#i simply can not escape this man🙃

[renegade-skywalker]

I stopped posting updates to my fic here but I was feeling oddly proud of my interpretation of the scene where Kreia invades Atton's mind at Atris' academy so here we are🙃:

—

Atton was beginning to think that he’d unwittingly been thrown into purgatory. To have escaped death so many times only to end up in yet another cell, well, Atton wasn’t sure if he was lucky in the eyes of the universe or just the butt end of an inside joke it had with destiny.

Either way, the last place Atton expected to find himself in was another prison. And consoling someone other than himself while confined there, no less. “Take it easy, will you?” he uttered for what felt like the umpteenth time as he watched Bao-Dur hold his horned head in his hands. “Not much we can do in here for the moment, though trust me, Eden will get us out.”

Where his sudden optimism came from, he wasn’t sure. Though his unwavering faith in Eden was without question. Uttering her name outside of her presence almost felt sacrilege, though, and he didn’t know why. 

“It’s not that,” Bao-Dur muttered, a quiet anger seething through even the force cages that separated them. “I was over this, I was getting past it. But then first it was Czerka. And then those mercs. And now… this.”

Atton could only shake his head, exasperated, as now it seemed it was Kreia’s turn to look at Bao-Dur with tired ire. 

“You did what you had to do to be rid of that place,” Kreia said with some assurance though it came across more as annoyance than anything else. “You protected your work as well as your hide. Not many are capable of such feats.”

Atton wasn’t sure if Kreia was truly doling out accolades or simply expressing her own surprise. As usual, the old woman was hard to read and Atton wasn’t keen on reading between her lines.

“The Jedi were supposed to help us,” Bao-Dur continued, his voice faraway and hollow. “How could one hole up here and call it a mercy when the rest of the planet still suffers?”

“It does not do to dwell on whatever image the galaxy holds of the Jedi,” Kreia said flatly. “It matters not, for one. But to be offended by some ideal fiction is a waste of energy entirely.”

Bao-Dur only laughed weakly, his head now between his knees as the man sat despondent on the floor of his cell.

“It’s not that,” he said. “I was at Malachor, I know what evil the Jedi are capable of doing. Of asking. And of me, no less. But I promised myself - not again. No: never again.”

Bao shook his head more fiercely now, as if not only fending off Kreia’s words of warning but whatever inner demons also plagued him.

“It’s too late for that,” Bao-Dur continued. “There’s no amount of sage wisdom in the ‘verse to soothe my self hatred.”

Atton heard the words, clear as day. Only… Bao-Dur’s mouth had not moved. 

A shiver ran down Atton’s spine at the realization, wondering just how long it had been since he’d last eaten something, since he’d last had a sip of water. He wasn’t sure, but he also wasn’t entirely certain he was imagining things, either.

“There’s no use in blaming yourself,” Atton muttered, annoyed but more so at his own muddled mind than he should have been at the present situation, trying to get a grip on it as he glanced about his new cell. “You did your job. The Ithorians’ work is safe. And that’s all you should care about right now.”

He wasn’t looking at her, but he could sense Kreia cross her arms over her chest, watching him. Though why, or for what purpose, he did not know.

“Like I said, Eden will see us out of here. And once she does, I know she’ll be just as incensed as you are. She’ll set it all to rights.”

Kreia leaned back on the one non-plasma charged wall of her cell and watched him, though whether her gaze moved at all between him and Bao-Dur he was not sure. Atton hoped it did, because he squirmed under the imagined weight of her gaze, feeling none too much like himself with her watching.

“Sure,” Bao-Dur said with a nod, actually speaking this time. Atton noted the movement of the man’s mouth and the gesture of his head. Bao-Dur’s pale amber gaze met his and he nodded. After a moment - of both registering the action and realizing that it was, in fact, reality - Atton nodded in kind. “Eden will help set things right. She always does.”

Even if Malachor went sideways. 

Atton kept his gaze on Bao-Dur even as the man looked away, certain he heard the words again but now absolutely certain that the Iridonian did not utter them.

It was what we planned, maybe. But the aftermath…

Atton felt himself lean forward, yearning to follow the unspoken thread of thought further but instead found himself yanked back. Both mentally and physically. Just as he was looking at Bao-Dur, he was suddenly thrust back-first into the hard stone of the uncharged wall of his cell. Then his mind clouded with endless dark and billowing thought - none of it of his own making.

He opened his mouth, words poised on his tongue.

What’s happening? Was the first to cross his mind, panic shooting through his every limb and every corner of his consciousness. What are you doing?

Atton could not move or speak. It was just as he’d felt when the half-imagined HK drugged him and waited for him to drift off to sleep before slaughtering every other living thing in Peragus’ paltry medical bay. Before, he’d still hoped it was just a fever dream. But now he knew that the memory was all too real, and worst of all that it was happening again. 

Stop struggling, Kreia’s voice entered his mind, slipping between his own thoughts and slithering between them, as if swatting them away in order to make more room for herself.

His vision grew dark, everything in his periphery clouded by a shadowed curtain as if he were on the brink of fainting but unable to succumb to the sickness of sleep, unable to collapse and release his fear into the darkness of unconsciousness. Instead he was pinned to the wall and painfully aware of everything. 

Bao-Dur remained on the floor of his cell, head in his hands, frozen in time. Blissfully unaware of it all.

Let me follow the current, Kreia’s voice continued, though he could hardly call it a voice. He knew the words were hers but the words almost felt like his own, as if his own mind were thinking them and listening to them at once, but her essence remained stamped on each sentiment as if sealing her intrusion in wax - setting herself apart from Atton’s own thoughts yet imprinting just the same on his mind as if she were welcomed there. Deep, deeper, to its source…

No numbers, no hyperspace routes, no power couplings came to his aid. His mind was blank, empty and just as pinned to the proverbial wall as Atton’s physical body was in the flesh. He could not move, but he also could not think - instead a helpless onlooker, unable to do anything other than observe in abject horror.

Stop, stop, stop, he wanted to think, and yet the word escaped him. The feeling did not, but he could not will Kreia away. He could not banish her from the domain she’d already violated.

Ah, a sigh fluttered through him, satisfied with a nauseating triumph. With the fear is mingled guilt… 

Flashes of memory flit before Atton’s eyes, from birth until now. It took only an instant as well as an eternity. He not only saw them, but relived them, the reactionary emotions inspired by each roiling within him like a sudden sickness.

It squirms in you, Kreia’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. Like a worm.

Few images stayed while others faded. All that remained were faces. Those of his mother and father - the dark hair and the disdain he received from his mother, as well the dark eyes and the thrill of the chase he inherited from his father. Then there was Corr Desyk’s crooked smile and sense of adventure, of absolution in the face of utter despair. But among them was also Darth Malak as he stared Jaq down and assessed him, eventually recruiting him to Revan’s cause, an imagined version of the woman herself appearing in his mind’s eye afterward even if he’d never once met her. 

And then there was her...

And the why… ah.

Atton’s vision hadn’t clouded entirely, and from the depths of his shadowed sight he saw Kreia smile wickedly from across the room. 

And there is its heart.

Of all the faces that stared back at him from his past, the one that shone brightest was hers. Hers. The Jedi that almost bested him. The Jedi that opened him up to the heart of the universe. And the Jedi he slaughtered in cold blood because she had. 

He hadn't thought of her face since that day. Atton had blocked it entirely out of his mind. The memory remained, but the image stayed as if behind a curtain, intentionally withdrawn and hidden from him as to save him from something. From what, who knew. Perhaps only himself.

You surprise me, Kreia thought inside his mind, oddly somber. But I should have known.

Bao-Dur remained still on the other side of the room, time not affecting him as it did Atton, living a life’s age and then some within the small confines of his unfortunately still-living brain.

I could not feel it before, Kreia commended, her admiration clear in the intention. Your feelings are a powerful shield indeed.

If Atton could, he would have laughed. Not powerful enough.

The half-thought of his sarcasm sparked and sputtered before Kreia’s dominating mind. He could feel her laugh within his consciousness in his stead.

 Do not worry, Atton. If she is a Jedi, she will forgive. And if she is not… 

The pause that followed was palpable.

He knew she meant to insinuate Eden. A woman who both embodied and defied everything he ever knew about Jedi. But that wasn’t the part about her that bothered him. Well, it did, but it wasn’t what worried him most.

If she is not, then she will not care.

Kreia asserted this with some finality, as if both for herself as well as for Atton. 

“You can’t tell her,” he managed to whisper with a gasping breath. “I’m asking you - no, I’m begging you. I don’t want her to-”

Whether Atton actually spoke these words or merely thought them he was not certain. What was real or imagined was now both one and the same. But he felt the effort in his chest as if he had spoken, the urgency of his words surprising even himself.

Think less of you? Kreia finished his thought for him. She tsked audibly within his mind. I hardly think that’s possible.

Kreia affirmed it with such poise, such confidence, that Atton feared she was telling the truth. Even if he preferred, and suspected, that she wasn’t

Still, there is no shame in what you ask. We all wage war with the past, and it leaves its scars.

His scars remained visible before his mind’s eye in a myriad of memories. Each one lingering longer than he would have liked.

I will not speak of yours, Atton, Kreia continued. But there is a price for such things.

“Price? What price?” he asked as if gasping for air. This time, he felt as if his voice were his own, choking on his own words as he spoke them.

There are those who wage war, and those who follow them.

He thought of Corr and he thought of Malak, each of them men he’d once looked up to and both of them men he’d also seen break in the wake of the same willed woman. And then he thought of Revan - both the woman he imagined her to be as well as the monster he knew she was.

You know your place, Kreia said, as if looking at his memories alongside him. You are a crude thing, murderer, but you have your uses… 

Just as Revan’s kaleidoscope persona faded from his vision, he thought of her again. The Jedi who gifted him the world and all its secrets. The Jedi he killed viciously out of fear of her blessing. 

