. But it's not like that, it's way more hurtful. Their opinions on work, on the government and secret agencies drift apart like Pangaea. It's hell really, one of them starts screaming at one point and then there's no going back. They are both too ambitious, willing to sacrifice everything for their jobs and sometimes Steve wonders not if there will be, but how huge of a blood bath they will go down in. The thought scares him and he knows it scares Warren too, but they don't talk about it, keep their fears far away from each other, locked behind thick vault doors.

They often try their hardest not to talk about work. But eventually, like most people who only really live for their jobs, they drift back to it. It's Steve, who hates that Warren himself is somewhat a criminal and it's Warren who hates, that Steve won't admit that he isn't far form it himself.

They blame and attack each other for failures or provocations of their respective employers and it either ends in slammed doors or sweaty bodies sticking together.

Steve misses it, the adrenaline that shoots through his veins in these moments, the way Warren's body responds to his, how the other feels under his fingers. He misses misses misses and it keeps him awake.

He thinks about the last time he's seen Warren, squirming beneath him, throwing his head back, arching into his touch while throwing slurs his way. Steve thinks about him, about his touch. It's torture and he rolls back onto his stomach, while his mind conjures up a truly beautiful, delicious image.

Steve's sitting down, legs spread wide, back straightend but relaxed nonetheless. Warren kneels in front of him, cheeks slightly reddend, his hands carefully resting on Steve's firm thighs. His eyes are trained on Steve's hard dick, obscenely standing against his abdomen. Warren's bleeding. His nose looks broken and blood slowly tickles over his plump lips, down his chin. His tongue darts out, licks it away, cleans his lips.

Steve groans quietly and rocks his hips into the mattress once, twice, his hands gripping into the sheets as he rocks against the surface, growing hotter and harder.

He had betrayed him, sold his secrets, endangered Steve's life and thus, he has to show him his place again. Warren's eyes are trained on his cock and Steve hums, gently places his hand on the back of 14's head, runs it down to his neck, around to the front and presses down. The noise that erupts from Warren's throat makes the hairs on Steve's body stand up, as he slowly tilts his head back, giving Steve better access to his throat. Blood runs down the delicate, pale skin, pools between Steve's fingers. He runs his hand up again, brushes across Warren's lower lip with his thumb, then forces three fingers in. He gags, his eyelids flutter, before he starts sucking.

Steve moans. The sound is deep in his throat and his boxers are groing tight fast. He impatiently pulls the front down and himself out, raises his hip and closes his hand around his dick.

"You want the real thing, don't you, pretty boy?" Warren's bloody chin now dripples with saliva and he nods, hums around Steve's fingers. He pulls them out and looks at Warren, hits him another time across the face for good measure.

"Come on then, right your wrongs", Steve leans back and Warren lashes forward, tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe from the base to the top.

Steve tucks at himself and moans. It doesn't replace Warren, his scent, his touch, how he feels around and underneath him, his voice but it'll do, if he keeps himself focussed enough. He hates him so much, it makes his stomach twist, he hates his arrogant smile, the edge to his voice when he feels superior and his strut, how he tilts his shoulders back. Steve wants to take one of his cigarettes and burn his delicate skin right there between his shoulder blades, so he won't act all high and mighty anymore. Steve also wants so put his hands on his skin, his body and worship it, every little mole, kiss it until the world ends, burning and crumbling by the wars they wage.

He spits into his hand, rubbing his own saliva around his dick.

Warren leans in, all wet lips, blood and saliva and throaty groans and closes his lips around the tip of Steve's cock. His tongue swirls around it in the warmth in his mouth, hot liquid dripping down the hard shaft.

Steve rolls around, thrusting into his fist, his head buried deep in his cushion, moaning from the back of his throat. His body feels lonely, oddly cold, even though it's warm out and in his bedroom as well, and he raises his free hand, runs it across his flushed chest in a manner Warren would. It makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

"You like that, huh?" Warren lets his dick go with an obscene sound and hums deep in his throat.

"Yeah, fuck, I do."

It's what sends Steve to do an insanely stupid thing. He reaches out and grabs his phone, unlocks it while cupping his balls with one hand, squeezing and tugging, while scrolling through his contacts.

The voice on the other end sounds tired, not angry at all. Steve would like to be it the other way around, he wants to be yelled at, hit and torn.

"Why the fuck are you calling, it's literally three in the morning", there's a little yawn and Steve wishes he'd be here, "You better be bleeding out somewhere to bother me now, Haines."

He wants to hit him back with something witty, smart, rude but there's nothing more leaving his mouth but a moan, as his hand wanders up his dick again. There's silence on the other end. It makes his blood race, boil.

"Haines?"

"Yeah fuck, who do you think it is?", his voice is deep and buried in his throat. He groans.

There's a low chuckle on the other end. He wishes he could see that smile, he wishes he could tear it off of Warrens face.

"You ain't really getting yourself off right now, are you?", and when there's no answer just a deep and low sigh, 14 tsks, "That's actually pathetic, Haines."

He sounds wide awake now. Good.

"Tell me", there's shuffling on the other end, "Tell me what you're doing, you moron."

Steve smiles and tugs at his dick, with Warren purring deep into his ear. "Fuck, I'm", he sighs, feels the tension running deep through his stomach, "Touching myself."

"And you're thinking of me? How cute. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Haines?"

Usually it's Steve who has the upper hand in the little dangerous game they're playing, it comes naturally with him being the higher ranking one, but he will make an exception tonight. Warren's tone is spurring him on, how he talks down on him. He would love for Warren to be here, for Warren to look and talk down on him, to spit in his face and sneer at him.

The words leave his mouth quicker than he can act against them.

"Wish you were here, fuck, touching me."

_

The next morning Steve's late to work. He doesn't even remember the last time he hasn't been on time. Must've been years ago. His chest burns as his shirt rubs over the sore skin. Warren had told him to run his hands over his chest harder harder harder until his nails had scraped the skin. The stinging sensation feels good, it's a nice reminder of last night.

As he rushes towards the FIB building across the empty plaza, he sees a figure leaning against one of the chairs.

"Late, Haines?", it's Warren. He's smoking a cigarette.

Steve raises his hand and shows him his finger.

He knows he's fucked, they both are.

_

It's Wednesday when he gets the mail and Friday when he enters the meeting room. His boss is there and so is Mrs. Rackham, he's seen her once or twice, but this time she's not alone. There are other agents with her and, of course because his life's just gotta be like that, 14 is there too.

His gaze drops to Steve's take-away cup and his lips curl into a smug grin. "If I knew we were having a potluck, I would've brought something as well", his voice is deep and calm, collected, like velvet and Steve'-s pulse sings with it.

"14", Mrs. Rackham's voice cuts through the air, admonishing, like a mother scolding her child.

Now it's Steve's time to grin and he drops his free hand to his belt, hooks one thumb underneath it and cocks his hips forward, looks at Warren. It's the same look he shoots him when Warren sinks to his knees to obediently suck his dick and he eyes him up and down. 14 blushes, his gaze drops.

Steve bathes in his display of power, the feeling that erupts from it takes him flying high. To them, it looks like 14 is listening to his superior but only the two of them know that he isn't. Only the two of them know that he's bowing to Steve's will. They had a change in their power dynamic last night and Steve is not willing to accept that, maybe he's even afraid to do so.

As they take their seats they look at each other once more and Steve feels his stomach flutter.

_

They were at each others throats the second they found themselves to be alone on the floor. Now, only a few minutes later, Steve has Warren bend over the sink of the bathroom. The door is locked but the idea of them being caught, someone seeing how he toys with one of the leading IAA Field Agents, still excites him. He has one hand around Warrens throat, his thumb pressing his chin upward, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

14 is crying. Small, thick tears run down his cheeks, silent evidence of his denied orgasm. He's very pretty that way, Steve thinks, when his cheeks redden and his eyes turn dark, like the stormy sea and his hair's in a mess. He loves it when Warren cries, the sounds he makes and-

"Please."

Steve stops his slow and deep thrusts and blinks dumbfounded. One, two, three seconds pass until he moves again. Laughter spills out of his mouth, deep and satsified.

"What a pretty sound for a pretty boy, huh?", his hand strokes over Warren's ass cheek, gently kneading the flesh below the palm. It's soft and warm and it grounds him.

His voice drops in both, octave and volume, as he leans forward, shoving himself even deeper into 14, lips against his ear. "Say that again", he whispers, tongue darting out and toying with his earlobe.

"Please, Steve. For fucks sake, please fuck me", Warren moans and throws his head back, pressing his throat into Steve's palm more firmly. He presses down and Warren yelps, squirms and their gazes meet in the mirror once more.

Warren holds his own mouth shut with one hand, drowning his moans and screams, as Steve ruts into him like an animal gone wild, fucking them both senseless.

_

Steve's phone rings and he picks up, opening another bottle of wine.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So, you're still alive then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Why wouldn't I be?

"Good. Just wanted to check."

"Warren?"

"Yeah?"

"Should I be worried?"

"No", and he trust him, because the word carries all the fear, all the thoughts that Steve grew so painfully familiar with.

_

The next time they see each other is a rather spontaneous thing. Well, at least Steve hasn't invited Warren over but there he is, standing in his doorway, hair a mess, his leather jacket on. He eyes Steve up and down, his gaze stops at the obvious bandage around his upper arm. Warren slowly raises his hand and gently touches it. Steve doesn't flinch.

"I saw the news", Warren says, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

"I'm fine."

"You got shot", he looks seriously upset now.

"I'm still alive, ain't I?"

And then he's on him, arms around his neck, lips pressed onto his own, hungrily devouring him. Steve feels Warren's warmth radiating against him and he slips his hands under his jacket, pulls his firm, muscular frame closer, flush against him. "I-, I was-", he doesn't have to say it, Steve knows anyway. Afraid, Worried, Scared, Frightened.

"I'm still here, pretty boy", he runs his good hand through Warren's dark hair and they look at each other and Steve knows, it hits him like a train, that they are both gone. Warren's gaze is soft and it's so beautiful, but somehow Steve wishes he'd yell at him again, lash out and throw hands at him. That was easier to handle than whatever they just turned into.

They are gentle with each other, for the first time. It's all slow kisses, soft touches and intertwined bodies, heat and whispered words. Steve holds Warren by his hips as he grinds down on his dick and gently brushes over his abdomen, his hip bones and chest with his hands, wants to feel and discover every inch of his body. Warren leans down and kisses him, soft and warm, plush lips that gently move against his own, a tongue darting out, making its way into his mouth. It makes his stomach flutter and fingertips tingle, so he hooks his good arm around his waist and helps 14 to rock onto him, the other hand gently resting on his leg.

They cum with their foreheads pressed together firmly, so close together that their eyelashes are nearly touching, gazes locked on each other. Steve pulls Warren close after that, hooks his good arm around him and it doesn't take long until they are at each other again, kissing gently, hands wandering, tongues touching.

_

Steve wakes up in the early hours of the next morning, Warren's back pressed against him. His breath is easy, he seems to be sleeping still. Steve buries his nose in his neck and breathes in. Out. In. Out. In - until he falls asleep again.

_

Ignoring each other at work and during the breaks becomes increasingly harder. Steve is getting itchy with the stress it puts onto him.

_

"The fuck did you do?", Warren slams his glas down. It doesn't break but Steve hears it shatter anyways. Of course they'd fight once again, once more. Maybe they never really stopped, maybe they were just on a break, an armistice.

He's talking about Michael and his associates kidnapping Mr. K.

"This is business, Warren. This has nothing to do with you."

"Are you completely nuts, Haines? She'll have your head for this, Daniels will kill you."

Steve looks at him and his gaze quickly turns into a stare. This is not about him, it never has been and it now dawns on him. He's not even yelling, his voice is firm and nearly a whisper.

"Me? Don't you dare act like you care about me when it comes to this. You're afraid what this will mean for you, aren't you? If they ever unveil that you fuck me, the one responsible for subject K gone missing? What will they think of you then, huh?"

Warren blinks. Once, twice. "Are you fucking deluded, Haines?"

Steve has missed how Warren beats and tears at his clothes and hurts so so so good. He relishes in the pain that 14 is exposing him to, until he can't hold back the gnarling animal in his chest anymore and lashes out as well, hits back and hits hits hits until they are covered in blood.

_

It hurts so good, his cuts and bruises hurt so good. Steve had missed this, missed the pain so much. Warren lies next to him, chest heaving, blood on his hands and his face, it's in his hair and on his legs as well. Steve wants to fuck him raw, until he screams and cries.

Steve wants to make Warren his, and only his. And he's ready to give himself up for it, too.

[sylvanfreckles]

Fireworks in Reverse

Fandom: Supernatural (The Flare 'Verse) Rating: G Warnings: PTSD, grief Summary: “To know the weave of the universe and then be forced into a single thread.” He swallowed, shuddered, and finally focused on Dean again. “I used to be the size of your Chrysler building,” he added in a whisper. (Read on AO3)

...

Dean nearly bolted out of bed when an unearthly wail pulled him out of a deep sleep. His feet were on the floor, and he was moving before his brain had fully processed what he was hearing. By the time he reached the hall the wail had faded, to be replaced by a voice crying out in Enochian.

“Cas?” Dean shoved the door to Cas’s room open and flicked the light on. “No, no, no…come on, man, wake up.”

Cas was on the bed, facing the ceiling but with his back arched so severely that most of his weight was on his neck and head. He was clawing at the blankets around him, speaking in Enochian so quickly that Dean could barely catch a syllable here or there. His eyes were open but unseeing, face twisted in a rictus of pain and fear.

Nightmares like this were, unfortunately, a common occurrence after Cas’s return. Since Naomi had literally carved his Grace out of his body, it seemed like he couldn’t go a single night without his mind being terrorized by dreams. It was better if one of the Winchesters, or sometimes Eileen, stayed with him, but some nights Cas wanted some personal space. It just didn’t seem fair when one of those nights was bad like this.

Dean dove for the bed, catching first one wrist and then the other. He climbed on the bed and lay down parallel to Cas, hooking a leg around the dark-haired man’s hips to twist him onto his side and closer to Dean. Cas fought him, but as soon as his hands struck Dean’s solid form he was clinging instead of fighting, and Dean tugged him close.

Still talking, words a tearful mumble into Dean’s collar, voice rising in a plea Dean couldn’t answer.

“Cas.” He rested a hand against the back of Cas’s head, letting him burrow in even tighter for what safety he could find. “You need to wake up, buddy. I’m not…I can’t understand you.”

In moments like these, Cas seemed to respond best to physical affection, so Dean took a chance and pressed a quick kiss to Cas’s head, just above his ear, and ran a hand through his hair. Cas had quieted, but his breath was heaving in and out so hard his body was jerking against Dean’s. Every breath was like a sound caught between a whimper and a gasp.

“I’m right here,” Dean said, wrapping himself around Cas as far as he could. “Right here.”

He waited. After a few long minutes, Cas gave a deep sigh and his body relaxed against Dean’s. Dean waited another minute or two, then gently nudged Cas’s head away from his shoulder. “You okay?”

Cas blinked up at him. The terror was gone, but it had been replaced by a deep, aching grief. “I dreamt of being an angel.”

“Oh, buddy,” Dean’s heart sank at the words. He tried to pull Cas close again, but the other man resisted. “Cas?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You miss your wings, I get it.”

“No, Dean!” Cas thumped a fist against Dean’s chest, but the blow had no strength behind it. “I dream of being an angel and when I wake up it’s all still in my head. It’s all there, all the time and space and dimensions beyond this mortal mind and it fractures. There is so much more to this world than the physical and I used to understand it, but when I remember it now my mind is unraveled.”

His eyes were haunted now, staring at Dean without really seeing him. “To know the weave of the universe and then be forced into a single thread.” He swallowed, shuddered, and finally focused on Dean again. “I used to be the size of your Chrysler building,” he added in a whisper.

And…damn. That was…horrifying. “Cas, I don’t…”

Cas buried his face in Dean’s shoulder again. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Dean.”

Yeah. Going from badass celestial warrior to sickly human had to suck. “You’re getting better, Cas. I know it’s hard to see, but you’re better every day.”

“No,” Cas half-sobbed into Dean’s shoulder. “Not just this illness…humanity. I didn’t want it.”

Dean closed his eyes. That was really the center of the whole thing, wasn’t it? He’d had a dream, once upon a time, that Cas would want to be human so they could all grow old together, but at the end of the day that hadn’t been Cas’s choice. He’d been an angel. Above and beyond life and death, ageless and eternal.

It was pretty easy to see where everything had started to go wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered. He ran his fingers through Cas’s dark hair and closed his eyes. “If you hadn’t…if you’d never pulled me…”

Cas pushed away with surprising strength. “If I’d never pulled you out of Hell? Stood with you against Heaven? Disobeyed orders?” He let out a hollow laugh. “You think too highly of yourself, Dean Winchester.”

Dean flinched, stung a little at his friend’s anger.

Before he could reply, Cas slumped against him, clearly worn out after his outburst. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s okay,” Dean automatically tugged Cas closer, running a hand through his hair. “I had it coming.”

Cas shook his head against him but made no move to leave Dean’s embrace. “I had no right to lash out at you.”

Dean winced. He could think of several times he’d deserved a good thrashing, but maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring that up. “I think…I think you’re allowed to be angry, Cas,” he said, trying to remember what he and Sammy had talked about a few weeks before. “It’s natural, or something. Part of the stages of grief.”

Cas shifted around so that the side of his head was against Dean’s shoulder, leaving his face clear. “Sam has discussed the Kubler-Ross Model in detail.”

“I bet he has.” Dean had to chuckle at that. “Anyway, being angry is just, y’know, part of the process. And that’s okay.”

Cas sniffed, and when he pressed his face into Dean’s shoulder again, Dean could feel the wetness seeping through his shirt. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Dean.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean hugged him a little closer, his own eyes welling up at the misery in his friend’s voice. “I know, man. Humanity is one sucky consolation prize after being a…a celestial beam of cosmic intent, or whatever. Like a…like a firework in reverse.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Cas let out another sigh. “You come up with the most unusual similes, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned. “I was thinking about saying it was like putting shaving cream back in the can, but I thought maybe fireworks were a little more, uh, angel-y than shaving cream.”

The room fell silent again, and Dean was starting to drift off to sleep when Cas spoke up again. “Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we…do you think they have videos of fireworks?”

For some reason, Cas’s question made something ache deep in Dean’s chest. “Sure thing,” he said, reaching for the tablet Sammy had set up for Cas. “Whatever you want.”

[spenciegoob]

Triple Edged Sword Part 3

A/N: This really got more angsty than smutty whoop.. also it’s short but this has been sitting in my drafts for months and it’s time I finally posted the last part.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut/Angst

Content Warning: brief mention of physical violence, female masturbation, overstimulation, lack of aftercare, potential dub-con interpretation

Word Count: 1.5K

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Part One | Part Two

____

A good friend of hers and Spencers once said “life is a hell of a thing to happen to someone,” but what happened to Spencer was not just life.

It was an almighty power exacting a revenge on the wrong human. Spencer had to pay the price for a crime he did not commit his whole life figuratively. That was, until it was literally.

She watched the man she loves look back at her as he was dragged out of the courtroom in handcuffs with no solution, eyes full of terror. She couldn’t help the fact that her face wore the same expression, her mind full of the what ifs.

What if he never comes home? What if they kill him in there? What if prison breaks him? What if.. What if.. What if..

And unfortunately, one became the truth, because when Spencer did come home to her, he only returned as an empty shell. There was no more light left, his battery not just dying, but short-circuiting, making it so there was no way to recharge.

Spencer Reid, the most forgiving person on this planet could not find it deep within him to forgive himself. He couldn’t let himself off the hook after he left her there, terrified and alone, and he most definitely couldn’t forgive himself when right after the first time she visited him, he turned around one last time to see her finally cry because she thought he wasn’t looking.

But what he really couldn’t forgive was the day he returned home to her.

Spencer was sitting on the couch, staring ahead with eyes that were both hyper focused and not focused at all on what was surrounding him when she touched his shoulder. He was quick, too quick, to spin around and grab her wrist so tight that it made her knees weak.

Immediately he had let go, backing up so far into the room that he was close to cowering in the corner.

“It’s okay,” she said, holding her hands in front of her in the most nonthreatening way. Spencer had hurt her, and yet she still worried that she was the threat. “It’s just me. No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re okay now.”

But was he? Because after that, he didn’t allow himself to touch her. Sure, when they went out, he would hold her hand, pulling her close, and he kissed her goodbye when he left their apartment, but behind their bedroom door? It was his way of punishing himself; of not forgiving.

Spencer sat at the foot of their bed, looking down at her with eyes blank enough to scare her. They had done this dance plenty of times before, the moves carved behind her eyelids so she could never forget. 

It happened on accident at first, Spencer walking in after returning home from a case to find her stark naked on the bed, the vibrator pressed against her clit as soft moans masked the sounds of his entrance. 

From the doorframe, Spencer just watched even as every cell in his body screamed at him to step forward and replace the red bullet between her legs with his cock. But he didn’t, and when she realized she was no longer alone, she almost stopped. 

Spencer instructed her not to, and the hesitation she had melted away with the realization that even this little indulgence was new, a first step in thawing the cold wall Spencer built.

He watched her take her panties off, her body on full display for the man who did not let himself indulge. She reached over to grab her bullet vibrator, something that was added to the collection a while ago after they both realized that while he was away on cases, she deserved the pleasure it gave her.

“Spence, you know it’s okay to touch me, right?” She asked, trying to pull the man she once knew back from the darkness that surrounded him. Spencer didn’t look up to meet her gaze, keeping his eyes on her cunt that invited him in by glistening under the moonlight that seeped through the curtains.

“Keep going... Please.”

Only once did he allow himself the slightest of movements when he heard the vibrations kick to life, his hand twitching involuntarily, aching to reach out and finally touch her. But even when the vibrator touched her clit, causing her back to arch and a moan to claw its way from her chest, he didn’t touch her.

And while pleasure spread through her like a wildfire, her heart still hammered to a beat not meant for the bedroom. It still sat heavily in her chest, wishing for the one thing the man sitting at the foot of their bed refused to give her.

Her first orgasm was quickly approaching, Spencer could tell my the way her chest stopped moving every 3 or 4 seconds. He watched her explode, the muscles in her body spasming with the vibrations rocking through her, and yet, he still didn’t reach out. 

He sat frozen, his cock painfully hard by now, and still, he refused to touch her.

Slowly, her breath evened out, and she retracted the device from between her legs to shut it off.

“No,” Spencer said sternly. “Again.”

The vibrator kicked back to life, and with trembling fingers, she placed it back on her sensitive clit. During this entire time, she maintained enough composure to keep her eyes on Spencer, but when pleasure bordered on pain, her eyes shut.

Her second orgasm hit her before she had time to process that it was approaching, and she screamed out, broken curses and Spencer’s name bouncing off the wall. 

“Spencer,” she whimpered out once the wave of her second climax settled. “Please.”

“Again.” His tone before was stern, leaving no room for argument or pleads, but this time it was broken. Spencer wanted to touch her, more than anything in this world, but how could he when the looming thought that he would hurt her further loomed over him like a ghost haunting his mind for eternity?

“I- I can’t.” Spencer tore his gaze from her to look at his hands, not in disappointment like she feared it was, but because tears welled in his eyes at her tone. She was exhausted, worn-out, but by far the worst thing Spencer could pick up from those two little words was how sad she sounded.

 And like history repeating itself, she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder only for him to shoot up and grab her wrist. This time he didn’t let go.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, and his grip tightened.

“Y/N-”

“It’s okay,” she repeated once again, and her other hand came to softly cup his cheek. “Come here.”

And when their eyes met, Spencer saw it all. He saw the day she invited him upstairs for the first time, he saw their first morning together consisting of stolen kisses over burning pancakes. He saw the way her eyes lit up when he surprised her with takeout and a movie on his day off. 

Spencer saw the way she still loved him after all this time, throughout all the death, the destruction and the pain, she still loved him.

But she shouldn’t, and he couldn’t let it go on any longer.

So instead, Spencer released her wrist and stepped back until he was out of reach. He watched the hope drain from her eyes, and god how he wished he could put it back, but he shouldn’t, so instead, he made it worse.

“I have to go.”

“Spence-”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, stepping further away from her and reaching for the doorknob. “I really have to go.”

Before he could hear her response, he swiftly left the bedroom, closing the door behind him even though he knew she wouldn’t chase him. Not because she didn’t care, but because in the end she always knew how to truly take care of him, and if space is what he needed, space was what he shall receive. 

It didn’t hurt any less knowing that, however, because when she was certain he was gone, she broke down. Naked and alone, she collapsed on the bedroom floor with sobs choking her. 

With every step away from her Spencer took, more ‘what if’s’ turned to ‘what now.’

___

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[romioneficfest]

The Promise

Title: The Promise

Prompt/Day: Moon/Day 8

Tumbler Name: 

Rating: G+

Brief Summary: Ron goes missing and Hermione reacts

Beta Credits: A & A

*****************

 The glorious spring evening was regaled with purplish red sky as the sun sank into the sea. The outline of the moon slowly carved its shape in the sky. Despite the spectacular view,  Hermione felt gloomy, emptiness billowing inside her.

It took her the entire day to painstakingly prepare a synopsis of their upcoming plan. As soon as it was complete she bounced out of her room, excited to share it with both Ron and Harry. She found only Harry, sitting near Dobby’s grave in one of his intense moods. There was no sign of Ron.

By the time the moon glowed in the sky, Hermione's anxiety for Ron’s well-being increased tenfold. Her thread of thought was broken when she was joined by Luna and Dean in her stroll along the shoreline, although her eyes anxiously roamed around to catch a glimpse of the ginger boy she loved…..

Pointing to a black rubber tube bobbing up and down faraway in the sea, Luna squealed, making both Hermione and Dean jump, “That’s a talking turtle. Dad says they sing lullabies to hungry sharks and lull them to sleep.”

“There’s no such thing as talking turtles,” Hermione snapped. She was way too worried to debate with Luna. Talking turtles could exist only in Lovegood's fantasy world, she frowned.  

Luna did not bother to respond to Hermione. She waded ahead of them clucking and waving her hand vigorously at the rubber tube in an attempt to catch its attention.

“What’s got into her?” boomed Ron’s familiar voice, making Hermione feel simultaneously shocked and relieved.

“Wrackspurts, I guess,” Dean quipped and both the boys laughed. Hermione gestured to both of them to stop laughing, but giggled herself.

“That’s like our old Luna. I like that girl. She has her heart at the right place,” Hermione’s stomach twisted in knots as Ron praised her friend. She tried to brush the feeling aside.

“Yeah, she’s always been fearless. Ginny told me about her,” Dean paused and then said softly, “I’m sorry… you know the night that Dumbledore died….that I didn’t come to fight against the Death Eaters. Maybe all of us putting up a fight together there could have made a difference today,” Dean could not meet their eyes.

Before Hermione could tell off Dean for his past mistakes, Ron said warmly, “There’s always a next time, mate.”

Dean smiled gratefully.

Hermione tried to imagine how Ron would react if she toppled him onto the sand, kissed him ceaselessly and told him how wonderful a person he was. Her face flustered with the thought. The tall ginger had the capability to swing her like a pendulum through a multitude of emotions within seconds.

“Well, Fleur wants you all inside for supper. Besides, it’s not very safe to roam around here out of the wards,” Ron said meaningfully.

Dean dragged a reluctant Luna towards Shell Cottage. Ron was in tow. But Hermione tugged him back.

“Where were you all this time?” Hermione poked her finger into Ron’s chest and huffed. She sounded bitter. It was absurd, but Ron's attention to any woman made her resentful.  

“What’s got your wand in a twist? For that matter, you are not carrying one as I can see, and you're out of the wards” Ron retorted. “D’ya realise how worried I was when I couldn’t find you inside the cottage?”  

Hermione was reluctant to give in. But her emotions welled up tears in her eyes and she bit her lower lip to stop them from trickling out.

“Okay, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to shout at you,” Ron softened his hold on her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Fleur sent me to Muriel’s place to fetch supplies. You know, with all of us here, she was running out of food. She didn’t want to make a fuss or make you all uncomfortable,” Ron said gently.

“That’s indeed very thoughtful of her. How’s your family? You’ve missed them, haven't you?” Hermione loved Ron’s family. She understood that he needed them. But she needed him more.

“All good,” Ron grinned. “They’ve collected muggle clothes for us. Old though, but they will suffice, I guess.”

“That’s great. We lost ours. Dean and Luna don’t seem to have any. I literally smell Dean’s slimy socks even in my sleep,” Hermione scrunched up her nose in disgust. Ron chortled.

“So, that’s what you found so irresistable about him. How long have you been doing these walks—I mean—you and him together?” Ron raised a single brow and smirked; but the playfulness in his demeanor did not quite reach his eyes.

“That’s bollocks!” Hermione said, indignantly.

Ron put his hand over his mouth and acted gobsmacked. Before Hermione realised the implication of her choice of words, Ron said innocently, "There's only a pair in here. Sorry, can't part with them."

“Ron!” Embarrassed, she scooped up a palm full of salty water and splashed it over Ron's face before running away from him, giggling.

Ron ran after her for his revenge. It did not take him long to grab her from behind with his strong, scarred arms.

“You barmy witch,” he cried.

"Don’t you dare!" Hermione yelped and wrestled to wiggle out of his grip.

Ron swept her off her feet and twirled her in the air. He dunked her in the sea till she was thoroughly drenched.

"Ron Weasley! Watch out for this," Hermione tittered. She kicked his shins and tickled him wherever she could reach, knocking both of them down on the sand, water sweeping over both of them. She was squealing in delight until she realised that she was propped up on her elbows over his chest, staring straight into his blue eyes. It was just the way she had imagined herself a few minutes ago.

Ron's left hand was wrapped around the small of her back. His right hand lifted his wand up in the air to prevent it from any damage. Hermione’s mass of matted curly hair with bits of sand stuck to the strands, enveloped both of their faces like a thick curtain.

Ron's gaze bore into hers. His wand was carelessly pointed at her. Hermione felt a warm glow as all the sand particles in her hair started emitting silver light. Ron's spontaneous magic was surreal. They were both shielded from the world by a constellation of stars.

Puffs of staggered breaths replaced the squeals of laughter. The sound of the waves were consumed by the beating of their hearts.

“You're like the moon, so beautiful" Ron murmured.

"Save your compliments for Luna, maybe Fleur or Lavender — Won-Won," Hermione scoffed, her voice loaded with sarcasm.

Ron kept on staring at her, but the enthusiasm in his eyes was gone; the glow of the glitters dimmed.  

Hermione knew she had just spoiled a beautiful moment of her life. Why do I always say the wrong thing?

Hermione rolled over her side to lie face up, staring at the moon and the stars; Ron's hand lying underneath her.

"It's been seven bloody years, Hermione. How much longer will we take to sort this out?" Ron groaned in anguish.

"I really don’t know why I do this. Sort this out for us Ron. Make it easier. Please!" Hermione pleaded.

Ron pulled her closer with a new found confidence. His body trembled against hers.

"Someday, when all this shite is over, yeah….I will," he stared into her eyes resolutely.

"Trust me, I want to do this right. For now, just know, this side kick is barmy for only one wee witch — a mental one and nothing's gonna change that."

Hermione brushed her hand over Ron's cheek and nodded. As they stood and walked towards the cottage, the glitters in her hair slowly faded away, but the promise he made stayed in her heart.

She never felt more content.

[labyrinth-runner]

Become the Beast

Alright! So, No Content November is officially over. To break the spell, I am posting this.

Huge Thank you to @thepanakinanakin​ and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​ for reading this every day when I wrote more for it. Seriously. This would not be here without your support and spitballing.

Summary: A Suitless!Vader x Reader fan fiction based off the song Become the Beast by Karliene. It takes place after the fall of the Order as Reader struggles to carve out a life without the guidance of the Order. It’s a discussion of fate versus the will of man, and whether we can run from our destiny. It’s got love, it’s got an unlikely friendship, it’s got angst, and a lot of OCs and adventures. It’s essentially like I took one-sided pining to enemies to lovers and dosed it with crack.

