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iknowicanbutwhy · 3 years

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Heads up we got an

Adult Hikikomori Sunny AU

I've been waiting to find an AU after the neutral end of the Hikikomori route for a while. What happened to Sunny? How did his life go on after that? Did he go to college? Did he get a fulltime job? Did he figure out what he wants in life?

these are all very good questions because literally anything could be the case. So this AU is just gonna be stuck in a hospital setting for a while.

Here's what I got so far:

Past:

Hospital Psychiatrist (practicing? Training?) Doctor Hero

I imagine after Basil's death, Hero would (eventually) turn to learning how to identify and help people with suicidal tendencies, if he's gonna be a doctor anyway.

In a choice between psychologist and psychiatrist, Hero went psychiatrist. Hero's parents would pressure him into getting a more lucrative job. PLUS psychiatrists go to college for 8 years, then take four more of psychiatry residency. Hero might feel just a little more accomplished, just a little better about himself for earning a higher degree, just to reassure himself that he's working hard and doing his best towards helping people.

Hero did extra studying in psychotherapy. He tried doing it at the same time as he did medical college. He's not.. the best at it because of that, for several reasons, but he knows it's better to combine medicine and conversation. When he has his head on straight, he can manage it.

I have.. no idea whether to put Hero into practice or residency. He'd have to be at least around.. 31, if he were in practice. That's a long time to have unresolved trauma. That's a nice hunk of research i gotta do.

That's it that's all for Hero. His goals are set in the present and focused around other people, as per usual.

Sunny is... not doing so well. He lied about going to college when he moved into some hole far away from his mother. He has no reason to get up in the morning when he can just lie around. He doesn't enjoy whatever hobbies he used to have.

He doesn't even know Basil is gone and he's so bad off.

He's honestly convinced himself that he doesn't care about anything. He still cares about people, however. He'd have stayed with his mom and burdened her with himself if he didn't. When they had moved from Faraway, it was to a cheaper, smaller place. That meant Sunny's mom didn't have to work so much. That meant more time with Sunny. He decided it was.. preferable not to stay.

The only times he does anything is when he tries to remember the past and relearn the person he used to be. What did he do? What did he like? He'd play games, and read comics, and would get frustrated? move on to something else when those did nothing for him, searching for.. some feeling to occur. And then he'd question why, why, why.

Why can't he enjoy anything? Why does he want to feel enjoyment? Why can't he just do something and be happy? Why can't he just do nothing and be fine? Why does he need to exist? Why does he want to move? Why does he want, but can never have, can never get by himself?

If there's nothing he can do, then what is he waiting for?

Vague memories would become clearer with introspection, until he would feel something, finally. An old guilt aching from deep inside his bones. A haunting self hatred, ripping away whatever minuscule strength his limbs had to try anything fun. A sense of iron resignation blanketing and anchoring his body, reminding him that it's much too late to try getting up now. Ironically, apathy got him up in the morning, as much as it keeps him from enjoying anything enough to stay up.

He was always a little too thin, but he used to force himself to do things like eat and work enough to survive. Mostly because to sleep means to not have headaches, and to not have headaches means to eat well enough, and to eat well enough means to have food, and to have food means to have money from a job.

But it's not as if he was all too desperate to sleep, anyway. His dreams have stayed the same for years. They're more eventful and colorful than bland reality, but it's a mix of the same thing every day. Staring at the swirling kaleidoscope of his dreams is exactly like observing the same beige ceiling for hours on end, until it all mixes together into the same shade of empty grey.

It probably doesn't help Sunny's mood that he thinks dramatic things like the previous point, just to pass time.

He only got worse once he was forced to move into one of those really bad apartments. You know the ones, with the rusted metal stairs nobody wants to risk their life on, and practically no privacy with four-to-five thin-walled neighboring rooms, and bad heating in one corner of the apartment. But it was cheap. Too bad he had to go up and down the stairs all the time.

He didn't have a problem with them when he just moved in. Generally, the most he notices is starting at the top, teleporting to the bottom, and a slight shaking of his hands that he barely glances at with empty curiosity.

As it is, some part of him knew this was going to happen. That he'd have one of those terribly introspective weeks, when he just so happens to have his new job with a boss ready to fire him and his sullen face and poor (somehow complete neutrality is offensive) attitude. He's emotionally vulnerable, and the memories on top of the stairs are devastating.

A week goes by. He's fired. He doesn't look for another job. He hasn't gone for groceries in a while. He's exhausted.

He was waiting for death, he guesses. He still wants, still feels that urge in the buzzing of his fingertips, the ghost of movement from his limbs, the phantom shiver in his back - the intent of every muscle in his body one after the other pleading with him to move, but never all at once - and Sunny laments that the human body is pretty stupid. Moving wont help. What would he do, make the end come quicker? He's already thrown away too many chances for that.

He'll stop wanting once he's gone. That's what happens when you get what you want, right?

His landlord finds him. He forgot the rent. He's taken to the hospital. Ugh.

Present:

Sunny is stunted and underweight. He wears baggy shirts stuffed into slightly less baggy hoodies, and sweats. Warmth. He couldn't find his hoodie after they took it off to put in an IV on his first trip to the hospital.

Usually nurses do things like bring food to patients, but Sunny only ever interacts with Hero and Hero wants to make sure Sunny is okay anyway. Not that it's much easier for Hero to encourage Sunny to eat.

Sunny stresses Hero the hell out. But Hero kinda missed Sunny, and his depressing and concerning reappearance brings with it a deadpan, world-weary, often childish humor that fails to take anything seriously when everything in Sunny's situation should be taken seriously. It's as much a relief as it is incredibly frustrating. Some days Hero loves it. Some days it makes him angry. Some days it makes him want to cry.

I tried doing research into the conduct Hero should display regarding patients/clients in general but it just. Any professionalism quickly devolves between him and Sunny.

As in, at one point, him and Sunny were whaling on each other about having no lives. Hero felt really bad afterwards; he had no idea what came over him. It was a great way for both of them to let out some hidden frustration, though, and they turned out fine afterwards. They even lowkey pick on each other every now and again.

Sometimes one or the other gets a bit too accurate in their teasing, however.

Psychiatrists are supposed to be able to understand, diagnose, and treat mental, emotional and behavioral disorders. So, if Hero were a completely capable psychiatrist, which he is, he wouldn't break down in front of his client. But Hero's late teenage years are wrought with so much grief and trauma, so to see Sunny and not just another client in this state is.. something i imagine he'd break down about eventually. There's also the fact that Sunny is mostly closed off to any help, which only makes things harder.

Hero is trying his best, but after years of never understanding why Mari died, years of thinking and wondering and second-guessing himself, years of guilt after never visiting Basil before he died, years of doing what he was told was "best" yet failing in what's most important to him (his friends) - his best never feels good enough around Sunny. It feels too little, too late. For this reason, and possibly because even if Hero were able to keep himself together he may just not be the right psychiatrist for Sunny, it would be better for him to find another psychiatrist for Sunny. He won't, though.

Hero really needs some time to himself to just think, or perhaps he needs someone else to talk to. Kel is nice, but Aubrey would have better experience handling emotions.

I have a very limited idea of what Aubrey and Kel are doing. Aubrey is a childcare instructor to parents and works in child services. She has studied child psychology. She has studied how childhood affects adulthood. Kel's off trying to make a name in basketball while giving kids high fives and heartfelt support.

Hero, in fact, does not like to be called Dr. Hero, but his shyness (feeling of unworthiness) about it only endears everyone to call him that more. He tells the kids that everyone calls him Hero, but the adults merely find out from the other doctors and nurses. Hero tried introducing himself as Henry to the other doctors, but Kel told them his nickname, and it stuck for obvious reasons.

Sometimes, on days when Hero has to wear his lab coat, he ties it around his neck like a cape. The kids like it, say it makes him look like a superHero.

Hero doesn't really cook. His schedule is always too busy to make anything that isn't quick. But he does eventually figure out that cooking for Sunny is the best way to entice him to eat, so when he makes something, he makes enough for both of them. They eat together.

Hero had to gather Sunny's change of clothes from his apartment when he found out that the reason Sunny has been in the same clothes for the last week is because he's had no one to visit him. Not even his mother. Why?

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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Tʜᴇ Nᴇᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴇ

part ii of ‘the Caim’.

word count: 4790

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. Nepenthe... (n.) one that brings a pleasurable sense of forgetfulness, or the erasing of an unwanted memory.

It felt better than last time, at least.