You know how important this woman we travel with is, even one such as you can feel it. 

The feelings he had about Eden said nothing less. When he met her, she’d been his savior. His undeserving patron. And in repayment, he owed her the universe. If only because he deserved so little of it.

So you will serve her… until I release you.

He never learned her name - the last Jedi he’d killed. And yet her pale face gave way to Eden’s in his imagination, as if remembering them both as one and the same.

“And what if I refuse?”

Kreia laughed.

You won’t.

Atton thought of Eden’s face in the stead of the woman he slaughtered, blood bubbling up from beneath Eden's cracked lips, a satisfied smile on her pallid visage despite the death fast becoming her.

He shuddered, and yet still could not move.

If you do, then my silence will be broken, Kreia warned, the voice inside his head growing tenfold, as if Kreia spoke with the throat of thousands. And then, Atton, you will be broken.

The image shattered - the imagined one as well as the memory. Both dissolved into unending blackness, disappearing into the dark of the void Atton sometimes felt himself longing for between conjuring up hyperspace coordinates. 

Whatever fear you hold of the Jedi, know that if you disobey me, that my punishment will make you beg for the death that has long hounded you.

He knew Kreia meant it as a threat, and yet part of him found solace in her promise. Wondering if he were truly so far from the edge or merely toeing the line.

Wipe the fear from your mind. You will not find blind obedience a difficult master… you chose it once. You will learn to embrace it again.

And then all at once, time resumed. Atton found himself gasping for breath just as Bao-Dur raised his head and spoke again, continuing his thought from earlier only to be met with deaf ears. Whatever he said was lost on Atton, and presumably Kreia as well who only sighed, looking pleased with herself.

“Did you say something, Atton?” Bao-Dur asked, his face innocent despite the man’s still roiling inner anger.

Atton shook his head, glancing at Kreia only to find that the woman was no longer looking at him and appearing as if she never had been.

“No,” he coughed, his throat sour and his mind sick. “Not at all.”

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

There's an art to not being overexposed and Taylor Swift has forgotten it once again. The sensibilities of the public are so fickle but I don't blame them as I myself felt a bone deep exhaustion when I saw the news of her next album on my feed. I'm not even a hater - I do enjoy parts of her music. However in between the concert tour, pap walks, her re-releases, the award campaigns and the very public romance, maybe taking a breather before entering her next era would have helped. She's on top of the world right now and I get the want to keep that going by staying front and center but she keeps forgetting how quickly the public tires of her (and anyone) who's constantly in the news cycle.

Forgotten? Did she ever master that art though? I don't think that's her strategy at all. I can already hear the counter arguments: no one says this about a man in the public eye or it's always her the problem. You know, from folks who went to the TS school of feminism. Took online classes from the one who uses a private plane like some uber. Anyway, I digress. I clearly don't like this person, never have, never will. I have her name muted on twitter and I still can't escape. I genuinely don't care to know about her music or her personal life mostly because she is simply uninteresting as an individual and singer. There is nothing in her work or her personality that would make want to pay attention. And why would I when there's so many cool and fascinating artists out there.

The public might get tired, but her die hard swifties won't and there's enough of them to buy the album and fill up the stadiums. So she rolls another album. I thought that the title was a joke though. I saw tweets covering the Grammys and I thought it was some meme. There was even one that had a photo of the Dead Poets Society. But it's not 🙃 The Tortured Poets Department, lol. Does she think or aspire to be at Joni Mitchell's level or what?

[boopiestboop]

Can Suresh stop winking at me?? Can Arlo stop accusing me of flirting with him even though I've said numerous times I don't want him??? Can I just be left alone to romance Alfie in peace??? please im begging 😩😩😩

[liamade]

Leap of Faith ; Kim Yonghee

»»—pairing: kim yonghee x reader

summary: your boyfriend yonghee randomly calls you out late one night, the two of you sharing your worries as you take a leap of faith towards your futures

genre: fluff, light angst, high school senior au, boyfriend yonghee

warning(s): N/A

✧ word count: 2k

*.✧.*✧*.✧.*✧*.✧.*

The sound of your blanket ruffling fills your dark room as you roll onto your other side for the umpteenth time that night. You absentmindedly scrolled through tiktok, lazily smiling or laughing here and there as you waited for sleep to take you.

Your eyes snap to the top of your screen when you get a notification, the smile on your face growing without you even realizing it.

loml yong 🥰

Are you awake?

you

of course i am,, who would i be if i wasnt-

loml yong 🥰

Lol

Tiktok again?

you

you know me so well 🥺

but what are you doing up mr 10 hours of sleep

loml yong 🥰

Couldn't fall asleep unfortunately 💔

you

why whats wrong??

loml yong 🥰

...nothing

Just worried about that test in chem..

you

ooohhh

i dont know why you stress about those

you pretty much ace every test you take babe 🤕

loml yong 🥰

But what if this is the one time I fail?

That's all I can think about right now.. 🙃

you

heyhey your kim yonghee,,,, the smartest person i know alright >.>

you study all the time, youve got this okay?

and even if you fuck up this one time mr lim lets us retake :)

loml yong 🥰

*you're

But you're right, thank you ♡♡

you

😐

last time i try and help you

"*you're" 🙄🙄🙄🙄

loml yong 🥰

Lmao sorry, I couldn't help it

you

😒

loml yong 🥰

Your parents are sleeping, right?

you

yeah why-

loml yong 🥰

Come outside 😊

Your eyes widen as you drop your phone on to your pillow, kicking off the blanket and running to your bedroom window.

Peering outside, you could see a man in a hoodie standing under a streetlight, leaning against it as he stares down at his phone screen. A gasp escapes your lips—though the guy was turned away from you, you could recognize the matching dog hoodie to your cat one anywhere.

Wasting no time, you rush over to your closet, grabbing whatever sweater you could get your hands on before shoving your phone into one of the pockets.

You slowly creaked open your door, sneaking through the hallway and down the stairs, cringing every time one of the floorboards attempted to snitch on you. Soon, you were outside and immediately blasted with the crisp 12 a.m. air.

"Yonghee!" you called out as you all but skipped in his direction.

"Hey," he greeted simply as he turned to look at you, "..you're wearing the pajamas I got you."

"Of course," you hugged him before leaning back to give him a once over, admiring how beautiful he always looked, even in the simplest clothes, "just like you're wearing the hoodie I got for your birthday~"

"Of course," he copied you, eye smile on display as he habitually took one of your hands into his own, his cold skin sending a slight chill down your back.

"Anyways, what are you doing out this late?"

"I told you I couldn't sleep.." He looks away, lost in thought as something hard to pin swirls in his eyes—a small seed of worry is planted in your stomach as you silently rub your thumb on the back of his hand, waiting for him to continue. His eyes are back on yours as whatever quiet storm they carried seconds before seems to settle. He lifts his other hand into view, a rustling capturing your attention. "I brought us snacks."

You stared at him with pouted lips, wishing you could read his mind and pick his brain for whatever was bothering him. Though you loved spontaneous moments like this with him, Yonghee wasn't generally that—he always meticulously planned things like your dates just to make sure you're happy and have as much fun as possible—so, for him to show up outside of your place at a time he'd usually be sleeping...

"Why're you staring at me like that?" he asked, breaking you out of your own thoughts. The smile stretched on his face now was one of smoke and mirrors—something you could see through.

You shook your head in response, though, because even if you could tell he was hiding his sadness away, he'd tell you eventually when he figured things out within himself. He always did.

So you stuck a smile of your own onto your face, hands immediately going for the bag as you stuck your head in to look inside, "oooh~ What'd you get?"

He was laughing now as he passed the bag to you so you could get a better look. "All of your favorites. I did good, right?"

You pecked his cheek as you excitedly pulled out a bag of chips. "Without fail, my lucky star."

"Lucky star?" He questioned, taking a seat on the curb and wiping down the spot beside him for dirt and pebbles so you could sit beside him.

"Don't ask," you responded with a laugh, already chomping away at your chips, "it just feels right."

The two of you soon fell into a comfortable silence, something you've become accustomed to since the two of you met at the beginning of freshman year almost four years ago.

You were stumbling around the halls, eyes desperately searching the walls for any clue as to where the hell your first period class was. It was the second week of the first semester so everyone else had the gist of their routes—except you. You being you, of course, this was only your first day as you ditched the entire first week. It was hard for you to make friends and unfortunately for you, none of your middle school friends came to this school; it was safe to say you weren't excited to start high school so you'd ditch whenever you got the chance.

Then there was Yonghee, some random kid who decided to help you out.

Yonghee was pretty much the opposite of you when it came to this whole school thing—he was diligent, even went to the freshmen orientation and everything. You were lucky that he noticed you, that your first period on that day was the same class, that he unknowingly let you attach yourself to his hip.

"Hey, y/n?" He called out to you, pulling you away from your reminiscent thoughts.

You simply hummed in response, glancing at him as you went back into the bag in front of you for another snack.

He paused for a second, toying with the promise ring around his finger that gleamed under the street light: it was something he got the two of you last year for your 2nd anniversary. It always made something well inside you when you notice him wearing it.

"Have you.. sent in your applications yet?" He quietly asked, big, curious eyes watching for your answer. They overwhelmed you, making you turn away as you looked up at the moon.

"Nope." You answered simply.

"'Nope'? You know the window closes soon, right? You should turn them in..."

You let out a puff of air that mimicked a laugh, but completely void of humor. "I'm not going to college."

His body was fully turned to you now, his eyes even wider than before from the shock of your words and how casually you said them. "You're not going? What do you mean you're not going??"

"I mean.. I'm not going, Yong. I'm taking a gap year, figure out what I wanna do, whether or not I wanna spend another four years suffering through school."

"And your parents said okay to that?"

"Of course not- I haven't even told them yet; they'd kick me out."

