#taint the trooper

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory. 

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus. 

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…? 

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you. 

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way. 

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…” 

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips. 

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home. 

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts. 

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night. 

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8. 

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on. 

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it. 

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens. 

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?” 

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?” 

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.” 

“...What’s that?” 

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one. 

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through. 

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?” 

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh. 

“Why not?” 

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back. 

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it. 

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him. 

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him. 

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world. 

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?” 

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap. 

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being. 

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you. 

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain. 

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one. 

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.” 

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves. 

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground. 

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance. 

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe. 

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need. 

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. 

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one. 

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.” 

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt. 

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants. 

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size. 

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood. 

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back. 

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured… 

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose…. 

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart. 

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead. 

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.” 

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

[altocat]

I saw someone say they didn’t understand why Sephiroth would start reflecting on kindness while standing over the bodies of the Wutai fighters he just killed.

But I see tragedy in that. We see him kill because he is directly attacked but he is repeating what he learned about compassion to ground himself, then he goes on right away to save some troopers that Shinra is going to bomb.

I just see Shinra holding Sephiroth back at every chance. He’s in the war because they dispatched him there. He has to save his fellow soldiers because Shinra is willing to sacrifice them. He has to fight every chance to try to undo what Shinra does or make the best of the situations they put him in.

Yeah, it definitely reads as Sephiroth lamenting that he doesn't want the constant outcome of killing people on the battlefield when there's a better option. He kills them, yeah. But it's clear that he believes that if he pushes himself hard enough, he can at the very least preserve as many lives as he takes. That's why he defended his men to the point of physical exhaustion. I think Sephiroth is struggling against his position and is trying his best in his own little way to leave some room for defiance, at least in doing what he can to protect people.

The fact that he's a killing machine is tragic because he understands the value of life. In a way, his bonds with Glenn, Angeal, and Genesis have "tainted" him. He's not what Hojo designed him to be. And it kind of fucks him over in the end. He's quick to embrace his own humanity when its the shattering of that identity that ultimately breaks him. The fact that he's compassionate was meaningless because, in his mind, none of it mattered. He couldn't end the cycle of hatred like Glenn taught him. Glenn is dead. Angeal is dead. Genesis is gone. And the lives he took under Shinra were for a meaningless cause that he was CREATED to fight for.

And so he decides it's no longer worth it at all. He's just in it for himself and Jenova. That's the only cause he really has left to believe in. He goes from wanting to save lives/regret over taking them to ENJOYING the kill. Such a genuinely fucked up character progression.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴛᴇᴄʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ꜱʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ. ꜱʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ ʙʟᴀʙ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪɴ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱʏ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ, ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ (ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀ)ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ, ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀɪᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴇꜱʜᴇʀ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀᴅʜᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 2.4ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜱʜɪᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀꜱᴛ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍꜱ. ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ, ɪ ꜰɪʀᴍʟʏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴇᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʙʙ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴏɴ ʜɪᴀᴛᴜꜱ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍꜱ. ɪᴅᴋ ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏʀ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴅᴏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ :)

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

It’s suffocating.

Everything is too much, not stimulating enough, too little, too... everything. She's cradling herself like a baby, a whiny little kid, grasping herself, gripping it with sharp nails, leaving deep, deep marks all over her skin. The claustrophobic air cages her in, she is trapped, she is trying to escape, and now it taints her.

But maybe she’s just overreacting. That must be it. That’s why she feels stupid and silly. Like a little kid stomping their foot when they don't get their way. Being dramatic over little things. Just little things she's upset about; little, little, minuscule things that had piled up, slowly until it was too much. It's too much. It's all so much that she's so little, so small in her own arms pressed up against the `fresher wall, barely able to hold herself up with wobbly knees as she cries.

Silently. So so silently. 

She can’t be a burden. It would be insultingly rude, to put that responsibility of her happiness on the people letting her stay on their ship. Clone Force 99 is incredibly hospitable to her. Too kind. They gave her a cot and food, company and kindness in exchange for her expertise in medicine. She is an asset. She is useful. And when she isn't?

That, she can't be certain. Not everyone is the same, she knows that. But she won't risk it. Not when she's become attached to their little family. Hunter is always endlessly caring, even if she is closer to a stranger than family to him. Wrecker immediately took a liking to her, even if she did have a softer voice and disposition. It took Echo a little longer to warm up to her, but enough restless nights for the both of them to talk about their lives before joining the batch had brought the two as close as she was with the rest. And she simply adored Omega; from her curiosity and optimism, even to her brash stubbornness.

And Tech... she couldn't imagine a day not getting to see his face, hear him talk about anything and everything he has learned and studied. His voice was another form of remedy. Perhaps it might help with this frustration... 

Knowing all of this, she won't take a chance at losing it. She wants to stay somewhere, for once. She's not going to kriff it up this time. 

She tries to bottle it up. She sniffles once, twice, before grabbing a dry towel and dabbing it in water, softly wiping away at her tears in the mirror until her reddened cheeks blend nicely with the rest of her complexion. Once she feels fully satisfied with the way she looks, she blinks away any remaining water droplets that litter her eyelashes like raindrops on leaves and tries her best to smile in the mirror. 

Everything is okay, she thinks. It’ll be fine.

She’s still relieved, however, that most of the batch isn’t currently on the ship. Usually, she would have gone off to Cid's and maybe grab a drink before listening, as always, to what the smart little trooper had to say. Hunter has caught on and began leaving the two in their strange, dorky little bubble tucked into a little booth, her open ears and his excited chatter.

Today, the only person who didn't go back to Cid's (or to chomp on Mantell Mix) is her and Tech, who works on damage inflicted on the outside of the Marauder. They've just got back from a rather chaotic attempt to retrieve some goods from a back-alley planet Cid sent them to. Wrecker was able to secure the crates, but not without a gang of pirates firing old-fashioned arrows in his direction until they tore at the exterior and into the inner mechanics of the ship. And as usual, Tech insisted to stay back and fix it all by himself (You all could have the rest, he said).

She wouldn’t say she was most particularly fond of Tech, but that would be a bald-faced lie; she loved all of the boys like they were her brothers. Though, perhaps with him it is different. Just perhaps. Perhaps, right? Unless it was more- kriff, it probably is.

Especially ever since she saw him without his goggles for the first time; she was able to see that hue of brown that colored his eyes so well. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning as he went to clean them, and he hadn’t even noticed her ogling eyes from a few feet away. Omega certainly did. And asked her about it the next chance she got. 

“Do you like Tech?” 

When she didn't respond, she only kept nagging.

"You do like Tech, don't you?"

"That's why you like to look at him so much, right?"

Yeah. She loves the kid, but her endless questions did end up getting to her. So Omega might have given her a cheeky look when she said she was going to stay back as well. Oh, if that was the only reason she had decided not to come along with the rest.

But it all leads to right now, admiring him from afar while leaning against the open ramp. It takes him a moment to notice, still very focused on the task at hand, on his knees in front of an open panel and he quickly turns, blinking rapidly in succession and in surprise. 

“Oh-” He begins, before quickly clearing his throat and continuing, acting less shocked than before. He adds her name quickly in before, and treads so lightly on it too, as if he was unsure if he was allowed to call her by that. “Hello. I forgot you stayed back.”

She chuckles lightly and walks closer to where he worked, watching his clever and dexterous fingers move swiftly. 

“So I’m that quiet?”

He shrugs.

“You can be swift when it requires you to be,” He observes, finally looking up into her eyes. The look he gives her, one of full undivided attention, makes her heart miss a couple of notes on the staff. He continues without noticing her hitched breath. “But I wouldn’t say you are… quiet .”

She grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes are still heavy with the remnants of her tears. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, leaning back onto the Marauder and sighing, her eyes fluttering close. She tries to relax, really does, but it's hard to when Tech was right there. He still watches her and stills completely, as if he was trying to pinpoint the exact feeling on her face. “Do you mind if I just sit here?” She finally asks, eyes still closed.

With that, Tech blinks again, quickly composing himself and looking away once she opens her eyes again to appear as though he hasn’t been staring at her. He nods.

“Of course.”

She hums sweetly like a hummingbird in response and tries to get more comfortable, slowly sliding down until her bottom promptly hits the floor and she is level with his crotch, as he still kneels to gain access to the inside of the ship. And she watches for just a little, the only noise filling their bubble the noise of fuses and bolts twisting and loosening, the occasional clang of two pieces of metal here and there, even a long strenuous creak from the larger panel dismantled. He doesn't talk. She doesn't talk.

It might be quite boring in any other situation, one where she isn't feeling so helplessly overworked and burned out, or in general to any other person in her shoes, but it feels so calming just to watch. To observe and not have to react. Just be without any strings attached. His presence is calming. It’s fascinating. When she just watches him, it is uncomplicated. It is simple and it is good.

Though it isn’t enough. Something in her itches. She thinks it is physical, and she readjusts her seating position a few times, and fumbles, but it doesn’t seem to work exactly. Tech turns to her. 

“Are you comfortable?” He asks.

She nods.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about,” She reassures him, and he nods accordingly. 

“Good. If you need anything, please let me know,” He finishes before going back to his work. And when the talking stops completely, replaced with the crackling sounds of fizzling electricity, she realizes what feels off about the moment. 

“Tech?” She starts shaky, gazing up at him slightly worried. Tech stops completely; his hands drop and he tilts his head. He lifts up his visor to look at her better, and the simple act makes her bite back a grin. “Would you tell me something?” 

At first, he just stands there, confused. His head tilts even further and makes sure to confirm.

“You, want me to talk?”

She looks at him perplexed and huffs in disbelief. 

“I do,” She states simply.

"About what?" He probes further.

She shrugs.

"Anything you want. I just want to hear your voice."

He’s still confused as he looks at her through the yellow-tinted goggles. No, less confused, and more surprised. Tech turns away for a moment, trying to process the moment. A pretty girl wants him to talk… just talk about anything. And she wants to listen. Listen to what he’s been told over and over again his useless information regarding niche subjects and fields of study. He’s always seen her interest in what he’s said, yes, but he's just assumed it is common decency to listen to what someone is saying. He’s not used to his brothers actually tuning in and seeming actually interested in what he has to say. But she is. And she wants him to say more. 

He always has something more to say. But now, looking back to her barely parted, pretty lips and her thoughtful eyes… Tech draws a blank. 

He turns away again, fumbling with the task at hand as he tries to distract himself from it, still trying to conjure up something, anything to say to her. And she still waits, unphased by his hesitant silence as she methodically raps the pads of her fingers against her wrist. She sits as if she has all the time in the world. And if it were up to her, she would give him that.

He finally thinks of one small anecdote to share. 

“... I read a fascinating historical document this morning," he says. She perks up brightly, eyes lighting up with excitement as he begins.

“You did?” She says.

He nods in confirmation. The coy smile matched with tied lips she wears across her face is undeniable; even he can see it in the corner of his eye as he works. He tries not to let it get to his head. 

“Can you tell me more?” she continues.

Tech hisses so quietly, the modulator under his helmet doesn’t pick it up. Thank the Maker for that. 

“... It was the first recording of our modern republic system,” He does his best to recall what the document was about. “Or, what the Republic was, at least.” He looks over quickly for reassurance that this is what she wanted from him; he sees her nodding eagerly and intrigued. Oh, that only excites him more. He begins to remember more pieces of what he read once he turns away and back to the wiring in front of him, talking to her as he works. He even tries his best to slow down his pace to make it easier for her to process and understand better; though, he was unsure if it was the content that intrigued her more or simply his presence. 

“The document was essentially half-transcript, half-commentary on the first galaxy-wide meetings in the Senate, and the new opinions surrounding it."

"Who wrote it?" She interjects. He blinks but doesn't tear his eyes away and toward her.

"A group of people. Transcribers from the conferences, a member of the Jedi Order, and a few prominent Coruscant state senators that oversaw them."

She hums, and from the corner of his eye, he sees her lean closer to him, sighing deeply and letting her eyes flutter as if she was breathing in the most serene scent, and not the smell of smoldering wires and oil. Perhaps in their bubble, if Tech were to take his helmet off and breathe in as well, it smells of roses.

"I cross-analyzed both sections; there weren't any higher conclusions recorded. But by using critical thinking, you can really piece together how disorderly the first few decades of the Republic were." He tries to keep working, but ends up fiddling more than actually working; if he were to complete the task, he'd be done much sooner than he wanted to; especially if it meant he'd have to stop talking to her and their bubble would pop.

"Senators of large Core planets had to try and keep the piece; many outside planets had doubts about the design and future of the Republic to be sound. And even from the beginning, there were rogue planets that refused to join entirely. I guess there were always a few ‘Separatists.’”

The comment makes her chuckle.

“That really is interesting, Tech.”

“It is! In fact I-” He begins before the realization hits him and it shuts his mouth promptly there. He looks at her, just as perplexed as she was before, but more laced with insecurity. “You… find this, interesting?”

She nods as if baffled by his question. 

“If only you had me around before,” She says melancholic and softly. “I find all your interests really cool. And… I like hearing you talk.”

The admission has her flushing furiously, and Tech is too busy trying to compose himself to even kriffing notice. 

“That is… good to know,” he manages to say, giving her an approving, stiff nod before going back to work. His roboticness manages to elicit a sweet giggle out of her, and she sighs into comfortable contentment as he continues talking.

Her heart soars as he keeps going on, even without her explicit request. Even if she isn’t ready to talk, or even tell him about what is going on yet, hearing him gush about his interests certainly simplifies everything in a way that perfectly fills their little world, and makes everything better for as long as they stay.

[hell-drabbles]

Ra-on 1

Summary: Ra-on comes into your room to deliver some human essence for you to drink.

(If I'm going to be writing about Ra-on, I'm at least going to make him into a good-looking, if soggy, pretty boy. Just, looks like he's been left out in the rain. And is slightly oily. Pathetic style. And gross. I am not exaggerating when I say I made Ra-on real gross. It's fun for me.)

"This," you sloshed the full bottle around, "I have to drink, this?"

"Yes," Ra-on nodded and looked away, biting his dry lips, "It's, uh, it's Minhyeok's."

"…did you drink first?" You asked.

"Well, no but-"

You put the bottle on the floor and rolled it towards Ra-on with a light kick. "Then you drink first. I'm not drinking before you."

Ra-on is weaker than you are. More prone to collapsing faster than you. He'll need it more than you do, even though you are pretty sick yourself. That and you want to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

"But-"

"Just drink first." You said in a tone that left no room for argument.

Ra-on gulped as he picked up the bottle. He swished it back and forth, as if fascinated by the thick consistency. He licked his lips. He popped off the cork and began to chug.

"Not in front of me," you groaned out, massaging your throbbing temples, "Out. Drink that elsewhere."

