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rosewaterandivy · 6 months

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got lovesick all over my bed

Summary: it might be worth it for once.

Warnings: facetime shenanigans, rockstar!gf had one too many glasses of merlot, my usual brand of filth™️

a/n: be a slut, do whatever you want!

🎶 everyone wants him, that was my crime, the wrong place at the right time 🎶

It was stupid.

Borne of desperation and one too many glasses of red wine, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Steve was off filming for the next few weeks and you were back in an empty house in Laurel Canyon. You tried, unsuccessfully, to not be a bitter Betty about it all; oh, woe is me! My incredibly talented boyfriend has to go back to work.

Were you even his girlfriend?

Jesus Christ.

It’s been what, less than two weeks and you’re already spiralling.

Shuffling from the couch you pocket your phone and try to ignore the desire to double-text.

Hey

Could you be any more pathetic? Hadn’t even “defined the relationship,” whatever that meant, and already slipping. You know he’s busy, on-set, and suffering through night shoots in the desert somewhere.

Leaning against the island of your kitchen, you uncork some wine and pour it into a glass. Watching as the crimson liquid sloshes against the curved glass, you idly wonder if you should seal the deal and live your best Olivia Pope fantasy by having popcorn for dinner.

Before you could think better of it, you felt the subtle vibration of your phone in your pocket,

S.H.: Hey yourself

wow, so clever

wow, so bratty

You bit your lip and took a sip of wine in an attempt to quell the low swoop of your stomach.

The texts were intermittent for the next hour or so before he was called back to set. It was a nice distraction from the utter lack of plans you had for the evening. Your producer had sent over the final mix of your new album that you needed to proof and sign off on, so that was the plan while Steve was off filming for the next few hours.

He’d asked if he could call you later, once filming wrapped for the evening and you’d agreed not realizing that it would be nearing 2 a.m. and you’d be half a bottle in.

Settled back in your bedroom freshly showered and laptop atop the duvet cover, you’re only briefly startled when the FaceTime ring trills out.

“Shit!”

You quickly pause the song you were listening through and hope you look halfway decent before answering Steve’s call. Mussing your hair, you minimize the image of yourself and enlarge the one of him.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve smiles slow and sweet, huffing a laugh at your poor attempts at primping.

“Stop messing with your hair, you look great.”

“Uh huh,” you brush off with a smirk, “Watch me make red wine drunk the next trendy TikTok look.”

He looks to be back at the Palm Springs house, settled against the headboard of the bed that you swore was going to fall off the wall from the sheer amount of times he’d fucked you into the mattress the last time you visited.

Your skin warms at the thought.

“Can’t wait.” He smiles and takes a screenshot as you flip him off, he’s always doing shit like that— his iPhone or one of his many film cameras or, your least favorite, FaceTime. Says he has to have up-to-date photos of you for the Missing Person posters he'll make once the coyotes finally get you out in the Canyon.

What a dork.

“How was your day?”

“Oh fine,” you say with a sigh. “Did a whole bunch of nothing, showered, I was proofing the final tracks for the album and then you called.”

“Oh,” he pulls a face, grimacing because he thinks he’s disrupted you at work, “I can fuck off if you—”

“Harrington, if you finish that sentence I swear to god—”

“Fine, fine,” he relents with a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair, knocking the glasses off of his head. “So that’s where these went.”

You roll your eyes, this man, honestly.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just tired is all.” He heaves a sigh. “These night shoots are the fucking worst.”

You hum, “I can imagine. The cold desert at night?” You blow a raspberry, “And you’re worried about coyotes carrying me off?”

“I have a vested interest in your safety, y’know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” You tease, taking another sip of wine. “I got thick thighs and a fat ass, and the only person I want to eat me is you.”

“Aww, I’m touched.” Steve laughs, hand to his heart. “Look at you, gettin’ all sappy and borderline cannibalistic over FaceTime.”

“I know,” you demure and bat your lashes. “I’m so emotionally mature.” Setting the glass on the nightstand, you lean forward inadvertently giving him a generous view of your tits.

“Anyway,” you sit back against the pillows of your bed. “What’re you wearing, honey?”

It’s like his brain glitches for a moment or two, and he needs to reboot.

“Uh,” he glances down with a furrowed brow. “Boxer briefs.”

“Thrilling.”

Could it be that Steve’s never done something like this before? It hadn’t been exactly discussed between you, but he was looking so delectable and you missed him so much.

Fuck it.

“What about you?”

A slow smile splits your face, a waggle of your brows. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Instead of a verbal reply, you pan the camera down to display your latest lingerie acquisition— pale pink and adorned with tasteful floral embroidery, because Steve is a sucker like that. You can hear him swallow and his shallow breaths from the speakers.

“D’ya like it?”

“Fuck.”

There was a rustling sound as he settled more comfortably on the bed. The room lights were dimmed casting shadows across his bronzed skin, an errant lock of hair falling in his face. His voice was so low when it came through the speakers that it sent heat straight to the pit on your stomach, “Wish you were here.”

“Me too baby,” you purr and set the macbook further down on your bed. “Tell you what,” you say taking a final sip of wine, “Why don’t you go ahead and record this for those lonely desert nights, hmm?”

His eyes nearly fall out of his skull. “Y’sure?”

“Course I am handsome.”

He was leaned over in front of the camera, undoubtedly attempting to prop it up on something and hit record.

“Gonna be good for me?” you rasp when he comes back into view, “Let me take my time with you?”

Steve nods, eyes finding yours as his breaths even out. You watched him hook his thumbs into the band of the boxer briefs and drag them down his toned thighs on screen. His hard length sprung to his stomach once the waistband passed his tip, hard and thick where it lay. You licked your lips.

He took himself slow, his fist tight at his tip as he slid down his length at an excruciating pace. That was how he usually slid into you, savoring that first push as you surround his cock in your warmth.

Your core fluttered in time with the stroke of his palm, slow and deep passes up and down his length that would no doubt feel like ecstasy inside you.

“Feel good baby?”

You own hand skates down your torso, lingering here and there before ever so gently brushing against your clit.

“Thinkin’ about my pretty mouth wrapped around your cock?”

He let out a moan, eyes rolling back at a particularly good stroke.

Fingers stuttering over your clothed clit, your free hand snakes behind you to unclasp the bra and let it fall down your arms.

You watched as he fell back fully on the bed, his hand picking up pace as the other reached down to cup his balls. A choked moan came from the screen followed by even more hushed words.

“Miss you daddy,” you whine. “Want your big cock fucking my mouth n’ gettin’ me all messy.”

Barely able to swallow around your dry mouth, you watched him lift his head and watched his hand stroke his length. Steve’s face was obscene; eyebrows furrowed deeply and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

You were overstimulated if anything, never imagining you would have such a visual of him getting off while you were beyond wet, almost uncomfortably so. Your clit pulsed as you caught on screen Steve moan a choked fuck as he writhed on his borrowed bed.

Fingers pressing headily against your clit, you rubbed tight circles around the slick bud at the sight on the screen. Couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet for long-distance sex, no matter the hour. Dipping your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear, the slick of your slit wetting your fingertips.

A small whimper left your lips as the contact, wishing that they were Steve’s fingers slipping through your folds instead.

“Fuck, I’m so wet for you.”

He cursed deeply as he slowed his pace, mostly likely trying to hold out from coming too soon. Everything made it hard for you to articulate what you wanted at that moment.

On screen Steve brought you back, his head tilted back as he pumped his length beautifully. You could see his stomach tensing. You could see the tops of his thighs jumping before they disappeared from the camera’s view where they hung off the edge of the bed. You could see his jaw clench every time his tight fist circled his tip. The sound of him spit slick and stroking himself was so lewd paired with his pants and moans.

While you were enamored with the screen, the fingers of your free hand brushed your nipples. You couldn’t stop your gasp if you wanted to. Every touch had your cunt clenching and begging for attention.

You could tell he was close, and kept teasing your skin but refrained from dipping a finger into your slit. Your breathing was labored, soft whines elicited from the back of your throat as on screen Steve moaned your name.

“So pretty daddy, wanna see you come so bad.”

He was breathless at hearing your words, the low rasp of your voice filtering through the speakers. Fuck, does he miss you.

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “Thinkin’ bout your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

There it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning.

He’s lost in the way his heart pounds all the harder at the sounds you make because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you’d scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God–”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

It’s all too fast. Your words, his words, your hands, his hands. Feels like he’s barely started when his eyes roll back against his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, body pulled tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart rattling against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

Watching him come was enough to bring you hurtling over the edge, fingers pumping messily in and out of your sopping cunt, imagining yourself there and clenching around him instead. Your eyes flutter close, your release drenching your hand.

Steve aches then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like the embers of a dying fire. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Babe,” you say and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him since you’d left Palm Springs.

“When you get back,” you sigh, the telltale mantle of sleep falling over you, “I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

A cheeky wink followed by a sleepy wave, and then you’re gone.

He closes out of FaceTime and types out a text to Robin.

Need an appointment with Lorraine Schwartz ASAP pls.

And if he peruses the jeweler’s instagram studying engagement rings for the next hour, well, no one needs to know.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #modern!actor steve #hmlhr #Spotify

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oceanpulls · 2 months

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Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have a plan to soundtrack everything

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – best friends and Nine Inch Nails bandmates – found unlikely creative fulfilment (and a couple of Oscars) by reassessing what they had to offer as musicians. Now they’re thinking even bigger, and imagining an artistic empire of their own making

By Zach Baron

Photography by Danielle Levitt

Every weekday, Trent Reznor makes his way from his house, a cottagey sprawl behind a white wall in a canyon on Los Angeles’s Westside, to a studio he’s built in his backyard. There he meets his best friend, bandmate, and business partner, Atticus Ross, and they get to work. Reznor and Ross observe the same hours, Monday to Friday, 11am to 7pm. “We show up,” Reznor told me. “We’re not late. We’re not coming in to start to fuck around.” It’s a methodical, orderly existence that Reznor could not have foreseen in the ’90s, when he was fronting Nine Inch Nails and struggling with a drug-and-alcohol problem that was his answer to success. “I would do anything to avoid writing a song,” Reznor said. “I’d rewire the studio 50 times.”

Now Reznor has a wife, Mariqueen Maandig, five children, and multiple jobs. He is sober. Since 2010, when the director David Fincher asked Reznor and Ross to score The Social Network, for which Reznor and Ross won an Oscar, the two men have had steady employment composing for film. This year, Reznor and Ross are also starting a yet-to-be-named company, built around storytelling in multiple disciplines: film production, fashion, a music festival, and a venture with Epic Games.

And then, of course, there is the oldest and perhaps still the most complicated of Reznor’s jobs: being the frontman of Nine Inch Nails. In 1988 Reznor formed what was then a one-man band; the first two full-length records Nine Inch Nails released, Pretty Hate Machine(1989) and The Downward Spiral (1994), have sold more than eight million copies. (Over subsequent years and subsequent albums, the band has since crossed the 20 million mark in sales.) In the ’90s, for a time, Nine Inch Nails were ubiquitous: a phenomenon on the level of Nirvana or Dr Dre. During that decade, the success of the band nearly killed Reznor. “I didn’t feel prepared to process how disorientating that was,” he said. “How much it can distort your personality.”

These days, Nine Inch Nails, which Ross joined as a full-time member in 2016, present a different problem – how do you make something old, something so already well-defined, new again? There are years when Reznor feels like he has the answers and years when he’s less certain. He has put the band on hiatus more than once; after the last Nine Inch Nails tour, in 2022, Reznor deliberately took a break from playing shows as well. “For the first time in a long time I wasn’t sure: what’s the tour going to say?” Reznor told me. “What do I have to say right now? We can still play those songs real good. Maybe we can come up with a new production. But it wasn’t screaming at me: this is what to do right now.”

But he and Ross still come to work, daily, in search of transcendence. “We sit in here every day,” Reznor said. “And a portion of the time organically becomes us just figuring out who we are as people and processing life and a kind of therapy session. And in those endless hours it’s come up: why do we want to do this? And the reason is because we both feel the most in touch with God and fulfilled.”

It is easy to make things when you are a teenager growing up in rural Pennsylvania, near the Ohio border, as Reznor was, and you have nothing to lose and everything to gain; it is considerably harder, once you’ve got older, and found a way to make things that people like, to keep going. It’s an old story: the act of creation can lift you up, but those sharp gifts can also destroy you, and if you make it past that, the sheer blissful regularity of life with money and a family can even you out so thoroughly that there is no friction left to work with. You look inside the cupboard and the cupboard is bare, or it’s a mansion and living inside of it is a person you’re bored of, and so you stop looking. But Reznor and Ross have never stopped looking, and the search for that magical feeling of finding something – that feeling of, in Reznor’s words, “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know how I just did what I did, but I’ve channelled it into something that worked” – is still the thing that organises their days and their moods.

We were talking in their studio, which was low-lit and cold and full of synthesizers’ blinking lights. Reznor was on a sofa and Ross sat in a chair nearby. The two men first met in the ’90s, when Reznor signed Ross’s band, 12 Rounds, to Reznor’s Nothing Records. Soon after, they became friends, and then musical collaborators. “I was just getting sober,” Reznor said, “and I was in a pretty fragile transitional phase. And I just hit it off with Atticus right off the bat. And part of it was, he was someone who was on much firmer ground, in a mentor-y kind of way, than I was.”

Ross is two years younger than Reznor, but when they met, he’d already been through certain things Reznor was just getting around to. “I got clean when I was very young,” Ross told me. “So I had a bit more experience than him. Put it like this: I knew you could have fun without being high.”

Their friendship has been a constant in both their lives since. “I don’t know if parts of us are broken and we don’t feel good enough,” Reznor said, staring at the ceiling of the studio, “but we know if we work as hard as we can and do the best work we can, it fixes something. At the core of it, that’s what unites us creatively. On top of that, I think his take on the world and role in life helps me understand my place and not feel as detached in some ways.”

Reznor often jokes, or simply explains, that he is a “quart low” on whatever it is that makes people happy. “I think we can both, on our own devices, run below zero as a baseline,” Reznor said. “I don’t mean manic depression, I just mean we don’t take compliments well. It’s like when we won the Oscar, it was the day after: ‘Let’s take today guilt-free, kind of say fuck yeah.’ And tomorrow we’ll have settled back down to a few feet below sea level.”

In their years of collaborating with each other, both men have found some mutual reassurance – a little lift. Reznor gestured at Ross.

“I remember something he said to me – I don’t know if you want me to say this or not – in one of our talks years ago: ‘Here’s what I want today.’”

“I see what’s coming,” Ross said, nervously.

“I just want to feel OK,” Reznor said, quoting his friend. “I want to feel like I’m OK.”

One day this winter, Reznor greeted me at the door of their studio – in the course of reporting this story, I never saw him anywhere else – wearing a black hoodie made by the synthesizer company Moog, black jeans, and black running shoes. At 58, Reznor still retains the angular intensity and jet-black hair of his youth, but time and fatherhood seem to have made him quicker to smile. He looks a little like a college professor now, or an unusually-well-cared-for software engineer. He led me back, past walls of unused gear and several black-clad mannequins, all of which startled me, to their primary workspace, where Ross – a tall west Londoner (he grew up in Ladbroke Grove) with a stern face and a pleasantly reedy voice – sat at a computer, also all in black. (Once, I asked the two men whether their upcoming clothing line would feature any colour. “No,” Reznor said, incredulously. “Of course not.”)

They were on deadline for two films at the moment, including Luca Guadagnino’s forthcoming Queer. “But we’re trying not to work,” Reznor said, drily. Leaned up against one wall was a photo of the two in tuxedos, accepting the Academy Award for best original score for their work on The Social Network. Reznor had contributed to soundtracks before, in the ’90s, but he’d never formally scored a film until The Social Network.

But Reznor and Ross quickly realised that the work, in some ways, wasn’t so different from songwriting. “What do we do when we write a song?” Reznor asked. “We’re trying to emotionally connect with somebody.” Take the Mark Zuckerberg character in The Social Network:“Here’s somebody who thinks this idea is so important that it’s worth kind of fucking your friends over for it. And then realising maybe it wasn’t worth it, or I didn’t realise how I’d feel if I got what I wanted at the price of this. I can relate to that in my own language. Suddenly there’s music.”

“I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor said. “I couldn’t have predicted that I would feel this level of fulfilment.”

And Reznor found that he enjoyed the exercise of solving someone else’s problems instead of his own. “There’s something about not being the boss and working again in service to something that I initially felt guilty for feeling kind of fulfilled by in a weird way.”

Reznor said that on another Fincher film, Mank, the director suggested: “What if it sounded like maybe inspired by Bernard Herrmann and as if it were recorded in 1935 and this film canister sat on the shelf for 60 years?” OK, interesting. (Ross and Reznor were nominated for that one too.)

On the first film the two men scored for Guadagnino, Bones and All, “we got a cut of that that was nearly four hours long with no music and we kind of thought, Oh, fuck,” Reznor said. “Four hours we sat without a pee break, transfixed. It didn’t need music. And when you watch that you approach it differently.” Then Guadagnino brought them Challengers, due for worldwide release in April. Reznor said, “He started us down a path, saying, ‘What if it was very loud techno music through the whole film?’” (This is exactly what it turned out to be.)

“I wish I had his notes,” Ross said of Guadagnino. “His notes were so fucking funny on what each piece was meant to do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Reznor said. “‘Unending homoerotic desire.’ It was all a variation on those three words.”

They liked the challenge of scoring, they found, and that feeling of not being in control. They also liked the way it made them crave being in control again: “It makes you more inspired to work on other stuff when we’re finished,” Reznor said. “Even if it’s just, Thank God it’s done now and we can appreciate the freedom we had before we gave it up.”

These days, Reznor and Ross also like having jobs that let them be at home, around their families. Both men had tumultuous or lonely lives when they were younger; both men have found that fatherhood soothes certain unresolved aspects of their pasts. Ross has three kids, and “probably the greatest reward is how balanced and happy they all are compared to – certainly my growing up was an unusual sort of scenario. It was a fairly chaotic youth.” Ross comes from a notable English family, but his immediate lineage was more unstable. “My dad had a club called Flipper’s Roller Boogie Palace in LA in the ’70s,” Ross told me. “He went bankrupt in England and had a judgment passed against him where he couldn’t talk to a bank manager for 15 years. So he moved here and opened this sort of Studio 54 on roller skates on La Cienega and Santa Monica.” Ross held up a coffee-table book full of photos of the club. “You don’t need to look at it, but it was just a mad life. So I grew up in some madness.”

It is particularly endearing to see Reznor, who at a distance was a fierce and terrifying figure in his 20s and 30s, find domestic bliss. I am old enough that my adolescence coincided neatly with the S&M-flavoured, I wanna fuck you like an animal era of Nine Inch Nails; when I was leaving Reznor’s house one day, I noted with some amusement the cheerful mundanity of a basketball hoop in the backyard. “I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor told me. “I couldn’t have predicted that there was a world where I would have a sizeable family with kids and feel the level of fulfilment and comfort and be able to live in that.”

Was that something you were consciously seeking before you found it?

“I think I had some abandonment issues from my parents splitting up, or feeling I never fit in, and I’d gotten accustomed to being on my own. And largely due to my own, I think, inability to really be intimate with people, or share or be open or know how to be a friend or a partner to somebody… Trying that out and doing it with pure and full immersion has led to an unexpectedly great outcome.”

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The other film project Reznor and Ross were on deadline for was Scott Derrickson’s The Gorge, a science-fiction thriller starring Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy. They were working on a lengthy, music-dependent scene that they’d already mostly scored. But, Ross said, “the director wants it to be a bit more, I can’t think of a better word than just a bit more scary and intense.” They weren’t sure what that directive meant, exactly, but they were content – they were happy – to try to figure it out: to enter the room once again, carrying nothing, and to try to leave it with something that didn’t exist before.

Ross called up the scene on a monitor at the centre of a long mixing board: Teller and Taylor-Joy in an evil-looking spiky forest. Reznor and Ross have somewhat fluid roles in their collaboration, but today the plan was for Reznor to improvise some music while Ross edited and manipulated it in real time. “Atticus’ superpower,” Reznor said, “is that I can come up with a melody and a chord change, and he can make that sit on the scene in a way that is meticulous, and mind-numbingly boring to watch him do.”

A studio assistant, also in all black, presented himself to help Reznor set up a microphone and a cello next to a keyboard that sat underneath another computer monitor. Ross hit play on the footage and what they’d already completed of the score, a kind of haunted, chanting murmur. “It’s basically atmosphere at the moment,” Ross said. Next to him was a synthesizer whose make and model he asked me not to print and which the two men use as a kind of sound ecosystem to feed stuff into.