"Y/n…" he trailed off as his head spun from everything you just dropped on him.

You sighed, turning to face him with a small smile—though you understood his concern, you were dead set on your decision, already having thought it over at least a thousand times. "Hey, it's fine, alright? I'll get a job, stay with Jooyoung—you know her parents love me~"

Yonghee simply stared at you, not even knowing how to process it all or what to say in response. His face just fell further into a worried frown.

Your smile grew as you lifted a finger to his forehead, pressing at the space between his eyebrows to smooth out the crease, "I'll be fine, I promise, okay? Enough about me; have you done your apps?"

And there was that storm in his eyes again…

He looked away with a sigh of his own, "Yeah, a few Ivy's and um… an arts school."

"An.. arts school?"

"For acting- it's stupid, isn't it?" He lets out a pitiful laugh as he lowers his head to his arms that rested atop his knees.

"Not in the slightest, babe," You placed a hand in his hair, gently combing through it because you knew he loved that, "I just didn't know you were seriously into acting—I thought your theatre class was just for the credit?"

"It is… theatre isn't for me. I wanna be on a screen.. in dramas like-"

"Like Park Hyungsik?"

He lifted his head to look at you, unable to hold in a laugh when he met your sparkling eyes at the mention of Hyungsik, "if that's what you want, then sure."

"But in all seriousness though, Yong, I believe in you to make it. You've already got the face of an actor," you pinch his cheek as he blushes at your compliment, "you've got endless talent, a drive to do better all the time- if anyone's gonna be the next big actor, it's going to be you."

The smile Yonghee flashes your way this time felt like a blast of sunlight through the temporary reign the moon held on the sky. It was blinding, made your heart beat like crazy, and you knew that no matter how long you end up with him, you'd never get used to his beautiful smile.

"I feel like I can take on the world with you by my side." He whispered out, his voice honey sweet as he gazed at you.

You weren't able to handle him looking at you like that so you thought of the most moment-ruining thing you could do: fake vomit. You started dramatically gagging as you scooted away from him.

"What? What'd I say??"

You feigned disgust as you glanced at him, "how do you always manage to say the cheesiest things without realizing it?"

He rolled his eyes at you yet that pretty crescent sun stayed etched on his face. "Whatever just come back over here or else I'll have to eat all these snacks by myself."

You were quick to cuddle into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you hugged his arm.

"Y/n?"

"That's me, yeah."

"Can you promise me something?"

You slightly pulled away from him to peer into his face, his eyes already on you, "I've been making a lot of promises tonight, but sure, what is it?"

"Promise me," he started before his hand hesitantly came up to cup the side of your face, making sure you didn't turn away from him as he spoke, "that no matter what happens.. we'll always be together, even if it's just as friends. I can't imagine my life without you in it now."

You could feel your cheeks blossoming red as you tried to stutter out a response, taken aback by the seriousness in his expression and words, "I- um- yeah.." Your hand raises to his own, your finger lightly rolling his cold ring against your cheek, "that's what these rings are for though, right?"

Yonghee didn't verbally respond but you could see the love he held for you color his dark eyes under this bleak night sky. His eyes shone much like his smile, but whereas his smile was like the rays of the sun, his eyes were the light that reflected off the ocean—it brought a subtle, but steadily growing warmth to your world.

So you kissed him. You kissed him to express all the love you held for him, love that he filled you with whenever he could, love that you were more than happy to give back.

main masterlist

© liamade, 2022. all rights reserved.

[meowzfordayz]

nobody like you

Author’s Note: did a ton of random research for writing this — really every fanfic ends up involving some sort of research... still gotta brush up on my Taisho Era clothing knowledge. 🤓

nobody like you

Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~2,600

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content, traumatic references

Song Inspo: Nobody Like You by Little Mix

Request Fulfilled: Hi can I request headcannons of tanjiro x reader, zenitsu x reader, and inosuke x reader where the reader is a simp for their partner and mildly dislikes everyone else

~faqs~

Something tells me

Zenitsu would be too blissed out

On the fact that

[Y/N]-CHAN IS NICE TO ME?!?!?!?!?!

To notice how:

You constantly interrupt Tanjirou when he’s just trying to get out a full sentence my golly gosh

If you’ve heard one of his inspirational pep talks

Then really, you’ve heard them all

Yada yada, blah blah blah

—Writing that made me sad ☹️ 

—We stan Tanjirou in this household 🥰

—Anywho

You’re always stepping on the back of Inosuke’s heels

Because

He annoys everything that is even remotely good out of you

Instantly

It’s his fucking boar head

Can’t take that shit seriously

Muffles everything he says

Smells bad

Looks bad

Ugh

You aspire to someday trip him near a hill

And watch him tumble 🙃

Not a dangerous hill

But a steep and long enough one that the satisfaction gained from your mischief = 💯

You essentially shade everyone

Not complete strangers ofc

You aren’t a menace to society

You have finesse 😎

But Hashira be damned

With their unpredictable, headache inducing ✨quirks✨ 

“Nobody cares Uzui-sama,” you sound bored

He deflates, Nichirin cleavers halting their spinning, flashy motion

“[y/n]! I’d like to see you do something impressive!”

Man’s ego bruises like a peach

You yawn

“Uzui-sama. I’d rather not.”

Not for him

—

You aren’t mean

You’re simply

~low energy~

Liking people requires effort

And you’re not here for that

Well

Almost 😅

…

“[yyy/nnn]-chaaan!”

You smile so naturally, so fondly

As his voice rushes to you

“Zeni-chan!”

You turn around

“Are you kidding me…” Sanemi grunts under his breath

Only moments ago you were blatantly ignoring his failures attempts to invite you to spar with him

Mind you

Sanemi likes you as much as you like him

Not much

But you’re, unfortunately, an okay sparring opponent

So 🙄

Man just wants to get good

“Why are you talking to hiiiiim?” Zenitsu points anxiously at Sanemi

Zenitsu’s chill with scars

Scars are cool

But Sanemi? The man himself?

Sanemi is so scary

“I’m not,” you shrug

Sanemi’s mouth hangs open

Like, wtf?

How does cheddar boi get your attention so easily ??

“Oh!” Zenitsu grins

“What can I do for ya?” you reach for his hand

P.S. Sanemi’s totally seething as y’all just saunter away from him #loveydoveyshit

P.P.S. Sanemi forgets that y’all are a thing

P.P.P.S. Because it’s boggling for Sanemi to imagine you being pleasant to anyone

P.P.P.P.S. But then you do something terribly out of character like giggle and nudge your shoulder against cheddar boi

P.P.P.P.P.S. And cheddar boi fucking squeals and pinches your cheek and screams about how pretty you are

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And you just… giggle harder?

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Sanemi shudders 🤢

—

If Sanemi thinks that’s shudder worthy

Then he’s lucky he misses a majority of your time with Zenitsu

You’re sickeningly gentle with him

And he laps that shit UP 🤩

Whenever you’re together his hair be looking like y’all just fucked 🥵

But you’re simply fascinated

soft sunshine bounce

Happily combing your fingers through it

Scratching behind his ears juuust right

“Uhmf,” Zenitsu’s in heaven

“Aww Zeni-chan… so cute…” you coo

The number of afternoons you’ve spent just sitting in one spot?

Because he fell asleep with his head in your lap

Countless

Shinobu made the mistake once

Of inquiring about a leftover drool stain

On your pants

After one such afternoon of Zenitsu napping

Which, honestly, wouldn’t have bothered you

Except that Zenitsu was beside you

Clinging to you as an embarrassed whine escaped him

Your eyes narrowed

“Pardon, Kocho-sama?”

She walks into your trap, “That stain on your pants, [y/n]. Have you tried using lemon juice or white vinegar to remove it?”

“I have not, nor do I plan on it. If you have a problem with Zenitsu’s saliva, then you should keep it to yourself.”

Zenitsu whines louder, face redder than an Akane apple

Okay maaaybe you just unintentionally threw him under the bus carriage

😬

You’ll apologize profusely asap 🥺

Shinobu lets out a little gasp

“Oh that’s my bad Agatsuma-kun. I have no problem with your saliva. I’ll just…” be on my way now

Shinobu doesn’t stick around to finish her sentence

You immediately hug yourself to Zenitsu, mumbling frantically

“I’m so so sorry Zeni-chan I don’t know what came over me!”

His arms tighten around your hips, his fluster dissipating quickly

“You’re so amazing [y/n]-chan! You look out for me and defend me and are so gorgeous inside and out.”

You sniffle, burrowing your nose further into his chest

“Even when I’m looking out for your drool?”

He beams adoringly, “Especially when you’re looking out for my drool! Nobody else would think to do that for me.”

You chuckle shyly, still inwardly reprimanding yourself

“If you say so Zeni-chan.”

If Inosuke’s a bit ✨rough around the edges✨

Then you’re that one kitchen knife that everyone thinks is reasonably dull

Only to cut themselves on it doing some menial task like slicing cucumbers

You appear friendly enough

Standing next to Inosuke helps

I mean, boar head vs normal head?

But man oh me oh my

Your patience for nonsense?

🚫 the limit does not exist 🚫

Except, it does

And it’s extremely, extremely

Low

And like

Just think about it

Does a single Hashira, let alone Zenitsu, although maaaybe Tanjirou, come to mind who isn’t full of some type of nonsense ??

Gyomei cries wolf

Obanai’s attitude ticks you off

Mitsuri fawns far too frequently

You tolerate Shinobu because

Well

She do be healing you when you get fucked up

But Kyojuro is just unbearably nice

—sobs I love him so much 😤

While Sanemi’s unnecessarily abrasive before you even flip your shit on him

Muichiro gets on your nerves bc

It’s impossible to hold a conversation with him

Giyuu’s haori sparks your interest

The rest of him?

Not so much

And Tengen?