Why? Just, why? Is this another one of his kinks? Being looked at while chugging cum? He can have all the kinks in the world, but he shouldn't do them in front of you! You didn't agree to see!

You know what? You've known Ra-on for too long. He wasn't thinking, again. Probably being overly cautious because you're sick and very testy. Thought that because you didn't tell him to get out the first time, that he isn't allowed out.

Augh, that man needs more friends. His social skills are right down the gutter. Not these devils though. They don't count.

Ugh, it's so gross to think about. You care for Minhyeok, you won't deny that but to have to drink his cum? To survive? That's hell. Disgusting. And it was still warm too and you don't know if that's worse of better than if it was cold.

Ra-on choked and popped his lips off the bottle. He coughed, wiped his mouth and gurgled out, "Sorry. I'll-I'll go. I'll be back with more, okay?"

Ugh! Why? Well, you know why but… ah!

"Hey."

Ra-on went stiff and hesitantly turned around, like you're about to scold him. Look at him, he even has his eyes to the ground.

"…" Alright, you have to ask, "Do I have to drink the entire bottle to get better?"

Ra-on blinked and relaxed his thin shoulders, "Ah, well… yeah. It's better to be safe than sorry. If you drink too little, you'll collapse sooner."

…oh boy.

"Minhyeok's balls are gonna be raisins by the time we get back," you collapsed your head into your knees.

Poor man. He does not deserve this fate. But what a trooper, truly.

Ra-on was silent, then gasped after a delay. "…oh no. To have to provide for the both of us… on his own… Um, hey."

"What?" you asked, flatly, head enduring pain that can only be described as being sliced by wires.

You heard shuffling of clothing. "…I think it should work… if I give you some of mine-"

"No. I'm drinking that. And it wouldn't work anyways." It has to be essence from a human that isn't in Hell at the moment. You don't know if it's some purity shit, like somehow being in Hell taints you but whatever. Point being, Ra-on is not an option, and you will not tolerate him being an option.

You're already having trouble keeping yourself from throttling him at every moment. If you had to drink his jizz, you'd straight up let yourself die. You know he would find satisfaction in that. It would pop up later in his masturbation fantasies, you just know it.

…he's always been like that, always sexually charged no matter the time and place. You have no problem with that. His libido will act how it wants. The problem is…

The problem is how Ra-on deals with it. He indulges in it and yet refuses to seek anyone out to relieve it. Refuses to say anything about what he's into and what he wants, and yet jacks it no matter where or who is in the room.

…he didn't even have the decency to stop stroking his dick when you came into the room to borrow Minhyeok's computer. He even finished the minute he saw your face, like he wanted to be caught.

That face... You'll never forget that face of fear and bliss.

You kicked that damn chair out Minhyeok's room the minute Ra-on ran off.

…point being, you don't want anything to do with Ra-on's kinks or semen.

"Well, what if we tried?" Ra-on insisted, pale eyes rounding out in that infuriating puppy-dog like fashion, like that'll work on you the same way it works on Minhyeok.

Gross. Vile. Disgusting.

Your head pulsed and you growled, "No. Get out."

Ra-on clenched his jaw and practically skittered out the door. Good. If he lingered any longer, you would've thrown your shoes at him.

You fell back on the bed. Sleep. You need sleep so you can stop being so angry and snippy. And finally quiet down all the memories you don't want to remember. All so you can be a better person.

[dark-elf-writes]

Ok so Hojo half sibling au what happens when cloud tells mama Strife about his new brother?

Cloud didn’t call often.

It was a sad truth that Claudia had learned to live with. Long distance calls were expensive, and a trooper’s salary only went so far. She certainly couldn’t afford to call as often as she liked even as the closest thing to a medical professional in Nibelheim (the others in the village only came to her as a last resort, like she was something tainted. A witch of old waiting to swoop down and steal their souls. It didn’t matter she had been seventeen when she got pregnant with her son. Didn’t matter that she had been an intern and scared of losing her job. Didn’t matter that she had lost her job anyway and become the village pariah all at once.) Still they wrote often enough that it dulled the worst of the ache in her chest when she looked to her son’s empty bed, still waiting for him should he come home.

So it was a surprise when her rarely used landline rang with no mention in Cloud’s most recent letter that he was calling.

First came the dread. The terror that those monsters she had let her son go to wouldn’t even grace her with a face to face discussion to tell her the worst had happened. But Claudia Strife had always been stubborn.

“Mama?” Cloud’s voice was strained when she picked up the phone, like it always sounded when he was trying to pretend everything was okay. “How are you?”

“I’ll be better when my son tells me what is going on. You never call out of the blue, Stormcloud. Are you okay? Were you hurt? Did those basta—“

“Ma. Mama! I’m fine!” Cloud huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s good news, really it’s just. A lot, ma. I don’t know where to start.”

“If you got some girl pregnant, Cloud.”

There was a laugh on the other end of the line, too deep to be her son’s. Oh. Oh.

(Suddenly Cloud’s childhood fixation on the shining stars of Shinra’s SOLDIER program made a lot of sense… and why her sweet boy wouldn’t act on those feelings until he had left their home far behind. Nibelheim was anything but open minded.)

“Cloud, are you—“

“I have a brother!”

A paragon of tact, her son was not.

Claudia pulled the towel from her shoulder and dropped it to the counter as she leaned back on it for support. How many other bright eyed girls had been ruined like she had? How many experiments ran on the most vulnerable? How many—

“Ma? Ma are you there?! Ma!”

“Here, baby. I’m here. In that who’s with you? Your brother?”

Cloud sighed. “Yeah and he promised to be quiet.” The last word was hissed in a tone so familiar that Claudia couldn’t help but laugh. She could almost see the narrow eyed look of annoyance her baby was shooting his half-brother.

“It’s a bit hard for us to meet if he’s quiet, Stormcloud.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not all.”

“Oh?”

“We… allegedly and completely unable to be proven... might have committed some slight arson.”

“Cloud Strife.”

“It was allegedly against our… fuck, I don’t know what to call him. No way it’s going to be ‘father.’”

“Donor perhaps?” That voice offered again. Familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

“… Good boys.”

That deeper voice from before choked. Claudia could hear the smug satisfaction in Cloud’s voice when he spoke again. “There’s more still.”

Claudia laughed almost hysterically. “If you’ve allegedly committed mur—“

“Sephiroth is my brother!”

Everything in Claudia froze.

Sephiroth.

Shinra’s Silver General.

The boy who had been dropped into the middle of a war and come out a blooded hero. A child made into a killer too young.

The perfect experiment.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

Instead she forced a smile with no kindness. No gentleness. A mother wolf baring her teeth. “I’m coming to Midgar.”

“Ma!”

“I have enough saved up for this, Stormcloud. I need to see my sons.”

“Sons?” Sephiroth’s voice was carefully neutral. A brilliant mask that would have fooled the world. A mask that did nothing against a mother’s intuition. (Under that careful calm Claudia could hear the tremble of a child, alone and scared even now that he had grown larger than life. A little boy who desperately wanted to be loved. It only made her more certain of her choice.)

“Sons,” She confirmed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Cloud sputtered. “At least let me buy your ticket ma! I’m a SOLDIER now! They gave me a sign on bonus.”

“I know Shinra bonuses as well as you do, young man. Save it for yourself.”

“Then let me pay,” Sephiroth offered. “Firsts make far more than new recruits and I can hardly allow my… allow you to be put in a difficult position, Ms. Strife.”

“Claudia or mom, or ‘ma’ I suppose if you’re impatient like our little stormcloud.” Claudia was rewarded with a flustered squawk of ‘Ma’ from her son… her youngest son. She smiled even through the ache in her chest. “And no, Sephiroth dear, you don’t need to spend money on me. It’s your money to use for yourself, sweetheart. Now I need to pack, boys! I’ll call when I have a set date of arrival!”

“Ma!”

“M— Claudia, I must insist—“

Claudia hung up the phone before they could try to push further about paying. This had to be her choice. Had to be her money. Had to be her doing. After all, they had confirmed it. Hojo was in Midgar, and Claudia was allegedly going to greet him as she should have all those years ago. With her boot knife to his throat and the assurance of exactly what she would do to him if he touched her boys.

Maybe she should take a look at some of those old files in the Manor before she left. Hojo was always a squirrelly bastard. It would be just like him to stash away some of his previous findings in the labs deep underground and she would bet her life that the information on Sephiroth’s past would be down there too along with gods only knew what other demons lurked in Hojo’s past.

[isa-ah]

good news!

my ID was confiscated today because I'm trans. I wasn't present, and no formal body made me aware that it happened.

no phonecall, no email, nothing.

my husband was getting his state ID today, and when they changed his gender marker from M to F he pointed out that his MD ID said M. they argued that that's not enough to get an M marker in Alabama.

he pulled my ID out (we share a wallet), and said but you gave my partner an M on his ID. and their response was a stonewalled, "we apologize for this mistake. that shouldn't have happened. we're confiscating this and they can come back and have it reissued as female."

without looking into what channels I had pursued to have my gender marker M in other states. without referring to me, contacting me, or even asking. for all they knew, I HAD gone through the Alabama channels to have it changed. there was 0 looking into it. at all.

so now I have no ID and I have to walk into the state troopers office like hey I'm the faggot who's ID you took, may I pretty please have an ID with the wrong gender on it instead? thank you so so much. and lick them tip to taint so I can ask if they'd pretty pretty please put into writing that they took my ID, because I'm trans, without notifying me, to force me to legally detransition, so that I can have it when I'm doing my asylum paperwork.

hip hip hooray.

[knightprincess]

Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) - Prologue

Words: 1.1k Synopsis: Time doesn't heal all wounds, sometimes, there's too much hurt, too much pain to forget. Sometimes, scars are left behind. Scars that remind us the past is real. Everyone knows Love is the death of Duty. Pronouns Used: She/Her - (Y/N) also used Also On: Wattpad, Quotev, AO3 and Inkitt

The Clone Wars were a cruel, tragic, and devastating event that affected countless lives. Many lost their homes, their loved ones, their faith, and even their lives. Both the Clones and the Jedi fought and sacrificed selflessly in a war that they didn't choose to be a part of. They did everything they could to protect strangers across the galaxy, who would never even bother to learn their names or show any gratitude for their heroic actions. During the war, both the Clones and the Jedi faced many restrictions. The Clones were not allowed to enjoy even the simplest of pleasures and were treated as nothing more than mere products instead of the brave soldiers they truly were. They had fewer rights than even the convicts in the Republic prisons. The Jedi, on the other hand, were bound by their code, prohibiting them from forming any human attachments or loving anyone. They were not allowed to express basic human emotions for fear of falling to the dark side.

Despite that, though, love still somehow flourished. Clones managed to find a semblance of peace away from the battlefield in the arms of another, even if it was only for a few short hours. If they were lucky, it lasted longer. The Jedi found solace in the arms of the troopers they fought side by side with on the never-ending rotation of merciless battlefields and warzones. 

Most Clones and Jedi, in some sort of relationship, had a tendency to keep them secret, if only to avoid the scrutiny of their peers and the judgment of those who would so quickly look down upon them for wanting the simple pleasures of life. Most, if not all, of them, hid their devotion out of fear of what would happen if discovered. None of them wanted to imagine the horrors that awaited. Nor the idea of being ripped away from each other for the simple crime of wanting to love someone, of wanting to be loved, of wanting to feel more than being a warrior meant to die on the battlefield. A prisoner without chains. 

CC-3636 was one of the most respected Clone Commanders, gifted with a strategic mind and brothers he could count on for anything. Preferring to be called Wolffe, he was looked upon as a role model by many cadets. Close with his Jedi General Plo Koon, but haunted by the traumas of the war, scared even to get close to someone outside those apart of the famed Wolf pack, for fear he would lose them. He feared the Malevolence nightmare repeating with others he let himself care for. Despite that, he cares deeply for his brothers and respects Plo above all others. Many times, Wolffe had been faced with a cruel decision, forced to choose between the lives of his brothers; every time, he'd save as many as he could and never forgot the names of those he lost. 

After losing his eye to Ventress, he gained a new coldness, especially to the children of Dathamir. Although he'd admit they were few and far between, it didn't prevent his distrust in them. His distrust tainted even the purest of intentions, making him suspicious of even the gentlest acts of kindness. 

One of the most known Jedi Generals was (Y/N) Black, commonly referred to as a Princess General by many clones or simply Princess by several of her fellow Jedi. She was Dathomirian, a Night Sister similar to Asajj Ventress. Strong in the force with a talent for breaking or bending the rules, a friend to everyone, and one of the biggest supporters of Clone Rights. As a General, she was battle-tested, clever, and always had plans and backups in case anything went wrong. If one of her bright ideas was risky, the only life in danger was her own. She trusted her men, respected them, and valued their lives above her own. There was never a time when she'd called a trooper by their identification number. Instead, she called them by their chosen names, friends, or, in some cases, affection nicknames in various languages.

Everything had been selectively normal or as close to normal as the war could get. (Y/N) had returned to Coruscant with her legion 916th Battalion. Their last assignment to the outer rim had been a particularly nasty one, even more so upon the discovery that the republic information had been detrimentally wrong. The locals had been caught in the crossfire, many injured and killed, and in the end, they were forced to retreat, the droid reinforcements being too much for one lone Jedi and batallion to handle. 

Although (Y/N) hated admitting defeat with a passion, she did what was best for her troopers; once again, she had put them before the often pointless and corrupt demands of the Jedi Council and Senate. Upon returning to Coruscant, she wished her troopers a fond farewell before leaving for the Temple, mourning the loss of those who hadn't made it and wishing a speedy recovery for those who had been injured. As usual, she gave her normal line of "Stay out of trouble." 

As per usual (Y/N)'s arrival at the temple was expected. As soon as she entered the city-sized structure, she was swept to the communications center to be debriefed and hounded with questions that only served to wear down her already thin patients further, as well as question the overall intelligence of the council members interrogating her. Despite her desire to speak her mind, she kept her snide comments and obvious frustrations to herself, at least until she made it back to the safety of her quarters, where she could release her pent-up anger and frustration in privacy. Or that would have been the plan had she not been informed of a request by Master Plo. He asked for her assistance in the mid-rim. 

"I will inform my troopers," commented (Y/N), already feeling down about having to spoil the well-earned shore leave break.

"Not your men, Black, just you," quickly corrected Mace Windu, seeing her uncertainty; no doubt she still remembered what happened the last time another took control of her boys. The inexperienced Jedi knight had become lousy with the power and all but played god with the trooper's lives, cost so much all because he refused to listen to the advice of Trip, the clone captain who served as (Y/N)'s second. 