Reznor began by pushing down on the piano’s keyboard, while with his other hand he manipulated the sound with a flat synthesizer on the desk in front of him. It began as a kind of mellow pan flute thing, and then, with a push of a few buttons, became more of a sad, Social Network-ish plonk. Ross stood up and started tapping the synthesizer to his left, and the sounds Reznor made began to loop and accumulate – little melodic figures that plunged in and out of feedback. Reznor moved from the piano to the microphone, where he sang a few soft passages in a baritone falsetto, more sad than spooky, and then to the cello, which he played slowly and choppily. Ross moved between the computer and the synthesizer, trying to harness it all as it built to a loud, echoing crescendo.

After about 20 minutes, Reznor sat back in his chair, and Ross soon followed suit. Everything got quiet again. “It’s going fishing,” Reznor said to me, shrugging. “Sometimes something happens.”

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Or, sometimes, everything happens. One of the first things you see when you arrive at Reznor’s home studio are two original paintings by the Yorkshire artist Russell Mills – on the left, a razor against a rusty red background; on the right, a decaying yellow-and-black collage – that ultimately became the insert and the cover art for Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral. This is the record with “Hurt” and “Closer” on it. It’s an album Reznor nearly didn’t survive.

Why do I bring this up? Well. If I may, for a moment, sound like the ageing dude in a black T-shirt leaning against the back wall of a bar where you’re just trying to be young and free of recitations of what the year 1994 felt like, there was a different quality to the way things would happen in music. Bands would labour for years, unknown, and then just get struck by lightning, is the best way I can put it: one day, you’re just a guy, and then one radio station plays your song, and then every radio station plays your song, and everyone is listening to those radio stations, because there is nothing else to do, and then MTV loops your video, and everyone watches it because, again, there is nothing else to do, and all of a sudden you are known by millions of bored people in a way that doesn’t quite happen now. This is a gross oversimplification, of course, but here Reznor is, one of the very few people who have experienced the thing I’m describing. I thought: let’s just ask him what that was like.

Reznor said, OK, he could tell me exactly what it felt like. He gave me a single moment: Woodstock ’94, which Nine Inch Nails almost didn’t play – “it seemed like it was going to be gross, to be honest with you” – but ultimately did. “And when we got there, it was terrifying,” Reznor said. “It was way bigger than I pictured in my head and walking on stage. But this is the point of the story: I knew. You could feel like you were in the right place at the right time.”

In retrospect, how did you handle success?

“Had a drink. That’s what sent me down the path. I wasn’t the guy that, you know, at 12 years old cracked a beer. That wasn’t it at all. Just, I feel anxious around people. I’m not sure how to act, especially now that you’re someone that’s supposed to act a certain way. There’s a projection. It feels uncomfortable to walk down the street and people are looking at you because they recognise you. That’s weird. Suddenly everybody wants to be your friend and you’re the coolest. Everyone wants to date you and shit like that.” Reznor said he found it was “easier to have a beer before I go in that room, and then a couple of beers before I go in that room. And pretty soon over a period of time, wait a minute, things start to get out of control. And you know how the story goes.”

Here’s how the story went: Reznor began to wonder if Trent Reznor could ever live up to the Nine Inch Nails guy that people had in their heads. “The reason I was having to drink was to fix that problem, my own insecurity. But the net result is: I’m not really who I am because now I’ve got drugs or alcohol in my system and I’m not thinking as who I really am. And that comes into focus once one gets sober and has time to reflect and kind of think about what got you there and shit you did.”

Eventually, Reznor got sober, and built himself back up. Today he’s happy to talk about all of it, obviously, but he and Ross have done a lot together since – 10 albums’ worth of Nine Inch Nails (Ross was an official member of the band for five of them), among other things – and Reznor is, by nature, not one to dwell too much on the past of a band that he’s still very much trying to figure out. “We’re not fans of resting on our laurels. We’ve been afraid of thinking about nostalgia. That’s a whole other conversation, but the reality is we’re getting older and our fans are getting older and that’s a fact. And I think, say, during the pandemic, not that you asked this question, but as I’m sure everybody was, I was pretty genuinely freaked out and very clearly came into focus: I’ve got to protect my family.”

He was consumed by fear, by terror of what might happen, of what he might do about it. “I can’t even fit all my kids in a car,” Reznor said. “But in the midst of that anxiety, sitting alone in here, I found comfort in nostalgia. I found comfort looking back at things from my youth that I’ve been afraid to even allow myself to glimpse at because it meant artistic death. Because one has to look forward. One can’t be self-referential. I was so afraid growing up in a little shitty town. I could see people that thought the highlight of their life is junior in high school catching the football. You know what I mean? That’s it. That was the peak. I don’t want to fucking be that person. I could see my fate if I stayed in that town.”

In those moments sitting by yourself, what were you getting nostalgic for?

“I miss parts of living in Pennsylvania. I miss a simpler life that I grew up with. I really loved the first INXS album in 1983. I was a senior in high school, and when I listen to it now I could almost start crying because it fucking reminds me of driving in a shitty fucking car in the summer in Pennsylvania. You know what I mean? Man. I allowed myself to kind of immerse myself in who I was at that time, and what it felt like.”

Reznor had been trying to remake himself ever since he left where he grew up, and now here he is in Los Angeles, over 40 years later. “And I kind of went on a deep dive for a while and allowed myself to realise: I am who I am. And the things that made me weren’t the cool things. I’d always been ashamed of: I came from a shitty town; I didn’t have an exotic upbringing; shitty education, you know what I mean? That’s who I am. I’m not sure what the point of all that confession was.”

Well, except: “It plays into where I’m at now.”

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

The last time I saw Reznor and Ross, it was once again in their studio. They were sitting very still. Had they been working before I got there?

“We were for a little bit,” Ross said. “And then nervously thinking about you arriving.”

Really? It’s OK if that’s the truth.

“That’s the truth,” Reznor said. They’d just been in this room for the past weeks, months – years, really, he said. Head down. Working. He gestured at me. “It’s a different mindset.”

And “I was thinking about something you said the other day,” Reznor said. That was on a Friday. I’d asked a somewhat rude question about their soundtrack work, which was: why would Reznor or Ross work for anyone else when they didn’t have to?

Now it was Monday. “I thought about that over the weekend,” Reznor said. “It’s like, Why are we doing this? The idea comes from what we think is a good place of ‘Let’s break it up. Let’s get sent down the rabbit hole on certain things and feel like we’ve got tasks being assigned to us rather than us just blindly seeing what happens creatively.’ ”

But, he said, “I think coming out of a stretch of a number of films in a row, I want some time of seeing where the wind blows versus: there’s a looming date on a calendar coming up and we’d better get our shit together. And certainly in the last few weeks I’ve been itching to do what we often do, which is just come in and let’s start something that we’re not even sure what it’s for.”

Some of that energy, he and Ross said, would probably become the next Nine Inch Nails album. Doing soundtrack work, Reznor said, had “managed to make Nine Inch Nails feel way more exciting than it had been in the past few years. I’d kind of let it atrophy a bit in my mind for a variety of reasons.”

But now, “I do feel excited about starting on the next record,” Ross said. “I think we’re in a place now where we kind of have an idea.”

And then there was the company, which Reznor and Ross spent the last two years putting together, piece by piece, with the help of John Crawford, their longtime art director, and the producer Jonathan Pavesi. The idea was, what could they do that they hadn’t already done around storytelling? Some of that might take the form of examining Nine Inch Nails from yet another angle – “we’ve been working on homegrown IP around Nine Inch Nails, stories we could tell, and we’re working on developing those in a way that are not what you think they’d be.” (As in: not a biopic.) They also have a show in development with Christopher Storer, the creator of The Bear, they said, and a film with the veteran horror director Mike Flanagan.

Reznor put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses so that he could examine a piece of paper next to him. “We just wrote some notes because I knew I’d forget what the fuck I’m about to say.” There was a short film coming with the artist Susanne Deeken. There was a clothing venture, a T-shirt line made in collaboration with a notable designer whose name they’d like to keep secret for now, which will arrive this summer. There was a music festival that they were currently planning, “where we’re going to debut as performing as composers along with a roster of other interesting people,” and a record label, both scheduled to launch around the same time.

And for two years they’ve been working with Epic Games on something that is not exactly a video game, in the UEFN ecosystem Epic has built around Fortnite – “It’s what Zuckerberg was trying to bullshit us into calling the metaverse,” Reznor said. “You can’t say that word any more, but in terms of the tool kit, thinking about it through the lens of what could be possible for artists and experiences, we thought that would be an interesting way to tell a story through that.”

They were nervously contemplating the prospect of having day jobs again, of being responsible for more than just themselves. Early on, as they contemplated launching the company, they’d sat down with David Fincher to ask him about movie production: how does it work? “And he’s like, oh, you’re fucked,” Reznor said. “I can distil a two-hour conversation into that. Because, he said, ‘I know you guys, and no one’s going to care more than you do, and you will not be able to let it go.’”

Reznor has actually had this experience before, of being sucked into a project bigger than Nine Inch Nails and having it take over his entire life. Years ago he worked as an executive, first for Beats and then for Apple, building a streaming-music service.

“Trent was very clear when we started,” Ross said. “We cannot let this get into Apple terrain.”

Reznor laughed. “What I mean by that is – I will make this brief; I’m trying to think through what I’m about to talk shit on. Just to self-censor for a second.”

Reznor paused for a moment and then explained. For years, he said, he’d wondered: what would make a good streaming service? This was before the advent of Spotify in the US or Apple Music. Jimmy Iovine, Reznor’s old label boss – later, Iovine would also become Ross’s brother-in-law, after he married Ross’s sister, Liberty, in 2016 – was launching a music service at Beats, which was then acquired by Apple, and Iovine said to Reznor: come try to make this thing a reality. And Reznor surprised himself by saying yes.

“It was a unique opportunity to work at the biggest company in the world at a high level,” Reznor said. “And it was interesting, the scale of the people that you reach through those platforms, just the global amount of influence those platforms can have was exciting. The political situation I was dropped into was not as exciting.”

Reznor enjoyed working with Apple’s design team and its engineering team. “But it made me realise how much I want to be an artist first and foremost.” Reznor also became discouraged with the possibility of fixing the problem that he was trying to solve. “I think the terrible payout of streaming services has mortally wounded a whole tier of artists that make being an artist unsustainable. And it’s great if you’re Drake, and it’s not great if you’re Grizzly Bear. And the reality is: take a look around. We’ve had enough time for the whole ‘All the boats rise’ argument to see they don’t all rise. Those boats rise. These boats don’t. They can’t make money in any means. And I think that’s bad for art. And I thought maybe at Apple there could be influence to pay in a more fair or significant way, because a lot of these services are just a rounding error compared to what comes in elsewhere, unlike Spotify where their whole business is that. But that’s tied to a lot of other political things and label issues, and everyone’s trying to hold onto their little piece of the pie and it is what it is. I also realise, I think that people just want to turn the faucet on and have music come in. They’re not really concerned about all the romantic shit I thought mattered.”

Anyway, Reznor said, turning to Ross, “That was a long-winded way of saying, when we talked about this company, I just said, ‘Be aware of what success might look like because it will turn into something that eats up lots of cycles and time and attention and energy.’ ”

But, Ross said, taking on new responsibilities was, paradoxically, also a way to stay a little younger. “I know we’ve all been talking about being dads and being adults and all that,” Ross said, “and there is a part of me that thinks: it’s important to keep the kid alive.” Meaning the child inside yourself, rather than the one you’re responsible for.

He told a story about him and Reznor visiting the director David Lynch at his house to work with him on the 2017 revival of Twin Peaks. “And I don’t know how old he was at the time,” Ross said, “but he was older. But just walking in there, and he had the room set up and there’s a screen there, there’s some chairs here and there’s some musical instruments there and he’s smoking a cigarette. There’s nothing old about that dude. You know what I mean?”

Lynch showed them some Lynchian footage. It was incredible, even if they didn’t quite know what they were looking at. Lynch was probably 70 or 71 at the time. “But it’s that thing of it doesn’t matter how old he is,” Ross said. “He is alive. It’s that bit of it all that one doesn’t want to lose with age.”

The point was, Reznor said: “Let’s try some stuff. We’re bored. We are. You know what I mean? We’re grateful. We enjoy doing films. We can write a better Nine Inch Nails record, I think. We can put on a cooler tour. We are aimed to do that. But man, what if we try to do that?” Meaning, the company. “What if we could take what we’re good at, like we did with film? We identified something I think we’re good at and we figured out how to apply it to something else. What if we take that theory and try it on some other things? And that’s led us into: we’re not beaten down completely yet. And it feels exciting. That’s what matters to us right now.”

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

Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Grooming by Johnny Stuntz using Dior Capture Totale Hyalushot SFX Makeup by Malina Stearns Grills by Alligator Jesus Tailoring by Yelena Travkina Set design by Lizzie Lang at 11th House Agency Produced by Emily O’Meara at JN Production

#my ninposting #my transcription #trent reznor #atticus ross #nin #nine inch nails #trent #reznor #gq

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

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Poe Dameron x Fem Twi'lek!Reader

Summary:

On a solo job to Ryloth to pickup a shipment for The Resistance, Poe runs into an unexpected hiccup. With his only transport damaged and BB-8 offline, Poe is forced to stash his cargo and venture out into the harsh Rylothian landscape, where he finds you. Or, more accurately... you find him.

TW/CW: Near death, infection, fever, dehydration, fluff, Poe is a disaster pansexual idiot, BB-8 is his son fight me. Bugs!!! Big!!! Bugs!!! Strip poker (technically), everybody checks everyone out, but nothing explicit happens.

A/N: It's about time I wrote something for Poe! I can finally do the idea I had now that I thought up a plot! This fic takes place before The Force Awakens! (I hope you guys like the reference I put in there! Dun dun duuuun!)

And like, I just wanted an excuse to show Leia being the "team mom".

Asdfghjkl god this is a long-winded one but I didn't wanna break it up into parts; and the ending feels a bit lacking, but i loved writing it.

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It was supposed to be a routine supply run for some extra credits for the Resistance.

Go to the location, pick up the package from the dead drop, bring it to his ship, and go deliver it to his contact for payment, then come on home.

What he didn't anticipate? Was the pack of gutkurr that ambushed he and BB-8, his droid companion after they spent almost a full day digging up the concealed cache.

The large carnivorous insects ambushed them on the way out of a rocky canyon bend, jumping from the well-camouflaged crevices they concealed themselves in and onto the speeder he'd paid next to nothing for.

It was a junker, for sure, but the fuel cells and thrusters were good enough to do the trip he needed it for. He wouldn't be able to fit his ship into these narrow twists and turns even if he tried.

Maybe if he had his X-Wing, but that would have been too high-profile for this run, which is why he had to settle for a simple, tiny cargo freighter.

But while on the ground he needed something more maneuverable. Hence that kriffing speeder.

As soon as one of the gutkurr landed on the hood, the thin metal folded in, the inner workings of the speeder sputtering and erupting into smoke as the sickle-like claws of the creature dug into the metal for better security as it snapped its jaws in Poe's direction.

He had to bob and tip away and try to see around the animal, while BB-8 shocked it if it got too close to Poe. Always his best sidekick, that droid was his partner in crime.

But try as the little droid might, he just was no match when the speedier just died, unable to take the strain anymore as the electrical system short-circuited and send sparks of light arcing every which way, sending the droid's head spinning with a high pitched "beep-wheeeeep!" before completely stilling.

The nose of the speeder was forced down, digging a gouge of dry craggy soil until it pitched forward because of the sheer weight in the front from Poe, the gutkurr, and the cases of cargo strapped to the sides.

Poe was sent flying through the air, just narrowly dodging the snapping maw of the gutkurr as it rolled back to its feet, a piece of jagged metal jabbing into its flesh where the natural armor plating had gapped.

Poe spun around, both blasters drawn as the rest of the pack caught up, salivating at the prospect of a fresh meal.

A big, handsome, juicy one, if Poe actually had to brag about it.

He'd tried to fire at them, but his blaster bolts simply bounced right off their thick carapaces.

Kriff.

He fired again, and once more the red bolts fizzed off the shells and into the canyon walls, sending shards of chalky rock and dust raining down on them.

"Kriff!"

There were three of them.

Three of them versus one of him. It may have been a bit more even had BB-8 not been fried by the overload to his system, but right now it was down to just what little he had on him to fight. And it wasn't much. He had a few grenades... but were they enough to get through their carapaces when his blaster couldn't?

The creatures all hissed as they slowly advanced on him, snapping their maws and growling deeply to intimidate him into turning and running away, just so they could strike at him from behind.

Poe was reckless, but not stupid.

Okay, well maybe there was that one time on Corellia, but--

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowly put one foot in after the other, backing away as carefully as possible with no sudden movements.

"Okay, buglies... Easy, there..." Poe said gently to them, his dark eyes darting around frantically for an out.

Firing his blasters was pointless, it bounced right off the ugly shells--

Wait.

His eyes quickly raked up the sides of the craggy rocks towering on either side of them. Maybe...

Ah... screw it.

Poe backed further from the speeder, leading the nasties away from his downed speeder and best pal.

If he timed it right... Then maybe he could pull this trick off.

"Come on, that's it... come get a nice juicy bite of some Dameron steak..." He continued to talk to himself as his hand slowly lowered his other blaster, letting it hang loosely from the worn leather strap. His fingers deftly found their way to the round objects in one of the pockets of his belt and he pulled one out, his thumb flicking the arming switch.

His feet moved beneath him in a blur.

In a second he was able to toss a grenade at the feet of one of the gutkurr, the creatures snarling and hissing at the object before it detonated, sending shards up through the softer shell of the underbelly through one of them, killing the creature with a thunderous boom and crack as the carapace gave way beneath the force of the explosion.

Poe had thrown himself backwards as the explosion tossed one of the remaining two insectoids against the canyon wall, disorienting it as the other lunged for Poe, snatching his leg between his jaws and crunching down.

Either the gutkurr didn't intend to rip his leg off or it was knocked off its senses by the blast, he didn't know. The searing pain as the animal's fangs shredded through his leather boot and ripped into his skin, sending hot gushes of bright red blood out onto the yellowish sand below.

Poe cried out, gritting his teeth and blinking back tears as he raised his blaster again, this time pressing the barrel straight against the eye of the beast; the white-hot bolt burning right through to the brain, killing it with a double-tap of the trigger.

Once it slumped to the side, Poe scrambled away once more, grabbing another grenade from his pouch and tossing it to the last surviving gutkurr.

He rolled into his side and covered his head as it detonated, sending chunks of rock crumbling from the canyon walls, falling and crushing the gutkurr beneath the weight of the stones.

Once the dust cleared, Poe laid back in the sand and heaved heavy breaths, sweat soaking his clothes as the adrenaline coursed through his body.

He managed to force himself to his feet and hobble back to his crashed speeder. His first action was to pull BB-8 free from the socket and proceed to check him over.

Upon seeing the scorch marks, Poe's brows pinched up and his heart fluttered.

"Oh, buddy..." He breathed as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to what would be the spherical droid's face.

"Don't worry," He promised. "I'll get us out of here. And then... we're getting the hell off of Ryloth."

Poe carefully set his droid pal to the side and began scrambling for his medical kit.

When he found the busted metal tin, he cringed when he saw the contents. One singular bacta patch and a bunch of bandages.

Seriously? What had he been thinking! The General told him he needed to keep a fully stocked kit on him, but did he listen? Noooooo.

"C'mon, General. It's me." Poe grinned at her. "How often do I get shot?"

She pursed her slightly wrinkled lips and crossed her arms, her brow quirking upwards skeptically, her bright beautiful brown eyes locking with his own.

"Do you want me to count on both hands or use my toes, too? Because I'd still run out if I tried to count."

Damn, the woman had been right. Again. He had half a mind to wonder if she didn't see a vision of him getting shot before this run, and reminded him solely because of that.

He read in a holo once that Jedi could use the Force to heal wounds, and he was currently fresh out of Jedi.

The throb in his leg sent fresh tears surging up to dew on the edges of his eyelashes as he dropped down.

Taking a piece of the cargo mounting that had broken off during the crash, Poe used his knife in his other boot to slice the remainders of his pants leg away and carefully toe'd the boot off his foot so he could better assess the damage.

And yeah, it was bad. He needed a medical droid or some kinda doctor, fast. With how bad the lacerations to the flesh and muscle, infection would be a death sentence. From a simple glance, even he could tell his tibial and fibular arteries weren't damaged (thank the Force) because of the gaps that were between the gutkurr's fangs.

But the force of the bite alone at least fractured his tibia, maybe even broke his ankle.

Kriff.

Poe ripped the foil packet containing the pitifully tiny bacta patch and pressed it down over the biggest hole in his leg.

Hell, if it couldn't fix it all, it was better it fix some than none.

He winced as the cold gel touched the open wound, and rifling through the kit once more provided him with some much-needed sterile gauze. No antibacterial gel however, so the risk of infection was still there. Especially from the saliva of that nasty critter alone.