You’re all for flashy or flamboyant

But ffs you canNOT handle both 😐

You figure

You’re not exactly anyone’s favorite either

Although

It’s less so that you’re annoying to others

And more so that they become annoying to you first

—Except for Sanemi

—The annoyance is mutual

So

Considering your sky high standards

The fact that Inosuke never irritates you

Isn’t a fact

He always irritates you

The difference?

Idk

That he’s upfront about it?

Man knows he pushes your buttons 1,452 times a day

Sometimes it feels like he’s keeping track

And going for the record

Every

Fucking

Day

And somehow

It endears you

You look forward to his nonsense

To your stomach twisting from laughing too hard 

And getting to break up

The fights that he starts

Tsk tsk ing when you spy

A new bruise

Scrape

Cut

He’s the only person

Who asks, “How ya doing?” and “Feeling okay today [y/n]?”

Although, to be more accurate

He’s the only person you ever feel like actually answering

“Inosuke,” you poke his bare shoulder

You 💖 poking him

Those meaty shoulders 😌

“[y/n].”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can I ask you something?!?!”

You glare

He glares back, “Do ya like me?”

“That’s your question?”

“You never tell anybody how you’re doing, how you’re feeling,” his smugness rn 

GAH

“‘Cept me.” 😇

You’re not caught completely unaware

Because

For the past couple days weeks months

You’ve lowkey been dropping hints

—So there may have been

A ~recent evening

In which Inosuke barged into your room

Like

Had to go get tools and come back and spend 20 minutes getting your door to stay in its place

Barging in

Because he’d shopped in town that morning

And was finally ready to drink and settle in for the night

This sake that Tengen yapped and yapped about

And it occurred to him

That he’d never seen you tipsy

Drunk

Wasted

None of the spectrum

So

Why not tonight?!

“You wreck my door then assume I want to drink sake with you?” you’d crossed your arms

“Yup.”

Resigned to your fate, you’d ushered him in, gesturing to the floor, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Wait-” you’d sighed, “I appreciate that you’re at least properly dressed, but the boar head comes off.”

Real talk

Inosuke was shocked you’d even let him return to fix your door

So boar head came off

“[yyy/nnn]-chaaan,” amusingly, his gruff tone turned sing-songy when he was tipsy

“Mm?”

“Why’d’ya put up with me?”

You’d stared at him carefully, noting the subtle flush and dampness of his skin, eyes glistening brightly, “Why did you offer me sake and then drink most of it?”

He’d guffawed, paying more attention to the playful curve of your mouth than the words coming out of it

“[yyy/nnn]-chaaan,” he’d tried again, “Why’d’ya put up with me?”

“Because you fill me with joy.”

Your response had startled you

To his credit

He’d just

Smiled

At you

“M’sleeping here. On floor.”

You’d raised an eyebrow

“What if I forget you’re here in the morning and step on you?”

He’d opened an eye at you from his sprawled position, “You want me here in the morning?”

“Go to sleep,” your voice had retorted

If he hadn’t dranken most of the sake

Then he might’ve heard the wobble in your throat

…

If he’d woken up with a pillow under his head

Yours noticeably missing

His boar head set thoughtfully

On your windowsill

A blanket tucked warmly at his feet and spread over him

Then he’d never mentioned it

—

“Can I ask about the consequences?”

“Ah, what’s the fun in that?” Inosuke grumbles

“Heartache is not fun,” you mutter

“Heartache from liking me or not liking me?”

“That depends on whether you like me smartass,” you are calm, you are steady

“Nuh uh. If you like me and I don’t, heartache. But if ya don’t like me and I do, or if you like me and I like you, then your heart’ll be fine.”

“Since when do you speak like a wiseass?” 🤨

“I think you like me,” he nods confidently

Big sigh

You give in 😮‍💨

To his brash humored

Boar headed

Push-every-button-on-the-elevator

Persistence and affection

“Come to my room later?”

He yells triumphantly, fist pumping and spinning spinning spinning

“Not like that,” you hiss, “I just… I like taking care of you.”

Inosuke stops spinning

Puffs up his chest

“In that case, [y/n], could you get me some water?”

You snort, “Nope.”

“Please?” he pauses, “And, thank you?”

He has manners?! 🤯

But like

What did you expect? 🧐

This man totally believes he’s the shit 👑

Informing him straight up that you like taking care of him

Is just an invitation for him to take advantage

—”Thirsty?” Tanjirou waves at you as you stomp into the kitchen

“No.”

Small talk irks you

Which means

Tanjirou

Bless his little heart

Irks you

Often

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

“It’s for Inosuke.”

Tanjiou watches you leave

With a huge glass of water 

And leftover shrimp tempura

His nose crinkles

Little brain struggling to connect the dots

For Inosuke?!

This angel 🥲

Always tries

To help you

See the best in others

“Tan… I don’t want to,” you grumble

You’re sitting on his bed

Legs stretched out

As he tugs off

His sweaty kimono

—Does this seem a bit ooc bc like, darling Tanjirou stripping mindlessly in front of their partner w/o even blushing ??

—Well don’t worry

—I assure you he’s blushing

—Like, might actually be on 🔥 blushing

—But his discomfort is minor

—Compared to how radiantly you ogle him ☀️

—You hype this man up 24/7

—You can’t tell me he doesn’t highkey lowkey have a praise kink 

—Bc he totally does

—So yeah, darling Tanjirou strips in front of you

—Not all the way !! Yeesh !! Unless you’re about to have sex obvi

—And you get to cheer him on

—Abs, abs, abs !!

He looks at you sternly

You pout

Quickly rearranges his face

To something more neutral

Because your pout game is 💪🥇

He’s cautious, “But dear... I know how much you love udon, and it’s been a while since we’ve gone out.”

You scowl

He winces

“Tan. I don’t like going out.” Sigh

“And don’t call me dear.” 😓

“It makes me feel old.” 😭

“But I love when you call me sweetheart,” you throw the poor guy a bone

“Sweetheart,” he smiles in spite of himself, “What’s really going on here?”

—You also can’t tell me

—He doesn’t read you like a book

“You didn’t eat the lunch I made you.”

He blinks

Pardon?

“I spent an absurd amount of time preparing it for you,” you huff, “I even asked Aoi-san for tips on getting the rice perfect.”

You generally avoid Aoi

Too bossy

“And you didn’t eat it,” you frown, “But oh let’s join Zenitsu and Inosuke for udon [y/n] even though you know I can’t tolerate them through an entire meal.”

Tanjirou’s crestfallen expression softens your frustration

He’s always trying

Trying so hard to include you, to introduce you

Not that you don’t know everyone

It’s just

They don’t know you

—They’ve never met the [y/n]

Who puts a pair of socks

Outside when it’s sunny

Rushing to find Tanjirou

Once they’re nice and toasty

Giggling as you get him

To sit down and take a break and enjoy the sunshine

Revealing the pair of socks

Insisting that you put them on for him

Clapping gleefully when he hums contentedly

“I always forget about how sore my feet are. Where would they be without you sweetheart?”

—Or the [y/n] who

Gently raps on his door

No matter that it’s hours after you

Should both be asleep

Because you just know

When he’s lying awake

Unwillingly replaying

The pooling of blood

And stench of he was too late

Beneath his loved ones

Unwilling to cry

Only able to

Clutch at his chest

With rough fingers

Until he hears your tap tap tap

“Tan, may I come in?”

He never says yes

Never says no

But he’s always grateful

For the quiet reassurance of your footsteps

Crossing the threshold from the hallway

Into his room

His body dipping toward you

As your weight sinks into his bed

Grounding scents of sleepy concern adoration

Wrapping him as tenderly as your arms

Kisses pressed soothingly along his shoulder blades

Red thawing to the

Familiar darkness of his room

Of his room with you in it

He is in his room

You are safe

Holding him

Already unconscious again

He is not too late

…

“I’m sorry Tan. I’m being petty. You’re so thoughtful. I do like udon,” you murmur

He shakes his head, slipping on a clean kimono

Opens his arms wordlessly

You scoot off his bed

And settle yourself against him

“Let’s eat udon tonight, Tan. I want to. I promise. With Zenitsu and Inosuke.”

“And I promise I ate the lunch you made for me,” he rests his hands on the small of your back. “It was so delicious I went to the kitchen for seconds,” he chuckles, “But then I got distracted and didn’t finish them.”

Your eyes widen

He had gotten distracted because you’d surprise tackled him

Ehh

Not exactly surprised

He’d smelled your excitement behind him

And had happily accepted your tackle

“You promise, promise?”

Tanjirou touches his lips to your forehead as the faint unease in your scent finally fades, “I promise, promise sweetheart. You’re wonderful.”

“You too Tan, you too…”

You snuggle deeper into him

“Love you Tan.”

“Love you more.”

[kkrazy256]

hhhh terraaaaa angsty convo prompt #13 for rem? 🙃

"I keep fighting, but I don't know what for." -Sabine and Remedy 

Hiiii Leo mwah. Thank you for inspiring me to finally work on my Sabine meeting Remedy piece. Sorry that it’s a bit long. Sabine is around 13-14 here. 

Of Hair Dyes and Dolls [on Ao3]

Characters: Clone Medic Remedy and Sabine Wren

/

The first time they meet, she doesn’t see his face. 

She’s on the run, feet moving her down alleys and in-between shop stalls randomly before her brain can even comprehend the reason. 

All she can hear is the clattering of plastoid and shouts of orders in the distance. She’s not sure if they’re really there or if she’s simply imagining it. 

Because it’s all background noise to the same three words running through her mind.

She left me. She left me. Ketsu left me. 

She needs a place to lie low until the patrols stop looking. Their ship is no longer an option. It’s likely long gone,along with the medical supplies. Along with Ketsu. 

She left me.

But Ketsu didn’t leave her with nothing.

She starts looking along the walls of her surroundings. She remembers the system. A galactic universal one, according to Ketsu. Something that all medics do when they settle down in a new city. 