"I will leave on the marrow," replied (Y/N) before leaving to return to her quarters, exhaustion seemingly jumping her the moment she passed the threshold, her mind turning lousy too, as if it was already in shutdown mode to prepare her for the horrors that waited for her. Upon completing her normal routine, she soon got comfortable, drifting off slowly, at least before the intruding thoughts began to bug her. 

Working with her Master again would bring its own challenges. With Master Plo came Commander Wolffe, the battle-worn trooper with a known hatred of her kind. As (Y/N) tried to drift off, her thoughts turned to the struggles both would face. She was used to being judged with fear by strangers. She was used to being called a witch even when she wasn't one. But being hated because of the actions of another wasn't something she was used to; it was a challenge in and of itself, as would be working with the commander in question. After all, in his mind, she was no different than Ventress; she was the enemy, too. 

Series Masterlist

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Angst

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

Echo's mind had been altered. Had been tainted.

He looked at his brothers- at his family, and he did not see what he used to. All he saw were targets. All he knew was their weakness, their soft parts, waiting for exploitation.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

Echo wasn't safe. Not around them. Everytime he saw Rex, the man who had watched him grow from a shiny to an ARC, he saw his blood painting his hands, heard the whispers of wishes that weren't his.

He wanted to hurt someone. He needed to hurt them all. He missed Fives. He had forgotten what his twin had sounded like.

Instead of finding peace in the return of what was once his favourite sound, now he vividly imagined his screams as he drempt of murdering his family for a mission that wasn't his. A goal he fruitlessly struggled to stop.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

He thought, with his new squad, he would be better. That the itching urge would stop, that he would finally rest.

Echo wasn't sure where the idea came from, wasn't sure why he thought they were any safer. No one was safe, not with Echo.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

Echo had no idea when he had ended up standing over the first filled bunk. He stared down at the lump of blankets, hand twitching, reaching out.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

His hand gripped something warm, something soft. An unarmed, foolish trooper. Just another number, just another obstacle.

Just another gentle soul fighting the war they didn't understand.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

"Echo?" The voice jarred him, rattled something inside his chest. Brown eyes, not unlike his own, yet so distinctively unique, blinked tiredly up at him. "Did you need something?"

Yes, Echo waited to say. He squeezed his hand instead.

A wince. "I'm awake," The voice is his, but it isn't- it's young, it's tired. Much like Echo. "You don't need to–... did you have a bad dream?"

Now that- that caught Echo by surprise. Mostly because soldiers of the Republic do not ask other soldier if they're troubled by childish, silly dreams. They didn't reach out to talk, that was ridiculous.

He found himself struck by the softness of the question.

His breath stuttered. Finish the mission, complete the objective. His head screams at him.

His hand was grasped. "I understand," The tone is matter-of-factly, nothing like his own. "You will be troubled for a while, after all. Do you need anything?"

Echo needs to finish his mission, before his brain exploded from the pressure.

How can he? How could he imagine to accomplish such cruelty when the body shifts, so alive and so real, to accommodate him?

"I am not Wrecker," The voice nearly sounded sheepish. "But I may be able to provide compensation through verbal distraction. Hunter says I'm good at that."

Echo squeezed again, pitching forward. The voice hitches in discomfort.

"Echo," The voice is so close, the objective so simple to complete. He's right there. "You're- your grip is too tight."

The words are spoken so softly, like they don't want to make Echo feel guilt.

Nothing else seems to want to course through him, because what is he doing? How could he stand there and continue to grip the arm of this soldier, who so readily offered him comfort from a horror he willingly let in—

Finish the mission, complete the objective. Finish the mission, complete the objective. Finish the mission, complete the objective. Finish the mission, complete the ob—

Another hitch. "Echo," The voice warned again. "That hurts. Please let me go."

Echo cannot hear beyond the ringing in his ear, gripping the soldier like his life depended on it. It felt like it did.

Finish the mission, complete the objective. Finish the mission, complete the objective. Finish the mission, complete— Finish the— the objective.

What is his objective? What is his mission?

He blinked. He can see a small, red light brightening the space just enough to reveal the face of who he's holding so tight.

The face is still round with youth. As were the other faces he had grown attached to during his recovery. This was the face of a vod'ika.

His vod'ika. He didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want to hurt any of them.

He focused all his attention on the face that had twisted in pain. Why is he in pain? Echo opened his mouth to ask.

He found where his hand still held fast, knuckles pale and fingernails sunk in. He tore his hand back, wincing as his fingers locked in protest and his vod'ika hissed in pain.

In pain. Pain Echo had caused.

Though, he does not look outright upset with Echo. Maybe a bit ruffled about his arm as he huffed at it. "Thank you," He spoke softly into the dark space, then, "Now- can I help?"

Help? No, no, it was Echo that needed to help him. That was his mission. That was his objective.

Help. Help his vod'ika, help his squad.

His tongue felt swollen in his mouth. His brother nodded in understanding, simply shifting to make more room. Room for Echo to scurry inside, room for Echo to comfortably press against the warmth of his side.

"I suppose it's just the knowledge of another close by that you need," Echo heard him say. "I can provide that easily. But- do try rest, you need it."

Sleep. Right, another mission Echo wasn't eager to complete. He found his hand grazing where he had just held his brother, not missing the wince from the other.

Finish the mission, complete the objective.

Echo wanted to kill him while he was distracted.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," He whispered instead.

He was spared no mind. "Don't worry about it," His brother sighed, a hint of fond amusement in his tone. "Wrecker also often forgets himself in the throws of his emotion. However, I am well adjusted. You did not hurt me that much."

This time went unsaid, in Echo's ruined mind.

He tugged his brother closer. "Good night, Echo." He smiled into his side, sighing as he felt his head quiet for just long enough to slip under.

"Night, vodiʻka," He murmured.

For once, Echo does not dream of death. He drempt of the comfort of company, of exploring the wide galaxy. He drempt of stars beyond their reach, and what they might hold.

He drempt, and hoped, for a future he could well and truly hold his brother close.

Uh....... yeah, sort of sad. From an AU where Echo loses his mind to the separatists and murder the bad batch. Except he hasn't killed anyone yet.

[sterling-501]

𝒟𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝓇

SUMMARY: Wolffe’s raging possessiveness over you finally comes to fruition after months of pining

(Wolffe xFemReader)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Working at 79s was a blessing and a curse. There had been many times where you’d had to call the police droids to break up bar fights, dragging out drunk shinies who got off their face after one drink and the occasional Weequay creep who wouldn’t know how to take no as an answer.

Tonight though, tonight was quiet, well as quiet as 79s could get. the bass boosted music still rumms your ear drums, the pining migraine forming at the back of your head still present as ever, but the clones tonight were tame. Grateful is an understatement. The abrupt slam of the door opening rips you from your thoughts, looking up from the bar counter you see a cluster of what looked to be a bunch of shinies, smug looks painted across their faces and by that look, this was their first time visiting the famous bar. Before you divert your attention back to the task at hand, something catches your way…well someone. His grey armor standing out against the plastoid white, strategic patterns painted across his shoulder pauldrons along with his grey kama hanging off his body. Wolffe. Stolen glances and touches becoming a secret language to you both. The Commander of the 104th had a hold over you and little did you know the feeling went both ways.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you frantically try to act unbothered by his presence, your shaky hands making that difficult as you pour the rank beer into the tall glass.

“first day on the job?”

As your head snaps up your eyes are met with a clone, not one that you’ve seen before either, a shinie. Your thoughts catch up to you as you plast a fake smile across your lips. “no fondly enough” you say through a breathless chuckle. You finish pouring off the glass and slide it across the bar in his direction but before you could pull your hand back, his clasps over yours, preventing you from drawing away. “y’know…you would think that being in a club full of men like me would have you nervous, cyare” oh great. You huff out a chuckle, deciding whether or not to play into his ego, the migraine in the back of your skull having you decide to take the latter. You try to pull your hand back but his clasp only grows stronger. “what? Are you proving me right, beautiful?” he smirks, his hand slowly tracing up the back of your hand to your arm. Heart racing and breath hitching your words start to fail you, his touch making your skin crawl.

And Wolffe saw it all, he saw through your polite but fake mannerisms, he could read you like a book. But through all that, he saw how that rookie was touching you, how his hands wormed up your arm, tainting your skin, infecting your space. He hated it. He bit the inside of his cheek as his heart pumped through his chest, jealousy making his blood hot. Before he knew it, his legs had carried him over to the barstool where the shinie was sitting, back facing him.

“trooper” the shinie whips around, pulling his hand off yours, body stiffening as he looks up at the Commander towering over him, his cybernetic eye pairing the same scowl as his pierce hazel one. “C-Commander” the shinie stuttered, his confident facade now failing him and being replaced with one of fear.

“don’t you have somewhere to be… rookie” The Commander implied, his tone laced with bitterness. The cluster of rouge shinies grouped around a booth near the back of the bar erupts in a loud roar as one seemingly chugs a beer as the others cheered him on. The shinie gulps nervously as he stands to his feet “Sorry Commander, didn’t realise the miss was yours” he stumbles “head out shinie” the Commander spits. The trooper scrambles his way off the barstool, tripping over his feet in the process. Once he’s out of ear shot the Commander turns his attention back to you. Your gaze drifts from the wandering shinie back to Wolffe, his gaze unwavering. Inhaling sharply you try to mask your nervousness, hide the fact that your heart practically goes into overdrive whenever he’s near you let alone looking at you. “thanks” you manage to breathe out, those being the only words that seem to escape your mouth.

“don’t mention it” he grazed, taking the now empty seat, leaning his forearms against the bar. Your gaze stills for a moment too long before reaching to grab the glass you offered the shinie moments before.Not until Wolffe reaches for it at the same time causing your hands to overlap and touch, a spike of adrenaline stuns your spine and squeezes your lungs. Eyes meeting and bodies stiffening, his gaze is once again unwavering. Attempting to at least still the tension you pull your hand back while nervously stuttering “oh you can have it- i mean i can make you something better but if you prefer that then that’s fi-” but before you can finish his hand pulls yours back towards him, rubbing his thumb along your skin. Looking down at his hand clasping yours back up to him you see an unfamiliar expression plastered across his face. “i didn’t like the way that rookie was touching you” Words clog your dry throat as your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. Any coherent thought or sentence seems to vanish, hell your brain itself has short circuited leaving you speechless. you swallow nervously trying to soothe your dry throat before you stutter out “i- uh…it’s fine- i’m fine, happens all the time” you shrug off, your hand still clasped under his. Your words didn’t seem to soothe his mind though, his eyes practically searing scorch marks on ur skin.

He grunts in response, his hold on your hand tightening slightly before letting go reluctantly, your skin starting to crave his absent touch. “and what makes you think i’m fine with it” he retorts. Your breathing becomes shallow as your heart pumps faster and faster, your mouth agape as you try to form a coherent sentence. “c’mere” Wolffe says as he stands up from the barstool, flicking his hand initiating for you to come with him, you place the dirty rag on the edge of the sink that you’ve been mindlessly fidgeting with “Wolffe i can’t, i’ve still got to finish my shift” Now fully stood across the bar counter his gaze once again scorches your skin “i don’t care” his voice stern and fixed.

You take a breath as you match his fixed stare before walking to the edge of the bar, Wolffe following you until you reach the double swinging doors “seriously Wolffe, this better be quick i can’t-” but he grabs your forearm interrupting you, leading you to the back of the bar near the kitchen.

He turns around and grabs you by the shoulders pulling you aside into the back corner, his frame towering over you. “Wolffe?” you breathe out, his chest practically pressed against yours as you look up at him. “Do you know how much I hate seeing those shinies crawling all over you” he breathes out, his face finally sharing a glimpse of genuine emotion, something that isn’t masked, something raw “they practically praise the ground you walk on cyar’ika” the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue effortlessly, practically turning your knees to jelly “I don't like people touching what is so obviously mine” he growls, the butterflies in your stomach virtually going haywire. “cyare…” he pauses as he leans in, his gaze drifting to your lips before wandering back up to your eyes. “i hate it”

and amongst the jealousy and raging possessiveness, a glimpse of hurt flashes across his face. He reaches his hand up to graze the end of your jaw with his thumb, his touch setting your spine alight. It was the way his voice graveled, how his hand was slowly moving from your jaw to the nape of your neck while his other hand snaked along your waist, subtly pulling the hem of your shirt upwards to trace his fingers along your skin but most of all it was how he was looking at you. His gaze constantly shifting between your eyes and your lips, his expression a mix of raw vulnerability and pure jealousy. “I practically put myself through hell when i come here, seeing how those rookies look at you…they fucking undress you with their eyes” his voice laced with vexation but not towards you, it was towards those ammature shinies that think they could practically coy with you, and that made him mad.

And before you know it Wolffe’s lips are pressed up against your skin as he starts leaving a trail of harsh kisses along the nape your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel his teeth sink into your flesh, the sting being short lived as he soothes the mark with his tongue. You rest your hands on his chest as he continues “fuck cyare” he murmurs in between kisses, both of his hands now gripping your waist, his thumbs caressing your abdomen harshly. “You have no idea” he says before marking your skin again, lazily trailing up to your jaw “what you do to me sweetheart” he murmurs near your ear before pulling back, his voice low and vexing. All words and thoughts have seemingly vanished, your brain a pile of mush as you gaze at the man towering over you. Your faces inches apart, the feeling of his breath hitting your skin only provokes how hot your muscles feel, like feeding oxygen to fire. Wolffe’s lips curl into a soft smirk as he sees how much of an effect he has over you, which unsurprisingly spurs him on even further. His gaze shifts between your lips and back up to your eyes. You wanted him to kiss you, needed him to, your body writhing under his hands, your lungs desperately trying to catch a full breath. Wolffe’s hand reaches up to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your under eye “let me?” he asks, his brows upturned in need, eyes saying everything that his mouth can’t seem too, want, longing. Rotations of built up pining and craving over you plastered across his face, it infected the blood that ran through his veins and controlled his limbs. Everything he did, everything he said was because of his need for you.

You gaze up at him as you swallow nervously “please” you plead breathlessly, that being all the confirmation he needed as his lips caught yours.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, you felt how his gloved hand held your jaw tilting your head to meet his, how his other hand gripped tightly at the flesh of your hip, how his chapped lips molded against yours. But against all that, your brain buzzed and your body relaxed into his, you felt like you were on cloud 9. The kiss was how you would expect a kiss from Wolffe to be, harsh, chapped, filled with hunger and need but somehow gentle too. He was taking full control just like you imagined the gruff Commander would.

Wolffe too had never felt his mind be so quiet yet loud, no war zone could ever make his body be this full of pure adrenaline, his spine burning with need. Pulling back reluctantly to catch his breath he gazed down at you, your kiss swollen lips and glazed eyes making you that much more beautiful to him.