No, it wasn’t perfect. Nothing was ever perfect when it came to wartime- least of all emotional well-beings. But you had once been at the lowest of all points, and now you could say otherwise. Now, at least, your emotional state was better than others. Better than comrades, friends, and those who you dearly missed without even being allowed to.

You had known it was a silly thing to do from the very beginning. For one, it was against the code you had sworn to uphold and heed. You knew the Jedi would never have approved of what you allowed to take place, but the sincerity of it all had admittedly clouded your judgement. Secondly, it was simply ridiculous enough of you for encouraging it to begin with. It was even more ridiculous to continue to cling onto what had happened, all within the confines of a slim, onyx box.

The parchments were fragile from time, but protected from how well you’d treated them. You’d been sure not to crinkle the pieces anymore than you’d needed to. Even taken extra care in not smearing the ink when your thumbs were rubbing over top of it. With a rather unrealistic fear of the papers turning to dust at the very mention of the air, you rarely took them out to see with your own eyes.

But what in the wide open galaxy could’ve been so precious, someone would never take them out out of fear of oxygen?

Treasures from your worst time, of course. From Umbara, when you had been called to fill in for General Kenobi and Skywalker on a month long mission in retaking the shadowy world. It hadn’t taken long for you to lose any notion of spirit to exhaustion. Your body and soul had turned sour with a dull ailment, as if you were dressed in the feeling of dry throat. But, of course, you had been prepared to ride this feeling out until the end of your task.

And then something had made it far more bearable. First only a little, then a lot.

No, you were never able to prove it. But you knew. And in return, Rex knew that you knew. Whether he noticed your demeanor and mood or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that the man had taken time out of his rather busy schedule to write you small, but simple, declarations of his admiration for you. It was probably the nicest things anyone had ever done for you, and the Captain had done it purely out of his own golden heart.

So, that was what you kept in the box. Notes from the man who had touched you deeply, and therefor carried you to the end.

You hadn’t seen Rex since the second siege of Umbara- the mission you’d been involved with. But that was about five months ago now. You had already returned to your own battalion, returned to your own battles, returned to the people who were already counting on you. You still saw Anakin and Obi-Wan fairly often, even aided the latter in a space battle against Grievous. Other than that, you worked with General Plo Koon in guarding the skies. And all was well.

You never asked about Rex. Though you desperately wanted to inquire of his health, it would’ve been too off putting for both your colleagues and your own men. After all, nobody knew what had transpired between the two of you. And even then, neither you nor the Captain acknowledged it. So it wasn’t like you had much of a right to any concern for him anyway. You weren’t his lover, or even his friend. You were a superior, and it was not much allowed to act as though there was anything more to it.

Though as your fingers ghosted over the last slip of paper he had written to you, a certain fondness was hard to deny.

“ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ.” How were you just supposed to forget that? Though you supposed that must’ve been the mans intention. He hadn’t wanted you to forget it, even if it was a bit of a distraction to both of your duties.

With a slow exhale from your nose, your thumb strokes the corner of the parchment a final time. Then, you fold the paper back up, stack it up in line with the other pieces, and carefully place them back in the black box. You only have to lean over in your sitting position to place the box under the shelf you call your bed. Once you sit up again, you’re met with the boring gray walls of the inside of a Venator. And without realizing it, the last thing you think of before you lay down for sleep, is how you’d much rather be looking at a certain Captain instead.

You would get your wish.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You grip the table in front of you as your ship jolts. Overhead, lights lining the ceilings and walls flash red like sirens. A few of the officers and men around you stumble as well, and you just know a trillion more problems are arising.

“C’mon Plo...” you urgently hiss under your breath. “Hurry up, please.”

As if on cue, you watch his star-fighter spin outside the bridge window, closely followed by a spray of enemy shots. A low trill from in front of you grabs your attention instead, and you raise your head to meet your fellow Jedi.

“General Y/N?” Anakin inquires importantly. “Are you there?”

Another shake runs through your ship, causing your knuckles to pale from the intensity of holding on. “I’m here,” you answer. “Our forces are overpowered. General Koon won’t be able to hold out for much longer. I suggest we-” another shake of your ship. “I suggest we pull back.”

General Skywalker nods his head firmly, then looks around with darting eyes. “We’re coming out of hyperspace now, General. Whether or not we’ll be in one piece is up for debate, though.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Your fellow Jedi know your lack of speaking enough to understand that this quirk is encouraging them to explain. “We’ve been... badly damaged. Admiral Yularen is out cold. If we stay on this ship, we’re done for.”

You nod as you get the message. “Understood,” you say, and the hologram disappears. “Open up the hanger and lower rear shields. Prepare for incoming escape pods,” you say to one officer. As he nods his head curtly, you raise your communicator to your lips and turn to the bridge window. “You hear that, Plo?”

“Affirmative,” the Kel Dor answers through blasts.

“As soon as everyone arrives, I want us in hyperspace,” you say to your Admiral.

It only took three moments before the giant window you looked out to was painted with blue and white streaks, and then a tunnel of indigo. A slow breath escapes you as anxiety quietly builds inside. Skywalker’s plan went horribly. He’d known the Separatist ships had outgunned you and Plo this time, but he insisted you hold your position. You had attempted to warn him against this, but clearly to no avail. Now you’re down a ship, Yularen, and several men. Not to mention all the shots your own cruiser had taken.

“Plo,” you say into your communicator, slowly. “Do you read me?”

Silence.

“Plo?”

“I’m here.” You exhale in relief at the sound of his voice. “I’ve met General Skywalker in the hanger bay. They have wounded.”

“I’m on my way.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“General Y/N!” Anakin exclaims. His notorious smirk is creeping against the edge of his lips, and his hands are outstretched to make his words all the bolder. Despite his warm greeting, clones are being carried away in stretchers all around him, and your once clean bay is now streaked with skid marks.

“I have to say, this is one of your worse landings,” you tell him once you enter earshot. Unlike the man in front of you, you were not one to shout your half of the conversation from across the room. You nod once to General Plo as he passes you by.

“Yeah, well, I improvised.”

Clearly, you think as you watch a Clone remove his helmet and gasp for air.

“We lost a whole squadron of men,” Anakin continues. “Yularen was injured while we were out flanked. And Obi-Wan...” Anakin sighs and squares his jaw. “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

What about Rex? You resist the urge to scream. Instead, you say, “I can cover you for this one.”

“No,” the man says quickly. He folds his arms somewhat bitterly, though you know it’s not directed towards you. “No. It’s my mistake.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before someone else steals your attention again. Behind you, a distorted voice rings clear and true. “General Skywalker,” it calls, and your heart gives a great pound, even though you’ve heard the voice over a thousand times today.

You shift your body so you’re half facing the voice. You watch a trooper in blue marked armor march up to where you and your comrade stand. Helmet scarred with tally marks... Blasters on both hips... The appearance only confirmed what you had already known.

Coming closer, Rex lifts his hands and removes his helmet from his head, revealing his face.

Maker, had he always looked like this? Or was this a trick of your brain from a new addiction to him?

Bleached hair cut close to his head, striking features and golden eyes. Angular as ever, but symmetrical nonetheless. You hadn’t really experienced attraction much in your life. The Jedi code kept barred you from it, and you hadn’t much of a desire to really seek it out. But you had spent so much time wondering about the man that when you saw him again, even after all this time, you knew at once that not only was Rex attractive, but you were attracted to him.

“Ah, Rex,” Skywalker says in turn. “Good to see you’re in one piece. I was just about to mention you to our host here.”

You watch the Clones pupils dilate as he bites the inside of his right cheek. Although you’re feeling the same amount of both excitement and anxiety as he is, his discomfort means more to you. In a quick but meaningful attempt to quell his rather put-on-the-spot feelings, you speak first.

“Captain,” you say steadily. “I’m glad to see you well.”

What a poor thing to say. Could you truly not have thought of anything better to say to the man?

“How are the men?” Anakin asks from beside you, nearly making you jump. You’d momentarily forgotten where you were, and the fact that other people just so happened to exist.

Rex dips his head. You can see the weight of stress against his shoulders, and a darkening shadow within his eyes. In the pit of your own stomach, a prick of guilt and empathy sparks. Is this how he had felt seeing you in such a state? Had it truly felt this jarring?

“They’re... heavily injured,” the Captain answers. A thumb rubs against the side of his helmet like a ghost, just over the tally marks. “We’re still counting the casualties.”

“If you’d like to help your men...” Anakin trails off.

Rex snaps back to attention, his voice as clear and strong as any soldier. “I would. Will you be alright without me?”

“Rex,” Anakin assures with a lighthearted smile. “We’ll be fine. I’ll contact you if we need anything.”