Word Count: almost 23k. I’ve literally been working on this the entire month of November.

Main Ship: Suitless! Vader x g/n Reader (truly Gender Neutral). 

Warnings: Um. Violence/fighting. It’s got a lot more action in it than I originally planned. But it’s not like its anything that SWs HASN’T done before. 

With one order, the world was in shambles. The balance was shifting. Where once there was light, there was now an all-consuming darkness like hundreds of candles that once burned brighter than the sun were snuffed out with precision and without mercy. Cries of agony could be felt like a ripple through the force, washing over you with an intensity that sent you to your knees. You held your head with one hand as your heart hammered in your chest. Kenobi and Skywalker must have failed. Your men called out for you, but you knew you couldn’t trust them. Hot tears stung your eyes as you felt that in your bones. The Order was over, your Master was dead, and you would be, too, if you didn’t get out of there. 

Placing a hand on the dusty ground, you slowed your breathing and listened, letting the force tell you all you needed to know. They were coming for you, but there was a city ahead with a spaceport. Rising to your feet, you took your braid in your hand. Your trials were to commence soon, but that didn’t matter now. You were no longer a Jedi, and no longer a Padawan. Taking your lightsaber from your hip, it felt heavy in your hand. Heavy with the knowledge that this war had destroyed everything the Order stood for. How many things had been destroyed with this saber? You mused as you turned it over in your hand. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It ignited with a flash of light and with one fell swoop, it severed the last tie you had to the Order. To your Master. It barely made a sound as it landed on the scorched earth. Deactivating your weapon for what might be the last time, you replaced it on your hip before running, never looking back.

By the time the clones arrived to your last known position, it was too late. You were gone. The only thing left was the severed Padawan braid lying forgotten in the dirt.

You had ran that day, and in a sense, you never stopped. You were running from the Empire, from your past, afraid it would catch up to you. From world to world, you ran, taking the odd job here or there to afford fuel for your next adventure. If you could call it that. You never stayed in one place too long, too afraid you’d get attached. Attachments were bad, but not in the way the Jedi had taught you. Attachments meant you’d care about what happened when you were gone. You’d hear the boots of the stormtroopers on the ground as they ran their drills in the morning and you’d worry about the locals if you stayed too long. A few rotations here, a sabbatical there... never a full revolution on a planet. Your mind was always ten steps ahead of your feet, trying to stay under the radar. It was a game you played with the Empire, not that they knew you were playing. A wry smile crossed your face as you realized this. After all, wasn't that what the Clone Wars were? A game that the Jedi were pawns in, not even realizing they were playing. Not even the Chosen One had been spared, having fallen on Mustafar. 

You didn’t mind running, after all, you had gotten good at it. However, the ache for a home was apparent every now and then. A glimpse of a family here, or a group of friends there would send you into a deep reverie. You had had that once. Now, it was a luxury you couldn’t afford. It was an isolating life, but it was your life, running like a scared animal separated from its pack. Possibly the last of its kind. No, you weren’t the last. Somehow you could feel that much. There were still flames out there, but like yours they were muted, masking themselves from the Empire the best they could. Although there was strength in numbers, there was also safety in solitude. It was an unspoken law amongst the survivors. Worlds were not big enough for two, not when there was a target on your back. Still, looking at the families you’d seen along the way made you miss your own. Deep down you longed for the safety of the Temple and the support of a Master to guide you. Without both you felt like you were drifting in space, running blindly into the night in the hopes that you’d make it to dawn without being hunted by the predators that thrived in the dark. 

Your latest planet was quiet. Almost too quiet. The air was charged with anticipation, like they knew something you didn’t as you walked around the open air market. The citizens were tense, which put you on edge. Tension settled into your back, pulling taut across your shoulders as you pulled your hood further down your face to obscure you. You quickly placed your credits in the outstretched hand before taking your fruit and placing it in your pack. You were too exposed out here. Something told you that you should hide, like warning bells going off in your head. The hair on the nape of your neck stood up. That was when you heard it.

Footsteps.

They resounded in the distance, steadily drawing closer. Multiple feet in time with each other as they pounded the ground in a march. You could hear the unmistakable whines overhead.

TIE fighters.

Kriff. 

Taking a settling breath, you analyzed your surroundings. Fighting your way out of this was not something you were prepared to do. You’d just make your way towards the spaceport as quickly as you could. It would be fine. Pressing your back against the building, you prepared to blend into your surroundings. 

That was when you felt it. A dark, coldness creeping into your bones. It was a presence larger than life that you had never felt before. It was overwhelming, debilitating almost. Your hand reached out for the stone wall behind you, grabbing it to catch yourself as the force signature of this being almost sent you to your knees. Never had you felt such power. Never had you felt such anger. There was a rage in that presence that threatened to consume. 

Shots rang out. You glanced up to catch blaster fire being traded between the local pocket of rebels and the imperial stormtroopers, their uniforms so tauntingly white, like they weren’t created with the blood of the people. With the blood of the galaxy. Blood that was going to be spilled now. Right here. In front of your eyes as you watched normal citizens getting caught in the crossfire. A father and a child ran from one booth to another, trying to make it back to the arms of the mother in the doorway across the square. You turned to the side as you heard him get gunned down, dropping the child to the dusty ground. 

A familiar sound came next, a sound you hadn’t heard in years, but recognized instantly. The hum of the blade was steady and red, bleeding rage. You could feel it coming off the blade in waves. The blade was drawing closer to the child.

“Give him to me,” the man instructed. Turning your attention back to the child, you noticed the mother had come out of the sanctuary of their home to hold the crying child close to her. A mother’s first instinct was always to protect.

“Never,” she rasped out, staring at him with an unwavering gaze. Her courage was formidable, but you knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

Letting out a shaking breath, you straightened, prepared to run. You were always running. Scrunching your eyes shut, you remembered your teachings. You remembered the younglings at the Temple that you had helped train. Invisible tendrils from the past tugging at you, guiding your motions like a marionette. Feet moved on instinct, arms swung on their own accord until the hiss of a connection could be heard.

Your eyes focused on the feet in front of you as the heat from the interlocked blades warmed your face, casting you in a dangerous red glow. Your eyes trailed up the body of the opponent in front of you until you locked eyes. He was handsome, in a distracting way. His hair whipped around in the breeze as a twisted smirk settled on his face. He was as ferocious as a lion, drawing you in, yet holding you in place as he stared into your soul. Forbidden, yet wanted.

“Padawan,” he purred, “Where’s your braid?”

“I cut it off. I had nothing left to learn,” you ground out through gritted teeth, pushing back with all your might. He had the upper hand without effort.

“Nothing left to learn, or no one left to learn from?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. He was testing you. The heat in his gaze stirred something within you, like a spark turning into a flame. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, or you’d be defenseless. Blinking rapidly to clear your vision, you conceded that match. He was still much too close for comfort. You needed to remedy that.

“Same difference!” You replied before using the force to push him back, knocking him a few feet back. How dare he? You thought indignantly. What right did this Sith have to mock the Order?

“Good,” he grinned, dropping his saber to his side. He looked at you with great interest. You were his prey and he was going to play. It had been so long since he’d had a formidable opponent. The way he stood exuded power, raw and crackling. You could almost feel the charge in the air, but that’s all it was, right? His power, nothing more. The way he stood, to any onlooker it would seem defenseless, but in truth he was setting a trap. “Get angry. It’ll make this more fun.”

He was goading you, and you knew it. You tried to breathe, exhaling all the anger bubbling in you threatening to spill over. A tenuous control over your emotions started to build, forcing your inner anger back into the rickety cage it was struggling against. 

“Give in,” he murmured, watching your turmoil with great interest. “Feel the power.”

“Like you did?” you ground out. You knew exactly who this man was. You’d seen him in the Temple. You had even admired him, having had countless conversations with him at the Temple. He was just as captivating now as he was back then. His presence had always drawn you in, made you want more than you knew you should have. This man was everything you had wanted to be. You’d looked up to him. He had it all, but he had thrown it away. An irrational part of your mind added, threw you away. “You betrayed your own.”

“They were never my own,” he spat. “I was their savior, reluctantly.”

“Some savior you were. You killed them all,” you seethed before attacking. Your control was gone as the lives of your friends flashed before your eyes. His life flashed before your eyes. He could have been so much more than this. You could have been so much more than this, but this was what he had reduced you to: a lonely wanderer who lived hand-to-mouth. Your anger made you sloppy, but you managed to catch him off guard at first.

Trading blows, he was barely breaking a sweat while your chest was heaving from exertion. He was magnificent, and that was not lost on you. It was impressive, watching him move gracefully. His hair flowed like a mane around him. A wry smile crossed your face at the realization, a lion among man. 

“You’re weak,” he taunted, pinning you with the force to a wall. “You have power, but you don’t know how to use it. How to control it. You’re unbalanced.”

“No, you’re wrong!” You called out, straining against his power. Memories flashed in your head to when he’d first pinned you against the wall during training so many years ago, but this was not the same. Your eyes locked with his as you swallowed. It wouldn’t end. Not like this. You lunged at him, swinging wildly with your arms. You weren’t unbalanced. You were one a Jedi. You were one with the force. Your swing missed, but his didn’t. The sting of the blade as it singed your shoulder made you grit your teeth as your knees gave out. You wouldn’t let this man see you cry out. You would not beg for mercy that you knew he would not give. His saber was lifted.

“Pity,” he murmured, reaching down to tip your chin up towards him. Locking eyes, you came to the realization that you were to die at the hands of the most handsome beast you’d ever met. Yet, all he could do was offer you a sad smile, and something else: a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but not at what he was about to do. “You could have been something.”

Blaster fire lit up the square, interrupting your battle. His face contorted into a grimace as he had to move his lightsaber to block the shots. Using the distraction, you scuffled back towards a building. Your hand blindly searched for a hold on the rough stone to push yourself up, staring back at him. Even when he was at a disadvantage, he was captivating. The way he moved as if the world were his to control was breathtaking. A pang of regret hit your heart. The two of you together could have been unstoppable. The brick cut your skin, but you didn’t care. It brought you back to reality. The reality that he was a monster, and most of all, he could never be yours. 

“Come on,” a woman called out, wrapping a hand around your arm. “You can’t stay here.”

You looked up into the face of the mother you had saved. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know a place,” she murmured, clutching her child to her chest.

You stared at her for a moment, listening to the sound of the skirmish outside. Then, you nodded. Anywhere was better than here. She led you to the spaceport. Rebels provided cover fire as they engaged with stormtroopers outside the hanger bay. You clamored up the ramp into the ship.

A woman with short red hair looked at the mother.

“You’ve brought a friend,” she murmured. “We were told it was just your family we were extracting.”

“I lost my husband,” the mother replied. “The amount of passengers is the same.”

The woman looked at you, studying you. Measuring you. But to what, you didn’t know. Her eyes settled on your lightsaber at your hip, widening slightly.

“Well, come on. We can’t stay on this world anymore,” the woman replied before pressing her comm link. “Pilot, get us out of here.”

“Right away, Senator,” a response came before the woman and the mother walked further down the corridor.

You looked down at the ramp as it closed. Although you couldn’t see the fighting anymore, you could feel it. You could feel his wrath as he lashed out at the rebels like a cornered animal, using his rage as fuel. They would all die. Their blasters were nothing in comparison to his power. He’d snuff out their lives like a shrine of candles in a rainstorm. Leaning against the wall, you slowly slid down to the floor. Your legs could no longer hold you now that the adrenaline had worn off. You were tired, so tired. Your shoulder cried out in pain, but worst of all was the knowledge of what was happening below on the planet as you felt the ship rise from the ground. Tears flowed freely at all that was lost today.

You had run for so long.

You had avoided the Empire for so long.

Now they knew you were out there, and you knew they would come looking for you. Your anonymity was gone. In the back of your mind, you heard his voice over and over again.

Weak.

You were weak. You’d gone soft. You were out of practice. Unbalanced. He was right.

Swiping the tears from your face with the back of your hand, a resolve etched itself on your face. Not for much longer, you thought. Placing your hands on your knees, you pushed yourself back to your feet, a phoenix rising from the ashes.

You ignited your saber, feeling its weight in your hand. The hum of the blade in tune with your soul as you closed your eyes. The next time you faced that beast of a man, you would be ready. There was a fire in your eyes as you deactivated the saber, placing it back on your hip. Your footsteps resounded, sure and deliberate as you followed the path the rebels had taken.

Rounding the corner towards where the mother and her child were seated with the senator before, you felt a watchful set of eyes on your entrance.

“I haven’t seen a Jedi in some time,” the woman said, as much to the mother as to you.

“They protected us after my husband was...” the mother trailed off as her eyes rimmed red, the words getting caught in the emotion in her throat.

“There was nothing you could have done,” the Senator told her, placing a hand on top of hers. “You and your child have had a long day. We’ll be arriving on Chandrila in a few hours. You should rest, Jynna. You’ll need your strength.”

Jynna nodded, sliding out of the booth with her child in her arms. She stopped in front of you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I could never thank you enough, Jedi.”

You swallowed the awkward lump in your throat at the praise, especially since you hadn’t planned on stepping in, and especially because you were not a Jedi. Not anymore. “Of course.”

Jynna gave you a sad smile, letting her hand drop to her side before leaving down the corridor.

After a moment of silence, listening to the woman’s retreating steps, the other woman cleared her throat. “Please, have a seat.”

You slipped into the booth across from her. 

“Finding a Jedi in this current climate is like finding a kyber crystal on Tatooine,” the woman remarked.

“The Jedi no longer exist,” you replied, looking at the dirt under your nails from your fight.

“That’s what the Emperor wants us to think,” the woman replied leaning in. “I’m sure there are more of you than you know. You’re all in hiding.”

“What do you want us to do?” you shot back, “Come out into the open to be executed?”

“From what I understand, you were almost executed today due to your recklessness,” she replied.

Your cheeks reddened in embarrassment. 

“Yet you live,” she added. She appraised you for not the first time that day. “We could use someone like you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” you asked, leaning back.

“The rebellion,” she clarified.

“I already have a target on my back,” you sighed. “Why would I push my luck further?”

“Exactly,” she replied. “You already are a target, might as well give them a run for their credits. What else are you going to do? Go back into hiding on some back water world? The Empire’s presence is growing every day. Nowhere is safe.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you asked. “Look, Senator, I’m not sure what you want me to be.”

“Just yourself,” she said, patting your hand. “You have so much potential, and you can make a difference.”

“Senator Mothma, we’ll be dropping out of hyperspace to refuel,” a crew member said, coming back from the cockpit.

She nodded to them. “Good.”

Then, she turned back to you, a bright fiery look in her eyes that rivaled her hair. “Think about it. You can no more run from who you are than night can resist the dawn. I’ll leave the ramp unlocked when we dock to fuel. The choice is yours.”

You watched as she slipped from the booth, heading back, presumably to where her chambers were on the ship. You stared at the table in front of you. You’d already decided you weren’t going to run anymore, and here you had an opportunity to help. The way she looked at you... it wasn’t as if you were just a Jedi. It was as if you were more than that. You were hope. Hope that, try as the Empire might, they could not erase every ounce of opposition in the galaxy. Join or perish. That was what you’d felt more than once today. First, with Skywalker on that dust ball, and now with Mon Mothma. The only difference was that the Empire would kill you for not joining, whereas the Rebellion would just leave you to your own devices. You’d learned today that those were not enough. At least, not right now. 

You were being given a choice, a choice to make something of yourself, or the choice to fade away into oblivion. Earlier, your body had acted on its own accord, pulling you into the fray. Fading was no longer an option. To fade was to be complacent with an overlord taking over a galaxy and enslaving the very people you had once fought to protect. No, you were going to fight. You’d lend your hand to this Rebellion, and in doing so, it would make you stronger. It would make the people stronger to know that the Force was no longer wielded by just the dark side. Your destiny and the Rebellion’s would be entwined, feeding each other and making you both strong until the light could burn out the darkness. 

A rumble could be felt through the ship as it landed on the fueling platform. You didn’t even get up from your seat.

“Welcome aboard, Jedi,” Mon Mothma said as she walked by the booth to talk to the pilot. “You, too, should rest. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to do once we land.”

You nodded, stalking back towards the cabins. 

You found the room that Jynna had entered. Her child was asleep, curled into her. Jynna herself seemed to be having a fitful rest. A small sigh passed through your lips as you walked further into the room. Holding a hand out above her forehead, you concentrated on smoothing her furrowed brow. She’d have enough time to deal with the horrors of the day during her waking hours. There was no reason for her to suffer in her sleep as well. As her face settled into a smooth serenity, you let your hand drop back to your side before sitting on the bunk across from them.

Fatigue from the day hit you like a pod racer on Tatooine running into a canyon wall. 

Weak.

A wry smirk settled on your face. Well, sleep will give me strength, you thought in amusement.

Flattening yourself against the mattress, the weight of your body settled into your bones. With each breath you expelled yourself until you were one with the Force. it was something you hadn’t done in a long time, unable to afford this level of vulnerability. It was in this moment that you realized you hadn’t rested in so long. Too long, your body cried out. 

The Force gives strength. The Force restores. All are reborn in the Force if they learn to let go of their corporeal form. Like a bacta tank heals, so too does the Force. You allowed yourself to submerge in its icy depths, awakening in you a sensation that you had almost forgotten. Your eyes were open wide to the world, now, no longer content to just float along. You were prepared to swim. The pain in your shoulder faded the closer you got to the surface. 

When you emerged from the Force, your eyes opened to the dimly lit cabin. Jynna was awake on her cot, cuddling her child as she watched you with great interest.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” you replied.

“When you became one with the Force,” she clarified, “What is it like?”

“It’s different for all,” you sighed, turning on your side to face her. “Just now it was cold.”

“Like a bath that you’ve left for too long?” she asked.

A genuine smile grew on your face, “In a way.”

She looked down at her son like she didn’t know him. “He has a gift. That’s why they want him.”

“The Order is no more,” you replied. 

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t sought after,” she shot back, meeting your eyes.

“They won’t lay a hand on your son,” you stated, but it was more like a promise.

She nodded, brushing a dark brown curl out of her son’s face. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

You didn’t want to tell her that they had already gone through her husband. You didn’t want to point out that going through her would be child’s play. Instead, you made an actual promise. Turning your back to her, you murmured, “It won’t come to that.”

“You don’t like being called a Jedi,” she murmured.

“Because I’m not,” you sighed.

She let your truth hang in the air, but you knew it fell on deaf ears.

You stared at the wall of your bunk, listening as her breathing evened out and she fell back asleep. Closing your eyes, you did something you hadn’t wanted to do before. You began to remember. Not too much, no. That would be like ripping a scab off of a wound that barely healed. No, you remembered just enough, letting the wound breath before bundling it back up in bandages again.

The Temple had been a wonderful place to grow up- not that you remembered any other. You were sure that you had a family somewhere. A mother. A father. After all, how else would you have come to be? But, you didn’t know them. They were shadows in your mind, like they were backlit from the sun. Hazy. No, the people you remembered most from your childhood were the Masters. They were the ones who raised you, taught you everything you knew. Would you have been better off with a family? It was something you had wondered about after the Republic fell, but then you came to the realization that you had had a family, just not in the normal sense. Your lips tilted up slightly as you remembered the day you were chosen to be a Padawan. That had been the happiest day of your life. Your thoughts drifted to what your Master would think if they could see you now. Would they be proud? Or would they be disappointed? You didn’t know, and that bothered you. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you closed your eyes tight, willing the Force to take you over again into that sea of bliss and belonging. When it finally did, it was warmer this time, more familiar as it washed over you, wrapping you in reassurance.

When you woke next, the ship was touching down on Chandrila. The sky was a myriad of colors as the planet awoke from the night. As you walked down the ramp, you looked up at the yellow, pink, and purple that swathed the sky in an inviting glow. Your gaze felt the gravitational pull, taking in your immediate surroundings now. The planet reminded you a bit of Naboo and Alderaan in the sense that it had a significant amount of water and greenery. The architecture was white. A wry smile crossed your face. Pure. Untouched. If only the rest of the galaxy were as lucky.

Footsteps sounded behind you as Senator Mothma disembarked. She walked swiftly towards a nearby building. When the rest of the party followed, so did you. 

Soon, you found yourself crowded into a lift and descending. 

The doors opened onto a bustling operations center. Screens were alight with data points. Everyone had a mission, and idleness was not tolerated. After all, if the Empire never stopped, then why should they? It was like a swimming beast. If it stopped, it could die. 

Jynna and her son were ushered off down a hallway. You moved to follow them, but Senator Mothma placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Not yet,” she murmured.

You turned your head to look at her. “What will happen to them?”

“We’ll keep them safe. The Empire will not get ahold of that child, or it’s mother,” she assured you. “Now, come. There is someone who will be eager to meet you.”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to decipher who she could be talking about as you followed her into a war conference room. The door shut behind you, leaving just you, the Senator, and a man looking down at a hologram projected up from the table.

“You’re late, Senator,” the man said, but there wasn’t a hint of animosity or annoyance in his tone.

“Yes, well, there were complications,” Mothma replied.

“Complications or complication?” the man asked, turning to look at her. His eyes settled on you with express interest.

Senator Mothma looked between you and the man before speaking. “Complications. Of the Sith variety.”

“Vader,” he muttered in disgust.

“They knew of the child,” Mothma informed him.

“How? Only the Jedi had this information,” the man replied.

“You know where they made their headquarters,” Mothma said pointedly. “Who’s to say they haven’t entered the archives and gained access to the information.”

“I was with Kenobi on that Sith planet. Only a Jedi can open one of their holocrons, just as only a Sith can open their devices.”

Kenobi? Your eyes widened. Now there was a name you hadn’t heard in a long, long time, and it was usually accompanied by...

“Skywalker was a Jedi before this. He could have opened it,” Mothma added. 

The man looked down. “No. He’s too far gone.” When he picked his head up again, he looked straight at you. “What’s your story?”

“They’re a Jedi, Bail,” Mothma said, with a glint in her eyes.

“Is this true?” Bail asked, studying you.

You wanted to say no, but you could no longer run from that title anymore than you could run from yourself. “I was, before the fall.”

A wry smirk settled on Bail’s face. “The fall of Skywalker, or the fall of the Order?”

“Are they not the same?” you asked quietly. After all, losing Anakin had led to losing the Order, and to the rise of Vader.

He sighed, “I suppose they are. Are you here to help?”

“I’m here to train,” you replied. “I’ll help in any way I can while I do that. Vader bested me once. That won’t happen again.”

Bail nodded, admiring your determination. “Sometimes the best teacher is experience. Although, I’m not quite sure that hunting the galaxy’s boogeyman is the way to go about this.”

“You have your mission, and I have mine,” you replied. “If they both achieve the same goal, then does it matter how we get there?”

His brow furrowed, “In my experience, it is a thin line between that line of thinking and tyranny.” He looked back at Mothma, “I don’t need another Saw Gerrera.”

You looked at Bail. You couldn’t lose this opportunity. You felt it in your bones. This was the will of the force. You were meant to be here. You were meant to help. “Look, I just want peace in the galaxy. In order to do that, you have to stop Vader and the Emperor. I’ll do whatever else you want me to do. I’ll help in whatever way I can, but I need to stop him.”

Bail locked eyes with you for a charged moment before letting out a breath. “Alright, but our missions come first. If they just happen to coincide with your search for Vader, then so be it. I will not allow you to jeopardize the resistance by leading him to our door. If you poke the beast enough, he’ll attack. This is the only warning you’ll get from me.”

You nodded. “Yes, Senator Organa.”

“So you know who I am,” he said with an amused smirk.

“How could I forget?” you winked. “We never would have been allowed use of Toydaria without you and representative Binks.”

He nodded, “Well, Jedi, I think you better start training. I’m sure you’ll have an assignment soon enough.”

You smiled, turning to leave the two Senators to their plotting. 

The base was bustling. Everywhere you stepped, you felt as though you were in the way. Eventually, you stuck to creeping around the walls until you were in a hall that was deserted. A look of curiosity came over your face as you started to open the doors that lined the hall. An empty bedroom here. A storage closet there. But then... then you found a wide open room, swathed in white. A control panel was set into the wall. 

Your breath caught in your chest. You were familiar with rooms like this. In fact, you’d often trained in rooms like this. If you closed your eyes, you could almost hear your Master coaching you from the sidelines as the room moved around you. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you engaged the training program, dropping your bag on the ground and taking off your cloak you grinned as the room awoke around you.

It was like getting back on a speeder bike. You were rusty, but you were slowly reawakening your abilities. The more you moved, the more sure of yourself you became. You deflected the blasts that the training droids shot, trying not to destroy them. You didn’t want the Senators to get mad at you for busting their things. What you hadn’t noticed were the viewports that lined the tall walls at the top.

An audience had gathered as the members in the war room watched you. A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.

“I thought they were all gone,” said one.

“My mother said they were legends,” whispered another.

“Maybe we have a chance now,” another dared to say.

Your hair stuck to your forehead from exertion as you bounded from moving platform to platform. When you closed your eyes, you could sense where they were going to be next. The force guided you. The prodigal child returning home to be welcomed with open arms. 

Eventually, you reached the top platform, thus beating that simulator as your hand pressed the buzzer. You opened your eyes to find the members of the Rebellion staring at you. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath. Wide eyes looked at you. 

Mon Mothma and Bail Organa exited their room to see the group staring at their new friend.

“Looks like the Lothcat is out of the bag,” Mothma smirked.

“So it seems,” Organa replied. “But, is the loth cat ready?”

“Why don’t you ask?” Mothma asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Senator Organa wandered over to the intercom system and engaged it into the training arena.

“I have a mission for you,” he informed you. “Think you’re up for it?”

You swiped the sweat off your brow with your sleeve. “When do I leave?”

“Now.”

A grin broke across your face. “Good.”

Bail slapped a data card up against the transparisteel. You gave him a slight salute before jumping down to the ground. Once back on your own two feet, you picked up your bag and went back up to retrieve your mission.

“I’ll need a ship,” you told him after inspecting the data card. 

“You speak as if you’re going alone,” Bail said in amusement.

“I’m not?” you asked in confusion.

“No. You’ll be a part of a team,” he replied.

“I can do this on my own,” you said adamantly. “If it’s a stealth mission, less is more.”

“And if you get captured for being a Jedi? Then who will bring the information home?” he countered.

“That’s not what this is about,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “You don’t trust me.”

“Trust is earned,” he shot back.

“You knew my people. You know what they stood for,” you replied softly.

“Skywalker stood for that, too, once. Now look at us,” he said with his back to you.

Point, Organa.

You let out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll go with a team.”

“They’ll meet you in the hangar bay,” he said as he started to walk away, but then he paused. “And, Jedi, may the force be with you.”

You clenched the data card in your fist before making your way to meet this new team. 

The group that was waiting for you didn’t seem like much. You saw a human man in a flight suit, a blue astromech droid, a blue-skinned Twi’lek, and a Wookie. 

“You’re the Jedi?” the Twi’lek woman commented. 

“Can you be a member of something that’s disbanded?” the man asked.

You shot them a look. 

“Fiesty for a Jedi,” the Twi’lek smirked. “Seems like your type, Gavyn.”

“Knock it off, Oon’sara,” Gavyn sighed. He thumbed towards the Wookie and astromech. “That’s Chitca, and the droid’s on loan from Senator Organa.”

“Droids are not property. He’s doing this because he wants to,” you murmured as you looked at the droid, studying him. Almost as if sensing your judgment, the mech came forward to meet you and tootled. A spark of recognition settled onto your face as you watched the rest of the team head up the ship. You, however, hung back with the astromech.

“Is your new home treating you well, little droid?” you murmured.

Artoo looked up at you before letting out a sad noise.

Resting a hand on his dome, you gave him a sad smile. “I know. I miss the old days, too.”

Artoo looked down and started up the ramp. You followed him before settling into a seat in the cargo hold to go over the data again. If trust was something that had to be earned, then, maker, you were going to earn it.

Once in hyperspace, the crew trickled back to where you were, sitting on their own makeshift seats. You could feel their gaze on you as you rested your arms on your knees.

“Credit for your thoughts,” you eventually ventured.

“You’re injured,” Gavyn murmured, pointing at the burn on your arm. “It looks fresh.”

“It’s a lightsaber, isn’t it,” Oon’sara said, but it wasn’t a question. “He did it.”

“What do you know of him?” You asked as your eyes flicked up to hers.

“We all have our score to settle with the Empire,” Gavyn replied. “The Emperor’s shadow is infamous. Few see him and survive. He’s a harbinger of death.”

“He’s just a man,” you replied, thinking of his face, so close to yours as you had locked sabers.

“Tell that to the people of Ryloth,” Oon’sara sneered. “If you even mention the possibility of him coming, the Imperials crack down on us.”

“Is that your ‘score’ then?” you asked.

“If I free the galaxy, then I can free my people,” she said.

You turned to look at the others. “And you?”

“The Empire killed my parents,” Gavyn replied. “They tried to stop them from roughing up the local civilian market. I was seventeen. Barely a man, but no longer a kid. I ended up on the streets relying on the goodness of strangers. That was how Senator Organa found me.”

“Where’d you learn to fly?” you asked out of curiosity.

“My mom. She was a cargo pilot,” he grinned. “Best at maneuvering out of a sticky situation.”

You turned to the Wookie who blinked in surprise. “You?”

She tilted her head before responding. You were glad you’d grown up in the Temple at that moment, being able to understand other languages always came in handy. “You should know about Kashyyk. When Master Yoda escaped at the end of the war, the rest of us were not so lucky.”

“He’s alive?” you asked softly.

She shrugged. “He was when he left Kashyyk.”

Artoo bumped your leg where it hung over the side of the crate.

“I already know your story, little droid,” you murmured, patting his head. He’d lost just as much as you had that day. Part of you wondered if he knew what his old master was up to. It was odd, having Anakin’s droid here. This might be the only piece of him you’d have left.

“But we don’t know yours,” Gavyn said, folding his arms.

“It’s simple, really. I was a Jedi on the run after the Order fell. I piqued the interest of some undesirable people, and now I’m helping the Rebellion while I look for them,” you shrugged.

“I’ve never heard someone refer to Vader as an ‘undesirable’ person,” Oon’sara smirked.

“He took everything from me,” you replied. Including Anakin, you thought. “I’d call that undesirable.”

“So you’re hunting him,” Gavyn said thoughtfully. “Revenge doesn’t sound like the Jedi way.”

“It isn’t revenge,” you replied. “It’s justice. It’s for freedom and peace. If we get rid of Vader, the Emperor loses his ace. It’ll be over then.”

“The Emperor will still exist,” Oon’sara pointed out.

“The Emperor is an old man,” you spat. The Emperor was nothing compared to the man you’d sparred with. Vader was a formidable match in battle, but the Emperor was weak, having to rely upon someone else to fight his battles for him.

“He’s a Sith Lord,” Gavyn countered.

“Do you know how to defeat darkness?” You asked, looking out a viewport as you reverted back to real space. The Lothal System’s sun came into view, warming your face. You turned back to them with a smirk on your face. “You turn a light on.”

The crew started to disperse, but Gavyn hung back for a moment, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“You know, I always respected the Jedi. When things seemed bleak, they’d show up and save the day like heroes. It seemed inevitable that they would always win,” he admitted.

“Like the sun ending the night,” you murmured.

“Exactly,” he replied. “A spark of hope lights a flame. If you’re going to turn a light on, you’ll need a lot more of it.”

“A lot more of what?” you asked.

“Hope. One spark is a start, but it’s not enough on its own.”

Somehow you didn’t think he was talking about fires anymore. He turned and went back up to the cockpit to land the ship on world. 

You looked down at the droid beside you who shuffled in anticipation. “You ready for some action, friend?”

He tootled an affirmative.

The landing went smoothly. Even sneaking onto the base went well. You and Gavyn stole some armor to maneuver Chitca like a prisoner with Artoo bringing up the rear. Oon’sara stayed with the ship, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. 

Walking in the white armor felt wrong. How many clones had died wearing this flimsy armor? Too many for you to count. Bile rose in your throat as you pushed that thought from your mind. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” you asked Gavyn.

“Vaguely,” he replied.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you murmured as you entered a control room. “Artoo, plug in and see if you can find where the TIE schematics are.”