“You have no idea how long I've needed that” he says breathlessly, his chest heaving as he rests his forehead against yours. Your lips curl into a coy smile before you move the palms of your hands up from his armored chest to the back of his neck, your fingers running through the nape of his hairline “i think i can take a guess” you retort with a brazen smile “oh yeah?” he smirks, his face softly admiring every feature that paints your face. “mmhmm” you hum in response “a long time”. Wolffe chuckles in amusement at the obvious statement “yeah you could say that” he says as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. You gaze up at him for a moment before tracing your left hand to his jaw, gently rubbing at the scar that paints his under eyes, a reminder that this might not last forever, but knowing Wolffe, not even the darkest sith lord could keep him away from you “don’t die on me anytime soon” your tone laced with sarcasm, but underlying it all you both know that’s a possibility, something neither of you want to admit. He hums in response before saying “even if i were dead cyare i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you”

[neon-junkie]

Which Bad Batcher would most likely steal a kiss during a mission or battle? (not too serious battles or fights)

Gender-neutral reader. 500 words.

Least to most likely:

Hunter - The big man has a reputation to uphold, and it can't be tainted by smooching you at every given opportunity (as much as he wants to!) He tends to show his support/appreciation through other ways, such as a squeeze on the shoulder, or letting his hand rest on your lower back. If you do receive a smooch, it'll be a quick, "I'm glad you're okay," type of smooch, the type given after a heavy battle.

Echo - As an ARC Trooper, Echo has standards to uphold. Regardless of who he's fighting with, the 501st or the Batch, he needs to come across as formal. This is, after all, what he was made for. Like Hunter, Echo will express himself through other methods, like brushing the hair out of your face, or giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. If you do receive a kiss, it'll be when he thinks nobody is looking. So, if you ever find yourself being pulled to the back of the squad, then expect a kiss.

Tech - Tech doesn't give much of a kriff about 'standards' and 'reputations.' The main reason why he doesn't kiss you is because (he won't admit to this) he's timid about being caught, and receiving an earful off his squad. The only kisses that he gives are when he thinks nobody is looking, and it'll be his form of saying thank you. Let's say you bring him a mug of caf whilst he's knee-deep in repairing the Marauder, that kind act deserves a kiss, and in that instance, he isn't as fussed about the others seeing.

Crosshair - Whilst Crosshair is cheeky, he is also serious, and he knows that you're a distraction. Crosshair needs to remain alert and focused whilst in battle, but as soon as the wave has stopped, and the Batch have a moment to regroup, then he'll give you a quick kiss. It's usually a kiss on your head as he loops his arm around your waist, glueing his body to yours whilst half-listening to Hunter's next set of plans. However, as soon as you've made it back to the Marauder in one piece, and the Batch are off the clock, that's when the smothering kisses come out.

Wrecker - Did you really expect anybody else to be here, duh? Wrecker is a man of physical affection, both to you, and his brothers. We've seen how he'll pick them up in a spine-crushing hug at any opportunity, but with a lover, that affection is tenfold. Kisses are one of the many things you'll receive on a mission, as well as hugs, and lots of verbal affection and support. Wrecker is your own personal cheerleader, and if you mirror that energy, then that man is going to re-fall in love with you during every single mission.

[laurfilijames]

Fallout

Pairing: Jay Mills x female reader

Words: 2,955

Warnings: Stab wound on hand. Bandaging and dressing of wound. Description of injection of antibiotics by needle. Swearing.

Summary: New to Bear Lake as a nurse working at the local clinic, you have the pleasure of taking on Jay Mills as one of your patients, taking it upon yourself to see that his hand heals properly following the aftermath of the destruction left behind by Liza and Addison, hoping to gain the trust of the boxer trying to get his head and heart in order.

A/N: This will be a series and will include smut in the upcoming chapters (yay!) I've fallen head over heels for this character and he deserves so much better than the shit he got in that slightly disturbing film so, here we go!

---

The town was described as small, welcoming and charming. It was definitely all of those things, but also hinted at being stuffy, dead, and incredibly boring. Most of the people you met were friendly and genuinely kind; having carried on their small town morals for generations and truly wouldn't say a bad thing about anyone, but there were still a majority who looked at you like your presence would strip their quaint and familiar hometown of all it was good for and taint it with your 'big city' bullshit.

You promised yourself again that you would make the most of it and see what would come of your move, trying to embrace such a change in your life and take a step back to simply breathe and let be; to allow time and the peace and quiet of the North heal your heart and mind.

"Deb, it says this Jay Mills has missed his appointment twice in a row," you questioned the older receptionist, watching her through a squint as she tilted her head to see through her thick glasses better as you passed her the missing man's chart.

"Oh, yeah," she said with a roll of her eyes, pressing the paperwork back into your hand before she sighed and looked back at her computer. "I don't think we'll be seeing Mr. Mills again at this point. He's gone nomad, turned into a hermit after the incident at his parent's farm."

When you didn't react to her answer, she swiveled in her chair and looked up at you, folding her hands in her lap as if you were the cause of this and her frustration.

"You know, the crazy brother and sister who robbed the casino and killed off nearly half of our troopers? Jay was mixed up in it. That crazy girl had a hold on him… poor boy had so much potential..." With a wave of her hand she turned her back to you, leaving you with more questions than you started with as you tucked his chart behind the stack of other ones in your hand and went back to your station.

The clinic was small, far different than the hospital you were used to on the outskirts of Detroit, but after having been run ragged as a critical care nurse for a few years, you decided it was best to lean into the change and find enjoyment over seeing to the minor ailments of the folks who inhabited this small town. After going through the rest of the charts in your pile and completing all your notes for the patients you had seen that day, all that was left was Jay Mills, and rereading the notes scribbled by the last nurse who saw him five days ago, his absence didn't sit well with you.

"Acute, localized infection between the index and middle finger on left hand…" you mumbled to yourself, speaking to no one as you wondered why he wouldn't come back if his hand was in such a bad state.

They had prescribed him antibiotics from the get-go for the knife injury, but if the wound itself wasn't being properly cleaned and dressed, it would only get worse and would risk sepsis, not to mention if he was off alone and over-using the hand. You lifted up the page with the exam notes to glance at the personal information listed on the one below: his age, height, weight and brief history all there, along with his last known address and phone number. He was two years older than you, and the previous physical examinations he had done were a requirement for professional boxing with everything coming back that he was a healthy, well fit man.

A note indicating that he had since moved to Detroit not long after his last visit was jotted down in red, making you wonder just how far apart you had been in the south of the state and how interesting it was to find yourself in close proximity again without even knowing who he was.

You picked up the receiver of the phone and held it against your cheek with your shoulder, punching in the numbers until the call went through and started ringing. You tapped your pen on the edge of your desk as you waited, hoping to get a hold of the rogue patient who was now assigned to you.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

"Hi there, would I be able to speak with Jay, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, he's not here," she began to explain. "May I ask who's calling?"

"I'm a nurse reaching out from the Bear Lake Medical Clinic, apparently Jay has been missing his appointments…"

The woman sighed, and you immediately were able to assume this was his mother.

"Yes, I’m so sorry, he's gone out to the cottage and I'm afraid he isn't planning on coming back into town any time soon. I know his hand wasn't in good shape…"

The worry in her voice made your heart ache for her, and looking again at his age, you sighed at wondering when sons would ever stop causing their mothers grief and what really happened to this man to make him become a recluse.

She happily gave you his cell number and address of the cottage and wished you luck in getting a hold and getting through to him, the plea in her words as she thanked you making you silently vow to try your hardest to make sure he was okay.

After a night of tossing and turning, you thought over your options while brewing your coffee, your yawns interrupting your thoughts just as your thoughts had interrupted your sleep. You wouldn't know the guy if you tripped over him, and yet something about his situation and lack of regard for his health nagged at you unlike any case had before, and you knew you either needed to let it go or see to it yourself in order to ease your persistent mind.

Taking your last sip of coffee that was brewed too strong and too bitter, you decided if you weren't able to get a hold of Jay or if he didn't miraculously turn up at the clinic, that you would drive out to his cottage with the necessary supplies, knowing you would be unable to ease your mind otherwise.

As you continued on with your rushed morning routine, you kept glancing at your phone, half tempted to simply Google every article about the now-infamous incident that disrupted the quiet of Bear Lake, but ultimately let it be, having come this far without having the media taint your views on things here, always preferring to make your judgements and learn about things from your patients and neighbours.

Hours into your shift and just as you had thought, his phone either rang until it went to voicemail or was cut off after the first ring, and although you were sure by now he would have blocked the number, at least you knew he wasn't dead. You even tried calling from your personal phone, hoping he would pick up from an unknown number, but he proved his determination to ignore the outside world to be resilient and neglected that attempt as well.

"Hey, Deb? I'm planning to head off early this afternoon, I have a house call that's a bit of a ways away and I don't want to be driving in the dark with all these bloody deer around and some snow on the way."

She turned her head, cocking an eyebrow at you before her expression turned more suspicious.

"Are you heading out to see the Mills boy?"

"Yes, I really feel it needs to be addressed and this wound could-"

Deb cut you off by holding up her hand, her eyes casting back down to the files on her desk as she started sorting through them again. "I wasn't asking, just be careful."

You smiled before turning and heading to the supply room to gather everything you would need, beginning to think how the personalities of these small town dwellers were starting to grow on you.

You disliked winter on a good day, and cursed it for being even more unbearable this far up north, your drive down the lesser traveled back roads suitable for anything other than your car.

It was beautiful, you would give it that, the snow clinging heavily onto the branches of the pines that had seen more sun rises and moons than you ever would, and you started to accept why someone going through hard times would escape to somewhere so remote and untouched.

The sun was starting to hug the tops of the trees, and with the light quickly fading and still forty minutes left in your drive, you turned the dial up on the volume of your stereo and began singing along to your favourite songs to help calm you.

Finally, and with no deer sightings, you were on the narrow, winding road that led you straight to the Mills’ cottage, the trees thickening the closer you got, but still able to catch a glimpse of where they opened up for the frozen lake sitting beside it.

An older extended cab Ford pickup sat in front of the cozy looking cabin, the gray, two-toned paint covered in a decent layer of snow.

You grabbed your bag out of the back seat and steeled yourself with a deep breath that was sharp on your lungs from how cold the air was, your boots crunching in the unshoveled snow as you made your way to the door of the seemingly well-kept cottage.

Knocking on the door, you inhaled again, this time capturing the comforting smell of a wood-burning fire as you readied yourself for a possibly-irate and unwelcoming patient, but it was nothing you hadn't dealt with before.

The wood door opened a crack, enough to reveal a gorgeous, but wearied and suspicious face on the other side. Piercing blue eyes, closely shaved, blond hair and some growing wheat coloured scruff around his mouth made up the leery looking man before you.

With no time for you to speak first, he nodded, "Who the hell are you?"

You gave your name and explained your intentions as quickly as you could in fear he would shut the door in your face, holding up your bag of supplies while flashing your badge on your lanyard with your other hand.

"I'm fine," he said pointedly, looking past you like he was checking no one else was with you. "This is harassment and a breach of your duties," he explained roughly, his defenses already up. "I'll call the cops."

"Will you?" you asked boldly, assuming he wouldn't and not at all put off by his threats.

His lips thinned as he tucked them between his teeth and looked at the ground before looking back up at you with annoyance.

"Jay, I really think you should just let me take a look at your hand."

You tried to remain as neutral as possible, happy your thrumming pulse was hidden beneath your scarf as you assessed his size and stature, your cheeks flushing and not because of the cold.

He opened the door roughly with his good hand, allowing you to pass through despite the look on his face expressing his displeasure at the situation, "I swear if you called me one more fucking time…"

"What? What would you do?" you asked, maintaining eye contact with him and his eyes that were impossibly beautiful despite the hurt that showed in them while you set your bag on the kitchen table and started to unpack everything.

The cottage was warm, but not warm enough to warrant the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his skin an ashy tone, and you reached for your thermometer, having already noted his shallow breathing and quick heart rate hammering in his neck.

"How long has it been since you finished the antibiotics?" you asked, aware he should be through the prescribed dosage if he bothered taking them all.

"Three days," he said, but with uncertainty, his words more a guess than a definitive answer.

You drew up a dose in a syringe, using your foot to push out a chair for him to sit.

He hesitated a moment before huffing out a sigh and walking over, and you could feel his gaze burn you when he sat.

"Are you a doctor?"

"Nurse," you simply stated, glancing down at him as you tapped bubbles out of the syringe by flicking your nail against it. Placing it on the table, you reached for your thermometer, holding it up to his mouth where he gave you another reluctant stare.

"I have other places I can put it instead."

His mouth opened, giving you a glimpse of a full set of nice, white teeth and a smooth tongue that made you swallow and feel like your own was too big, his eye contact making your confident disposition break away ever so slightly.

You did your best to look at anything but him and his full lips pressed around the thermometer, but you couldn't help but trace the outline of them with your eyes, transfixed with their shape and alluring shade of pink.

Clearing your throat as the thermometer beeped, you pulled it from his mouth and frowned at the number displayed on the small screen.

As you had assumed, he was running a low-grade fever, and just from your glimpses around the place, you knew he wasn't taking it easy and resting. The fire in the stove was freshly stoked with a whole pile of chopped wood beside it, making you wonder just how much time and energy was spent doing it with only one good hand.

"Pull your arm out, please," you instructed, nodding at his upper arm clad in a hoodie and another long-sleeve shirt underneath.

He did as he was told, still without looking away from you, while you did your best not to take notice of his muscular upper body that was now exposed to you.

You took an alcohol swab and wiped the injection site on his bicep, seeing his cheek flinch out of the corner of your eye as he clenched his teeth. As gently as possible with knowing how much discomfort he was already in, you eased the needle into his skin and slowly pressed down on the plunger with your thumb.

He breathed out, seeming to relax slightly at your careful hand as he likely expected you to jab it in unceremoniously, his eyes casting down to his hands sitting in his lap.

"Let's take a look at that hand," you said, to yourself more than him.

Without a word he placed his left hand on the table, palm side up, and allowed you to unwrap the soiled bandage.

You frowned at the state of it, but sparing him the lecture, you set to work on cleaning and treating it.

"What do you do for work?" you asked, always appreciating idle talk while you focused.

"I was a boxer."

You hummed and felt your eyebrows raise on your forehead, thinking how he wouldn't likely be boxing anytime soon - if ever again - after this injury.

"Was?"

"I stopped before this happened," he explained. "Not by choice."

You looked up at him, pausing your hands for a moment.

"I was in jail."

You frowned and shrugged your shoulders slightly, not fazed by his admission, having dealt with your fair share of all sorts of people from all different walks of life, the injuries you often treated caused by something illegal.

You finished your job and began to pack up, instructing him how to properly care for things and that it would need to be checked again in a few days at the most.