Rex is sure not to make eye contact with you again as he goes. He silently questions Skywalker a few seconds longer with his large, amber eyes. Then he puts his helmet back over his face, turns around in uniform fashion, and heads to assist Kix in the corner.

You knew how dedicated of a man he was before. He had his conflict, but he always put it aside for the greater good of those around him, meaning he was selfless as well. Rex remained hardworking and level headed, which didn’t surprise you much, but still. He impressed you with how he walked and talked and treated other people, you being one of them. Focused, diligent... there was so many things you could say about him. All of them flattering. Instead, you muttered:

“He always was a good man.”

“Well he hasn’t changed much since you saw him,” Skywalker elaborates. “I was hoping to promote him to Commander this year, but I doubt it will happen now.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you turn back to your fellow Jedi. It’s a silent question of ‘why? what makes you say that?’.

Anakin takes a small step forward, which allows you to inhale his scent. It’s an intimate act, though not in a sexual nor romantic way. It’s an intimate act of secrecy, and you’re sure to give him your full attention in the coming moments.

“Rex tends to... self deprecate.”

Your first instinct is to be somewhat offended on the clone Captain’s behalf. But your mind is quick to quiet this instinct, giving way to the logical answer.

Skywalker isn’t wrong. Though his phrasing may not be the most accurate, it gets the point across. Rex does self deprecate. He shares the loss with everyone as if it were his own. As if he were responsible for the failure or wrongdoing whether he really was or not. And, sadly, most of the time he’s not. But he’ll never see it that way.

The Captain considered all the men lost on this mission his fault. Anakin could offer Rex the position of Commander all he wants, but the clone would never accept after a mission like this.

You turn back towards his direction. Rex crouches down next to his medic friend, occasionally nodding his head solemnly. Even now, in a state that tugs on the edges of your heart, he looks pretty.

“How long do you expect to stay?” you ask with focused eyes.

“I don’t know,” the Skywalker says with a sigh. “But you don’t mind if my men stay here while me and Obi-Wan do some recon, right?”

“No,” you answer slowly, the idea solidifying as you watch the Clone push himself to his feet. “Stay as long as you need.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You wrote it out carefully. The grip around the pen was tight and secure, and the letters that bled from it were tiny and neat. In an age where holopads ruled the galaxy, you’d almost forgotten what your handwriting was like. It was nice to remember.

Writing was simple. It was more peaceful than holding a lightsaber, and you didn’t destroy anything through your hands movements. When the letters appeared at your will, you could imagine a life where they did this all the time. A life on the countryside maybe, or the beach. You’d heard Scarif was beautiful often. Maybe there?

The feeling of sullen peace doesn’t last long. As soon as you finish your statement, you’re back to being a Jedi knight. It saddens you in it’s own way, but you tell yourself it’s for the best, as you usually did. Then, you read your gift over in your head.

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴀɴ.

It didn’t seem like it was enough, so you flipped the parchment over to the other side and wrote more.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

And you meant what you had written, too. Rex, like any other Clone, didn’t deserve the guilt that war brought. He didn’t deserve the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, but he had to bear it anyway. Maybe your little words with alleviate some of it for him, just as it had for you.

I slip the paper between the folds of your robes. At nightfall, you creep into the darkness, a messenger of your own terms.

You knew that Rex had received and read your offering. The moment yours eyes met, it was done for.

You weren’t going to act out. Your face didn’t change in the slightest. Rex’s, however, has shifted his eyes into a widened state, and his lips are parted as he realizes what you have done. Whatever doubts he had about it were now quelled, for at first he had assumed it was a simply a kind soldier.

Instead it was you, the Jedi he had thought about every day since first sight.

Slowly, you raise your breakfast bread to your lips. Your teeth break through the little cloud of dough, savoring the dry taste. Rex seems to be paralyzed on the other side of the room. He doesn’t even seem to recognize that he’s in public, in a sea of clones and officers who would be able to read the look on his face if they squint enough.

You hold the man’s stare for a few seconds longer. Then you turn away, just in time to catch Plo and Anakin approaching you.

“General,” Anakin greets. You bow your head in recognition.

“We received a transmission from General Kenobi and Windu this morning,” Plo booms. “They’re on their way to support us best they can, but they estimate they won’t be here for the next three days.”

Three days. You have three days to calm Rex’s nerves.

You swallow down your bite of bread before you respond. “Any news of the enemy?”

“None so far.”

“We should send out scouts in all directions,” Anakin steps forward. “We have to locate Grievous before he escapes again.”

“He could’ve already jumped into hyperspace by now,” you urge. “Unlike him, we may not have that fuel. Not until Obi-Wan gets here.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex found the second note that evening.

He’d already struggled to push the first from his mind, but now his head felt like it was filling with clouds. What should he have focused on? Your lingering scent on the cards? The cleanliness of your handwriting? The fact that it was from you? For him? Maker, he hadn’t even said thirty sentences to you, and he was already drunk with love.

Not infatuation. Not lust. Love.

With a shaky hand, the soldier purses his lips. He bends over in his blue painted armor. He feels the paper against the fingertips of his gloves. At once, he feels you too. He can’t turn it over fast enough.

ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ, ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ. ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ- ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ? ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

Rex’s throat dries fast. The light in his ambers eyes resembles the embers of a fire, alive and awake with the spark of a promise. But the man knows there may be more, and he turns the parchment to the other side, nearly giving himself a paper slice.

ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ, ʀᴇx.

It’s you. This confirms it.

You’ve addressed him by name now. You’ve made it solid with the motion of your wrist and the ink of a pen. So how does Rex respond? Confront you directly? No. You’re his superior. Rex isn’t even fully sure he’d have the courage to do that yet. Lead his men into battle? Any day, no problem. Speak to you, with your piercing eyes and your analytical mind? His tongue would tie itself before he’d be able to get any words out.

Should he write a letter in return? That’s not how this works. Rex remembers he’s out of paper at the moment anyway. He can’t talk to Anakin about it without getting you in trouble. Confiding in his brothers would’ve only led to frustration, lame advice, and court marshals. That’s not an option.

The only other path is simple: no confrontation at all. Rex rides out the wave of your words until you split paths again. You disappear to do whatever it is Jedi do, and the Captain is forced back into having to find ways to inquire about your wellbeing to Anakin without seeming unnatural.

But that doesn’t totally seem like an option either.

Unknown to the man, you sit on security cameras. You watch as he stands outside the doorway of his barracks, clutching the note close to his chest, before you head to your sleep.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex is happier the next morning.

His broad chest is puffed out further than before. It’s not noticeable for most people, but it’s noticeable for anyone who’s memorized the walk and posture of their lover. The same goes for the corners of his lips, which aren’t as dragged downwards as usual. His eyes are bright from a well rest.

He is physically healthy. You can only hope his head is beginning to follow suit.

You write him one note, which is read before lunch time. A simple:

ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ.

Which you could swear resulted in softer expressions on his part throughout the day. No smiles. The atmosphere was too grim and crowded for a full, cheery curve. It’s a bit of a shame, because you meant your words. The thought alone of Rex grinning in sheer joy is enough to make you want to grin too. Still, you understand. Disappointment and understanding tend to go well together.

After overseeing some construction, you receive a cut along your palm. It is sharp and deep, and the crimson blood seeps into the crevices of your fingers. Despite the stinging, you offer little outside reaction. You are quick to carry yourself to the infirmary.

Rex leaves the infirmary at the same time.

You tell yourself you won’t turn to look at him. But then you hear him speak “General, are you alright?” and you abandon your internal swear.

The promise of seeing his face is too tempting. You turn smoothly, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” you tell him, as if nothing ever existed between the two of you. “I’m alright.” Then your brows crease together. “Are you?”

Rex takes a split second to respond. He is distracted, trapped in his own thoughts thanks to you. “Oh- yes, General. I was just, ah, visiting Jesse. Some friends of mine were injured in the crash, sir.”

Your gaze softens considerably. Your next lines come out without thinking, but they flow as freely as a stream regardless. “You always were a kind man.”

Which isn’t a bad thing to say to anyone, by any means. But in relation to you and him, it feels like a big step. The words sound like something that should’ve been kept in between the folds of paper, and left by the side of a door.

Both Rex and yourself tense up at the exact same time. Eyes widen, shoulders square.

But Rex is true to his nature. “And you always had quite the way with words, General,” he says. The end of his sentence is capped with a clipped up smirk, and a charismatic glint in his eyes that is too raw to be untruthful.

So the Captain finds another letter addressed to him that day, right before bed.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ.