Artoo rolled forward, extending his arm until he connected to the interface. You peered down the hall, watching for troopers in order to cover the droid. You had no doubt in his capabilities. After all, you knew who he had once belonged to.

“We need to get going,” Gavyn whispered.

“Don’t rush him,” you murmured absentmindedly. 

Soon enough, Artoo had the information you were looking for. It was located several floors below your current location. You opened the door and started down the hall with Artoo. Halfway down, you realized the others weren’t following. 

“Where are you going?” you asked them.

“Chitca says there’s some Wookies in the detention level. We’re going to free them,” he said with a grin.

“Gavyn, there’s no time. This is our mission!” you replied, having been used to making hard decisions during the clone wars. You knew all too well that you couldn’t save everybody.

“Take Artoo and get the schematics. We’re going to free them. We’ll meet back up in orbit if we get separated,” he said with a reassuring nod, like everything would be fine.

You couldn’t fight the feeling of dread knotting in your stomach, but you knew you couldn’t stop this. You gave him a curt nod before continuing to run down the hall towards the schematics with Artoo rolling beside you to keep up.

Artoo let out a worried whistle.

“They’ll be fine, Artoo,” you told the droid. Silently, you added, I hope.

The base was a maze. You knew you’d be fine with Artoo and the force to guide you, but you were worried for the others. You found yourself down a hallway that looked just like the ones you’d been running through since you arrived. 

“It’s a wonder they can find anything here with how uniform it is,” you muttered as you rounded a corner. You skidded to a stop in front of the door that Artoo said housed the information you needed. 

After shooting a dubious look at Artoo, you reached out your hand towards the door. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on feeling the lock with the force, reaching into the circuitry to flip the switch and open it.

The door slid open, revealing a group of surprised imperial workers. They blinked at you.

“You’re not authorized to be here,” one of the officers said.

You raised a hand to try a mind trick that you hadn’t done in years.

“That’s not an imperial paint job,” another officer pointed out, hand poised over an alarm button. You had to act quickly.

“I am allowed to be here,” you murmured.

“You are allowed to be here,” One of the officers repeated.

“I am taking the TIE schematics,” you said, pushing your luck.

“You are taking the TIE schematics,” they repeated.

You shot a furtive glance at Artoo before going over to take the data pad from the holo-projector displaying the plans. 

Tossing it to Artoo, you instructed him, “Keep it safe.”

He tootled an affirmative before you left. You weren’t going to kill them. It wasn’t necessary since you were able to trick them into helping.

“Come on, Artoo, let’s get going. We have to find the others,” you murmured as you ran towards where you felt they were. A sigh passed through your lips. “They better be okay.”

As you made your way back towards the flight deck, you saw a commotion up ahead. Gavyn’s ship was firing at the ground turrets as the Wookie prisoners were being led out into the open.

“Gavyn, this was supposed to be a stealth mission!” You shouted at the man as you caught sight of him on the platform below.

“Change of plans!” He yelled back.

“Oon’sara isn’t going to be able to land unless we take out the towers, Artoo,” you said to the little droid beside you. 

Artoo rolled over to the port to plug in, giving you a sad whimper.

“Manual controls, huh?” you sighed. “That’s what I was worried about.” 

Jumping down from the platform and onto the flight deck below, you skirted the fray, with your back to the wall, the imperial troopers barely noticed you as you blended into the shadows. Making your way over to the turrets, you listened to Artoo in your commlink telling you how to disable the guns. 

“You’re free and clear to land,” you informed Oon’sara.

“Copy that, Jedi. Coming in hot for a landing!” she shouted back as the ship started to land. 

On the opposite side of the flight deck, you watched the crew and the Wookies load onto the ship with Gavyn providing cover fire. There was a stretch between you and the ship that was rapidly filling with storm troopers as they called for reinforcements.

“Gavyn, there’s too many of them!” Oon’sara called over the comm as she did her best to shoot at them with the ship.

“We’re almost done,” Gavyn said, but they were surrounded by troopers who were picking them off one by one.

In his haste, Gavyn got clipped on the shoulder by blaster fire and doubled over in pain.

“Gavyn!” You called out as he reached up to hold his arm, limping back towards the ramp.

“We’ve got to go now, there are too many of them!” Gavyn told you over the comm, locking eyes with you as he backed up the ramp, barely being missed by the shots as the ramp started to close. “Get to a ship and rendezvous with us in orbit. There’s no time to argue.”

Your mouth was in a grim line as you nodded. Artoo rocketed down to the space next to you.

The troopers turned and spotted you.

“Look, there’s another one!” one called out as they opened fire. You engaged your lightsaber to deflect the bolts anywhere but where you were.

“Come on, Artoo,” you said, racing off towards an open transport ship. It was small, but it would do. The two of you got in and started up the ship. “Disable the tracking, buddy. We can’t risk bringing the Imps back to base.”

Artoo zoomed over to do as he was told as you started flight sequence, picking up from the ground. A voice came over the radio.

“Transport H359, you do not have clearance to leave base. On who’s authority are you flying?” the base command asked.

“Kriff your clearance,” you shot back, pulling back on the throttle to lift the ship off the ground.

“Engage tractor beam,” the radio voice announced.

You didn’t much like their news, so you shut the radio off. “Hold on, Artoo. Time for some evasive maneuvers.”

Leaning your body into it, becoming one with the craft, you rolled the ship through the air, avoiding the beam. They were so focused on you that it made for an easy escape for the team. Soon you were out in the space above the planet.

Artoo tootled something you could have sworn sounded like, ‘Now this is pod racing!’

“Well, so much for stealth,” Oon’sara snorted over the radio.

“At least we got what we came for,” you replied.

“And then some,” Gavyn added. You could hear the smile in his voice at the Wookie chatter behind him.

“Let’s just get back to base,” you said, but you had a smile on your face as well.

Setting the coordinates for the hyperspace jump, you were ready to go when a group of ships reverted out of hyperspace in front of you. A pit formed in your stomach as a familiar feeling of apprehension and darkness washed over you. He’s here, you realized. 

“We’ve got to go, now!” you informed them hurriedly as a group of TIE fighters flew out of the hangar bay of the star destroyer in front of you. 

“They’re blocking the path!” Oon’sara pointed out.

You scanned the field of view around you. “Move to quadrant 6. You’ll be free and clear there.”

Watching as the ship started to evade the TIE fighters, you realized you were powerless. Your transport was unarmed. It was dangerous for you to stay, but you also couldn’t leave without knowing they were okay.

Artoo bumped your chair.

“I can’t just leave them, Artoo,” you said, starting to fly towards their ship to offer them a distraction and a chance to escape. You trusted your flying skills enough, even if you were a little unfamiliar with the current craft.

One of the TIE fighters stopped abruptly and turned to follow you, and so you started flying across the space, zooming out of his firing range and employing evasive maneuvers you hadn’t used in years. It had to be him. Only Anakin Skywalker could keep up with flying like this... because he had been the one who had taught you based off his pod-racing adventures. A thrill rushed through you, at the moment feeling like it was just like old times, two people practicing flying drills between campaigns. You barrel rolled, but your smile faltered when witty banter didn’t come over the comms. It wasn’t like old times.

Artoo let out an alarmed scream as a blast shot past the wing of your ship. Then, he let out a series of beeps, holding the data pad out to you before letting out a sad whimper.

“You’re right,” you sighed. “We have a mission.”

You shot one last look towards their ship, seeing it get hit by one of the TIE fighters who stuck with them. Regretfully, you spun out, flying into clear space and shooting off into hyperspace. “May the force be with them.”

A smile tugged at Lord Vader’s lips as he watched your ship leave real space. His TIE fighter hovered in space as his hands tightened on the controls. The sound of leather being stretched was faintly heard before the sound of a nearby explosion took over. “So the lamb has made some friends.”

As you broke into hyperspace, your let your head fall back against your chair. It was a quiet ride back, neither you nor Artoo wanting to acknowledge what just happened. Not the fact that you had lost your team, and also not the fact that you had almost let yourself get captured in the name of nostalgia. Your memories seeped in from the box you’d so carefully locked them away in.

“No brother gets left behind,” your clone commander said when your Master suggested moving forward.

“We have to continue the mission,” your Master pointed out.

“You go ahead, Master. I’ll stay here until the transport arrives,” you smiled.

The commander nodded thanks as the group moved on. 

You looked down at the trooper who's head laid in your lap. “You’ll be alright. I promise.”

“I know,” the clone smiled weakly. “We clones have a saying. ‘If a Jedi is here, we have no need to fear.’”

“We aren’t always successful,” you murmured, thinking about the siege you’d just lost.

“No, but we know you’ll do your best and take care of your own,” the clone corrected as the transport landed nearby. The medic hopped down with a few other clones to transport the fallen soldier onto a stretcher. You squeezed his hand before they loaded him up on the ship.

“May the force be with you, trooper,” you said.

“And with you, always, General,” he nodded.

You opened your eyes to see Chandrilla coming into sight. It was time to face the music.

The ship touched down in the hangar bay. It was quiet with the realization that this was not the ship you had left on. As you walked down the ramp with Artoo at your side, Senator Organa parted the crowd as he walked to the front. There was a question in his eyes as he looked at you. You shook your head. He looked down at the ground. 

Turning on his heel, he started to exit the hangar. “Debrief me in the conference room.”

You looked down at Artoo before following. The data pad felt heavy in your hands as you ran your thumb along it. All that had just happened was for the sake of this. A snarl of disgust settled on your face as you entered the conference room. Was it really worth it?

Chucking the pad on the table, you looked at Organa. “Here’s your schematics.”

“What the kriff happened out there?” he demanded. “You left with a team.”

“They found another opportunity and took it,” you explained.

“I didn’t ask that. I asked what happened,” he repeated.

You closed your eyes and exhaled before answering. “They found out that the base was holding Wookies hostage. They went to free them. We split up. When we got back together, we were on opposite sides of the flight deck. Artoo and I stole a transport with the plan for us to rendezvous in orbit. When we got there, an Imperial Star Destroyer reverted to real space, unleashing a set of TIE fighters.”

“Was he one of them?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you whispered, opening your eyes to finally look at him. 

Slowly, Senator Organa picked up the schematics from the table. He looked down at it before looking up at you. “This Empire was built on blood and bone. But the rebellion.... that’s not what we’re built on.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“We may be made mostly of blood and bone, but we are also made of souls. Where they sow fear, we grow hope. We create dreams.”

“Dreams don’t come for free,” you murmured.

“There’s a price for everything these days,” he replied sadly. “I think you’re just learning yours.”

“I was never meant to survive,” you said softly. After all, the life of a survivor is a lonely one. Sometimes you wondered if it would have been easier if you had blinked out of existence when the rest of the Order was snuffed out. 

“I thought everything was the will of the force,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you really believe that?” 

“Sometimes, but I think it limits the fact that we have choices. We are not destined to one thing or another. It is the choices we make, and the steps we take that get us from one place to another. They said that Skywalker was the chosen one, meant to bring balance,” he let out a huff, “if he was destined for that and didn’t have the freedom to make his own choices, we may not be having this conversation. I’d like to think that the force wouldn’t condemn the galaxy to servitude under a tyrant. That being said... I think you were meant to be here, and the choices you made brought you here.”

“The force and my own will working in tandem,” you replied.

“Precisely. We can always fight our destiny, but we will always have to live with the choices we make,” he said. 

“I left them,” you said, looking down.

“You finished the mission. They knew the risks. Their loss will be felt, but we will move on. We must,” he said pointedly. “Do you know what I’ve noticed about the Jedi?”

“What’s that, Senator?”

“The good ones have a tendency to survive,” he said.

You knew he was trying to comfort you, but in a way, his comment was a slap to the Order. There were hundreds of Jedi who died during the end of the war. It wasn’t because they weren’t good Jedi. It was the fact that the people they trusted turned on them. In fact, in a way, they were the last good Jedi, you thought. They never had to worry about looking the other way to survive. They lived the ideals to the end. 

You raised your head to look back at him, a fire in your eyes. If you couldn’t protect a team, then you wouldn’t work with one. You’d let down your troopers by letting the Empire take control of them. You’d lost your team today because you’d allowed for distractions that split you up in a way you couldn’t protect them. Never again. You’d been on your own for so long that now you knew the only person you could protect is yourself. Anyone else would just be a liability and another hard choice on your conscience.

“What are you planning to do with those schematics?” you asked.

“Find out who’s supplying the materials,” he admitted. “There’s been a lot of movement of durasteel across the rims, but it doesn’t make sense when compared to the ship manufacturing logs. We learned they were building a new form of TIE. Our analysts are going to look into seeing if that’s the cause. Otherwise, we’re back to square one.”

“When’s my next mission?” 

“Easy, Jedi,” he said with a perplexed smile. “You just got back. Rest a bit. I’ll have something for you soon enough, don’t worry.”

“Alright, Senator,” you nodded. “But... next time, I work alone.”

He sighed, the smile dripping from his face. “Understood.”

Artoo whistled beside you.

You looked down at him and rested a hand on his dome. “Make that, me and Artoo.”

“Commandeering my droid now, are you?” Senator Organa asked in amusement.

“What can I say? He gets me,” you smirked, patting the droid before going off to find a refresher. You needed a shower.

Making your way through the barracks of the underground base, you finally found what you were looking for.

Turning the water on to the highest pressure, and to as hot as your body could handle, you stepped into the column of steam. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a good shower like this. The water beat at the knots in your back as days of grime sloughed off your skin. Placing your splayed hands on the wall opposite the shower head, you let your head hang down. Your hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks as you let the water wash over you, blocking out any sounds other than the water over your ears. You clenched your fist against the cool tile, replaying the mission in your head to see if there was anything you could have done differently. If you had just stuck together? If you had gone to them on the flight deck? If you had taken a different ship? If.

You slammed your fist against the wall, the sharp spike of pain bringing you back to reality.

Master Yoda’s voice played in your head, an old Jedi adage about letting go. Letting people flow in and out of your life like the force. Taking a deep breath, you unclenched your fist.

There was nothing you could have done.

This was not your fault.

Order Sixty-Six was not your fault.

You picked your head back up.

It wasn’t your fault. It was the Empire’s. It was Vader’s. 

Their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. Your Master’s death wouldn’t be in vain. You’d do whatever it takes to be able to match him. To take him down. You were a Jedi. You protected the galaxy, protected it from beautiful monsters like Vader. You’d do what you had to do to bring peace back to the galaxy. 

Shutting the water off, you let the water drip down your body as you reached for a towel. Your skin was an angry tinge of pink-ish red from the heat as you wrapped it around yourself, stepping out of the refresher. Swiping your hand along the mirror, you saw your face in the cleared streak. Your eyes glinted in the light for a moment. 

Using the streak, you got dressed and prepared to face the barracks, free and on a mission of your own devising.

Going on your way, you started towards the barracks. A little droid sped up and fell in line with you.

“Hello, Artoo. Organa letting you explore?” you asked.

The droid let out a series of beeps that you took to mean, I do what I want.

“So I’ve been told,” you winked. 

Artoo rolled with you until you ran into Jynna.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” she teased.

You looked down at Artoo and smiled. “We’re getting reacquainted.”

“I heard about your mission,” she murmured, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged her arm off. Organa’s words flowed freely from your mouth, “They knew what they signed up for.”  

“Knowing the risks doesn’t make the loss any easier,” she pointed out. “I thought you’d know that from the Clone Wars.”

A sad smile appeared on your face. “After a while, you learn to let go.”

“Letting go may make living easier, but we can also use their memories to give us strength,” she murmured. “Moving on without my husband will be hard, but I can look at his sacrifice and remember it whenever I feel lost and want to give up. That way, I wouldn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain and I can keep going. I lost half of my heart, yet the world keeps turning.”

“You’ll be together again,” you reassured her, “And he is with you now.”

“One with the force, right?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Something like that,” you sighed.

“Same thing goes for your friends, then.”

“I don’t know if I’d call them friends. We only just met,” you murmured, looking down.

“Sometimes lost potential is worse, because you’ll never know what could have been.” She paused for a moment as though struggling to ask her next question.

“What is it?” you asked, pressing slightly.

“Was it him?” she asked, chewing her lip. “You know, Lord Vader?”

You nodded, face heating up a bit. 

“You still want to take him down,” she stated.

“And you don’t?” you asked.

“He’s out of our league,” she replied. “He’s too powerful.”

“Right now, yes,” you admitted. “But, someday... maybe not.”

Artoo bumped your leg at that.

“It’s a shame, really,” Jynna murmured.

“What is?” you asked curiously.

“That someone so horrid can be so handsome,” she said with slight disgust.

“Even a beast can be majestic,” you replied, looking through her. You could see his golden hair like a halo around his head, and that smirk. You hated that smirk. It was self-assurance. It was confidence. It made your stomach turn, but gave you butterflies at the same time. Someday... Someday you would wipe that smirk right off his face. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied, breaking you from your reverie. “Have you found your room yet?”

“No. I was looking for it when I ran into you,” you admitted.

“It’s right near mine. I’ll show you,” she said, nodding for you to follow her. 

You nodded, falling in line.

The room was sparse, clinical almost. You hadn’t had four walls to call your own in so long, but you still couldn’t help compare it to the home you once had. Your room at the temple had been colorful, with trinkets from all the planets you visited. You had wanted to remember how diverse the galaxy was, and to remind yourself why you wanted to be a Jedi. Now, you had nothing to your name except the few things in your bag and the clothes on your back.

Dropping your bag on the work desk, you ran your hand along the metal desk. It wasn’t the Temple, but it’d do just fine. You’d been drifting for so long, it would be nice to just plant roots somewhere. After all, in order for anything to truly grow, it needed a strong base to stand on. 

You popped up on the desk, sitting on it as you looked around the room with a critical eye. It was plain now, but you’d make it your own. Yes, this would do nicely.

Acclimating to the base took some time, months had passed before you finally decided that it was home. You had gone from being a nameless face in a crowd, fading into the surroundings to being someone that was sought out. When there was a mission that seemed impossible, Organa and Mothma called on you. You quickly raised through the ranks, making a name for yourself.   While you were once a nobody, now you were a somebody. They whispered Vader’s name in fear, but yours in awe.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if this is what it was like to be Anakin Skywalker back during the Clone Wars. A golden child of the resistance. You’d freed entire prison garrisons on your own with Artoo, stolen a myriad of information that had helped the Rebellion grow. The mere mention of you had swaying power. Those who thought the feat impossible, saw you and knew hope.

Then, one day as you were training, finding that your body was getting stronger, faster even, you began to recognize the power you were harnessing. The simulator run you were currently doing felt effortless. Jumps were as simple as willing your body from one point to another. Every fibre of your being was charged with the force, feeling alive. It was intoxicating. 

You let the force take over, giving you strength. You could close your eyes and still see, cover your ears and still hear, stand completely still and still feel. You were one with the force and the force was with you, and you felt whole. 

Now, this... This was where the fun begins, you realized as you landed on the ground when you finished. You were ready to take him on. It was time to track him down.

It was time to hunt Vader.

Tossing a towel over your shoulder, you started back towards your chambers. You were waiting on an informant to transmit you information on Vader’s current location. Working alone had given you the benefit of being able to make friends with locals who saw you as their savior, and a few of them had decided to pay it back by feeding you information that could prove useful for the Rebellion. Most information was passed on to Mothma and Organa, but the information about Vader... that was saved. You kept track of it all, looking at it when you couldn’t sleep to try and piece together what he was up to. You were studying him, trying to find ways to understand him, if only to know how better to best him. After all, that was the only reason you were doing this, wasn’t it?

Your Master’s voice played in your head, “Know your opponent as well as yourself. The best offense is a good understanding of their defense.”

A wry smirk crossed your face as you walked into your room.

“You’ve gotten faster,” Jynna stated from your desk.

“And you’ve learned to pick locks,” you shot back teasingly. “How is the little one today?”

“He’s sleeping. I’ve been trying to teach him the little things you told me about,” she admitted.

“Is he taking to it?” you asked curiously.

“Like a Mon Calamari to water,” she grinned as you moved to sit on your bed.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode?” you asked as you leaned back against the wall.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“I have to,” you replied. 

“You don’t have to,” she replied adamantly. “Look at all the good you’ve done just since you’ve gotten here! You’ve helped people on multiple worlds!”

“But, Jynna, I could help the whole galaxy!” you said emphatically. 

“But who will help you?” she asked softly.

“Jynna, you talk as if I won’t come back,” you chuckled.

She looked at you, appraising you like a mother who could see the truth about the dreams of her child. “You barely made it out alive the last time you fought him.”

“That was months ago!” you said incredulously. “I’m stronger now! I’ve learned and trained so much. I’m ready.”

“If you don’t come back, I won’t have anyone to train him,” she said sadly. “No one to protect him should the Empire come looking.”

“That’s not true,” you said, “You’d have this whole base to protect you.”

“They’re not you!” she cried. “What’s a blaster against a lightsaber if not a weapon of suicide?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’ll come back. I promise. Besides, I don’t know where he is yet. All I know is that he’s been hanging around the banking system lately.”

She looked down at her shaking hands, clasping them in her lap. “Is he worth all this?”

“To rid the galaxy of a beast like that? That’s worth my life,” you said honestly. He was worth all this effort. In a way, he’d always been. You’d been bending over backwards to catch Anakin Skywalker’s attention for years. Only, now it was more important than ever.

She bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll see myself out.”

You watched her leave, a feeling of regret blossoming in your chest. Maybe she was right. Maybe you shouldn’t go after Vader. But, then you remembered all the people you’d lost because of his actions. His hands were as red with blood as the color of his lightsaber. If he wouldn’t wash them himself, then you’d cleanse them for him.

Laying back on your cot, you looked up at the ceiling. You’d tell Organa in the morning about the banking system and see if there was a mission for you there. After all, you were a member of this rebellion. You weren’t about to abandon them while they were in the thick of it. Not when your goals were in line and you could work in tandem. You'd follow Vader across the galaxy in the name of the rebellion. People feared the shadows in case he lurked there, but not you. You knew the truth. You were to be his shadow. If anything, it should be he who feared you. 

And so the predator would become the prey.

Closing your eyes, you exhaled, letting yourself fall into the force and giving yourself over to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, you felt ready to conquer the galaxy. Taking your data pad from your desk, you made your way to the war room to brief Organa on the banking clan. They’d been working with the Empire to bankrupt systems that weren’t submitting to Imperial rule. People were starving and local governments were having to raise taxes just to get through it. It was unacceptable. All the while, the Empire was stockpiling those credits in the bank to build more ships as well as some monstrosity surrounded in mystery. The project was a secret that even your informants couldn’t find out about, and that made you want to know more about it. Surely, the Senator would, too.

“You’ve got that face on,” Senator Organa commented. You’d noticed he’d gotten relaxed around you, lately. He wasn’t as stoic, and he actually smiled at you every once in a while.

“What face?” you asked with an amused smirk.

“That face.”

“That’s just my face, Senator.”

“No, it’s the face of a Jedi who’s about to say they have an idea and want to pursue it,” he sighed.

“And how do you know that face, specifically?” you asked with a raised brow.

“I’ve known my fair share of Jedi,” he said with a nostalgic smile, “And my fair share of people who should have been Jedi.”

“Well, you’re correct on that part, at least,” you admitted. “I do have an idea.”

He gestured for you to continue.

You held up your data pad for him to take. “The Banking Clan is hoarding funds for the Empire at the expense of systems who are resisting. They’re lending at higher percentages that’s leading to the bankruptcy of multiple systems.”

“The people are starving and the Empire isn’t even giving them a dime of the money that’s rightfully theirs,” he commented gravely. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go and investigate the claim. Word on the ground is that the Empire is using those funds to fuel a secret project,” you said pointedly.

“What kind of secret project?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Senator, if I knew then it wouldn’t be a secret,” you deadpanned.

“Right,” he said sheepishly. “What do you need?”

“Just a ship,” you said, “I’m going alone.”

A droid tootled from nearby before rolling through the crowd towards you.

“Tell that to your friend, here,” Organa said with a smirk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was your droid.”

You looked down at Artoo with a fond smile. “Nonsense. Artoo doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“He just happens to go on all your missions with you,” Organa pointed out with a raised brow.

“What can I say? We’re friends and he likes me,” you shrugged. “Besides, he saves the day more often than I can count.”

Artoo wobbled back and forth.

“Come on, Artoo. We’ve got a conspiracy to uncover.”

The droid beeped an affirmative and started to follow you.

“May the force be with you,” Organa called after you.

You gave him a slight salute with two fingers, “Always, Senator.”

A human and a droid boarding a ship on their own seems like the start of a good joke, but everyone knew that that human and that droid were who the rebellion sent when no one else would do. That human and that droid could accomplish more than most.

As you slipped into the pilot’s seat, you nodded towards an open interface. “Plug in, little buddy,” you smiled. 

Artoo rolled over and connected with the ship, taking control of the co-pilot controls.

You took a deep breath before pulling off into the atmosphere. In the back of your head, you felt guilty. Sure, the rebellion had a legitimate reason to be interested in the banks, but the fact that you had an ulterior motive wasn’t lost on you. You hadn’t lied. Nor had you actively tried to deceive Senator Organa. Yet, you still felt bad for not disclosing the real reason you wanted to investigate to him.

Once in hyperspace, you pulled out your data pad with your notes on them to look over the intel that had been passed onto you.

“He was last spotted here, Artoo,” you murmured, scrolling through the log of information. “I doubt he’ll still be there. He doesn’t seem to stay in one place for too long. But, we should still be able to get some valuable information from the planet.”

Artoo let out a series of beeps.

“You know why I’m doing this,” you sighed.

He bumped your chair.

“No, there’s no other reason than this. The galaxy needs to be a safer place. There’s no other reason than protecting the galaxy,” you murmured as you looked up at the streaks out your viewport. 

Except, you weren’t seeing the vast expanse of the hyperspace lane. No, in your mind, you were looking into those amber eyes that glinted like the sun. You were seeing a man who’s heart had led him astray as his face glowed from the light of two interlocked lightsabers. That fight you had had was something you replayed so often in your mind. At first, it had been to analyze your own weaknesses in order to train and overcome them. Then, it had been to look for Vader’s weak points in how he fought. But, now... now, you’d replay the fight in your mind just to analyze him. He’d been a brilliant Jedi once. The brightest star of the Order. Some stars were constant, like Master Kenobi or Master Yoda. Some still shone blue at their newness, like most young Padawan learners who had the galaxy at their feet as they grew into their powers. But, Anakin Skywalker had been the brightest star. He was going to be the true north that guided the force into balance. Instead, he had become a supernova, burning brightly before burning out. 

When you looked at Vader, it was hard not to still see Skywalker. Part of you had to wonder if he was still in there, but that part was quickly squelched by the part that saw what atrocities he committed every day. No Jedi could ever condone such violence. No, what you were looking at was a man who made a series of mistakes and owned them as if they were the right thing to do. What you saw was a man who was compensating for his actions by adopting a moral depravity that explained them. Yet... that was the problem. It was easy to look at the man now and see that he was obviously always a terrible person. But it was harder to look at Anakin Skywalker during the Clone Wars and predict that this was what he was to become. He had had everything and he threw it away, and for what? An old man that just put him into another form of slavery not that different from his life on Tatooine. He may walk free, but his life was not his own. Not anymore. Part of that made you feel for him, since he didn’t even notice the cage he was trapped in. You’d free him soon enough.

You looked down at the controls in your hands. Perhaps none of your lives were your own anymore. You hadn’t planned on this path, and you’d even avoided it, yet here you were trudging back down it.

The will of the force.

That’s what this was, wasn’t it?

The inevitable path that would lead to a head-on collision with a handsome beast of a man that at one point could have been your friend. A small voice in the back of your mind made the mistake of suggesting: perhaps more than that. But you knew where this path would take you: to another fight where only one of you would walk away intact.

Your ship pulled out of hyperspace and Mygeeto came into view. From the closet, you pulled out a warm cloak to protect you from the snow on the planet as well as it’s harsh winds. Then, you settled back in your seat and took the ship down for a landing farther away from the settlement than you’d have liked. However, this was a mission for gathering intelligence. You were hoping that a quick getaway wouldn’t be necessary.

“Well, Artoo, let’s go try to blend in,” you said with a hint of a smile. 

The two of you made your way down the ramp and towards the outskirts of the city. The hood of your cloak was pulled down over your forehead, and you kept your head down, surveilling your surroundings out of your peripherals.

It was a cold world, in both climate and architecture. Although, that wasn’t surprising given the relationship that the Banking Clan had had with the Separatists. The snow quickly covered your tracks as you walked further into the city. 

“We’re almost there, Artoo,” you murmured as you maneuvered through buildings that all had the same metallic façade. 

He let out a series of sounds that sounded an awful lot like, ‘Well, how do you know?’

“I’ve been here before,” you replied. “Back in the Clone Wars. That’s how I know my contact. The Republic fought here off and on for three years. Once, my soldiers were wounded, and a local took them in while we were stuck in a snow storm. If it hadn’t been for her, we all would have died.”

Someone walking by bumped your shoulder.

A smirk crossed your face. “Doma.”

You saw the figure go down an alleyway and followed, seeing them disappear around the corner.

Artoo let out a concerned whimper as you noticed a slit of light spilling out onto the snow.

“Don’t worry. We’re safe here,” you murmured, pulling your hood off as you entered through a doorway that had been propped open.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” a woman said. “I’ve been sending you information for months now.”

“I had to get permission first,” you replied, hanging your cloak up on a hook and shutting the door.

“Even without a Master you have a Master,” she teased.

“The force is my Master.”

“I thought the Jedi mastered the force,” she shot back.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, alright,” she winked, walking further into her small apartment. “Care for a hot drink to warm you up? I’m sure not everyone is used to the Mygeeto Chill.”

“Depends. Will it be that terrible tea you served during the war?” you chuckled as you sat at her table.

“That’s a delicacy here,” she deflected.

“That’s because no one wants it elsewhere,” you teased. “I’ll take a caf if you have it.”

Doma nodded and went to her kitchenette to prepare it. “That droid looks familiar.”

You looked at Artoo sideways. “He’s a friend.”

“You always had weird friends,” she replied.

“You’re my friend.”

“Exactly.” She placed the caf down in front of you. 

You took the mug and held it in your hands to warm you. 

“So, why are you here?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Looking into your intel about the banks colluding with the Empire at the expense of planets who are sympathetic to the cause,” you replied as you lightly blew on the caf.

“Is that the only reason?” she asked with a raised brow.

“I’m looking to get information about Vader’s whereabouts,” you added before taking a sip.

“And?” she asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “And I missed you.”

“I knew it!” She grinned.

“Doma, can you get me into the bank?” you asked seriously. “I’ll need actual proof.”

“I can sneak you in. I’ll say you’re an intern. You’ll need a change of clothes, though,” she said thoughtfully. “They don’t trust Non-Muuns since the Clovis situation.”

“I’ll do what I have to,” you nodded.

“Good. Now, get some sleep. You’ve had a long journey, and you need to be wide awake and have no signs of lag if you’re to do this,” she said, poking you in the shoulder.

“Alright, alright,” you chuckled, going to settle on her couch.

“Good night, Jedi,” she smirked, going towards where her room was.

“Good night, Doma.”

You spent a bit of the night looking up at her ceiling as your thoughts drifted to Vader. Absentmindedly, you wondered what he was up to. Deep down, you wondered if he was maybe thinking about you, too. Eventually, you decided that was unlikely and turned over to fall asleep, letting yourself slip into a deep sleep.

While you slept, you did something you hadn’t done in a while. You dreamed. 

The temple surroundings appeared vibrant behind your eyelids. It took a moment, but you recognized that you were back in your room. When you went to get out of bed, you couldn’t. You were being held back. Looking down, you noticed an arm wrapped around your waist. Turning to peek over your shoulder, you saw a mop of golden hair. Now, you could feel the heartbeat of the person behind you. You could feel their breath on the crook of your neck.

“Stay,” a voice murmured. They were pleading in a way that made you want to melt back into them and acquiesce to the simple request, especially since it had been so long since you were held like this. Like you mattered.

You stiffened as you realized who that voice belonged to.