"You're driving back tonight?" he asked, his expression finally switching to concern from being constantly defensive and untrusting.

“Well I'm not staying here,” you smiled, trying to make light while pointing out his icy hosting skills.

One side of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly, bringing out creases on his cheek that flanked it, and he looked up at you after turning over his hand to check out the fresh bandages wrapped around it.

“No, I guess not.”

"Start taking these tomorrow," you said through a sigh, slamming a pill bottle on the table in front of him. "With food, three times a day." You pulled out another container and set it with equal force down beside the other one, "And these if you need them for pain. Don't be a hero."

He breathed out deeply, leaning his bare torso back against his chair and you gathered he wasn't too keen about your comment and assumption that someone like him was too tough for even a mild pain medication.

“I'll be back around 7:00 on Thursday after my shift. Try to keep from using it and please call me at the clinic if anything gets worse.”

You slugged the strap of your bag over your shoulder and started to walk toward the door, pausing and turning back to him to add another thought, having changed your mind.

“Actually, just call my cell if you need anything,” you blurted out casually, as if you were telling your friend to hit you up if they needed you, still feeling worried he would do something to hinder the healing. “Since you have the number in your history of missed calls…”

"Yeah, okay," he reluctantly agreed, remaining seated as you opened the door and saw yourself out with one final look back at him before you closed it behind you, a faint smile tugging at both of your lips.

---

Part 2

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @ourlonelymountain @stealfromthedevil

I've gone ahead and tagged who I have listed for my general Charlie fics, so if you'd like to not be tagged in this series please just let me know!

[littlemissmanga]

One Last Order

It's been a while since I got into writing at all, let alone fanfics. But I had this thought last night and it's been bugging me since. I hope someone enjoys this. I know I enjoyed writing it :)

Pairing: CT-7567/Captain Rex x Reader (g/n, no physical descriptions, no use of y/n)

Mood: Angst/hurt. Post Order 66

Warnings: None really unless you're sensitive to bittersweet stories. SFW but mentions of intimacy with no details.

WC: 900 words

Summary: It was the hardest decision he'd ever made. But Rex was determined to see it through. He lost everything else. He couldn't bear to lose you, too. And so, he gives you the one order you hate the most ... the one he hopes in vain you'll follow.

Part 2

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It was for the best. He knew it. He couldn’t bear to contemplate the alternative.

Your home planet was on the edges of the Mid-Rim, far from any hyperspace lanes. You’d be able to resign — as a nat-born who had been assigned to the 501st for logistical support, you’d technically fulfilled your obligations to the army when the war ended.

The Empire wouldn’t waste its resources on retaining you. You’d be able to slip off its radar and quietly build a new life.

But with him … you’d never know peace. There’d be a target on your back. And he’d be the one painting it on, tainting your life with his.

“I … I couldn’t save my brothers. Please. Please let me keep you safe. Let me go.”

The pain etched into your eyes almost broke him. The tears you’d been so stalwart in holding back finally broke free, cascading down the lovely curve of your cheeks.

That he was the one hurting you twisted his gut, sending bile rising up to his throat.

But better a broken heart now than a life forever in danger, he thought, letting his own reasoning drown out your passioned rebuttal.  

He never expected, never even thought he could experience anything like what he did with you. He was a soldier. A damn good one at that. He led his men with pride in service of the Republic, in service of freedom and peace. Fighting beside his brothers gave him a purpose he never questioned.

You shattered that certainty the first time he caught sight of your wry smile.

You stood toe to toe with General Skywalker, matching his stubbornness and determination when convinced you were right. Your ability and skill in your field — and your dedication to ensuring the troopers of his legion were as prepared and supported as possible no matter the mission — never failed to impress him, even long after he knew to expect it.

But that first smile. Watching you laugh in the mess with his brothers, holding your own against Fives’ incessant badgering, brightening Kix’s ever-gruff expression, calming and welcoming the newest shinies warmed him from the inside out. You never saw them as just clones. You treated them as comrades. As men. You gave them a soft place to land after facing another day of harsh reality.

It drew him to you, needing with increasing desperation to have that smile trained on him.

And when it finally did, when your eyes began softening at the sight of him, that warmth ignited into an inferno that radiated from his very core. He was shocked he didn’t burn you.

On the contrary, you only came closer, eventually curling around him in his small bunk, creating a bubble of warmth and light so precious that he’d almost forget you were on a ship in the dark, cold void of space.

He’d never betray his brothers, his mission. But you revealed a new way of living. Of loving. In your arms, he found solace after battle — a refuge he never wanted to leave but one that gave him the strength to each time he was recalled to battle. In your bed, he found a new purpose, a pleasure he would chase at every opportunity just to see you come undone for him.

And it soothed him, knowing with each step he took on the ground, you were back at command, tracking him, watching out for him.

So, no. He never wanted to leave your side. Without the GAR, without the 501st, his general or commander, he could dedicate the rest of his life to you. And, stars, did he want to. Every cell in his manufactured body wanted to take you into his arms and keep you there forever, giving you his heart, his very soul if you asked.

But it was too selfish.

For now, the Empire thought he was dead. That wouldn’t last forever. He may not be a captain anymore, but he was still a soldier. And he would fight against the Empire that stole everything from him. He would gladly give his last breath to free the brothers still trapped in its maw and the civilians caught under its boot.  

It was a dangerous path; one he knew he had to take. But you would not be coming with him.

With one last sigh, he stepped in closer to you, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek and wiping away a tear, only for it to be replaced immediately. Your eyes slid shut as you clenched your jaw, hardening your soft face and causing the corner of his own mouth to twitch up for just a moment.

You never were graceful when you lost a fight.

“I love you, ner karta. So, so much.” His words were barely a whisper, too scared that anything louder would shatter your threadbare resignation … and his. His lips were even gentler, barely pressing against the delicate skin of your forehead.

“Be safe. Be happy.” One last order from your Captain. He didn’t believe in any deity, but he prayed to every one he’d ever heard of and to the Force itself you’d obey.

Then, he hardened himself. With an abrupt turn, he left your warmth behind as he forced each step, letting his mind drift as his feet carried him further and further away from his heart.     

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It's so funny, I usually prefer reading fluffy, comforting fics/ficlets or slow burn but with happy endings. But this just demanded my attention lol.

Part 2 is now done! It is spicy - or citrusy, for my fellow Tumblr veterans - reunion with Rebels!Rex.

[star-wars-writing]

The Temple's Test: Hearts Revealed

Hey, Star Wars fans and fellow fanfic lovers! 🌌✨ Just dropped my latest work, Dive into a tale where Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody are caught in a time loop inside a mysterious Sith Temple. It's a story of hidden emotions, forbidden love, and the courage to face the deepest truths. Can't wait to hear what you all think. @codywanbingo @swfandomevent @swfanfics

The planet loomed before them, an enigmatic world shrouded in myths and whispered fears. Its surface, a tapestry of jagged mountains and foreboding valleys, lay bathed in the waning light of a crimson sun. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, and the loyal soldiers of Ghost Company - among them Waxer, Boil, Trapper, Wooley, and several others - trekked across the rugged terrain towards their ominous destination: a long-forgotten Sith Temple.

Each step was cautious, deliberate, as if the very ground beneath them could give way to the darkness that seemed to seep from the planet's core. Waxer and Boil, always the pair to lighten the mood, exchanged tense jokes under their breath, but even their humor was dulled by the heavy air of the alien world.

Trapper, ever vigilant, scanned the horizon with a wary eye. "This place feels wrong," he muttered, his hand subconsciously drifting to his blaster.

Wooley, usually unshakeable, nodded in silent agreement. The rest of the troopers, their armor reflecting the dying light, moved with a synchronized caution, a testament to their training and unspoken fears.

Obi-Wan, leading the group with Commander Cody at his side, felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his chest. The Force was a maelstrom here, twisted and tainted by a darkness that he had only encountered in the deepest shadows of the galaxy. He could sense Cody’s unease too, a rare crack in the commander's otherwise stoic facade.

The temple itself was a silhouette against the darkening sky, a monolith of ancient evil that seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. Its spires were like fingers clawing at the heavens, and its walls whispered of untold horrors and secrets best left buried.

As they neared the temple, the ground beneath them began to tremble subtly, a low vibration that resonated with the haunting energy of the place. Boil stumbled slightly, catching himself against Waxer, who shot him a concerned look.

"Steady there," Waxer said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the slumbering malevolence that surrounded them.

The troopers formed a protective circle around Obi-Wan and Cody as they approached the temple's entrance, their blasters at the ready. The doorway was a gaping maw, an invitation to the unknown that promised no return.

Obi-Wan paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber. He turned to look at his companions, their faces a mix of determination and dread. In Cody’s eyes, he saw a reflection of his own turmoil - a battle between duty and the foreboding sense of a trap waiting to be sprung.

With a deep breath that did little to calm his racing heart, Obi-Wan stepped forward, crossing into the shadow of the temple. The air grew colder, the whispers louder, and the darkness more oppressive. They were no longer just soldiers on a mission; they were intruders in a realm that had been undisturbed for millennia.

The threshold of the Sith Temple felt like a boundary between worlds. As Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody stepped over it, a heavy silence enveloped them, a stark contrast to the whispers that had hounded their approach. Behind them, the members of Ghost Company hesitated, their unease palpable in the charged air.

"Keep your guard up," Obi-Wan instructed, his voice resonating in the hollow expanse of the temple's antechamber. The walls, adorned with sinister carvings, seemed to absorb the light from their torches, casting elongated shadows that danced with a life of their own.

Cody, his hand resting instinctively on his blaster, surveyed the room. "This place... it's like it's alive," he murmured, his usual composure frayed at the edges.

Obi-Wan could sense Cody's discomfort, a feeling mirrored in his own heart. The Force here was a twisted labyrinth, and he treaded its paths cautiously. He reached out, trying to pierce the darkness with his senses, but it was like grasping at smoke.

As they moved deeper into the temple, the rest of Ghost Company trailing behind, a sense of isolation began to creep in. Waxer and Boil exchanged uneasy glances, their usual banter silenced by the oppressive atmosphere. Trapper and Wooley moved with a heightened alertness, as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered, and a low rumble echoed through the halls. Obi-Wan and Cody exchanged a look of alarm just as the floor split open, separating them from the rest of their team.

"Wooley, Trapper, fall back!" Cody shouted, his voice laced with urgency. The soldiers scrambled away from the widening chasm, barely evading the grasp of the dark abyss.

Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves isolated on the other side of the fissure, cut off from their men. Obi-Wan's gaze met Cody's, a silent communication passing between them. They were alone, and the weight of that realization settled heavily upon them.

"We need to find another way around," Obi-Wan said, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of chaos.

Cody nodded, his expression grim. "Let's move. Keep an eye out for any more surprises."

As they ventured further, the air grew colder, and the walls seemed to close in around them. The oppressive energy of the temple bore down on them, a physical pressure against their chests.

Obi-Wan felt Cody's unease, a tension that was uncharacteristic of the seasoned commander. It was more than the fear of the unknown; it was a reflection of the emotional turmoil that lay beneath Cody's stoic exterior.

Their path led them to a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center stood an altar, atop which lay the artifact they had been sent to retrieve. But it was the presence that filled the room that drew their attention – a malevolent force that seemed to emanate from the very stones.

Cody's hand tightened around his blaster. "There's something here with us," he whispered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

Obi-Wan extended his senses, trying to identify the source of the malevolence. "Be ready for anything," he warned, his lightsaber ignited, casting a blue glow that did little to dispel the encroaching darkness.

They moved towards the altar, each step heavy with anticipation. The presence grew stronger, a suffocating blanket of fear and anger that threatened to overwhelm Obi-Wan's defenses.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and indistinct. Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber, positioning himself between the apparition and Cody.

"Stay back," he commanded, his voice a mix of determination and concern.

Cody, his blaster raised, stood shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan. "I'm not leaving you to face this alone," he said, his loyalty overriding his fear.

The figure coalesced into a more distinct form, a manifestation of the dark side that the temple harbored. Obi-Wan could feel its hatred, a tangible force that sought to crush their spirits.

Together, they faced the embodiment of darkness, their bond a beacon of light in the heart of the Sith Temple.

The first rays of dawn barely penetrated the foreboding darkness of the Sith Temple, casting an eerie light on the figures of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody as they regained consciousness. The air was thick with an ancient menace, a silent observer to their plight. As Obi-Wan stirred, his mind was a whirlpool of confusion and unease, a sensation only exacerbated by the sight of Cody, who lay beside him, disoriented and vulnerable.

"Cody," Obi-Wan called out softly, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "Are you alright?"

Cody groaned, slowly sitting up. "Kenobi... what happened? Where are we?" The fog of confusion in his eyes was evident, and it pained Obi-Wan to see his usually unflappable commander so disconcerted.

"We're in the Sith Temple," Obi-Wan explained, his voice steady but laced with an underlying current of worry. "Something... something has happened. I can't quite remember."

As they stood, the oppressive atmosphere of the temple pressed down on them, a tangible reminder of the dark forces at play. They ventured deeper, their steps cautious, with Obi-Wan leading the way. His senses were heightened, attuned to every shadow and whisper that the temple offered.

Their journey was fraught with danger, traps springing from the very walls and floors, but they navigated them with the skill and precision honed over years of battle. However, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. It was more than the fear of the unknown; it was the fear of what lay within his own heart.

Cody, ever observant, noticed the subtle changes in Obi-Wan's demeanor. "Kenobi, you seem... troubled," he commented, his voice tinged with concern.

Obi-Wan offered a strained smile. "It's nothing, Cody. Just the effects of this place."

But it wasn't nothing. Obi-Wan's heart was a tumult of emotions, a storm that he had long kept at bay. His feelings for Cody were a secret he had buried deep, a truth he dared not face, even in the solitude of his own mind.

As they approached the heart of the temple, a sudden onslaught of dark energy erupted around them. Obi-Wan reacted instantly, his lightsaber igniting with a reassuring hum. But it was too late. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, its form shifting and malevolent, and struck out with a speed that was terrifying.

Cody, caught off guard, was thrown against the wall with a sickening thud. Obi-Wan's heart stopped. "Cody!" he cried out, rushing to his side.

But he was too late. Cody lay motionless, his eyes closed, a grim testament to the ruthlessness of their adversary.

Obi-Wan's world shattered in that moment. The man he had secretly loved, the man he had shared countless battles and quiet moments with, lay lifeless before him. His heart ached with a pain so profound it threatened to consume him. Tears blurred his vision, a rare show of vulnerability for the Jedi Master.

The shadowy figure laughed, a sound that echoed through the chamber and pierced Obi-Wan's soul. With a cry of anguish and rage, Obi-Wan lunged at the figure, his lightsaber a blur of blue light.

