#rod switching his outstretched hand over to pointing part way through

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

#showaddywaddy #who put the bomp #top of the pops #totp #1982 #i love that this video starts out with instant shenanigans #also they're wearing the 80's sock window pants #OKAY malcolm tickling dave's face with a single finger #and then petting his hair gently before backing away #russ possibly doing things to the back of dave's head as well #whatever trevor is doing opening his coat like that #also his finger was wiggling the same as malcolm's except it wasn't on dave's face #rod switching his outstretched hand over to pointing part way through #buddy and romeo being the only normal ones here #al is not even in the beginning shot at all #and then dave with a balloon between his legs #dave i don't think the balloon wanted to go #i am loving buddy and romeo over there #while the rest are lined up doing their thing #i'm also loving russ being part of the dances as much as he is here #cute shy man

[luimagines]

100 Follower Prize

The winner of the raffle that was held a while ago was @twilightpoison!

And they have requested a scenario with Legend, Twilight and Wind!

Also known as the trio that Time screwed up.

Content under the cut!

“How on earth does Wild do this?” Legend snapped under his breath as he trudged through the swamp water. He had a bit of trouble keeping his lantern above the water but he led the way.

It was cold and wet and the water had seeped all the way through his boots and had seeped into his socks.

Everything was uncomfortable and smelly and there was no way to tell if there were any monsters nearby.

Twilight followed closely behind the Veteran with Wind clinging closely onto his back. It was arguably the longest piggyback ride Twilight had ever given but compared to Legend and Twilight, Wind was going to struggle more with getting through the water.

It came up above Legend’s knees and just beyond Twilight’s mid shin. The three of them had quickly decided to let Wind on top of Twilight because it would be close to the youngest’s hips. 

“Beats me.” Twilight shrugged to the best of his ability. “I’m sure he has some special suit or armor the help him out in something like this.”

“I just wonder where the others are.” Wind shifts from his spot on Twilight’s back, leaning just a bit over his shoulder. “I hope they’re ok. It’s not like we get separated every time we switch worlds.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Twilight sighs. “They can take care of themselves.”

Legend grumbles to himself as they splash and trudge through the swamp. Twilight catches some less than savory words fall from his lips but considering they’re too low for the youngest to hear, he lets him have it. He can understand the sentiment even if he wouldn’t choose those words to describe it.

He sighs and adjusts Wind once more against his back. 

Wind shifts as a response and he can feel Wind look behind them. “What if there are monsters nearby?”

“Don’t jinx us.” Legend snaps.

Twilight pauses and looks around the swamp that surrounds them.

Nothing yet.

Hopefully nothing at all.

He keeps walking.

The sun is beginning to set unfortunately and there’s not a lot of places where they’d be able to take refuge for the night without just giving themselves up completely to the swamp water around them.

“Is that a cave?” Legend lifts his lantern higher and points to the rock jutting out of the vines. 

Twilight has to squint to see it but hums. “Might be. I say it’s worth checking out.”

“Yeah, I’m getting tired.” Wind rests his head against Twilight.

“I’m sure holding onto Twilight is an exhausting endeavor.” Legend rolls his eyes and once again keeps moving.

“Am I getting heavy Twilight?” Wind says in his ear.

Twilight shakes his head even if he knows he’s going to feel it for a while after he wakes up the next morning. “I can go for a little longer, Sailor. Don’t worry about it.”   

Wind hummed against his head but didn’t say anything else.

The trio made their way over to the rock that Legend had pointed out and ventured inside on baited breath.

The water was still a bit higher than they would have liked but upon going deeper into the cave they eventually hit dry dirt.

The sigh of relief was palpable.

Twilight put Wind down at last and stretched his arms to avoid any cramps later on.

They weren’t in the clear yet.

Wind stood around for a second shaking his limbs all over with youthful vigor.

“What are you doing?” Legend looked over with a raised eyebrow- not amused at his antics.

“Getting some feeling back in my limbs.” He replied. “I feel like I’ve been stuck in the crows nest and have yet to get my land legs back.”

Twilight rolled his eyes and rolled his shoulder. Admittedly, he did feel a lot better without the added weight on them. “You stay here and try to get a fire going. I’ll go check if there’s any monsters in the back or something. The last thing we want is for this place to be habited.”

“You’re going alone? Are you stupid?” Legend snapped.

Twilight paused before flipping him the bird out of childish spite. “I need to make sure we’ll be safe here for tonight.”

“We need to get dry.” Legend tried to argue but Twilight waved him off.

“It will be worth nothing and even worse if we dry off now only to need to run back into the water.” Twilight tugged his pelt off of his shoulder and tossed it vaguely around Wind who was trying to get some warmth into his arms by rubbing them with his hands. “I won’t be long.”

“Don’t die.” Legend looked away and began to clear an area in the middle of the dry dirt to start the fire. “I’m not going to drag your sorry corpse through the swamp just to give you a proper burial. I’m leaving you behind if you die.”

Twilight snorted just before he left the lantern���s dim light. “I’d figured as much.”

“Don’t come back hurt either!” Wind called out after him as a second thought.

Twilight raised his arm high but didn’t verbally reply as he left the two of them alone.

Wind wrapped the pelt closer around himself and even pulled up the hood to cover his head. “I thought swamps were supposed to be in humid warm weather, why is it so cold here?”

“I don’t feel it.” Legend shrugged and began to pull out his fire rod. “We need tinder... or wood... just something to light and stay lit.”

Wind looked around the barren cave, twirling in his spot but finding nothing. “Maybe if there’s some dead leaves or twigs or something outside the cave we could use that.”

Legend groaned, loudly, but tossed Wind the fire rod. “Don’t light the whole place on fire.”

“You’re going to leave me alone?” Wind blinked and looked at the two items the older boys had given him. If he hadn’t known any better he’d say this was ominous and foreboding foreshadowing.

“Not for long. I’m still wet so it might as well be me.” Legend began to walk away, leaving the lantern behind. “Just stay here.”

“I can help!” Wind cried, making his way out of the cave.

“We don’t want to make Twilight carry you for nothing.” Legend sighed and waved him back to the spot he cleaned up. “Keep a look out for Twilight in case he comes back half dead and bleeding out or something.”

Under his breath he continued. “Of course the Rancher would be right about this but it’s only going to affect me at the end of the day.”

The thought of dealing with a mortally wounded team member put Wind more on edge than before. “Wait- Legend- don’t-!”

But he was already back in the water and Wind was alone.

“This sucks.” Wind pouted and tightened his grip on the magical item. “I hate this place.”

If Wind was tired before, he wasn’t as much anymore.

Wind walked around the dimly lit cave with nothing else to do. If he was being honest with himself he’d admit that he was unnerved by losing the group, by being stuck with Legend and Twilight at the end of the day with no sign of any other living being for the miles they’ve traveled, by being left alone as soon as they had the chance.... And well....

He was scared.

He didn’t know where he was or where his friends were and they just left him behind.

Wind didn’t want to think about any more than he had to.

So he waited and waited... and tried to keep busy by walking in circles and tossing the fire rod back and forth between his hands but the silence was not doing him any favors right now.

There was a subtle thumping noise behind him and Wind tensed up considerably. He spun around on his heel and pointed the fire rod at the back of the cave.

It was Twilight.

Who didn’t look any worse for wear.

Wind sighed of relief and put the fire rod down so that it was no longer pointed at his teammate. “You scared me.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “So you were going to blast me into oblivion?”

“No! Only if you were a monster or something!” Wind pouted and stuck his tongue out. He knew it was childish but it felt right to do so and he was beginning to feel tired again so frankly- he didn’t care.

Twilight shook his head with an amused smile on his face before he looked up and noticed the other missing member. His jaw twitched and he tensed some more before trying to calmly look at Wind. “Where’s Legend?”

“Collecting firewood.” Wind looked away and back to the entrance. “He wouldn’t let me come with him even if I offered.”

Twilight took a deep breath and tried to loosen up his muscles. There was no reason to be nervous or concerned right now. He’d be fine.