"Beggars can't be choosers, Poe..." He grunted to himself as he broke another loose piece of metal from the cargo mounting and lined them both up, struggling to wrap them as tight as possible on either side of his leg so he could make a field splint.

He gripped the sides of his speeder and groaned as he felt his adrenaline wane as he looked at the wreckage.

Well... now he had another problem.

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By another graced miracle, Poe was able to create a sled that he was able to drop the crates of cargo onto, as well as his precious droid friend.

After he stashed and concealed the cargo in a small cave, Poe took stock of what little provisions he had, which consisted of some pre-packaged meals and two or three water capsules.

Barely enough to survive long; but, he remembered the way out of the canyon. There was a forest or a jungle on the fringes of the desert, not far from where he'd come in... Maybe he'd have a better chance of surviving. Maybe...

Poe talked to BB-8 as he dragged the offline droid behind him on the sled, murmuring stupid jokes and ideas about the shenanigans they'd get up to once they were home free. And about the ear-bending lectures the General would give him.

He realized though, after two days, that he was hopelessly, terribly lost. His water was running low, his food rations were okay because of the portions he limited himself to, but once the fever set in, the logical side of Poe's brain told him he was going to die an inglorious death in the middle of nowhere, thanks to a bum leg and a bacta patch that did a piss poor job.

Poe kept going until he lost track of time, walking on and on until he collapsed, face first into his own tracks, shortly lamenting his own life choices as he drifted from the conscious world.

Man, did the universe have a twisted sense of kriffing humor.

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It was a simple day for you. You were on your way back from picking clean a crashed Republic-Era ship for parts to bring back home to improve some of your farming equipment. Maybe you could catch some spare credits to stash in your emergency pouch beneath the floorboards in your bedroom.

Your blurrg, Kari, crooned deeply as she pawed at the rocky sand with her stumpy legs. You sighed, adjusting your sun visor back down to shield your eyes from the harsh light of your homeworld's star. It was an unusually clear day for this time of year, and the sun was especially unforgiving. You couldn't wait to get into the safety of the treeline and back to your meager little farm in the forest.

"C'mon, Kari. The sooner we can get home, the sooner I can get this cart off you." You say, leaning down to pat her, one of your lekku falling over your shoulder to dangle down, the tip curling slightly.

Sometimes you envied how humans could cut their hair, but if you cut your lekku, you were as good as handicapped, with how sensitive yours were to touch. Yeah, your head-tails were longer than average, and irritating, but hey, they were yours.

The sun gleamed off your sweat-soaked skin beneath your fatigues as you nudged Kari with your heel in the stirrup to get her to continue moving.

But once again, the stubborn she-beast refused to move, rumbling deeply in protest as she shook her stubby little head.

You grit your teeth and squint against the harsh sun, and that's when you see it. Your other animal companion, a can-cell, Cviki, circling overhead, his iridescent wings fluttering against the updrafts, the sun glimmering off his bright blue-green carapace as he made another aerial pass.

You frowned. There should be nothing in that canyon except the roving pack of scavenging gutkurr you have long known to avoid. Growing up in Ryloth, you knew Twi'leks were tasty snacks for the large insectoids. So why was Cviki circling like something interesting was there? There couldn't possibly be people, even the smartest smugglers knew it was dangerous in those canyons, all the locals avoided them with good reason.

You click your tongue and jerk the reins, "Alright, ma sareen. We'll go see what has you both so interested."

You bring your fingers to your lips and make a high-pitched whistle. The tune Cviki understood as "I'm coming, be careful" since you'd raised him from a larvae.

Maybe whatever was in the canyon was worth some credits in salvage?

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You carefully marked your path into the narrow canyon as Cviki led you from above, knowing full well not marking your trail was a death wish to the unprepared.

But you were anything but unprepared.

Your lekku flopping in the breeze as Kari galloped through and in-between the canyon walls, you make an audible gasp as you yank the reins on Kari's harness, squeezing your feet instinctively in a command to stop.

A crashed speeder of some sort (honestly it probably looked better in the ground than when it was running) and the rotting corpses of three gutkurr lay in the craggy soil, smaller scavengers already hard at work picking the remains clean.

Living gutkurr smelled bad enough, but their dessicated corpses were horrible.

You dismounted Kari, patting her flank as you walked by, pulling your long blaster rifle from its sling low on your hips as you carefully walked around the wreckage, poking the twisted metal with the barrel of your rifle just in case.

Upon further inspection, you see nothing of value. Not even the droid that was surely busted judging from the scorch marks in the docking port.

Damn shame. A droid was just the thing you were missing to help out on your farm. Parts from whatever droid had been docked there really would have helped finish up the one you had in pieces back in your workshop.

Oh, well...

You kept looking around, noting that there was not only no sign of a droid, but no sign of the pilot of the speeder. You shoulder your rifle again and kneel down, touching the soul with your fingertips as you study the boot prints that had almost been fully covered by the drifting sands.

"Ah, hells." You mutter as you stand. Some poor fool had been sent on a fool's errand by some smuggler.

You turn, pushing your other lekku back over your shoulder as you whistle for Kari to approach. Cviki had stopped his flying to stick to one of the rocky walls, chittering down at you curiously.

You snap your fingers as you mount your blurrg once again, and whistle sharply at Cviki.

"Wachamio!" You shout up at him in Ryl, pointing down the canyon. "Let's go see if that poor sod is still breathing!"

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Yeah, he was breathing all right. Breathing and feverish. Hell, when you caught up to Cviki you had to swat at his beak when he picked up the human man's uninjured leg in his mouth and tugged, playfully trying to see if he would play.

Yeah... he was the guy who fought those gutkurr, all right. He got damned lucky.

"Oh, kriff." You sighed, kneeling next to him as he weakly swatted at you, his eyes dry and crusted closed. You could tell by the sweat and mucus that he was battling an infection, most likely from the deep injury to his leg. He probably got bit by that gutkurr; everyone knew to immediately disinfect any bites--if you survived an encounter with a gutkurr that is--because of the bacteria that lived in gutkurr saliva. It was a death sentence to anyone without proper medical supplies.

And when you'd looked inside of the medical kit at the wreckage, you could see he had none.

'Equal parts desperate and lucky.' You think to yourself as you effortlessly (and gently) wipe the crust from his eyes.

"Nu nala quin-nala wilo?" You ask him.

"Whuh--?" He rasped, his lips cracked and split from dehydration.

You roll your eyes with slight exasperation. The man was delirious, of course he wouldn't be able to understand you right now. And, for all you knew, he couldn't even speak Ryl.

"I'm going. To help. Youuuuu." You emphasize slowly and loudly in Basic as his head rolls around and he mumbles incoherently.

"Ugh, you better be worth it." You grunt, whistling for Kari to come closer so the cart was next to you.

Kriff, that man was all dead weight, you felt your muscles strain as you dragged him onto the cart that was still hooked to Kari. You had to shove your meager salvage off to the side to make room for him and his little BB-model astromech.

At least it wasn't a total bust, if this guy died, maybe you could get his droid back up and running to work for you. But those were thoughts for later.

Right now you had some dumb human to lug back home and try to save.

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Ugh... The only thing Poe knew was that he hurt. He hurt worse than that time he was tackled by that besalisk in that one cantina...

A drunken dare, mind you, but he still got flattened by the man's weight alone. There was still probably a dent in that cantina wall to this very day.

His head pounded, but he managed to drag his eyes open and force himself up with his palms.

His muscles ached and his skin hurt. He was shirtless and dressed down all the way to his undergarments.

Poe dropped back onto the bed he was resting on. It was comfortable, very much so; much more than the bunks on the ships and in the barracks he'd been hopping to and from the past few years.

So someone had saved his stupid kriffing ass, but he couldn't remember anything concrete.

He dropped his hand onto his forehead, the skin on his body peeling and flaking away as the sunburn healed; thinking back hard.

The last thing he remembered was his vision clearing somewhat, and then a bright light.

Wait...

He remembered a voice. A woman's voice, talking in a language he wasn't sure he was familiar with.

"Man... must've been an angel..." He chuckled sardonically, his voice cracked and throat dry.

Poe winced and looked to the bedside, seeing a glass of water next to him on the small table. Instinctively, he grabbed it and chugged it faster than a pint of cheap weequay beer.

By the Force, it felt amazing to finally have something wet his parched throat.

He turned his head when he heard whirring and a rolling sound approach the room, and a grin broke out on his face as the curtain was pushed open and a certain round little astromech rolled into the room with him.

"Aw, I knew I'd recognize the sound of those servos anywhere! BB! C'mere, you little--" He grunted, rolling off the bed and biting hit bottom lip as his injured leg hit the wooden floor.

BB-8 made several high pitched beeps and whirs in a chastising manner.

"I know, I know, but c'mere, you little cannonball!" Poe laughed through the pain, wrapping his thick arms around the round little droid as he trilled happily at his companion's better spirits.

BB-8 chirped and beeped again.

"Oh, my leg? It hurts like hell, where are we?" Poe asked, looking around. This was clearly somebody's bedroom, in some kind of small, prefab house that had been patched many times over. Probably purchased at a scrap yard. Hah. Like that kriffing speeder he wasted his credits on.

BB-8 whirred as he rolled about the room, making various noises as he explained to his human friend the situation.

"An infection?" His thick brows shot up. "Damn. Please tell me I looked beautiful when I went down?"

BB-8 stopped dead in his tracks, and the only part of him that moved was his head, and he made a few beeps.

"Okay yeah I knew you were out, it was rhetorical. Who do you think dragged you through that canyon?" Poe sighed, shaking his head, his sweaty curls dangling.

BB-8 tweeted in reply.

"A woman? Wait, so I wasn't hallucinating that part?" Poe blinked at the tiny droid as he wheeled his way up to him once more, bumping into him a few times affectionately.

"Okay, yeah, I get it. I owe the lady. Definitely owe her if she fixed you up, little buddy." Poe smiled warmly, patting the droid's chassis sweetly.

He was so caught up in the reunion with his partner that he almost jumped out of his skin when heavy bootsteps halted in the doorway and the curtain was pulled back, revealing... you.

Hot, gorgeous, sweaty and badass you. You were covered in grime and dirt from working the field you had and fixing your tiller that had crapped out on you. Hot damn, you were probably the hottest Twi'lek he'd ever seen, even your head-tails looked absolutely luscious.

You had initially sent BB-8 inside to fetch a tool, and when he hadn't returned you came inside to see why.

You tugged off your rawhide gloves and leaned in the doorway, smirking at the human as you shoved your gloves into the waistband of your pulled-down coveralls.

'C'mon Poe, put on the charm...' He chastised himself.

He cleared his throat and gave you his best debonair smile along with his signature quirked brow and squinted eyes; the smile that had won him the companionship from many women (and guys and others in-between) throughout the galaxy.

But he couldn't fathom the fact that he looked positively pathetic with a kriffed up leg, lying half-naked on your bedroom floor.

That is... until you broke out laughing, and BB-8 spun in a circle, joining in on your revelry at his attempt at flirtation.

Poe sighed deeply, dropping his cocky expression. "Eh, so... Uh... you're the lady who I remember from the canyon, right?"

You nod, your lekku quivering from within the soft leather quiver you'd bound them in, "Yana."

Poe blinked up at you. You did speak Basic just then, right? His hearing just messed up for a second? Right...

"So, on behalf of... well, me and my little friend here, thank you for saving us!" He grins awkwardly. "What's your name, miss..?"

You smirk again and utter something, your name, perhaps? And then ask, "Zul nala z'rate nala quora?"

BB-8 speaks to you for Poe when he doesn't answer, merely giving you a concerned look as he began to fear he was stuck with a woman who didn't speak Basic. He really needs to brush up on his xeno-linguistics...

You click your tongue and shake your head, "Su'un na, mesh'e yahte." You roll your eyes and tip your head to the side and tell him your name, this time clearly.

"Oh, man, am I happy you can understand me." Poe grinned. "Uh... Can you... help me off the floor? Please?"

"Yahte." You sigh deeply, walking over to him.

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The man you'd saved was someone called "Poe Dameron" a supposed "master pilot" for some "resistance". When Poe mentioned your skills as a medic and your ability to patch droids, he even hurled the suggestion to you that you join up.

You refused.

"What? Why?" Poe asked incredulously, setting his fork down on your tiny table as you both picked at your humble meal.

"Because I saw enough fighting when the Empire remnants sacked my hometown when I was a small child. They did it out of sheer spite for General Syndulla's role in the destruction of the last Death Star. I lost both of my parents, I lost my grandmother. If it wasn't for Numa saving me from the rubble I would have had nothing." You say, your lekku trembling at the memory of your home being blasted to smithereens.

Poe wilted. The two of you were close in age, the two of you were young enough and old enough to remember the Death Star, the war, the people you loved...

And, yeah, he understood your reasoning. Why get swallowed up by the war that devoured your family in front of you, when you can be a hermit, farming healing herbs and delivering produce and salted meats to one of the smaller towns further north?

"Okay... I'm sorry." Poe said, his eyes downcast as his own sour memories played back in his mind.

"No, no..." You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I shouldn't have blown up on you like that. Kriff, I swear, living in the woods shortens my temper."

Poe smiled at you and stretched out his leg beneath the table, the brace you'd rigged up for him squeaking as he bent his knee.

"How's the leg?" You pipe in.

"Oh, it's definitely better. Whatever kinda magic plants you got, they're certainly doing the trick!" Poe grinned at you.

"It's not magic. It's just natural medicine." You waved your fork at him. "And don't forget, you owe me for using half my stash of bacta to help fix your leg. You still got a few weeks to pay off that debt to me, Mor'ski."

Poe held up his hands innocently, grinning sideways at you. "Heyyy... I'm a man of my word! And the deadline on that shipment is... Well it technically doesn't have one."

"Did you ever think that it didn't have one because your contact knew sending people into those canyons was a death sentence? Because they knew odds of one person surviving in that canyon were like, maybe 2 to 20?" You snort. "Sounds to me that the people who hired you have been feeding people to the gutkurrs until somebody could finally nab that cache."

Poe blinked and you could easily tell that the thought had never crossed his mind.

Yahte.

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"Careful, Mor'ski." You snort, leaning on the fence as Kari bucks Poe off her saddle once again; before shuffling on to drink from her trough. BB-8 makes loud beeping and trilling as he spins in a circle, enjoying some humor at Poe's expense.

"Ugh!" Poe groaned.

Kari huffed and made a short bellow, trotting back around to nudge Poe with her flat snout.

Poe pats her as he sits up, "Okay, you like me but not enough for me to ride you? I mean I knew my charm worked on the ladies, but c'mon, I can't even stay on you for five seconds!"

"That's because I've raised her almost directly from birth, Poe." You grin victoriously before clicking your teeth, uttering a few words in Ryl before Kari abandons Poe altogether to rush up to you for affection.

"That's it, ma sareen." You coo at her.

"Uhh!" Poe scoffs as he stands up, dusting off the old worn pants you'd loaned him, his leg brace creaking as he walked over to you.

The damage Poe had sustained to his leg from the gutkurr was bad. Bad enough that even your small stash of bacta patches (some of which were probably past their best by date...) couldn't heal all the damage or regenerate properly. Or perhaps it was from the bacteria eating away at his flesh when you found him. You weren't sure, but the man would walk with a slight gait for the rest of his life.

But of course, knowing Poe, he would use it to his advantage just to cock his hips out to get some attention.

You were almost gonna miss that idiot when he was well enough to leave, and his cute little droid, too. It was nice to have company after so long alone.

"Well what about him?" Poe asked, pointing to Cviki, who had just plucked a fruit from a nearby tree and ate it messily. "I bet I could ride him!"

You laugh and smack your thigh, "Oh, be my guest! But remember, Mor'ski: Cviki is a can-cell. Not a fighter. If he decides he doesn't want you in the pilot seat anymore..."

Poe swallowed a bit nervously.

Maybe he should stick with the blurrg.

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Three weeks had gone by, and you knew Poe leaving was inevitable. He had finally done away with the leg brace and you inspected his healing leg. It was coming along nicely. It would scar, for sure, but he'd be able to walk.

And you were right, before. He did walk with a gait, one he carried with confidence in combination with that aggravatingly handsome smirk of his.

Could this man find a dark side in anything? Other than the First Order? You doubted it, he seemed good at turning bad situations around.

And oh, you would miss listening to Poe dote on that cute little astromech, BB-8. He was like a father doting on his infant child. You even caught him scooping him up and carrying him if BB-8 couldn't flawlessly roll over something (though BB probably pretended he couldn't just to be picked up by Poe).

It's a wonder that droid got anything done at all! You remember when you first brought him online and he assumed you were some nefarious individual who had hurt his pilot and friend.

It wasn't until you physically brought the astromech in to see the unconscious and feverish Poe to earn that little droid's trust. With BB-8's know-how, you were able to fix a few systems in your own defunct protocol droid that you honestly assumed you'd have to fully replace, making it that much cheaper to get the old droid up and running. Once they left, anyway. You weren't in a rush to have the help anymore. You liked having Poe around, his stupid snarky comments and weird giggle of his...

And you'd be lying if you didn't catch yourself staring, sometimes, too when he was working on helping with your monthly harvest.

He was skinny from lack of decent rations, when you brought him in, but after being with you for a few weeks, getting a proper diet and food in him, he bulked up.

He was muscular, sure, but not that almost scarily-defined tone so many found attractive. Poe's figure had softened out around his muscles, giving his belly a slight pooch and the dimples on his back to become more prominent. The softness was certainly appealing...

He looked handsome healthy.

Why did you just think that? Why did you just--

Your hands stopped as you tied down your equipment for the coming storm system that was approaching from the north, and you looked up to observe Poe for a moment.

Poe was busy helping cover your younger plants so they could survive the tough winds. He'd even helped corral Cviki into his créche so he wouldn't get injured. As thick as his carapace was, all it would take was one piece of debris to shred his wings and he could risk being permanently grounded.

Cviki seemed to socialize with Poe rather well, chittering and purring when Poe would pat his bulbous head, his wings fluttering curiously and excitedly when Poe would launch a small branch in the air for him to fetch and bring back.

Poe was a masterful pilot--if his words were to be believed--but something inside you told him he was also suited for a calmer life. Like yours, running a farm, taking care of the animals; not fighting in a near-pointless cycle you couldn't understand.

But, it was his choice to make, and his life to live. And nobody in the galaxy could take it from him.

But little did you know, that you were already tempting him to...

You rushed then, to tighten the wenches on the equipment bindings as Poe covered the fresh plants, grunting as the wind tousled his hair into his face and struggled to get the tarps down.

You look up at the sky and frown when the angry and flashing storm clouds approach faster than anticipated. It could be a short, fast-moving storm, that was the hope.

But you were worried. If the clouds began to circle...

At least you had a cellar.

"Poe! Come on! The plants are covered!" You wince when a small twig is caught in the wind and smacks into one of your lekku as the wind pushes them about. You forgot to wear your sheath today and were paying for it.

"You sure?" He called out to you.

"Yeah! Trust me, I'm sure! Now we need to get inside before the main storm hits!" You wave your hand. "Wachamio!"

Poe took the spare second to slam the mallet down on the stake for one last measure, before hopping to his feet, BB-8 chirping and tweeting from the threshold of your door, urging you both to hurry up.

Once inside, you quickly spin around and use the metal bar and slot it into place so the door wouldn't blow inwards on you; all your windows had been properly covered and locked with the metal panels so they wouldn't get blown in as well.

Not one moment later, you begin to hear the first fat raindrops pelt the walls and roof of your home from outside, deep rolling thunder announcing the arrival.

"Well, uh... You ever play sabacc?" Poe grinned awkwardly, and you slowly grinned.

BB-8 made a sound that could be universally translated in any language as: "I've got a bad feeling about this."

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It was just downright unfair. Clearly the universe did not favor him, or his hands at this sabacc game...

He was down to his socks and underwear while you were confidently sitting across the table, the only things missing from your outfit was your shirt, leaving you in your breastband only from the waist up, showing off the small scars and loosely defined muscles from your hard-working lifestyle poking through the light softness of your body.

You lean in as you see him begin to sweat, frowning at the cards in his hand. You'd both agreed on a simple game of sabacc, but because there were no credits to be put in the pot, you both settled on your clothes as the storm waxed and waned outside, rattling the walls and making his ears pop. He wondered how the sensitive little cones that were your sensory organs felt in the storm. Could ear-cones pop? It was a thought for another time.

"What's the matter, Mor'ski?" You rest your chin in your palm, grinning like a firaxan shark.

"...Afraid you can't bring much to the table?"

Oh, that was a low blow. He could feel the blush rise in his neck as his face heated up.

"Hah! Please, I doubt you could handle aaaallll this." Poe sputtered as he leaned back and huffed, forcing his confident demeanor back to the surface.