The battle was fierce, but Obi-Wan's heart wasn't in it. His movements were mechanical, driven by a sense of duty rather than the will to survive. When the figure finally dissipated, vanishing into the darkness from which it had come, Obi-Wan was left alone, his breath ragged, his spirit broken.

In the shadowed heart of the Sith Temple, time seemed to stand still, the air itself heavy with the weight of unspeakable loss. Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt on the cold, unforgiving stone floor, the lifeless body of Commander Cody cradled in his arms. The eerie silence of the temple was a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm of grief and regret raging within Obi-Wan's soul.

As he held Cody, Obi-Wan's mind replayed every moment they had shared, every battle they had fought side by side, every quiet conversation that had deepened their bond beyond that of mere comrades. But now, those memories were tinged with a profound sorrow, for he had never revealed the depth of his feelings to Cody, feelings that went beyond friendship, beyond brotherhood.

Tears welled up in Obi-Wan's eyes, a rare display of emotion for the stoic Jedi. The tears traced silent paths down his cheeks, each one a testament to the love he had kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his heart. He gazed down at Cody's face, peaceful in death, and felt a pang of heartache so intense it threatened to overwhelm him.

"Cody, my dear friend," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I never told you how much you mean to me. In a galaxy torn apart by war, you were a constant, a source of strength and comfort. And now... now I've lost you without ever having the chance to reveal my true feelings."

The temple seemed to absorb his confession, the shadows around him deepening as if echoing his despair. Obi-Wan's hand gently brushed Cody's hair, a small, intimate gesture he had never allowed himself in life.

"You were more than a commander to me, more than a fellow soldier. You were the light in the darkness of war, the voice of reason in the chaos. And I... I loved you, Cody. I loved you with a part of me that I dared not acknowledge, even to myself."

The reality of his confession hit Obi-Wan like a physical blow. He had always upheld the Jedi Code, always put duty before personal desires. But in this moment, alone with his grief and the silent witness of the Sith Temple, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth.

As he held Cody's body, memories flooded through him - shared laughs under alien skies, quiet moments of mutual understanding, and unspoken glances that spoke volumes. Each memory was a dagger to his heart, a reminder of what could have been but would never be.

A sob escaped Obi-Wan's lips, a sound of pure anguish that filled the chamber. He bowed his head, his forehead resting gently against Cody's, and allowed himself to fully feel the loss, the love, and the unbearable pain of a future torn away.

And then, just as the weight of his sorrow seemed too much to bear, the world around him began to shimmer and shift. The cold stone beneath him faded, and a blinding light enveloped him, erasing the dark confines of the temple.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was back at the temple's entrance, the dawn light casting a soft glow on his surroundings. Beside him, Cody stirred, alive and unharmed, oblivious to the cycle that had just reset.

Obi-Wan's relief at seeing Cody alive was overwhelming, but it was accompanied by a haunting realization. The time loop had begun anew, and with it, the fear of reliving the agony of losing Cody over and over again. The secret that lay heavy in his heart felt more burdensome than ever, a truth that he knew he must confront if they were to escape this cursed place.

As the light of dawn once again filtered through the crevices of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself grappling with a surreal sense of déjà vu. Beside him, Commander Cody stirred to life, blissfully unaware of the harrowing ordeal they had just endured in the loop that had reset. Obi-Wan watched him with a mix of relief and an aching sorrow, the memory of holding Cody's lifeless body still vivid and raw in his heart.

"Kenobi?" Cody's voice broke through Obi-Wan's reverie, tinged with the usual alertness that marked his personality. "Did you find something? You seem... distant."

Obi-Wan forced a composed facade, masking the turmoil within. "It's nothing, Cody. Just a feeling of... unease. This place has a way of playing tricks on the mind."

Cody eyed him for a moment longer, sensing an unspoken weight behind Obi-Wan's words, but he didn't press further. Instead, he nodded and rose to his feet, the commander in him taking over. "We should keep moving. The artifact won't find itself."

As they navigated through the temple's labyrinthine corridors, Obi-Wan's mind was a battleground of emotions. Each step was a reminder of the cycle they were trapped in, each breath a struggle against the fear that clawed at his soul. He watched Cody move with his usual efficiency, his demeanor betraying no hint of the fate he had just suffered in the previous loop.

The reality of their situation weighed heavily on Obi-Wan. He was torn between the Jedi Code, which had always been his guiding star, and the depth of his feelings for Cody, which the time loop had brutally brought to the surface. The memory of his confession, uttered to a Cody who could no longer hear, haunted him. It was a truth he could no longer deny, yet revealing it carried risks he wasn't sure he was ready to face.

Cody's voice pulled him back to the present. "This hall looks promising," he said, gesturing to a passage marked with ancient symbols. "Let's see where it leads."

As they delved deeper, Obi-Wan couldn't help but steal glances at Cody, each look a silent acknowledgment of the love he held secret. It was a love born not just of shared battles and hardships, but of a profound connection that transcended the chaos of war. In the dim light of the temple, Obi-Wan saw not just the commander, but the man – brave, loyal, and unknowingly the keeper of Obi-Wan's heart.

Their journey was interrupted by sudden tremors that shook the temple. Walls cracked, revealing hidden chambers and releasing bursts of dark energy. Obi-Wan's instincts kicked in, his lightsaber at the ready, but his protective gaze never left Cody.

"We need to be careful," Obi-Wan warned, his voice steady but laced with concern. "This temple is not just a structure; it's a test, a trial of sorts."

Cody nodded, his trust in Obi-Wan unshaken. "Lead the way, General. I've got your back."

As they moved forward, Obi-Wan felt the weight of his secret pressing down on him. The fear of losing Cody again, not just to the dangers of the temple but to the truth that lay between them, was a specter that haunted his every step.

In the echoing halls of the Sith Temple, under the watchful gaze of ancient evils, Obi-Wan Kenobi faced not just the physical challenges of their mission, but the inner conflict of a heart torn between duty and desire.

Within the oppressive confines of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody continued their cautious advance, the air around them thick with ancient enmities and unspoken fears. Obi-Wan, haunted by the memory of Cody's death in the previous loop, felt each heartbeat with an intensity that bordered on pain. His eyes, though focused on the path ahead, were constantly drawn to Cody, watching over him with a vigilance born of a secret, deep-seated fear.

Cody, oblivious to the cycles they had already endured, moved with his characteristic determination, unaware of the emotional storm raging within Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master's mind was a tangle of conflicting emotions – the duty to the Jedi Code, the love he harbored for Cody, and the harrowing knowledge of what could happen again.

As they navigated a narrow corridor lined with ominous statues, Cody's voice cut through the silence. "This place is like a maze," he observed, his blaster held ready. "Every corner seems the same, yet different."

Obi-Wan nodded, his throat tight with unvoiced sentiments. "It's designed to disorient and trap. Be on your guard, Cody."

The tension in the air was almost palpable as they turned a corner, only to be confronted by a sudden, deafening collapse. The floor beneath them gave way, a trap sprung by the malevolent will of the temple. Obi-Wan reacted instinctively, leaping towards safety, but his heart stopped as he saw Cody, caught off guard, plummet into the abyss that opened beneath them.

"No!" Obi-Wan's cry echoed through the chamber, a raw sound of despair and helplessness. He rushed to the edge, peering into the darkness, but it was too late. Cody was gone, swallowed by the merciless depths of the temple.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze for Obi-Wan. The loss of Cody, once again, was a blow that shattered the barriers he had built around his heart. The pain was not just the agony of losing a comrade, but the anguish of losing someone he loved deeply, profoundly – a love that he had never dared to express, a secret that now gnawed at his soul with renewed ferocity.

Obi-Wan sank to his knees, his lightsaber clattering to the ground, forgotten. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume him. The walls of the temple seemed to close in on him, as if feeding off his despair.

"Why, Cody? Why did it have to be you again?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. The question was a plea to the uncaring stones, a lament for a fate too cruel to bear.

The Jedi Master's mind was a whirlwind of memories and what-ifs. Every smile, every shared glance, every moment of camaraderie with Cody – they all flashed before his eyes, a montage of a relationship that had been so much more than mere friendship.

As he grappled with his loss, the temple seemed to mock him with its silence, its very air a suffocating shroud of sorrow. Obi-Wan's heart ached with a pain that was almost physical, the burden of his unspoken love for Cody a chain that bound him to an endless cycle of grief.

And then, just as the despair threatened to engulf him, the world around him began to shift. The harsh stone of the temple blurred, and a blinding light enveloped him, sweeping away the darkness.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes once more, he was back at the temple's entrance, the dawn light spilling over him anew. Beside him, Cody stirred to life, unharmed and unaware, the cycle reset yet again.

Obi-Wan's relief at seeing Cody alive was tinged with a profound sense of dread. The loop had begun anew, and with it, the haunting knowledge that he would have to face the agony of losing Cody over and over again. The secret of his love, a truth that lay heavy in his heart, was a burden he knew he must confront if they were to break free from this cursed cycle.

In the dim, foreboding light of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself in a familiar yet agonizing situation. This was the fifth time the time loop had reset, the fifth time he had woken up to the same haunting dawn, and the fifth time he had watched Cody, alive and unscarred, unaware of the tragic fates he had already suffered. With each reset, the burden on Obi-Wan's heart grew heavier, the pain more acute.

Cody, ever the soldier, moved ahead with a purpose, but Obi-Wan's steps were slower, heavier. The memories of Cody's repeated deaths lingered in his mind, each a sharp stab reminding him of his unresolved feelings and the cruel nature of their predicament.

"Kenobi, you alright?" Cody's voice cut through the silence, laced with concern. He had noticed Obi-Wan's distant demeanor, the uncharacteristic lag in his stride.

Obi-Wan forced a nod, his throat tight. "Yes, just... cautious," he managed to say, his voice betraying a hint of the emotional turmoil churning within him.

As they ventured deeper, the temple seemed to respond to their presence, the air growing colder, the shadows darker. Obi-Wan's eyes, marked with the pain of loss and love, never strayed far from Cody. He watched him with a protective gaze, an unspoken vow to prevent the tragedy from repeating.

Their journey was interrupted by the activation of a trap. Walls slid closed around them, separating Obi-Wan from Cody. Panic surged through Obi-Wan's veins. "Cody!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

From the other side, Cody's muffled voice came through. "I'm alright, Kenobi! Find another way around!"

But Obi-Wan's heart raced with fear. The memory of Cody's lifeless body, the feeling of utter helplessness, was too vivid, too fresh. He frantically searched for a way to reunite with Cody, his mind a whirlwind of dread and desperation.

Finally, Obi-Wan found a path that led back to Cody. He rushed towards him, his relief palpable when he saw Cody unharmed. But as he approached, the ground beneath Cody crumbled, sending him plummeting into an abyss.

Time seemed to stand still as Obi-Wan lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to save Cody. "No, not again!" he screamed, his voice a raw, guttural sound of agony.

As Cody disappeared into the darkness, Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The pain of losing Cody, once again, was unbearable, a torture to his soul. He had sworn to protect him, to keep him safe, but the cruel cycle of the time loop made it impossible.

"I can't... I can't do this anymore," Obi-Wan sobbed, his body wracked with grief. The walls of the temple closed in on him, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating.

In his heart, Obi-Wan knew the truth. He loved Cody, more than he had ever allowed himself to admit. But this love was now a curse, a source of unending pain in the merciless cycle of the time loop.

As he mourned, the familiar shift began again. The temple blurred, the light enveloped him, and the cycle reset.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he was back at the beginning, the dawn light gentle on his tear-streaked face. Beside him, Cody stirred, alive once more, oblivious to the anguish Obi-Wan had just endured.

Obi-Wan's heart ached as he watched Cody rise, the weight of his secret love and the torment of the time loop crushing him. But they had to find a way out, for both their sakes.

In the renewed light of dawn, with tears still in his eyes, Obi-Wan rose to his feet. Despite the pain, despite the fear, they would try again. For Cody, for the love he couldn't express, he would face the cycle once more.

In the ancient corridors of the Sith Temple, under the oppressive weight of a curse that seemed to mock the very essence of time, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody pressed forward once more. The air around them was heavy, thick with the scent of age-old secrets and the echo of tragedies past. For Obi-Wan, each moment was a torturous reminder of the cycles he had endured, the relentless repetition of losing Cody time and time again.

Cody, unaware of the looping nightmare, moved with his usual focus, but Obi-Wan's steps were laden with a growing sense of dread. His eyes, haunted by the pain of repeated loss, remained fixated on Cody, guarding him with a desperation born from a love too deep, too forbidden to acknowledge.

Suddenly, the temple sprang another of its devious traps. A burst of dark energy erupted from the walls, striking Cody with a force that sent him hurtling to the ground. Obi-Wan's heart lurched. "Cody!" he cried out, rushing to his side.

Cody lay motionless, his eyes closed, his face a mask of peace that belied the violent end he had just met. Obi-Wan's hands trembled as he cradled Cody's body, a wave of grief washing over him with such intensity that it threatened to shatter his composure.

"Not again," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice breaking. The tears that he had fought so hard to hold back now flowed freely, each one a silent testament to the depth of his love and the agony of his loss.

As he held Cody, a surreal, horrifying moment unfolded. Cody's body stirred, his eyes opening to reveal a hollow, lifeless gaze. In a voice that was not his own, an echo of the dark energy that permeated the temple, Cody spoke.

"It's your fault, Obi-Wan," the corpse intoned, its words cutting through Obi-Wan like a blade. "You cannot escape this cycle until you face the truth. Your denial, your refusal to confront your deepest feelings, binds you here."

Obi-Wan recoiled in horror, the words striking at the very core of his being. The cruel twist of the curse, using Cody's lifeless form to convey its message, was a torment beyond comprehension.

"I... I can't," Obi-Wan stammered, his heart breaking. "Cody, I'm so sorry. I never wanted this. I loved you, more than I should have, more than I ever admitted, even to myself."

The confession, wrung from the depths of his soul, was a raw, exposed wound. The love he had harbored, hidden under layers of duty and restraint, now laid bare in the most excruciating way imaginable.

As Obi-Wan's sobs filled the chamber, the lifeless form of Cody remained eerily still, a grotesque puppet of the temple's will. The realization of what his unacknowledged love had cost them both was a burden too heavy to bear.

In his arms, the body of Cody began to dissolve, turning to dust as the cycle prepared to reset once more. Obi-Wan's cries echoed off the ancient walls, a lament for a love lost, a future never to be, and a heart irrevocably broken.

As the world around him began to blur and shift, signaling the start of yet another loop, Obi-Wan's tears continued to fall, each one a silent vow. He would find a way to break this cycle, not just for their escape, but for the chance to honor the truth he had kept hidden for far too long.