Wind perked up suddenly and looked back at him. “Did you find anything Twilight?”

The Rancher shrugged and stepped closer to where he could see where Legend had flattened the space, no doubt for the fire later. “Nothing much. Just dark and more dark and no monsters. We’d be safe here the night.”

Wind nodded and went to take off the wolf peel to give it back to Twilight but was stopped halfway.

“Keep it.” Twilight waved his hand. “It’s only going to get colder.”

Wind frowned and slowly pulled it back on, but had some difficulty to get it all bunched up with one hand and actually pull it over himself once more. It was heavier than it looked.

Twilight noticed the struggle and stepped in to help, bending down somewhat to still look Wind in the eyes as he properly placed the wolf pelt and hood around the boy.

“Oh, you’re back country boy.” Legend trudged back into the dry part of the cave- boots squelching with every step he took. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“It’s nice to know you have so much faith in me, Vet.” Twilight rolled his eyes. “We’re clear by the way. No monsters. We can stay here until morning.”

“Oh thank the Wind Fish. I was not willing to do anything else today.” Legend dropped the pile he had collected unceremoniously onto the ground and walked up to Wind. He held out his hand only to pause and reconsider his options. He looked down at himself and moved his outstretched hand from in front of Wind to instead gesture to the dry and very flammable materials. “Would you care to have the honors?”

Wind gasped and unknowingly tightened his grip on the fire rod. Legend watched the young boy brighten at his words and knew it was a good choice. “Really?”

“Have at it. One swing should be enough.” Legend shrugged and walked away to finally rid himself of his wet and smelly clothes. “Just don’t hit us or our stuff and you’ll be fine.”

“Awesome!” Wind bounced on his toes and studied the fire rod for a hot second. 

Twilight bit his lip and took a step back from the boy.

Wind didn’t notice.

Wind aimed the rod at the decently sized pile and swung the rod downwards onto it. The flame burst forth is a blinding beam of light and easily caught onto the material Legend had collected.

A somewhat concerning giggle came out of Wind’s mouth but Legend came back in time to take his weapon away before Wind felt like going to light more things on fire, whether that means inside the cave or not. “Good job.”

Wind grinned and plopped down in front of the fire, leaning back against the cave wall with his hands out in front of him. “This is much better.”

Twilight snorted and plopped himself next to the Sailor and brought him close with a single arm. 

Legend watched as he shucked off his outer tunic and tossed near the fire for it to dry. He sighed and tried to sit a way away but Twilight whistled- much like one would a cat.

“No.” Legend didn’t even look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Come on Legend~” He could hear Twilight’s grin. “You know you want to.”

“I know that I don’t want to actually.”

“Come here Legend.” Wind called instead. “We have any blankets. You’re going to get cold.”

“We have a fire and I already said that I don’t feel it.” Legend crossed his arms and looked in the opposite direction.

“But you took off your layers and Twilight said it’s only going to get colder.” Wind sighed and flopped himself over Twilight’s body. “Come huddle and get over it. My sister isn’t as much of a baby as you are.”

“If you make me get up and drag you here, you’re going in the middle.”

Legend snapped his head over to Twilight and frowned. “Fine.”

He got up and walked over to the two of them, sitting himself down on Twilight’s other side and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. “I’m too tired to put up a decent fight. You win.”

“Mh-hm. I’m sure that’s it.”

“Rancher, I can and am willing to still fight you.”

Twilight laughed and instead pulled Legend closer to him with his arm wrapped around him. Legend squawked at being pulled flush against the larger man but didn’t actually put up much of a fight like he had threatened.

“I can’t believe this.” Legend scowled.

“Goodnight guys.” Wind yawned and snuggled closer into both the fur around him and Twilight. 

“Goodnight Wind.” Twilight ruffled his hair through the hood before shifting to get a bit more comfortable himself. “Goodnight Vet.”

“Goodnight guys.” Legend begrudgingly latched onto Twilight’s arm and leaned his head against his shoulder for comfort. He noticed that he was actually a lot warmer like this and found himself being lulled to sleep by the calming sound of the fire and the rhythmic pressure of Twilight’s breath and heartbeat.

The three were hungry, still a bit wet and tired. But together they fell asleep by the open flame and rested with the hopes of gathering enough energy to find the rest of their friends when the sun would eventually come back up.

For now though, they slept.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse

[libradusk]

Touch Starved | Kix

Word Count: 3,683

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x Reader

Summary: The pain of losing those you love burns harsher than any shot of liquor ever could.

You’re determined to not let Kix face his demons alone.

Warnings: LOTS OF HURT/COMFORT because I live for this trope, use of alcohol as a coping mechanism somewhat, mention of injury and death that results from war, mention of a medical setting.

a/n: This chapter is dedicated especially to @morganas-pendragons​ who is so talented and so kind and helped inspire this chapter - I really hope you enjoy this chapter Kayla!

Also the two other characters briefly featured in this are my two medic oc’s, you can find a visual reference for Eir here with a little more info, if you’re curious.

Thanks for all the love on this series so far! I appreciate each and every one of you.

Tagging: @thatonesakudere​, @kaminobiwan​ and @simping-for-fives​ (Send me a message if you wanna be tagged in any of my future fics!)

When he wasn’t in the mess for supper with the rest of the 501st’s boys, you knew exactly where he was hiding.

That preconceived knowledge turned over itself in your stomach. The feeling was biting, twisting your newly closed stitches tighter until they threatened to knot your rib-cage into black and blue rods of anxiety.

You were woozy, still somewhat unsteady on your feet despite it having been a full 24 hours since you had awoken from the surgeon’s table, bathed in a halo of fluorescent light and with little more than a medical droid for company. But still, despite the stinging in your side and the heaviness of your muscles, you persevered onward, back towards the medbay, back to him - whether he wanted the company or not, you needed to do what you could to ensure he was ok.

For your own sanity, as well as his at this point.

Your stomach protests against your heart’s demand the moment you are hit with the first wave of disinfectant-heavy air, forcing your arm to shoot out and brace your heaving body against the medbay’s entrance. Almost instantly, your knees buckle in response to the flare of pain that shoots over your entire right side. Bile begins to stretch and rise from the hollowness of your stomach, equal parts a reaction to not only the smell and memory of your injury, but also to the agony currently rippling across your hunched form. The force of it makes your heart feel as though it is swelling and threatening to drag itself out of your throat with each breath you take, it takes a good few seconds to recollect yourself and refocus your vision as it stutters. 

There's a quiet sense of mourning draped across the wing. Considering what whispered condolences and murmurings had floated past the lips of the surviving soldiers released the same time as you, you’re not surprised. Through the pain poisoning your thoughts, you theorise that the bulk of the medical staff on duty are no doubt stretched between filing out piles of casualty reports and treating what unfortunate souls were not as lucky as you were. Yet despite all this, it's mere moments before you raise your head to find yourself flanked by a small crowd of medical droids. They hobble around you on weighted, gray tinted limbs with a speed that seemed uncanny to the robotic creatures, a concerned droning manifesting through the air as their vocal modulators begin to speak in unison.

Get away from me, I don’t have time for this! 

The words lock themselves behind your gritted teeth as you inwardly curse your body for collapsing in on itself before your mission was complete. Thinking only in frustration, you fight past the tremor threatening your wrist to shove at the closest droid’s metallic face-plate, silently urging your senses to adapt to the sterile atmosphere so you could continue to force your tired legs towards their goal.

Yet instead of the chill of durasteel or the sharp prickle of a sedative agent penetrating your flesh, all you feel beneath your fingers is….nothing. You flex them around the air as you force your breathing to return to normal once more, the frantic panic slowly uncaging the rest of your senses until you can reach focus. There's a heavy, latex warmth clamped around your outstretched wrist and a symmetrical weight steadying the hunch of your shoulder. You follow the path they offer until your eyes meet with the concerned gaze serving as the final stitch that keeps you frozen in place - pinning you with a tired glare that makes you feel remorseful and relieved all at once.