"Oh, I d'nno... I've probably handled farming equipment that was bigger." You toss back, moving a fresh pick between your lips and teeth as you boredly thumb through your cards.

"...Okay now you're just being mean."

"Hmm..." You look back up at him, a cold smile on your soft-looking lips. Poe felt a cold shiver creep up his spine when you looked at him.

And it was even worse when you flattened your cards on the table.

"Pure sabacc."

"Kriff!" Poe groaned, slapping his own bad hand on the table and pushing his hand through his curls.

"Oh, come on! I'm down to my skivvies, here!" He whined.

"Oh, I know." You giggle, batting your eyelashes at him and your lekku curl upwards a bit. "I'm not planning on making you completely strip. I'm feeling merciful..." You purred.

"...What are you planning?"

"The storm's let up a bit for now..." You hum casually, tapping your fingers on the top of your worn wooden table.

Poe blinked at you, his eyebrows raised up on his forehead. "No way..."

"One solid minute." You say, sticking your finger up. "Run around in the rain for one solid minute."

"Oh, come on!" Poe groaned, slapping his fist on the table.

BB-8 chirped and spun in a circle, almost laughing.

"Oh, whose side are you on?!" Poe glared at the droid with a scowl.

BB-8 whistled and wheeled over to your side, beeping and whirring in reply, making you grin even wider.

"You said you're a man of your word, Dameron..." You chuckle.

"....Agh! Kriff, why are women like this?!" Poe groaned, scrambling his hands through his raven curls.

"A bet's a bet..."

"Fine!" Poe scoffed, shooting to his feet and marching over to the front door, where your boots both lay.

He grumbled under his breath the whole time as he shoved his feet into them. Ah, well, at least the view from behind was nice...

You bite your lip as he pulls the metal bar free and the door rattles from the sudden gust of wind. Poe grabs the latch and it takes most of his strength to keep it from swinging open.

Oh, the moment he darted out into the freezing rain was glorious. The yelp he made as the first freezing drops made contact with his skin had you squirming and cackling madly as you clapped your hands and stamped your feet excitedly, BB-8 spinning in place and tweeting loudly.

He ran in a circle with his arms held out wide, shouting expletives the whole time as bumps erupted all over his body as his boots squished in the mud.

Once the minute was over with, Poe scurried back inside, soaked to the bone and shivering, his teeth chattering as he looked at you.

"Happy...?" Poe grunted.

"Very much so." You giggle girlishly.

"Good because I'm never playing sabacc with you again."

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You both sat on the fence, watching as Kari ate from her feed trough, bellowing in between bites, her thick tail swaying as she eats.

"So..." Poe began.

"Hm?" You mused, spitting the weed from between your teeth.

"I still have that cache hidden in the canyon... I mean, I know you've already helped me out and everything but..."

You quirk your brow inquisitively. "You want me to help you transport it to the spaceport."

"...Well. Okay, I mean... Eh. Yeah..?" He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't have a mode of transportation or anything, and... I can give you a cut?"

You slowly look at him, blinking. "You'd pay me to help?"

"Yeah! I don't see why not... Plus it'll help pay back and replace the bacta patches I used... Might help pay for parts for that droid of yours..."

Your teeth gnaw at the inside of your cheek, thinking hard as you look down at the mud. He made some good points... He has no ride, he still needs those credits or his near death would have been for nothing...

And those credits really could help you out.

"Okay, Mor'ski. I'm in." You reply, slapping your palm into his.

Poe grinned and gave your hand a firm tug.

"Knew you would be, doll. Now let's get to it."

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You watched as Poe slid the last crate into the cart next to BB-8, fastening them down with wench straps so nothing moved. There had been no sign of gutkurrs since the two of you returned to the canyon, but that's also probably from the musk bombs you made to irritate their sense of smell.

Maybe if he'd hired a local guide through the canyons he wouldn't have gotten so screwed in the first place.

But if he did, he wouldn't have met you.

Hindsight is... well. A funny thing when you think about it.

"Do you even know what's in those crates?" You ask him as you mount Kari's saddle.

"Eh... no." Poe cringed.

"Did you ever think to check??" You frown at him.

Poe's gloved hands pat the crate in front of him, and even BB-8 whirs curiously.

"Ryloth is known for its spice production, Poe..." You sigh softly. "Interspace gangs like to use it for drugs, remember?"

"Yeah..." He said, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Screw it.

He popped the latches and peeked into the crate.

There were different objects, all bearing the sigil of the old Empire. Poe felt his blood run cold as he tossed the lid completely open, and began rifling through it.

Several objects had the Empire logo scratched out, some had them painted over. It was clear this cache no longer belonged to them, but...

"What is it?" You ask him.

"...A bunch of old Empire junk. The weapons are pretty much useless, their cells are drained. There's a few other things in here, but... They look like they'd only be useful to a damn collector than anybody of importance." Poe said, his body relaxed slightly. Nothing really dangerous were in these crates...

Except.

"Holy kriff." He breathed, reaching down to a small wooden box. It was half a foot long, and surprisingly, there was an image burned into the lid. A symbol he knew well as a young man, scrawled and graffiti'd on many Empire propaganda posters.

The symbol of the Jedi Order.

"What?" You asked, turning to look at him.

Poe reached in and pulled out a lightsaber. Its once shiny metal surface scuffed and dented, the black tips at the end of the handle flaked of paint, the clip snapped long ago. This lightsaber had been through hell, and had probably even seen action as far back as the Clone Wars...

"Is... Is that..." You stumble.

"A kriffing lightsaber." Poe said reverently. He slowly and carefully set the lightsaber back inside the velvet lined box, closing it and gently placing it back inside the crate.

"Nothing in here is dangerous, except the lightsaber, maybe. But nobody really knows how to use these except..."

"Jedi and Sith." You murmur. "Who would want that stuff if it's useless?"

"Like I said, a collector maybe. Or a dealer in war relics." Poe said, closing the crate again.

"Poe..."

"I know, but c'mon... Let's get going while we still got the sun."

"Right." You say slowly. You pat Kari's flank and jerk your head. "Get on, Mor'ski. We got at least a two hours' ride ahead of us."

Poe seemed wary. He'd ridden in the cart the whole trek out here, and all the failed attempts to ride that blurrg of yours made him hesitant to hop on her.

"Relax, if I'm riding with you, she'll be fine. Unless you wanna ride Cviki?" You smile wryly, the both of you looking up to where Cviki was poking at the rocks with his beak, his mandibles picking up smaller insectoids to munch on here and there.

"...No I'm good." He looked back at you as he stepped up to Kari's side.

As he grabbed onto your open palm with his, he looked at you with curiosity in his dark eyes.

"You good yourself, crazy lady?" He jabbed playfully.

"Rahn fanyo. Er... I'm fine." You mumble as he takes his seat behind you, politely placing his hands on your waist.

It was a gentlemanly thing to do, to avoid grabbing anything he shouldn't... but once Kari got into a good and decent trot, he'd bounce off her haunches faster than a blood fly.

"Poe, you're gonna need to hold on tighter than that. Or I'm gonna leave you in the dust and collect this bounty myself..."

Poe chuckled and awkwardly looped his arms around your waist, carefully adjusting it so your sensitive lekku were draped over his shoulders, so he couldn't squish them on accident.

"Like this?"

You rolled your eyes and tugged his hands until they were almost clasped together and his chin was practically on your shoulder. "There. Because being polite while riding a blurrg is gonna get you a concussion, yahte."

"Okay, you gotta teach me Ryl, doll." Poe chuckled.

You smirked over your shoulder as you snapped Kari's reins, nudging her with your heels.

"That would ruin the fun, Mor'ski."

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You watched as a group of children fed Cviki fruit out of their palms, giggling and laughing when his long tongue unfurled to wrap around their fingers and clean their hands of any lingering juices left over. Cviki was very approachable, for a cen-cell.

Kari on the other hand... She didn't really like anybody other than you. And, well, maybe Poe now, you supposed.

You sighed as you watched Poe speak with his contact, a rather fat Twi'lek man who was obviously well off. A broker, you supposed. One who sets up people with jobs like these. Technically avoiding any trouble with the law because brokers around these parts were simply like bulletin boards for smugglers, you could pick what jobs they conveniently had around, and if you got in trouble, they could disavow any connections to you while still making decent credits.

And it was obviously a very good front he was wearing, judging by the bejeweled rings squished onto the man's fat fingers.

When the two began walking over to you, you groaned softly, Kari huffing when she sensed your irritation. You detested people walking up to you when you didn't want to talk.

Your emotions were high for reasons you couldn't quite place, and a feeling of anxiety gnawed in the pit of your stomach.

Poe was leaving.

Soon, he would load the cargo onto this broker's ship and he would leave Ryloth, possibly forever. You couldn't blame him, after almost getting turned into a tasty snack for a pack of gutkurrs.

"And this lovely woman must be the person who saved your skin, eh, Dameron?" The Twi'lek man chortled, his fat jiggling merrily as he elbowed Poe in the side.

His thin mouth was stretched wide, making his cheeks appear even larger and more plump, his bright yellow skin drawing little attention to his sharp teeth.

"Yep, my savior all right. Worked me right to the bone to pay back half my debt to her after those ugly bugs tried to snack on me." Poe grinned back.

"My my, sounds like a keeper!" The man smirked suggestively at you two.

You rolled your eyes and curled your lekku slightly. The gesture was hidden behind you, but anyone walking by could see the irritation and hostility in the gesture.

Men have tried to get your attention for years, and certainly, a man of status like this was always looking for aides or escorts of some kind. That life wasn't for you, not one tiny bit.

"She's.... Uh. A good friend." Poe said, smiling at you.

His soft eyes eased the tension in you somewhat, but you were still jittery and anxious. One, about Poe leaving; two, all the people bustling about the spaceport; and three, these confusing kriffing feelings regarding the quirky pilot.

The Twi'lek man handed Poe a small box, likely containing his payment, and BB-8 drove into his shins twice.

"I know, I know, buddy! I was getting to that!" Poe sighed exasperatedly at the astromech.

"I'll make sure the dock officials don't snoop, say our goodbyes." The broker winked as he turned to walk away.

"So..." Poe awkwardly began.

"Mhm." You hum.

"I'm glad you dragged my sorry carcass out of that canyon." Poe chuckled, his fingers nervously brushing the sides of the box he held.

"I'm happy my effort wasn't wasted when Kari didn't eat you." You snort in reply, smiling despite yourself.

Poe laughed softly and opened the box, plucking up a few chips into his fist. He held out his hand and placed the silver and gold chips into your palm gently.

"Here. I'm a man of my word, remember?" He smiled at you warmly. "And I promised you a cut. This should cover the bacta, and some parts for that droid of yours. Plus, y'know. To get yourself somethin' nice."

When he winked, you felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you laughed.

"Yeah, well..." You shrugged, not sure what to say.

"...Hey." Poe said, his bottom lip sliding beneath his teeth for a moment before licking it.

"So, I know this is sudden, but--"

"Sir! Your ship is cleared and ready to go! You got five minutes!" A dockhand shouted from nearby, startling Kari to the point she made a concerned bellow and stumbled back a bit.

You shove the credits into your belt pouch, and coo and shush at Kari, patting her down affectionately to ease her sudden fright as Poe shouts back at the dockhand.

"Ah... Great. Fun." Poe sighed as he turned back to you, noticing how your lekku were twitching and swaying as you struggled to calm your blurrg mount.

You didn't turn back to face him, biting your plush bottom lip as you patted down Kari, trying now to calm yourself as much as her.

Poe was leaving.

Probably one of the only people you'd call "friend" was leaving, and then you'd go right back to your boring tedium from before, while he flew headlong into danger with BB-8 by his side.

You couldn't really hear him as he spoke to you, imagining just how many horrible ways he could possibly die out there, at the hands of the First Order, or some pirate scum...

You did however, become aware of how close he was when he slipped an arm around your waist and tugged you against him. You barely had time to gasp and ask what he was doing when he pressed his lips against yours in a rushed, but fiery kiss.

He pulled back from you, winking as BB-8 whirled and trilled, spinning in place a few times.

"See ya around, doll. And next time I'm in town, I'll visit."

You were left, blinking, mouth agape as he sashayed with that new gait of his towards the hangar of his ship, BB-8 hot on his heels, tweeting a farewell at you.

You stayed like that, the tips of your lekku twining around one another twice, your face flushed with a different shade as the ship shakily lifted off, blasting off into the clouds.

...If he did come back...

"Come on, Kari." You say softly before whistling to get Cviki's attention.

"Let's go get some shopping done."

Maybe you would buy yourself something nice to wear.

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Poe sighed as his ship launched into hyperspace, feeling sad as he kissed Ryloth's atmosphere goodbye. It wasn't as beautiful or as sweet as your lips were, for sure.

But it made his heart throb with sadness all the same...

He punched in a few buttons and the hologram of the broker appeared as the message began to play.

"Poe, my boy! Safe travels. I'm sure you and your companion had a lovely farewell, no?" He chuckled gleefully.

Poe rolled his eyes as he continued. "My contact got word back to me, and she's pleased that the cargo was intact and was impressed you were alive! How about that?" The man clapped his hands and laughed again.

"Well, just letting you know," His eyes twinkled. "Miss Kanata sends her thanks and hopes you enjoy the extra credits she left in your pay!"

Poe frowned at the name.

Wait... Miss Who?

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

Leia watched as Poe studied the small hologram of a Twi'lek woman in front of him, squinting and mouthing the words as they left her lips.

The older woman smiled as she walked up to him, her long robes shuffling softly as her slippers padded the metal flooring of the base.

"Pick up a new language to learn, Poe?" She asked, her brown eyes shimmering as she sat next to him.

Poe almost jumped, unusually engrossed in the tutorial program he had been watching. He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.

"You could say that." He replied.

"I noticed you walking with a limp, now, Poe." Her tone switched to a more affectionate and maternal tone. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... Someone on Ryloth saved my hide from a bad sitch. Unfortunately I'm probably gonna be stuck with it forever, but I'd trade a limp for my life any day of the week." He grinned.

Leia hummed with a sweet smile as her eyes were drawn to the paused tutorial. "Fall in love with the local flavor, huh?" She grinned mischievously.

Poe stiffened and coughed into his hand, a blush to his cheeks.

"You... Could say that."

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

Twi'leki/Ryl translation:

Wachamio! = "Let's go!"

Ma sareen = "My Sweet"

Yana = "Yes"

Wa-janeel = "Follow me"

Rahn fanyo = "I'm fine" or, alternatively, "Don't worry"

Twi'leki/Ryl Phrases I've smacked together/come up with (idk I'm not a linguist):

Nu nala quin-nala wilo? = "Do you know where you are?"

Zul nala z'rate nala quora? = "Can you tell me your name?"

Su'un na, mesh'e yahte. = "Oh great, he's an idiot."

Yahte = "Idiot"

Mor'ski = "Flyboy"

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe x reader #poe x you #poe dameron star wars #poe dameron #leia organa #maz kanata

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bonefall · 7 months

Note

If the cats dont make camps in human structures, then where's TC at in the lake territory? In canon there's a giant stone wall on one side

It's not a "wall" as in a human structure, it's an abandoned quarry. It's rockface.

[ID: A sandstone quarry, which is a layered pit dug into the side of a hill with sheer, steep rock walls dropping down like steps.]

ThunderClan is not aware that this was built by humans, unlike ruins which are clearly not natural structures.

[ID: Wayne McLoughlin's illustration for the cover of Twilight, which features the ThunderClan camp quarry wall. It's vibrant orange stone with cats nestled on the ledges, with American badgers looming in the foreground.]

Wayne drew it as more of a "canyon" (and also drew the wrong badgers but thats not important), but it's always been some sort of open-air quarry. In BB this area has been abandoned for almost 70 years, and it was a sandstone quarry responsible for tons of slurry being dumped into the Lake which lead to the ancient Lake Kinships abandoning the area.

Anyway, no BB!ThunderClan's camp is going to be in the same spot. It's not the kind of wall you think it is.

#ThunderClan #Quarry

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adventureswithteddy · 1 year

Photo

Down in a canyon in Mount Remarkable National Park Teddy looked around at the local flora and the cliffs that towered above him. He took advantage of the one small ray of sunshine that found it’s way past the edge of the canyon wall and through the leaves of the gum trees, providing a soaking of warmth. Teddy didn’t soak for too long though as the day was fading away and he had places to go. So, he made his way deeper into the canyon where the walls became more sheer and grew closer together, all the while he wondered how he would eventually make his way up to the ridge where he planned to sleep.

But, don’t fret! Teddy found a gentle slope to scurry up and made it there safely... and only a little while after dark.

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vyingeyes · 4 months

Text

Project Crown - 1 - Ground Zero

Geonosis was the kind of nightmare that nobody could ever really prepare you for. The Kaminoans had tried, but the divide between training and a real battlefield stretched unfathomably wide, and the only way to bridge that gap is to experience the latter firsthand.

Course was one of many clones deployed to Geonosis. He also seemed to be the only one with a functioning brain.

“48! Get back in formation!” Kyr snapped beside him.

Course didn’t bother turning to see what trouble their idiot brother was getting up to this time, far too preoccupied trying to patch up the unnamed clone that a Geonosian had flung down to their squad from one of the ledges a few meters above them in the canyon. The poor guy was thoroughly dazed from his short flight, but his wounds weren’t serious.

Kyr’s steady presence hovered by Course’s left side. “Status?”

“Stable. He’ll be able to keep fighting as soon as he’s able to think straight.”

The newcomer groaned out something vaguely interrogative, and Course turned to address Kyr head-on.

“Give me two minutes.”

Kyr’s visor tilted toward the ledges, and Course knew he was on the lookout for more bugs. “Hurry.”

There’s not really much I can do to speed the process up, Course thought dryly as their unit moved to block the wounded clone from any new avenue of attack. Nonetheless, he leaned over the clone.

“Break’s over,” he said bluntly. “As soon as you’re up we can get you back to your unit.”

“What… Where…?”

A flash of annoyance flickered through Course, and he tried his best to smother it. It was reasonable that a trooper would be confused after such an atypical experience. It wasn’t his fault he’d hit his head. Probably.

“A Geo dropped you down onto my squad. We’re gonna get you back up to yours.”

“Oh.” The other clone pushed himself into a sitting position, crest waving like a flag as he looked around to try and get his bearings back about him.

“Is he up?” Kyr called from where he spoke with 48.

“It hasn’t been two minutes,” Course reminded.

“I’m up,” the clone announced, pushing himself the rest of the way up.

Course sighed, but offered the clone a hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Myth contacted his unit,” Kyr told Course. “They’re sending down their gunner to help bring him back up. We just have to stick around to make sure no Geonosians interrupt their climb.”

The gunner in question just barely peeked over the edge of the east-side ledge, fiddling with something, presumably in preparation to drop down. The ledge wasn’t too tall, maybe six meters, but the wall was sheer, and the Crown-Green unit didn’t have the gear to scale it even if they wanted to. Fortunately, the unit above them seemed to be prepared for this exact situation, and in moments, the heavy gunner was descending.

Course knew that Green Squad alone could probably handle bug-watching, so he didn’t hesitate to use the lapse of downtime to head directly over to Myth and drag him under an overhang to check him over.

“Wh- Course!” Myth yelped, staggering as Course pulled him along. “I’m fine!”

Course ignored him, opting instead to remove Myth’s upper bicep armor with a quick click and pull of the release mechanism. Immediately, the magnets deactivated and the rerebrace fell away from his brother’s arm in two pieces. Course twisted Myth’s arm to better assess the area where a stray bolt had skimmed him earlier that morning during their first big firefight.

Course removed the hastily applied bacta patch from the sliver of blister-bright skin revealed by the incision in the body glove, and Myth’s hiss through clenched teeth told Course that he wasn’t enjoying it. But the bacta did its job, and as Course applied a new one (more careful now that he had the time to dedicate to it, carefully centered so that the bacta-infused center sat flush with the worst of the burn), he grew confident that it would be fully closed by the time all this mess was over.

“Seriously, it was fine,” Myth muttered, his words just barely making it through the vocoder.

“Don’t be a brat,” Course said. “Infection is one of the stupidest ways you could die. I’ve been wanting to fix that patch for hours.”

“We’re supposed to be watching for Geonosians!”

The sound of blasters firing followed immediately by a bright, “Got it!” from their unit made Course raise an unimpressed eyebrow under his helmet even knowing his brother wouldn’t be able to see it.

“I think they’ve got it handled.”

Myth’s visor dropped toward the ground, and for a moment Course considered poking fun at him for being so petulant, but then Kyr ducked into the cover with them.

“Dral’s back with Orbit-Nexu,” he informed. “We need to keep moving.”

Course latched Myth’s rerebrace back on. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Myth echoed absently, already moving back toward the unit the moment his armor was secured.