In the renewed light of dawn, with the burden of his confession still heavy on his heart, Obi-Wan prepared to face the cycle again, this time with a resolve born from the ashes of his shattered heart.

The relentless cycle of dawn brought Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody back to the hauntingly familiar beginning once again. The Sith Temple, with its oppressive shadows and sinister aura, loomed around them, a relentless reminder of the curse they were ensnared in. Obi-Wan, his soul already frayed by the repeated trauma of losing Cody, felt the weight of despair pressing down upon him with a crushing force.

Cody, blissfully ignorant of the looping nightmare, began to stir, his movements marked by the usual efficiency of a soldier. But for Obi-Wan, the sight of Cody alive again was both a balm and a torment. Each reset was a reminder of the love he harbored, a love that was both his salvation and his curse.

As Cody looked up, ready to embark on their quest once more, he noticed the pallor of Obi-Wan's face, the haunted look in his eyes that seemed deeper, more pronounced than before. "Kenobi, are you sure you're alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Obi-Wan tried to muster a response, to put on the facade of the composed Jedi Master, but the effort was too great. His defenses crumbled, and with them, the dam holding back his emotions broke. Tears, unbidden and unstoppable, began to stream down his face, each one a silent scream of anguish.

Cody, taken aback by this rare display of vulnerability, stepped closer, his hand reaching out in a gesture of comfort. "Kenobi, talk to me. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with a worry that went beyond the concern of a comrade.

Obi-Wan looked at Cody, his vision blurred by tears, his heart aching with a pain that words could hardly convey. "I can't do this, Cody. I can't lose you again. Not again," he choked out, the words laced with a desolation that echoed in the hollow chambers of the temple.

Cody, bewildered, tried to grasp the meaning behind Obi-Wan's words. "Lose me? Kenobi, I'm right here. What are you talking about?"

But Obi-Wan was lost in the torrent of his own emotions, the reality of the time loop and the repeated loss of Cody breaking him piece by piece. "You don't understand. You... you die, over and over, and I... I have to watch, unable to save you. Each time, I hold you in my arms, and each time, I die a little more inside."

Cody, struck by the intensity of Obi-Wan's distress, realized that there was something profoundly amiss, something beyond the comprehension of their current reality. "Kenobi, I... I don't know what you've been through, but we'll face this together. We always have."

Obi-Wan's sobs subsided into shuddering breaths, the rawness of his confession leaving him exposed, vulnerable. The truth of his words hung between them, a revelation that altered the very fabric of their relationship.

In the dim light of the temple, with the weight of unspoken love and unspeakable loss bearing down upon him, Obi-Wan Kenobi faced not just the physical challenges of their mission, but the inner turmoil of a heart torn asunder by a love too powerful to remain hidden.

Together, yet apart in their understanding of the cruel reality they were trapped in, Obi-Wan and Cody prepared to navigate the temple once more. But for Obi-Wan, each step was a battle, each breath a struggle against the tide of despair that threatened to consume him.

In the shadowed confines of the Sith Temple, the air hung heavy with a sense of impending doom. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody, bound together by fate and a secret love, moved with a semblance of purpose, their steps echoing hollowly against the ancient stone. Obi-Wan's heart, already ravaged by the repeated trauma of losing Cody, beat with a resigned dread, each thump a countdown to an inevitable tragedy.

Cody, still unaware of the looping nightmare, proceeded with his usual diligence, but there was a perceptible shift in Obi-Wan. His movements were slower, burdened not just by physical fatigue but by the emotional torment of a love that had been his silent companion for too long.

As they navigated a treacherously narrow ledge, the temple revealed its cruel intent once more. A sudden, malevolent force, unseen but palpably evil, struck out. Obi-Wan, ever vigilant, reacted instantaneously, his lightsaber springing to life. But it was too late. The force caught Cody, throwing him violently against the wall.

"Cody!" Obi-Wan's voice was a mix of fear and desperation. He rushed to Cody's side, his heart sinking as he saw the extent of the injuries. Cody lay there, his breaths shallow, his eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay conscious.

Obi-Wan cradled Cody in his arms, his hands trembling as he tried futilely to stem the flow of blood. Tears blurred his vision, each drop a testament to the depth of his feelings, feelings that had remained unspoken, hidden in the shadows of his heart.

"Cody, stay with me, please," Obi-Wan begged, his voice a raw whisper of despair. "Don't leave me."

Cody's gaze met Obi-Wan's, a faint smile touching his lips. "Kenobi... I..." His words trailed off as his strength waned.

Obi-Wan's world narrowed to the man in his arms, the man he had loved in silence, the man he was about to lose yet again. "I love you, Cody. I always have," Obi-Wan confessed, the words spilling from him in a torrent of agony and love.

But as Cody's life ebbed away, his body began to speak, manipulated by the dark will of the temple. "It's because you won't face the truth, Obi-Wan. Your denial dooms us both."

The words, coming from Cody's dying form, were a cruel knife twisting in Obi-Wan's already shattered heart. He screamed, a sound of anguish and frustration that echoed through the ancient halls. He clutched Cody closer, his tears falling on Cody's still face.

"Why?!" Obi-Wan yelled, his voice breaking. "Why must this be our fate?"

The temple seemed to absorb his cries, its sinister energy feeding off his pain. Obi-Wan rocked back and forth, holding Cody, lost in his grief. The man he had loved in secret lay lifeless in his arms, a victim of a cruel cycle that Obi-Wan was powerless to break.

As Obi-Wan's sobs echoed in the empty chamber, the cycle prepared to reset once more. The world around him began to blur, and the crushing realization that he would have to endure this agony again descended upon him like a shroud.

As the relentless cycle reset, bringing forth yet another dawn in the cursed Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke to a reality he could no longer bear. His body trembled, his heart ached with an overwhelming grief, and sobs wracked his frame uncontrollably. The crushing weight of loss, of a love too deep and too forbidden, threatened to shatter his very soul.

Beside him, Commander Cody, oblivious to the tormenting loops they had endured, stirred to consciousness. His eyes, still clouded with the remnants of sleep, widened in confusion at the sight of Obi-Wan, a man he had known as a pillar of strength, now broken and weeping.

"Cody," Obi-Wan whispered through his tears, the name a caress, a wound, a lament. His voice was laden with a despair so profound that it seemed to echo off the temple walls, resonating with the ancient tragedies that the place had witnessed.

Cody, his instincts as a soldier momentarily overridden by a deeper, more personal concern, crawled over to Obi-Wan. The sight of his general, his friend, in such a state of despair was jarring, unsettling in a way he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Kenobi, what's happened?" Cody asked, his voice a mix of worry and confusion. He reached out, hesitantly placing a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan, lost in a sea of grief, barely registered Cody's touch. His mind was a whirlwind of memories, each loop, each loss, each heart-wrenching moment he had watched Cody die, all crashing upon him with merciless force.

"It's all my fault," Obi-Wan choked out, his words barely audible over his sobs. "I've lost you... so many times. I can't... can't do it again."

Cody's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Lost me? Kenobi, I'm right here. You're not making any sense."

But Obi-Wan was beyond the reach of reason. The dam had broken, and years of repressed emotions, of love and loss, poured forth. "You don't understand, Cody. You can't remember. Each time, I have to watch you die, hold you as you slip away. And each time, I'm too afraid, too cowardly to face the truth."

The truth of his words, the rawness of his confession, hung in the air between them, a revelation that changed everything.

Cody, his heart aching at the sight of Obi-Wan's pain, struggled to grasp the enormity of what he was witnessing. "Kenobi, or... Obi-Wan," he corrected himself, using the name as a lifeline, a way to reach the man behind the title. "Obi-Wan, please, tell me. What truth?"

The dim light of dawn cast a soft, melancholic glow in the Sith Temple, illuminating the figures of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody in a poignant tableau. Obi-Wan, his body wracked with sobs, faced a moment of unbearable truth, a crossroads of his heart and duty.

Cody, his brow creased with concern and confusion, watched Obi-Wan with a growing sense of alarm. "Obi-Wan, please," he urged gently, "talk to me. What is this truth you're speaking of?"

Obi-Wan's eyes, red and swollen from tears, met Cody's. In them, Cody saw a depth of pain and vulnerability he had never witnessed in the Jedi Master before. "Cody, I... I have been living a lie," Obi-Wan began, his voice quivering with emotion. "A lie to myself, to the Order, to you."

Cody's hand remained steady on Obi-Wan's shoulder, a silent offer of support. "What lie, Obi-Wan?"

"The lie of my own heart," Obi-Wan confessed, his gaze dropping. "I am a Jedi, bound by our Code, our ways. We are taught to be devoid of attachment, of personal desires. But my heart... it has not obeyed. My heart chose you, Cody."

Cody's breath hitched, a mix of surprise and realization dawning upon him. "Me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, you," Obi-Wan affirmed, lifting his eyes to meet Cody's again. "I have loved you, not as a comrade, not just as a friend, but with a love that goes beyond the bounds of what I am allowed to feel. I have watched you die, again and again, in these cursed loops, each time holding your lifeless body, feeling a part of me die along with you."

Cody, still processing Obi-Wan's words, felt a surge of emotions he couldn't quite name. The man before him, a Jedi Master, renowned for his strength and wisdom, was baring his soul in a way Cody had never imagined possible.

In the quiet, somber dawn within the ancient walls of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself at a crossroads of his soul. The confession of his forbidden love for Commander Cody hung heavily in the air, a revelation that shattered the facade he had maintained for so long. His tears, a rare display of vulnerability, reflected the turmoil that raged within him—a storm of duty, honor, and a love that defied the strictures of the Jedi Code.

Cody, his expression a mixture of shock and empathy, remained by Obi-Wan's side, a steady presence in the midst of the emotional upheaval. The revelation had pierced through the armor of the soldier, reaching the man beneath. "Obi-Wan," Cody began, his voice soft yet firm, "I never imagined... I mean, you, a Jedi Master..."

Obi-Wan's gaze was one of resignation, braced for rejection, for the inevitable distancing that his confession might cause. "I understand if this changes things between us, Cody. I had to be honest with you, with myself. This... feeling, it's been a part of me, despite everything I am supposed to be."

Cody took a deep breath, his own heart racing with a confession of his own. "Obi-Wan," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos of emotions within him, "you're not the only one who's been living a lie."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of hope mingling with his despair. "Cody?"

"I've felt it too," Cody admitted, his gaze unwavering. "These feelings for you, they've been there for months, maybe longer. I pushed them down, told myself it was just the bond of battle, the closeness that comes from fighting side by side. But it's more than that, and your confession... it's like a mirror to my own heart."

The revelation hit Obi-Wan with the force of a tidal wave. Cody, the man he had loved in secret, harbored the same forbidden feelings. It was a truth as startling as it was bittersweet.

"Cody, I had no idea," Obi-Wan whispered, a mix of joy and sorrow in his voice. "To think we've both been carrying this burden, in silence, all this time."

Cody reached out, his hand gently cupping Obi-Wan's cheek, wiping away a tear. "I guess we're more alike than we realized," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

In that moment, amidst the shadows and echoes of the temple, the barriers between them crumbled. The confession, shared in the soft light of dawn, bridged the gap that duty and doctrine had imposed. They were no longer just Jedi and Commander; they were two souls laid bare, united by a love that had silently grown in the depths of war and hardship.

As they held each other, the weight of their secret love no longer a solitary burden, the cruel cycle of the time loop seemed, for once, a distant concern. In the revelation of their shared lie, Obi-Wan and Cody found a shared truth, a connection that transcended the roles they played in the galaxy's grand drama.

For Obi-Wan, the confession was a liberation, a release from the chains of denial and fear. And for Cody, it was an acceptance of a part of himself he had never dared to acknowledge. Together, in the heart of the Sith Temple, they faced not just the physical challenge of their mission, but the emotional odyssey of their unveiled hearts.

In the quiet sanctum of the Sith Temple, illuminated by the first light of dawn, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody found themselves at the precipice of a new understanding. The air around them, once heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, now seemed to hum with the electricity of revelation. They stood close, their shared confession hanging between them like a delicate, newly-formed bridge.

Cody, his eyes reflecting a mixture of wonder and apprehension, gazed at Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master, so often a bastion of composure and strength, now stood before him vulnerable and open-hearted. The confession had stripped away the layers of duty and decorum, revealing the man beneath—the man Cody had, in his own silent way, grown to love.

Obi-Wan's eyes, still glistening with the remnants of tears, met Cody's. There was a question in them, a hesitant seeking of permission, of mutual desire. The intensity of the moment was palpable, a crescendo of emotions that had been building, unacknowledged, over countless battles and shared glances.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, their faces moved closer. The distance between them, once marked by protocol and rank, now seemed insignificant. Obi-Wan's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. Cody, his own breathing unsteady, closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment.

Their lips met, softly at first, a tentative exploration of uncharted territory. The kiss was a gentle clash of reality and longing, a mingling of fears and unspoken dreams. It was an acknowledgment of the love they had both concealed, a love that defied the roles they had been bound to, a love that was now, in this sacred space of truth, finally given voice.

Obi-Wan's hands found their way to Cody's waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Cody responded in kind, his arms wrapping around Obi-Wan, anchoring him in the moment. The kiss grew more urgent, a physical manifestation of months, perhaps years, of hidden yearning.

In that embrace, the world outside—the war, the Jedi Code, the relentless cycle of the time loop—faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the connection they shared, a bond forged in the crucible of war and solidified in the vulnerability of their confession.

As they slowly parted, their eyes opened to gaze upon each other anew. There was a sense of wonder, of disbelief, as if they were seeing each other for the first time. The kiss had changed everything and nothing all at once. They were still Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody, but now they were also something more—two hearts united in a love that had finally found its expression.

In the quiet aftermath of their kiss, as the first rays of dawn painted the temple walls with hues of gold and crimson, they stood together, bound by a newfound intimacy. The path ahead was uncertain, the curse of the time loop still a looming shadow, but in this moment, they found strength in their shared truth, in the love that no longer needed to hide in the shadows.

In the aftermath of their newfound emotional connection, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody felt a shift in the atmosphere of the Sith Temple. It was as if the ancient structure, having witnessed the unveiling of their hearts, had decided to release them from its relentless grasp. The walls, which had once seemed to close in on them with a malevolent intent, now receded, revealing a path leading out of the temple.

As they walked through the now-quiet corridors, there was a sense of surreal calm. The oppressive energy that had dominated the temple seemed to dissipate, leaving in its wake a silent acknowledgment of the truth they had shared. The artifact they had come to retrieve was nowhere to be found, but in that moment, it seemed inconsequential compared to the emotional ordeal they had just endured.