The owner of the voice picked their head up from where it had been buried in your back. You locked eyes with a pair of amber gems that bore into your soul.

“Ready to go so soon?  And here I thought you were coming for me,” he smirked. “You lack conviction.”

You shoved him away. This was only a dream. You backed away from the bed, but he followed, getting up and staring you down as he advanced. Soon, your back was against the wall. His metallic hand reached out to tip your chin up to look into his eyes. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and it wasn’t entirely out of fear as his thumb grazed your chin.

“You’re different, Jedi,” he smirked, making your heart skip a beat. “How interesting.”

You sat up on the couch in a cold sweat. Artoo let out a concerned murmur.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, settling your racing heart. “I’m okay.”

The droid came over next to the couch and you rested a hand on him.

“It was just a bad dream,” you murmured.

Artoo backed away slightly from you. The last time his friend had bad dreams, that didn’t end well.

You let out a sigh and laid back down. “I’ll be fine. Good night, Artoo.”

Turning to face the cushions, your brow furrowed. Why was Vader in your dream, and more importantly, why had he been holding you close like that? Some voice deep within you murmured, and why did I like it? 

Scrunching your eyes shut, you could still feel the phantom warmth at your back. It unnerved you slightly, but you didn’t have time to focus on that. You needed rest so that you would be at your best when you infiltrated the banking clan in the morning. Sleep didn’t come easily, but it came eventually. This time it was dreamless, which was a blessing. 

When you woke in the morning, it was to streaks of light across your face as they slipped in from the transparisteel. Rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hand, you stretched on the couch. It wasn’t the best night of sleep in your life, and you definitely slept on your neck at a weird angle for half the night, but it wasn’t anything a hot shower couldn’t fix. 

Swinging your legs over the side of the couch, you sat up and took in a deep breath. The air in your lungs was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. If you ever had the option of staying on one world when this was all over, it would be a warm planet, because you hated the cold. 

Going towards the refresher, you noticed that Doma had laid out an outfit for you. It was a jumpsuit with an outer skirt and a weird vest. The only good thing about it was that you could hide your weapon with the skirt. Other than that, you weren’t a fan. It clung in places that you hadn’t had clothing cling before. After showering and changing into it, you were already starting to miss your own clothes. With one disapproving glance at yourself in Doma’s bathroom mirror, you went back out towards the kitchen.

“I see you found the outfit I lent you,” Doma commented.

“Thanks, I hate it,” you smirked.

“Careful, Jedi. Hate leads to the dark side,” she teased.

You waved her off and grabbed your cloak off the hook. “Ready when you are.”

She nodded, “Alright. But, the droid stays here.”

Casting a glance at Artoo, you responded, “Where he goes, I go.”

“It’ll be easier to just sneak you in,” Doma pointed out.

That was a reasonable explanation. You sighed. “Sorry, Artoo. Looks like you’ll have to stay here.”

Artoo nudged you towards the door. You started to head out with Doma, casting him a worried glance when the door closed behind the two of you.

“You’re really attached to that droid,” Doma murmured as the two of you started walking towards the main building.

“He’s my friend.”

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments.”

“We’re allowed to have friends. We just have to be able to let go when the time is right,” you replied.

“You’d be able to let go of one of the only ties to your old life that you have?” she asked.

“If I had to,” you replied.

“But you don’t want to.”

“Does anyone ever want to let go of someone?” you countered.

“We’re here,” she murmured, taking her badge out to get into the building. “Don’t draw unnecessary attention.”

You nodded, pulling your hood down as you followed her into the building. People barely spared you a glance as you made your way down the main hall towards her office.

“Where are we going?” you asked. “According to the schematics you sent me, the vault is in the other direction.”

“You can’t just waltz into the vault,” she hissed, closing the door to her office behind the two of you. Then, she gestured to a hatch in the ceiling. “You’re going to have to go through the vent.”

“Great. Crawling through meters of air ducts. Feels just like I’m back in the Order,” you frowned as you reached up to open the duct.

“Do you have the schematics on you?” she asked, settling into her chair.

You tapped your wrist band. “I’ve got the map if I need, but I’m sure if I just follow the sound of thievery and corruption I’ll find my way just fine.”

Doma rolled her eyes at you as you jumped up into the duct. “Be safe, Jedi. May the Force be with you.”

You gave her a wink before shimmying down the vent. Jedi didn’t have claustrophobia, but you did feel like the vents were getting smaller as you went along. Eventually, you were crawling along on your hands and knees instead of being slightly crouched.

Looking down through the grate in front of you, you could see the vault. Carefully, you opened it to peer down into the space. Consulting your schematics, you realized that the data you were looking for was stored a few rows over from where you would drop down. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and steeled yourself for what would happen next.

The drop to the floor was long, and it would put you in a maze of shelves holding data. Instead, you dropped onto a shelving unit to keep a good view of the ground around you as you crept along. The data you sought was a few columns over. The room wasn’t crowded, but there were the occasional workers and droids. You’d have to be fast if you wanted to get out undetected. When you found the column you needed, you rolled off the shelf and landed soundlessly on the floor.

Casting a furtive glance around you, you pulled out a datapad from under your skirt and plugged into the mainframe. The damage was so much worse than you thought as you scanned the information. They were bankrupting more than half the galaxy while the Empire was rolling in credits. It made your stomach sick as you thought of all those people dying from hunger and living in poverty. Poverty that the Empire could have prevented, but people can’t fight back if they’re too weak from hunger. It was despicable, and the banking clan was complacent in making it happen. Footsteps resounded in the room around you, but you kept yourself as cool as a dead star. You watched the screen with interest as it loaded the data you needed. It was almost done when the footsteps got closer. 

95 percent. The footsteps sounded like they were a few rows away. 

97 percent. They were two rows away. 

99 percent. They were around the corner. 

100 percent. You unplugged and jumped up onto the shelf, holding your breath. The Muun on the floor kept walking right past you. Looking up at the ceiling, you thanked the force before starting to head back to the air vent. Jumping up from the shelf wasn’t difficult, and you had the hatch closed and were crawling along the vent again in no time. 

Alone with your thoughts, you began to think of what you would have done if you were still a Jedi in the Order. Your Master would have taken down this entire operation in the name of justice and freedom, wouldn’t they? All you had on you was your saber and one charge, but with the right plan, that was all you’d need. Gravity would take care of the rest. A plan started to form the further from the vault you got. Soon enough, you were jumping back down into Doma’s office.

“Took you long enough,” she smirked.

“Yeah, well, it’s a maze,” you shot back.

“Did you have any trouble?” she asked with a raised brow.

“It was like taking clams from a Gungan,” you smirked, holding up the data pad. 

“Good, now you can go.”

“I can’t just leave,” you said adamantly. 

“You have the information. What else do you need?” she asked in confusion.

“I need to know where he is, and I need the Empire to know they’re being watched,” you replied seriously.

“Do you have a death wish?” she asked incredulously.

“No, but they need to know that people won’t turn a blind eye anymore,” you replied. 

“How are you going to achieve that?” Doma asked skeptically.

“I’m going to get my information. Then I’m going to set charges and destroy the building.”

“You can’t destroy the banking clan. Imagine what that would do to the intergalactic economy!”

“I wouldn’t be destroying the bank. We all know they keep the money elsewhere, if they have it at all. I’d just be destroying the symbol of it,” you said, pulling your cloak back on.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she sighed.

“Just get Artoo and go back to the ship. There won’t be anything left for you here when I’m done,” you replied.

Doma shook her head. “You’re going to get me a new job!”

“I’m sure the resistance can find something,” you shot back before heading back out into the hall. 

The vault was in the middle of the building. if you weakened along the support beams, it would all come crashing down with one charge. After all, you only had one emergency charge. Making your way towards Vice Chairman Anolo’s office, you used your saber to weaken the support beams. His office was on the top floor, overlooking the city below. You didn’t care if someone figured out what you were at this point. Your work was mostly done. Doma was going to be safe. You could take these risks, because you were only risking yourself. Using the force, you opened the door to a startled Anolo at his desk.

“Who are you?” he asked incredulously.

You ignited your saber. You had no intent to harm him, but he didn’t know that.

“Focus less on who I am, and more on telling me what I want to know,” you shot back. “Where’s Vader?”

“He’s not here!” Anolo replied as you walked closer to him.

You swung and cut off a corner of his desk. “That’s not a real answer!”

“H-he’s on Eadu! Left a few rotations ago!” 

You let your saber fall to your side. “Now, was that so hard?”

Anolo cowered behind his desk as you started to leave. You paused at the doorway. 

“Oh, and you may want to evacuate. Rumor has it the economy is about to crash,” you smirked, throwing your charge on the last support beam. 

You cut a hole in the wall before jumping onto a nearby cliff face. With a satisfied grin, you pressed the button on your commlink that detonated the charge. The explosion came first, followed by a lurch to the side. Then, the building started to cave in on itself. 

Pulling your hood over your face, you turned and made your way into the forest behind you. Your work here was done.

The snow crunched under your feet as you made your way back to the ship. You could see your breath in the air and you were quite glad when you saw the outline of your vessel through the trees. Doma was sitting on the ramp wrapped in a blanket. Artoo was next to her. They had been waiting for you. You felt slightly guilty.

“Did you get the answer you were looking for?” she asked.

You looked down. “Eadu.”

She nodded, getting up from the ramp to head back inside. “I assume you’re dropping me off, first.”

“That’s the plan,” you replied.

“Was this the plan?” she asked at the top of the ramp, back towards you.

You didn’t have an answer for her. Originally, you were just collecting information. It wasn’t until you saw how deep the corruption was that you had decided to do this, but your silence was all the answer she needed.

“That’s what I thought,” she sighed before disappearing inside.

Artoo let out an admonishing set of beeps.

“Hey, you’re one to talk! You’re an agent of chaos,” you shot back.

Artoo let out a whistle of outrage.

“You heard me,” you smirked.

He bumped you.

“But, you’re right,” you sighed. “Organa isn’t going to be pleased.”

The droid looked up at you and let out some softer sounds.

“Yeah, Mothma will probably give me a promotion,” you chuckled softly. “Come on, let’s go home.”

The two of you made your way up the ramp and settled in for the trip home. It was a decidedly quiet trip, with Doma questioning leaving all that she had known for the unknown life of the rebellion, and you questioning yourself.

You caught yourself drifting back to the dream you had. Domesticity with Vader. The idea was almost laughable, as if anyone could ever tame that beast. He was wild. Unhinged. Unpredictable. Your mind briefly thought about the events of today, and for the shortest moment thinking about how maybe the same could have been said of you.

But, you were nothing like Vader. You weren’t the beast. You were the hunter protecting the village from him. Yet, just like the hunter, you could see the beauty in your quarry. He was fearless. Powerful. His gaze held a certain hunger that kept you in your place for fear of being eaten. Those amber eyes lit a flame in you, but you didn’t want to admit it. After all, how could someone who lives in the dark ignite a flame? It didn’t make sense. You had the same need to possess him as you had to defeat him. He had taken everything away from you, and continued to rampage across the galaxy, which warranted his defeat, but the way he carried himself entranced you. He was a man with nothing left to lose. You figured it must be lonely, but a part of you envied him, to have that sense of freedom was something you would never have.

Taking a deep breath, you landed the craft back at base, preparing yourself for the inevitable.

No sooner had you disembarked, you were getting yelled at.

“Conference room. Now,” Organa barked.

You looked at Artoo and Doma before following him into the room. 

“You destroyed the banking clan?” Organa asked incredulously after the door closed.

“Free markets are supposed to be a good thing,” you shrugged.

“That is not even close to what this is about. You were supposed to gather intel!”

“And I did!” you said, chucking him the data. “It’s all there.”

“But the bank isn’t.”

“I had to send a message.”

“Do you know what the retaliation for that will be?” he asked, leaning forward on the table.

“Enlighten me, Senator,” you shot back.

“You just put yourself on the radar.”

“Good. He should know I’m coming for him,” you smirked.

“Well, what about the rest of us? You just put the rebellion in danger with that stunt.”

“They don’t know who I’m working for. I could just be a standalone vigilante,” you shrugged.

“You better hope that’s the case,” he said darkly. “Dismissed.”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest and leaving.

“Well, that went well,” you said to Artoo who had been listening outside the door.

He tootled something akin to: ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll start listening to you.”

He beeped back, ‘Yeah, maybe you should.’

You playfully toed him. “Come on, little buddy. Let’s get Doma settled in.”

After showing Doma to her new quarters and introducing her to the people she’d be working with to take care of the rebellion’s expenses, you went back to your own room. Flopping on your bed, you pulled out a holomap of Eadu.

“What are you doing here, Ani?” you murmured to yourself as you tried to figure out what could possibly be of use to the Empire on Eadu. The planet was an insurance claim waiting to happen with the amount of storms they had there. Flying there wasn’t easy, but that would make it a decent base, you supposed. Chewing your lip, you thought about what Organa had said. Had you drawn attention to the rebellion? Then again, the Emperor had to know about the rebellion by now. It was always a shock to you that Organa and Mothma could continue to work in the Senate while still doing all this. They covered their tracks nicely, but they weren’t above suspicion. However, the Emperor probably assumed they were afraid of him, and fear was a good enough motivator to keep people in line.

With a sigh, you closed your map. You’d take a day to regroup and dig up more information. Then, you’d go to Eadu.

There was a tentative knock on your door.

“It’s unlocked,” you called out.

Jynna entered.

“I heard about your mission,” she murmured as she sat on the edge of your bed.

“It didn’t go according to plan,” you replied.

“So you didn’t intend to destroy a building when you set out yesterday?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Not particularly. Sometimes things just crop up.”

“Were there people in there?” she asked softly.

“Does it matter?” you replied. “I gave them a warning to leave. I assumed that most people would see a Jedi cutting the support beams and get out of the building.”

She shot you a look. “The day we stop thinking it matters is the day we become more like them.”

“Its a war, Jynna. There’s always a sacrifice to be made,” you sighed, thinking back on the many clones you had lost that way.

“When we sacrifice our values, that’s the day we lose,” she replied, getting up.

“Jynna, wait,” you said, sitting up. “I had to show the Empire that someone’s watching.”

“No, you had to show Vader that someone’s watching.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“One man is not a whole institution, Jedi.”

“Cut off the head of the dragon and the serpent dies.”

“Where there’s a void in power, another will seize it,” she countered. “Look at the Emperor. That’s how he came to power.”

You sighed and looked down. “I didn’t set out to kill anyone. I just wanted to destroy the building.”

“Our actions have consequences that we may not always see at the time,” she replied.

“You sound like Master Yoda.”

“Was Master Yoda a mother?” she asked in amusement.

“Not exactly,” you chuckled.

She caught sight of your map on the table. “You’re leaving again.”

“Anolo told me where Vader was heading.”

“So the hunt resumes,” she said hollowly as she went towards the door. “When will it end?”

“When one of us is gone.”

“That doesn’t sound very Jedi-like,” she paused with her back to you.

“He’s a Sith, and I am a Jedi. This is just how it is.”

“I thought only a Sith dealt in absolutes,” she said.

Your eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate that insinuation.”

“He was like you once. Are you sure there’s no hope for him?” she asked seriously, turning to face you.

“After all that he’s done, and the lack of remorse he has for it all, I think he’s too far gone,” you admitted.

She studied you for a moment. “I suppose you’ll do what you must. Wear a jacket. Eadu’s weather is unpredictable.”

You stared after her long after she had disappeared from view. 

She couldn’t have been right. If the Sith could be reasoned with, then the council wouldn’t have been hunting them down. Were they two sides of the same credit? No, that wasn’t right either. After all, the Sith were not the exact opposite of the Jedi. The force was a spectrum of light and dark. That much you knew.

Not even Vader was the exact opposite of Skywalker. You could see that in the way he carried himself. Anakin had always had confidence. Now, he just had arrogance as well. He always walked like he owned the galaxy, but now he almost did. His grin was still mischievous, and he still was trying to prove himself, never content that he was enough. Except, he had been enough. He just never realized it. That’s what made his fall hurt the most. 

Those months after the fall, you spent your time analyzing everything, wondering if you could have done anything different. Yet, as you thought back on what Organa had told you, perhaps this had happened for a reason. Perhaps this was the will of the force. You were meant for this confrontation. You were meant for this growth. He was your catalyst. In a way, you supposed you should be grateful. You never could have become strong like this without the exact set up that brought you to the rebellion. Yet, strength was nothing but a measure of endurance. Looking over at the map of Eadu, you smirked. You had endurance for the long haul.

Swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you got up to train. In truth, part of it was because you wanted to stay sharp for the fight ahead, but part of it was also the fact that you didn’t want to sleep. You were worried that you’d dream of him again.

Your arms moved on their own accord, blocking with your lightsaber. You were on autopilot, letting the force guide you. All the while, you were thinking about Mygeeto. You’d killed those people. Not on purpose, but you’d done it. What did that say about you? It certainly told the Empire that someone was onto them, and it would spark fear in the next person to cheat the galaxy out of their own credits at the expense of the people. It had to be done. You’d given them fair warning. It wasn’t cruel. 

The training droid landed a blast that stung your shoulder. You reached out with the force and shoved it into a wall. Wiping your brow with the back of your hand, you thought back to Vader. He didn’t give warnings when he did things like that. He just did them, consequences be damned. You were nothing like him.

You kept training well into the night, watching as everyone upstairs started to wrap up for the night, leaving a sparse night shift. Eventually, you saw Organa looking down at you training. Mothma came up next to him before pressing a button on the panel. The training room shut down.

“Get some sleep,” Mothma said over the loudspeaker.

“I need to train,” you shot back.

“No, you need to not drive yourself into the ground,” Organa ground out. “That’s an order, Jedi.”

Your chest puffed up in annoyance before you exhaled. “Fine.”

The two of them nodded down at you before moving on. You deactivated your saber and showered before going to bed. Blinking, the map of Eadu burned itself into your brain as you slowly succumbed to sleep.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” a voice teased.

“You’re not real,” you replied, clenching your jaw.

A feather-light touch grazed up and down your arm. It was cold. Metallic. It sent a shiver down your spine. “But you wish I was.”

“I will destroy you,” you huffed.

“Oh? Will you destroy me, or will you destroy yourself?” Vader purred into your ear.

“You know nothing.”

“I am you. I know everything,” he countered.

You took several deep breaths, willing the dream away. Your mind was playing tricks on you. Eventually, you found yourself in the force and left the dream behind you.

When you woke the next morning, you decided to leave a day early. You told no one where you were going. You didn’t like the fact that Organa felt like he could order you about. With the Order gone, you answered to no man. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked towards your small ship. A slight smile toyed at your lips as you heard the familiar sound of a motor following you.

“This isn’t an official mission,” you told the droid.

He tootled back a reply.

“It’s a wonder you’ve lasted as long as you have with your penchant for danger and utter disregard for the rules,” you teased.

He bumped you as if to say, ‘Look who’s talking.’

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, smile dripping from your face. You had become reckless, hadn’t you? The two of you made your way into the ship and started the take off sequence. Soon, you were coasting through hyperspace on your way to Eadu. Soon, you found yourself thinking about what could possibly happen when you got there.

Going to Mygeeto, you had known that Vader would probably not have been there. The intel was recent enough, but it had also reported that he had left. There was a very real possibility that you would see him on Eadu, and you didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Have you seen him, Artoo?” you asked quietly as you stared out into space. “Since...” you trailed off, knowing the droid knew the rest.

He shook his head.

“He hasn’t changed much, physically,” you murmured. “Except his eyes... Before they were blue like an ocean threatening to drown you. Now, they’re golden, like an ember in a hearth. At first glance, it seems warm and inviting, but it still has the potential to burn down a home. His clothes are darker. Before he just looked like Obi-Wan’s shadow, but now it’s like he’s embraced the darkness, becoming one with it.”

Artoo let out a murmur.

“I’ll stop talking about him,” you assured the droid. “We have to figure out a safe place to land, anyway.”

The droid projected his own map up before zooming in on an area between a couple of crags.

“Are you sure we’ll be protected from the wind when we go to take off again? We can’t risk getting cut up on those cliffs,” you pointed out.

Artoo let out an indignant set of beeps.

“Okay, okay. I trust you. We’ll land there,” you said, holding up your hands placatingly.

Artoo tootled and closed out the map. If he had a face, you were sure he’d have a smug grin on it. 

“Coming out of hyperspace,” you chuckled as you reverted back to real space.

Eadu loomed in the space in front of you. You didn’t know if it was the landing, or the prospect of what you’d find on the planet, but you felt a rush of nerves flutter through your stomach. Stretching your hand before flourishing your fingers on the controls, you started to bring the ship into the atmosphere.

You clenched the controls in your hands as you struggled against the rough winds of the planet, threatening to careen your ship into the cliffs. This would not be a happy landing. Gritting your teeth, you followed Artoo’s instructions, listing slightly to the side to get to your landing zone. Wind howled on either side of the craft as you battled the wind to land, being pushed forward all the while. You took a centering breath before extending the landing gear, hoping the added drag would help slow you down enough to land. The gambit worked and you roughly touched down on the ground.

Artoo let our a series of beeps, ‘Well, I’ve seen worse.’

“They’re not good flying conditions. As much as I hate it, it makes sense for a secret base. No one’s going to want to come here if they don’t have to,” you muttered as you got out of your seat. You tugged on your jacket and started to head out when you heard your friend follow you.

“No, Artoo. I think you should stay here. The weather is nasty. I wouldn’t want you to get damaged,” you told him softly.

He let out a whine.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised with a soft smile on your face. You gave him a small salute before heading down the side of the cliff towards the secret Imperial base. 

Wind and rain whipped your hair around and stuck your clothes to your body. Halfway down the cliff, a chill set in, but you blocked it out as you saw yourself getting closer and closer to the base. Someday, you’d go some place warm, you promised yourself.

Gently landing on top of the base, you walked carefully so as not to slip on the slick, wet, durasteel. You found the access hatch and quietly opened it before slipping into the building to find yourself in another ventilation system.

You rolled your eyes, grumbling about how you always found yourself in ventilation ducts and how the Imperials are bad at security as you started to crawl along.

Eventually, you came to a deserted hall and decided to drop down. Now you understood.

You understood why the base was hidden so well.

It was because of what the base was.

It was a lab.

Looking around, you saw odd animals you’d never seen before. In cages there were hybrids that were so unnatural that their mere existence pained them, the feeling radiating off them in waves. With horror, the truth hit you like a ton of durasteel. These were experiments. Unethical experiments where the Imperials were so caught up on whether or not they could do it, that they didn’t ask whether or not they should. These were the workings of a being with no moral compass. 

You bit your lip as you continued on your way, sick to your stomach. That was when you heard a small noise.

It sounded like crying.

Following the noise, you found yourself looking into a dark cell. There was a balled shadow figure on the ground cradling something- no, someone- to its chest. The crouched figure looked up at you, a spark of recognition in their eyes.

“J-Jedi?” the figure whimpered.

You knew that voice.

It was a voice you didn’t think you’d hear again.

“Gavyn?” you asked, quickly working at the door to free him. “Gavyn, what have they done to you?”

“O-oon’sara’s dead,” he sobbed, holding her limp body to his chest. “When we fled with the Wookies, they destroyed our hyperdrive so we couldn’t jump. The Empire assumed Chitca was an escaped prisoner and took her back to the base.”

“How did you get here?” you asked, gently extracting his fallen crew mate from his arms.

“Tarkin,” he whispered. “When we were brought aboard, he said that he might as well find a use for the ‘rebel scum.’”

“What use?” you asked, but you were afraid of the answer. “Gavyn, we’ve got to get out of here.

“No,” he said adamantly, pushing you out of the cell and into the light. “I’m too- I’m too damaged.”

“Gavyn, you’re not making sense!” you said as you held his arms.

He finally stepped into the light and you understood. Gavyn wasn’t the same. He had burns all over his body that looked like he had been marred with pocks. Hesitantly, you reached up to touch hardware that had been wired into his head.

“They did this to you?” you asked, eyes welling with tears.

“They wanted to know what we knew,” he replied like it made sense. “To take the information for their own use.”

Your eyes widened in horror, “Did they get it?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head dismissively. “During implantation, they botched it and ended up destroying the memory. I think it was done on purpose. There are some sympathetic to our cause here.”

“Gavyn, anyone who would do this to another being is not sympathetic,” you said in disgust.

“This isn’t the real reason for the base,” he murmured. “They’re building a super weapon. The likes of which haven’t been seen before. They want to destroy whole planets.”

“That’s not possible,” you said, shaking your head in denial.

“That’s what the small scale experiments are for. They’re trying to perfect a smaller version of the ray gun before they start working on a larger one,” he explained. 

“What do they consider a successful test?” you asked in horror.

“One that disintegrates the target. Or at least part of it,” he said, holding up his hand. He was missing a finger.

You heard footsteps marching towards the corridor.

“I’m getting you out of here,” you said as you started towards the door.

“No. I’ll never make it out. I’ll only slow you down,” he said seriously.

“Then we’ll fight,” you said, taking your lightsaber from your side.

“Go and leave me,” he said adamantly.

“If I leave you here, they’ll torture you,” you said, feeling hot tears stream down your face. You knew what he would ask next, but force, did you wish you didn’t. A pit formed in your stomach.

“Kill me,” he said sadly.

“Jedi don’t kill needlessly,” you said adamantly.

“It’s not needless. It’s mercy. Please, Jedi. I’m begging you,” he said, grabbing your hand with your weapon and aiming it towards his chest.

The footsteps got closer. 

You closed your eyes tight, listening to the sound of your saber ignite. 

His body was heavy against yours as his head fell against your shoulder.

“Thank... you,” he murmured into you.

Gently, you lowered him to the ground, closing his eyes. You looked down at the weapon in your hand, and then at your fallen crew. The Empire had done this. They had caused this pain. The pit in your stomach started to boil. Your skin felt hot and started to flush as the footsteps got closer. The troopers rounded the corner and you unleashed a battle cry of hurt and rage before you began to slice your way through them and towards the room where the scientists worked. 

They raised their unarmed hands to the ceiling and begged for mercy, but you didn’t listen. You prepared to cut them down, not paying attention to the body count as you stepped over your fallen foes.

“Mercy? Like the kind of mercy you showed my friends?” you asked in your rage. “You don’t deserve mercy!”

You made quick work of the scientists before going onto the command deck.

Your chest heaved as you stood off against the last crew member alive, some captain or admiral. You didn’t care enough to bother with rank. Dropping your saber to your side, your other hand came up and reach out before clenching into a fist. The man clawed at his throat as his feet dangled inches above the floor.

“Tell me about this weapon,” you demanded. You released just enough for him to answer.

“I-it’s a planet destroyer. The Death Star. Moff Tarkin is in charge of the project.”

“And Vader?” you asked.

“Wants nothing to do with it! He’s only involved because the Emperor makes him be,” they gasped.

“Were you aware of the experiments on living beings?” you asked incredulously.

“It was in the name of progress!”

You tightened your grip.

“Where is he?” you asked through gritted teeth. 

“Moff Tarkin is on the Carrion Spike,” he gasped.

“Try again.”

“V-Vader?” he asked, wide eyed. “He’s on Mustafar. Y-you’re h-hunting the Sith Lord?”

You raised a brow, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. You clenched your fist before turning on your heel. A thud could be heard behind you.

“I’m a Jedi. Sith Lords are our specialty,” you huffed as you put your saber back on its clip. You wouldn’t be needing it anymore right now.

Your footsteps echoed through the building as you made your way out to the landing deck.

“Artoo, can you pick me up?”

The droid beeped emphatically.

“No, it’s safe. Trust me. We won’t have any issues,” you said darkly as you walked out onto the landing platform.

Wind whipped your cloak behind you, exposing your face to the weather. The rain poured harder, chilling you to the bone. There was a wild fire in your eyes as you took in the storm around you. Closing your eyes and exhaling, a slight puff of air formed in front of your lips as the world melted away. The storm didn’t bother you anymore because you were the storm.

Artoo pulled the ship up and landed next to you. Your steps were measured as you made your way to the ship. 

Sliding into the pilot’s seat, you were silent as you pulled up into the updraft, surging towards the upper atmosphere. 

Your little droid cautiously rolled next to you as you started to set the navigational system.

He let out a concerned whimper.

“That’s where they said he is,” you replied with resolve as you punched the ship into hyperspace.

Artoo slowly rolled away from you, but you didn’t notice. You were too lost in your own thoughts.

After all these years, you’d finally have him. You’d have your chance to avenge the Order, to avenge the countless lives that died by his hand, to avenge Anakin. You’d be the one to tame the beast.

A flash of a smile broke through your thoughts. His smile. Anakin’s smile that Vader wore on his face, a mocking mask. The smile that had the power to restore the sun to the sky and warm your heart on the coldest night. Vader didn’t deserve that smile. But, a part of you had to wonder if the beast that was Vader was always inside of Anakin all along, if he had just released what was already his inner truth, or if it were like the old proverb about Loth wolves. There were two in every man, one good, one bad, and the one who is in control is the one you feed. Did that mean that Vader and Anakin were the same?

You were shivering, but you hadn’t noticed. Not until Artoo gave up on distancing himself to place a blanket in your lap. 

“I loved him,” you admitted. You chewed your cheek for a moment, tears unshed. “He was my hero, and now he’s my enemy.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. 

Artoo emitted soft beeps.

“I know,” you murmured. “You loved him, too. That’s why you understand. Letting Vader live would be a foolish decision based off hope. Hope that he could come back. Hope that Anakin is still in there.” You swiped your face. “We both know he’s not. If we really loved Anakin, then we’d set him free.”

Artoo turned his head away from you.

You were resigned to the fact that this was your fate. Yours and his were always intertwined. The Force had made it so. You knew about all he was, and yet, you still admired him. You still loved him. It was the beast on exhibit that you watched with admiration. It was the natural predator you watched with awe that escaped and was wreaking havoc. It was the inexplicable pull to want what you shouldn’t have. The need to test fate to see if he’d destroy you, too, but the knowledge to know that if you got the chance, you should destroy him first for the good of the galaxy. 

Mustafar came into view, and you let out a slight sigh. Finally, a warm planet. 

Artoo rattled beside you, photoreceptor locked in on the planet as it came further and further into view.

As you got closer, you noticed him staring at you.

“What is it?” you asked, not turning to look at him.

He beeped sadly, ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

You took the ship in for a landing, finding a landing platform to a fortress left unguarded. “He’s in there. I can feel it.”

Getting up, you peeled off your rain gear and grabbed your saber before heading towards the door.

Reaching up his arm, Artoo grabbed ahold of your shirt.

“Artoo, let go,” you said in slight annoyance.

He started to roll back to pull you into the ship.

“Artoo!” you exclaimed. “Stop!”

The droid stopped and looked down. He let go.

You took a knee in front of him, a glint in your eye. Placing your hand on his dome, you looked at him seriously. “Artoo, I have to do this. It’s the will of the force. If...” you trailed off with a sigh. “If I don’t come back within a standard hour, leave without me.”

Artoo affectionately bumped you. 

“May the force be with you, too, little droid,” you said with a lopsided smile before heading down the ramp.

Artoo rolled out to the top of the ramp to watch you disappear into the fortress. He hated it here. Mustafar. He’d lost too many Masters here.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the heavy doors into the fortress. It was dark, with obsidian walls and floors that echoed your steps down the long hall. The magma through the viewports cast the fortress in an eerie glow. Your hand clenched the hilt of your lightsaber as you made your way down the hall. It was unnerving, hearing only the sounds of yourself amongst the silence. 

Crossing through a threshold, you saw ornate sconces lining the walls of a throne room. There, seated on a throne of stone was Vader.

An amused smile settled onto his face as he took in your presence. His eyes trailed your body as his gaze turned from amusement to appreciation. You knew you had to look like a hot mess, yet he still regarded you as if you were the most attractive being in the galaxy. 

“I was wrong to underestimate you, Padawan,” he smirked, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. “So you’ve come here to kill me?”

You ignited your saber, feeling your face heat up. It’s surely from the heat outside, though, you reassured yourself. It certainly wasn’t from the man who’s presence washed over you even from meters away, threatening to sweep you off your feet.