The black market and the underground doctor. The first two things any bounty hunter worth their salt knows to look for on a new hunting ground. 

Her vision is starting to spin when she finally spots one. A small symbol, etched between the bricks behind a market. She touches it, a shuddered breath escaping her bruised lungs. 

When she moves again, the symbol is soaked in red. 

Her arm hurts, a lot. And so does her back. She doesn’t know the full extent of damage, but that won’t matter if she can’t find what she’s looking for soon. 

Now that she’s found one, the others are easier to spot. There are traps; symbols carved to look just slightly off to indicate a dead end path. She squints at each one, marking it with her blood to know which ones she’s already followed. 

She hopes she’s going the right way. 

Eventually the symbols beckon her down towards the riverside, down a pair of stone steps and under a bridge. It echoes every plip of blood that drips down her arm, loud and mocking. Hold on. Just hold on. 

She stumbles upon an enclave of closely built homes and finally spots it. 

A small crevice in a wall, a larger version of the symbol scratched into the stone. This is the one. 

She tries to knock, but her legs fold and her entire body slams against the door instead. 

The world is already going dark by the time the door swings open to drop her in. 

So the first time they meet, she doesn’t see his face. 

/

She wakes up on a cot. Her armor, blaster and knives are on the stool next to her. 

She sits up, reaching for them. She can only move one arm, the one one is placed in a sling. Everything hurts.

“It’s going to cost extra if I have to set your ribs again.” 

The voice is somewhat familiar, but she can’t place it. Her hand stops, and she turns her head to regard the doctor. 

The first thing that catches her eye is the red hair. Long and curly, pulled into a loose braid that hangs low against the back of his white lab coat. The longer she stares, the more grey, white, and black strands she sees. The dye job is old and fading. The scars on his face are old, stretched across wrinkled brown skin. The lines under his dark eyes are from both exhaustion and age. The glasses reflect the yellow lamp light back at her face.

“And wouldn’t you just love that, old man?” She squints away from the light. 

The doctor snorts, turning back to what he was working on at his desk, “doesn’t seem like you have the credit to test that, kid.” 

She stiffen and fights through the pain to grab her helmet. 

She didn’t think he rummaged through her belongings so he’s bluffing. But he’s also right. Almost all her savings had been back on the ship, so they’re Ketsu’s now. 

Her grip tightens. 

She only carries enough for a meal or two. Anything more would sting if pickpocketed or lost in a fight. Certainly not enough to pay for a medical visit, even one with an underground doctor.

She looks over her stuff again. She needs her blaster and knives. And she’d die before she gives up the beskar, even if a single piece would pay for her fees at least hundred times over. 

“I wasn’t kidding about the ribs.” The familiar voice says again, “you should get some more rest. We can talk the price later.” 

He continues tinkering in silence and she scowls. As if she’d fall back asleep now that she knows that he knows she doesn’t have enough money. Last thing she needs is waking up to all her stuff gone. Trust no one. The lump in her throat grows. Not anymore. 

She lies back down with a huff, pulling her helmet as close as she can without it hurting. No, she’s going to keep a vigilant watch over the doctor to make sure he’s not going to pull something funny. Her blaster glints in the light, and she considers it while staring at the doctor’s back. 

He doesn’t turn once in the next hour. So, she doesn’t move. 

/

“Hello.”

“Hi.” 

The voices jolt her awake, kriff she had fallen asleep, and she bites down the groan of pain to look at the scene before her. 

There’s a Mikkian child standing besides the doctor, watching him rummage through a cabinet. 

“Are you here for your mother’s prescription?” 

“Mhm!” The Mikkian nods, their tendrils flicker in the air with a warm green glow. 

“Alright, thought so.” His voice still holds that dry tone, yet it is somewhat softer, “how has she been? Skin still flaking?” 

The child shakes their head, “I’ve been fetching water a lot.” 

The doctor hums, “that’s good. Tell her to keep up with the medicine. Next week, she can come for a progress checkup. Ah, here we are.” He pulls out a small box from the top drawer, nodding after checking the label. 

The Mikkian reaches for two credits out of their pocket. They hold it out, and the doctor takes only one. 

“No, it’s two!” The child argues, chest puffing out, “I made sure and counted.” 

“That is true. But this medicine has two parts.”

“Two?” 

“Your mother should have something tasty with the medicine. Have you had dinner yet?” 

The Mikkian shuffles their foot against the floor, “...no.” 

“...lunch?” 

A head shake. 

“Is there a favorite meal you and your mother both enjoy?”

The child nods quietly, a small smile on their face.

“Good, use the second credit to buy it then. Think of it as step two of her medicine.” The doctor wraps the box up at his desk. She watches him place something small on top of the package before handing it to the Mikkian.

The child zeroes in on it immediately. They pick it up with wide eyes, and she has to squint to see it.

“It’s me!” The kid shouts, holding it up to the air. It’s a wooden doll of some sort, tiny enough that it looks small even in the child’s hands. It’s painted the same color as them. 

“It’s for you. You’ve been doing a good job of getting her medicine every week.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Alright, now run along. You don’t want to make her worry.” 

They start walking towards her. She goes slack, closing her eyes and evening out her breaths.

She feels the kid stop next to her, their eyes staring intently.

“Who are they?” Their voice is quiet.

“A new patient. They showed up yesterday.” 

“They’re hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” 

The doctor is quiet for a moment, and she can feel his gaze.

“In a lot of places, I think.”

“...You’ll help them, won’t you?”   

.

“I’ll do my best.” 

/

She sleeps a lot during the first few days. Every time she wakes, there’s either a glass of water or a bowl of broth waiting on the chair. 

She tries not to think too much about how much each ‘meal’ would add to her bill. The faster she heals, the faster she can get out of here. Ketsu is long gone. All she can see in her dreams is her retreating back amidst the smoke and pain. 

…

Surely by now, the patrols looking for them have ceased. 

The doctor doesn’t make conversation when he checks her wounds every so often. He only asks her if anything hurts. She answers curtly. The bite from the first day is gone. 

She’s just tired. 

The doctor gets a handful more patients over the next week. Most are bounty hunters like her. They stop by to get a quick dressing for a blaster wound or a dose of painkillers before moving on. 

None of them spare her more than a glance, choosing to focus on the rhythmic clenching of their fists as the doctor stitches their wounds in silence. 

They all have money to pay. 

The rain comes and goes, and she spends most of her days looking out the small window next to her cot. It’s a coastal town that serves as a mineral mining operation for the Empire. She can smell the salt in the travelling breeze. 

By the second week, she can stand and bend without losing breath. The sling is off, and she can at least lift her arm and squeeze her hand into a fist. The little clinic is more of a shack than anything special, and she’s starting to feel trapped. 

The first time she leaves the clinic, it’s to take a quick check of her surroundings. The doctor had left ten minutes ago without saying where to. Usually that means he’s going on a supply or food run. That’s usually how Ketsu did things. 

It rains lightly, and she watches children run around the streets, stomping on puddles with little feet. Their parents watch over them while chatting amongst themselves, staying dry beneath tarps pitched outside their homes.  

She finds it strange that the doctor would set up his clinic in this enclave. The bounty hunters come and go every so often, but the people here don’t look scared, and in turn the bounty hunters give them space. Both civilian and otherwise come to the clinic, and the doctor treats them all the same. 

In that regard, it does all make sense, she supposes. 

He comes back holding boxes, silently watching her dance around puddles with all the children. 

It continues to rain.

/

She needs to leave, she keeps telling herself. Her wounds aren’t healed enough for her to confidently take on any jobs. And everything’s different now. Working while injured. Working solo, for the first time. Without Ketsu. 

She wonders if she could steal some of the doctor’s supplies, sell them, and then give the money back to him. Medics alway know other medics. Would he pass along her swindle to the next few outposts in the sector?

She needs to leave. 

Solo. Without Ketsu. 

She goes out more often now, yet he never seems to care or mind. She starts memorizing the patrol routes of the troopers. She gets a record of the ship logs at the nearest port. Theoretically, she could just walk and never come back. 

There’s stew on the stove when she returns, soaked and shivering. 

He hands her a bowl and a towel without a word, then returns to his desk to work. She sits next to him in fresh clothes with towel-dried hair. She eats and watches him whittle away blocks of wood into more little dolls. 

She wakes up drooling on the desk with a blanket tossed over her shoulders. 

She needs to leave. 

/

He catches her stealing a box of bacta patches from his medical cabinet. 

One minute she’s holding the box, the next the nerves on her good arm flare up and she’s dropping the box into his arms with a hiss. For an old man, he moves fast.

“What the hell?” She swears, rubbing her forearm. The pinch of pain disappears almost immediately, and she stares. 

“Bet they don’t teach that one in the Academy.” He chuckles as he places the box back on it’s original shelf. 

When he turns back, it’s to a blaster pressed against his chest. 

“You know.” She’s glad her voice is steady because nothing else feels like it is. Her finger is over the trigger, “you know I’m from the Academy.” 

She wonders if he’s tipped off the Imperials yet. If they are all just biding their time until she drops her guard and they rush in. She wonders if her mother would lead the raid. If she even cared enough to be a part of it. 

The doctor doesn’t flinch, he just regards her with the same silent consideration he’s had for her since the day she stumbled into his clinic. 

“You were one of the early generation of cadets, right?” He says instead, leaning away from the blaster. She doesn’t falter, keeping it leveled at him as he walks back towards his desk. 

“Not the first few, you’re too young for that.” He looks through a side drawer, “You hold yourself similar to them though. The ones who must’ve trained all the cadets in the early days.” 

“Stop stalling.” She hisses, pressing the blaster against his back, “why haven’t you contacted them yet?” 

He turns again, slowly sliding something across his desk, “because, believe it or not, I don’t think I’ll be getting a reward for turning you in.”