Upon returning to the Negotiator, their sense of reality was tinged with a dreamlike quality. The war, the ongoing conflict that had defined so much of their lives, felt distant, as if belonging to another world. They moved through the ship, their fellow crew members unaware of the profound journey they had just experienced.

Once inside Obi-Wan's quarters, the door slid shut behind them, cocooning them in a private sanctuary. The room, typically a place of solitude and reflection for Obi-Wan, now became a haven for them both—a place where they could process the events that had unfolded in the temple.

Cody, still processing the depth of what had transpired, turned to Obi-Wan. "I never imagined any of this when we set out for that temple," he said, his voice a mix of awe and uncertainty.

Obi-Wan, his eyes still reflecting the emotional intensity of their shared experience, nodded. "Nor did I. But what we've found... it's something I never dared hope for."

There was a vulnerability in Obi-Wan's admission, a departure from the stoic Jedi persona he was known for. Cody, sensing the depth of Obi-Wan's emotions, reached out, taking his hand in a gesture of solidarity and comfort.

"We've been through something extraordinary," Cody continued, his gaze locked with Obi-Wan's. "Something that's changed us. I can't go back to pretending, Obi-Wan. Not after this."

Obi-Wan's grip on Cody's hand tightened, a silent affirmation of his words. "I don't want to go back either, Cody. What we have... it's worth any risk. It's worth defying the expectations placed upon us."

In the quiet of Obi-Wan's room, they found solace in each other's presence. The conversation flowed between them, a mix of confessions, hopes, and fears. They talked of the future, of the uncertainties that lay ahead, but also of the undeniable strength they had found in each other.

As they sat together, the barriers of rank and duty that had once defined their interactions seemed to melt away. In their place was a profound connection, a bond that had been forged in the shadows of the Sith Temple and solidified in the light of their truth.

The ordeal they had faced in the temple had been a crucible, testing and ultimately revealing the depth of their feelings. Now, in the aftermath, they faced a new reality—one where their love was no longer a secret to be buried but a truth to be embraced.

In the sanctuary of Obi-Wan's quarters, away from the prying eyes of the galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody found peace in each other's company, a peace that had eluded them for so long. Together, they began to navigate the uncharted waters of a relationship that defied convention but was grounded in a love that had proven strong enough to withstand the darkest of trials.

Thanks for reading! 🌟 If you liked it, hit reblog and let me know your thoughts! What was your favorite moment? Any feedback or comments are always welcome and appreciated. Stay tuned for more intergalactic adventures!

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 3: Separated from loved ones

Summary: Moments like these made him wish he wasn't such a goddamn freak.

Warning: N/A

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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To say there was an air of trepidation as they approached the shadowy planet of Umbara, was a complete overstatement. The atmosphere within the Negotiator was more than a little tense, to the point where an eerie silence seemed to permeate the air of the large Venator-Class Star Destroyer.

It was stiffing. Oppressive. But most of all, irritating.

Not that Peel was one to give in to irritation all that easily. Especially not since the fiasco that had been the mission to Bray. He'd had to learn to be more patient and cautious after that ordeal. And not without good reason...

Running his tongue over his unusually sharp canines, the vampiric trooper had to keep himself from sighing out loud as he noted the aftertaste of battery acid that stubbornly clung to his teeth enamel. Reminding him of things he really wished he could forget. Of his new nature as... This... Whatever this was.

Sure, Canivete had reassured him that his newly acquired habits and instincts weren't anything need fearing, since he'd figured out a pretty easy way to keep himself from succumbing to the urges that had been haunting him after he'd been "cured" of Lord Ravna's influence. But that didn't mean he had to like the way that the vile monster's taint had altered him.

Especially not when he had to preemptively feed himself as much charge as possible before every mission. It was doubtful he'd have a chance during their deployment on hostile planets, so he was often forced to stalk off and hide away in shame, as he sunk his teeth into every piece of machinery that Canivete had pilfered for him in silent solidarity. She was amazing like that. Never shying away from helping even the strangest of cases... Which he supposes came down to the fact she had a batcher who'd ended up in a much worse situation than Peel had.

That said, Canivete was a bit of a mother hen and tended to fuss a little too much when she thought he was neglecting his own needs. It wasn't like he wanted to stay awake late into the night, or that he didn't want to eat a nice tasty meal among their brethren... It's just that, sometimes, all the noise could be a little overwhelming.

Umbara would be overwhelming too... He just knew it. Especially after they'd gone through the rushed briefing. The lack of information they were working with put him and the rest of the vode ill at ease, which was what was causing so much tension all over the ship. What was making it so hard for him to shake off the pre-barricade-busting jitters.

Not even draining the mouse droid he'd managed to corner settled his frantically beating heart. He hoped the poor thing didn't hold it against him. The engineers would be able to easily fix it, but you never knew a droid's temperament until you crossed it.

"Peel." Startling at the sound of his own name, he turned around to see who'd called him. At the end of the hall he'd been pacing in, stood Cani in her medical fatigues. Her hair was down, which meant she'd just recently woken up and hadn't had the time to put it up yet in the way she liked.

Which itself meant she'd been looking for him since she'd woken up.

"Canivete." He greeted, flashing her a quick smile before subconsciously clamping his mouth shut so that his fangs didn't show too much. Even if she wasn't bothered by these bizarre attributes of his, he didn't particularly like showing his teeth to other vode. It made him feel weird. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." She made her way over to him and ran a hand over her face, trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness from her eyes. "The Negotiator will be breaching the planetary barricade soon. According to the Commander, a couple of squads of pilots from the 212th and 501st each, will be keeping the Umbarans busy while the Generals and the rest of the men engage planet-side via LAATs."

"What are we working with down there? I know we don't have much in the way of intel..." He couldn't wait to get down on solid ground and get some of the nervous energy out of his system. The sooner they landed, the faster they could take Umbara and then go back to Coruscant.

"... That's what I wanted to talk about..." Canivete frowned, her gaze lowering guiltily onto the floor. "You're not going."

"What?" He stared at her, eyes going wide and jaw dropping slightly.

"I've noticed your vitals have been a little erratic as of late..." She explained "And I know you've been downplaying it too. You've been sleeping less and draining more energy than usual. Down there there's no way of telling if we'll be able to meet your requirements, and I don't want to risk a freakout in the middle of the field. Especially not if you start zeroing in on the General or his saber..."

"I... You had me written out of the mission?!" He didn't know what to say. He felt betrayed. "What the hell Canivete?!"

"I'm trying to protect you!" The medic snapped at him.

"I don't need protecting!" He barked back, furious that she'd go behind his back like this. "I'm not a ticking time bomb! I've been preparing for this! Been feeding regularly so I wouldn't have to worry down there!"

"We have no idea how long this might take! You can't possible tell me you think this will be a quick run... Not with how little we have on the enemy or their goddamn tech!"

Snarling, Peel turned away and began to pace again. On one hand, Canivete was right. This was definitely not striking him as an easy campaign and he didn't even know if all the preemptive feeding would maintain him for long. He'd been getting hungrier and hungrier recently. Something deep in him feeling like something big was coming... He wasn't sure what, but he had his suspicions.

And so did his worrywart sister.

If he ended up running on empty down on Umbara... He might become desperate enough to eat his brothers's blasters as a last resort. Or worse... Try to eat their Jedi. And if neither of those things happened? What would become of him? Would he collapse? Would he die? Neither of them knew for sure...

The point was that, by technicality, he was a liability and Canivete was right to request he stay on ship. It was the safer option.

But he didn't want to sit around while his brothers, sisters and siblings fought a bloody battle. He didn't want to be separated from them and be left wondering if any of them would come back safely. Something deep in his core told him they might not.

Not that he had a choice in the matter. Canivete had made sure of it.

"I'm sorry Peel. I really am... But as a medic I have to do what's right by my patients." Cani looked genuinely sorrowful. "And as a sister, I have to do what's right by my siblings... Even if I have to go behind their back to do it..."

"If you die down there, I'll never forgive you." He spat out coldly, uncaring if he hurt her feelings. "I won't say your name in my remembrances, you hear me?"

"...That's fair." He hated that she looked resigned to that. He wanted her to argue with him. Not accept whatever he told her in a fit of bitter anger. "Keep the ship safe Peel. I'll do my best to make sure everyone comes back in one piece..."

With that all said, the medic turned around and left. His words weighed heavier in his heart because she didn't look back. Peel was watching his vode, his loved ones, marching towards uncertainty and potential death. And he couldn't do anything about it. He felt helpless.

Moments like these made him wish he wasn't such a goddamn freak.

[flowerflamestars]

Contretemps snippet

“You deny the sentience of the children of House Amidala, the firstborn of Padme Naberrie Amidala, and very well the future regnal Queen of Naboo, because you would rather that than acknowledge the hearts and minds and souls of millions who have fought and died for you?” Maul hated the fucking Senate.   Laced in misery and lies, even without the active taint of Sith intervention, everything on this damned planet was stained. Shadowed. Just because he’d found the trickle that led to sanity in this place, gained the rank of Knight in this warm, loving temple, it didn’t mean that he had to like it.   “Sir,” Fizz murmured, slightest push of questioning suggestion, his Lieutenant’s Force presence bubbling with phantom sunlight.   Maul turned back his attention to the broadcast.   Naboo.   Sithfucking, wretched, beautiful, cursed, Naboo. He couldn’t escape it.    It was not common knowledge where Maul had spent his childhood. Not among the Order and not at all in his files- the facts of Maul’s reality- Maul’s capture- had been entirely obscured for his own tenuous safety at the time he’d been dragged in. That he’d told his troopers, fellow child-slaves that they had been, was a mark of deeper Jedi sentiment that he liked to admit to himself.   “My children exist,” Senator Amidala’s ceremonial face paint was shattered through in scarlet lines. The high art of Naboo, where each phrase, every gesture, might seek to reach forward in meaning and backward in sentiment, reference and poetry and systemic, artful poise.   Nothing subtle about her now.   Red, for war.   Red, to remember.   “My children,” the broadcast shifted focus as her voice ironed out into ferocity, two round-faced human infants, wide-eyed, calm in the arms of the clone commander very exactly her left, Fox, where royal consorts stood, “Live and breathe and grow. If this august body suddenly believes it has the ability to deny the most basic realities and their intrinsic, inalienably rights as guaranteed by the Charter of the Republic co-written and sealed by my most holy predecessor, the first Amidala, than it may be time indeed, for the end of this union.”   Runi, stretched out on Maul’s living room floor, reassembling her riffle, snorted. “So much for peace.”

[colleen-gilly]

Cameron Park

this was for a creative writing class I took, but enjoy :)

My shoes hit the ground as sweat drips down my face. I narrowly maneuver around the large rocks and hanging tree limbs that could so easily knock me off my feet. My chest pounds, legs ache, lungs gasp, but I can only think one thing: “I’m home”. 

I grew up running the trails of Cameron Park, the second largest inner-city park in the United States, located in the heart of Texas – Waco. Twenty years ago, the towering pine trees provided cover for local gangs to sell drugs and various other contraband. Now, the park acts as the heart of the city, drawing trail runners, mountain bikers, and swimmers from across the state – proving that given enough time and effort, change is possible.

Unfortunately, the city of Waco has been tainted by the gruesome memory of the 1993 siege — a 51-day standoff between a religious cult and law enforcement that resulted in an 82 death massacre. For years, Waco was known as a home to convicts, culprits, and criminals, all of whom ran the town, including my beloved Cameron Park.

As a child, I was naïve to the dangers that the park presented. I would happily ride in my stroller crunching on a bag of Honey Nut Cheerios as my mother pushed from behind. Occasionally, I would see men in dark clothes deep in the woods, seemingly exchanging what I innocently mistook as cookies. Despite the southern charm that my mom worked so hard to instill in me, we would avoid all contact with the men in the mysterious hoods. Instead, we would stick to the river trail, occasionally ducking behind the trees for a quick potty break or down to the river to cool off. 

Eventually, I graduated from the stroller and began to run alongside my mom. In the early mornings we found peace in the isolation of the woods. Running gave us more freedom than the stroller had ever allowed. Our explorations took us deep into Cameron Park and closer to the possibility of encountering the hooded men. Having my mom as my companion, the dangers that plagued the park never concerned me — I was safe, or at least I felt safe.

It wasn’t until I was much older when I overheard conversations my mom had with friends or family that I realized we had been in the face of danger all those years. Many days we would arrive at the park and be greeted by a swarm of police cars that would politely ask us to come again another day — a detail I casually overlooked as a six-year-old. My mom would simply tell the nice police officer, “No worries. We’ll be back tomorrow.” And she would drive us home.

Whether we were applauded for our bravery or condescended for our stupidity, my mom was willing to risk the dangers of venturing into the park to observe its unexplored beauty with me by her side. We would run the unworn trails for hours, engulfed in the forest around us. If we weren’t looking out for hooded men in the distance, we were acutely aware of the vultures soaring overhead or the possibility of getting bitten by copperhead snakes that roamed the grounds. Running in Cameron Park required our complete attention, allowing the rest of the world to momentarily fall away. It became the foundation of my relationship with my mother, establishing her as my central protector.

When I was eight, my father got a new job that required us to move away from the place my mom and I laid these roots. For years, our only visits to Cameron Park were brief stops on our way through Waco. With each stop we made, we noticed more and more people discovering the land we once loved. Trails once avoided out of precaution were cleared for mountain bikers and hikers alike. State troopers would remain on watch, patrolling the grounds on horseback. The park was no longer a hidden gem.

When you love something and let it go, it will find its way back to you if it’s meant to be. Like any great love, we found our way back to Cameron Park. Nine years after leaving the place my mom and I laid the roots of our relationship, we found ourselves moving back to Waco. But it was different this time. Cameron Park was not the same place we had left it. Instead, it was filled with people. The dangers that once troubled the park were no longer present, and it was as if the town had rewritten its story. Previously known for a deadly siege and high crime rates, Waco had become a town of prosperity and restoration.

Much like the changes that overcame the town, my relationship with my mom completely transformed. When I was young, I viewed my mom as my protector. In my eyes, she had the power to stop any bad thing from happening to me. During the years away from Waco, we had gradually grown apart, no longer running together like we once had. I was no longer naïve to the harsh realities of life and had learned to become my own protector. When we found ourselves back in Cameron Park all those years later, we became united again, but in a much different way. We no longer ran together in the mornings but would take a daily afternoon hike through the park in which we would discuss the perils of our day. Previously my bodyguard, my mom had grown to be my closest confidant and best friend. 

Despite the drastic societal changes that took place in Waco and the change in my relationship with my mother, Cameron Park has remained a natural beauty that I can always rely on. The steep white cliffs that hold a beautiful array of botanical life on top, tower over the blue water that rushes through the Brazos River below, creating a divide between the past that the town is trying to flush away and the new life it is growing above.