And on the other side,

ɪ'ᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And then it’s the last day that you’ll be together. The day you’d been dreading. The day you’d been putting off.

You hadn’t meant to get so attached. It goes against your training, your code, everything you’ve sacrificed yourself for. But you’re too far in now. You are absolutely star struck, invested, and trapped in a rabbit hole created by Rex himself. Not that you blame him. You’re glad for it. You could be happy like this.

You don’t want to lose him. Therefore, a line of thinking pops into your intelligent little brain. It wouldn’t solve all the problems. In fact, it would probably create more. But it would be binding. It would be official. You could escape.

You wanted to. You wanted to go forward with your line of thinking. But Maker, it was a leap. Would it be worth it?

Yes. If you had to answer now, the answer would be yes.

An entire section of your brain was dedicated to mulling it over the entirety of the day. Even as you commanded your troops, signaling and training and clutching the end of the holotable with your bandaged fingers, about seventeen percent of your brain power was stuck on the future.

The answer was reached at the very last moment.

As Obi-Wan emerged from hyperspace, along with several fighters, your mind went blank. And then the blankness washed away, and all you could feel was the simplicity of a crackling fire, the waves on a beach, and the promise of safety. You imagine yourself writing every day with pen and paper, creating whimsical works for yourself and your lover. There is nothing but peace. No war, nor responsibilities. Only the beach, the parchment, and Rex.

Rex.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Your lover already received what he had assumed would be the last letter from you. He’d seen it in the morning. It was simple and sweet, and while it didn’t do much to soothe himself from the thought of parting from you, it had made him feel warm inside.

ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

So you can imagine the way his dark eyebrows knit together at the sight of another.

Perhaps it was an accident. The Captain had been returning to his quarters to gather whatever belongings he’d left inside before transferring over to Obi-Wan’s cruiser with General Skywalker. No. That was a ridiculous thing to think. You were simply immune to making mistakes.

Rex bends over. Again, his black gloved hand stretches out and clasps the parchment up. He is always careful with it, as to not crinkle the memories and sentiment wrapped within. Like you, he is sure to keep everything you send to him in either a box or an envelope for future reference.

Your last note is not a statement. It is not a compliment to be taken at face value. It is a question, a proposal. It is a leap of faith.

You got your answer the next morning. Before loading himself onto the transport, your Captain is sure to meet your eyes. You step forward with one foot, searching for any signs. And for the first few seconds you are concerned that he has answered with a simple ‘no’, but then you realize that he is simply teasing. Something you’d have to get used to, it seems.

Rex gives you a smile. A soft one, but a sincere one. His right hand reaches up, and pats against his armor, right over his heart. He does this one, two, three times, before slipping his handsome face inside his helmet, and disappearing behind the visor.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You are married on Obi-Wan’s cruiser. General Koon sends you over the next day to obtain information in person instead of holograms for fear of bugs and spies. And, yes, you were true to your mission.

But where no one could see you, you met Rex in a humid hallway. The lights were dimmed and near glowing red, but the area was totally cleared out. Neither clone, nor Jedi disturbed the lovers, whose shadows were looking into each others eyes.

Rex has your hands in his. They are rough, and a reminder of how you observed them and thought he had stood out at first sight. He still has the scar on his palm, though this time you have your own to match it. This time, you also match in terms of jewelry, for both of your left ring fingers are tethered by simple, silver bands.

The kiss that sealed the idea was chaste at first. You hadn’t known what to do, though it hadn’t taken you long to through that thought to the wind. Kissing Rex felt good, even if you had nothing to compare it to. It was the kiss you had been waiting for, and the tongue prodding at your lips had only confirmed your suspicions that Rex was an adventurous man.

And so, in the hallway where the lovers met, all was well.

At least until Order Sixty-Six came.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

finally.

might edit though, but i always say i’ll do that and then don’t.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg

#captain rex x reader #captain rex imagines #captain rex angst #captain rex imagine #rex x reader #rex imagines #rex angst #captain rex fluff #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #clone wars x reader #tcw x reader #captain rex fanfiction #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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musicalmukebox · 6 years

Text

Let’s Get (Back) Together | l.h. (10)

Ctto of the gif!

AU: Parent Trap Dad!Luke

Summary: A strong love which led to a strong marriage and twin daughters. Yet in the end, it didn’t turn out so well. You strongly refuse to encounter him ever again. But what happens when both of you coincidentally send your twin daughters to the same summer camp in Florida after 10 years?

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: sensual content, angst

A/N: Mope with me, heartbreak sucks.

I don’t own Parent Trap and its ideas. It’s only used as inspiration.

1 / 2A / 2B / 2C / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15

Feedback/Questions/Others? Here.

2021, Los Angeles

“Thank God we took an Uber instead of you bringing a car.” You breathe in relief, walking hand in hand with Luke, crossfaded just like you. His eyes were quite red and his giggles were uncontrollable as his tall figure grew wobbly, leaning to your side. He couldn’t stop giving your cheek and neck kisses, and luckily, it was dark out.

The both of you just came from Calum’s place, celebrating his birthday with pizza, booze and lots of weed. Knowing that you both wanted to get wasted, you settled to take uber rides going there and going back. Yet, you made a detour to your favorite diner, Delilah’s in order to fulfill one thing: the munchies. It is a must to never avoid it.

Delilah’s has always been your go-to place no matter what you feel: sober, drunk, high or both, it’s an automatic quick fix. It has gotten to the point where you were both so common that the waiters and waitresses were so used to you and no longer ask for your orders. The 60 something year old owner Delilah herself included! It was around midnight that time, and strolling inside the familiar 50’s style diner aesthetic, you were glad that your usual booth by the end of one side of the dinner was empty.

“Luke! (Y/N)! Nice to see you both again!” Kelly, one of the waitresses around your age, welcomes you both as she led to your usual booth. “And judging by your eyes and Luke’s walking, you are both crossfaded.”

“You are correct once more, Kel.” You confirm, finally settling in the soft cushion of the booth while Luke sat on the other side of you. “I like this booth.” He says, rubbing the table then the cushion, his figure lowering at the booth. “So comfy.” He leaned back, throwing his legs on the table. Kelly didn’t bother, she was just as used to his crossfaded self as you were. Besides, it was late, so no one could give two shits. “So guys, the usual?” She kept on going.

“Oh yes please!” You beamed, smiling and giggling unstoppably as the hunger in your guts manipulated your mind fully. “Alright!” Kelly smiled back, contagious to you. “So (Y/N), are you feeling a double chocolate or Oreo milkshake?”

“Double!” You replied, holding up two fingers because two = double. Amazing logic, (Y/N).

“Got it! How about you, Luke? Coffee or peanut butter-banana milkshake?”

“C-Coffee! I want something as warm yet chill like me right now.” Luke’s voice sounded softer as his nerves pretty much toned down, like his body.

So, what’s the usual as said by Kelly?

Well, for you, you would get a double cheeseburger with extra chili con carne fries and either a double chocolate or Oreo milkshake. As for Luke, he would get the bacon cheeseburger with onion rings and either coffee or peanut butter-banana milkshake. The drinks really depend on your moods that day or night, but the food is always constant.

“Okay! This will take a good 15-20 minutes, any songs you want the jukebox to play?” Kelly refers to the vintage jukebox by the other side of the diner, which was revamped to not only play old classic songs of the 50’s, but there was from the 60’s up to the current day so people can jam along and reminisce too.

“In Too Deep by Sum 41.” Luke mumbles, fixated on his phone and taking random selfies which got you giggling. Kelly nodded without hesitation before directing your orders to the kitchen, already so used to you both in times like this at any times of the night where you would both decide to drive by.

Instantly, the first notes of the requested song played over the sizzling of patties and fries in the kitchen, yet the scent got you and Luke much more excited. “Fuck, I can’t wait to eat.” He says, his face now rested on his palms, elbows on the table.

“Same, munchies are real.” You prolonged the l, putting one leg on top of Luke’s lap while you rested against the red cushion whilst looking at him when he sees your leg, making your skirt fall back a bit and caught a glimpse of the red lace undies.

Intentional? 50/50, 50 percent tired, 50 percent horny.

“Well,” He smirks, trailing your shin and licks his lower lip. “Maybe you can help satisfy mine, at the restroom.”

“God, are you this horny high?” You groaned, yet you felt the same sexual frustration. But still, you wanted to respect the peace and order of the diner. “Later, if we aren’t still tired after this.”

Luke pouts in impatience and crosses his arms like a child. “Ugh, you are such a tease.”