“Fight me,” you said with your teeth bared, “I won’t strike an unarmed man.”

His grin widened as he got up from his throne, leaving his cloak behind on the seat. He didn’t need it. His broad shoulders casted a shadow longer than the fabric did, anyway. “Oh, won’t you? I’ve been following your trail of destruction with great interest, little lamb.”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat.

“Of course not. You’re not a lamb anymore, are you?” he purred as he reached forward to drag a gloved finger down your cheek to your chin, hooking it under to look in your eyes. His pupils dilated as he took in your gaze. “No, you’ve become the hunter now.”

Vader stepped back and held his arms open towards you. “Do it. Strike me down.”

“I told you,” you repeated. “I won’t strike an unarmed man.”

“But, you already have,” he grinned. “Those platoons? Your missions in the outer rim for that band of rebels you call friends? Your little show of power on Mygeeto?” His voice dropped lower as his gaze turned serious. “Eadu.”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head, but your voice was shaking. “That was for the rebellion. It was justice. I am working towards freedom! Towards peace for all those families that the Empire has destroyed!”

“Did those men not have families? Did some of them even want to be there? Or were they just pawns in the greater scheme of things?” he asked with a raised brow. “I’m sure you of all people know what that feels like.”

His words stung, but the truth cut deep, like shrapnel from a bomb that you weren’t aware you were standing next to. You let your saber fall to your side, aimed at the ground.

Vader walked towards a wall of mirrors across the room that reflected the light from the lava. With the bend of his fingers towards his palm, your feet slid across the smooth stone floor until you stood next to him. His figure towered over you.

“Look in the mirror, little beast. Tell me, what do you see? Is it still you, or is it me?” he purred.

You looked at the reflections of the two of you. He was devoid of color. Devoid of life. A shadow in the night. You looked like a smuggler. A criminal. That was still a far cry from the truth, but it wasn’t hard for you to answer his question. “I’m nothing like you,” you ground out.

“Oh?” he asked softly, pushing you closer to the mirror. His hands rested on your shoulders as he forced you to look into your face. His lips grazed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Look again. Do you see it?”

Your mouth fell open as you noticed it, finally. All those glints over the course of months. The specks of gold that flickered in and out of your reflections had come to stay. Your eyes were no longer your own. They were just like his. A prickle of fear started to turn your blood cold, but not at the knowledge that your actions had done this. No, you felt fear at the fact that you wouldn’t take any of it back even if you could, because they had made you stronger, and you liked being strong.

“You are magnificent,” Vader breathed. “Ruthless. Passionate. Powerful.”

His eyes met yours in the mirror and for once you didn’t see anger or hatred. You saw admiration. Want. And it shook you to your core.

“No,” you said softly, trying to hold onto the teachings of your Master, but you could no longer recall their words of wisdom.

“Embrace the darkness,” he said emphatically, hands tightening on your shoulders. His words grew frantic as his hands slid down your arms to your wrists. “I will help you see that you could be limitless, fearless, if you follow me.” His voice grew softer as his nose dragged up your neck. “You’ve already had a taste of what you could have. You felt it on Eadu, didn’t you? Wasn’t it worth it?”

You shook him off and stepped away, rubbing your wrists where his residual warmth was. Eadu was wrong, but it felt so right. Your blade had decimated, but never had you felt more powerful, more in tune with the force. The force was lightning, and you were its rod, directing its fury onto the deserving who would subvert morality for their own gain.

“Are you still going to kill me?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you said dejectedly as you looked at the saber in your hand. It felt heavier than before. You couldn’t kill him. Not now. Not when you were the same.

“Don’t you see?” he asked, brushing your hair out of your face before cupping your cheek. “We are the lions in a world of lambs. We are the predators-the hunters. We don’t have to hide. You don’t have to hide. Not anymore. Join me.”

You leaned into his touch for a moment before you caught yourself and pushed his hand away. 

Slowly, he started to circle you, but you didn’t feel like his prey. You felt like his equal. You didn’t cower. When he noticed you weren’t afraid, he came to a stop in front of you.

“Do you feel the hunger for more? More than a Jedi should? You could feel everything. You wouldn’t need to restrain yourself to the rules of a fallen order that left you to die alone. With power like yours, we could be unstoppable. We could rule- together,” Vader pleaded as he held his hand out to you.

“I thought the Emperor was your Master. There can only be two,” you murmured.

“Your point?” he asked as his eyes softened. 

You took a step towards him.

His lip pulled up slightly at the corner.

As you locked eyes, you felt your heart slow to a steady rhythm. This was the most peace you’d felt in months. Here you were on equal footing- for now. Here you were no longer a Padawan. Here you were no longer a Jedi. You were just you, and that’s how he saw you. It was just like when you’d first met Anakin Skywalker. While others saw a lowly Padawan, he hadn’t seen rank. He’d seen you. And now... now you truly saw him. You saw a man who was willing to topple everything he knew for you. You saw a man who wasn’t afraid to feel. You saw a man that had taught you to not be ashamed to feel. Most of all, you saw a man you had never stopped loving.

You swallowed a lump in your throat.

Decision made.

You placed your hand on his shoulder. Your other hand came up to cup his face.

His smile turned genuine as he covered your hand with his.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to his lips. He started to kiss back as your eyes fluttered closed.

And then you pushed him down to his knees.

Finally, you were free.

[willowbird]

For the prompt game — could you do AU 1, trope 8, location 2 for Andreil? I always love reading these, thanks for sharing!

Grad School, return of the childhood best friend, inside Andrew's closet!!! Thank you so much for sending in the ask I'm glad you're enjoying the little ficlets and I hope you like this one too!

-----

Tall people were a curse. A blight on all of society. Civilization would undoubtedly crumble under the obnoxious stomping of their huge feet and the polar ice caps would melt at least in part due to the heat from their big fat heads.

Also, all the tall fuckers in Andrew's cohort were constantly putting things in places Andrew couldn't reach, especially when it came to the supply closet off of the office the group of them communally used. It had gotten to the point that Andrew had taken full command of the ordering and organization of all their supplies. Last month he had even gone so far as to print out and laminate a full-color sign for the closet that read: NO ONE ABOVE 5'3 PERMITTED. SEE ANDREW J MINYARD FOR ALL SUPPLY RETRIEVAL.

The only reason he'd given the extra few inches at all was because Robin, the undergrad TA that assisted in one of his classes, sometimes helped him out and she was a whole three inches taller than him. It was enough of a restriction that it barred the rest of his cohort from intruding, though, as even Renee was a solid 5'8.

Or at least, it should have been an effective restriction. Andrew had thought the rest of his team could read well enough to get the goddamn message. Then he showed up this morning and the fucking closet door was open and where was the box of printer ink he'd ordered last week?

That's right, on the top fucking shelf.

When Andrew figured out which idiotic fucking beanpole had decided to pull this shit with him there was going to be hell to pay. He would raid his cat's litter box for ammunition if he had to.

For the moment, though, he needed to replace the ink in both printers. Which was why he was balancing precariously on the arms of the only non-rolly chair on the goddamn floor, straining to reach the box of ink and quietly promising to take an extra dose of revenge out of each and every person over 5'3 if he fell.

Which he almost did when a sharp knock suddenly echoed a bit too loud from directly behind him.

"Jesus fuck what is wrong with y--" Andrew cut off abruptly as he looked over his shoulder to see who had dared come up behind him at a time like this. He blinked, then he fully closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. When the man before him was still fucking there, Andrew twisted slightly and jumped down, letting his ass hit the seat as he overbalanced on the landing.

"Um... hi."

It had been almost ten years since Andrew had heard that voice. Ten years. In that time Neil had gone from being a scrawny, anxious kid to... well...

Vivid blue eyes stared at him steadily, winged with eyeliner that only made them brighter. His dark russet-auburn hair was shaved close to his head on the sides but long enough on the top that he'd gathered it back in a loose bun, which only emphasized the perfect angles of his face and the soft give of his mouth, the way his chin carved down to a point as if to frame it, drawing the eye.

"Andrew? I didn't mean to surprise you. Well, I did, that's why I didn't tell you I was coming. I didn't mean to almost make you fall off a chair though..."

Neil clicked a tongue-piercing against his teeth. It flashed silver for a moment, matching the two bars that bisected his left eyebrow. Purple studs and a line of tiny hoops trailed up each ear.

Andrew stared, then he did the only rational thing and reached forward, grabbing the doorknob and slamming it shut with himself inside the closet.

His heart was fucking pounding, and he knew his face was flushed because, look. Look. Neil Josten at fourteen years old had been a scrawny kid with big ears and a chipped tooth that was always covered in bruises and Andrew had been so fucking in love with him. All he ever wanted to do as a baby gay was kiss Neil Josten. Thought about it all the time. But that had been off the table because Neil was his best friend and probably asexual and also literally trying to survive. When Neil moved to the other side of the fucking planet to be with his uncle, Andrew had told himself that this was a good thing because 1) Neil would be safe and 2) if there was distance between them then Andrew could finally get over him.

Over the last ten years they'd exchanged regular letters, but because Neil was a fucking technophobe and there may or may not have been an actual hit from actual hitmen and gangsters and shit on him over here in the states - they hadn't spoken on the phone and no pictures had been shared.

And now here was Neil. Almost twenty-four and... so so fucking hot.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a quiet, anxious, "Andrew..?" that sounded a lot more like the Neil Andrew remembered.

"Um... should I go? I'm sorry... I thought... I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'll go..."

"No!" The word escaped him before he had time to really think about it. He was pretty sure his voice cracked a little in his desperation too. Shit. Andrew cleared his throat and tried again. "Just... wait. I.. need to get ink."

"Okay."

Andrew did his best not to read into the mystery in Neil's tone. Instead, he thanked the closet gods and carefully climbed back up onto the chair. Another couple of minutes later he had the ink he needed and was facing a coming out he really never anticipated having to go through. Coming out of the closet to your best friend was one thing. Coming out of the literal, actual closet you have shut yourself in to reunite with your super hot best friend that you've been in love with for over a decade at this point was quite another.

Ripping the band-aid off was really the only way to go, so Andrew took a deep breath, put his free hand on the knob, and opened the door.

Neil had repositioned himself and was now leaning against the nearest desk. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows exposing strong forearms decorated with swirls of dark ink. Three fingers on each hand bore rings (not the ring fingers, not that Andrew was specifically looking) and his nails were painted a dark, glossy gray. Around one wrist was a frayed bracelet that perfectly matched the one Andrew also wore on the same wrist.

As soon as Neil saw him, he lit up. A smile on his face that shined in his eyes, even if there was a slight hesitance to it - understandable considering Andrew had just.. you know... shut himself in a closet after seeing him.

"Hey... Sorry again, about that. I know you don't like to be startled. I just... I got excited."

Andrew swallowed, a tough feat with a throat so dry. Somehow, he managed a snort. "Like a puppy. Should I be worried about my floors, Josten?"

"I dunno, you gonna scratch me behind the ears?" Neil shot back, and the smirk that accompanied it was fucking devastating. That's is, Andrew gave up. He lost. Dead, he was dead. There was no way he was getting out of this one.

Andrew did the only thing he could do to keep himself from grabbing the little bastard and kissing him senseless, which was ask the big question hanging in the room between them.

"How are you here, Neil? I thought you'd never be able to come back to American soil."

Neil rubbed the back of his neck, like he was thinking of the best way to explain it. After a moment he said, "Uncle Stuart still doesn't think it's a great idea - but there's no price on my head anymore. As of last month we cleared out the last of... well, let's just call them the old bad guys. There are new bad guys, but they don't really care about me."

It took a moment for that to fully sink in. Andrew set down the ink on the desk and moved to stand directly in front of Neil. When Neil stood up straight, they were almost exactly the same height - Neil only really had a few inches on him. At least he hadn't been lying to make him feel better when he'd told him in a letter a few years back that he'd topped out at 5'3.

"So? Don't you have a whole new life over in jolly old England now? Friends and family who don't regularly try to kill you? Why come back at all?"

He knew why, but he wanted - he needed - to hear him say it.

"Yeah, but... they aren't you."

"Me."

"Yeah, Andrew. You."

Their eyes met. Something in Andrew's chest snapped like an overworked rubber band stretched too taut and all the carefully sequestered feelings it had been keeping at bay suddenly sprang forth like a tidal wave. They rushed through him, filling him up, buoying him until he probably could have reached the top shelf of that goddamn closet without the chair.

"I hate you," Andrew ground out. And Neil smiled, because he knew it wasn't true.

"I missed you, Andrew. I missed you so fucking much."

"Shut up, stupid." Andrew forced himself to take a deep breath, then he snatched up Neil's hand and started dragging him out of the office. "Come on. We're getting ice cream."

Neil laughed and squeezed his hand. "Some things never change."

No, Andrew thought, some things never do.

[plush-rabbit]

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 3: Claw Marks

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Listening to the FNAF timeline and thinking about that tiktok

Prev.

He dreads going to the hideout. He doesn’t want to think about what he's going to say, what excuse he’s going to make up that will keep everyone satisfied with his answer. The correct thing to have done on the journey home would have been to make up a believable lie but without the safety of numbers and the area that he was in- he had to focus on not getting caught- his mind too preoccupied with his surroundings to actually have time to think. 

His steps are heavy, short breaths that fill his lungs and leave in puffs, bones aching and he finds himself nearing the building. Dark in color, weeds sprouting from the edges, the color of the building, once something deep and polished, is now faded and dirtied with random tagging symbols that have long been washed out by the weather. He stands at the door, sky clouded overhead and a light mist that falls onto him and makes him uncomfortably wet. His stomach is full with chicken that you bought and shared with him. The hideout is dark, the windows boarded up and he can’t hear a sound coming from inside. No screaming, arguing, music, or singing. Tomura stands outside a hidden door and he takes in a deep breath, cold air chilling at his throat and making his mouth dry.

He walks inside; the door creaking as it announces his arrival to anyone who is willing to listen. His eyes scan around the old room, the floor solid underneath as he takes careful steps, hands poised and a deep unsettlement that settles in his bones as the stillness seems to place everything inside on pause. His mouth opens, his tongue coming out to lap at his lips, a passing thought flashes by that he should call someone’s name but as quick as it came, he denounces it just as quickly. He won’t risk calling someone’s name- someone could be listening in, the hideout could be abandoned and still wiretapped in case any wandering heroes had gotten lucky- no, he’ll walk around and assess.

He takes a careful step forward and then the room is bathed in a yellow light. His shadow stretches and distorts, elongating and he feels bare, his face naked and cold, immediately, placing his hand over himself in a mock attempt to mimic Father. His eyes snap up, hand already reaching forward with every intent to rid the possible threat until he lands on sun colored eyes. 

“Tomura-kun!” Toga says especially, her smile wide and a slight skip to her step as she walks towards him. “You are alive!” The way she says it makes it sound as if there were doubts. “Took you long enough to get back, huh?”  Her smile is almost teasing as she rocks back and forth on her heels. 

He gives her a disgruntled look, eyes narrowed and wants to snap a response towards her. His eyes meet hers where she does not falter, smiling sweetly at him with a certain glint in her eyes. “Where are the others?” 

Her smile falters, a hand at her side fisting at the loose material of her joggers. The hem of an oversized sweater spilling past the waistband of the joggers. “Sleeping,” she says with a tight voice and under the light he realizes that her arm is dusted in a purple bruise, dark in color as it spills to blue with a hint of sickly yellow. “Where were you?” 

He eyes the bruise, a scowl on his lips as he meets her gaze yet again. “Nowhere important.” Words get stuck in his throat, the bruise dancing in his peripherals, filling his mind with other unseen possible injuries. Her face is clean, free of any marks as she stands in front of him. She can stand; Toga is still standing in front of him. “The mission?” His nails dig into his skin, pulling at the old scars that have long closed up.

Her smile falls and he finds annoyance lapping at him. She shrugs, her hands spreading wide as she looks at him and her shadow dances along with her. “Went as planned. We were able to find a new location in case this one goes south but we did run into trouble while transporting the items.” 

“Trouble?” He takes a step towards her, eyes glancing behind her trying to find wandering movement that lies in the shadows.

“Spinner hit his head pretty hard so for now he’s resting. Twice went to find Giran so he can bring in some type of aid or something-” she waves her hand in a tired circle- “I didn’t really pay attention,” she finishes, her smile returning. “Anyways, now that you’re here, I’m going back to bed.” She turns on her heels, her hand coming up to cover her yawning mouth. She pauses as she steps to the other side of the entrance to the hallway. “Oh, by the way,” amusement has left her face, a thin smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes, “your hands on your bed. You must have dropped them when we split.” 

He stands in the empty room, eyes growing heavy and anxiety grabbing at his insides. His collar is too close to his neck, wrapping around the base in a tight hold that makes it impossible to swallow, acid riising and leaving a tart taste on his tongue, heavy and sickening. “Thank you,” he whispers to an empty room with eyes glued where Toga stood just a minute ago. His hand spills from his face and falls beside him in a limp.

The doors that line the hallway and spill onto different ends are all closed, subtle chipped marks carved into the wood to indicate which rooms are occupied. His hair still smells of your shampoo, light and sweet. His clothes reek of what you used to wash them. His hand forms into a fist as he thinks about you. It’s a fleeting thought that he latches onto and soon enough he isn’t able to escape you from entering his mind. His hand wraps around the doorknob with a pinky raised as it twists under his palm. He enters his room as you enter his mind. True to her word, his hands are displayed on his bed, laid in an orderly fashion.

He stands at the edge of the bed, eyes lidded as he stares at the hands. Slowly, he grabs each hand, one by one, each placed back at their respective spots, a heavy weight that falls on him with each addition, a tight grasp that holds onto him with a promise to pull him down and suffocate him, the promise of false love and a mock hug as hands encase him. The last hand that goes on his face is held tenderly, the palm facing towards his face, an open strike that is welcomed and makes him feel calm, settling his nerves for just a moment. The hand is cold and heavy against his warm skin. The thick cartilage is tough- sturdy and unwavering- his fingertips flutter against the raised bridges, lowering until it reaches the metal end. 

His hands are nothing like your hands. 

He can almost feel your touch. It was light and fluttery, soft against his face. You held him with care, trying to calm him down when the first thing he had done to you was pin you down. You were nice to him. You told him that you had done it because you wanted to believe that you were a good person. His hand tremors, sliding past the metallic end, a light brush against his chest that stills as it reaches his stomach, clenching at the shirt with a careful grip, twisting the fabric in his hand. You quite literally picked him off the streets and gave him a temporary home. You gave him kindness that he hasn’t witnessed or felt in so long. You were kind to him- doting over him and making sure that he was fed. You washed his clothes and had calmed him down when he feared that he had lost his hands. Your hands held him together, grabbing at him and pulling him close to you. He sucks in his bottom lip, remembering the pull of your thumbs against his chin, the touch that you gave him that didn’t fill him with sickness.

He misses your touch. There’s a deep tug in his body. It pulls at him, tugging against his very essence and making him feel stretched out. His chest stutters, rising and dipping with lungs that expand and a heavy flush that warms his body. His eyes go wide, pupils dilating as he leans over, hand leaving his stomach and resting on the bed in a closed fist, the pads of the fingers dig on the top of his head, clenching as they squeeze his head with a painful grip.

He doesn’t need this right now. He doesn’t need you invading his mind. He can’t handle the thoughts and feelings that come with you. The need to see you. The need to have your hands replace the ones on his neck. He’s breathing heavy, wheezing over the bed, mouth gaping under the palm of Father, his heart erratic and mind wandering. He’s never felt like this before. He’s never had emotions this strong. The desire to see you is stronger than anything he’s ever faced- stronger than anything he remembers. He’s gasping for air, eyes watering and he stands straight, a hand placed along his neck as his nails etch themselves against him, sin bleeding out, hot and thick against his skin. 

-

The sun is setting, casting a soft orange glow across the city as you walk home. It’s quiet, your phone buzzing in your hand and merely swipe at the notification for the Discord chat that you’re part of but never engage in. The time reads back to you and you come to a slow, walking towards the edge of the building, standing against the corner with eyes trained on the time. 

You wouldn't call yourself overly paranoid. Sure, you've heard things that go bump in the night and hid yourself under the covers rather than go and investigate, you've slept with rather odd, sharp objects under your pillow and have practiced time and time again how quickly and quietly you can reach into your bedside drawer and pull out a pair of scissors. But that was in the past. You've grown past the need to hone your skills and now all you have for protection is an old stuffed bear with stuffing that has gone limp and dull. 

You stand at the edge of the alleyway, taking a few steps into the dampen area, clicking your tongue as you step into a puddle. There’s a deep feeling that washes over you, making you chew on your bottom lip and edge deeper into the growing dark area. You take a small step to the side, your head tilting as you search for any shapes that are too humanlike, looking for anything with soft, blue hair or a hint at it and with a final step, your phone buzzes your hand. It’s stronger- a phone call, you realize. Snapped out of whatever trance you had, you turn around and make your way out of the alley, frowning as the words “Scam Likely” is written on your phone. You click and pull at the red phone symbol, the call ceasing immediately and you walk in a crowded street.

Perhaps you should have given Tomura your phone number. Or had offered him a ride or insisted that he stay for another night. He didn’t seem well enough to leave- much leave the way that he did. You purse your lips, your pace increasing as you walk home, your bag patting lightly against your back. If you had at least given him your number then he could have called you or sent you a message indicating that he was home or at least safe. You let out a sigh, your lips pulling into a thin line. 

The trek to your apartment is short, your hands resting along the rail as you climb the steps, unable to stray from the memories of when you had to help carry him up the steps. He had only rested for a day- if you wanted to be generous- and had eaten only two meals and slept on a couch. He couldn’t have possibly been comfortable. Maybe if you had insisted that he stay another night then you could tell if he had been lying about any hidden injuries. But there was no dried blood when you checked the shower, no stain that had caught against the porcelain or carpet- it was clean. You fret over a stranger- the only facts that you know of are that his name is Tomura, he works in a bar, and he’s socially inept. You check the time on your phone- there could be a possibility that you can pass by the same area and see if he’s there or any trace of him- but no. You grimace at thought- it sounds too stalkerish, as if you’re waiting for him to arrive and if he is there by any chance, you don’t want him to feel bothered or- You gasp as you bump shoulders with someone, stumbling a bit and you're grateful you’re on a flat surface rather than the stairs. 

“Oh my goodness!” You raise your shoulders, pulling them close to you. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking-”

“Hey, hey,” the person says in a calming voice and you close your mouth, stepping away as your neighbor comes into view. “It’s cool, don’t worry about it.” He stands tall in front of you, a soft purple hue of skin that darkens slightly at the tip of his ears. Spiky hair that jets out in multiple directions, a dark blue that almost shines blue and purple under the light covers his forehead in wispy bangs with two curled, ram-like horns that protrude from the side of his head, dark in color with silver highlights. “I wasn’t looking either-” they laugh, sending you a friendly grin that is quickly overwritten with concern- “Are you okay?”

“Oh, er, yeah. No, I'm fine. Sorry about bumping into you again-” you step to the side, already waving a goodbye- “I’ll-”

“Wait!” He says in a rushed tone, spinning on his heels to look at you, a nervous chuckle spilling past his lips. “I, uh- Ha, sorry. So uh, did your friend go home?” He jerks his head to your door, eyes shifting nervously.

You blink at him, the moments with Tomura briefly forgotten as you strike conversation with your neighbor. “Oh, yeah. He went home last night,” you trail, the word “home” not feeling correct on your tongue. 

“Oh, really?” I uh- didn’t see him.” His smile is tense and his eyes widen. “Not that I was spying or anything. I had to pick something up from the pharmacy late last night and I noticed-”

“No, yeah. He left.” You give him a tight smile and edge backwards. “Listen, I have to go and put... something away.” You give him a final grin, toothy and forced. “Bye!” You wave a goodbye at him and promptly hurry to your door where you- thankfully- have no trouble opening it.

You shut the door, your back against the wooden frame, your eyes drooping and you slide slowly to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on the spot that you have created. Your bag presses uncomfortably into your back, the items inside pressing into the faux leather and into your soft back.

You close your eyes, trying to hear the sounds of wandering steps, mouth pulling into a thin line, and brows knitting together. “Maybe I should have asked him if he saw him anywhere,” you mumble under your breath. You let out a bitter laugh, raising your head and resting it against the door with a faint thud. “Great,” you whisper to yourself, “now I’m thinking about him.” You exhale, letting your eyes close with a weak smile stretching across your lips. “Well,” you trail, slowly opening your eyes, “it’s out of my hands now. Best I can hope for is that he’s home safe.” You push yourself off the floor, wincing slightly at the movement. 

You flutter around the apartment, changing out of your uniform into something more comfortable, your hands aching and body accepting the weariness that it possesses. Your sock clad feet walk around the apartment, phone in hand, as you walk into the kitchen.

It’s a decent size, enough for things to be ordered in a way that makes it feel both cluttered and homely. The fridge is decorated in an assortment of magnets- new with vibrant colors and cute designs, old and faded, simple in design but something from long ago- pictures and various numbers and business cards placed on the surface. You open the fridge, food and ingredients inside but it’s too much work to actually prepare the food itself and wait for things to defrost. You close the fridge with a huff and make your way to the living room. 

You stand at the edge of your couch, the blanket that Tomura used is folded at the end of the couch. Your brows knit, a frown tugging on the corner of your lips. You sigh sadly and there’s a bitter taste on your tongue, thick and heavy, and you scrunch your face. In your hand, your phone gives a curt buzz- a message from your friends. Your mood brightens and you sit on the opposite end of the couch, away from the blanket, and curl up at the end, eagerly responding to your friends' plethora of messages that you had missed- and partly purposely ignored due to heavy thoughts- on your walk home.

-

You sleep on the couch, covered by a throw blanket, a deep blue color that covers your frame as you curl under, a stuffed animal in your grip with shiny black eyes that reflect the television, an assortment of colors played against the room, and reflecting in the eyes of your comfort object. You sleep soundly, undisturbed and protected by glass, watched and protected by a pair of crimson eyes, between the blinds. Tomura Shigaraki sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, thin scratches around his neck and a burning desire in his chest to reach forward and accept your generosity that you had given him. 

He’s confused on why he’s here. He's out in the open, Father on his face which would surely give away his identity- could that be why you didn’t recognize him, he wonders- and he’s outside like a stray animal, waiting by your door and watching you sleep. Maybe that’s why he’s back. You didn’t fear him and while fear is something that he really does long for, something that so undeniably means you have the upperhand in something, it was different this time. You sat near him, did his laundry for him and cared for him on the pretense that you wanted to be a good person. That’s almost laughable, really. You treated a literal villain as some wounded puppy and practically saved his life. Heck, if it was anyone else or maybe if you had decided to watch the news more often, he would’ve been found out and captured. You wanted to be a good person and because of that, you are good to him. 

It’s fascination more than anything. This odd sense of longing towards you, the way that your hands felt on him and how you fretted over him as he panicked- he places his hand over Father and lets out a breath. The air cool, nipping at him with a slight shiver, and he looks inside with blank eyes, remembering how it felt to be inside, the candy scented candle that filled the room and how overtly sweet it was when he woke up. You were nice to him, there didn’t seem to be a hero in sight, so the probability of you being watched over is fairly low- you were nice to him and you trusted him enough to know where you lived. His leg tremors, eyes narrowing through the gaps of the fingers on his face as he stares at your unmoving frame. His hand flutters against the glass, index resting followed by the other three, and his prints are left.

Your blinds are left open and he snorts at your lack of self-preservation. He can let it slide since your little home isn’t somewhere where people can easily see. But here you are, covered by a blanket that he hadn’t used- the one he touched remains folded at the end, untouched and your legs pulled away from it. He watches you for a long time, his phone buzzing with either notifications from his mobile games or those from the League. If he were to be frank, he finds it all so difficult. He’ll complete and fulfill his vision, he’ll lead his comrades into victory, But for now, he'll rest against your balcony, and watch you sleep.

taglist:

@dillybuggg @gladiatorandroid

[gnocchighoul]

Big Spoon Bribery

Summary: This is the second part of this drabble! 

Reader is gender neutral :D

Warnings: Mild angst and allusions to spicy times. This is mostly fluff.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: thank you @beelzebubs1trulove​ for the title 😘

AO3 portal

You have three missions. In order of importance, they are—

Acquire the coveted position of big spoon.

Help Lucifer and Belphie make amends.

Don’t die trying

Alright, perhaps maybe that last one should be higher up. But you just really really really want to be the big spoon. So badly. Like, you put together a gift basket to bribe Lucifer badly. In your totally humble and neutral opinion it’s a stunning work of art—lacquered black wicker basket three times the size of your head, stuffed to the brim with Princess’s Poison Apples, Coffee of Melancholy beans, some incredibly luxurious stationery, black booty shorts with ‘Enemy of The State’ in bold red print across the butt, and a bottle of Demonus, all surrounding the pièce de résistance: a voodoo doll of Mammon.

Oh yes. Tonight is going to go incredibly well.

The plan is simple and straightforward—foolproof. Suffocate Lucifer with presents and love, and then, when he's in a good mood and not expecting it: beg.

You reckon the odds are 51 to 49, in your favor. You’ve risked your life on worse—your short history in the Devildom is a glowing testament to that. It’s good enough. You’ve already cast the die. Now all that's left is to see where it lands.

To increase your chances of success, you’ve pulled out all of the stops for this momentous occasion. No expense was spared in making Lucifer’s room as clichély romantic as possible. The fireplace? Lit. Pillows? Fluffed. Lights? Dimmed. Rose petals? Scattered. Tastefully.

Even the big, (still) nameless skeleton—the guardian perched ominously in the corner of the room—is in on your shenanigans romantic gesture. The pair of black sunshades you had so skillfully taped onto it’s face have been replaced by an even better pair—oversized, bubblegum pink and heart shaped. Courtesy of your wardrobe, of course.

Now, you wait.

You throw one last fistful of crimson rose petals at the hardwood, then dive face-first into bed. In the distance, thunder rumbles. Though that might have been Beelzebub’s stomach. No way to know for sure.

This is fine. Totally fine. You’re an expert at being patient. A master, even. If RAD gave out degrees for being patient—well, you wouldn’t have one, because you’d have to wait for it. But it would be fine because you’re just so good at that. Waiting.

Patience. Paaaaaatience. Pay-shens. It’s fine. Yep. Nothing awful about this at all. You’re just going to wait.

And wait.

And keep waiting because apparently he’s working late again and totally disrupting your amorous plans, god dammit.

You toss your D.D.D aside and turn your attention out the windows, to the forest. The night sky is darker than usual—the moon swallowed whole by a maw of angry storm clouds, the darkest you’ve ever seen. The center of it crackles with purple lightning, splintering down to lash teasingly at the treetops.

You shift—adjust your mess of pillows and blankets, so that your head is at the foot of the bed. It’s not like you have anything better to do (not until Lucifer gets here) so you might as well watch the storm.

~

“Hm? What’s all this?”

You wake with a start—desperately try to pretend that you weren’t just drooling into the pillows. Lucifer is stood over your gift, examining it with shining eyes and upturned lips.

“Surprise!”

He’s already in pajamas. He totally saw you knocked out.

Lucifer tilts his head—lifts the voodoo doll and turns it over in his hands. Pokes at it’s plush belly with an index finger. Jabs a finger into its cheek, right next to the black-stitch smile. Holds it upside down by one foot. Your highly advanced Lucifer-reading skills tell you that he’s pleased. Poor Mammon. You should probably send him an apology gift basket.

Lucifer shakes mini-Mammon like a maraca. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion! I just felt like spoiling you.”

“You don’t say?” He drops the mini-Mammon back into the basket and makes his way to the bed—the mattress dips as he moves to hover over you, hands coming up to cage your head, one knee planted firmly between your thighs. Mirth dances between the red and black of his irises. “I should return the favor.”

He dips down to kiss you and your lightning fast reflexes kick in—your hand snaps up to cover his mouth. You feel his lips turn down into a scowl and you grin, shifting some beneath him.

“Chin up, buttercup. Don’t look so grumpy, I have something else in mind.” You waggle your eyebrows, and now he just looks confused—as much as he can with you pawing at his mouth—but perhaps a bit more hopeful. Sweetly, you whisper, “There’s something I want.”