“...Eir.”

The clone medic continues to stare down at you long after you regard him and shift your weight backwards. The purple tattoos rimming his eyes bleed almost seamlessly into the dark circles bruising the hollow of their sockets. His hair doesn't look like it's been washed properly in days and he's still donning a set of surgical scrubs atop his uniform. He looks every bit as broken as you feel, yet he's still on duty with no sign of rest in sight. Your heart falls at the thought of how many others have been injured as badly as you in the last attack to warrant him being assigned additional duties within the 501st.

A sigh stretches over Eir’s chest as his dark eyes inspect the state of you.

“You should be resting. I had hoped you would have had the sense to stay away from the medbay for a while longer at least. I’ve got my hands full here as it is without you working yourself to the point of reinstatement straight after being discharged.”

Despite the exasperation sinking across his tone, he releases his hold on your wrist, the hand supporting your shoulder slinking back to join it in shooing away the medical droids as soon as he deems you steady enough to stand to full height again. He clicks his tongue as you absentmindedly ghost a hand over your injured side despite the pain having mostly subsided in its throbbing now. There's another beat where you can't quite bring yourself to look him in the eyes, feeling oddly sheepish at the scene you had just made, and continuing to wither under his knowing gaze. He takes mercy on you then, recognising the determination blazing behind your downtrodden expression and greeting it with a knowing smile so tiny, you don’t even have a chance to notice it before it floats away once he returns his gaze to the rows of medical beds stretching like coffin markers down the hall.

“Come on then if you’re going to find him, I can’t have you pulling at your stitches in the doorway. You know you’ll have to face Faera’s wrath if you ruin her handiwork.”

His voice holds a familiar warmth now as he folds his hands behind him and waits for you to follow his march. A sigh of relief leaves you before you can stop it, the force of it irritates your bruised lungs, but you confine the feeling to the back of your mind and concentrate on pushing your legs to a brisk walk behind the tall clone.

“...You know, he almost fought Faera when she was called in to stitch you up.” The words wring out a fresh admission of guilt from you, if Eir notices the heaviness of your silence, he doesn’t comment on it. You can’t blame him, his mind must be engulfed in a war-zone of its own right now.

“I’ve never seen him-” the surgical room doors seem to spin past each other as you and Eir pass them, each identical to the last. You wonder if the way they seem to blur together into a grey-white smudge makes Eir feel dizzy too, as you wait for him to pick up his sentence where he left it hanging under the pale lights. “-I’ve never seen him so terrified to leave a surgery before…”

Eir comes to a graceful halt at the end of a particularly dark stretch of the medbay corridor. A sigh born from concern hisses across the scar marring his lip and creases his brow. He wrings his gloved hands behind his back as his gaze rests on the final door looming in front of you both.

“...Make sure he’s ok will you? For me too.” Another sigh. Long, dark lashes flutter in contemplation as his fingers continue to twist around the apprehension, the guilt, as it spills away from him in the safety of the dark. “We’ve lost a lot of brothers these past few days… I’ve taken him off duty, but he won’t let me-”

The mess of feelings choke him now and he ducks his body away from you, snapping at the bunched corner of his gloves to steel his mind and breathing. Your voice finally finds itself once more as your fingers move to the door’s switch.

“I promise, Eir. Look after yourself too, okay?”

You stand in the doorway just long enough to see the back of his head tip forwards in a nod before you leave him to confront the very man you had set out to locate.

The moment the blast door closes behind you, all the air slips from your throat once more. The echo of hospital equipment set up across the wards finally numbs, and you’re left with little more than the harsh lighting crawling across the room to distract yourself from the sight in front of you. Your heart keeps on rising until you can taste it: nervous and bloody and wretched.

Kix sits with his back to you atop the surgical table in his blacks - no scrubs, no armour and armed only with a bottle of brandy hanging from his deft surgeon’s fingers. The room itself is heavily sanitised and free from gore and death, not unlike the one you had woken up in that same morning, yet it still manages to conjure a feeling that's downright insidious as the atmosphere crawls over your skin.

The entire base stinks of death today, the sickly pallor of Kix’s skin under the lights appears to indicate that he's danced beside its path far too many times now.

The clack of your boots against the floor is soon smothered by the neon as you edge yourself closer to where he sits, motionless in place. Had the arch of his shoulders not been gently rising with each breath he took, you would have been convinced that death had claimed him too.

“Smuggling in alcohol to the medbay, Kix? I would have expected better from a medic.”

You try to keep your tone light as it always is when you greet each other, but the words tumble out sour and tired, scratching your throat and flooding the gashes they leave with guilt the moment that they’re free. They trip forward and tie themselves around your feet, begging you to turn back around and leave. You ignore them, stepping closer into the room. You find yourself tracing the wedding of tattoos and patterns shaved into the back of his skull to calm yourself in the silence. The bottle remains suspended at his side, an all too familiar barrier for you both.

The seconds feel heavier than ever before he finally shrugs them away, throwing you a backwards half-glance over his shoulder, wordlessly beckoning you closer despite the hesitation that clenches across the muscles in his arms. Your attempt at lightheartedness is all a facade and you both know it. The fact that your hands have begun their crawl up the sides of his biceps to massage the knotted stress out of his shoulder blades is revealing enough of your true intentions.

You don’t waste energy with empty inquiries into if he's ok - none of the GAR medical staff are, after all, statistics and corpses cannot lie.

He leans back into your touch appreciatively, taking the utmost care to keep the brunt of his weight off of you. Kix’s gaze is locked on the swirling golden contents of the bottle in his fist now, the expression branded across them reminds you of the one Eir’s face had mirrored minutes prior. Another lump curdles in your throat as you spread your palms a little wider across his back and lean into the warmth of his body from behind him. The table bites into your thighs.

“I wish I could tell you it matters if I drink on the job or not. I’ve lost every one of the boys I’ve touched in the last ten surgeries.”

The world pauses at his words.

He takes another heavy swig of the bottle, hissing at the sting of the liquid against his tongue. The smell of it between you turns in your stomach, but you press your face into the slope of his neck all the same, urging him to continue with a gentle press of your lips.

“... and then when they brought you in from the field, all bloody and unconscious - a little part of me started screaming to run away.” Kix pulls forward, gently separating you both so he can twist to finally look at you from the edge of his table-top perch. His eyes are painted with remorse, but beneath it they’re as warm as they always are when it comes to you. “I was so scared of killing you too.”

His eyes glass over the moment his fingers can’t fight their shiver long enough to hold the bottle anymore. The emotion in them shatters the same time it hits the table with a resounding thunk. 

You rush to gather him up in your arms before the first tears begin to fall, pulling his head to your chest in the hope that your heartbeat could soothe him where your words could not. His fingers are bitten and washed raw, but no amount of scrubbing could ever cleanse his memories of what he had seen, what he was yet to see. They’re blistered around the cuticles, and you press each knuckle against your mouth to try and kiss away the guilt and the pain they carry, anything to ease his burden even a little. You’re not naive, you know nothing short of a miracle would make things better as they currently stood, but you would sooner drop dead than let him be dragged down alone by the weight of it all.

“You did everything you could, you all did.” You whisper the words against the heat of his skin, moving away the bottle so you could coax him closer and away from the table. “You didn’t kill any of them, none of this is your fault. I know it, Eir knows it and so does every single one of the boys in this whole damn army”

He’s carved from solid muscle, yet he’s so beaten down that the defeat aches across his posture and sinks its teeth into his bones as he struggles to find his feet. He breathes in deeply, head lolling heavily in the crook of your neck to ground himself from breaking down and sobbing into you. Each breath is steady, counted, but his heart flutters erratically next to yours as his fingers twitch over where they know your injury lies, too terrified to touch near it in case they somehow unhook each of the stitches and spill your blood across the white room. You dance your own down his spine in drawn-out, fluid movements. Your mind is aflame with the knowledge that though his body may gradually begin to unfurl, as long as he remains planted in this place his mind will be primed to snap again and again, until there is little left for you to reach.