She spares the piece of flimsi a quick glance. It’s old, half covered in graffiti and torn at the edges. There’s a picture of the doctor. He’s a lot younger, his hair a vibrant red compared to the current dull mix of shades. 

Wanted: CT-8847

For the Treason of Desertion Against the Empire. 

7000 Credits if Found Dead or Alive

Contact CC-4477 at xxx-xxx 

“Wasn’t worth much back then, considering they had more pressing matters to worry about.” He shrugs, “and eventually the posters stopped going up. No one cared anymore.” 

She wonders if with time, her own wanted bulletins will disappear too. Because no one will care anymore. 

“You’re a clone.” She swallows roughly. Because suddenly it all makes sense. The familiar voice and face. She remembers it from her earliest Imperial days. The first founding years of the Imperial Academy used clones as their physical fitness and combat trainers. 

By the time she was old enough to actually train, there were less. Most of her trainers had been former students who learned from the clones. The only clones she would see were old mentors or troopers on the path of retirement. She would only see them helmetless in the mess hall. No one ever approached them to share a meal. 

And in the later years, there were no clone troopers at all. The Empire had discarded them without pay or assistance, into the streets like trash. She’d ended up seeing more clones in her past year of bounty hunting than in the Academy itself. 

They all held that hollow look in their eyes, as if they no longer knew what their purpose was. Because if they can no longer do what the Empire wants of them, then they aren’t worth anything. She’s heard those words enough times. 

She’s scared to look in the mirror, lest those same eyes stare back.

CT-8847 is different. He’s tired, but in a way that isn’t dead. 

Somewhere, somehow, he had found purpose. 

She needs to leave. 

Her hand on the blaster shakes and when he reaches to take it from her, she lets him. He places it on the table, and she drops to the ground with a stifled sob. He lowers himself down to sit next to her, rubbing circles on her back as she shudders through each breath. 

She has to find hers. 

/

She drops the pouch of credits on his desk, careful to avoid the scalpels. 

He still shoots her an annoyed glare, but he sets down the miniature he’s working on, “what’s this?”

“My bill.” She picks up one of the wooden dolls, turning it over between her fingers while he looks through the pouch. She had worked for it legitimately. By herself. Without Ketsu. 

He pours out half onto his desk before tossing the bag at her.

“Hey-”

“That’s more than enough.” 

“I don’t want to owe debts.” She crosses her arms.

“And I’m telling you, you don’t owe any. You could’ve left the first week, and I wouldn’t have sent anyone after you.” 

She taps her foot, chewing her lip, “you know, if you keep doing this, it’s not sustainable. No wonder you work out of a shack.”

“It’s never been about the money, kid.” 

 She doesn’t ask what it’s about then. Somehow, she already knows. 

/

Monsoon season comes and the shitty location of his shack makes it prone to flash floods.

“Your place sucks.” She grouses as she heaves a bucket of water up and out the door. She watches the neighbors do the same. She can’t help giggling at the children proudly dumping little buckets of water out all over their own shoes with victorious roars, much to the chagrin of their parents. 

“Less talking, more working.” The doctor snaps, and she gives him a salute. 

Later, once the storm subsides, they both sit outside with the others in front of a big fire. The children roast sweets on sticks and the adults complain about the work that needs to be done to dry things off. 

The doctor sits with his leg propped up on a rock. He rolls up his pants leg and starts tinkering with the prosthetic knee attachment. No one bats an eye, so it’s not a surprise to those living here.

She tries not to stare.

“Salt water really rusts up the joints if I don’t check it over often.” He offers after a few minutes of work.

“Then why live here? It can’t be good for you.” 

“It’s…a temporary setup. I don’t usually stay in one place for long.” He answers softly, so his voice doesn’t travel beyond the two of them. 

She wrings her fingers, “do you have to go soon?” Am I holding you back? 

The screwdriver in his hand stops. 

“No…no, things are okay here.” 

“I’m not a kid, you know. I can take care of myself. I have enough saved up to leave.” She pokes the fire with a stick. 

“I won’t stop you.” 

She stops poking.

“But you are a kid. And it’s okay to not know what to do.” 

She stares long and hard at the fire, hoping the heat is enough to dry the wetness in her eyes.

“Did that happen during the war?” She asks instead.

The flames flicker and reflect off his glasses in jumpy patterns. 

“Yes.” Is all he says. 

She doesn’t ask anymore.

/ 

“Careful, they’re hot.” The doctor warns when she picks up the yam from the open grill. 

Monsoon season had ended and they are now stuck in an unbearable heatwave. She’s spent the months working job postings on the black market. She always gives the doctor half her pay as rent, and he always returns half of that. She thinks she might have enough saved to buy a modest ship at this point. It’s just a matter of when. 

It’s too warm to cook indoors, so they have opted to set up a small grill right outside the shack. 

“No it’s not.” She insists, even as she tosses the yam back and forth between both hands, muttering ‘ow ow ow’ under her breath. 

Her armor is safely tucked inside in a locker she calls her own. She sits in a light shirt, the top half of her flightsuit tied at her waist. The doctor’s not wearing his lab coat today and his long braid is wrapped into an elaborate bun.

“You know, you should redye it.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“I can see the whites from here, old man.” 

“I’ve always had some white hair, kid. A genetic variation.” 

“You’re no fun.” She groans, picking at the steaming hot yam’s skin with her nails. 

“You know,” she continues after a moment, “I’ve always wanted to dye my hair. It was against protocol at the Academy.” She blows a sweaty strand of black hair away from her eyes, “We should dye each other’s hair.” 

“Absolutely not.” He shoots down the suggestion immediately.

“Whyy?” 

“You would pick an abhorrent color.” 

“Blue is NOT abhorrent. And OH, like I could do worse than red?” 

Before he could retort, the enclave lights up. The Imperial Propaganda holoscreen had been mostly silent in the past few months beyond the routine announcements. 

This one isn’t pre-recorded. 

She straightens when an image of Mandalore flashes across the screen before settling on what appears to be an Imperial press conference. The speaker is surrounded by Saxon’s sector, armor gleaming whiter than those of the stormtroopers. 

They speak of an uprising on her homeworld, which was apparently squashed quickly by the Super Commandos. It’s an award ceremony and a warning to other growing rebellions. One by one, the Commandos line up, removing their helmet to accept their medals. She looks away from the screen, picking at her yam. 

Tristan Wren. 

The speaker announces and she drops her food. 

Her younger brother has grown in the past few months. She can see the hard set of his jaw through the static of the screen. He looks so much smaller than the rest. He doesn’t belong up there. Why is he up there? 

Who forced him to be there? 

The ceremony comes to a close and Saxon takes the stand. He speaks and she can’t hear him. All she can focus on is Tristan. 

“The swiftness of our response would not have been possible without our renewed alliance with Clan Wren.” 

No…

She hears the Countess speak next, and can’t bring herself to look up. 

We are committed to the Empire’s will to unite the galaxy. Of course, we are honored to have House Vizsla’s support and guidance. We will double down on our efforts to capture our wayward daughter, Sabine and return the work she has stolen. 

The holo picks up the applauses as her mother finishes her speech. She feels sick. 

“One…two…three…easy. Easy, just follow my pace and breathe.” She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until the doctor’s familiar voice grounds her. 

“Why would she say that.” She hiccups through her tears, and she hates it. She hates how small she sounds. 

“Kid-”

“I’m not a kid!” She lets out another stuttered sob, she hates it so much. She had felt nothing but peace when she pressed the button, watching the Duchess, her life’s work, explode into pieces, burning away the blueprints with it. 

Because it was over. It had to be over, right? Surely her mother and father would see reason after that. They would hold out their arms and welcome her. They would hug her, just like when she was little. 

That didn’t happen. 

"I keep fighting, but I don't know what for." She wipes her nose with her arm, feeling the snot smear but she doesn’t care. Why is her brother up there, why is her mother up there? Why is she here? 

The doctor doesn’t speak, and she focuses on calming her breath in the sudden respite. The propaganda screen had faded, and everything is quiet again. 

The doctor reaches for the extra yam on the grill.

“I don’t know. I fought a war for three years and never knew the answer to that question.” He talks, carefully peeling away the skin with more grace than she had. 

“When I left, I didn’t know the answer either. I didn’t have my brothers anymore. And without my brothers, I was nothing. I didn’t know what I had to do. 

The Empire meant nothing to me. I didn’t care about it, I didn’t care about fighting it. I just…didn’t care.” 

He blows the steam away from the yam, the corners of his eyes crinkling as a small smile spreads across his face. It’s not a happy smile. It just looks tired and sad. 

“I can’t tell you what to fight for. Because I still don’t know what I’m doing it for.” He holds out the yam to her, “but the fact that I’m still here and you’re here…well, it has to count for something, right kid?”  

She takes the yam, biting into it. It’s soft but not burning her tongue like the first one. Her nose is stuffed and she can’t quite taste anything beyond a muted sweetness.

It’s still the best yam she’s ever had.

The doctor tends the dying fire while she eats.

“Sabine.” She says after a minute. 

He stops for a long second.

“Remedy.” He answers, before poking at the fire again.

It has to count for something. 

/

The next month passes pretty much like every other month.

Except he calls her Sabine. And she calls him Remedy.

She doesn’t ask about his past, and he doesn’t ask about hers.

But if either of them ever felt like sharing, they would listen. 

It has to count for something.

/

“They’re here!” Terem, the Mikkian child from that first day, rushes through the door of the clinic, breathing heavily. 

Sabine shoots up from her seat on her cot, dropping the mini-engine she had been trying to fix, “who?”

“Stormtroopers! Mom doesn’t know if it’s a routine patrol or if they had gotten a tip.” They rush over, pulling at Sabine’s arm, “you have to go, big sister!” 

“If you follow the canal, it should take you directly to the West Spaceport.” Remedy is already grabbing things left and right, voice sharp.