He glances at the basket, eyes narrowing suspiciously, and knocks your hand away. He can’t help but wonder—why are you being so cryptic? What in the realms are you plotting now?  

A little apprehensively, he says, “Is that right? What do you—”

“I’m so glad you asked! Lemme be the big spoon.”

“... That’s it? ”

You stare him down with the biggest, saddest, most heart-wrenching puppy eyes that you can muster. “Pretty please with a poison apple on top?”  

He stares at you, disbelieving. Quirks a single neat brow and—oh. There it is. That all too familiar look in your eyes. Searing determination that burns brighter than the flames of Hell. Fierce and vivid. You’re entirely serious.

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes.”

“...You went through the trouble of making all that—” he gestures loosely at the basket. “Just because you want to be the ‘big spoon ’?”

You pat his cheek with a dopey grin. “No trouble at all when it’s for you.”

Lucifer ducks his head. Pink stains his cheeks. “You’re a menace.”

"Only for you, my love~"

~

You’re on cloud nine. Over the moon and stars. Walking on air. 

At long last, you are the Big Spoon.

You understand now, why he’s so insistent on being the one to hold you. This is even better than the occasions when he’ll angrily throw himself into your lap and demand to be pet, which is saying something because those are some damn good times.

But this? This takes the cake.

You’ve got one arm snaked around his chest, the other up and playing with his hair. You could spend an eternity like this—content to listen to the rain pelting against the windows, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

There’s a small scar, just hidden by his hairline. You wonder if he even knows about it. If he remembers how it got there. It’s more recent—not as faded as the jagged twin scars carved into the center of his back, hugging his spine.

There are some things—very few things—that you don’t bring up. Lucifer’s missing set of wings is one of them. You have your theories, of course—you’ve seen the frayed raven feathers that Satan brandishes around his neck, not dissimilar to a trophy. You know of how he was created—of the bond that chains him to Lucifer. You know.

But, there are some things better left unsaid.

A proverb that you are absolutely about to contradict.

You have a mission, after all.

Slowly, stealthily, you lift a leg, hooking it around his hip so that he can’t escape.

“What are you doing?”

Okay, so maybe not as stealthy as you thought. He knows something is up, so you tighten your hold on him, just in case he flips when you start to pick at his feelings like a scab.

His apprehension, combined with how comfortable you are almost makes you want to throw in the towel. You could. Probably even should. This has gone above and beyond your expectations—your stomach twists at the thought of souring such a perfectly sweet moment.

Alas, your family is in turmoil, and you are but a humble knight in shining pajamas. Literally—silk is just so shiny.

Unless you want to end up with a face blasted full of feathers, you need to approach this carefully. You’re in the danger zone now—the risk is high, but so is the reward.

“Hey, Lu?”

“Hm?”

Carefully, now.

“Why did you and Belphie fight?”

You’re not sure how he manages it, what with your intense octopus hold on him, but with infuriating ease, he manages to twist around in your grasp so that he’s facing you. His upper lip curls into the slightest snarl, revealing sharp incisors.

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Because you… said so.” your tone is flat—offended. Heat ignites between the rungs of your ribcage, swirling around your lungs, sudden and consuming. It’s not the good kind.

He glares down his nose. You can see yourself in the black of his eyes—see the pinched furrow of your brow, the acidic bite of your own gaze. “Yes. Because it’s none of your business.”

“None of my business? You’re both my family and therefore both my business. And even if you won’t tell me, I still know that you shifted first. Usually the one who throws the first punch is the one that also needs to apologize first, y’know?”

“I see.” Lucifer’s eyes narrow—harden. He’s gone tense in your hold. You briefly consider squeezing him like a stress ball. “You’re taking his side.”

“Taking his—I don’t even know what the argument was about!”

Lucifer says nothing. You stare. Silence.

Seriously? Is that what he thinks you’re doing?

“Lucifer.”

He turns his head away.

“Lucifer. ”

He doesn’t look at you. Won’t look.

When Lucifer gets like this, you can’t afford to be tentative and gentle. He needs force—needs to be handled. Just a bit.

So, you take matters into your own hands. Literally.

You smush his cheeks between your palms and hold him in place, waiting for him to turn that bitter gaze upon your own. He looks like an angry goldfish—the handsomest goldfish that you’ve ever had the pleasure of spooning. Also, the only one.

“I’m on your side, Lucifer.” With a feather light touch, you brush your thumb across his cheekbone. “That’s why I think you should make the effort to just talk to him. You’re happier when your whole family is getting along.”

Your observation is right. It’s a truth that’s still too tender, too raw, but, it’s the truth. You know it. He knows it.

So, naturally, he escapes your grip and tries to flee.

“NO!” You swing a leg over his hips and shove him back into the mattress. He goes down hard, and before he can escape, you perch your happy little ass right on his chest, locking his arms against his sides with your thighs and praying to Diavolo that he won’t hurl you across the room at mach 5.

He doesn’t splatter you against the wall, but he does smile for a split second. Somehow that’s scarier.

Your heart chisels away at your ribcage now, and somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, you wonder if he can hear it.

“Look.” you ease the death-grip of your legs—nervously sweep a piece of lint off his shirt. “When we started dating, we made a deal. Remember? ‘No holding back’. Sealed with a pinky promise and everything. You and I are a team. A pair. Two peas in a pod. The heart and the brain! Tui and La. Co-captains! Pilot and co-pilo—”

Another twitch of the lips. “I get it.”

You nod sagely. “You get it. You don’t have to tell me the details of what happened if you don’t want to. I mean, it’d be nice because you know how incredibly nosey I am—stop nodding—but I’m willing to compromise if you at least tell me how you’re feeling. I want to know where your head is at. I know you’ve done this by yourself for thousands of years, but it’s not just you anymore, okay? I’m here, now. You’re stuck with me and I’m going to get that through your thick ass demon skull even if I have to—”

“Okay, okay, okay.” With a heaving sigh, Lucifer sits up, knocking you into his lap like a turtle on its shell. Before you can squirm away, he pulls you up—maneuvers you both so that his back is against the headboard, you straddling his lap. Eye to eye. “I take it you wrote all that down before I got here.”

You relax into him—loop your arms around his neck. His hands settle on your waist. “Yep. Two drafts. The other version had a lot more cussing. Wanna read it?”

He chuckles—presses a kiss to your temple and smiles there. “Of course.”

You two stay that way for a bit—content to sit in the silence and listen to the soft pattering of rain on the windows. You’re 99.99% sure he still isn’t going to talk about this, but you think that you got through to him. Somewhat.

Baby steps.

“Promise you’ll at least try to talk to him?”

Lucifer sighs, a bit dramatically. “I suppose so.”

You lean back to give him a look that says Really?

“I mean it. I will.”

You hold up your pinky finger and he stares at it, looking absolutely scandalized by your youthful ways. You tap it against his chest once, twice. Nothing. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck, and waggle your pinky. “C’mon, handsome. Make a pact with me.”

He rolls his eyes, but wraps his own firmly around yours, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. When you try to drop your hand, he threads his fingers through yours, and tucks you back into his chest.

“So…” your voice is small, muffled against his neck. “Can I still be the big spoon tonight?”

((Thank you for reading! Didya catch the atla reference? :D I just couldn’t help myself~ I’ve got two braincells rn—one of them is for obey me and the other is for atla. Dual wielding hyperfixations at it's finest. likes and comments are v appreciated 🥺👉👈 ))

His laugh is the second sweetest thing you’ve ever heard—the first being the totally betrayed gasp that bursts past his lips when you blow a big fat raspberry into his neck.

~

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Che Bellissima Neve

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety

TWs: agoraphobia mention, just a lot of long distance pining

Summary: With his lover constantly travelling the world, acting on stages all over Europe and beyond, Virgil wonders if it’ll be snowing in Venice by the time he sees Roman again...

(Recommended music: Snow In Venice by Elizaveta)

--

Virgil Giordano was never normally one for things like promises and long goodbyes. 

Coffee in hand, he warmed his cold fingers against the mug. His phone was right there by his side, but his right index finger instead busied itself - not with numbers - but with cursive. 

Looping letters. 

Spelling out where his heart lay.

The winter had seen fit to bless Venice with a soft kiss of frost. Gathering in the corners of the windows, haphazardly along the walkways, tickling the noses and lips of passers by. All the while Virgil couldn’t fight off the disappointment as the sky remained clear. The stars were beautiful, but his wasn’t among them. No, his star was miles away from where he should be; back home, in Virgil’s arms. 

Stealing his body warmth while they cuddled together. Complaining at the lack of room for the both of them on the one chair, but still refusing to move. Running his hands through the freshly plum pigmented plume of hair atop Virgil’s head. 

A soft sigh left Virgil as the homebound poet quietly pined for his lover. 

-

Roman D’Angelo had only dreamt of this level of stardom in far fetched dreams and scrawled in journals during drama lessons. 

Even as he walked out of Berlin’s Theatre Des Westens still wearing his getup as Leopold Bloom, Roman could hardly believe he was one of the most sought after up-and-coming musical actors in Europe. Stopping for autographs was brief; Roman adored his fans of course, but the face he always longed to see among them was never there. Not for a lack of wanting, but because his beloved was confined to his home - no, their home, it was always home for the both of them no matter how far Roman travelled - by his agoraphobia. Roman never held it against him, he only wished he could call home more often. 

As his taxi passed a phonebox, Roman politely asked the driver to stop. His wallet held rarely any change these days, but he had what he hoped would be enough.

The cold night air caressed his fingers unpleasantly. Curse his lack of patience, but spontaneity was always Roman’s forte when it came to acts of the heart. Screw his phone that needed charging back in his hotel room, he needed to hear his beloved’s voice that second. Each number dialled brought a new rush of excitement and nerves until the phone began to ring.

He just hoped Virgil hadn’t decided to have an early night..

-

Luckily for Roman, Virgil was as much an insomniac as he was an agoraphobe.

Of course, he didn’t recognise the number, perhaps it was a spam caller? Probably. He rolled his eyes and went back to sipping his cooling coffee, content to let the answering system take a message. Instead of some hack trying to sell him car insurance or some scam worthy payment plan, the voice on the other end had Virgil scrambling to answer the call so quickly he nearly doused himself in lukewarm bean water.

“Virgil? It’s me, though I take it you must be asle-”

“Roman!”, Virgil cursed the crack in his voice as he answered, “I’m here, Princey. It’s been a while, where are you calling from this time, mister world-famous-actor?”

Roman’s hearty laughter had Virgil’s own heart beating so loudly he wondered if he should schedule a doctor’s visit. “I’m not quite there yet, cuore mio. But I’m in Berlin, Charlottenburg to be exact. And it’s still snowing, in fact it’s snowed every night since opening night. Can you believe that?”

“Really?”, Virgil sighed, unable to stop the fond smile making itself at home on his lips, “Sounds lovely.”

“It is…. But it does have its drawbacks.”, the actor mused, drinking in the adorable noise of intrigue his lover made over the phone.

“And what would they be?”

“... It’s not home.”, Roman began, his eyes following the tufts of snow that danced through the skies outside the phone box. “And you’re not here.”

For a moment, Roman wondered if he’d overstepped. If he’d made Virgil feel bad for not being able to be beside him, but his fears were replaced by a longing he wasn’t aware he was capable of as Virgil’s voice - almost strange in it’s softness - caressed his ears, 

“Funny, I was just thinking that myself.”

It was hard for Roman to find the words, but he mustered the courage to ask, “Are you doing alright, Virge?”. The silence gave Roman his answer, he knew Virgil would never admit to him outright just how much he missed him, how lonely he was at night without Roman by his side. Well, not directly.

“... When will you be home again, vita mia?”

Virgil knew Roman would be home in an instant if he could manage it. If he wasn’t bound by the dream he’d had since their adolescent years, Virgil knew his beloved would be in his arms right that second. But the poet knew what he signed up for when he fell in love with Roman D’Angelo; he was prepared to let his beloved chase his dreams while he could never follow alongside him. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to be without him.

“...Virgil? Are you still there?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, I-“

“Got caught up in your thoughts again, cuore mio?”

Virgil nodded bashfully before realising Roman couldn’t see him, “Yeah. I just…. I miss you so much, Roman..”

“... I know you do. And I miss you too.”

He hadn’t meant for Roman to hear the soft, dejected huff he let out, but as he practically heard Roman frown over the phone, Virgil sighed, “It’s been almost a year, Roman, almost a year of telling myself not to be selfish, just wishing you were here with me instead. I just… I want you to be happy, but I don’t know how much longer I can go on without you.”

The anxiety he felt pooling in his stomach threatened to draw out his tears when Roman softly spoke again over the line. Lord knows, Virgil adored the tenderness in his tone and the love dripping from each syllable,

“Vita mia, anima mia, bisogna resistere...”, Virgil’s breath hitched and he was unsure if it was because he was close to an anxiety attack or because he could feel the hope building itself a home in his chest, “I’ll be home soon, vita mia, I promise.”

He wanted to believe it, but he’d heard those words before and Virgil couldn’t help the doubt his hope was wrestling with, “Before or after it starts snowing in Venice?”, he joked.

Roman chuckled, they were both grateful for the moment of levity, “Never doubt the power of my undying love for you, Giordano.”

Virgil chuckled, affectionately snarking something akin to ‘sbruffone’ as he hung up and got cosy in his armchair. It had just passed midnight, he might as well get comfy considering he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Not with Roman invading his every thought…

-

Once Roman had returned to the taxi, he was filled with an unwavering resolve. He all but raced to his hotel room; his hands blurred in his vision as he began to pack the few things he had brought with him into his suitcase with one hand while the other held his phone. 

After the couple of times he’d pulled out the charger on accident, Roman was finally able to call his manager. Despite her protests, Roman knew they could let his understudy handle being Leo Bloom for the last couple of shows. Even if it meant it might cost him some valuable work and publicity.

Sure, being on stage was his dream, but Virgil was his life. 

“I’m coming home, vita mia...”

-

The armchair was so comfy. Virgil hoped whoever was knocking at his door was prepared for the consequences of waking him up. 

In fairness, he should have gone to bed instead of snuggling even warmer into the chair, but also in fairness there was no reason for anyone to be knocking on his door at half four in the morning. Seriously, who just does that? Virgil hoped it wasn’t some stranger in need of help; he didn’t fancy having to stomach explaining he was literally terrified of leaving his house. Perhaps it would just be Valerie next door, checking in on him, that’d be nice. That he could deal with. As long as it wasn’t the mailman. Or Mormans. 

If his fear of going outside could be rivalled by anything, it was with his hatred of people trying to intrude on his home.

Virgil’s mental ramblings stopped as his mismatched eyes caught a glimpse of a figure through the frosted glass of the door. It was hard to be certain, but the silhouette, the colours, even when distorted…

Never had the door known such force as Virgil tore open the door and came face to face with the love of his life.

“Roman…!!”

The taller man smiled like the angels Virgil was sure had carved him; his cheeks and nose were flushed rosy red, his dark hair was tousled and stuffed underneath the winter beanie atop his head. By the way he was breathing, Virgil guessed that Roman had run at least the length of the street to get here.

Despite knowing he’d regret it once the intrusive thoughts came for him, Virgil braved the two steps outside his doorway to wrap his arms around Roman, a gesture his beloved returned. Warm hands resting on Virgil’s lower back assured him that everything that was happening was real; that the Roman in his arms was real. He didn’t give a second thought to kissing his darling actor, he just did.

When they finally broke for air, Roman chuckled, sweet as honey, bathing Virgil’s face in warm breath, “Vita mia, Virgil, I’m loath to suggest we stop, but I fear you may freeze if we continue. I love you but I’d rather the love of my life not be turned into a popsicle.”

It took Virgil a second to realise what Roman meant. Not only had he rushed out in his pjs, but his clothes and skin were littered with tiny plumes of snow.

Snow. In Venice. 

When Roman pulled off a surprise, he sure did it in style.

As much as the poet could feel his anxiety over being outside - even momentarily - begin to build, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle,

“Come on then, Roman,”, Virgil huffed softly, his smile so beaming with love, Roman wondered if it was possible to be burned alive by it, “You have stories to tell me from your travels, and I have a warm armchair and some coffee to for us to share...”

----

Fluff? Straight up fluff? No angst!? It’s likelier than you think!

Seeing out the year with a happy little fic based on smth I talked about with a friend after the Christmas Concert Livestream!

All the Italian used is stuff I tried to cross reference so if anything is wrong or could be improved, please let me know!

(they’re supposed to be talking in Italian the entire fic I just wanted to add in some actual Italian like in the song)

Taglist:

@patton-cake @does-this-look-logicality-to-you @justalittlecorrupted @irritating-lady-knight @katlikethesword @gattonero17 @shadowylemon

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Bandaged Up

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic) x Male Reader

Warnings: Depression, graphic self harm, hitting oneself, abuse mentioned, hair pulling out

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

Hizashi wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. He had business at the school to do. I was thankful he wasn’t here, but it also hurt my heart. I needed him. I needed someone. All my friends — the few I had — worked at UA. I had just been left go. Today was my last day at work. I had only worked 4 hours today.

The company had been making a lot of cuts, but after working there for fifteen years, I thought I had some certainty in staying. But I guess I was wrong. Today was so stressful for me, knowing it was my last day, because Hizashi didn’t know about it.

I hadn’t told him. I couldn’t bring myself to explain that I had been let go, that I was struggling to find other work. I thought by now I would have a job again, but I didn’t. I knew this was coming, in a way.

I stopped eating as much, afraid to spend Hizashi’s money. I started wearing the same clothing a few days in a row to do less laundry, causing me to use less water. I couldn’t be a freeloader. I wouldn’t let myself become one.

I stormed into the kitchen, tearing brimming in my eyes. How was I going to tell Hizashi? I still had time to figure it out, but how would he react? Would he be mad? Think I wasn’t trying hard enough? That because I wasn’t a hero, that I brought this upon myself?

A million thoughts and questions ran through my head, making everything so loud. I covered my ears, tears now dripping down my cheeks. Yet that seemed to do nothing but amplify the sounds. I pressed my palms against my ears harder, as if adding pressure would drown out the noises. Again, it was a failure.

I knew I was spiraling now; I was working myself up. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. My chest tightened. Hizashi was going to be so mad. He was going to yell at me. He was going to leave me. I had enough money left for a little while, maybe I didn’t have to tell him yet. But then he would wonder why I’m home all day. Maybe I wouldn’t have to tell him that either.

My arms began to ache from the pressure I was putting on my head, so I dropped my hands. But they were shaking, trembling with fear. I had to tell him. It wasn’t fair to keep secrets like that. It wasn’t right. It I’d be living with him and using his money, he had a right to know why I couldn’t pay for much anymore.

I shook my head violently, trying to breathe. No no no. No. I can’t tell him. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it today. Today was too much so as it is.

I curled my hands into fists, frowning when I felt a cold metal in my hand. I looked down, seeing that I now held a knife. I frowned. When did I get this? My heart skipped a beat as I sucked in a breath.

I had a history with self harm that Hizashi didn’t know about. I wouldn’t tell him. We’ve been together for a year now, but I never let him see the scars on my thighs or upper arms. I had been clean for almost six months now, so I didn’t really feel a need to tell him. I had been doing so well...

I gently touched the blade, feeling that this must have been a new knife as it was pretty sharp. I found myself carrying it to the bathroom, my feet moving without much thought.

I sat down on the lid of the toilet, staring at the metal utensil. This is a punishment for losing your job. I closed my eyes, whimpering softly. This is your punishment. You deserve this. I shifted, dropping my sweatpants to the floor around my ankles. I rolled up the edge of my boxers and looked at all the other scars that painted my skin with white marks.

A numb feeling washed over me. I stopped crying, but I didn’t dry my tears. I pressed the knife against my skin, dragging it slowly. Pain bloomed, but I didn’t dare stop. Again, I lifted the knife, pulling it back along my skin. Again. And again. And again. The blade was covered in red. My blood spilled out of the cuts smoothly, building up to run down my thigh.

I grabbed some toilet paper and drabbed at them. I shifted a bit, adjusting myself so I could make work of my other thigh. This time, I did more than simple cuts; I carved a reminder I to myself.

F A I L U R E

The letters filled with blood, making the letters look bold and running into one another as the bled more. Once again, I wiped away the blood.

My eyes then turned to my arm. I didn’t feel like I did enough. My punishment wasn’t over yet. I didn’t think as I slid the knife across my forearm, a place I hadn’t yet cut before. It was almost euphoric, cutting in a new place. Ruining the pristine skin there, knowing it would scar. I deserved it.

Feeling rushed back into my all of a sudden, the pain increasing tenfold. I cried out, dropped the bloodied knife as I stared in shock at what I had done. Six months, down the drain. Six months, gone.

Quickly, I scrambled through the bathroom cabinet for bandages, wrapping the still bleeding cuts up. In my panic, though, I realized I didn’t regret what I had done. I only was panicking because I couldn’t let Hizashi find out. I didn’t want to see his disappointment. His anger. His disgust.

I put my sweatpants back on, hiding the bandage on my thigh easily. However, I now needed a long sleeve shirt to hide my arm.

I bent down a picked up the knife, taking it with me as I went to the kitchen. I washed it off, using soap and water, and then replacing it back where I had gotten it from. Maybe Hizashi would never notice it was moved and used at all.

I made my way to the bedroom, digging through our shared dresser. I knew it would seem a bit suspicious if I used one of my own long sleeve shirts, so I stole one of Hizashi’s and slid it on. I rolled up the sleeves instead of just pushing them up in fear of exposing the bandage.

I walked back out to the living room and sat down on the couch. I felt.... weary. Drained. I stayed silent and still on the couch, just trying to feel something. Anything. Anything at all.

When they didn’t work, I went and put on a playlist that always got Hizashi and I happy and in a dancing mood. I turned the volume up and sat back down on the couch. The CD player took a little bit to load, but I didn’t mind. The quiet before the music gave me more time to think. More time to analyze.

As the music stared, I closed my eyes. Maybe that would help me feel it more. Feel the rhythms and beats. I knew all the lyrics by heart, so my lips moved soundlessly along. But I felt no different. Not happier. Not more energized. Not anything but empty.

Yet I left the music on as I got up, tending to some cleaning that the house needed. Might as well be useful for something. Besides, Hizashi was a clean freak and liked a clean house. Not that ours was dirty by any means right now, but I found myself straightening picture frames and finishing up a few dishes that were left in the sink.

“Yo, babe, having a party without me?!” I heard Hizashi’s voice come from the living room. I hadn’t even heard the front door close due to the music. I wiped my face just in case there were any stray tears on it. Thankfully, my eyes never got super red when I cried. My nose just turned pink, and maybe Hizashi wouldn’t notice that.

I walked from the kitchen, plastering a smile on my face, and greeting my boyfriend. “Welcome home,” I half yelled over the music.

Hizashi was swaying to the beat, bopping his head a bit as well. He had his signature smile on his face, too. Even then, I couldn’t make my smile feel real. Everything I was felt fake right now.

Hizashi walked up to me and wrapped me into a hug, kissing my temple. As I hugged him, I let my smile fall. Why keep up the facade if he couldn’t see me? Yet in those few seconds of being hugged and held, my fake smile gone, a long formed in my throat. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to be comforted by him. But I knew better, and he shouldn’t have to worry about me, too, on top of all his other responsibilities.

As he pulled away, I forced my smile back onto my lips. He was just as handsome as ever. A pit formed in my stomach. I don’t deserve him.

“I’m gonna go take a shower, babe,” Hizashi said.

I nodded a little bit. “All right, dear.”

He disappeared around the corner, allowing my facade to disappear as well. I went and turned off the music, taking out the CD, and putting it back in his case. Hopefully Hizashi wouldn’t want to go out tonight. I just wasn’t feeling it.

It was only about ten minutes before the water stopped and the hair dryer started. A small smile pulled back part of my lips. This meant Hizashi was going to let his hair down. I loved when he had his hair down.

He came out of the bathroom a while later. He was shirtless, decked out in only a pair of sweatpants and socks. His eyes trailed me up and down, a light smirk on his face. “Why you got so much clothing on? You’re smokin’ hot. Why don’t you come chill off with me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

Usually his silly antics to get me to be shirtless would’ve made me laugh, but all I could was offer up a weak smile. “I’m just cold today, love.”

Hizashi’s smile faded a little bit. I knew he could tell something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what. I hoped he would let it go, but that was wishful thinking. Hizashi never let problems go unsolved.

He took a seat next to me on the bed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You feeling okay, baby?”

“I’m okay,” I lied, shrugging lightly. “I’m just tired is all.”

Hizashi’s smile faded completely, and I knew I fucked up. I never told Hizashi I was tired, ever. I was only tired if I was sick or if I was literally falling asleep, and I had just basically told him I wasn’t either of the two.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he whispered to me, pressing a light kiss onto my cheek.

I looked down at my lap, my eyes bouncing between my thighs. I couldn’t tell him, but my emotions began to bubble to the surface, and I felt my throat tighten. I shook my head slightly, tears welling up in my eyes. I tried to blink them away.

“You won’t like it, Zashi,” I said softly.

“I don’t like when you’re upset. I’d rather you talk to me about it.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I tried to hide it from him. “You’ll be upset with me. You’ll be mad. You’ll be disgusted. I-I can’t have that. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

I pushed myself away from him, getting up and taking my hands through my hair. Tears ran down my cheeks more freely now, and my fists weakly hit the sides of my head in an attempt to think straight.

“Baby,” he whispered.

I wasn’t listening. Everything from today was bubbling back up, demanding to be felt. Demanding to be told. Demanding to be heard. My fists began to tap my head harder, causing a dull ache to spread from the spots that were being hit.

“No, no, no, Zashi, no. No, you don’t get it. You-you don’t get it.” My fingers laced themselves in my hair, tugging on it harshly. I almost yelped in pain, but it was comforting in a way. “You-you can’t understand. I-I can’t tell you. I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

I pulled harder on my hair, then raking my hands through it. I shook my hands a little once they were out of my hair, strands of it falling from my fingers. I had a bad habit of pulling out my hair when I got overwhelmed. My fingers twirled around smaller chunks now, intentionally ripping the hair out as my vision blurred further.

I heard Hizashi get up and he grabbed my wrists, squeezing them lightly. “Hey, hey, hey, baby. Don’t do that. Give me your hands. Let me see them.”

I released my hair from my grip, my hands trembling in Hizashi’s hands. He held them close to his chest, away from my head.

“Zashi....” His gaze was full of concern and sadness. It made my heart hurt. I was doing this to him. I was hurting him. My knees felt weak, and I wanted to sink to the ground. “Zashi...”

“I’m here, baby. Right here.”

I choked on a sob. “I-I lost my job. They l-let me go. I-I can’t...can’t find another one. I-I don’t know what to do. Zashi, I relapsed. It h-hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts.”

I felt myself falling, my knees too weak to keep me standing. Hizashi pulled me against his chest, lowering me to the ground with him. He stayed quiet as he pet hair lightly.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked quietly.

“Too long,” I whimpered, unsure of what answer to give him. Did he mean my self harm tendencies or my job? Both had been for a while now.

“You’re not alone, darling. I don’t want you to feel alone. I’m here. I’m here. I’m not mad at you. I love you. I love you so much.”

I was struggling to hear Hizashi over my whimpers and gasps of breath. I do desperately wanted to believe him, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t. There wasn’t any way he could truly mean what he said.

“Believe me,” he whispered, and I heard his voice break a little. “I love you. And I want to help you. I’m here for you. I got you, darling. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He scooped me into his arms and sat me down on the bed, kneeling in front of me. He still held my hands, kissing the backs of them lightly. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve any of that at all.

We stayed quiet for a while. He just held me, gently swaying back and forth with me in his arms. He hummed softly, running his fingers through my hair, down my back. Hizashi cradled me in his arms.

“I need you to show me,” he whispered after a little while, his eyes staring into mine. I sniffled, having calmed down a little bit when Hizashi was whispering to me.

“Sh-show you?”

“You told me you relapsed. I-I need to see. I have to make sure you’re taking care of yourself... of the cuts.”

I hesitated, shakily taking off my shirt, exposing my bandage. “Th-there’s more,” I mumbled quietly. I shuffled a little bit, sliding my sweatpants down a little to expose my boxers. I pushed them up, exposing those bandages as well. “That’s it.”

Hizashi got up, kissing my forehead. “I’m going to get something to clean them with. Okay? I’ll bandage them back up and we can cuddle after. Is that all right?”

I sniffled, biting my lower lip. I guess it would have to be, so I nodded a little. He got up and left, leaving me alone for a few seconds. I wiped at my eyes violently, angry at myself. I didn’t know how Hizashi wasn’t mad at me. Or disgusted. Or anything for that matter. He was upset. Concerned. And I didn’t understand why.

He came back, a bottle, some bandages, and paper towels in hand. “It’s going to sting a little bit, okay?” I nodded, sniffling again.

He undid the bandages gently, taking in the red, abused skin. He didn’t stay anything as he carefully began to clean the ones on my legs. I didn’t watch him do it. I couldn’t. It wasn’t because it hurt a lot, but because I didn’t want to see the way his eyes held the pain and sorrow of my actions.

I heard him gasp softly as he moved to my other thigh, the one with the word carved into it. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes. I felt his hands shake as he cleaned the wound.

“You’re not a failure,” he whispered to me. “Never.” He rebandaged my cuts, moving to my arm. He gave it the same treatment as he did to my legs.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Hizashi asked me quietly. I’d never seen him so quiet before, but maybe he knew that I needed it right now.

“Yes, please,” I whispered.

Hizashi pulled me into his arms, careful of my new bandages. He laid down with me, shifting so my legs were tangled with his, and my head laid on his chest. His hair tickled my cheek, but I didn’t mind. I closed my eyes, stifling the little hiccups from crying so much.

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

“I’m so in love with you. I love you so much. I don’t care what you’re going through; I want to go through it with you. You aren’t alone. I’ll support you until you get another job, and you don’t have to feel bad about it. I’ll be here to help you with your mental health. I’m here for you, baby boy. I’m always here for you.”

I whimpered, hiding my face in his chest. “Thank you, Zashi... I’m sorry I’m... like this.”

“No, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Just talk to me next time, okay?”

I let out a shuddery breath. “I’m going to try... I-I was doing so well. I just... broke...”

“We all have bad days. I’m here to help you on yours. Don’t worry about a thing, sugar. I’ve got you.”

I closed my eyes, my hand settling on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He meant everything that he was saying. I truly never loved another person as much as I loved Hizashi.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

[oceantail-oceantail]

Skephalo Week, Day 5: Song

Title: send out the signal (read on ao3)

(partially inspired by @strawbkiwijuice’s demon core au)

Warnings: mild body horror (?)

A/N: HAS A HAPPY ENDING

Summary: If it means the death of me I won't let go And if I'm lost in the world's shadows I'll use the light that comes to me From your halo...

Skeppy sacrificed himself to save his best friend. Bad sacrificed himself to be with him again. The Bloodvines Arc, songfic of “Halo” by Starset

Skeppy didn’t know much about Bad’s background or his life before the demon traveled to the Overworld. He just knew that he used to live in the Nether, and not the safe, surface level Nether where Overworld beings had carved out and explored, but the deep dark core of the realm.

I can see you running, running

Every night from the same darkness

It's coming, coming

But you are not alone

All he knew is that on occasion, Bad would slip away from the home they created within smooth quartz walls and return to that world.

He always came back though, but he always came back different. Quieter, shakier, and just a little bit terrified, like he knew something that Skeppy didn’t.

(Under the covers of blankets, Bad whispered that he was afraid something terrible was coming, something that was destined to destroy them)

If you just say the word

I'll be there by your side

You make me more

You make me superhuman

Year ago, Bad had given him his core, the part of his soul that tethered him to the Overworld. Skeppy was never the brightest scholar, but he did do his research.

So long as the core was protected and safe, the host of the core and the demon were undying. But it was risky for a demon to entrust another living being with their core. A demon’s core could grant functional immortality to its host, but it also gave the host a form of control over part of their soul, something most demons would never risk.

Skeppy once asked why Bad didn’t just anchor his life force with an inanimate object like most demons and Bad just hugged him.