He’s torturing himself by remaining here long after his shift has ended, you note. The realisation punctures something deep and threatens to drag forward fresh tears of your own. You pull back then despite the reluctance of both your limbs and the man tangled between them, gently patting his shoulder once before lacing your fingers against his clammy palm.

“Come on.” It's not a request as much as it's an instruction, one that leaves no room for argument despite the dull pain that throbs across your tone.

Eir is nowhere to be seen when you finally succeed in leading Kix by the hand out of the surgical room, you don't know whether to be relieved or concerned at the fact. The air across the ward still tastes of sickness and fear, it clips you as you push past it and out towards where your quarters are located.

Your room is small and most certainly not designed to house two people, but it's a better place to grieve than on a cold slab of operating table. Perhaps you think, that you’re also a little selfish enough to want him next to you tonight. Just so that you can ensure he isn't falling to pieces in that cold, aseptic cage of a surgical room if nothing else.

Your hands are endlessly gentle as you bundle him into the narrow bed before placing them on the mattress to carefully ease yourself in next to him. He senses your discomfort immediately, shuffling over to help you climb beneath the sheets in a position that takes the pressure off your wound. The care with which he handles you defrosts a little of the sadness freezing your blood, grateful that even when he was hurting so deeply himself, his adoration for you still continued to dapple like sunlight through every action he undertook. You draw him back into your chest again then, engulfing him in the warmth and safety that you extend to him with your entire being. Kix’s eyes shut themselves tightly, lashes fluttering against your pulse as he listens in for the thrum of your heart against your rib-cage. A tiny part of you hopes that it will be enough to lull him into some much needed slumber, but the cynicism dominates and quashes the thought as soon as it bubbles to the surface - its all wistful thinking once again, neither of you will sleep much at all tonight, that much had been foretold the moment you were discharged from the medbay that same morning.

The smell of brandy is weaker on his breath now as he trails his fingers over your torso, having finally found the strength to touch you now that he had been liberated from his self imprisonment. A shudder kisses down your spine at the sensation. It's as though he’s mapping out every little bit of your body, like you will be taken away from him if he doesn’t.

The same bitter cynicism screams in your ear once more, reminding you that in this war there’s no real guarantee you won’t be pulled apart either way.

You force it down alongside a fresh curtain of tears.

His digits halt once they loop towards the medical dressing plastered to your side, it's as if the newfound obstacle has clashed with his memories of your body enough to shock him to an abrupt stop. Slowly, cautiously, his touch withdraws away from the fabric as if it's dangerous.

“It’s proof that I’m alive.” He doesn’t respond outright, but you can feel his shoulders begin to shake underneath your caress, even though his face remains hidden under your chin. “You saved me, Kix, I’m here because of you.”

“My heart hasn’t stopped pounding from the moment they wheeled you in. It only got worse when they called me away to begin another procedure, all I could think about was what I would do if you didn’t wake up - like all the others before you.”

You curl around him tighter, hooking your legs around his own and cupping under his shoulder blades to draw him in even closer, grounding you both as he spills his heart until it bleeds into the sheets beneath you. Tears stream his face, less reluctant now. They veer down in fat streams and look drunk with how they cling to his cheeks and chin.

“...These boys need you, Kix. You would need to carry on, as we all do-”

“I wouldn't want to.”

You let him say it, let it drip like poison from his lips in the hope that it's at least cathartic to the guilt radiating from within him. You snuff out any words that threaten to follow with a kiss to his forehead, prolonged and firm enough to soothe the lump in your throat as much as it is for him. He cranes his head upwards to capture the second kiss with his own mouth. There's nothing gentle about how his lips mesh with your own this time, his kiss is searing with its passion and it steals away what little breath you have left. A hand threads itself behind your nape to pull you impossibly closer in the tiny bed, the other digging into your hip bone as though you would dissolve into starlight if he failed to hold you in place.

His cheeks feel damp as they scrape against your face, dying the kiss salty with tears. They overpower the bite of the brandy on his tongue in the same way they must do to the alcohol burning in his veins. The sheets twist and threaten to slip from the bed frame as you press to turn him onto his back despite the twinge in your side. His eyes snap back open, wide and alert in protest at your overexertion. You shut down the medic side of him with a single finger to his parted lips, a smile blossoming across your face for the first time that day. The thin sheets pool around your hips, binding both sets of the legs beneath it together. He relents with his unvoiced complaint, frown still reluctant, but eyes swimming with golden waves of emotion as he stares up at you. 

“I love you.”

He’s said it before, a few times now - but back then the words were always seeped in alcohol and playful bravado. This is different, it's raw and choked with affection that runs deeper than any liquor could ever reach. It decorates across his face in such detail that it puts his tattoos to shame, and it drags forth another wave of tears that have been collecting behind your lashes. They drip into your smile as it splits wider.

“I love you too, Kix. More than you’ll ever know.”

You surge forward to kiss across his face and neck, relying on the peppered heat of your lips and passion to communicate what mere words never could - to reassure every part of him that you were real, alive, and hopelessly in love with him, that come morning, he wasn’t going to wake up to your body laying there cold and accusatory with his failure to save you.

For the first time, Kix allows himself to be treated for his own wounds, as you stitch up his anxieties with each brush of your lips against his.

#kix #kix x reader #touch starved #kix reader insert #clone wars imagine #star wars reader insert #star wars imagine #mine #woooo i loved writing this

[chipper9906]

The Best Laid Plans - Chapter 8: On The Cusp Of Something New

LINK TO CHAPTER 1 

Pairings: Kylo Ren/Rey, Ben Solo/Rey

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 8194

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress

Chapter Preview:

“I’m not drunk.” Kylo tried to deny, but the ever so subtle hint of a slur in his words proved him otherwise, much to his frustration. “Maybe a little inebriated, but I wouldn’t say drunk.” That’s when an idea popped into Rey’s head. Probably a bad one, if her sober mind was the one thinking, but her drunk mind thought it was a brilliant one. “I think we change that.” Kylo raised an eyebrow at Rey’s exclaim. “How about a game?”

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Chapter 8: On The Cusp Of Something New

Kylo was surprisingly patient with her.

That’s not to say she was doing bad at building a saber. In fact, her years of tinkering with ship parts meant she had actually taken to the task quite well. She supposed having that prior knowledge of electronics was what helped the most, but personally, she likes to think that she picks up on new subjects very quickly.

Still, building a lightsaber was not designed to be a simple task. And it shouldn’t. This was an incredibly dangerous weapon that should only be wielded by those that deserve to. Those that have the right knowledge of the weapon, know how to responsibly use it. Some days, Rey can barely believe she comes under that category. It wasn’t exactly like she had time to train like the Jedi before her did. She had been thrust unexpectedly into this world that day BB-8 beeped out to her caught up in those nets. She didn’t have the time then, and she doesn’t really now. Sure, there’s an odd sort of lull where both the First Order and The Resistance seem to be waiting to see when the other will make a move, but that fragile break in the war can’t go on. One day, one of them will make the move that leads either to the rise, or the fall of the First Order.

“Rey? Are you listening?”

“Hmm?” Rey hummed instinctively in response to Kylo, her eyes glazed over and looking at nothing, lost in her own thoughts. She comes back to reality, looking down at the halved staff piece she has in her hands.

She had cleaned up the jagged break of the top half of her saber to a smooth cut, then removed the upper top piece of her staff. The bottom half of her staff had been significantly shortened so only the end piece and a few inches of the rod of the staff remained. Like the other piece, she had cleaned it up a bit and smoothed down the edges. The plan was to connect the two pieces once they had installed the other parts and wires and everything else that Kylo has yet to tell her what is.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Rey asked, barely glancing at Kylo before returning to the task in hand,  rubbing a piece of sandpaper vigorously down the inner section of her saber to thin the metal to make more space.

“I said everything here’s about ready.” Kylo answered, tapping at one of the parts he had placed on the workbench in front of them. “And that if you keep doing that, you’re not going to have much of a lightsaber to work with.”