“But you love it, baby.” You reply slowly yet sensually, driving him crazy down there. He thinks hiding his boner with his hands is enough for you not to see it, but nope. Just when you were about to point it out just for banter, Kelly returns to you both with trays on both hands.

“Double cheeseburger with extra 5-cheese fries and a double chocolate milkshake for you, (Y/N).” Kelly brings down a tray with your meal, which got your heart racing in hunger. “And a bacon cheeseburger with onion rings and coffee for a Mr. Luke High-mings.” She says with pride as she pulled off the pun and lays Luke’s tray of food on the table.

“Niiice one.” You high-fived Kelly, in which Luke whined back. “Hey! I don’t like the name.”

“Get over it babe, that’s our nickname for you now!” You say, sticking your tongue whilst Luke gave you the middle finger. Kelly just watches you with fooling around, and she gets all giddy. “God, you guys are so cute.”

Blushing red, which added to the flush you got from the alcohol, “Thanks Kelly, you say that almost every time we’re here.”

“I know, but I know real love when I see it.” She carried on. “Enjoy your meals, you two. Be careful too!” She leaves you to it, and in less a second, your proper eating manners were out that door. You devoured the delectable burger right in front of you, grabbing a handful of those fries too into your mouth. Luke’s hungry self got crazy and took huge bites of his burger, splattering some ketchup on the side of his lip. “Baby boy, you’re so messy!” You took a napkin from the dispenser and wiped the sauce off his face.

As you finished those fries and half your burger done, you felt chill again, your sobriety returning. Luke still had some intoxication in him, getting back to his leaning position earlier. He was looking at one side, spacing out and probably tripping out. He looked cute and sophisticated, you thought, especially with his curly hair messed up on his right hair mostly. So you took the chance to grab out your phone and take a photo, which got him from his moment when he heard the shutter sound.

“What was that for?” He asks, feeling shy as he took another bite of his burger. As you gave him your phone and showed the photo, he giggled. “I look weird.”

“Well, you are in general.” You shrugged your shoulders, stating facts. Subjective ones.

“Real mean, babe. Now in revenge, let me take a photo of you.” He snickers, grabbing him phone from the table, angling his phone so he can get a great shot of your face. “Lick the whip of your milkshake.”

“What? No, I look like a haggard after everything tonight!” You laughed at his random choice of pose, bashfully making your cover your face. “Why? You still look gorgeous to me.” He suavely compliments, bringing down as he was still holding his phone at the same angle. “Now come on! So we’re equal.”

He had a point. Lowering your head a bit to the edge of the milkshake, you closed your eyes and took a small lick of the whip. You held it for a few seconds before you heard the shutter sound. Relieved, you swallowed the whip, nervous about the shot. “I wanna see the picture, babe!” Handing you his phone, which smelt like grease from his meal, you glanced at the photo and gave a disgusted expression. “Eww, delete this!”

“Nah, you got me thinking dirty when I see this.” You couldn’t think of any comeback for this because it was draining to think, so you just continued sipping on your milkshake, watching Luke hum along to the random songs playing. But when the first lyrics of Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish began to play, he lit up in excitement, standing up and offering a hand to you.

“Come on, babe, let’s dance!”

“Luke, you can’t dance for shit.” You crossed your arms, shaking your head at his spontaneity. He frowns, kneeling down all of a sudden desperately. “Please, baby girl? Just this once.” He was never the begging type, especially since he loves being dominant and all.

“Fine.” But it was funny to see him like this, and you never slow danced with the boy, so tonight would be the first. Grabbing his hand and helping him get up, you dragged him to the mini dance floor near the jukebox, moving your bodies to the chill melody. He spun you a few times, even dipped you down, making you laugh because he could never do this with those long, stiff limbs of his. You placed one hand around his neck then the other in his free hand since his other hand rested on your lower back, your bodies getting closer, your movements growing slow and divulging more into the chill vibe. His eyes were just like the song, and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking right at them.

“Resisting you is fucking hard.” You cussed, resting your forehead against his.

“Can’t help that I’m so hot.” He says smugly, flipping his hair mockingly. Giggling, you continued to view his different facial features. The neon lights helped emphasize his blue eyes and plump lips more, which made your heart jump somersaults. You leaned in closer, your lips initiating a kiss on his. He had the bitter taste of coffee as your lips moved along the song. You pulled him a lot closer, the passion in your soul strengthening with every single touch you had with him. As much as you both of you weren’t fans of PDA, this felt right, needed even.

“You mean so much to me, you know?”

“I do, because you’re just as special to me. And that’s not the alcohol and weed talking.”

- - -

2034, Los Angeles

Last night’s series of events still startled you, especially when Timmy and Luke met again. Timmy wasn’t too happy when he brought you home, his jealousy flowing through his veins and words and starting an argument in the car. Yeah, he cared so much and didn’t want you to get hurt again, but at the same time, he shouldn’t have been such a snob. Good thing you sorted things out and he grew open when you told him that you and Luke were going sort things out, like getting closure and taking care of the twins because that type of stuff is hard. Even being able to talk sanely is hard enough.

But how?

Luke Hemmings: Lunch at Delilah’s? Around 1 pm.

You: Sure, but it’s not a date or anything.

Luke Hemmings: No worries, this is for our kids.

You were pretty lazy to drive that day, not to mention pretty hungover too. Thus, booking an Uber felt appropriate. Upon getting and riding one to Delilah’s, you were stopped at your tracks when the entrance doors had the sign “Closed for Private Event”. Well, shucks. Turning your back, you were typing a text to Luke about the occurrence, yet you were disrupted by bumping towards someone. “Oh, shit!” Luckily, you didn’t drop your phone, but encountered something else. None other than Luke, hair laid back and dressed in a black and white striped shirt with a black leather jacket that had some checkered detailing. He had on some rings too. Just like you, he had his shades on, so the paps won’t catch you too easily.

“Oh, hey there.” The blonde man greeted, giving you a side hug. “Hi. I was just about to text about that.” You pointed towards the sign, which surprisingly didn’t startle him. “Why? Now come on.” He leads you back to the entrance, opening it. Less than a few seconds, you caught on why he didn’t flinch a bit and following his direction.

“Wait you booked the whole place for the afternoon?” You say as you go inside the familiar diner, noticing a few changes in neon signs and repainted walls. The rest remained the same, like the red booths, checkered floors, various old school pictures and posters, and the jukebox on one side.

“Actually, until we finish which is pretty much anytime.” He answers, taking in the view of the place he hasn’t seen in so long. “You really like privacy, huh?” You state, being reminded of his reserved personality. “Of all people, you would know that, (Y/N).” His arms paved the way to your table, or booth rather. Staying in any of these booths would be okay, but he led you to a specific one at the end.

Settling down on opposite sides, you initiated for a much more full conversation. “Wow, I haven’t been here since 2024.” His expression soon looked drained out and disheartened, looking down as your heart sunk down too at the truth. “That was the year we divorced.”

“Yeah, not a good time.” You recall all the pain, shaking your head in order to forget and in order to distract yourself, you observed his fingers fidgeting on his phone. He was also trying to change the topic. “Likewise.” But instead, he was hit with nostalgia as he laid backwards a bit further on the red cushion. “This is where we would go here, drunk or sober, maybe even high. I remember it so clearly, even dancing there.” His pointer finger directed to the mini dance floor by the jukebox, the place you would just let yourself go, dance weirdly and shared some intimacy too. As much as the reminiscing was something you wanted to join along, you had to face reality. Talking about that felt wrong, especially when you both are together with different people.

“Well hello to you too.” Your discussion was interrupted by a familiar woman, rolling a tray cart of food. She also got a few wrinkles and cut her hair. A woman whom you haven’t seen since the divorce, and has witnessed your different states of mind back in your twenties.

“Oh my, Kelly!” You shrieked, getting up from your seat, giving a tight hug to which she returned. “How are you? You still work here?” Another fact about Kelly was that she worked at the diner to get extra cash to pay for college and her own personal reasons, but that was years ago though.

“I actually own this diner now.” She proudly acclaimed.

“Oh shit nice! You didn’t tell me this on the phone.” Luke says in shock, amazed with how far Kelly has come.

“You didn’t ask!” She chuckles. “I’ve owned it for 5 years now. It’s nice to see you both again.” Getting the plates of food from the tray, she served it to you both, followed by the beverages. “I figured you two would get the usual, with milkshakes like back in the day. Enjoy yourselves.” She leaves you both to it, urging either you or Luke to pick up where you left off. But first, eating, which was done all too quietly, which eventually led to an awkward tension, and neither of you could stand it.