“Any problems?” Kyr asked, a hint of his Leader Voice peeking in past the otherwise innocuous question.

Course shook his head. “Just took a second to redress Myth’s graze,” he dismissed. “Didn’t have time to do it properly the first time.”

“Good. Let’s get going, then.”

Together, they headed back toward the unit, where 48 was giving Myth a dramatic retelling of what Course guessed would be the Geo kill that he had just performed.

“—hit it right in the wing, it went spiraling, and I—”

“Alright soldiers,” Kyr interrupted, “break’s over. We’ve still got a rendezvous to make.”

48 threw his head back, clearly personally targeted, but he moved with the rest of them to get back into formation. Kyr and Punch side-by-side in the lead, followed by Myth and Push, then Course and Pinch, Pull and Punt, and 48 on his own at the rear of the group. Comfortable. Familiar. Protocol.

Technically speaking, it was protocol to have infantry at the rear to prevent any specialists from getting attacked from behind. Course knew that 48 specifically got put in that slot to prevent him from getting sidetracked trying to talk to the person beside him, but it felt like a bigger risk that he would get a bright idea and leave the formation, and then none of them would notice until he was already gone. Kyr clearly had more faith in him than Course did.

“8ball is heading back our way,” Kyr announced over local comms as they continued the trek through the dusty canyon. “He says it should be a clear shot to the landing field.”

Kyr did his best to conceal his apprehension, but unfortunately, Course was also familiar with their brother. Just because 8ball thought the path was clear, that didn’t mean that it was by anyone else’s standards.

And, as the Crown-Green unit caught sight of their scout dashing back toward them, a small horde of B1s trailing behind him, Course’s skepticism was rewarded.

Their helmet comms crackled as 8ball connected to the local frequency. “Hey guys! Help!”

Blaster bolts filled the air between the two parties, and in a frankly impressively short moment 8ball found himself barreling into their formation at top speed. He did not slow down once he got past the leads, and Myth and Push jerked to either side to avoid getting run over. Beside Course, Pinch moved to the right. So did Course.

8ball scrambled to slow down in the two meters he had to realize Course was stepping into his path, sending up a spray of dust and grit as he tried to hit the brakes. Course braced. 8ball hit him with a loud CLACK, armor colliding with armor, and Course stumbled backwards to keep them both from falling to the ground.

Course gripped his brother by his shoulders and bodily turned him back toward the droids, pushing him a bit to give himself the room needed to raise his own rifle.

48 shoved his way up to be with the two of them, shooting all the while. “Y’know, 8ball, typically you want to shoot the droids that are shooting at you.”

8ball snarled something distinctly offensive as he fumbled to equip his rifle with its sniper extension.

“Focus,” Course snapped at the both of them. “This isn’t a sim.”

48 straightened up theatrically. “Yes sir, medic sir!”

Course scowled, but 8ball laughed and began lining up his shots.

“What happened to ‘clear’?” Kyr demanded over their comm.

8ball fired off a shot, and Course watched a clanker fall bodily into its neighbor. “I said ‘pretty clear’! And it is! Once we get past these guys.”

There was a laugh from someone in Green Squad at that, and in front of Course, Punch shook his head in the resigned sort of way that most sane individuals did after more than ten minutes alone with Crown Squad. Course would know it. He did it daily.

“Charge primed!” Punt announced behind them, and the unit scattered like clockwork while the ordnance specialist readied his shot. In an instant, the path cleared, and the explosive was flying through the air toward the unit of droids.

Even from the moderate distance between the groups, Course could hear the cartoonish, “uh oh” that came from at least three separate droids when the explosive rolled neatly into the center of the group. The explosion itself was quick and controlled, enough to fill the comm channel with brief feedback from the sheer number of open lines, but not enough to shake the walls of the cliffs on either side of them.

“Nice shot,” Kyr complimented, lowering his gun now that the threat was neutralized. “8ball?”

8ball flitted to the front of the unit. “Yes?”

“What the hell was that?”

“Well, I snuck by them really easily on the first trip,” the scout started, “but then on the way back they’d decided to get in the way and I couldn’t get back without getting their attention, and it’d take too long to deal with them alone, and I knew the SBDs would be too slow to follow all the way back to the group so I thought—”

“Supers?” Punch interrupted, head jolting back the way that 8ball had come and half-lifting his Z-6 like he expected a Super to appear dramatically out of the dust, summoned by the very mention.

“It’s just the Supers now,” 8ball said, a bit defensive now at the tone of the other squad leader. “That’s why I said it was ‘pretty’ clear. It was just two squads of B1s and the SBDs. That’s nothing.”

Kyr went quiet, head tilting, and Course knew he was trying to be patient.

“How many SBDs?” Course asked, shooting a glance towards Kyr that hopefully conveyed it happened, cope.

“Just two,” 8ball said, and the tension drained out of Kyr’s shoulders.

“Alright, that’s workable.” Kyr glanced toward Punch, then Punt. “Do you have enough ordnance to deal with both of them?”

Technically they all had some ordnance, but Kyr would be trying to keep them all as armed as possible for as long as possible, so taking care of these Supers would fall primarily on Punt.

“Easily,” Punt said, waving him off. “Leave the clankers to me.”

“8ball, I want you to be with him,” Kyr said. “You know the drill with B2s. See if you can’t get their plating to crumble before Punt takes his shot.”

Punch examined the group. “It might be useful to have 48 with them, too. I know he knows his way around a grenade, if it comes down to it.”

48 lit up even through the thick layers of armor, practically glowing under the plastoid. “Happily, sir.”

Kyr shot Punch a look, then 48. “It’s not a bad idea,” he permitted. “You three will head in. Course, I want you with them. The rest of us will be behind you to prevent a flank.”

Course wanted to argue against that. It made more sense to keep the medic with the bigger chunk of the group, especially when the men taking point would be ideally staying out of range of the B2s. But it wasn’t his job to question the order, and if Kyr was the one giving it, he’d follow it. Hopefully the rest of the unit would be staying close enough to them that it wouldn’t matter in the end anyway.

“Alright,” he said. At least if he went, he’d be able to stop 8ball and 48 from doing something inadvisable. He didn’t trust Punt to do as much.

Kyr grasped Course by the vambrace and tapped their helmets together for a few short seconds. “Good luck.”

Bastard. “You’re better off telling that to 8ball.”

An amused huff crackled through Kyr’s vocoder, and he gave Course one last pat to the back before moving to give 8ball and 48 the same treatment. The second Kyr stepped away from him, Myth fluttered up to Course.

“SBDs are slow but they hit hard,” Myth blurted. Then, all in the same breath, “Their plating is blast proof but there are weak points at the edges of each plate that if targeted can cause the internal components to be exposed and leave them more susceptible—”

Course shook his head. “Myth. We’ve got it. You focus on keeping the Geos away from us, we’ll worry about the Supers.”

Myth hovered a second longer, arms moving in little aborted jerks like he had more to say, before his head snapped into a nod and he hurried back toward Push and Pull.

An arm slung itself around Course’s shoulders and he tensed, turning his helmet and nearly clacking his helmet against 48’s.

“So… Babysitting duty,” 48 dragged out.

Course blinked slowly. “Yes. Babysitting you.”

“Kyr’s mad at 8ball right now, not me,” 48 dismissed. “You’re babysitting him.”

“You broke formation. He’s mad at both of you.”

“Yeah, but I only broke formation. 8ball’s doing 8ball-level stupid shit. He takes the lead.”

“Alright Crowns,” Punt sighed, pushing himself into their little bubble and grabbing 48 by the strap of his armor. “Let’s go blow up some B2s.”

They steered toward 8ball and, having collected their last stray teammate, set out into the valley that 8ball had scouted.

8ball darted to take point. “They should still be pretty far in, the big ones don’t do well with uphill slopes, if they even bothered chasing.”

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Punt asked, glancing around the steepening cliffs with a wariness that you couldn’t help but gain after having one too many Geonosians appear out of nowhere.

“There’s a gap between the cliffs that we need to go through to get to the landing zone,” 8ball said. “But a little bit before that there’s this place where a bunch of these mountain passes meet at a sort of crossroads. The droids were down the left one when I passed the first time. It’s only a few minutes out. I was thinking we could scale one of the ledges that overlook it and take pot shots from there.”

Course breathed an impatient sigh. “Coordinates, 8ball.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sending them now.”

A ping on the corner of his HUD appeared, and Course accepted it to update his local map with a location marker.

“We should probably start climbing now,” 8ball considered. “It’ll just get steeper the further in we go.”

Nobody was going to argue with a scout about local topography, so they began to painstakingly increase the distance between themselves and the ground, following 8ball as he made occasionally precarious hops between the cliffside’s sporadic footholds. Course’s only regret was that he wouldn’t get to watch the rest of their unit attempt the journey.

Course trailed behind the three of them, focusing his attention on the cliffs around them more than the conversation going on over their comms. Any sudden shadow made by the clouds drifting above them could be a Geonosian gunning for them, if not for the undisturbed quiet of the canyon. Geos typically didn’t run at them, though. All of the ones that Course had encountered thus far flew, and their wings made a distinct droning buzz that had reminded him of the insects they studied in their flash training modules—they hadn’t included audio, but the description couldn’t be like anything else. The Geos were presumably louder than a traditionally sized insect, but so far, he hadn’t run across one to compare them with.

“What do you think, Course?” 48 prompted suddenly over their comm. They were on relatively flat ground, now, and his brother peered over his shoulder back at him.

Course did not know what the topic was, but given the clones present, he didn’t think it mattered very much. He fixed his visor on 48 and stared wordlessly.

“See? I told you Course would agree with me,” 8ball bragged. “Your idea is stupid anyway. There’s no way that you’d be able to—”

Course rolled his eyes. “Stay on task.”

8ball sighed, but if he kept talking, it happened on a comm frequency that didn’t include Course, which was really all he could ask for.

They made it to the overlook in good time. Kyr would be glad, given that their rendezvous was supposed to be in twenty-two minutes and they were already pushing it. 8ball made quick work of dropping to his stomach and propping his sniper while 48 stooped to help Punt arm the grenades.

“Told you. I think they might be stuck,” 8ball crackled through the comm.

Course glanced over the ledge to get an idea of the scene and saw that, as 8ball had suggested earlier, the so-called “super” battle droids did indeed seem to be stuck at the bottom of a fifty-degree slope. Course struggled to think of too many other reasons the droids wouldn’t have gone to reinforce the B1s’ attack.

“Either that or they’re guarding the pass,” 8ball continued idly. “That’s the way we need to go. You need to make sure that you don’t blow up the entrance or I’m gonna have to find a new route and then we’re really gonna be late.”

Course looked past the SBDs and saw what 8ball must be referring to. Half blocked by the hulking frames of the supers was a crack in the cliff face. A clone could probably fit, if they took their time and entered sideways, but an SBD had no hope. Course just hoped that the rest of the pass widened out, if that’s the way they’d be having to go soon.

“Alright,” Course said. “Get to work.”

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do, watch us?” 48 demanded.

Course knew intrinsically that 48 just wanted to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t help the slight air of annoyance as he said, “I’m going to watch your six so you don’t get ambushed. Hurry up.”

48 laughed as Course turned and stepped away to watch their flank. Course never did understand the carelessness of his brothers, but he wouldn’t be wasting the time trying to figure it out now of all times.

He was aware, vaguely, of Punt and 8ball coordinating their attack a solid few meters away, but Course examined the rocky ledges above and below them. This planet had an eerie atmosphere— eerie in the way that it seemed to house enemies that could appear or disappear in a moment. On the gunship down, Myth had rattled off a hundred different facts about the planet’s geography, but the one that Course remembered most clearly was that the Geonosians lived primarily under the surface, in dingy caves and tunnels. It made sense, if you wanted to avoid the glaring heat of the Geonosian sun, but it also meant that Course could never be sure that a shadow was just a shadow. The natural texture of the cliffs meant that there could be a tunnel mouth hiding just out of view at any point, and none of them would know any better.

“Ready?” 8ball asked.

Punt’s comm crackled as he spoke. “Go.”

A deafening crack shattered the quiet as 8ball took his first shot, followed quickly by a second. Course looked over just long enough to see Punt lobbing his first explosive down at the droids, a muffled blast following just seconds after.

“One damaged, one staggered,” 48 reported through their local helmet comm. “Eighty, target the one by the wall. Punt, the other one should be easy to finish off, its hull’s warping—”

Another crack as 8ball fired his sniper rifle, but Course didn’t look to see if it hit. Punt said something about the SBDs below, loud in Course’s ears as he fumbled to mute the incoming audio. A high pitched droning echoed in the walls of the canyon, quickly growing louder as its source approached. Where was it coming from?

“Course!”

That wasn’t over the comms, and Course didn’t have time to identify which brother had called out to him before unyielding hands grabbed him and hoisted him into the air.

Course had been trained for a lot of things. Impromptu, uncontrolled flight was one of them, actually, but it had always been in the context of jetkits, not flying enemies. He couldn’t cut the fuel line or unlatch this carrier from his armor. He couldn’t even complete a fraction of a twist, due to the hold the bug had him in, so wriggling his way out didn’t look likely. The droning from before now rattled his skull as the ground shrank underneath him, and he couldn’t hope to hear his brothers even if they somehow knew what to do in this situation—Myth would, but he wasn’t here either way. Course was alone.

Plasma bolts flew into the orange rock around him as the others tried to shoot at the bug, occasionally accompanied by the resounding crack of 8ball’s sniper, but either Course had been picked up by a master of evasion, or they were too afraid of shooting him instead of it. He’d love to tell them to just commit, because he’d much rather die getting shot than by whatever this thing had planned for him. The sound of rushing air muffled the shouts coming from below him, and as Course craned his neck to peer down, he realized that his window for surviving getting away from this bug was closing rapidly. Damned if you do…

Course would take death by falling over a secondary location any day. With that thought in mind, he ducked his chin as close to his chest as he could manage and slammed his head back into his captor with all his strength. He doubted he’d hit it anywhere important—the bugs that were big enough to carry a clone trooper had eerily long torsos—but between the barrage of blaster bolts and the headbutt, the bug loosened its grip enough for Course to jerk halfway out of its hold. The two of them dipped in the air for a moment as the Geonosian fought to maintain its grip on him, but with one arm free, Course was free to wretch the medical scissors out of his belt and stab at the bug until it gave up and dropped him completely.

Hurtling toward the ground was louder than heading up; the rushing air was familiar, and the absence of insectoid wings was more than made up for by the blood that roared in his ears. Somehow, both of those constants disappeared to highlight the sound his armor made as he skimmed the rock wall of the canyon. Course wasn’t sure if it would have been enough to slow his speed, but he had no time to run calculations. If he’d been thinking, he would have counted how long it took him to fall. It would give him an idea of how he should go about treating himself, should he survive the landing.

Unlike the first collision, Course did not hear himself hitting the ground. He could tell you how he landed—feet first, and then crumpling forward onto frantically-outstretched arms—but nothing else. He must have blacked out for a moment, perhaps upon impact? One minute he was falling, the next, he was flat on the ground. He knew how it happened but would be hard-pressed to describe it in any detail.

Sound filtered slowly back in through his helmet. Fuzzy voices of panicked brothers, indistinguishable without focus that he did not have. No more blaster-fire, no explosions, nothing to suggest they were still in danger. He found himself still on his front. The others must have caught up, because Myth or Pull would be the only ones with enough sense through the chaos to tell the others not to turn Course over in case of injury to the spine.

Course ignored the voices for a moment to focus deeply on the feel of his legs. They were in sharp, searing agony, which was nice. It meant that at the very least, he probably wasn’t paralyzed. His arms, too, ached, though not nearly as badly. But he survived, somehow, and although the realization slowly dawned that he hurt all over—no doubt from the events of the entire day, not just his impromptu flight—there was little more he could ask for.

Someone’s arm jostling his shoulder drew him out of himself, and a small sound of discomfort left him at the disruption.

“Course?” Kyr’s Leader Voice, unmistakably, which could only mean that he’d terrified his brother. “Can you hear me, vod?”

Course closed his eyes for a second. Can’t even fall out of the sky without having to do everything on his terms, he thought bitterly. He knew that was uncharitable. He also figured he was more than entitled to a little bit of a bad attitude, at that moment. He took a moment to brace himself. “… Yes.”

A chorus of identical voices broke out, quickly hushed, before Kyr spoke again. “What’s your status?”

Status? Course thought, astonished. That was… an unbelievable ask. He knew, logically, that Kyr falling back on protocol helped him to hold onto some sense of normalcy. His brother was definitely, certainly, very deeply concerned about Course. It still pissed him off. “… Blunt force trauma to the legs. Extensive. Probable minor damage to arms and skull,” he droned. “Recommended course of action is to administer one stim cannister to each leg and continue to the rendezvous.”

The chatter picked up again, and nobody shushed it this time.

“What?” Kyr demanded, pitch increasing in fractions. “You just broke both of your legs. You are not getting a stim and a pat on the back.”

“Protocol says I do.”

“This is an exception,” the Leader-Voice intoned, back in full-force and leaving no room for debate. “We’ve got seventeen minutes to get to the rendezvous. We can’t have you hobbling along behind us slowing us down. I’ll carry you.”

Course’s eyes shot open. “No, you won’t,” he argued, his normally flat tone lilting up with frustration and incredulity. “If you’d just administer the stim, I will be up faster than it will take you to figure out how to get me through that opening.”

“We’ll give you the stim and you can get through the narrowest part of the path,” Kyr agreed, “but once we can, I’m carrying you.”

“That is not protocol,” Course snarled, anger simmering up from his stomach.

“It’ll be faster.” Kyr’s voice held no concern for any potential breach in protocol. “The most important thing is that we make it to our rendezvous. How we get there isn’t so important.”

Course took a moment to process. If Kyr truly refused to relent on this… “Then I’ll be noting your disregard for protocol in my report.”

The quiet murmur of their other brothers cut out suddenly. Nobody said anything for a few long moments. A hesitant voice—who had to be either Myth or Pinch—was the next to speak.

“It’s really not worth it, Kyr. As long as we move now, we can still make it—”

“Write me up, then,” Kyr interrupted, ignoring the input entirely. His words grew sharper, edged in frustration. “I don’t care. I’m not having you walk on broken legs the entire way.”

He did not wait for a response, immediately injecting stim into the gaps between Course’s leg plates. Course supposed Kyr had spent the duration of the argument rummaging through Course’s med kit. A third, unexpected jab at the top of the neck startled Course, and he flinched away from it.

“I don’t trust that you didn’t hurt your back.” Kyr’s voice wasn’t so sharp now, perhaps in apology for the unwarranted extra shot.

Course did not grace him with any further reaction, instead rolling to his side and pushing himself upright. He ignored the influx of brothers at his every side, jerking to his feet with gritted teeth. Every pound of weight he put onto his legs sent screaming agony directly through his lower half, but he would not be encouraging Kyr’s disregard for regulation by doing anything other than breathe through it.

Kyr finally seemed to understand that he wouldn’t be getting acceptance out of Course today. “48, take point with 8ball.” Kyr continued to instruct the unit how they would proceed, fully ignoring the Green Squad Lead two meters away from him.

To Punch’s merit, he said nothing. He looked Course over and gave him a small nod as Kyr did his job for him. Course wondered how he just decided to let it go. Course wasn’t a squad lead. Wasn’t even kind of an officer, in any sense, other than being a medic, and even that being dismissed for what Kyr wanted to do was rage inducing. He couldn’t imagine spending his entire life being trained to lead others and then having some hard-headed ass swoop in and take that away from him.

They progressed to the ground level in a very nontraditional huddle of plastoid, half of them pointing their guns at every shadow on the rocks and the other half hovering around Course like he could turn to dust at any moment. If Course could focus on anything other than the amount of pain he was in, he was sure he’d tell them off so badly they wouldn’t ever look at him twice again.

The charred heaps of scrap that were once Super Battle Droids lay just in front of the narrow crevice that their unit would have to squeeze through. If Course was lucky, it would stay that narrow long enough for Kyr to drop the subject of carrying him.

Course glanced to 8ball. The scout inspected his sniper, uncharacteristically quiet, while 48 spoke lowly by the audio receptor of his helmet. What they were talking about, Course couldn’t say, but after a moment, 8ball nodded and pushed toward the front of the group to take point as previously instructed. He turned to the side and squeezed into the gap between the cliffs. A few steps in, he turned to face the unit again, waving cheerily.

48 went next, followed by half of Green Squad. There was a brief moment of concern where Punch nearly got his Z-6 stuck going through, but with a little pulling by 48, both clone and gun were in.

Kyr gestured Course to go first. Course assumed it was so that he could breathe down his neck the entire time, but bitterly followed the given instruction. Kyr followed close after. Blessedly, he did not attempt to hoist Course over his shoulder the moment they could walk straight.