“Relax, it’s fine.” Rey said, but stopped sanding down the metal none-the-less. She placed the piece of sandpaper off to the side of the workbench, turning to Kylo expectantly. “What should I start with?”

Kylo picks up a thin silver metal tube from the workbench, holding it in front of him as he speaks. “We’ll start with this. This right here is a power cell. It’s made of Diatium, as most lightsaber power cells are. This is what provides power to your entire saber; to the wiring, the switch, the crystal itself…”

“Where does it go?” Rey asked, plucking the power cell careful from his outstretched hands. She follows Kylo’s pointing finger, securing it to the bottom of the lower half of her staff. When she looks back up, Kylo is already holding what looks like a small black box.

“This is the crystal chamber.” Kylo tells her. “As you can probably guess, this is where you’re crystal is placed within your saber.”

“I’m guessing we’re working from the ground up here?” Rey asked Kylo as she took the part from him. “Each part stacked on top of each other?”

“Exactly.” Kylo answered, watching as Rey placed the crystal chamber atop the power cell and securing it into place. “Though, you’re going to need-“

“A wire.” Rey finished Kylo’s sentence for him, her tongue just barely peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked with the incredibly fiddly components in an infuriatingly small space. “I’ll need some wires to connect the chamber to the power cell, right?”

Kylo answered simply by passing a few wires over to her. It seemed that Rey had already thrown herself into her work, crafting based on her prior knowledge. That was fine with Kylo- he was perfectly content with providing her with information on the components and watching her attempt to construct them together. It filled him with an odd sense of pride, watching Rey work. Instead of holding her hand through every step, like he was expecting he would have to, he only had to keep a careful eye over her work and intervene when he saw something wrong. It was a good way to learn, and an equally good way to teach.

Once Rey had finished placing the focusing crystal activator atop the crystal chamber and had successfully wired the activator to the chamber, and then to the power cell, Kylo took the completed bottom half of her saber from her and inspected it carefully.

“Not bad.” Kylo told her, taking too much satisfaction in the annoyed grimace that passed Rey’s face - seemed like she was quite the perfectionist when it came to engineering. “Now onto the top half of your saber.”

Kylo picked up a few golden pieces, one particularly long piece that seemed to run the entire length of the top half of the saber, and two smaller pieces with grooves running down them. “These are used to help channel energy from the crystal into a blade. They go along with this-“ Kylo picked up an unbelievably tiny square that Rey recognized from the electronics in the navigation systems of ships she had scavenged. “-Which is an energy modulation circuit. This piece is what controls the amount of energy that’s emitted from your crystal into the blade. Without this, you’d either get too little energy and get no blade or… well, your saber would probably explode in your hands.”

Rey quickly snatched the little square from his fingers. “Better get this in there before I forget it then….”

The hours passed by quickly as Rey placed the last pieces of her saber into place. It took a surprisingly long time to learn how to solder the wires properly, specifically the one connecting her switch to the power cell. She had opted not to go for a traditional switch, and instead placed a thin wheel of metal within the saber to act as a rotating switch. There was of course a few occurrences where Kylo had to take over for her. Every time that would occur, Kylo was… the only word she can think of is ‘gentle’. He wouldn’t get frustrated when she made the same mistake. He wouldn’t raise his voice at her, he wouldn’t rush her when she slowed down to make sure she was doing something right.

Watching him as he pointed to a wire she had managed to splay while fitting other components, softly explaining to her why it was important to regularly check the internals of her saber for damage like that, she couldn’t help but think about how great of a teacher he was. He had offered to teach her before, but not in a subject she wanted to broaden her knowledge in.

It made her wonder if he ever helped Master Luke to teach some of the younger padawans at his old temple. Sure, Ben was still technically a padawan back them himself, but it must have been difficult for Master Luke to teach a large group of children the ways of the Force all by himself. Kylo was talented with the Force- there was no denying that. She recognized it, just as Master Luke had. It didn’t seem too out of the question for Master Luke to ask for Ben’s help in teaching some of the easier lessons alongside him, to keep an eye on the youngest padawans during their lessons.  

The thought of a grumpy Kylo trying to deal with a group of fussy, energetic children who are gifted with the Force was one that made her smile to herself. Even so, she would bet he was great with them. But then thinking of all that made her think of those young children trapped within the burning temple as Kylo watched, and the hollow feeling that invoked in her chest was enough for the smile to slip away.

“…And then you need to re-attach the blade emitter.” Kylo’s voice brought Rey back to the task at hand, having done the rest of the work without really paying attention, simply following his instructions. “Once you’ve done that, all that’s left is to re-attach the two halves and… it’ll be ready.”

The last part was probably the easiest. She had plenty of experience in working with metal before, so welding two pieces of metal together was easy. The only thing that made her hands shake somewhat was knowing the precious materials that sat within those pieces of metal, and the amount of effort it would take to re-do everything if she messed up (especially if she somehow managed to damage the crystal throughout all this).

She couldn’t quite believe it when she was done. Placing the welder down next to her, she pushed the safety mask off her face with a sharp gasp of air. Sitting in front of her, now fully complete, was her lightsaber. Hers. Picking it up with shaking hands, she marveled at how it seemed to fit so perfectly, so naturally into the palm of her hand. Of course it would, it was once her staff after all. Years and years of wielding it against her foes had impeccably shaped the metal to her hands. It wasn’t as tall as her staff, but the components inside made it so the saber was near equal in weight, which would surely make adapting to this saber an easy task.

“I’ll leave you to ignite it then.”

“What?” Rey blanched in confusion, tearing her eyes away from her confusion to Kylo. “You’re leaving? Why?”

“Because this is something special.” Kylo answers like it’s obvious. “This is your first saber. The first you’ve crafted – and if you’re lucky, will also be you’re last. This is a weapon that will be by your side through everything. Igniting it for the first time is an experience you should get to witness alone.”

“What?” Rey repeats. “No, I’m not doing that-“

“Rey…”

“I’m not the only one that made this saber. You helped. A lot. You should get to see it, too.”

Kylo’s face looked to be a mixture of frustration and feeling touched by her words. “Don’t feel like you owe me anything just because I-“

“No, that’s not what this is about.” Rey stopped him before he could go on any further. “I’m asking you to stay because I want you to stay, alright?”

Kylo’s mouth remained parted where he had gone to speak, but had been rendered speechless by her statement. He let his mouth close shut, his eyes scanning her face in an attempt to see if she was speaking the truth. A part of him wanted to rummage within her mind to find that answer, but the narrow-eyed look she shot him seemed to suggest that she somehow knew he was thinking about that. So, instead, he nodded his head at her.

“Good.” Rey said, holding her head up high and her saber outstretched an arm’s length away from herself. “Now - what’s the chance of this blowing up when I ignite it?”

“About fifty-fifty.”

Rey switched the saber to her left hand to give Kylo’s arm a good smack with her right. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She told him dryly, her thumb hovering nervously over her ignition switch. “Though, I suppose I should be flattered that you’re even giving me a fifty percent chance of this working…”

“Actually, the other fifty percent was that nothing would happen once you hit the switch.”

Rey hit him again. Harder.

“It’s better than the other option.” Kylo tried to defend himself, rubbing at his sore arm. “Believe me, I wish that when I had-,” Kylo suddenly stopped, snapping his mouth shut and looking nervously to Rey for a brief second before averting his gaze elsewhere- anywhere else but her.

“When you had what?” Rey asked in a questioning tone, narrowing her eyes at him. The realization of what he was about to say struck her then, and a rather childish grin stretched across her face. “Ben… What happened when you built your saber for the first time?”

Kylo said nothing, keeping his expression schooled and his gaze away from her searching one.

“Ben?”

“I forgot the modulation circuit.” Kylo gave in, practically deflating in on himself with his confession. “It didn’t explode per se, but…”

“But?”                                                                                      

“It fried everything inside. Only my crystal remained unharmed.”

“I shouldn’t laugh, right?”