“So Luke, what do you want to talk about?” You started off.

“Well, maybe we can start with what happened to us.” Luke replied bluntly. Discreetly, he was hurt when you broke that lane.

“Okay then. Honestly for me, it took a few years for me to fully accept these things happened.” You admitted truthfully, taking in some deep breaths because you just didn’t know what to expect from here.

“Same here, yet there are details that are pretty hazy, like everything ended so fast.”

“Well, everything started so fast, Luke.” You say glumly, wanting to change the topic badly because this will just bring the worse out of the both of you. Luke saved the sadness vibing in the booth. “So (Y/N), you achieved your dreams of being a successful actress, applying any job as an extra for sitcoms or movies I remember. Then you did it, now making you a household name.”

“Oh yes. But do you remember when I had a hard time telling my parents about it?” You engage, feeling much lighter.

“They got over it though, right?” Luke added as you nodded.

Enough about you, you switched focus now to the man right in front of you. “You on the other hand Luke, you are still doing great with the band. Winning more awards and having more top-selling albums all in 10 years? I bet you’ve been to more destinations across this world.”

“I guess you can say that.” He shrugged, his social skills weakening and sending an amused smile.

“I’m just glad we got to where we wanted to be.” You sent him back a half-smile, remaining optimistic. But for real, let’s get back to business. “Alright then, let’s focus on the big elephant in the room. What are we going to do with the girls?”

“Well, since they met, we shouldn’t keep them apart.” Luke insists. “Maybe I can let them stay in Sydney for a year, then the next to you.”

“Luke, when they do, they’ll be transferring schools yearly, which is a hassle.” You countered, your tone of voice sounding serious.

“Then maybe staying with me half a year then to you?”

At this point, you wanted to face palm yourself. “This is the same with the changing of schools, only they will be doing it twice a year.” Luke was gutted at his lack of common sense, his brain running out of ideas. “Fuck this is hard, do you think you can move or stay in Sydney a bit longer than a week, maybe so Stella can embrace her Australian roots.”

“Luke, remember than both Rebecca and Stella have (Y/Nat) roots too, and my entire life is here in LA! Don’t you have a house here you can move in here?” You complained, but not loud enough to begin any serious argument.Although Luke felt your stress, he chose to not to be petty but to be honest. “Family life for me will always be in Sydney. Looks like this is harder than I thought it would be.”

As you both were silent, calming down so you wouldn’t break into an intense argument in public, you were just thinking of other ways to get the family to spend more time, make up for the lost years. Out of nowhere, your mind lit up, like a light bulb as you got an idea. It was a risk, but worth a shot.

“I actually have a premiere of Take Me or Leave Me in Sydney, and I leave the day after your show in the Forum, like I have a plane and all. I don’t know how long you’re here for, but I’m wondering if you wanna come. More family time yeah?” You were 50/50 on this, hoping he says yes but also no because this was too much for such little time. Although you don’t care what media says, how will they react to it will be grand, and for sure, Timmy would like it.

Luke was surprised by such a big invite, but at the mention of family time, you were right. He just didn’t know how Sierra will respond to it. “I-I’d like that. I’m a bit homesick actually and planning to go home the day after.”

Both of you remained quiet for a moment, just observing each other’s facial expressions and feature, and it didn’t feel awkward at all. Taking in all the changes from your increasing ages reminded you of how much you’ve missed out on each other, but it was for the best. “Honestly, from the mini argument a while ago, I remember why we came up the solution we have right now.” Luke started off.

Yet you thought otherwise. “Really? I thought it was because we didn’t ever have to see or encounter each other again.”

Luke’s breathing halted for a second, hands down on the table and much more fixated on you because he had a different mentality. “I’m not a part of that “we”, (Y/N).”

“Actually, the part is pretty blurry to me now after all this time.” You say, eager to hear what his side is as compared to yours as you sipped on your milkshake like tea. “Do you still remember finalizing that divorce?” He asks, just as curious as you were.

“Crystal clear. As soon as I signed everything, I got all my things and Stella. You were still unsure, still sitting on the dining table, contemplating whether to sign it. It took one glance of me, the unhappy me, before you did it.” Luke was still unsatisfied, his face scrunching up, enlightening for more. “Why was it so easy for you to sign the papers? Were you ever happy with me?”

“Luke, you’ve been so special to me, and yes, best years of my life. But we begin having petty fights again, the ones we conquered when we dated, and had tempers we couldn’t tone down. We also worked so much, barely seeing each other. Also when these different issues resurfaced, especially those between you and Arzaylea erupted, that broke me. A lot. It was just too toxic.”

“You knew it wasn’t true.” He defended.

“Was it really though?”

“I thought you trusted me.” His voice cracked, pain increasing.

“And I thought you loved me, maybe even going against the divorce.” You riskily state, not holding back.

“But your happiness is important to me, and if not having me in your life is the solution, so be it.”

“My happiness might have resparked if you fought for what we had much more, maybe run after me.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You tried not to get too emotional as all this angst was expressed through this intimate venue. Shrugging them away, you give some last words to finalize this closure so no one more hurt gets spread. “Well, that doesn’t really matter now. It’s been 10 years and we’re in happy relationships. I didn’t want to hold you back, like remember when you told me that I did. And Luke, your happiness matters to me just as much.”

In hopes of modifying the mood, you rose your milkshake glass, your gaze shifting to his blue eyes, which you’ve missed despite everything. You’ve been trying to ignore it, but they gave you hope, hope for a much better future. “To our daughters, to our own happiness.”

“To our daughters, to our own happiness.” He raises his glass, repeating your words before clinking them together.

“Oh this song!” You jammed along to Day 1 by Honne in his car, bopping your head back and forth in enjoyment, not to mention that you haven’t heard this song in a while too. Initially, you were going to book an Uber ride back, but Luke insisted to take you home so you can save money and energy. Discreetly, he wanted to bond with you more, trying to mend your great friendship. You didn’t budge a bit and accepted the offer, opening up more.

Luke smiles at your enjoyment while maintaining his view on the road. This was a moment you haven’t had in so long, and just valued every second of it. Lying against the reclining chair, you were interested with the playlist it comes from, especially since Luke loves making playlists. “What playlist is this?” You swiped open his phone and read the title out loud, which blew you off your tracks.

Reminders of You.

“That’s our playlist, Luke.”

“I could never delete it.” Luke didn’t hold back from getting his phone away from your touch, almost as if he wanted you to see it. To bring back the old days. Finally, this ride reached a halt after another song, arriving on your driveway and Luke opening the car door for you. Walking outside to your front door, you both stood there momentarily, thinking of other words to say out of thankfulness.

“Thank you for the ride home, Luke.”

“It’s my pleasure, (Y/N). It’s a start, you know?”

“I know, it’s about time.” You leaned over a hug, which he returned without hesitation. It felt genuine and refreshing, something you didn’t expect would ever happen. As it reached its end, you felt a strong urge to leave him a peck at the cheek. Doing that felt habitual from your past years together, but you stopped yourself just as soon you leaned forward again. Luke saw it, about to do the gesture too, but also much to his conscience, jerked back. “It’s wrong.”

“I-I’ll see you in a few days, (Y/N).” He stammered, fumbling with his car keys and wallet.

“See you then, Luke.”

With that, he walked off your front door and to his car. Giving you a final wave, he drove off your driveway and exiting the suburbs. As for you, going inside your house got you feeling much more different like you were refreshed from a burden. But also it was draining, when you’ve spoke your heart out, giving him a piece of your mind that you’ve never said to anyone after you divorced.

Much to your luck, the twins were out with Gina and Felicia today, so you would be seeing them much later. When they found out about your mini rendezvous, they were giving you the same smirks as last night, but yet again, it’s all business. Stepping inside your bedroom, shaking your flats off, you jumped on the bed, taking in the comfort of your soft mattress and closing your eyes to doze in a nap. But that comfort was replaced by the discomfort of your skinny jeans tightening from some sweat you gained from the diner, not to mention the smell of grease too.

Getting up and droopily making your way to your walk in closet, you browsed through every sweater you see and still not feel satisfied. They were redundantly worn, you thought. Due to that, you were just ready to settle for a random t-shirt, but the last thing you browsed through wasn’t something you expected. Or rather seen in so long because it’s so far out on the end.

A 5SOS3 sweatshirt.

How was that there? Did you not give it back or keep it in the attic? Oh shit, the attic.