(“Because I couldn’t live without you”)

And if you need me to

I will save you

He would do anything for Bad. Bad loved him, entrusted him with the most important thing to a demon, the literal vessel of his immortality.

Send out the signal

And I'll fly low

If it means the death of me

I won't let go

They had been inseparable ever since. Though all the trolling and yelling and arguing and fighting. Through the countless wars on the server and the deaths and creations of countries.

And if I'm lost in the world's shadows

I'll use the light that comes to me

From your halo

Bad wasn't an angel. He was a demon, that part was obvious. He didn’t exactly have that angelic halo that was told in legend and stories of old.

But Bad laughed at him when Skeppy pointed out that Bad was more angelic than demonic. “Angels aren’t as nice as you think, Skeppy” he said, smirking, tail twitching like an excited cat.

Skeppy had rolled his eyes.

Halo

Halo

“But if it makes you feel better,” Bad had continued, walking towards him and looking directly into his eyes. “You’re like my halo.” His clawed hand rested gently on the glowing blue core in the center of Skeppy’s chest.

When you're backed against the wall

I could be the one who's always there to break your fall

You are not alone

The Bloodvines was a dark stain on their shared history, the most tragic and heartbreaking thing that had ever happened between them, a tale of miscommunication, sacrifice, and skewed senses of self-worth.

You're the Sun, you're the day

The light that guides me through

Never run, run away

I will save you

Skeppy saw it coming, he saw the bright red of Bad’s energy being sapped away until he was slowly being replaced by the ghost-white husk of himself, a puppet. He saw the bright red ginting in Ant and Puffy eyes and he was terrified.

Send out the signal

And I'll fly low

If it means the death of me

I won't let go

The Egg promised him that Bad’s core would be safe; it swore that if he gave himself up, then it wouldn't need nourishment from others. Bad would be free, the whole server would be free, and bonus, Bad’s demon core would be safe forever. Bad would be safe forever.

The obsidian crumbled beneath his diamond pickaxe and the Egg closed around him, sinking beneath his skin and tearing him apart.

And if I'm lost in the world's shadows

I'll use the light that comes to me

From your halo

He only saw red. He only felt red. Burning, scorching pain that ripped him apart from the inside. He barely felt his own body, only the ever growing red vines that pulled him apart and dug deep into his very soul. He couldn’t even scream.

The Egg devoured him. It felt like his very skin was tearing away from his bones.

He was dumped onto the floor of the statue room, wriggling bright red bloodvines curling around him, cutting and squeezing and throbbing. His mind felt hazy and lost, and he couldn't control any of his movements, could just watch himself talk like he was dissociating from himself.

Send out the signal and I'll fly low

If it means the death of me

I won't let go

When Bad approached, Skeppy tried to hold onto him, to shout at him, to do anything. He wanted Bad and the core to be safe above anything else. I won’t stop loving you, he yelled at Bad in his head. I saved you!

But his mouth didn’t follow his thoughts and he watched his own body move against his will, attacking Bad and running. The haze of pain was ever-consuming and Skeppy’s mind nearly collapsed in on itself.

He had never wanted to die more than he had in that moment.

And if I'm lost in the world's shadows

I'll use the light that comes to me

From your halo

Bad knew Skeppy was still there. Even though Bad was still under the influence of the Egg, he was still mostly himself. And Bad knew that Skeppy was still there, locked in the confines of the red imposter version of himself.

They tried everything, yelling old insides jokes, telling stories, the holy water, everything.

Skeppy couldn’t break free.

(And if I'm lost in the world's shadows

I'll use the light that comes to me)

Your halo

Your halo

Your halo.

He could still feel Bad’s core deep inside him, but he was trapped and suffocating in the red haze of the bloodlines, the red tendrils invading his mind and his heart and his body.

He clung onto it, the last remnant of Bad. It was like the faintest balm for the ravaged expanse of his soul.

I won't let go

I won't let go

I won't let go

I won't let go (I won't let go)

Months and months passed and Skeppy was barely holding onto a shred of his own identity. The Egg hissed at him, mocking him: Bad had given himself up in exchange for Skeppy.

Skeppy begged for someone to save them.

And if I'm lost in the world's shadows

I'll use the light that comes to me

It felt like it lasted an eternity.

When the Egg was destroyed for good, Skeppy sobbed as the tendrils that had been embedded in his skin for months burned away, searing fiery pain ripping across his whole body. The core was dim, blinking faintly in time with Skeppy’s racing heartbeat.

Bad was crying too, holding him close to his chest, spaded tail gripping only Skeppy’s arm desperately.

From your halo...

When every inch of red was finally torn away from his skin, Skeppy blinked back tears and opened his eyes to Bad’s face hovering over him, white eyes glowing bright like a beacon of hope.

His best friend was shaking, trembling as he gently traced the outline of Skeppy’s normal, human skin with a curved claw.

Skeppy was so weak, he could barely do more than stare up at Bad.

With a faint hum, the core glowed bright blue again and Skeppy let out a choked laugh and clung to Bad tighter. Bad rested a hand over the core and pressed their foreheads together tenderly.

Your halo

Your halo…

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 35: Listen, Beloved-

-to the quiet after the storm.

In the aftermath of the nightmare, Tristan and Dorian reach for each other once more.

Read more on AO3! Or read from the beginning

Dorian took in a deep breath as the world slowly solidified around him. It was as if a dense cloud of fog had been lifted and he could finally see, yet the remnants of the nightmare still tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a groan. His head felt heavy, his neck stiff, every muscle aching with only the barest movement. The cold light of morning was peeking in through the opening of the heavy burgundy curtains, illuminating the wooden floor in thin streaks of iridescent, kaleidoscopic fractals. As soon as he became aware of his surroundings, he turned to his side, searching for Trevelyan. His eyes were still closed, his forehead shining with sweat, hair and shirt damp and clinging to his skin. Of the wounds he had seen on him in the Fade there was thankfully no sign. That alone made Dorian heave a sigh of relief.

“Amatus,” he whispered, brushing his hair from his brow, when Trevelyan suddenly jolted bolt upright with a gasp. The mark on his hand flared, illuminating the space between them.

“Damn you-” Trevelyan groaned, cradling his hand close to his chest. The side of his face was painted a sickly green when he turned to look at him, green shards of lightning in the dark blue of his eyes. “Dorian,” he panted, wincing in pain when the mark crackled in his palm. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Dorian said softly, trying to hide the concern in his voice. “Where else would I be?” He watched him anxiously, searching for any signs in Trevelyan’s expression that would betray his thoughts. Did he remember what had happened? Did he remember the nightmare, the demon’s illusions, their battle? Did he remember Dorian’s hand, the way it had curled around his throat?

The thought carved a hole in his stomach. He realised abruptly he didn’t want to know the answers to those questions. He didn’t want to find out whether he remembered any of it; better yet, he wished he did not. What if that was what Trevelyan saw now, every time he looked at him?  

Dorian opened his mouth to speak, to say literally anything that would take his mind off that, but before he could utter another word, Trevelyan had shifted his body to face him. He pressed his knuckle under his Dorian’s chin, lifting his gaze up to his own.

“Is it you? Is it really you?”

Dorian let out a slow exhale through his nose. Trevelyan stared at him intently enough to bore a hole in his skull, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath. Dorian swallowed thickly. “Yes. It is me.”

Trevelyan stared at him for a moment longer, then let his hand fall. A tremulous breath left him, his shoulders sagging. His eyes fell closed as he threaded his fingers through his hair. He suddenly looked incredibly weary and pale, a wet piece of cloth that had been wrung dry. “I need a drink,” he mumbled as he rolled out of the bed. His back was glistening, slick with sweat, his hair damp against the nape of his neck like swirls of white gold. He picked up his shirt from the floor where he’d dropped it the night before, before they’d gone to bed.

Fasta vass, Dorian breathed. The night before. When they had made love and then soaked in the tub together, and read poetry to each other. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

He leaned forward and hugged his knees to his chest, watching Trevelyan as he moved about the space. There was a slight stagger to his step, and he swayed lightly when he stopped before the gilded liquor cabinet by the window. The neck of the bottle he picked up clinked against the rim of the crystal glass when he tipped it over it, the amber liquid gurgling as it escaped its confines. The strong, spicy aroma of brandy filled the room. Trevelyan downed the drink, wincing as he swallowed. A strong shudder passed through him, and he pressed the glass against his forehead. “Maker. That’s better.” He sniffed, brushing the back of his hand over his nose. “More now.”

Dorian’s heart clenched while he watched him fill his glass again, then empty it in just a couple gulps. The way he was going, he would be falling flat on his face any moment now. Dorian stood up, pulling his own clothes on before striding towards him. He caught Trevelyan’s wrist before he’d filled his glass for the third time in a row. “I believe that is enough.”

Trevelyan’s gaze was hazy and unsteady when it focused on him, his eyes dark and red-rimmed. There was a hollowness to them, like he had forgotten who he was, where he was, what Dorian was doing there. It was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a frown. He glanced away, pressing his lips together tightly. “Is it?” he asked quietly, not meeting Dorian’s eyes.

“Yes. It is. It won’t do you any good. Trust me. It’s been a long and difficult night, and you spent more time in the presence of a demon than any non-mage ought to. In fact, I don’t know many mages that would have held on for as long as you did against it.” Including myself, he thought bitterly, but swallowed the thought down. This wasn’t about him. It was about Trevelyan. Who wasn’t looking very well right then, all things considered. Dorian may have drunk himself into a stupor more times than he could count, after similar nights, chased by his own demons. Just because he did it though, didn’t mean that he would let Trevelyan do it too. He deserved better.

He swallowed down his bitterness, taking in a deep breath. “One drink is fine,” he continued in as soothing a tone as he could manage, “but any more than that and you’ll weaken your defenses even more. And you need them now, more than ever, both sleeping and awake.”

Trevelyan simply stared at the floor, not saying a word. His wrist hung limply from Dorian’s hand. He didn’t try to pry it out of Dorian’s grip, but he didn’t make any other move either. When neither of them spoke for a long moment, Dorian cleared his throat and took a step back, letting him go. Perhaps it was the way Trevelyan was looking at him, or rather, doing his best not to look at him, like he couldn’t comprehend why Dorian was still there, or the fact that his own voice trembled ever so slightly when he spoke, but he suddenly felt the visceral need to put some distance between them.

“Well. It is positively chilly in here, isn’t it? Can this room ever get warm enough?” he wondered aloud, walking towards the fireplace. He avoided glancing at Trevelyan over his shoulder as he placed log after log on the bed of cold ashes in the hearth. “It must be one of the coldest and dampest ones in the whole keep. Who thought of having the headquarters facing the South? If it weren’t an ancient castle, I would be having a serious conversation with its builder.” With a flick of his fingers, a shy fire started going. Soon, it was crackling merrily, filling the room with its amber glow and slowly, ever so slowly, dispelling the damp that clung to the stone. The coldness that had settled between Trevelyan and him, though, was an entirely different matter.

Dorian stood up, brushing the dust from the knees of his trousers. “Why don’t you come closer? You’ll catch a cold the way you’re standing there. That window’s terribly drafty. Shall I bring you a blanket? I could call for a warm drink to be brought up, if you’d like.”

“Dorian,” Trevelyan started quietly, not meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to fuss over me. I’m fine.”

“Nonsense. You are most certainly not fine. Not after-” His voice broke, and he snapped his lips shut. His guilt rose to the surface when he noticed the weariness in Trevelyan’s features, illuminated by the firelight, the exhaustion that was carving deep lines around his eyes.  More, when he remembered how those eyes had looked at him while he was taking the life from him.

The image flashed before his eyes. Dorian’s first instinct was to look away, to brush the memories aside, but he did not. He held on to the last bit of stubborn pride that was left to him. He was not going to turn away from what he had done, he was not going to ignore the dratted druffalo in the room. He was going to point it out for both of them. He was going to own it.

“I believe,” he continued, tilting his chin up ever so slightly, mustering his courage, “that I am allowed to fuss over you after practically trying to kill you. Don’t you think?”

He watched with rising bitterness as Trevelyan flinched visibly. He had not moved from where he was, had not come closer to the fire’s bright warmth. The flames painted the side of his face golden, shadows dancing in the hooded dark of his eyes, obscuring his expression. “You did not try to kill me,” he said slowly, as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “That wasn’t you. It was the demon.”

“It was not the demon.” He held his breath, waiting for Trevelyan’s eyes to focus on him before continuing. He couldn’t explain why, but he wanted his full attention. He wanted his eyes on him, he wanted to see the horror that would flash in them after he had admitted to the magnitude of his mistake. Like picking at a wound, tearing it open before it had even managed to heal. “It was me all along. The demon did not tamper with my mind. It laid its webs before me, and I stepped in them willingly. I thought I was protecting you. I was so determined to do absolutely anything to achieve that, that I didn’t stop for a moment to consider the absurdity of it all. It-” He stopped when his throat tightened, but it wasn’t long before he was forging on once more, ignoring the tremor in his voice. He had to admit it, to himself more than anything. “It bested me. Plain and simple. I thought I knew better. I should have known better, but I was outsmarted. I failed, spectacularly so. If Cole hadn’t been there-”

“No.” Trevelyan’s tone was sharp, flat, his hand tightening about the glass in a white knuckled grip. “You can’t think like this, Dorian. You can’t think of what might have been, should have been, could have been; there’s no point. That demon was stronger than both of us. It knew about me. It knew… too much. It knew my desires, my fears, my weaknesses, and it used them. You were just caught in the whirlwind. You and Cole both.” He rubbed the corners of his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, letting out a heavy sigh. “Do you see now,” he asked, “why I wanted you away? Why I asked you to leave, time after time?”

Trevelyan’s gaze focused on him, dark and intent, piercing him to the bone. Dorian opened his mouth. Closed it. He scrambled for words, yet could find none. Perhaps things would have been better if he had listened to him. Perhaps they would have turned out much worse. It was a startling thought, but even so, even after everything that had happened, even if he could turn back time right then, Dorian didn’t think he would ever find it in himself to do as he had been told.

“I… could never have done it,” he admitted at last.

“You should have.” Trevelyan’s tone was not cruel, but his words smarted like a whetted blade. “It was me the demon wanted. It set the stage for my benefit; my peril, rather. It was my responsibility to be rid of it. No one else should be endangered like this because of me. You should have just listened to me. I should have faced it on my own.”

“I could not have done it,” Dorian repeated, taking heart from his own stubbornness. “I could never have done what you were asking of me. To leave you alone in that nightmare- that would have been madness. Someone simply had to be there for you. And that someone happened to be Cole and me.” He sniffed sharply, “ Clearly, I was not the right person for the job. Yet that does not change the fact that there is no way you could have been left alone with that. Maker knows what you would have woken up to, if you ever did. There is too much at stake for you to be facing such dangers ‘on your own’.”

“I know what’s at stake,” Trevelyan almost spat out the words. “I am well aware, believe me. I live with that awareness every day. But to drag you into this, to place you in danger for- for nothing -” he huffed, his lips pressed in a tight line. His fists opened and closed at his sides, the mark pulsing softly. “I won’t allow it. I cannot allow it.”

“For nothing?” Dorian echoed in disbelief. Maker, he could shake him. The words clawed at his throat, and no matter what he did he couldn’t hold them back. They spilled out of him in a torrent. “You think all this was nothing, then? The demon, then nightmare, the illusions it spun? Or do you simply have no regard for your own safety at all, not even a little?”

“What different does it make?” Trevelyan’s eyes flashed in affront. “You shouldn’t have been there, and that’s that. Cole should never have dragged you into it, and I should never have let you stay. It’s not worth it-”

“Not worth it? Vishante kaffas, are you even listening to yourself?”

“Are you listening to me? ” he asked back, fixing him with a hard glare. He was like a spring, all tense, ready to burst forth. “When I told you I didn’t want you there, it was for a reason. I don’t understand. Why do you insist on following me, on risking yourself, over and over-”

“Because I care about you, you infuriating creature!” Dorian snapped, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. His guilt was suddenly gone, burnt away by the wildfire of his anger. “A sentiment we clearly do not share, seeing as you would readily expose yourself to unimaginable dangers without a second thought for your own wellbeing. You think I’m contradicting you on purpose? Please,” he scoffed. “If anyone takes some sort of perverse satisfaction from riling up everyone around them, that would be you. Half the time, it seems like you exist purely for the purpose of vexing me; the rest I wonder why I even bother with you!”

Trevelyan didn’t back away from his outburst; met his fury proudly, blow by blow. His brows were gathered in a scowl when he growled, “If I vex you so bloody much, then you should have just walked away, Dorian!” His cheeks had turned bright pink, his hand curled so tightly about his glass when he swung it in an arc over his head that Dorian thought he would break it. “At least you would have been safe from all the spectacular fucking disasters that seem to follow me wherever I go!”

Dorian gaped at him incredulously, his heart beating in his throat. Trevelyan’s eyes were burning so bright with his anger that they could have set him aflame on the spot, yet he found himself incapable of caring about it. Were they back to this? To this… bickering and arguing and snapping at one another, as if they couldn’t stand each to breathe each other’s air? They always seemed to reach that point sooner or later, didn’t they? Sometimes, it seemed like they could barely last one hour before jumping at each other’s throat over some foolish, or not so foolish reason or other. In some ways, he wondered how they had managed to get past their differences in the first place; in many others, he wondered how long it would be until they wouldn’t be able to get past them anymore.

And yet.

Dorian had been inside Trevelyan’s mind. He’d seen all those moments of happiness and grief, or worry and quiet contemplation, the pain he dragged with him wherever he went, all the things that made him who he was. He’d seen how much he cared. About him. To what lengths he would go, to keep him safe.

His heart swelled in his throat, choking him.

“You think I could bear to leave you alone?” he asked quietly.

Trevelyan’s fury drained away suddenly, all at once, to be replaced by shock. Dorian took in a deep breath, curling his trembling hands into fists. “I know what it’s like, to be alone. To fight alone. I’ve done it for years, for most of my life. All of it, it seems sometimes. I’ve tried to be strong, to shoulder everything on my own, to show the world the face it wanted to see. It is wondrous, and it is horrifying, and every moment I felt like I was drowning. I do not want that for you.” He met Trevelyan’s gaze, willing his voice to stay level. His pulse was beating loudly in his throat; he wondered whether Trevelyan could see it flutter right beneath his skin. He felt naked, stripped bare, and he didn’t care. Was there truly anything else to lose?

Had there ever been?

Read the rest on AO3!

[vincent-frankenstein]

44: “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” and/or 20: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” with either prinxiety or roceit? (if you have time or are board or something. But only if you want to! I'm sorry if this isn't a very good suggestion, I can send more. I just really like your work!)

anon i will fight you this suggestion just got me to vibe on a page for 2 hours and i CRIED this prompt is one of my favorite ones ive gotten so far 

also ty!!

Summary: Roman is locked away in the Imagination, and the Mindscape is crumbling. As the light sides panic, Deceit slips away to rescue his prince.

Warnings: uhhhhh Bad Feelings, panic, near death, transformation (dee becomes a snake for like 2 paragraphs), slightly suicidal thoughts but there’s a Happy Ending i promise

It was when the Imagination began to crumble that the sides truly knew something was wrong.

They hadn't seen Roman for weeks, but that wasn't that out of the ordinary. It was in his nature to vanish for weeks on end into his realm, pursuing only the grandest, most perfect dreams to present to Thomas upon his return. But then they woke one gray morning to find cracks splintering from his door, spiderwebbing further as the mindscape shook, and when they tried to summon Roman they got no response.

Deceit watched from the shadows as the light sides argued, peering at the growing cracks with narrowed eyes. It was quite obvious that Roman was in danger; the Imagination, or at least the side that he controlled, couldn't exist without his presence. If it was crumbling, so was he.

Which, really. That was hardly Deceit's problem. Danger followed Roman like a loyal mutt; it had only been a matter of time before he found himself in the sort of trouble he couldn't get out of. He had it coming. The light sides would work themselves out in time — cease their incessant bickering over who would go and save him, who would stay with Thomas, who would risk themselves and who would stay safe — and Roman would be rescued. Deceit had no role to play in such a thing; really, he had no obligation to play the hero, especially for one of them.

But he couldn't move. The cracks spiraled; the walls around them shook, drywall snowing down from the ceiling. Deceit stayed silent in his little bubble of shadows, glaring at the door. A familiar laugh echoed through his mind; a smile flashed at the forefront of his thoughts, always warm, always kind, even as they bickered and bantered and fought with no end in sight.

He willed his foot to take a step backward, and it stepped forward instead. He owed nothing to Roman. He had no reason to subscribe to the outdated ideal of 'heroism' to save the sort of heroic idiot he was supposed to be fighting against. With a litany of hissed swears, he wrinkled his nose, glancing over at the arguing light sides.

Virgil was demanding to be allowed to go in alone. Logan was not-so-calmly debating the merits and downfalls of each possible configuration of rescuers — whether they should all go, whether Virgil should be the one to stay with Thomas, whether Roman could fend for himself. Patton was sobbing, damn near inconsolable. It would take them hours to come to a conclusion, hours that Roman didn't have.

A side couldn't die — unless they were in a realm of the mindscape where their connection to Thomas was weakened. The Subconscious, the Darkscape, or... the Imagination. If something had incapacitated Roman to the point that the Imagination had begun to literally crumble, it was only a matter of time until each side felt that horrifying swoop in their stomachs, the sickening lurch that declared that a fellow side had died.

Roman was going to die.

Deceit didn't care. He didn't. He...

He swore again, hands curling into fists. Damn Roman to Hell and back for making Deceit care about him — and damn the remnants of a heart still floating around in Deceit's chest that allowed him to care in the first place. He was self-preservation, for lying's sake! He wasn't built to play the hero.

But that was exactly what he was going to do. He knew it, with a sinking certainty in his bones, a quiet resignation deep in his stomach. He couldn't walk away, not from this — not from Roman. Not when he knew his own complacency would cause them to lose Roman for good. With a heavy sigh — and one last hissed swear, for good measure — he slipped through the shadows and into the Imagination before the other sides could even notice he was there.

Rain poured from the inky-black swirling mess that Deceit assumed was meant to be the sky, great freezing droplets that lashed at his skin and sent shivers cascading through his bones. Lightning flashed in jagged bolts across the horizon. The wind smelled of ash and smoke as it hurried past; Deceit held his hat to keep it from flying off in the chaos.

The sky churned, a great circle of darkness centered above the cause of it all: a raised platform surrounded by blood-red roses. Cracks splintered from the platform, gouging monstrous ravines across the landscape. A figure laid on the platform — and above him, a hulking beast gave a hideous thunder-crackle roar, dark wings stretching high into the sky. A dragon. Of course.

Deceit allowed himself only a moment to curse Roman's name to the wind once more before he narrowed his eyes, assessing the situation. He had no hope of fighting the dragon on his own; Roman was the only one in the mindscape who knew how to fight, unless you counted Virgil, with his crude affinity for starting fistfights. And Roman was currently... unconscious, Deceit hoped. Sleeping atop a platform guarded by a dragon.

First order of business: wake Roman up. Then he could fight off the dragon — or, at the very least, get them both out of the Imagination intact. He scanned the landscape between himself and Roman, and then peered up at the dragon, thinking. He had to be careful about this.

A snap of his fingers sent a familiar dizzying lurch through his stomach, and he dropped to the ground, feeling his skin melt away to be replaced with iridescent black scales. He shook himself, sinking into his new form, and then slithered off towards Roman, testing the air with his tongue with every moment he moved. The dragon was a great mass of heat above them both; Roman was a beacon of warmth, waiting just ahead.

He slipped through the grass and onto the bottom of the platform, keeping close to the edge of the cracks so his darkness wouldn't stand out against the stark quartz. Ducking down against the side of the platform, he allowed the transformation to take hold again, and, shaking feeling back into his hands, he stood.

"Roman," he said, loud to be heard against the roar of the storm above. He gripped the edge of the platform and leaned over Roman, eyes narrowing. Roman's face was pale; his eyelids fluttered weakly, his mouth moved but made no sound, and he didn't wake. The roses had grown over his hands, over his legs, thorny vines twisting across his limbs to tie him down. Blood-red petals scattered across his skin.

Deceit glanced up at the dragon. It bellowed, slamming a claw into the ground and sending more cracks spiraling. It hadn't noticed him yet. "Roman," he said again, more forcefully this time. "Roman, you need to wake up."

The ground trembled. The dragon screamed and the noise filled Deceit's lungs, his head, twisting around his thoughts and squeezing until he could barely breathe. The horizon had begun to shrink; tendrils of land spiraled up into the air and shattered among the lightning. Roman's breathing weakened; his eyelids stopped fluttering.

Deceit shook his head. "No, no," he whispered, grabbing Roman's shoulders and shaking. Roman had to wake up — he had to, he couldn't leave, he couldn't die, he had to wake up. Deceit couldn't fight the dragon on his own. He couldn't leave the Imagination without Roman; the door had already vanished in a crackle of wood.

But it was more than that, more than a desire to save himself, more than a need to escape. Desperation clawed at his lungs and stole his breath away as he looked at Roman's pale face, searching the emptiness inside for a hint, a glimmer of the dazzling light he knew. He needed Roman to wake up because — because —

Because he couldn't fathom living in a world where he didn't exist.

"Wake up," he said, and his voice shattered. "You — you have to wake up. You need to wake up because I can't do this without you, I can't —"

The dragon bellowed in fear, stumbling back as the ground at its feet vanished. The wind howled; the rain lashed at Deceit's face and mixed with the tears there, carving a deluge down his cheeks. Pieces of the platform began to vanish, bit by broken bit, and Deceit felt himself vanishing too, torn apart by the wind, washed away by the rain, wiped clean by the thunder and lightning as it cleaved through his lungs —

He pushed the decay away, pushed the pull of the Subconscious out of his mind, pushed pushed pushed —

He pushed forward and his lips connected with a curl of lightning, a rumble of thunder-crackle warmth, and he pushed and pushed and the roses bloomed along Roman's skin, vines curling away, and —

A hand moved to cup the back of his head. Shaking fingers curled through his hair. He barely even registered them until the warmth on his lips pulled away, tearing a gasp from his throat.

"Deceit," Roman gasped, the color returning to his face. Fire raced across Deceit's cheeks as he pulled back, gentle raindrops slipping down his skin. He glanced up, searching for the dragon — but it was gone.

"You're alive," he said, with the sort of voice that only came about when a thousand different emotions warred fiercely on his tongue. Roman blinked, holding a hand to his head.

"I suppose I am," he said. "I... I don't remember what happened."

A lie. Deceit could taste it, sweet blackberries curling through the air. Roman's lies always tasted like blackberries. He leveled Roman with a look and Roman sighed, curling in on himself. He seemed so small.

"...I was venting," he said finally. "I just felt so... so useless! I wanted to play out a few scenarios, see what things would be like if I... wasn't here. I suppose the Imagination just took things a bit too far."

"Understatement of the century," Deceit said, pulling himself up onto the platform to sit beside Roman. "I totally don't understand how you feel."

Roman blinked. "Really? I figured you would be able to relate — ah, it doesn't matter. It's like —"

"No, no, I mean —" Deceit cut himself off, sighing through his nose. He forced truth into his words, ignoring the bitter taste that spread across his tongue. "I get it. I've wondered myself how much better off everyone would be if I wasn't here."

"We wouldn't be better off at all!" Roman said. "Sure, you've made some mistakes, and you are a sassy bitch at times, but Thomas needs you!"

"Wow, really?" Deceit settled a hand against his chest, gasping in mock-surprise. "My own feelings of inadequacy don't automatically mean that I shouldn't exist? What a shocking revelation!"

Roman laughed quietly. "Touche," he said, his voice soft. "But what about the others?"

Deceit rolled his eyes. "Those idiots are outside as we speak, probably losing their minds over the fact that your door vanished. Even Logan was panicking. It was quite the sight."

"Even Logan?" Roman repeated, drawing his legs up onto the platform to pull his knees into his chest. "... You're serious?"

"Would you like me to summon one of those insufferable neckties he wears to prove it to you?" Deceit asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your existence matters. They care about you a great deal more than you think."

Roman nodded, looking away. "Right," he said, his voice just barely above a whisper. "And... I suppose you do, too?"

Deceit blinked, face scrunching in confusion as Roman turned to him with a small, teasing smile.

"You can't do this without me, right? Perhaps I misheard," Roman said, with the sort of smile that Deceit would expect more from Remus. Flames erupted across his face and he turned away, sneering.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Roman said, with a very audible wink. A moment later, he nudged up against Deceit's arm, pressing against him for a moment before pulling away. "I can't do this without you, either."

"That's —" Deceit opened and closed his mouth several times, but the only sound he could manage was a strangled squawk. Roman laughed and the sound only made Deceit struggle harder, hands twisting together in his lap as his face scrunched. "That hardly — it doesn't — you —"

Roman laughed, and pushed their lips together again.

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xvi. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general 

word count.  1550

chapter 16.  Ending Scene

Now, that's a question.  He knew his reasonings were poor - unfettered doubts with no bearings - but they existed, nonetheless.  How could they not when they'd sat in the cavern of his chest for the better part of his life, unattended like a wilting garden? It was simply an unfortunate consequence of unrequited love.

Weeds grew where hands couldn't reach.  It was neither your fault nor his.

"Say it again.”  He means it like a question but it fills you like a demand, sloping your mouth around syllables you'd repeat until you were hoarse.

"I love you.”  The kiss he rewards you with is breathtaking, quite literally tearing the air from your lungs with the intensity of it.  "I love you,”  you repeat like a mantra, if only to draw that same fire from him.  You want him just as badly as he needs you and you revel in the realization and the power it brings.  You're drunk on it.

He keens against you, edging at your throat and smiling giddily when the profession never stops.  "I could listen to you say that forever,”  he admits, easily, with little shame.

"I could say it forever.”  And you could.  You'd give him this, every day, for the rest of his life.  It'd be as easy as breathing, you think.  That was the power of your love.  It existed in every action and inaction.  Unconditional, as it should be and as it had been since you'd been children.

The frame of his arms holds you relentlessly, crushing you to his chest as he exhales the happiest noise you've ever heard.  He's back to being the boy you love, if not a little waterlogged.  You can still feel the wet of your tears and his, carved into your cheeks and anywhere he'd brushed against.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

It's honeycomb, scratchy and saccharine, sinking behind your molars and all over your hands.  It sends you miles over the moon, flying on a sugar rush you don't want to come down from.  Each kiss, each caress - it's another inch given into your addiction.

You don't mind.  Really, you'd happily perish if it meant going out this way.

You roll your eyes at the beautiful boy in your arms and it hurts a little, strained from saltwater.  "Why didn't you tell me sooner?”  The return is tender as always, further softened by the hand that drags the length of his cheekbone and settles affectionately on his shoulder.

"There was never a good time.  You were always in a relationship or...  something.”  As if that's the most obvious thing in the world, though you find meaning further than he intends, catching all the things left unsaid in between.

You pass a kiss over his temple, tickled pink by the soft tendrils of off-blue and not-black.  "I wasn't always in a relationship,”  you insist.  It's true.  There'd been times throughout the years that you'd been alone.

No, not alone.  You'd had him.

"You know what I mean.”  He mumbles his response into the stained satin of your neck, nosing softly there.  "You were either in a relationship or getting over one and I didn't ever want to be a last resort.”  Your heart aches when he puts his concerns to you, lets them linger in the spaces he can't fill with his physical self.  "I wanted you to be with me for me."

You know how hard the words are for him.  It'd taken him years and years to come to terms with his emotions - in all aspects of his life.  Even now, he was still growing, learning, evolving in ways you couldn't even begin to fathom.  It was, after all, one of realities of being an international superstar.  He had to grow up so fast.

You appreciate every verbalization he offers, tucking vowels and consonants into the corners of your heart for safekeeping.

"Jeon Jungkook, I'll always love you for you.”  You've caught him in your line of fire again, cradling his sharp jaw in the palms of your hands.  He tries not to meet your gaze - directs it to the freckle on your shoulder - but you remain steadfast.  "You’re my best friend.  Have been my whole life."

There's a sadness in your voice that creeps his eyes back to you, purely out of concern for your well-being.