Sabine zips up her flightsuit, shoving on every piece of her armor and stuffing her weapon pouches back in place. 

“Remedy, no–” She protests when he shoves a heavy pouch into her hands. His other hand is busy scribbling something onto a piece of filmsi. 

“Take it, I’ve got enough.” He’s already rushing back to open the larger window towards the back of the shack. It opens towards the canal. 

She can hear the clattering of plastoid down the stone steps. She swings one leg over the ledge, looking back at the doctor. 

“Come with me. We can get a shuttle out of here together.” 

He shakes his head, “I’ll just slow you down. Old man, remember?”

“Remedy, please.” She suddenly feels so small again. 

“You’ll be fine. Here.” He presses the flimsi into her hand, “you don’t have to make a choice yet. But if you are ever looking for a reason to fight, call this comm frequency. It’ll get you in touch with good people.” 

“Remedy.” She pleads. 

She can hear the troopers shouting orders now. He shakes his head, giving her another one of those sad smiles. 

“Go, you’ll be fine. Ret'urcye mhi, ad’ika.” 

She bites down the sob, she’s not a kid. She’s not going to cry anymore. She leans down to knock her forehead against his, “Ret'urcye mhi, vor entye.”

She swings her other leg over and slips into the tunnels before anyone could notice. 

The ticketmaster at the West Spaceport doesn’t give her armor and face anything more than a cursory glance, “120 credits to get off-planet.” 

She digs into the hefty pouch, picking out the correct amount. 

One of the credits feel off. She pulls it free from the pile, rotating it between her fingers.

A wooden miniature. Professionally carved with the details of her armor. The top of the head is painted blue. 

Kriff off. She swallows down the watery smile, squeezing her hand tightly around the doll. 

“That’s not money, kid.” The ticketmaster is unimpressed. 

Sabine hands them the correct amount, before boarding the shuttle. 

The planet fades into the distance, and she watches the stars sparkle around her as the shuttle takes her into the unknown. 

She never lets go of the doll. 

/

Eventually, after another few months of bounty work, she does call the frequency. 

She talks to multiple people over the course of weeks. Eventually, she has a meeting set up with a possible recruiter. 

She waits at some remote spaceport on some planet in the Mid Rim. It’s relatively unbusy for a spaceport, and she rolls the doll between her gloved fingers. Most of the paint has rubbed off at this point, but she can’t bring herself to take a brush to it. 

The air shifts, and Sabine looks up as a ship lands on the platform. It looks like a modified VCX-100 light freighter, and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the choice.

The gangplank drops and she walks closer to meet it.

Two people walk off the ship, and she waits for them to come into full view. 

A green twi’lek in an orange flightsuit greets her first. The other one, a human male, hangs back, talking quietly with a droid and a Lasat that walk down the ramp next. 

She introduces herself as Hera, and they launch into an intense series of back and forth questions. Hera talks about her crew’s missions and goals. Sabine mentions her bounty hunting, and very briefly, her Imperial past. 

“Why do you fight, Sabine?” This question from Hera makes the words catch in her throat. She looks down at her hand.

“I don’t know anymore, Hera. To be honest, I’m still looking for my reason to. But…” She clenches her fist, “as long as it’s not for the Empire anymore, as long as it’s for myself…I know I’m on the right path.” 

Hera watches her silently, before accepting her answer with a nod. 

They speak a bit longer before Hera excuses herself to talk to her crew. She rolls the doll in her hands while she waits. 

Hera approaches her again, this time with the human male at her side. They exchange a look with one another before turning to Sabine, giving her a smile.

“Welcome to the Rebellion, Spectre-5.” 

/

Another year passes before she returns to that planet. The Ghost is making a pitstop for fuel, and Sabine volunteers to restock on medical supplies. 

She follows the symbols, even more faded than they were two years ago. 

They beckon her down towards the riverside, down the pair of stone steps and under the bridge.

The houses all look the same. The adults look the same. The children look a bit taller. She keeps to the shadows to avoid being seen. 

She reaches the shack and the door opens from a light push.

The clinic is empty. The layers of dust indicate that it’s been empty for quite some time. 

She runs her hand along the soot smear on the wall where she had accidentally detonated one of her experimental charges. The look on Remedy’s face had made her laugh until she almost threw up. 

Sabine leaves the shack, squatting down in front of the little crevice in the wall outside her old home. The medic symbol stares back at her. She reaches into one of her pouches, pulling out the little doll. She twirls it around her fingers one last time, leaning forward to press her lips against the top of the faded blue hair. 

She leaves it in the crevice, before standing and walking back to the Ghost. 

The Ghost takes off and she immediately regrets her decision. But it’s too late now. She peers out the viewport, fingers pressed against the glass. The planet is a mere dot in the distance.

Her chest hurts.

She picks up some wooden blocks on their next stop. Zeb gives her a questioning look, and she tells him it’s for a new art project.

The first few attempts are pathetic. Her sculpting is rough and uneven. She can’t get the lines to look the way she wants them to. 

“They look like rocks.” Zeb helpfully offers, picking one up off the kitchenette table. 

“Shut up.” She scowls, pointing the knife at him.

“Nooo pointing sharp objects at crewmates.” Hera warns as she passes by with a bowl of rations. 

Sabine groans, hunching over to see the tiny blasted thing better.

“And stop slouching!” 

Ugh. 

/

Eventually she does get better at it. The wooden rocks start looking more like people. She can’t exactly carve faces but the general head shape is apparent. And that’s good enough for her right now.

Sabine starts painting them. 

“That is not my shade.” Chopper pokes her, and she slaps him on the dome. 

Each member of the team gets one, and as much as they grumble about the inaccuracies, she sees them place them in their weapon pouches with care. Chopper shoves his in some compartment. 

And that has to count for something. 

/

She whittles more dolls when she’s not preoccupied with work and her other projects. Most of them end up being herself. She makes a new one everytime she updates her hair and armor colors. 

And every time they land at a new city, she searches the walls for the symbol. She ignores the ones that are slightly off and lead to dead end paths. She follows the ones that are correct until she finds a building with a little crevice in the wall that shows a larger medic symbol carved into it. 

Remedy is never the one that runs the clinic. She respectfully buys supplies to restock the Ghost’s medbay. 

She leaves a doll, always the most recently updated one of herself, in the crevice. 

/

“Hey, Sabine! You dropped something, it’s stuck in the wall!” 

“Leave it, Ezra.” 

“Oh hey, it’s a little doll of you. Did you make that?”

“I said leave it.” 

“Okay okay! Jeez, you don’t have to get mean about it.” Ezra grumbles, “I just thought it was cool.” 

The next week, she hands him one. It shows him holding a white lothcat. She had gotten better over the years.

Ezra beams and drops it into one of his pouches. 

/

And eventually, she reaches a crevice with her doll in hand and there is already one there. 

It’s taller than hers, but not by much. The skin is painted brown and there is a long red braid, spotted with white and grey. 

She leaves her doll and takes this one back to the Ghost. 

Later, when Ezra asks if she’s crying, she slugs him in the arm hard enough for him to whine to Hera. 

She’s smiling from ear to ear when she apologizes to him. 

/

She spots the braid of red, white and grey in the spaceport and is running before she can control herself.

“Remedy!” She skids to a stop when he perks up at his name and turns around. 

She stands there, not sure what to say. And evidently, neither does he.

It’s only been three years, yet he has aged so much. There are even more whites mixed into the red. The lines on his face are deeper, but his eyes are still the same. 

She’s relieved to see the purpose shining there. She can proudly say that hers are the same. 

“You’ve gotten taller, ad’ika.” He drawls out in that familiar voice of his, and she shakes her head with a laugh before launching herself at him for a hug. 

“And you’ve gotten even older, old man.” 

“Yes, that is how time works.” 

“Sabine…” Kanan’s voice rings behind her and she turns around to watch the rest of her crew catch up. Kanan’s expression is full of suspicion as he rakes his gaze over Remedy’s face. The age, scars and red hair make it hard to tell if he’s a clone, but Sabine can see his hand resting against his lightsaber for comfort. Everyone else is looking on with a mix of curiosity.

“Relax guys, let me introduce you. This is Rem, my ba'buir.”

/ 

“Grandfather? Really?” Remedy huffs later when they’re sitting in the kitchenette of the Ghost while the others are doing a supply run.

“What? It’s a good cover! And am I wrong?” 

“Please, I for sure can pass as your uncle.” 

“HAH, not with those white hairs you’re not.” 

“Touché, I guess I do need that dye job after all.” 

“Yes!” Sabine pumps her fist into the air in victory, “I’m very good at it now, I’ve got you covered.

“I can tell.” He hums, reaching into his satchel. He pulls out a handful of dolls, and she reaches for them with gentle hands.

She recognizes some of her first attempts, where it’s hard to tell what was hair and what was her face. There are a few newer ones in the mix as well. They all had different color hair. 

“But really, orange was a choice.” 

“Ugh, don’t even start. Zeb wouldn’t stop calling me Meiloorun Head that entire week.” 

He laughs a hearty laugh, and it makes her smile too. 

She reaches into her own pouch, dropping off the ones she’s collected. They were all beautifully carved, without much variation beyond some clothing changes. Remedy picks up one of them, rotating it between his fingers. 

“Always seemed to just miss you, kid.” 

“Yeah well, you’re here now.” 

“That has to count for something.”

“That has to count for something.” She agrees. 

“You found what you’re looking for? With them?” 

Sabine leans back in her seat, looking up at the walls of the Ghost. 

“Yeah…I think I have.” 

She looks at Remedy after another minute of reminiscing, realizing he had been staring that quiet considering stare.

“Good. I’m…” he pauses, as if unsure, “....happy. Yeah…I’m happy that you’ve found your home.” His smile isn’t sad this time. 

She leans against his shoulder, feeling warm.