Once the entire unit was confirmed to be in the passage, they began to make their trek. According to Course’s comm, they had approximately ten minutes before they were late for the rendezvous. Despite himself, anxiety began to bloom in the pit of Course’s stomach. The hard part of this deployment had already concluded—a brief firefight with Geonosian ground forces while the command class troopers and commandos knocked out the big stuff—and the only thing left was to show up on time. What would happen to them if they failed to do something as simple as that?

He knew the others had to be feeling the same stress. Some of his brothers knew how to hide it better than others—he was pretty sure if Myth looked over his shoulder one more time, his neck would break—but every one of their lives hinged on a good combat report. Failure to do the one part of the mission that required them to think on their own feet wouldn’t look good. If they were lucky, they might end up somewhere nice and boring. If they weren’t—well, you don’t send your best troopers to fight on the front lines of losing battles. Maybe the Kaminoans would find the bleakest battle possible and deploy them there as cannon fodder.

About a minute later, the passage widened further, allowing them to pull up into a traditional two-lined formation lead by 8ball and 48 side-by-side. It was then that Kyr walked around Course and blocked his path.

Course fixed his T-visor on his brother. Kyr’s emotionless helmet peered back. He was sure both of them had their jaws set, could almost see the annoyed scowl Kyr must be wearing. He knew all of their faces well, but he knew Kyr’s micro expressions better than anyone else.

Kyr didn’t seem eager to prolong their standoff any more than Course was. “You can let me carry you, or I will wrangle you into a hold.”

Unspoken: we don’t have time for this. Course knew that. At least Kyr didn’t feel the need to spell that one out for him.

Course said nothing for a moment. Reflected on the situation as a whole. Remembered the unspoken message he gave Kyr not an hour before—it happened, cope. He took a breath.

“It will be going in the medical report.”

“Fine by me.”

The air cleared suddenly. Course hadn’t realized it had ever thickened, but he felt it then.

Everyone else had expected him to cause a scene about it. They were waiting for him to dig his heels in and start an argument. Maybe because that’s what most of his batchmates would’ve done. Hell, if Kyr and Course were to trade positions, it was likely what Kyr himself would do. Maybe if they had any more time, Course wouldn’t let it fly so soon, but he knew that they didn’t have time to argue about it any more than they already had. So he let Kyr heft him over one shoulder.

Every step Kyr took, Course seethed. Not only was this a humiliating position to be in, but it was entirely unnecessary. Course had personally told Kyr of how every metric said they should proceed, and Kyr ignored him at every turn. The fact that he had gotten into this situation at all in the first place was ridiculous. There was no reason to send him on the team against the SBDs, except for that Kyr wanted supervision for the squadmates that he felt unable to trust with such a task. Which was stupid, given that all three had stayed on task just fine. Apparently, they even managed to take out the SBDs while trying to recover Course from the grips of the Geonosian. Punch should have been the one to go with 8ball, 48, and Punt. A heavy gunner would not only be helpful against the SBDs, but he would have stood a much better chance at deterring an oversized bug from trying to make off with a clone.

Anger rolled steadily through Course’s chest by the time they got to the rendezvous—with three minutes to spare, maybe Course had had some room to argue. Kyr set Course down just before they were swamped by other troopers. How kind of him. A company’s worth of clones milled about, a sea of shiny white plastoid ever-shifting as everyone tried to keep organized and stay with their squad while boarding the dropships meant to take them back to transport.

Kyr continued instructing their unit like he was the only one who knew what to do. Course listened as a formality, then turned to head toward the transport with their assigned number. They’d all read the brief—not just Kyr.

The troopers managing the transports gave him a nod as he limped up to the open door. Course couldn’t identify them, assuming he’d ever met them, but he did pity them a bit. Administrative tasks like they were doing weren’t the most impressive on a combat report. Might land them a title, but it’d be a title on some low-level base, given they weren’t command-class. It wasn’t the worst thing Course could imagine happening to a clone, but to many, it was world-ending.

Maybe clones were dramatic by nature, and it skipped a generation with him?

The rest of the unit piled into the transport, Greens brushing elbows with Crowns, and in minutes the ship was humming to life. Back to Kamino.

Course looked forward to his report.

-- -- -- --

Tumblr formatting is agonizing but I will learn it. Anything for my boys.

Chapter 2 can be found here

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lets-try-some-writing · 9 months

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Do you have anymore lore or ideas on how Cybertronian rain works? Like how different cities or peoples deal with it, maybe it’s worshipped in some areas, or maybe something completely different!

How did I miss this request??? HOW did I miss this??? Worldbuilding ANYTHING is one of my favorite things to do.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

On Cybertron, rain as those from Earth know it, simply does not exist. Rains on Cybertron are dangerous hazards to be avoided at all costs. Formed from millennia of smog and the odd interactions with passing stars, its all acid without a drop of actual water to be seen. It is a problem not a spark can fully escape as there is simply no way to stop the rains from happening after so long of the planet being left under the control of mecha and other beings who do not at all care for pollution.

Of course due to the rains being a fact of life, mecha adapted and dealt with it in their own ways.

The floating city of Vos had its own unique methods of dealing with the rains due to how often the storms raged around it. The citizens of Vos created spires, ones with shields built into them to ward off the worst of the rains from above. The shields caused flooding on lower levels that was quite deadly, but to fliers that meant little as they simply took to the skies and waited until the liquid drained down and out of the city. They also created walls around the borders of their city to keep the harsh winds from carrying the deadly substance into their settlement. The walls tended to need constant repair, but such was the cost of safety and not being melted alive. This was of course not a perfect method of keeping the rains from causing damage, no, it merely stopped the worst of it from affecting the city due to the fact that the storms raged on all sides. Individual mecha still found themselves required to remain indoors and to carry shields with them should they decide to travel. Going anywhere by air was a death sentence, and so to combat this while still keeping the city going, most mecha took the skyline systems built for visiting grounders to get around.

Cities within and close to mountain ranges and canyons like Durax, Tyrest, and Tarn had different methods of protecting themselves. Their high caste civilians fled to underground keeps where the acid could not reach, ones built into the canyons. Middle caste civilians had to hope and pray that the walls kept the winds from carrying the acid too close to their residences. Most of them were forced to seek shelter wherever they could, leading to the time tested tradition of total strangers becoming a family of sorts as they waited for the storms to end in whatever building they holed up in. Lower caste mecha did what they could but often ended up precariously huddled underneath hovels if that was possible, or if not, they had to hope the rains weren't too harsh as they worked through them, their armor being burnt even as they continued on.

Cities near the ocean like Polyhex, Hytrax, and Stanix had little choice when it came to escaping the rain. The cities were built up away from the ground to avoid the worst of the storms, but often citizens were required to retreat to bunkers due to the sheer amount of rain. High caste mecha would spend their time in luxury accommodations or even take ground transportation out of the city until the rains passed. Middle caste mecha were more likely to put on extra armor layers and keep working, unable to get a break even if they wanted to due to the level of production their cities were involved in. Burns and mecha vanishing were not uncommon, especially amongst the lower castes who generally could not even afford extra protective armor, much less take time off to hide from the rains. Mecha would even go so far as to carry huge shields on staffs to try and ward off the worst of it while working.

Landlocked cities as a general rule did not experience the rains as often as others. But places like Iacon, Kaon, and Praxus had methods to handle them anyway when the rains did come... only most civilians were not naturally equipped to handle it due to the rarity of the event. Only the upper castes had access to buildings and residences with built in rain shields or other resources intended to make the rains less dangerous for inhabitants. Shielding for upper caste housing was common place and tended to often leave the middle caste and lower caste residential areas flooded. Middle caste mecha, while not in possession of the funds required to be comfortably prepared, tended to keep additional armored boots to wear so that they could still get to work after the rains passed during the flooding. If it was still raining, most middle caste mecha possessed small personal shields but little else, often leading them to run for their lives to get from place to place. Lower caste mecha had no such luxuries and either worked through the hell that was the rain, leading to more than a few deaths, OR they did what they could to cobble together sheilds.

The general opinion toward rain around Cybertron was quite simple. A deadly but unfortunately common fact of life. Despite that, some smaller groups had unique opinions regarding it.

While normally seen as a problem, some mecha got creative during the height of Cybertron's civil unrest and started gathering the acid rain. They would then store the material and later use it during protests in a less volatile form in order to make a point. They couldn't make any compounds without getting arrested or worse, but gathering it? There was no mech willing to stop a spark willing to risk melting to collect rain. It was fairly common for some protests to have watered down acid rain barrels that would then be thrown at officers when things got violent. It bought them time to escape and get out of the area while the guards flailed.

In other more religious areas, mecha saw the rains as a punishment from Primus and would pray throughout it all. In small communities it was not uncommon for 'sinners' to be cast out into the rains to try and appease Primus and lessen his wrath. Priests would occasionally take quick strolls through the rain as a test of their resolve and to show their willingness to comply with Primus's demands. And while not religiously founded, recruits in the army or law enforcement also tended to be thrown into the rains now and then to learn to withstand sudden storms. The usages of the rain were wild and unpredictable at best.

While little more than a rumor, there were also tales of mecha who would wander into the rains, seemingly in a daze, and vanish. Said mecha were said to later appear again, half melted and dazed, singing as they led others out with them. Rumors of beasts that hunted while it rained were similarly commonplace during the more youthful days of Cybertron. And while not common during the height of Cybertron's golden age, some places welcomed the rains as a way to get rid of unwanted flora and fauna while the citizens hid underground.

The rains were dangerous, but mecha still managed to have interesting views regarding it. But as a general rule, the rains meant death, and thus were to be avoided.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #cybertronian culture #pre war cybertron #cybertronian worldbuilding #cybertronian cities #cybertron vs rain

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raiswanson · 5 months

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I come bearing more of the story I said I wouldnt work on and then did lol. so!! I wrote a few portions of this WIP entirely out of order and the first piece I shared technically comes after this one, but shhh I like this part so out of order excerpts are what we get

our narrator finds a. friend(??). :)