“How about you ignite your saber first?” Kylo shot back at her. “Then we’ll see who gets to laugh.”

Rey thought his words would bring that nervousness crashing back to her. Instead, they only added fuel to the achiever inside her, to the part of her that always wanted to prove him wrong – prove everyone wrong. So, she didn’t look away from him. She kept her eyes trained on the ever-so-subtle smirk of his as she held out her saber to the side. She kept her eyes trained on his one brow raised in a challenge as she moved her finger to the ignition switch. She let her eyes trail down the scar etched across his face as she flicked the switch to the side.

But she couldn’t keep her eyes on him after that. Not when there was this beautiful, radiant golden blade emitting from her saber. She let out a gasp at the beauty of it, at the power radiating from it. It had worked. Held in her hands now was a functioning saber, emitting a color she had never really heard mentioned before within Kyber Crystals. Even Kylo was stood agape at the saber she held in her hands, and it made her strangely happy to see the awe on his face, his eyes flickering between the saber and its wielder.

Rey lets herself bask in the glow of her saber for a few seconds more before she rotates the ignition back, extinguishing the blade. It seems to disappear within her saber, and then they’re left standing in the small rays of sunlight that make their way through the gaps of the AT-AT. It takes Kylo a few seconds to realize he probably shouldn’t be staring at her. He shakes his head minutely, clearing his throat before he speaks. “I… I think you’ve earned the right to laugh at me.”

Rey doesn’t laugh at him. If she had a weakness, it was that she often acted on impulse, especially when it came to her emotions. Right now… Right now it was a mix of things. She was just so deliriously happy and excited at having her own saber, and that it worked. She was full of gratitude for Kylo, for she knew deep down that it would be a long, long time before this happened, if it wasn’t for him. So, before she can really think about it, she’s flung herself forwards, wrapping her arms around his torso and burrowing the side of her head into his chest.

It seemed that a hug was the last thing Kylo expected from Rey if she was going by the fact that his arms were held partly in the air in shock - perhaps because he thought she was charging at him to kill him with her new saber. That would be cruel. Too cruel. But she has to remind herself that someone like Kylo is expecting death around every corner- it would take him a while to realize that people wanted to give him physical affection not because they’re trying to deceive him, but because they want to.

‘You.’ That voice in her head spoke. ‘Not ‘people’. Not ‘They’. You.’

It was hard to argue with the voice, when she knew it was right.

She had been about to step away from the hug when she felt the first tentative touch of his hands on her back. Kylo had finally lifted up his arms, wrapping them around her and reciprocating the hug. He felt Rey’s arms squeeze gently around his sides, and he instinctively squeezed back in response, his body acting before his brain could tell it what to do. It was strange, when his body took over like that. It was even stranger when his brain didn’t seem to mind. Even more so, when it suggested that he never lets her go.

“Thank you…” Her voice is muffled against his tunic, her words vibrating through his chest.

“You’re more than welcome.” Kylo responds, already mourning the feel of her arms around him as she pulls herself out of his embrace. “Make sure you put that saber to good use. You should start training with it as soon as possible; get used to the way it feels in your hand.”

Rey places her saber down gently atop her work station, turning to face Kylo as she spoke. “You say that like you’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question, nor was it really a statement. Kylo stood awkwardly, his eyes wandering from Rey’s expecting expression to the door. “It was what we agreed, wasn’t it? I was here to help you create your saber, which is now complete. What other reason do I have to stay?”

‘Me’. Her mind wanted to blurt out. ‘Stay for me.’

It’s not what she said. She didn’t even know if saying those words would have the desired effect. And truthfully, just hearing the words in her own mind freaked her out. She didn’t entirely know why she wanted Kylo to stay around longer, but she knew she had to come up with a reason for him to stay. Just then does an idea pop into her mind, and she’s racing towards the back corner of her AT-AT, leaving Kylo with his mouth partially open, apparently about to say something. She’s rummaging frantically through the cramped storage, pulling out and chucking random assortments of knick-knacks and other junk until she finds what she had been looking for. She delicately removes the dark brown bottle from its confines, wiping away the thick layer of dust that coated the glass.

Kylo had his neck craned to the side, trying to get a glimpse at what Rey was cradling in her hands. As soon as his eyes land on the bottle, his brows raise up into his hairline. “Corellian Brandy? How did you manage to procure that?”

“Don’t use that tone with me.” Rey scolded him. “It almost seems like you’re suggesting I stole this.”

“And did you?”

“No!” Rey retorted. “I found it years ago while scavenging an old ship. It looked like it had been there for quite some time. It had mostly been picked clean, but I found this hidden within a few storage crates that other scavengers must have overlooked.”

“Some may still consider that stealing.” Kylo pointed out.

“Whoever the pilot of that ship was, they were long gone. They might even be dead for all I know. If they’re still alive, they must not have cared much for it if they just left it there. If they are dead, then… well, they don’t exactly have much use for it.”

“Unless they were the type to believe their physical possessions followed them from this life to the next.” Kylo kept his voice so flat and neutral that Rey wasn’t sure if he was messing with her or if he was truly being sincere with what he was suggesting.

Rey glared up at him, keeping up with the staring contest Kylo had initiated for a few moments before letting out an annoyed huff of air, turning to place the bottle back where she had got it from. “Fine, fine, I just thought it would be nice to celebrate our accomplishment with a drink, but if you’re going to be like that-“

Her words were cut off by a sound so unexpected that she wondered if she had hallucinated it. No, it was definitely there. That was laughter. Kylo was laughing. She whipped around to catch a glimpse of the smile that must have accompanied such a care-free sounding laugh, but to her dismay, Kylo had managed to return his face to a somewhat neutral expression as quickly as his short burst of laughter had died off.

“I believe ‘Finders Keepers’ is a common saying, is it not?” Kylo asked as he took a few steps towards her, holding his hand out for her to give him the bottle. She passed it over to him, watching as he held the bottle to a stream of setting sunlight that entered the AT-At, peering at the sloshing contents within. “This bottle might be older than you. May even be older than me.”

“Wow, that’s really old.” Rey couldn’t resist the little jab, hiding her smirk when she saw Kylo scowl down at her, the bottle still held outstretched in the air.

“Have you even opened this?” Kylo walked the few steps it took to reach the couch like construction he had sat on the last time he was here, lowering himself down onto it so he was seated somewhat comfortably. Rey had followed after him, jumping up onto her bed opposite and holding out her hand for him to return the bottle.

“No. It seemed valuable.” Rey said, taking the bottle back once Kylo passed it over. “I was saving it for a special occasion. This one seems as good as any.”

“Oh, then… Have you… Have you ever actually drank any alcohol?” Kylo asked cautiously.

“Um… No, I haven’t.” Rey didn’t know why admitting this to him made her feel embarrassed. It wasn’t like she was ever in a situation where she had access to such a luxury. Because that’s what it was – a luxury. Everything in her life was a luxury really: the roof over her head, the portions she bartered for using parts she spent hours scavenging for in the scorching heat. So when she actually chanced across a bottle of the stuff, she wasn’t exactly just going to drink it right then and there like it was nothing. “Have you?”

“I’m not a drinker.” Kylo shifted somewhat on the ‘couch’, leaning forward somewhat as he spoke. “I’ve had a few drinks occasionally, but not much. Snoke would often discourage such activities; said it was nothing more than a distraction to my duties.”

“Well, you seemed to know enough to recognize what drink it was. You know if it’s any good?”

“It’s a popular liquor, that’s for sure. It can be a bit of an acquired taste though – especially for a first-timer.”

Rey brushed away a bit more of the dust on the front of the bottle, squinting to get a better look at the faded, torn label. It was much too damaged to get any useful information from the label, so she moved her efforts to the cork sat within the neck of the bottle. It may have taken her a few more tries than she’d like to admit (including a few embarrassing attempts of pulling it out with her teeth,  nearly resulting in a few of them flying out as Kylo watched in shame) before she heard the satisfying ‘pop’ of the cork coming free from the bottle. Rey gave a small, quiet cheer to herself, before raising the bottle to her mouth and taking in a mouthful of the amber liquid.