As much as you wouldn’t want to admit, you still have things of Luke that you never returned. Grabbing the item from its hanger, you fully stretched it to see it clearly, the minimalism of the black fabric with the patches of 3 I’s in green and the 5sos label in red on the upper right.

“Wear this instead.” One thought lingered in your head. Weirdly, that wasn’t up for debate. Changing from your jeans and top into this with some shorts, it felt relaxing and huge on you, almost like a night dress to you. You even got a swift of some strong cologne that stuck in the fabric, bringing back much nostalgia. Yet, this one hit harder than the diner.

As much as you want to shrug it off, you had to face it so you can move forward. You were reluctant at first, but it then became your next move. Mincing your way to the third floor where the attic is, you flipped the switch button to turn on the lights, searching through numerous, dusty boxes until your slippers-covered feet hit on a certain box labeled “Luke”.

Predictable and cliché, self.

Kneeling, you opened the flaps of the box, then blowing the dust off some contents inside. You gasped a bit, seeing all these photo albums, which you knew were filled with polaroid shots, his different tops which you loved that you didn’t want give back especially back in the early years post-divorce, when you were not ready to let go and much more. You unfolded some, like his red flannel, black and white stripes buttoned, and his black Pink Floyd shirt. Personally, the latter was your favorite, especially from what you recall, he lent you that post-birthday sex. Great times.

Refolding them, you plan on returning them since these items bring up the past, which you want to move on from. The rest of the contents continued to bring sentimentality, like the funny moments captured, different versions of the band’s albums, the little knick knacks he would give you and your personal favorite, his Sike sweater.

“Oh, those were the days.” You mumbled before getting the box and returning to your bedroom.

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heroineimages · 6 years

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Queens, ships, and a bastard niece

Queen Sita of Illara is another character I’ve introduced in a few scenes who I look forward to using more extensively later in First Empress. Sita is a former colleague of Queen Viarra’s father and grandfather, and is hegemon of the second most powerful empire on the Vestic Sea. Her land army is nearly twice the size of Queen Viarra’s and (counting privateers) her fleet is possibly five times Viarra’s. Sita is currently locked in a stalemate with the Empire of Pellastor that fluctuates back and forth between cold-war status and open warfare.

The initial conflict between Viarra and Sita is basically that Sita would love to drag Viarra’s army into the conflict with Pellastor, while Viarra would much prefer to remain entirely neutral in said conflict. Thus instead Sita has to content herself with distracting her enemy with phantom threats from Viarra’s direction. In the following scene, Sita visits Viarra, offering the gift of a quinquereme, a new type of warship that Vi’s shipwrights have never had access to before. While on the surface it comes across as a generous gift, its true intent is to make Pellastor see a phantom alliance between Sita and our protagonist.

Elissa found herself staring in awe as the largest warship she’d ever seen rowed into the harbor of Kel Fimmaril, taller, wider, and longer than the pair of triremes escorting it. She could tell her awe was shared by everyone present as Queen Viarra’s entourage made their way to the harbor area.

“I’d heard about these ‘quinqueremes,’” General Derron commented. “But my understanding was that only Pellastor knew how to build them—that their construction was a closely-guarded secret. Clearly Queen Sita’s people managed to capture one and reverse engineer it.”

“What do you think: a hundred and fifty feet to the trireme’s hundred and twenty?” Ronnius speculated.

“I’d say all of that,” Derron agreed. “The deck looks to be at least thirty feet wide, and I count three tiers of around thirty oars on each side. From what I understand, the top two tiers have two rowers per oar.”

“Ferra’s breath,” Ronnius swore, “so we’re talking as many as three hundred rowers per ship, plus deck crew and marines. That can’t be cheap to keep afloat.”

“They don’t have a full complement of marines,” Queen Viarra observed.

Derron frowned as their delegation stopped up the beach. “You’re right,” he agreed, turning to her majesty. “They could carry as many as six-score hoplites between the three ships, but that doesn’t look like even eighty. Why would Sita travel with diminished security?”

“Because they’re not planning to return home with the quinquereme,” Queen Viarra answered. “I suspect she means it as a gift.”

“The intent of which is probably to spite Pellastor,” was Ronnius’s comment.

“Or at least make them nervous,” Viarra agreed. “Andivel’s navy is less than a quarter the size of Illara’s and possibly as small as a tenth the size of Pellastor’s. Even so, Emperor Orvandius is scared shitless of the possibility that we might ally ourselves with Illara and attack his empire from the north while Sita hits him from the west. Beginning production of our own quinqueremes would increase that paranoia a dozen-fold. Yet at the same time, we’d be stupid to not commission quniqueremes of our own to enhance our navy.”

“Sita was always a shrewd politician,” Derron nodded as the quinquereme’s crew beached the huge dreadnought along an empty stretch of sand. “She’s a consummate manipulator and has been the power behind the throne of Illara for twenty-odd years; she’s in a class of her own when it comes to getting into her enemies’ heads.”

“Or her allies’,” Queen Viarra added grimly.

The triremes waited until the larger ship was secured before beaching on either side of it. A pair of sailors lowered a ramp from the side of the quinquereme, allowing Queen Sita’s entourage to disembark. First came her honor guard, twelve swarthy Illaran men and women in black armor with crimson capes and plumes. Next came Queen Sita of Illara and her servants and entourage, including at least one woman who Elissa recognized as one of the Illaran princesses.

Queen Sita had aged well, to Elissa’s estimation. The grey in her dark hair gave her a distinguished look, and she had excellent curves for a woman in her forties who’d borne eight children. Or was it just seven? Elissa couldn’t remember. The Illaran queen wore an elegant dark blue dress with a violet shoulder cloak.

“Viarra, my darling, it’s been far too long,” Queen Sita hailed, striding forward to embrace her fellow monarch.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear Sita,” Queen Viarra laughed in return. The queens held each other fondly for a long moment before stepping back.

“By Nyrus’s teeth, you look so grown up, dear,” the Illaran queen said appraisingly. “You were what, ten years old last we met?”

“All of that,” Viarra smiled.

“I was sorely grieved to learn of your brothers’ murders,” Sita told her, voice quieting, “as well as your father’s death, for that matter. I may not have always agreed with his administrative policies, but I know he believed he was doing what was best for his people.”

“Thank you for your condolences, your majesty,” Viarra replied somberly. She turned to her retinue. “You remember General Derron of course,” her majesty introduced the commander of her island forces.

“Of course I remember the old flirt,” Sita smiled, stepping up to embrace the grizzled general. “You’re looking well, all things considered,” she said as she stepped back. “Where is that Verleki woman you married? How is she holding up?”

“Wonderful to see you again, your majesty,” Derron bowed. “Vola is doing well, despite a leg injury that didn’t heal properly. At the moment she’s on the mainland working on expanding and integrating our hegemony’s cavalry troops.”

Sita nodded appreciatively.

“This is Ronnius, my second in command and Steward of Kel Fimmaril when I’m away,” Viarra introduced next.

“Majesty,” Ronnius bowed.

“Steward,” Sita nodded in return.

Viarra turned to introduce Elissa next. “You may remember Elissa, my handmaid and now concubine.”

“No doubt there’s an interesting anecdote behind that,” Queen Sita smiled lopsidedly. “It’s lovely to see you again, my dear.”

Elissa curtsied, feeling herself blush.

“And my more recent handmaids, Naddie and Gwynnet.”

“Ladies,” the older queen nodded to each in return.

“And, lastly, I’d like you to meet Princess Juda of Valos.”

Queen Sita barked out a laugh—a surprising breach in her silky demeanor. “By Nyrus, that’s delightful. What did dear Xafod do that you need to keep his daughter under wraps?”

“He bankrolled several small privateer task groups operating within my territorial waters,” the younger queen explained, “claiming blackmail as his motivation.”

Sita looked surprised. “Do you believe him?” she asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Queen Sita laughed again. Princess Juda fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Not to worry, dear,” the older queen reassured the princess. “I’m sure your father is wise enough to not cross Queen Viarraluca again.” She patted the girl on the cheek briefly.

“Queen Viarra, my dear,” she continued, taking Queen Viarra’s hands, “my purpose for visiting is twofold. Firstly, I wanted to express my gratitude. You may not realize it, but you did my people a great turn by overthrowing the Tetrarchy of Andivel. My enemies in Pellastor were using the payments from Andivel to buy privateers to counter the privateers I hired to harass their supply lanes. Though inadvertent, it was your intervention that forced Orvandius to sue for peace last summer. And for that I wished to repay you in kind.” Sita turned and gestured dramatically at the dreadnought beached before them. “As a token of my thanks, I present the Myrmidonian Harpe, one of the newest quinqueremes from the shipyards at Descal. She is yours to do with as you wish.”