Previous snip shared [here]! Next one [here]!

~~~

The view was remarkable—almost worth the climb. Red and yellows spread as far as the eye could see, but when truly taken in I found pockets of green life dotting the landscape. The canyon seemed to go on forever, sprawling and winding, with only the peak of the mountains cresting in the far distance to remind me the rest of the world remained.

Despite being so open to the elements, the air in the roost was still, and I tore my gaze from the canyon to look around. More people knelt along the walls of the room in the same robes as the old man, of varying ages and appearances. Braziers lined those same walls, casting waves of heat that made the air above them waver and dance. And at the far end of the room, on the ledge overlooking the canyon, a raised platform lay in front of a large enclosure.

I peered at the platform curiously, wondering what it was for. Squinting, I opened my mouth to ask the old man what came next, and noticed everyone in the room had averted their eyes at the same time that I saw.

I froze in place, my breath ice in my lungs. Amber eyes shone behind the black gossamer curtains of the enclosure, burning so fiercely it was a wonder the curtains didn’t ignite. The enormous shape behind it was impossible to identify, but was clearly something alive, and I gulped dryly. Despite the openness of the space I felt suddenly crowded, pressure crushing down on me from all sides. Though the enclosure was still some distance away it was as though the presence within stood directly above me, flooding my every scrap of being with sheer power.

This was real. I was here.

I stood before a god.

#writing #rai writes #Three Hill Bluff #Song of Freedom #hiding the tastiest bit behind the read more because I want the BUILD UP but that makes the post too long lol #since acknowledging this WIP it has not given me a moments rest #Im mad about it but also. at least words are happening. we take those in this house #just a girl meeting an entity of unimaginable power nbd right

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silverslipstream · 4 months

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An Acquired Taste

It was an uncommonly hot autumn day when Yulia Lebedeva first tasted fruit.

By the standards of New Seoul, the phrase ‘uncommonly hot’ seemed naive. From the great hydro-powered pumps and dams working around the clock to keep the Yellow Sea at bay, to the multicoloured throng of fans whirring from roadside bazaars, the city of twenty-six million was shaped, moulded, created by heat. It may not have been Hell, but there was no denying both places had a connection to the same feverish warmth.

The teeming thoroughfare of Sambong-ro yawned before her. Rickshaws shot past lumbering solar landbarges, the cacophony of pedalling legs and hydraulic whines drowned out by the background hum of sheer humanity. The pavements and main roads were supposed to be a pristine, reflective white: years of wear underfoot had turned them into a dirty ochre. It reminded Yulia of videos she’d seen about the Amazonian savannah, and the humans crawling across it of the late wildebeest; flowing like sand through fingers. Despite each individual destination, the masses kept an unconscious, graceful totality quite unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Nevertheless, it was a little overwhelming. Shuffling left past a haggling seaweed-seller and kicking aside a discarded plastic bag, Yulia eased her way into a claustrophobic canyon. Her first thought was that the sun had been inexplicably cut off; the staggering heights of the surrounding buildings had plunged this narrow alleyway into a strange twilight. Whereas before she had been sweating in the stagnant humidity, now an artificially funnelled breeze was at her back.

The light was bluer here, relying more on artificial lighting than the meagre strip of sky daubed overhead. Faded, mottled walls, a pervading sickly stench and a collection of ramshackle vendor’s huts conveyed the area’s poverty. A window-mounted softscreen overhead flickered and buzzed, sending a trail of boron-green sparks skittering down like ash from a cigarette’s tip. Music quietened as she walked further; the clang of metal gantries echoed above as inquisitive inhabitants rushed out, peering closely at the presumably lost foreigner.

The stench grew stronger as she reached the vendors and their wares; the faint, leafy scent of algae vats, the spicy, cloyingly sweet tang of soy-beef and the metallic stink of blood and assorted bodily fluids. An old lady, perched behind what looked to be a fruit stall, yelled a few words in what sounded like Mandarin. Yulia smiled back in what she hoped was an encouraging way and pointed to the translator device looped around her left ear. A moment later, the fruit seller’s words were whispered in perfect, monotone English, directly into her ear.

“Hey! Lost lady! Want to try some fruit? Real fruit, from Hokkaido, not vat-grown, no soy-fruit! 60 Sphere-yuan each!”

Real fruit? From a real tree? I’ll believe it when I see it, thought Yulia. The few remaining fruit plantations were guarded and tended to by corporations or the ultra-rich; not piled in front of a stall in some backwater New Seoul alley. She peered closer; the fruits were pear-shaped and a deep ruby red, with small green seeds rippling their skin. It was probably just another vat-grown scammer, she rationalised to herself.

Yet, her curiosity was piqued.

“Can I…” Yulia said slowly in English, pointing to herself, “...try one first?” she asked, pointing to the fruit and miming a bite. The woman nodded, and held out her right index finger to transfer the funds. Yulia’s fingerpad pressed against the old woman’s for a moment, then down, grabbing a fruit from the topmost row. A sharp word was uttered by the seller as Yulia brought the fruit to her lips.

“Enjoy!” said the translator as she bit down.

Her first thought was confusion. The flesh of the fruit was moist but not juicy, and had a surprising amount of thickness to it. It was almost…chewy? Crisp sweetness rolled around her mouth, a sugary taste so unlike the food tubes she was used to back home at the Institute. The seeds stuck to her teeth and cracked: they filled her mouth with a tart, sour tang. It seemed similar to the flavour pouches she’d once eaten marked ‘passionfruit’ yet a world away in execution. Delicious had never before seemed so ordinary a word.

“What…” Yulia asked, pointing at the fruit in an almost reverent way, “is this called?”

The fruit seller smiled, straightening her apron as she talked. The grin splitting her face made it seem as if she was chatting to an old friend.

The translation device filled in the gaps: her son was a genesplicer in Hokkaido North, and had sent his mother a bag of his corporation’s newest crop. Bad reviews had sunk the fruit’s commercial rating while thousands were still to be harvested; therefore, her son could send these discarded fruits to New Seoul for a very low price.

Yulia nodded. “How much for the rest?” she said, pointing at several fruits and then at her index finger.

“If you want a dozen, I'll charge 550 Sphere-yuan. Save you some money.”

Yulia shook her head and swept her arm in a wide arc, over all of the fruit. The old woman’s eyes widened and she ducked below the booth, muttering too faintly for the translator to hear. A moment later, she resurfaced with a fabric bag clutched tightly in her gnarled right hand.

“3,000 Sphere-yuan for the lot. You sure? I’ll tell my son: his fruit may not be successful in Hokkaido, but it certainly is here!”

Yulia nodded. Taking the proffered bag and briefly touching fingers again, she placed each fruit into the plastic bag, taking meticulous care not to bruise it. If she could return to the Institute with some of this… reverse-engineer it in the genetics lab… why, the fruits would be worth their weight in gold. No flavour pouch, no algae, no soy-meat would ever come close to the taste she had just experienced.

Smiling, she bowed to bid the fruit seller farewell, and continued further into the artificial canyon she found herself in. As the stall receded, the translator picked up one last, garbled whisper from the old woman’s direction.

“Tourist,” it said. Yulia thought she could feel the contempt, hidden somewhere in its impersonal tone.

#writeblr #writeblr community #my writing #short story #science fiction #cyberpunk #solarpunk #kinda between cyberpunk and solarpunk I guess #idk I wrote this over a year ago enjoy

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stesierra · 10 months

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Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday!

This is your opportunity to talk about your favourite bit of worldbuilding in ANY of your WIPs!

I'm really fond of the city of knowledge, Shaneh, from the Halfway Revenant. It was built for religious reasons in the most impractical but awesome place-- carved vertically into the two walls of an immense and sheer-sided canyon. Money is worthless there. Everything is purchased through the exchange of knowledge.

#writing question

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caffeineinducedbeing · 9 months

Text

navigating the shadows ---

Years had passed since Will Treaty's days as an apprentice, the long days training in the woods accompanied by his mentor were long past. Now he stands proud and confident, a seasoned Ranger, he stood tall-- in the best way he could, his forest-green cloak billowing in the cool breeze that October brought with it.

His keen eyes narrowed as they surveyed the village before him, ever watchful for any sign of trouble. He hid in the shadows, where none could see him, yet he could see all. The skills he had honed under Halt's guidance had made him the feared yet the most respected Ranger in Araluen, those on Will Treaty's bad side should be doing anything they can to get off of it. Those on his good side though were overwhelmed with how loving of a person he could truly be.

As expected with his rank, he patrolled the borderlands frequently, searching for any troubles that could have slipped through the cracks of general security through the country. Today Will had a particular task. A band of outlaws had been causing havoc lately, raiding villages and terrorizing the locals. Just 3 days prior there had been 4 bodies found near a riverbank; bruised and tortured and long dead. Will's jaw set in anger at the injustice of it all, determination set in the lines around his eyes.

Crowley had already given the thumbs up for an official mission to take the bandits down and bring justice to the victims and their families. And Will was damned to do nothing less.

Days turned into weeks as Will pursued the outlaws through dense forests and treacherous terrain. The journey tested him in ways he couldn't imagine. Dealing with the heartache that came from knowing lives were at risk, his skills and resolve were put to the test. But his experience outdoes everything and Will somehow powered through the blustery days and the cold rainy nights. He was eventually able to read the land and anticipate the outlaws' movements and where they would wind up if common sense led them the right direction.

Eventually he overtook them. In the midst of a rocky canyon Will fired off 4 arrows, each sticking it's anticipated landing of either crippling or killing it's target. Will's engaged the outlaws headon, later he would be lectured on his recklessness for going into a fierce battle with only himself against 7 men. But his arrows flew where they intended and Will was able to apprehend them. His years of training had transformed him into a masterful fighter, combining his agility, strategic thinking, and sheer determination.

He placed his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. His head spun with the adrenaline as he looked around the battlefield. Bodies were littered, some of them moving and nursing wounds. Some were looking toward heaven with glazed eyes.

A movement.

A sound.

Will spun around using the double knife technique, his knives clashed with the leaders sword. Who growled at him after being intercepted.

"Well look who decided to join the--" Will's sarcastic comment was cut off after making eye contact with his assailant. There was a flicker of recognition – a past connection that Will couldn't quite place. He saw it in the other's eyes as well, although Will thought he saw that suspision being confirmed in his foes eyes. This man knew him, and Will knew him too, if only he could place who. With a quick and swift movement, he knocked the sword from the leaders hand, disarming him for good. Will then crushed his elbow to his throat, cornering him against a rocky wall. The long and sharp knives being threatening enough to make the idea clear.

Don't move.

"Who are you?" Will asked, his voice steady yet firm.

The outlaw's defiant gaze met Will's angry ones. "Don't you recognize me, Will?"

Will started to shake his head but stopped, recognition seemed to dawn out of nowhere, like an old box being uncovered from the attic, the dust blew away and suddenly Will remembered.

"Morgan?" his voice wavered now.

Morgan, a childhood friend who had gone down a dark path, he had always been the bad influence friend from Will's childhood. Always trying to make Will skip classes, or steal from the markets, or hunt on royal property. But Will loved him, and when Morgan was arrested for thief at 14 Will thought that was the end, and he would never see him again. But here they were again. Years later. Two friends in two very different circumstances. Only one now holds the others life in their hands.

Will looked regretful "I didn't think i'd ever see you again Morgan."

"Well... the injustice of life hmm?"

"How'd it come to this Morgan? Did you kill those women?" Will's voice was breaking from sadness now, no longer trying to disguise his horror.

Morgan's shoulders sagged, his expression a reflection of the weight he carried. "Life takes unexpected turns, and sometimes we make choices we can't easily undo."

"But killing people Morgan?? How does one's life ever come to such a place where murder is the next logical step?"

Morgan's voice held a bitter edge as he retorted, a mix of resentment and accusation in his words. "I hate to break it to you, old friend, but look around you, the bodies littered here? Those aren't a result of my actions; those are yours. That's your weight this time, not mine. You and I, we are not so different, we never were."

Will's gaze hardened, his jaw set in defiance as he met Morgan's glare. "No, Morgan. I won't let you shift the blame. I've made difficult choices to protect and defend. That's my job. But you – you chose to harm, to take lives. This here, is justice served, those men would've killed me with the chance, I only struck first."

Morgan's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and frustration, his voice tinged with a touch of desperation. "You think you're so righteous, huh Will? Don't forget where you come from, the secrets you carry. You might wear the cloak of a Ranger, but darkness resides in all of us."

Will's gaze held firm, unyielding against Morgan's accusations. "I don't claim to be perfect, Morgan. I'm well aware of the shadows that can haunt us. But I've chosen a path of honor, a path that fights against that darkness. The darkness that you and men like you create."

Morgan laughed bitterly, "Honor? Tell me, Will, how many lives have you ended in the name of 'justice'? How many families have you shattered with the 'blood of righteousness' acting as your guide?"

Will's voice remained steady, his resolve unshaken. "I've taken lives when necessary, when there was no other way to protect innocent lives. It's a weight I carry, a reminder of the cost that the darkness in the world takes from us. But I also strive to save lives, to mend what's broken."

Morgan's eyes held a haunting intensity, a reflection of his inner turmoil. "And what about redemption? Can one ever truly find it after crossing certain lines?"

Sympathy replaced Will's earlier anger. "Redemption is a journey, Morgan. It's never easy, but it's possible. The past doesn't define us; our choices do."

The silence was deafening.

Will's expression softened. "You can change, Morgan. It's not too late."

Morgan's gaze wavered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "Change? After all I've done?"

Will shrugged, "well you're still going to prison, but yes change is very possible, it's never too late to make amends to chose a different path."

Their eyes locked, Morgan's flickered from his for a minute then flew back. Like a scared animal.

"I-I've never-- well that would be new for me I don't think I've. I've never tried to be good."

"Change is always unfamiliar, that's what makes it frightening. But I'll be here to help you, you can let me help you."

Morgan's eyes shone with tears, he shut them tight, and when they reopened there was a new emotion in them that Will couldn't place.

By the time he did it was too late.

Morgan lashed out, kicking Will's knees out from under him and sending a heavy right hook to his jaw. The sudden violence caught Will off guard, Morgan's attack sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt of pain. He tried to scramble back, a mixture of shock and urgency in his eyes, but Morgan's swift movements left him defenseless.

"NO! MORGAN, DON'T!" Will's voice carried a desperate plea, his heart racing as he realized the gravity of the situation.

Morgan's face twisted with a mixture of sorrow and turmoil, his grip on the knife unyielding. "I'm sorry, Will. I really am, but it's too late for me" he whispered, his voice heavy with pain.

Time seemed to slow as Morgan's hand moved, the knife glinting in the sunlight. Will's gaze locked onto Morgan's eyes, a storm of emotions passing between them – regret, understanding, and an unspoken connection.

Then the world shifted, the knife finding its mark, and a profound stillness settled over Morgan's features. Will watched in shock, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he witnessed the shock in Morgan's eyes, the weight of his decision crashing down upon him.

As Morgan fell to his knees beside him, the ground seemed to spin, a chilling realization settling in. As his trembling form slumped to the ground, Will's shock gave way to a surge of raw instinct. Ignoring his own pain, he scrambled over to Morgan, his heart pounding with a mix of urgency and disbelief. With trembling hands, he reached out and his arms wrapped around Morgan's shaking form, pulling him close.

"Morgan," Will's voice was a hoarse whisper, a blend of compassion and sorrow. "Why? Why did it have to come to this?"

Morgan's breathing was ragged, his eyes holding a torrent of emotions. "I... I thought it was the only way. I couldn't escape the darkness."

Tears welled up in Will's eyes as he held Morgan, the weight of their shared history crashing down upon him. "You had a chance, Morgan. A chance to change."

Morgan's voice wavered, a mixture of regret and pain. "I didn't deserve it, Will."

Will's grip tightened, he had no words left. What could one say afterall in the midst of such a tragedy. "Morgan," his voice barely above a whisper.

Then the forest seemed to hush as Will watched the light fade from his eyes, felt as his body fell limp in his arms.

Will's grip tightened, his fingers trembling as he held Morgan's lifeless form. The weight of the knife in his heart felt like a physical ache, but the weight of guilt in his chest was even heavier. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Morgan's paling face, haunted by the realization that this outcome was a result of a past that Will could've changed for the better.

He could've done more, he should've done more. Why didn't he?

He closed his eyes, memories flashing under his eyelids – laughing as children, the choices that had driven them apart, and the conversations that had unfolded in the final moments. It was a chain of events that had led to this tragic conclusion, and Will couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed his friend when it mattered most.

He had failed at the most important aspect of his job.

When it mattered most.

He was a failure.

Eventually the forest struck up a quiet whisper again, the threatening still of death lessened slightly. As the tension eased, Will's gaze remained fixed on the clearing, as he once again surveyed the work that was still cut out for him to do. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, his body feeling both weary and numb. With each breath he took, a determination took place. He couldn't change the past, he couldn't bring Morgan back, but he could make a promise to himself to ensure that the darkness that had claimed him wouldn't be allowed to spread any further.

----

Redmont always looks too peaceful after a mission like this. The sunlight over the hills and the tranquility of the villagers is almost insulting when Will just had a man die in his arms.

As he made his way through Redmont, his prisoners tied to a packhorse not far behind him, a bitter knot of emotions tightened in his chest. He couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from the serenity around him. How could life continue as if nothing had happened? How could the world remain untouched by the pain that had just unfolded in that clearing?

The world was far from black and white. And Will is always reminded of this fact after such a mission.

He approached Redmont gates, watching as the sentries immediately recognized him and noticing the prisoners, hurried to open the gates and let him inside.

Inside the gates of Redmont, Will's weariness suddenly became overwhelming. He summoned the guards to take charge of the prisoners, his actions driven by duty rather than enthusiasm, his exhaustion became increasingly pronounced as he carried out his responsibilities.

As the prisoners were led away to the prison ward, Will's shoulders sagged, his breaths coming a little heavier as the fueling adrenaline began to wear off, leaving behind, just the exhaustion.

Despite his exhaustion, he still felt the familiar presence of his mentor materialize behind him. Will's tired gaze lifted, and a small but genuine smile graced his lips. "Hello, Halt," he greeted, the relief of his mentor's presence evident in his voice.

Halt's eyes held a mixture of understanding and concern as he approached. "I saw you come in, Will. How did it go?"

Will nodded several times, attempting to disguise the fatigue and sadness in his voice, "It uh... it went. Some were apprehended obviously." He made an awkward gesture toward the direction of the prison ward.

"Some were killed," He finished

Halt didn't miss much. His keen eyes caught the effort being put into disguising the exhaustion in his voice, but he listened attentively as Will spoke anyway.

"Apprehended and killed," Halt repeated, his voice carrying a note of acknowledgment. "Sometimes missions don't end the way we hope. It's the unfortunate reality of our work."

Will nodded, "Yeah, yeah I know."

Halt's eyes narrowed, "is that all?"

Will shifted uncomfortably under Halt's gaze, realizing that his mentor could see through his facade.

Will let out a sigh, the weariness in his voice evident. "No, Halt. That's not all. It was... It was difficult. There was someone I knew, Morgan. We were best friends when we were children. He was the gang leader, he killed all those people, I tried to-- to help him, but he.... he didn't want to be helped. And... now he's gone."

Halt's gaze remained fixed on Will, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the turmoil his apprentice was experiencing. The weight of a past friendship intertwined with the harsh realities of their roles as Rangers.

"Best friends, once upon a time," Halt echoed softly, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia and sympathy. "The past has a.... strange way of resurfacing, and sometimes it's not easy to reconcile who people were with who they become."

Will's shoulders sagged, his voice heavy with a mixture of regret and sorrow. He shrugged, the frustration in his voice almost childlike, upset and not knowing what to do about it.

"I just-- I could've helped him! I know I could've! I just didn't say the right things or in the right order, or I just-- I don't know..."

Halt placed a hand on his old apprentices shoulder, his voice calm and empathetic. "It's natural to feel upset, Will. But you tried your best, I know it's frustrating when it doesn't work out how you anticipate, but nothing can come from beating yourself up about it now."

Will snorted a self-deprecating laugh, "well.... you know me."

Halt's eyes looked serious, and mildly concerned "I do know you Will, I know you have a tendency to blame yourself for situations out of your control."

Will's shoulders slumped a little further, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. "Yeah, I guess so. But it's hard not to when you feel like you could have made a difference."

Halt's voice was measured, his words a reminder of the wisdom he had gained over the years. "It's a fine line, Will. We should always strive to do our best, but we also need to recognize that we can't control everything."

Will was quiet for a bit, and Halt kept quiet as well. Giving the young ranger time to process all that was said.

When Will finally broke the silence, his voice was a whisper that carried a depth of gratitude. "Thank you, Halt."

Halt nodded, a comforting arm wrapping around his shoulders, "you're welcome son, remember we're in this together. Now come on, Pauline is waiting on us for dinner. You can run to Alyss' office and ask her to join us if you wish" he finished with a wink.

Will leaned into his embrace, finding comfort-- as he always did in the presence of the man beside him. The man who had become much like a Father to him.

He snorted, "might just take you up on that." He replied.

#rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #fanfiction #rangers apprentice fanfiction #ra fanfic #on ao3

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mongpht · 1 year

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Idia Shroud - Broom Bloom Birthday SSR Personal Story [PART 1]

Ignihyde dorm — birthday party venue

Idia: Ah. Another year, another obligatory birthday party, even though I don't want that. No, no, no… haha. I'm not going to be forced to be face-to-face, but the tablet can't be used. Depending on the presenter, it might not be possible…

???: Excuse me.

Riddle: I'm Riddle Roseharts, and I'm in charge of the birthday interview. I would like to wish you a happy birthday, Idia-sempai.

Idia: H-hi… Well, I don't… I-it's not like a party, it's more like a gathering of ants by the pear.

Riddle: We see each other often, but there aren't many opportunities for in-depth conversation. Let's start with the important stuff.

Idia: I'm glad to hear that Riddle-san doesn't need a warm-up conversation or anything. Thank you for understanding that.

Riddle: Okay, first question. "If you could go anywhere with a broom, where would you want to go?"

Idia: I've already decided beforehand. I don't want to go anywhere. I'm going to stay in my room.

Riddle: I knew you were going to say that. You're the kind of person who never disappoints. However, you must answer the questions normally. Those are the rules. I'll do my best to squeeze a non one-word answer out of you.

Idia: God… The title of this interview is now, "It's my birthday and I'm being threatened by my kohai"?

Riddle: So where do you want to go?

Idia: Where do I want to go? God… Perhaps I'd like to visit the Valley of Hydra.

Riddle: Hydra Valley is a canyon with sheer cliff walls in the Land of Heroes, isn't it?

Idia: Yes, it is. Legend has it that this place used to be the fortress of a monster with nine heads.

Riddle: I couldn't imagine that Idia-sempai would want to put herself in such a difficult situation.

Idia: There are other reasons why people seek to enter the Hydra Valley…

Riddle: May I ask the details?

Idia: I often admired pictures of the place as a child, so I've loved it since I was a kid.

Riddle: In other words, you'd like to see for yourself where it was taken…

Idia: The technology was first developed in the 1960s. CG and drone technology was not as advanced as it is today. So the cast and crew were actually climbing trees. And even the cameraman-focuser used his flying skills to take part in the shoot. But it was so bad! I was so nervous watching them. The height and strength of the film made my hands sweat! If it was so great on film at the time, the present will never be as good.

Riddle: I understand that when you experience something yourself, your knowledge deepens. I hope one day that will happen.

Idia: Well, with my piloting technique, it doesn't even make sense to start or try… It would take a lot of time and effort to get there any other way. So… 360° VR is the only way! It would be even better if smells and air were also realistically reproduced. Eventually, I'd like to build such a device myself. Would you like to try a local RTA tour?

Riddle: It's like a game… I don't think I understood any of it, but I think they enjoy it as a game. Idia-sempai, I'm afraid I'm veering off topic. Can I ask you a personal question?

Idia: Sorry, but I have a bad feeling about this question. If I can answer it…God.

Riddle: Thank you. One of the passages mentions that you use a homemade robot to clean your room, but there's a lot to do, such as moving and sorting things. I think it would be more efficient to use a challenge technique rather than designing and building machines from scratch.

Idia: No, the more you use them, the more they consume magic. It's true that the little fairies that like to clean up save energy, and the summoning procedure is simple, but… If all they have to do is pick up a few pieces of trash, they can be summoned with a simple push of a button. "2~3 Pop!" The energy saving process is simple.

Riddle: Did you build your robot specifically for this? Wouldn't it be most energy efficient to collect them yourself?

Idia: No, because I want to move as little as possible myself. That's all I can say. Riddle-san, let's get back to the main question.

To be continued...

translate by mongpht. DON'T USE AND REPOST MY TRANSLATE!

#twistedwonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #idia shroud #idia

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rise-of-the-ancients · 1 year

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“The crystals lie within your care. They trust you. Put your faith in them as I do of you. You would be impressed with what one can do with guidance. Sayonara, Terios.”

Wanted…

Needed…

Help us…

Wrists twisted about to test the strength of the energetic beams that bounded his arms behind his back. To little avail, wringing the rope had done nothing. Even plucking a quill from his forearm in attempt to saw the beams off showed no improvement. The Titan growled under his breath as he continued to twists his bounded wrists over themselves. If there was one thing that Terios was known best for was his stubbornness. Even if all of his resources were exhausted, Terios had an annoying knack for persistence.

The once noble echidna warriors had forced Terios to march through the East Forest all day and most of the night. He was tasked to navigate through the harsh overgrown vegetation—to which was the fault of the planet lacking harmonious balance—of the East forest and reside to the ruins of a once thriving hub that bordered the next frontier. At least… that’s what he last recalled. Exhaustion from the day and night’s travel prevented him from obtaining any recollection of time and mental state. How wonderful rest and serenity felt in his mind. And he would have had it if it weren’t for the slip-up at the East Forest’s temple.

Long ago, travelers from across the island could seek shelter at a small hub for refreshments and sleeping accommodations. Terios had used a couple himself when accompanying the Ancients during travels. This hub in particular was the last area of civilization that bordered both the West and East Forest. It was also the last hub that was within proximity of Sanctuary. A place that he once called home. Not much resided in the West Forest other than a few pillars and the excruciating journey to the Highland Canyons… that was where the next temple was located. However, fate had other plans. Instead of making his way to the Highland Canyons, he was temporarily confined to the hub ruins.