Kylo had just been about to warn her, but he was too late. He could only sit back and watch as Rey’s eyes went wide, wincing as she harshly swallowed the drink and turning into a coughing, spluttering mess. Her eyes watered ferociously as she pounded on her chest, feeling like she was about to hack up her lungs as she held the offensive bottle away from herself. “Kriff, people actually drink this stuff? For fun?”

Kylo chuckled quietly as he tugged the bottle out of her outstretched hand. “Told you it was an acquired taste.” Kylo raised the bottle to his lips, taking a much smaller sip than Rey had and swallowing the bitter liquid down smoothly – not a sign of discomfort to be seen as it slipped down his throat. “These aren’t the kind of drinks that you want to chug down. They’re meant more for sipping on casually. Appreciate the flavor.”

“I couldn’t really taste anything.” Rey told him, her upper lip curling in disgust at the memory of the drink. “It just… burnt.”

“I wasn’t a fan at first, either.” Kylo assured her, taking another sip from the bottle. “Most tend to adjust to it. Some don’t.”

Rey eyed the drink in his hands warily for a few seconds, weighing the risk of taking another drink. Perhaps she’d like it this time. Or perhaps it would burn as much as it did the last time. She held out her hand to him, gesturing for him to pass over the bottle. “Let me have another try.”

Kylo did so reluctantly. Not because he wanted to keep the bottle of brandy for himself. More so because he could already envision a drunk Rey at the end of all this. And if he’s not careful, he could easily become drunk, too.

This was going to be an interesting night…

* * *

“…And I get it, okay? I do. BB-8 is technically Poe’s droid. I know that. But it's not my fault BB-8 would always follow me around. Poe was constantly complaining to me about how he doesn’t see his droid anymore, but what am I supposed to do? Tell BB-8 to go away? I can’t do that!” Rey is fully aware that she’s rambling on and on, and for some reason the words she forms in her head don’t leave her mouth quite the same way. The ability to speak had suddenly become much harder, the words coming out slurred and uncertain.

Kylo stared blankly back at her, his expression so vacant that she wondered if he was actually listening to her at all or if he was just spacing out. He certainly looked relaxed enough to not be paying attention, sat atop the makeshift couch and leaned back against the wall of the AT-AT. Kylo was now holding the bottle of Corellian Brandy, though now the liquid that sloshed within the bottle was only filled to about a third.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Rey huffed, annoyed by his consistent silence. “I thought the drink might… loosen you up a little.”

“I have a bit more experience holding my liquor than you do.” Kylo answered. “Though, that does not mean I am immune to its effects.”

“So… you’re staying quiet to reduce the chances of saying something you would only say when drunk?”

“Yes. And to stop myself from babbling on about mundane things.”

Rey leaned forward from her bed, snatching the bottle that was held loosely in his hands with a pointed glare. “Seems you’re still just as mean when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” Kylo tried to deny, but the ever so subtle hint of a slur in his words proved him otherwise, much to his frustration. “Maybe a little inebriated, but I wouldn’t say drunk.”

That’s when an idea popped into Rey’s head. Probably a bad one, if her sober mind was the one thinking, but her drunk mind thought it was a brilliant one. “I think we change that.” Kylo raised an eyebrow at Rey’s exclaim. “How about a game?”

Kylo stared at Rey, looking rather unenthused. “What kind of game?”

“A simple game of questions.” Rey answered. “We each take turns asking each other a question. Whatever question you want. Get to know each other a little better, you know?”

“And what if I don’t want to answer a question?”

“Then you take a drink as forfeit.”

Kylo hummed in thought, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. “This seems set up to make me fail. You’re clearly going to ask me questions I don’t want to answer.”

“Your point being?”

“Either I answer your questions, or I’ll get really drunk.”

“Well, yeah, but same goes for me. I’ll bet you have some questions I won’t want to answer.”

“I doubt that.” Kylo noticed Rey open her mouth, most likely ready to give some kind of retort, so he quickly continued. “But… sure. Let’s do this.”

“Great!” Rey exclaimed, much too enthusiastic about this game for Kylo’s liking. Before Kylo could even blink, Rey had thrown the bottle back in his direction. Luckily, years of combat experience meant Kylo’s reflexes were quick enough to snatch the bottle out of the air before it finished it’s course of flight and broke his nose. “-And since you now have the bottle, I’ll ask the first question.”

Kylo could only glare at Rey’s smug smile.

“I’ve been dying to know this forever…” Dread immediately filled Kylo, bracing himself for some sort of invasive question. “What’s your favorite color?”

That was… absolutely not the question he was expecting.

“What?”

“Your favorite color.” Rey repeated. She didn’t quite seem to grasp that he had heard the question perfectly fine. “I don’t know what it is.”

Kylo stared at her blankly. He would chalk the majority of the fogginess in his mind up to the alcohol streaming through his veins, but the fact of the matter was he couldn’t really remember his favorite color. When was the last time someone had asked him that question? Had anyone ever?

“Did… Did I break you?” Rey face split into a smile at her own joke, but it quickly fell when the blank expression on Kylo’s face remained. “Ben, you’re kind of scaring me now… Are you okay?”

“Yes…” Kylo said slowly, drawing the single word out longer than needed as he got his thoughts together. “I just, uh… Wasn’t expecting a question so…” He struggled to find a descriptive word that wouldn’t come out as an insult.

“Childish?” Rey filled in the blanks for herself. Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended.

“Non-invasive.”

Rey seemed to accept this over her own suggestion. “Well? What is it?”

“Blue. My favorite color is blue.”

Well, that definitely took Rey by surprise. “Really? Wait, you’re serious?”

“No. I’m not serious. I thought it’d be funny to joke about my favorite color.”

Rey swung out her foot to give him a light kick to his leg hanging over the edge of the couch. “Alright, funny guy. It’s just… you just don’t seem like the kind of person who likes the color blue.”

Kylo’s face scrunched up in confusion. “How could you possibly tell a persons favorite color? Wait, let me guess- you thought my favorite color was black?”

“Well…”

Kylo snorted, taking a swig of brandy from the bottle in his hands, even though it wasn’t technically required of him to drink. “Just because I mostly wear black-,”

“Mostly?” Rey exclaimed in disbelief. “It’s all you wear!”

“Because it fits me.” Kylo argued, dropping the bottle away from his mouth. “Plus, it’s a design choice. Something to recognize me by. You recognize my troopers by their white armor. You recognize apprentices of the dark side by their dark clothing. Doesn’t mean it’s my favorite color.”

“Sure, fine. So, why is blue your favorite color?” Rey asked just as Kylo held the bottle back out to her, taking it from his hands and placing it in her lap as she waits for his answer.

“Technically, that’s another question and it’s supposed to be my turn.” Kylo pointed out, leaning back against the wall. “But I’ll answer it anyway, because… I don’t really have an answer to that. It just is.”

“Is there not something the color reminds you of? Something about it that makes you feel drawn to it over every other color?”

“I…” Kylo’s voice faltered as he strained to think of an answer. “I… I suppose it makes me feel peaceful, yet at the same time seems to radiate power. It can be like an ocean- a calm millpond with sparkling turquoise waters, or a dark, raging, windswept wave that washes away everything in its path. The way I see it usually depends on where my mind is.”

“That’s… oddly poetic, coming from you.”

Kylo chuckled low and slow. “Well, I did use to write. Had my own calligraphy set and everything.”

“I can believe that.”

“But not that my favorite color is blue?”

“Now I do.” Rey stressed the first word. “Thank you for telling me it, anyway. It might seem like an unimportant question, but… I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but I just felt like it was one of those questions that you’re supposed to know about your friends.”

That almost forced a smile out of Kylo. Almost. “I suppose I should ask you for your favorite color and make our friendship official then, shouldn’t I?”