"How could you ever think I wouldn't want you?"

Now, that's a question.  He knew his reasonings were poor - unfettered doubts with no bearings - but they existed, nonetheless.  How could they not when they'd sat in the cavern of his chest for the better part of his life, unattended like a wilting garden? It was simply an unfortunate consequence of unrequited love.

Weeds grew where hands couldn't reach.  It was neither your fault nor his.

"Couldn't help it.”  Another half-answer.  You've had enough of those.

With a strength that surprises even you, your mouth finds his.  Lips mould and meld, reshaping in a new kind of promise.  Like the ones you'd always made, but with fewer parts.  Better, in a way.  "I'll make it up to you."

"You have nothing to make up for."

You're not sure whether he believes it but you sure as hell don't.  You'd put him through hell these past few weeks - made him wade through an inferno like some poor soul - and here he was, soothing your ache as if it were his own.

"But I do,”  you pepper kisses over his nose, insistent.  "I have years and years to make up for."

He scoffs, rough and low.  Not because he doubts the intensity of your words, but because he's suddenly very amused by a thought.  "I don't think you could make up for fifteen years, no matter how hard you tried.  It just isn't possible, realistically."

The smugness on his face only acts as an accelerant to your actions.  You're crowding every inch of him in chaste pecks, from the top of his head - which smells vaguely of hairspray and his shampoo - to the faded scar.  You leave no patch of skin unattended, taking his words as an unnecessary challenge.

You linger at his cheeks, the taste of salt stilling your persistent motions.

He takes that as an unspoken forfeiture, his own hands shifting to draw you away until he can see you clearly.  When he glimpses the consternation in your brow, mockery flies out the proverbial window, instead replaced by concern.  "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry."

You've said it enough times tonight that he shakes his head, laughter dragging his shoulders and filling your senses.  "Stop saying that."

"I can't,”  you retort, fingers tracing the path his tears had carved.  They're stark beneath your touch, distinct by the natural flush of his skin beneath the carefully applied makeup.  "I hate seeing you cry."

Jungkook's head tilts, eyelids fluttering closed as he nuzzles into your caress.  "And I hate you seeing you cry, but you do it all the time anyway.”  It's meant to make you laugh.  When you don't immediately, he pries an eye open, surveying you closely.  Your lips are pursed and you're not quite meeting his eyes, instead focused on the sadness that has long since dissipated.

"I'm serious.”  You're pouting and he thinks it looks too good on you.  It shouldn't, but it does.

"So am I.  Stop it.  I just told you I love you."

The reminder does perk you up, if only a little.  He sees it swimming in the back of your gaze, just beyond the worry that circles like sharks.

“Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy or something?”  Brow lifts, quirks high, and for a moment, all of the tension in your expression is gone.  You study him steadily, thumbs brushing the delicate hollows of his eyes and where the cut little crow’s feet imprint. 

“I think your fame is getting to your head.”  It’s gently teasing, soft as feathers.

There’s the girl he loves – the sweet thing who picks him up when he’s down, who has him full belly laughing without trying.  It feels so utterly good to have you here like this, wrapped in his arms and held like you’re meant to be.  It’s the best feeling in the world.  He won’t even let your half-hearted teasing deter him.  “It’s actually your fault,”  he drawls into your palm, a satisfied humming chasing the words out.

“How is it my fault?”  You’re scandalized in inflection only, soothing ministrations drawing his head to rest in the crook of your neck.  He inhales deeply, like you’re a breath of fresh air. 

“You’ve given me everything I could ever want.  My ego’s pretty big cause of that.”

It’s so matter of fact that it leaves you speechless, your fingers pausing in their gentle combing through his hair.  It makes him laugh, the breath spilling over your violet-marked skin.  His hands smooth over your sides, across the small of your back, settling happily into the pliable flesh of your thighs.  “What?” 

Honestly, you’re not even sure.  You’ve traded affections all your life, pressing them into linked fingers and childish giggle fits.  “You can’t just say things like that!” 

“Why not?”  Jungkook’s looking at you like you’re crazy.  There was no way in hell he was about to tone down his feelings for you when you’d just finally – finally! – gotten over the biggest hurdle.  No, he’d shout it from the rooftops, crush you with the weight of it.  He hopes you won’t mind.

When you drag his chin, tilt his face towards yours with hands that feel deliberate, he blinks owlishly up at you.  He’s not sure what you’re looking to convey – he can’t read it in the constellations swirling in your irises.  He wishes he could.

But he’ll settle for the words that come instead, filling him with all the light of the stars.  “I love you.”

notes.  hello, dear reader!  thank you for sticking through this tiny whirlwind of emotion.  for the most part, this story has been wrapped up.  they love each other!  they're gross and perfect!

i will be continuing their story with a bunch of one-shots detailing their relationship and the ups and downs.  there won't be a lot of rhyme or reason - just things i want to get out.  mainly stories that explore their dynamic, really.  their first date, meeting while on tour, etc.  these will be done under a different title (but as part of the same “series”).  if there's anything you'd like to read, please let me know.

i appreciate you sticking it out to this point.  wishing you healthy and happy!  xo

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 1

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 1 - The Great Escape

As the starship struggled through the atmosphere, the cargo hold shook like the world was coming apart at the seams. Sinead pressed herself against the wall, which was growing hotter as gravity tried to drag the ship back on the ground. She had squeezed herself between two crates and hidden by the shadows she was impossible to spot from the walkway.

Sound of blood rushing through her ears drowned out her labored breathing and loud bangs from the ship. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth and tasted blood. Her other hand curled around the handle of the whip, thumb hovering above the button that would power it up, releasing a power she didn't know how to handle. The whip, the one that started it all. It was heavy in her hand. If anyone found her, they'd meet a quick end, if she didn't accidentally dismember herself first.

Eventually, the floor evened out, and Sinead allowed herself to shift, her burning leg muscles crying out in protest. A drop of sweat landed in her eye and she rubbed her forehead. She was drenched in sweat, whether from fear or the hot wall she didn't know.

As the ship got farther and farther away from the cursed planet, the fog of terror started to lift. She was free, or as free as one could be hiding in a cargo hold, stowing away on a starship bound for the unknown; they might as well take her into the heart of Hutt space.

The hiss when the door opened hit Sinead like an icepick at the back of her neck.

Bothans. Two of them made their way down the walkway, growling deep in their throats as they went, their paws almost silent on the metal floor.

Sinead shifted ever so slightly, breath caught in her throat, ready to pounce.

One of the Bothans stopped in front of her hiding place. She saw its long face through cracks between the crates, long canines curling up over its upper lip.

A clawed hand curled around the crate, pulling it back.

Sinead forced her eyes open. Her finger found the button and-

A loud growl and the Bothan let go of the crate and pushed it back in place. Sinead watched with wide eyes as they went further down the walkway and helped the other carry a much larger container out of the room.

The door closed behind them, and Sinead let out a sigh of relief. The cargo hold felt cold suddenly, and empty, the only light came from ancient fixtures in the ceiling that flickered every time the ship shook.

She made it. She was going to make it. Once the ship docked, wherever that would be, she would sneak off and find another, get as far away from the Hutts as possible.

She'd find Kyen.

... ... ... ... ...

Four months later

Gineesh was nestled between two glaciers, growing from the cracks like stubborn weeds too deep-rooted ever to be pulled out completely. If the dormant volcano under the biggest glacier ever woke and flooded the area with molten lava, the city would find a way to break through the volcanic rocks before it even had time to cool off.

Two years ago, a surveyor from the mining guild found spice deep down under the ice and rocks, and what used to be a small port whose only claim to fame was that it was a stop on the way to Mon Calamari, bloomed into an entire mining operation.

Sinead had found a job in the big shipyard carved out of the ice, doing maintenance on the enormous freighters that came every day to pick up spice. Her father had taught her just enough not to get herself killed in an industrial accident, but mostly she fetched tools and ran messages for the more seasoned mechanics.

Working around the big ships made her feel closer to her parents than she had in a long time. They'd owned a freighter, running cargo for whoever wanted to pay for it, and Sinead had grown up among the stars.

She was jostled when she left the shipyard by big burly men coming in for their shift, their clothes covered in crusty oil and mud. The ever-present snow lined the road, turned grey from pollution. The road itself was a mess of dirt and sludge that seeped into her cheap boots as she walked.

A Twi'lek female waited for her just outside the shipyard; Ludah was young and pretty, her blue skin vibrant in the grey surroundings. She smiled when she saw Sinead.

"Jesha! I was about to leave without you."

Sinead shuffled closer to Ludah so they wouldn't be separated in the steady stream of people leaving and coming into to work. The sun was nearly below the horizon, but work never stopped a place like this.

"I had to finish up before I could leave. You know how it is."

Ludah squeezed past an overturned hovercart someone had left in the middle of the road. "I told you, you could work with me at the cantina. You'd get to sling ardees instead of oil for a change."

Sinead huddled further into her cloak. The glaciers sheltered them from the big snowstorms that ravaged Toola, but that didn't mean it wasn't colder than a wampa's balls.

"I've tried the whole server thing, and it turns out I'm no good at it."

"Because helping drunk assholes get even drunker is so hard."

"You're really selling this cantina job, you know that?"

Sinead knew she shouldn't talk to anyone more than necessary. She definitely shouldn't befriend the neighbor for fun walks through the slum, but she did anyway. She was a social creature, and the last months had been hell in more ways than one, although a different form of hell than the one she escaped from.

"Your loss."

Ludah leaned closer to Sinead with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes and said, "Lon stopped by after my shift ended."

Sinead blew out a deep sigh. "You know I don't want to hear about this."

"But he told me he's leaving tomorrow. We're gonna meet later, down by the mine."

"Ludah ..." Sinead said, looking around to see if anyone overheard them.

"I'm serious! I might never get to see him again when he joins the resis-"

Sinead's heart shuttered in her chest. "Shut. Up." Her eyes roved around them, hands balling into fists in her pockets. Everyone looked too preoccupied with themselves to notice them, but it only took one before the Empire descended on the planet like vultures. "Think before you speak, will you?"

"Sorry," Ludah said, not sounding particularly sorry. "I'm just so tired of being stuck on this frozen pile of bantha shit." She looked at the ground like the planet itself could hear her insult. "I'm tired of drunk astash grabbing my lekku and following me home. I don't want to end up like my parents."

"Keep talking like that, and you'll end up in a prison camp, which I guess technically counts as getting off-world," Sinead said.

Ludah sniffed and crossed her arms. "I hate this stupid place." Another nasty look at the ground. "I'm sweating under my lekku and the rest of my body is frozen solid. How does that even happen?"

Sinead let Ludah rant the rest of the way to their lodgings, at least it was better than her talking about the Resistance. News of the Resistance's victories had reached all the way out to the frozen planet, and tension was building in the slums that, if not taken care of, might explode into a revolt.

It wasn't that Sinead didn't understand where Ludah was coming from; she knew all too well the stifling feeling that came from staying in one place too long, kept in place by literal or metaphorical chains. That didn't mean she was going to risk the Empire finding her just because Ludah had cabin fever.

They rounded the last corner and their lodgings were at the end of the road. Ludah's house was larger and sturdier than many of the surrounding shacks. Warm light spilled out from the windows. In contrast, Sinead's one-room hovel looked like it shouldn't even be standing up.

Something made Sinead stop in her tracks; a chill that had nothing to do with the cold went through her body.

"Jesha? Are you all right?" Ludah looked at Sinead with furrowed brows. They stood in the middle of the road. "You look at bit pale."

A shadow moved behind the lone window of the hut, and Sinead took a step back.

"You know, I forgot something at the shipyard. I'll just see you tomorrow, yeah?"

She didn't wait for Ludah to answer but turned around and hurried back the way she came. There were fewer people on the street, the few streetlamps to be found in the slum still in working order was alight, making everyone who passed underneath look sick in the yellow light.

She reminded herself not to run as she hurried back towards the shipyard. Someone walking fast might just be late for work, but someone running would attract too much attention. She looked around as subtly as she could, trying to see whatever it was that gave her that feeling like it was the world's end.

The smell of fire, oil, and metal hung in the air as she entered the shipyard, the sounds of heavy machinery just as loud as when she left, echoing in the big open space. A Wookiee passed her carrying a rotor across his shoulders, almost as tall as he was.

Only one freighter was docked, which meant the shipyard was emptier than usual. Sinead hurried into a dark corner and entered a maze of pallets filled with spare parts for the ships. Stopping in front of the wall, she removed a small panel. The whip was still there, the kyber crystals fused into the metal glinting in the low light.

Sinead didn't give herself time to be relieved. She returned the whip and replaced the panel, making the wall look untouched.

She left the shipyard by a rarely used side entrance and hurried down the street. Another breed of people appeared after the sun went down; beggars and homeless people crowded around burning drums to find whatever warmth they could.

A hovercart filled with miners were going down the street, and as it passed her, she stole down the nearest alley. The darkness swallowed her up.

Filth and frozen mud covered every surface, and Sinead nearly tripped over a garbage can, spilling its greasy content on the ground. Only slivers of light came through the dirty windows turned towards the alley.

A Weequay sat slumped against the wall, and at first glance Sinead though he was dead. As she hurried past, he looked up and his hoarse laughter followed her, echoing through the alley.

If she could find a ship that departed tonight, maybe she could stow away on it, buy herself some more time. Then when the coast was clear, she'd return for the whip and-

Pain exploded across her face as she turned a corner. The world tilted, and she landed on her side, hard, holding her face like it was about to split in two. There was blood in her mouth.

A Trandoshan stood before her, his eyes glowing in the twilight.

"There you are," he said, the words low and rough. "Been looking all over the galaxy for you." While she lay dazed on the ground, he bent down and snatched the blaster hidden behind her cloak. "That thing is much too dangerous for a girl like you."

Sinead forced her hands to stop trembling. Snow and mud had worked its way through the many layers of her clothes. He'd taken her blaster, but she still had a vibroblade tucked into her boot.

"Y-you have the wrong person," she said, edging away from the Trandoshan.

His maw opened in a grin. "I don't think so," he said, bending down and grabbing her by the wrists. "You're exactly the girl I'm looking fo-"

Sinead's foot connected with his stomach, sending him flying back and landing with a crash on top of an abandoned bag which split open and a black, foul-smelling content spilled out on the ground.

Sinead got to her feet and broke into a dead sprint, running blindly down the alley. His undulating hunting call echoed between the narrow walls, and ancient survival instinct kicked in gear, screaming at her to hide in the nearest hole she could find.

But he would find her in the end. That's what Trandoshians do.

The alley opened into the main thoroughfare that cut through the slum like a dirty scar.

Sinead burst into the road like a shot out of a cannon. She screamed at the top of her lungs, the kind of scream that made the silence ring even louder once it ended.

People stopped in their tracks and watched as she made a beeline to a group of Besalisks standing by a grill where three small creatures hung suspended over the flames.

"Help!" Sinead's voice cut through the cold air like a whip. "Help! He's trying to kidnap m-" her legs were yanked out from under her and mouth filled with dirty snow as she landed on the ground for the second time that day.

A crowd formed around her; several blasters pointed directly at the Trandoshan who came skulking through the snow, a grappling line trailing behind him.

"She's a wanted fugitive," he said, snarling as his beady eyes jumped from blaster to blaster. "Sinead Cade-" He held out a small bounty puck where an image of Sinead spun slowly, the blue light making the Trandoshan look pallid and sick- "is wanted for theft and murder.

A murmur went through the crowd and they fell away one after one until people just moved around them like they rocks in a stream.

The Trandoshan bent over her again, catching her wrist in his hand. "If you run again," he said, snarling as he drew in a breath, "I'll fly back to the Hutts with you strapped to the hull of my ship."

He fastened bindings around her wrist, and once he was sure they were secure, dragged her up by the arm. "Walk."

Sinead moved, head bent low in defeat while her eyes swirled around, looking for a way out. She still had the knife tucked away, but she had better make sure it stuck if she tried to use it.

Snow fell as they trudged towards the port located on the edge of Gineesh, covering the ground with fresh powder. Sinead's clothes started to freeze, and she had lost most feeling in her hands and feet. The Trandoshan kept a bruising grip on her upper arm, steering her towards certain death. His claws cut through her clothes like it was tissue paper, and Sinead felt warm blood trickle down her arm.

"If you send me back there," Sinead began, wincing as his grip got even tighter, "I'm as good as dead."

"And why is that my problem?" The Trandoshan yanked her to the side as a hovercart came zipping down the road, nearly hitting them.

"My blood will be on your hands."

The Trandoshan laughed, a raspy sound like scales slithering over stone. "You won't be the first, and you won't be the last."

Sinead swallowed down the growing panic and wet her lips. "I can pay you," she said, her voice lower and smoother than before, "I have something worth more than what they're paying you, I promise."

"Shut up." The Trandoshan pushed her forwards, and she landed on her knees in the snow. "We aren't all stupid enough to piss off both the Hutts and the Empire."

Sinead made a strangled sound as he grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. A weight was sitting on her chest. The Trandoshan dragged her along, her fingers found the knife, and hid it in the palm of her hand.

"You're making a mistake."

"I'll live. Too bad you won't."

A ship rose in front of them, its charred hull and dark windows making it look abandoned. The Trandoshan released her to press a button on his wrist vambrace.

Sinead flicked open the knife and lunged at the Trandoshan, burying the knife in his shoulder until only the hilt was visible.

The Trandoshan screamed, striking her on the side of the head with a fist like a rock covered in sandpaper. She used the momentum to spin around and run. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and with every labored breath, the cold air felt like knives in her lungs.

A roar echoed between the starships. She was about to chance a look behind when pain exploded in her shoulder and threw her to the ground. A smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Rough hands grabbed her hair and pulled her head out of the mud. The Trandoshan pressed his disgusting mouth to her ear.

"You really shouldn't have done that."

And everything went black.

... ... ... ... ...

Sinead came to, lying on her back in a small room. The first thing her brain registered was how cold it was. Her clothes were soaked in mud, melted snow, and blood, and the air was cold enough to crystallize in front of her face.

When she opened her eyes, she thought she had gone blind. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slivers of light made it under the door to the cell. Because it was a cell, that was for certain. She was lying on a small cot, and the only other furniture in the room was a metal bucket pushed into the corner, which Sinead had no intention of touching no matter how long she was stuck in there.

The dull pain emanating from her shoulder turned into a fiery agony when she tried to move. She covered her mouth with a filthy hand to stifle her cry. That only made it worse as her wrists were still bound together and every time she moved her arm, a new stab of pain tore through her shoulder.

She couldn't just stay there. She had to get up, find a way out of this.

Gritting her teeth, Sinead counted to three and hoisted herself into a sitting position, nearly sliding off the cot. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Pitching forward, she emptied her stomach on the floor. When she gingerly pressed a hand to the back of her neck, she discovered that her hair was stiff with blood.

Sinead breathed deeply against the wave of powerlessness that hit her. As long as she didn't panic, she'd find a way out. She had to.

Getting up took more tries than she cared to think about. She stepped around the sick on the floor and examined the door, a thick slab of steel that a thermal detonator wouldn't be able to break through. The rest of the cell was as if poured straight into a mold, there wasn't a crack or gap in the cold wall.

A low, constant hum made it clear that she was on a starship, and it was heading nowhere good. A strangled sob escaped her lips as her fingers dug into her arm. Her body felt light as if it'd been hollowed out while she slept or expelled with the vomit.

She didn't know how long she stood there. The room shuddered as the ship hit the ground. It felt like someone had filled her ears with cotton.

The door hissed open and the Trandoshan appeared, his beady eyes trained on her. There was a dark stain on his shoulder, a bacta patch peeking out under his jacket. Grabbing Sinead's bound wrists, he pulled her towards the door.

An involuntary, guttural scream tore from her mouth and she dug in her heels as he dragged her down a narrow walkway. The ramp was down, sunlight streaming through the opening. As the Trandoshan shoved her through, Sinead closed her eyes against the harsh sun.

The sight that met her when she opened her eyes made her want to close them again: Slezza the Hutt sat fat and glistening in the shade of a canopy held by four slaves; Beside him, Jusgra stood just as pale and insipid as she remembered him. A group of palace guards surrounded them.

On the other side of the landing platform, an army of white shone brightly in the sun. An Imperial officer dressed in grey was waiting in front of a squadron of stormtroopers.

She'd hoped she never had to step foot on Sriluur again. The dry heat assaulted her when she stepped out of the ship, a sweat breaking out under her clothes.

Sinead hissed between her teeth as the Trandoshan grabbed her injured shoulder and dug in his claws, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Jusgra's long face split into a smug smile. Humans came in all shapes and sizes, but Sinead had never seen anyone as disproportional as him.

"Ah, I see you've finally found your quarry. Took you long enough."

The Trandoshan growled. "Delivered in one piece, just like you said."

Jusgra grabbed Sinead by the chin and lifted her face into the sunlight. "Not without damaging the merchandise, I see."

Sinead's vision flashed and she spat directly into Jusgra's face.

He hit her across the face with enough force to make her legs give out, and she slipped out of the Trandoshan's grip, landing on the dusty ground.

Slezza laughed and said something in Huttese, but Sinead's ears were ringing too loud to hear.

She pushed herself to her feet. There was no way in hell she'd meet her fate lying helpless on the ground.

"If you're all quite done," the officer said, brushing a speck of dust off his grey coat. "I'd like to interrogate the prisoner."

The Trandoshan grabbed Sinead and pulled her close. "Not before I get paid."

Jusgra looked back at Slezza, who nodded his great head, and then Jusgra procured a pouch from a hidden pocket. The credits clinked when the Trandoshan caught it.

"You'll see it's all there," Jusgra said in a bored tone, examining his shirtsleeve.

"I just check if it's all the same to you," the Trandoshan said, turning the pouch upside down and counting the credits that fell in his palm. When he was satisfied, he gave Sinead a hard push towards the others.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

The starship took off, leaving her to die. Eventually.

Sinead breathed heavily through her nose, trying not to scream.

The officer stepped forward, flanked by two Stormtroopers who grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, making her clench her jaw in pain.

Slezza's booming voice rang out with a command.

"I do believe-" Jusgra stepped forward with his own guards behind him- "that seeing as she is property of the great Slezza the Hutt, and he deigned in all his magnificent glory to pay the bounty, she rightly belongs with us."

A change went through the guards and stormtroopers alike, tension boiling just below the surface. The stormtrooper to her right shifted his grip on his blaster rifle.

The officer patted his forehead with a handkerchief, not used to the oppressive heat of Sriluur. "She stole a valuable artifact belonging to the Empire, and I am tasked with getting it back. Since an alternate payment was found, the weapon still belongs to us."

"And we will relay the information on its whereabouts to you as soon as we've extracted it, I guarantee."

"That wasn't part of the deal-"

Slezza let out a gurgling roar, and the officer whirled around to face him. A hush went through the stormtroopers, and there was a low clicking sound of blasters being readied.

If they ended up opening fire on each other, maybe Sinead's death would be worth it.

Jusgra listened to Slezza with a passive face before smiling coldly at the officer. "Slezza the Hutt permits you to extract the information as you see fit, providing that she'll be delivered back alive, as the glorious Slezza wishes to oversee her punishment personally."

The officer gave a curt nod. "I can't see why that will be a problem." He adjusted a button on his coat and looked for the first time directly at Sinead.

"I don't suppose you'll tell us where you hid the weapon and get it all over with?"

"D'emperiolo nok," Sinead spat, looking directly into his runny eyes.

"This one has always been … spirited. More trouble than she's worth, really," Jusgra said.

"Yes, well, the Empire has ways of making people talk," the officer turned toward Slezza and gave a curt bow. "The Empire thanks you for your cooperation and looks forward to a long and profitable partnership."

As the stormtroopers led her away, Sinead looked up at the small building roof connected to the landing platform. There, in the heat haze, a shadow crouched behind a water tank.

Something glinted in the sunlight.

A grenade landed between the Imperial and the Hutt, and all hell broke loose.

Next Chapter ->

[more-miserables]

I’m really getting into all this BBU stuff now, I’m trying to catch up on everyone else’s fics (if you have a whump blog let me know! I’ll follow!). Anyway, back to this.

Tagging @albino-whumpee, @cubeswhump.

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied sexual abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates was ill a lot. Ginger tried not to worry about it all that much, since he made such a habit of it. Ginger sometimes heard him throwing up in the loo, especially after they were allowed to eat more than usual, but he seemed fine again afterwards. Stanley seemed to loath any proper medical assistance in his own life, let alone the life of his pets, so the anxiety over Yates was always lingering. Maybe it was the chilly nights, when they rarely had blankets and sometimes even lacked clothes, but Yates had lots of bad colds. He staggered about the house doing his duties without complaint, but he couldn’t stop the harsh, hacking coughs. It sounded like a pack of sea lions had crowded into Stanley’s room.

Ginger peered up at the kitchen ceiling, listening anxiously to the increasingly irritated tone of Stanley’s voice, the gentle drone of Yates mixed in with the interminable coughing. He has a right to be annoyed. Pets should be silent unless spoken to.

Ginger blinked and shook his head, hair fanning out over his shoulders. No. Not for Yates. Nobody should be allowed to talk to Yates like that when he was feeling poorly. Not Ginger, not Ivy, not Stanley. All equal, Ginger thought triumphantly, feeling the heavy miasma of the training seeping back.

Ivy came along while Ginger was cross-legged on the floor, polishing all the silver candlesticks and cutlery. He hated that job. Silver was a pain, getting dirt in every tiny groove or divot. He bit back a sigh at the sight of her. Sometimes he thought Ivy went touring the house looking for him just to pick a fight.

Don’t be stupid. She doesn’t care about you enough to do that. You’re nothing. You just happened to be in her way.

Ivy stormed over and gripped Ginger by the arm, grimacing. He looked up, shocked, and spotted a waxy-pale, shivering Yates slinking down the stairs, face creased with shame.

“You,” Ivy said. “You have to tend to Mr Stanley immediately.” She tugged Ginger’s arm hard. “Get up!”

“Yes, Mrs Ivy.” He stood immediately. “Does Mr Stanley want his food so early?”

“No no, not the food. You need to tend to him,” Ivy said, her face pinched like she could smell something awful. “He needs new sheets and clean pyjamas urgently, and he’s in no state.” She jerked her head disdainfully as Yates was wracked by another coughing fit. “You see? Coughing all over! It’s not hygienic. I want him locked up and quarantined in his room so he won’t spread it. Now, Stanley soiled his bedsheets and you need to get him cleaned up, because I’m not doing it.”

Soiled? Oh God. Ginger must’ve pulled a face, because Ivy flushed and grabbed the closest thing she could find - the silver candlestick - and started beating him with it. “Don’t give me that look! You’re nothing but trouble, the pair of you. We can still get rid of you, you know. After the first three months we can do anything. Nobody cares where you both go.”

Ginger was knocked onto the floor again. He’d be bruised all over after a few months in this place - but he felt so numb he didn’t care. The only thing he felt was mild irritation that he’d polished those candlesticks so well and then Ivy went and smudged them again.

“Please, Mrs Ivy, don’t take it out on him!” Yates gasped between coughs. “It’s my fault. I’m very sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He went to kneel and put his forehead down, but Ivy whipped round and gave Yates several blows with her candlestick too.

“Oh shut up, you smarmy little ass-kisser! You make me want to vomit!” she screamed.

Yates looked stricken. He knew that was the right answer. He said sorry, accepted responsibility and promised to do better in the future - and he was still disciplined. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

Ginger could see Yates’s eyes filling with tears. He knew just how much he’d hate Ivy to see him cry (tears are ugly and weak. Good pets don’t cry) so he gripped Yates’s hand and helped him stand. “I will do as you wish, Mrs Ivy.”

He dragged Yates to their little room first. Yates was coughing again, sucking in short, rapid gasps, far too fast. Ginger was alarmed, hastily trying to loosen Yates’s collar in case it was strangling him. “Yates? Hey, take deep breaths, okay?”

“It feels like... like I can’t!” he wheezed, clawing at the skin around his collar. It was hanging loose now, so that couldn’t be it.

“Did Ivy hit you in the chest? Are you winded?” Ginger asked. He took both of Yates’s hands; they were coldly clammy and damp, but Yates held onto him tightly

“No no!” Yates shook his head violently, he was shaking all over, his shoulders tense as the tears carved paths down his fever-flushed cheeks.

“Okay, okay.” Ginger climbed onto the mattress and held Yates tight from behind. Yates gripped Ginger’s wrists, his little nails digging in to help ground him. Very slowly, the gasping and tremors eased.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Yates whispered, voice very weak now.

Ginger eased him down onto the mattress, sighing. “Nothing. You can’t help being ill.”

“But I was disciplined...”

“Stop worrying about it. Just rest and go to sleep. I’ll sort out Stanley,” Ginger insisted.

Yates still looked worried, and Ginger didn’t think he’d really be able to get any sleep. Yates took every punishment to heart, beating himself up about it. But Ginger knew that was how they were meant to me. He had voices screaming in his head all the time that he should be upset too. He didn’t know why he was so broken. He didn’t even feel things the right way.

You’re bad bad bad. You should be upset. You’re far worse than Yates. They hate you.

Ginger sighed, left Yates on their mattress and went to tend to Stanley. He froze in the bedroom doorway, the smell so bad it was like walking into a brick wall. Oh God. The sheets were disgustingly stained and lying in a ball on the floor of the bedroom. Stanley was cursing in the bathroom, the shower steam making the smell ever more powerful.

No wonder Yates practically passed out. Ginger was used to cleaning up Stanley and Ivy’s shit, but not literal shit. He bit back a groan and started gathering up the soiled sheets. He’d better get this finished before Stanley was done showering, because he definitely wasn’t keeping his expression neutral. Yuck.

Don’t be so rude about your owner!

Oh, shut up. It is gross, no matter who it came from, Ginger thought bitterly.

It took nearly an hour to get the bedroom and Stanley back in order. Getting him off the shower seat and dried off in his wheelchair was awful - stop talking down your owner like that! - and Ginger couldn’t believe Yates did this every day. Stanley was flushed and indignant as Ginger mopped him up, dressed him and replaced the sheets, grumbling all the while. “I knew that boy would be a pain, he’s so small and slight. Now I’m stuck with you. This is intimate care. You’re not even trained for this. I told Ivy to discipline Yates. He has to prove he’s more than just a cute little face. It’s unforgivable to leave me in the lurch like this.”

“Yates is ill, Mr Stanley,” Ginger said, teeth clenched. “I doubt he wanted to risk your own health. Colds can so easily turn to pneumonia at your age.”

Stanley looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “Stop talking back to me! You can go without any food tonight. And Yates too. That’ll teach you.”

“Yes, Mr Stanley,” Ginger said, stalking out of the bedroom. His head felt like it was full of fog, fighting against rebellion, but it couldn’t dull the anger bubbling in his chest.

Ivy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. “I hope you sanitised everything up there. Now go on, get on with making our dinner. We’re behind now. And make sure you wash your hands before you touch anything!”

“Yes, Mrs Ivy.” He went to check on Yates first, deciding not to tell him about the no-food order. “Yates? Do you want me to make you some soup?”

Yates was curled in a ball, pale and miserable. “No. I don’t deserve to eat,” he said, eyes watering. “I’m not eating.”

“But you need good food to get better.”

“No I don’t. I need discipline,” Yates said, hugging his knees to his chest. “I let Stanley down. Please, Ginger, just do the dinner so I don’t get you into more trouble.”

So Ginger went to the kitchen. The burning anger was back, fighting against the fog in his head. He didn’t care what Ivy and Stanley said to him. They could punish him all they wanted, all day long - but Yates didn’t deserve that. Yates tried so hard to be perfect. Ginger hated them for making him feel so terrible.

Ginger glanced towards the sink. He looked at his hands, the hands that washed, wiped and mopped Stanley, that handled the soiled sheets and stuffed them in the washing machine. He didn’t touch the sink. He gave his dirty hands a very brief wipe with a kitchen towel, then got on with making the dinner. He made sure to handle every single food item as thoroughly as possible.

He didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt when he told Ivy he’d washed his hands for two full minutes with soap and hot water, even when the stabbing pain behind his eyes almost bent him double. He smiled when the plates came back empty.