Wanted…

Needed…

Help us…

I hear you, he thought, I know.

Terios huffed in annoyance as he leaned back, but was met with a sharp kick to his spine and a spear uncomfortably close to his neck. So much for attempting to sheer the beams off with his back spines. The hedgehog shifted a cold glance upwards to the echidna that towered over his side.

“Don’t try anything,” the echidna barked.

“For now I won’t,” Terios replied with a cheeky smile, “but I can’t guarantee anything for the future.”

That earned another uncomfortable gesture close to Terios’ neck. Terios couldn’t believe that these were the same echidnas that he once sparred with years ago… echidnas that he had once formed a relationship with and fought in wars with when Lyric’s forces expanded across the islands. The Ancients would be so disappointed in their actions.

“I can’t believe that you were the Ancients’ preferred warrior,” the echidna muttered under his breath. He drew his spear back and grumbled his breath. “An utter disgrace I’d say. You’re not even sporting your armor anymore.”

Terios quickly whipped his head around his shoulder and flung himself to his feet. He was quick to react, no hesitation crossed his mind as he stood upright. The ebony hedgehog pounced and rammed his shoulder into the echidna’s chest to keep him pinned to the wall. The spear that the echidna had fancied to taunt the hedgehog with dropped to the ground. Hearing the soft clink of the flint hitting the stone flooring, Terios quickly kicked it a crossed the room to keep away from his opponent. It didn’t matter that some of his mobility was capped. The point was still addressed and made clear to the echidna. No one had the right to judge his sense of pride and where it came from.

Terios barred his fangs and snarled under his breath. “Don’t talks to me about disgrace. Not while you’re still breathing.”

Both Terios and the echidna paused as they heard clapping from a distance. The hedgehog whipped his head behind his back and snarled. At the entrance of the eerie room stood a maroon colored echidna with icy blue eyes and a hearty amount of golden jewelry branding his person. On each side of the echidna stood two cloaked warriors, each donning spears and shield to protect themselves.

Pachacamac. Of course it was him.

“I’m impressed. It’s sloppy, but I’m quite impressed. The Terios that I know would have killed himself before becoming a prisoner,” said the older echidna. Pachacamac shifted his glance to see an emotion stir in the hedgehog’s eyes; one that displayed silent rebuttal and anger a cold stare. “You can untie him now. The great Titan of the Ancients won’t try anything. Especially when we have the Chaos Crystals in our care.”

Terios inched his shoulder from the echidna’s diaphragm and slowly exposed his bounded wrist. As soon as the knot was undone, Terios massages his wrists and grumbled under his breath. The echidna slithered away as soon as he was freed and retreated from the scene. Of course, the warrior didn’t leave until picking up his spear and escaping through the opening. The hedgehog couldn’t help but smirk to himself in knowing that he was capable of striking fear into one’s mind. And he did so with minimal effort. It was always a pleasure to see his enemies cower and run away in fear.

“Took you long enough,” Terios growled. He walked over to the echidna and jabbed his finger into Pachacamac’s chest. “Now get out of my way. I’m finding OMEGA. I’m taking the crystals, Blue’s staff, and then I’m leaving.”

“Why leave? Don’t you want to know why I wanted you here? Come, share a fire with me. I’m sure that you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

As the echidna gestured to the center of the dimly lit room, a communal fire pit roared to life. Finer details of the room that Terios was held in became clearer. The room didn’t have much to it other than violently slashed tapestries and holes in the wall. Not much traces of gold and precious jewels remained. All of the elegance that decorated the space had been looted or destroyed. Even the painted murals had been dishonored with graffiti staining the wall. Furnishings were smashed saved for the seats that surrounded the fire pit. Terios blinked a few times and shook his head. How could anyone be so bold and daring to deface a once peaceful ground? Temples he could understand, but a hub he lacked the answer for… unless it displayed too much evidence of the Ancients’ presence.

The anger was understandable. Removing them from history and their known existence entirely was just petty.

“You… did you do all this?” Terios questioned as he took his seat.

Pachacamac flashed the hedgehog a grin and threw some incense into the fire. The subtle crackles and pop of the fire pit were a bit relaxing to watch. As the fire cracked and popped from being fed the sage, a white spark from within the flames caught Terios’ attention. Terios made an attempt to lean forward, but was quickly forced back into his seat by the two echidnas from behind. With each flicker of light that the fire produced, the white spark from within grew as it ate at the sage. Terios squinted his eyes to study the pulsating spark from the fire. His attention occupied the open flame as Pachacamac chuckled.

“You must see something in the flames,” he said. “Good. Let the flames be a visual guide as I tell you my story of the Ancients.”

Terios scoffed as he crossed his arms to his chest.

“The Ancients were known for their mystical work. Not only were they knowledgeable in the supernatural, they all had an immense appreciation for technology and lived harmoniously with nature. Some did anyways. You should know all about that.”

Terios kept his eyes fixated on the growing spark in the flames. He knew the story all too well. He didn’t care to suffer through a warped perspective of storytelling. His mind occupied a different matter. Such as the debate of whether or not he was hallucinating from exhaustion, or if spark from within the flames was beginning to take a form.

“I’m sure that you’re familiar with the Ancients’ story,” Pachacamac stated, “two powerful deities created the universe. One created the world and everything around it, the other created emotion and destruction. One wanted authority and control, the other wanted freedom and justice. Jealousy over powers formed, but resulted in an Ancient being banished from home. Sickness and revenge stirred. We were created, then you were forced into existence. Wars came and we fought them all. Then came the Great Sacrifice, you disappearing for a month, and now here we are. Honestly, I haven’t seen this much drama since the humans were created… and you know how much of a problem that was.”

Pachacamac’s sour words entered through one ear and exited the other. A bit of it was exaggerated, but Pachacamac always seemed to had a taste for flare and drama. If there was one thing that Terios remembered of the echidna was his need to complain and seek power. Terios didn’t care much about what the echidna had to say. His attention was focused on the flames dancing in the pit and the spark that pulsated slowly.

“Your fault.” Gurgled words murmured.

Terios twitched his ears to the sound of the lowered voice. His eyes shifted upwards to observe his surroundings as a precaution. Where had that voice come from? Surely the other bodies in the room heard it as well. Maybe he was hallucinating?

“Your fault...”

Terios whipped his head back to the direction of the voice and flinched when saw he saw the fire. No longer did the flames have a pulsating white spark within them. Instead, the hue of the flames changed from a golden amber to silvery white and cyan. He couldn’t believe his eyes! How could fire hold such capability? Terios leaned back in his seat as he watched a set of glowing red eyes open from the hearth. The hedgehog held his breath. The eyes blinked and furrowed its eyebrows as they registered Terios’ face. The eyes blinked once more as a faint silhouette began to take shape. The outline of a single figure grew twice the flame’s size and sculpted a set of elongated ears and five tails set ablaze. The eyes opened once more and peered down to a startled Terios near the ground. A kitsune stood in place with its tails flickering angrily from side to side.

He knew that stare. He was all to familiar with those eyes and who they belonged to. “Aero?” He whispered to himself.

“Your fault,” The words swarmed around his head and bellowed in his ears Terios shut his eyes and cupped his hands over ears as the figure continued to scream, “your fault! YOUR FAULT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Eyes snapped open as the ebony hedgehog gasped from his deep trance. Terios’ fingers twitched ever so slightly as his claws dug into the plush seating of the throw pillows. The hedgehog quickly shifted his head to Pachacamac, then back at the fire. And to Terios’ unfortunate surprise, the echidnas were not affected at all. From what he observed, it was only him that witnessed the horrors of the flames. Perhaps he did fabricate the whole scenario? No. Absolutely not. That didn’t sound or feel like a hallucination. it was too real to not be a hallucination.

Terios growled as he shook his head. Now was not the time, other matters were important. “Rrgh! What does this have to do with the crystals?”

“The Terios that I knew was a great warrior. We were both in the same class and trained by the same Ancient. You were feared, but respected. From what I saw during the war, I would have never believed who you were.” This time, Pachacamac earned a growl. “The actions that I have seen you display so far has led me to come to this conclusion: you’re in mourning. You’ve been mourning for a while.”

All Terios could do was blink. His true anger was not to be expressed upon his mantle. It didn’t matter how white his knuckles were from clenching them into fists, nor was it wise to judge his character in ear flicks. If one knew him well enough, they’d know that Terios was expressive through his eyes. No amount of study in body language was needed to understand how the hedgehog felt. As soon as Pachacamac saw the quick flicker in Terios’ eyes he knew that he succeeded in striking a nerve.

"We, the echidna and myself, are direct descendants. We are as strong and as connected to the Ancients’ relics as if they were still living. We’ve kept ourselves busy for a month, as you can see. We’ve done some… rebranding.” With a flick of his wrist, Pachacamac graciously snatched the deerskin bag that an armed echidna extended outward. The crystals. “It’s very clear that you’re not one of us. And you’re not fit to guard the crystals.“

Terios whipped his head to the direction of lighting ringing. Faint whispers in the background as they pleaded for his attention.

Wanted.

Needed.

Help.

The crystals were calling him.

“I know that you can hear them.” Pachacamac said, “I know of your bond. I can’t form a connection with them unless you relinquish your bond with them. Give them to me. With the crystals in my care, I will take the role as an Ancient. Let the true bloodline of the fallen Ancients guard the Chaos Crystals. This is what they would have wanted.”

Terios flung himself from his seat and readied himself in a stance. With balled fists a faint green light emitted between his fingers and began to stretch. Each of his hands sported a long spear made of pure chaos energy. Energy that flowed within each fiber of his body and grew stronger when channeled with emotion. It was crucial that he only called upon the power and connection to the energy that he needed, not what he wanted. An exorbitant amount of chaos energy would have been too much to tame while keeping his emotions in check.

In a blink of an eye, Terios flung the spear into the direction of the cloaked echidna holding the bag. The point of the chaos spear wove itself in between the strap of the bag and pierced the wall before anyone could grab it. Terios gave a quick nod of his head closed his eyes as he was surrounded by a radiant green light. A warm light that felt more comfortable to him the more he channeled the chaos energy. In a flash, Terios appeared from one side of the room to the other and loosened the spear from the wall. Terios flung the bag over his shoulder and directed the spear to the echidnas that halted in their path. Each of the cloaked echidnas exchanged a quick glance to one another as they parted to the side. The hedgehog flashed them a quick grin and sauntered over to the elder echidna still sitting by the fire pit.

“Your backassward beliefs of becoming an Ancient only go so far.” Terios growled to Pachacamac, spear drawn outwards to his face. “You do not know them as well as I do, specifically Blue. This is not what they would have wanted. This why I was the superior decision. I’m taking the crystals to return to the temples. I’m retrieving Blue’s staff and taking my leave. Try me and you’ll regret it.”

And with that, Terios took his leave. The entrance that had once been guarded by the valiant warriors had subsided to walls and sought safety of blending in with the shadows.

“Then you leave me no choice,” Pachacamac muttered. The elder echidna turned his head to the cloaked individual by his side and curled his lip. “Get the mech suit.”

——

No matter how many twists and turns Terios took, the hedgehog had found that he could not escape the maze of makeshift camp sites and crumbling ruins of the hub. Each direction that the hedgehog took led him to swarms of echidnas sporting their own choice in weapon to defend themselves. Word had spread that Terios had escaped. He had anticipated that word of his escape would surface, but he didn’t expect to be hunted so quickly. It didn’t help that he was out in the open either, it was easy to spot his signature red stripes in the wild. His saving grace of the matter was that he was quick. He was very quick. Quick on his feet and sharp with thought. Though it felt a bit wrong to boast about such skills, not with him struggling to find Blue’s staff and an exit. Damn it, he growled to himself. Damn it, damn it, damn it! At least he could say that he apprehended the crystals from the echidnas with ease.

Terios took a sharp turn and evaded the blade of his enemy’s spear that was inches away from his nose. The hedgehog’s footing gave out from beneath him. as he slowed his run to make the turn. He skidded across the soft ground and grass before his back slammed into the crumbling structure of a fallen statue. Grumbling, the Titan rolled onto his knees and patted his chest with care. The medallion that had been fastened to his person for years remained in tact, same for strap of his the tote bag. Terios stood up slowly and massaged his shoulders with care before taking a proper look and the debris on the ground. His eyes shifted back and forth as it followed the trail of debris on the ground. His heart pounded in his throat as he walked besides the trail. His pace quickened as curiosity grew. Chunks of wall with colored ochre paint were puzzle pieces of once beautiful murals. Statues that once stood tall and proud were nothing more than heaps of marble piled together by its petioles. His walk turned into a jog. He wove in and out of the littered remains of art before he halted around another corner. To what his wondering eyes found stopped him in his tracks and left a sour taste in his mouth.

Much like he seen in his temporary prison, the hub’s market and inns where vandalized and dismantled beyond repair. Any traces of the Ancients and their pride was defaced. The eyes and mouths of the Ancients were ripped from their statues, murals were smashed, tapestries and flags were ripped from their post. Any traces of the Ancients’ names were erased from the hub’s central courtyard. In its place were markers of the remaining echidna warriors to signify their order. Poorly etched drawings of echidna warriors had covered up the Ancients’ name. His heart sank into his chest and he soaked in the scene before him. Everything that Terios had grown accustomed to for years had been taken down and demolished within days. Countless hours of details that shared the story of the Ancients and their lives were disappearing before his eyes. If this was what they could accomplish within a month’s time to one area, he couldn’t begin to imagine what horrors that they’ve accomplished elsewhere. And if they had begun to make their presence known elsewhere, what else were they willing to destroy in order to have their names remembered?

The hedgehog’s hands trembled as he balled them into fists. “They’re… defacing history.”

“Correction,” Terios’ fur stood on end as he inched his head behind him. “We’re improving.”

Terios barely had time to react before he was flung across the ground. He could barely process the act of being flung across the yard as he felt his body collided with the crumbled wall. His head spun and his body ached as he inched himself off of the floor. Terios rubbed his head and groaned as he sat on his knees. He blinked a few times in attempt to correct his vision. The world around him spiraled and jumped. Terios couldn’t exactly fight whatever threw him if he couldn’t see correctly. Nausea from the blow of his body smacking the wall and the world spinning was too much for him. But he had to keep going. He had to push forward.

Terios staggered to his feet and shifted his eyes above to locate the sound of metal scraping the floor and cackling from the distance. And to what the Titan found shook him to his very core. The Titan gripped hold of the satchel’s strap tightly as he felt the warmth of a chaos spear form in his clenched fist. A suit of obsidian armor towered over Terios’ small frame as he struggled to his feet. Terios whipped his head around to the sounds of maniacal laughter to meet the horrendous stare of an angry echidna as the armored suit inched its was forward to the Titan. The hedgehog had seen a few mech suits like this in his lifetime. He could count how many he’d encountered the unfortunate company of mech suits such as the one one before him.

“Do you like it,” Pachacamac asked with his devilish smile curling, “I hoped that you would. I found many functional mech suits like this at Lyric’s Facility.”

Mech suits were mechanical pieces of armor that the Ancients had invented, but they were only meant to be used as a last resort. It was a suit that featured arms and legs with a chair for a pilot. Each suit stood tall as mountains and could withstand any force thrown at them. And each suit was carefully crafted to cater to the fighting style as its pilot thanks to a symbiotic chip installed. Terios recalled the first suit that was created… and the fight that nearly killed him. Fortunately for him, only five were only created before the Ancients deemed them as too dangerous to use. He had wished that the echidna warriors hadn’t touched them.

“Don’t worry, the symbiotic chip inside it won’t override like it did to the Ancients.” Pachacamac stated. “This is completely manual.”

Terios gripped the spear in hand and gestured it forward. “Get out of that suit if you know what’s good for you. Your hunger to erase the Ancients’ history from total existence is disgraceful.“

The echidna growled as he piloted the armor. Mechanical arms swung left and right in hopes of hitting its target. With each swing of the arms, Terios dodged the fists with ease. No matter how many times Pachacamac attempted to strike him, no matter how much destruction and mayhem he was willing to cause, Terios only proved that he was hard to hit. Terios threw a spear at the mech suit as he jumped in the air. He was quick to dodge a punch, but growled as the suit smashed into the wall of a structure came tumbling down. There was no point in trying to reason with him now.

“Stop talking about them as if they’re still alive!” Pachacamac screamed. His face became purple and his eyes burned from the tears that streamed down his face. “The Ancients died because of you.“

The metal claws of the mech suit lunged forward and grasped Terios’ quills. The Titan screamed as he was yanked from the air and slammed to the ground, trembling the earth. Terios chug his fingers into the dirt and growled as he felt the pressure of the mechanical hand press him further into the ground. The hedgehog glared at the echidna in the mech suit and growled under his breath. Anger clouded his mind and took over Pachacamac’s heart. The once noble warrior that Terios had known for years was no longer alive. What remained of the warrior was a memory and an empty shell of the echidna.

“Give. Me. The. Crystals.” Pachacamac hissed between clenched teeth.

Before Terios could rebuttal, the two opponents turned their direction to the howls of laughter in the distance. Footsteps of a large figure thundered through the dark forest. Metal scraped against metal as footsteps boomed. With each thump that Terios felt from the shaken ground, he could feel the power of each step course though his chest. Pachacamac released the grip that he had on Terios and stood upright in a defensive stance to fight. Whatever force was making it’s way to them was enough to make the echidna worried. Terios flung himself to his feet once more and crafted a spear once more. No matter the exhaustion that his body and mind felt, Terios had to be ready no matter the circumstances.

Trees of the forest parted to the side and the rumble of footsteps stopped. Terios could only stare with widen eyes as his jaw dropped in awe. He inched his head up as far as he could to see a mechanical arm frantically waive in his direction. “TERIOS!” He hearted the familiar squeal his name, “I-HAVE-ACQUIRED-LEGS!”

#terios the titan #omega the golem #strength’s warriors #sonic boom #sonic boom au #short story #The Aftermath #strength the ancient

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stories-and-stars · 2 years

Text

Dreams of Chaos Pt-3

She could describe how it felt the next morning, pain....

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She woke to a warm sun and birds chirping, panic set into her heart when she opened her eyes. Laxus wasn’t next to her, his coat was still under her though. She stood and made her way out of the small cave they'd taken shelter in. Holding herself on the rock wall, she shielded her eyes to the sun. As her vision adjusted to the bright light her panic only turned worse. Laxus wasn't anywhere and there were signs of struggle. Broken branches and burn marks from what looked like his lightning scattered the ground. How could she sleep through this, what was happening? Her eyes welled up and her throat burned.

“ y/n , I’m here” She knew it wasn't the one she wanted to say that but the comfort of Mystogan would be a welcome one.

“ Do you know what happened?!” she didn't mean to yell at him but her emotions were begin to slip away from her.

“ I’d heard what happened at the guild hall and came to see you. I found them searching the area for you and watched from a far. They came across you two sleeping and waited for Laxus to come out by himself. He may have just wanted fresh air or to drink some water but when he did they attempted to talk to him. They had Wendy attempt to erase your memory of him while she forced you to remain asleep. Laxus fought to stay and get them away from you but the sheer number they brought he couldn't fight them all. Though he did try harder than I've ever seen him try before. He truly cares about you.” The cloaked wizard began to explain to her. She couldn't hold back the tears anymore and they flowed down her cheeks. Mystogan embraced her and let her weep.

“ why do I remember him then? Do you know where they took him?” she muttered through clothing she was clinging onto.

“ I stopped her from being able to do anything to your memory from my view point. There was nothing I could do to stop them from taking him. I would think they took him back to the guild. What their plan is, I don't know “ he held her a little tighter. She let go of him and wiped her eyes so she could see. His heart heavy for her. She raised her hand and summoned a lacrima from her bag.

“ Show me Laxus” She felt herself growing angry, fearing the worst.

The ball lit up slightly and began searching for his location to allow her to see him, it finally stopped on a scene she could not bear to see. They were torturing him in the guilds basement. He was in magic cancelling handcuffs and bruised severely. His screams as they struck him again drove her over the edge. She shattered the lacrima out of rage and in a deep voice Mystogan hadn't heard before,

“ Get out of here”

He took off from his spot as he felt her energy multiply. She was angry for the first time in her life and he knew this could be catastrophic. All he could do was have faith in his friend, that she’d save Laxus and control herself. As he traveled farther away he wondered why she told him to leave until a wave of energy pushed past him. He turned to see a pillar of magical power shooting upwards. She destroyed a half mile area easily and the pillar of energy itself was frightening. This is her power, he was glad to be on the right side of it.

She pulled her magical power back down and tried to calm herself. Her veins felt hot and she knew there were no words for the anger she felt. How could they do this to him. If you want someone,

“ Come after me!” Her yell echoed through the nearby canyons.

“ You are too cowardly, Makarov” she seethed. She took off from her spot with magical energy burning behind her. She landed heavily at the front of the guild hall quicker than even she thought. Moving almost as fast as Laxus had, she smiled to herself.

“ I’m here, my love” she whispered. Her wrath multiplied her power ten fold, this is what chaos thrived off and she knew it. She had no doubt she could control it, She’s never thought more clearly.

Much like the giants wrath ability Makarov possesses, she too had chaos’ rage. Her steps shook the ground and the buildings structure began to quake. If the guild thought they knew fear, They didn't know anything. She made her way to the large door and took a few steps in.

“ This is what I knew you were!” Makarov screeched from his post.

She ignored his ignorant plight and sent her magic to retrieve his broken body, She felt her energy pick him up and her heart shattered at his state. She felt every sting of every bruise. As gently as she could, brought him forth and laid him in her arms. He was unconscious, which brought her some relief that he could not feel these injuries at the moment.

“ What I am?” She spoke.

“ Look at what you are” She said softly but her words could not have landed on the ears of the guild any harder. She cradled him in her arms and held his face. Tears welling in her eyes but none fell. She broke the cuffs off as if they were a toy and dropped their pieces to the ground. The horrified faces of the guild members turned to their beloved master.

“ you tortured him? while he was defenseless? “ A pink haired wizard asked with a hurt voice. The old fool started muttering a defense he could not think of fast enough. Laxus stirred in her arms and opened his eyes.

“ y/n, You’re here” his voice almost gone. The tears flowed freely now with a smile trying to show on her face. She placed a gentle flower like kiss on his forehead and turned towards the one responsible again as he bellowed,

“ A hero will destroy you to save the world, a villain will destroy the world to save you. remember that Laxus” Her face softened at this remark.

“ I will destroy everything “ she said with a smile,

“ if he were to ask it of me” she finished. He smiled with what energy he had left to. She picked him up and held him in her arms.

“ I could be evil, I could be. You are right about that. But with this power and this life all I've chosen to be is a simple woodworker and to love your grandson” she spoke to Makarov but looked at the man in her arms. His eyes were closed but she knew he heard her. While her attention was on the blonde in her arms she did not see the blast coming towards her. As she saw it, a black haired iron wizard stood in its path. Shielding both of them.

“ It's not a sin to love someone” His gruff voice spoke at the master. More of his guild mates stood between Laxus and the master, standing up to him and his fear. They knew what he'd done to Laxus and what he was still trying to prove was wrong.

“ Thank you” she smiled at the group of people who restored her faith slightly. She turned to leave while holding him. She knew he'd need to rest for a long time from the beating he took for her.

“ Laxus if you walk out that door, you are no member of Fariytail !” Makarov yelled to her back and she stopped. Her anger grew,

“ He can't walk from the beating you dealt him!” her scream echoed through the hall. Laxus’ weak voice came through,

“ set me on my feet” he looked up at her. She gave a warning look but did as he asked. He stood shakily on his feet. As she went to move from in front of him, he smacked her ass and gave a sly grin. She couldn't help but smile.

“Hey, I love her too” he paused and her cheeks felt warm as he looked at her.

He put up a fist and before she could tell him not to, he gave a big middle finger to the master. Laughing while putting his arm around her shoulder to help him walk out on his own two feet. She saw a few smiles from the wizards that stood to guard them and smiled in return. once out of the guild hall, She held him again and used her magic to carry them both back to her place. He laid himself into her bed and groaned at the movement. Her heart hurt at the sight. Just the night before he was happy and content with her bruises. She smiled at the memory that somehow seemed far away. She pulled over a chair and sat next to the bed. He couldn't keep his eyes open and fell into a needed sleep. She sat and listened to his ragged breaths and watched his chest rise and fall. Tears ran down her face, no sound or movement came. She could only try to process what had happened in such a short time. She didn't know how long she sat there simply watching him. It was dark out when she finally came out of her thoughts so she decided to lay next to him. Making sure not to lay too close and hurt him, she curled next to him and closed her eyes.

Waking up the following morning, panic once again consumed her as Laxus wasn't next to her. She leapt up so quickly she stumbled and had to catch herself. Running out of her room and searching the house she could not find him. Tears started running down her face in fear they got him again.

“ Laxus!” she screamed but her voice broke. Her throat hurt and everything felt hot. She threw the door open and held herself up on the door frame. He was standing outside in the morning sun with some tea.

“ lavender and lilacs “ he smiled before turning to see her tear stained face. His smile fell and he worriedly asked,

“ what's wrong?”. She waved her had to say I’m alright.

“ I thought they'd got you again, It’s okay” she smiled.

“ Oh I didn't even think about that, I’m sorry. I didn't want to wake you” he stood next to her now. She calmed down some and smiled at him.

“ It’s okay, Are you feeling better?” she questioned. He nodded and sipped his tea again. She lightly wrapped her hands around his waist and breathed him in. They stood like this, enjoying the sun and the breeze. She smiled devilishly and looked up at him,

“ after you are recovered, I want you” she smirked at him. He almost didn't respond, sipped his tea without looking at her. He raised his eyebrows studying the cup in his hands, with a straight face and a completely normal tone of voice, “ well I’m healed “. She cackled as she ran from him into the house.

“ No mister you are not” she played back as he ran inside after her. The smile on both their faces returning and as long as they had each other, never leaving. The dreamscape no longer needed for either of them. She was here and he could make her a storm whenever she needed.

#laxus x reader #laxus #dragon slayer #fairytail

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