“She’s magnificent,” Queen Viarra smiled, appraising the great warship and doing an excellent job at acting surprised. “She’ll make a fine flagship, thank you, your majesty. I’ll have to ask your captain to take us on a full tour later—and I very much look forward to seeing what she can do on the open sea.”

“I’m sure you’ll know exactly how best to integrate her into your fleet,” Sita told her. “Secondly, I wanted to introduce you to someone very important,” she continued. “Landra, bring Tila here, please. You remember my daughter Landra, of course.”

“Of course,” Viarra said as the Illaran princess led forward a young girl with golden-brown hair. “I’m pleased to see you again, your highness.”

“You as well, your majesty,” Landra replied, her civil tone nearly masking her annoyance at having to be here at all. The shy-looking girl with her looked to be about seven or eight years old, with light green eyes and facial features that seemed eerily familiar to Elissa.

“Come here, darling,” Queen Sita commanded gently, taking the small girl by the hand and leading her before their hostess. “Viarra, my dear, I want you to meet my granddaughter Tila, daughter of Landra and your brother Arrol.” Elissa gasped at the revelation, placing a hand to her mouth. She could tell her shock was shared by the others present. “Tila, say ‘hello’ to your aunt Viarra.”

“Hello, your majesty,” the girl said, blushing as Queen Viarra knelt before her. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And I’m very pleased to meet you, Tila,” Queen Viarra said in return, embracing her niece with tears in her eyes. “I hope we get to know each other very well during your visit.”

Elissa just covered her mouth, feeling stunned. The little Princess Tila looked hauntingly like the late King Arrol: similar facial features and identical shade of golden-brown hair. There’d been rumors that Arrol had seduced Princess Landra during Sita’s visit eight years ago—though Viarra had always suspected it was the other way around—and Elissa vaguely remembered hearing that Landra ended up pregnant not long after. But she’d never heard if there were efforts to confirm those rumors.

Looking down at the pretty little princess in Queen Viarra’s arms, Elissa felt no doubts that she was Arrol’s daughter. She could only imagine the joy and wonderment her beloved queen must be feeling at the moment.

#my writing #my novel #First Empress #Queen Viarra #Queen Sita #General Derron #Steward Ronnius #Handmaiden Elissa #Handmaid Naddie #Princess Juda #excerpts

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daimonic-clown · 7 years

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Kelgorm (2)

Shattrath: a city of wonder and beauty. If that were true, Kelgorm seriously wondered why the hell he slept in this wasted cess-pile known as the Lower City. He often had to subject himself to questionable situations in his pursuit of knowledge, but truthfully, even sitting in the rickety chair so generously provided to him in this dusty tavern room seemed to be one of the worst tortures. It was not just the dust, or the way the chair leaned as he sat in it, it was also the lingering smell. The arakkoa, the broken, even the occasional ‘refined’ ogre sat their reeking bodies nearby.

Lowly was an understatement. Kelgorm decided this place was a boil on a city of infinite opportunities. Though, perhaps his perception of this place being so overly high class was warped due to recent happenings. He had arrived yesterday, and to his great disappointment, the Betrayer had been slain by the collective efforts of Azerothian adventurers, the Wardens, as well as the Aldor and Scryers of the very city he was within.

He felt as though his whole expedition to the Outlands was wasted. He would never be able to witness what the demon hunters were, nor receive his knowledge that he had sought for thousands of years; nearly his entire life, a way to effectively combat the Legion.

They were all dead. Yes, while he still scrunched his nose in irritation at the scent, he had awakened today with a certain excitement he could not place wholly. It was when he recollected his dreams he found what forced plotting within his head.

The dream was still so vague, but he saw what was happening in the aftermath of the Outlands campaign. The people of Outland, while now united under the common threat that has been all but fully destroyed, would still not be able to wipe the horrible history from their soil. Truthfully, the land must be wrought with knowledge that Kelgorm couldn’t have hoped to have seen in all his long life.

He never dabbled in dark magic, not actually performed it himself. Still, though, he was an expert in it. Jokingly some humans of vile intent referred to him as a demonologist who did not summon demons. He worked with warlocks to study demons, learn their weaknesses as best he could, and interrogate them. The most difficult part of his studies was ways to entice or even torture the chaotic beings without giving in to using their magic.

He looked back to that with some fondness, and some bitterness too. It was breakthrough after breakthrough, but often wasted. Knowledge that had no application should another invasion on the homefront happen; how to shut an imp up, how to seduce a succubus, how to tame a fel hound, or even how to convince a felguard you are, in fact, tougher. He was nothing more than a demonic behaviorist, he knew what the demons were thinking, what they would do, and how they would do it. However, on killing them? What, should he just rely on the damn human paladins to handle that part?

No, he wanted something that he could wield. He saw himself killing score after score of demons; he stood on their bodies as they had formed a mountain. A simple, lowborn elf, the bane of all demonic life. Kelgorm was not destined for greatness as his people’s leaders, he spent thousands of years on what seemed to be a lost cause.

He could not retreat to normality. In his dream, he remembered hearing whisperings. It looked to be the Lower City. Usually he would dismiss such ridiculous coincidences, but with all his prior plans failed, Kel did not find his time wasted in a quick grasp at straws.

He left the reeking inn and wandered the Lower City. He was blind to the activity around him – the arakkoa cawing loudly at times among one another, the stray elves and draenei who at times did not belong among the other dirty denizens, and the surprisingly common 'commoners’ of the aforementioned races who did not make it into the prestigious chosen of the naaru.

In truth, Kelgorm lost control of his feet. He kept wandering, blindly. Even the feral sounds of the nether rays as the Sha'tari made rounds on the reaches above Shattrath did not shake him from his trance. He made it to a dark corner, largely unpopulated by any of the poor folk making up the underbelly of Shattrath. He had looked around and saw nothing. Then, he heard something he must have not seen. “Seeking something, yes,” a raspy voice questioned. Kelgorm immediately recognized it as an arakkoa.

“You?” Kelgorm was confused, as if he found the missing piece to the puzzle the dream left in his head, but he denied its authenticity.

“Many come through here,” the arakkoa cleared its throat, stifling a bird-like sound, “and many seek something from this land.”

Kelgorm nodded his head. He could not place where the creature was in the shadows here, that was until it revealed its hooded visage. It clutched an orb swirling with black mist.

“I may seek something,” Kelgorm said carefully.

“And I will help you find it,” the arakkoa continued, “for a price.” Once again, its throat was cleared, and another caw stifled. Kelgorm did not know whether to find it charming or hilarious it refrained from expressing what it was.

Furthermore, Kelgorm was familiar with bargaining for information. Gold was quite common, but other less savory methods too were always an option. He saw no need to use violence on the seemingly frail creature, and well… he kept the thought of the creature seeing him as attractive to the back of his head entirely.

“How much,” Kelgorm asked.

The bird-like humanoid hummed in thought, though it sounded the most unrestrained sound of a feathered creature this arakkoa had let out so far. It held the orb outwards, claws from its hand tapping along the orb and coaxing the black fog within it to clear little-by-little.

“When you find what you seek – raaa – you will know. I am here only to direct you. Once you find it, O hopeless Kelgorm – raak – that will be payment enough.”

Kelgorm barely noticed his own name being uttered from the beak of this creature he had known for mere seconds, perhaps barely a minute. His eyes were entranced on the orb, which as time passed, seemed to be more beautiful. Though what it showed was far from that: a harsh land, debatably harsher than even the land he first entered when crossing the Dark Portal.

“Blade’s Edge Mountains,” the arakkoa said.

Blade’s Edge Mountains, Kelgorm’s head echoed. He looked away for a split second, sealing the words within his head to memory. When he looked back, the arakkoa was gone.

Kel stood straight, he was perched over ever so slightly when he had gazed into the orb. He wondered why he was humoring the petty mysticism of the poor denizens of this city. It was likely even if they had lived here their whole life, they had no clue of the untapped information to be found. Soon, warlock covens would be scattered all about here trying to unlock the mysteries of the Outlands. Kelgorm felt he still had no lead.

He sighed, turned his back to where the cawing mystic had once been, and rubbed at his forehead. He could not believe he was about to follow up on the arakkoa’s vague presentation of advice.

Well… I came here from one gut feeling from a dream. At least in the tomes I write on how to combat the Legion I can start with, 'And it all started from some feathered lunatic in a back alley in the Lower City of Shattrath…’

#wow rp #rp #i actually cant wait for this backstory to take off

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