“Thank you, ba'buir.” 

“Seriously, I’m not that old.” 

“Could’ve fooled me with that hair.” 

“Well, why don’t we fix that?” 

“Alright!” 

By sunset, the Ghost is fueled and ready for departure. Remedy waves them off with a soft smile, and he can see them waving back before the ship lifts off the platform and into the atmosphere. 

By the time night falls, he is on the next transport off the planet into the unknown. His own journey is no where near over yet.

Back on the planet, the universal medic symbol leads a winding path to an underground clinic. There sits a crevice in the wall, a large symbol etched into it. Inside it, sits two small wooden dolls.

One is wearing Mandalorian armor, painted in bright colors. The other one is larger, painted in a lab coat and glasses.

The Mandalorian’s hair is a vibrant bright red. The other sports a dark, rich purple braid. 

/

I hope you enjoyed! Rbs are appreciated. And you can also drop a kudo/comment on ao3 <3 

[imjustemo4genoyall]

@obsessiveshayme and I have been screaming this from the rooftops for Y E A R S now:

EVGENI VLADIMIROVICH MALKIN IS THE MOST DISRESPECTED PLAYER IN THE ENTIRE LEAGUE!!!!!

Everybody's so happy, ecstatic, that a deal was finally reached between Geno and Pens management and I... don't get it? The man was jerked around for months and everybody's acting like everything's peaches now? The very public disrespect of a generational talent just... suddenly means nothing? I completely understand wanting to see only the good in things, y'know? Like, I get that. Sports for most people, myself included, is supposed to be an escape from the bad in things. A source of light in the dark. But I feel like right now really isn't the time for that? Geno's whole career has been riddled with disrespect from all angles. Living in Sid's shadow automatically meant that nothing he could do would ever compare, regardless of how talented and skilled he is himself. The Pens record of 'Longest Active Playoff Appearance Streak' literally started the year Geno did, not Sid, and yet when it's discussed, usually the only praise given is to Sid. Sometimes both. But never just Geno himself. That's literally HIS accomplishment and no one ever acknowledges that. Mind you, this is in no way me saying that Sid is a non-factor in this streak. Of course he deserves shared custody of the praise for the streak in the general sense. But they do tend to credit this accomplishment soley to Sid and that's not fair because as far as the actual length of the streak is concerned, Geno is the one that has had this streak going his whole NHL career. Between things like that, the NHL Top 100 snub, the media and 'fans' constant disapproval, alllllllll of that has led up to this moment. It's what made Hextall and co. feel so comfortable dicking Geno around in the first place.

Until Sid stepped in, of course. Much like he did when GMJR was letting the trade rumors fly in regards to Geno and very much making it seem like he was more than willing to trade Geno for a bag of pucks. I can't remember if it was the '18-'19 or '19-'20 season (I'm leaning more towards the former because that was the season he was -25) but at 72 and 74 points respectively, neither season was even CLOSE to being his worst year. Y'all can argue the +/- stat amongst yourselves 'cause I will stand ten toes down on this all day, it was NOT his worst year. And everybody from GMJR to the media to the fans made it seem like he wasn't fit to even drive the zamboni. So much so to the point that Geno believed it. After everything was said and done he literally said he played terrible. Sid stepped in, said "It's me AND Geno." And that was that. No more trade rumors. The only difference between this time and last time is that Geno knew his worth this time around and finally had EFUCKINGNOUGH of the disrespect. Geno had every intention of walking and I don't blame him, not one single bit. Had they actually offered him the 4 years he wanted, it never would've have gotten this far. Because of course he wants to retire as a Penguin. But at the cost of his fucking dignity? I think the fuck not. All he was asking for was a fraction, a single fucking sliver of respect. But I guess, as per usual, if you're Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin that's simply asking for too fucking much.

And now everybody's literally rejoicing the fact that Sid is more respected than Geno when it comes to Geno's own career 🙃 Seriously, I'm all for optimism and positivity and all that jazz but Hextall and co. very blatantly had no intention of re-signing Geno. And we're... celebrating?

These are the stats of the man they weren't willing give 4 fucking years to???

And Sid had to intervene AGAIN before they'd even think about showing him a single modicum of respect???

AND WE'RE FUCKING CELEBRATING?!?!?!!!!

I... Look. I'm truly not telling anybody that they can't be happy about 4 more years of Pittsburgh Penguin Evgeni Malkin. We should absolutely all be happy about that. It's the jokes about how Sid had to step in to get it done. It's the celebrating the very fact that Sid had to swoop in and save the day. It's the using the disrespect from management towards Geno as the butt of the joke. Of course nobody's actually saying the complete disregard of a generational talent is funny. But underneath it all, that IS the unspoken butt of all the Savior Sid jokes. Nobody's talking about the MONTHS of bullshit Geno had to put up with to get here. This is by no means any sort of call out post or anything like that. If you made a post in celebration of SuperSid (affectionate but also definitely a little bit derogatory) I'm not trying to call you out and say you're wrong for that or that it's in any way malicious towards Geno. And please, don't ever stop trying to find the humor in things, truly. I'm really not trying to take away your joy. But basically, I'm just saying can we at least acknowledge that Geno deserved better throughout all this before we praise Sid? That Geno rightfully deserved a decent contract on his own merit and admit that it's pretty fucked up that Sid had to intervene at all in order for Geno to get anything? Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin was actually going to walk because he got so tired of being treated like this, can we at least take a moment to praise HIM for finally standing up for himself after all these years?

[just-eyris-things]

have 🙃, 💃, and 🏹 for Airell if you'd like! :D <3 @kerra-and-company

An lightly embarrassing secret, a skill/talent they prefer unknown, a skill/talent they wished to have.

Hopefully you will like this piece of writing .w.

~~~

You hurry inside the tavern, your cloak soaking wet from the downpour outside. The air inside is warm and kind of stiff, full of both local patreons and travellers. You look around as you pull off the hood, seeking a place to sit down and warm yourself, preferably by the fire. You notice a fireplace, but it is surrounded by a dense crowd that seeks warmth as well as the songs sang by a bard. You avert your gaze and start looking for a table with a free spot. You do not mind sitting alongside strangers, not that you have any choice anyway.

And then you see him. A man sitting alone at a table not too far from the fire, yet somehow hidden from the crowd that, just like you, sought to escape the stormy outside. You elbow your way towards the stranger and as you get close you see a weary sylvari sipping in ale, absently looking at...something. You clear your throat and ask him if you could join him. His gaze slowly averts from whatever he was looking at and settles on you. He eyes you from head to toe, and you feel shivers dance underneath your clothes. It's not a gaze of someone simply examining the stranger. It's a gaze of a predator eyeing a prey, deciding whether or not to hunt it. You gulp and start raising your hands in a defensive manner, ready to tell him you will find a different spot. But you hear his deep, raspy yet melodic voice saying that your company is welcome. You hesitantly sit opposite of him and raise your hand up to call a waitress and soon you order a drink and a warm meal. Then you look at the stranger. He is again absent mindedly looking in the distance.

"Is something there?" you ask quite loudly, yet you know that only he could hear you in the crowd.

"Memories," he says as he smiles faintly. You look at where his gaze is fixed and you finally see it, a big painting of a blonde woman with piercing green eyes. You know her, she is one of the two commanders, a dragon slayer, a god killer. You start wondering if he knows her. Well, everybody knows her! But maybe he...maybe he knows her better than common folk...

"Care to share?" You smile as you look back at him, hoping he will be so kind to indulge you. He chuckles and you can swear your heart has just skipped a beat.

"I loved once," the stranger says with a faint smile. "I wanted to give him the world. He asked me for a herb he himself could not cultivate, so I traversed the deepest depths of Maguuma, fought my way through saurians and remains of Mordremoth's army." To you he sounds amazing. Courageous man who loves with his all. You find yourself wishing it were you whom the man loves. But you know better than that. It is not you. It's that voice and that smile and those piercing eyes. You do not know who he is, but you want to hear the rest of the story of his courage. But then he chuckles again, but this time it's not a confident laugh, it is more of a laugh that one gives out as they face something funny.

"I fought so hard and got so far," he says, "but in the end it did not matter much. I fell onto the ground and found myself unable to move."

"Wh-what happened?!" You gasp.

"I tripped and fell in top of a plant that releases toxic fumes that paralyze whoever breathes them in or touches its leaves that are covered in slime-like texture."

You blink rapidly a few times. You did not expect THAT. This man with a face covered in scars, with muscular body hidden under his clothes, a man who survived a lot and knows how to handle himself... defeated by a mere PLANT?!

He laughs and it is obvious he laughs at your expression, at your eyes wide open and mouth agape. You shake your head, as if to shake the shock off.

"S-so... an unfortunate event..." you stutter and decide to change the subject. You just so happen to see a big greatsword by his side. "Is that yours?" You ask as you examine its root-like look, entangled in vines and glowing faint blue.

"Yes. I am least adept with a greatsword, that is why I use it."

"Oh?" You did not expect to hear that. "So what is your best weapon?" You ask and he smirks.

"I am a natural awakened archer. I don't really throw this info right and left," he says with this mischevious smirk that you just know so many people have fallen for. "Consider yourself both lucky and extraordinary now." Even though his words seem to be serious, you know he is actually joking. His tired face seems less scary now. You smile at him and find yourself chuckling.

"Is there anything you can't do?" you joke, "You look at someone who knows their ABCs."

He laughs and takes a huge sip of his drink, as if it truly was his liquid courage.

"I am a horrible painter and sculptor. I love music and I play a lot but I have always wanted to paint and sculpt... unlike archery, it does not come to me naturally at all. What a pity." He sighs as he looks down at his mug, as if he was pondering if it were half full of half empty. Then his gaze lands on you and you stopped breathing for a few seconds.

"I have humored you," he points out with a smirk. "Now it's your turn, stranger.