“I suppose you should.” Rey’s tone was soft, an equally gentle smile playing across her face. “And I would tell you that it’s green.”

Kylo hummed in acknowledgment, an unusually warm look in his brown eyes as they swept over her. “Since you asked me, I feel it’s only fair for me to ask you why that’s your favorite color? Unless you don’t know either?”

“Oh, I know.” Rey assured him. “It’s mostly because… it’s one of the only colors I never really got to see. Other than the obnoxiously bright greens of plastics and the peeling rusty metals on unusually colored ships, and they reeked of… of… of fakeness. Of being man-made. But when your father took us to Takonda and I laid eyes on those forests for the first time… All of a sudden, green didn’t mean fake anymore. It was life. It was flourishing life, vibrancy and well-living, it…”

“It’s what you never had.” Kylo guessed, though he said it more as if it was a fact than a random shot in the dark.

Rey didn’t know how to respond. Or, maybe she just couldn’t. He was right, after all, but it felt like there wasn’t anything she could say in response. It was just as it was.

“I, uh… I guess it’s your turn again.” Kylo said, and Rey was thankful for the obvious life-line he was throwing out.

Coming up with another question wasn’t hard, because she had an endless list of questions she wanted to ask Kylo. Rather, it was difficult in the sense of trying to find a question that wouldn't add to the awkwardness this current pause in conversation had brought.

“How did you find out about all of this? The Force, your place within it, your control over it?” Rey asked.

“I suppose I didn’t really find out about it. I grew up with it. With the stories, of the bloodline I was a part of. It’s difficult now to know of these things when you have the family that I do.”

“Two war hero’s for parents, one of them a former Jedi in training; a Jedi for an uncle and a former Jedi and Sith Lord for a grandfather. I imagine that was quite a lot.” Rey said.

“Hmm. Though truth be told, my parents were the first to discover my abilities within the Force.” Kylo continued. “Apparently, I would often throw objects around the room without physically touching them whenever I had a tantrum as a toddler.”

“That’s oddly adorable.” Rey cooed, much to Kylo’s distaste. “And it’s amazing how you still haven’t grown out of your tantrums!”

Kylo held up the bottle in his hands as a warning. “I will drink as forfeit. Don’t think I won’t.” Kylo didn’t continue until Rey held up her hands in defeat. “I think mom always saw it coming, but dad… I’m not sure if disappointed is the right word, but he certainly wasn’t happy. They tried to live with it - with me - for as long as they could but, eventually, they realized leaving me with powers I didn’t know how to control would only end in disaster.”

“You said dad.” Rey pointed out, one of the things that seem to be glaring out at her in his answer.

“Huh?”

“Instead of Han.” Rey continued in astonishment. “You said dad instead.”

Having it pointed out to him was enough for him to pause, clenching his jaw as he tapped his forefinger rhythmically against the bottle in his hands. “I don’t know why I tried to avoid it so much before.” He admitted, eyes unfocused as he spoke. “Refusing to say the word as if he would no longer be my father. I can’t undo my family. I can’t undo what I did to him. Avoiding saying who he is to me doesn’t do anything to change that.”

“Good.” Rey said happily. “Ignoring the past does nothing to change it.”

“That it doesn’t.” Kylo agrees, eyes coming back into focus and settling on Rey. “And obsessing over it doesn’t change the future, either.”

Rey narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he was trying to get at. “I don’t obsess over the past.”

“You’ve proven yourself as a capable pilot, and an engineer. You would have had plenty of opportunities to escape this planet. Even my father offered you a way out. But you didn’t take it. Why was that?”

“Hoping for my parents to return isn’t the same as me obsessing.” Rey tried to thwart his point, but her words didn’t come out sounding all that confident.

“You threw away your future holding onto a past that you barely knew. Be honest with me, Rey; In the slim chance that your parents are still alive, do you really believe they’ll come back for you?”

Kylo hadn’t spoken in a malicious way. Not at all. He was genuinely curious about her answer. It was something he had thought over many times when it came to Rey. With all that she was capable of, it was the one biggest part of her life that seemed to hold her back; just as it did for him.

But Rey didn’t give him an answer. For a while, she stared at him. And she kept staring at him as she reached over to slide the bottle out of his hands. She only broke eye contact with him once she threw her head back to down a mouthful of bitter liquid that was starting to grow on her. Or, perhaps, she was getting too drunk to care about its taste. Maybe that’s how it grows on you.

Rey dropped the bottle back down, wiping a few extra drops from the corner of her mouth with the back of her sleeve whilst she passed the bottle back to Kylo with her other hand. “If you could go back and do it all again, would you kill your father, or spare him?” If Kylo was going to dig deep, then Rey certainly wasn’t going to pull any punches.

Kylo flinched, though it was barely noticeable unless you were really looking at him. When he leaned forward on the couch, Rey thought for just a moment that he might actually answer her question. Which was stupid really, because of course he wouldn’t. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a longer drink from it than is necessary - or advisable - and Rey wondered if that drink was enough to push Kylo over the edge into full-blown drunkenness. Maybe then he’d be more likely to answer her questions. Then again, the same would probably go for her. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

“What did you think of me when you first saw me?” Kylo asked her once he had passed the bottle back.

“Which one of you?” Rey asked. “The masked you? Or the other you?”

“Both.”

Rey let out a short exhale of air from her nose, looking down into the near-empty bottle of brandy as she sorted through her mind for the right words to say. “I suppose technically the first time I saw you physically was when you were in your full…” Rey gestured at him with the bottle in her hand. “-you know. The first thing I thought of was- ‘it’s him’.”

“You had heard of me?”

“No. I had seen you, moments before, in a vision. When I laid hands on Master Skywalker’s lightsaber for the first time. I saw… a lot of things I didn’t understand, things that filled me with this disorientating feeling of dread. And then there was you. Wearing your mask and everything else, standing amongst a field of dead bodies with your men stood behind you. I could barely see you past the rain and the darkness, but you looked at me like you were there. You came at me with your lightsaber in hand, and then suddenly you were gone as quick as you had appeared.

“I thought if I wielded that saber, it would set off a chain of events that led to that moment. So, I didn’t take it. I ran from that life, ran from the battle, and yet, there you were. There was no rain, no field of dead bodies. Just us and the forest.”

“And you were the girl I had heard so much about.” Kylo spoke with an uncharacteristic lightness in his voice. “The girl with the droid that kept ruining my plans.”

“You didn’t give me much time to form an opinion on you before knocking me out.���

“I think we can both agree that was a better option than dragging you with me kicking and screaming.”

“Easier. Not better.”

Kylo shrugged like there was barely a difference. “And what about after? When we first spoke to each other properly?”

“I’m not sure if you want to hear the answer to that.” Rey told him.

“Oh believe me, I want to hear the answer.” Kylo’s voice had dropped impossibly low, sending an odd shiver down Rey’s spine. Force help her, she wanted to hear more of that. “Besides, chances are at this point that I won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

Rey tried to laugh at this, but the best she could get out was a strangled sounding snort. A part of her was tempted to take another drink, but the inebriated and irrational part of her brain had taken over everything else, and the truth came flooding out. “For some reason, I couldn’t understand what was happening. I was expecting you to be mangled under that mask. Disfigured, scarred, hiding your face in shame. But you took off your mask and you were… you were just a boy. A young man.”

“There’s a reason I kept the mask on whenever I could. Without it, I was just a normal person. When you normalize your enemy, they no longer seem undefeatable. But when you shape yourself into the tales that are told about you? You become the one thing they fear most.”

“Then perhaps you should have kept the mask on if you wanted to interrogate me efficiently. Perhaps, if you had been searching through my brain and all I had to stare at was the blank eye holes in your mask, I wouldn’t have fought back. Instead, I was left under your scrutinizing and intense gaze, and in that moment all I could think about was how familiar your eyes were… how I had seen the subtle curve of your nose on another, or how I had seen those same pair of lips speaking to me not too long ago…”

Kylo swallowed so harshly, he was sure Rey must have heard it. It seemed much too audible in the stillness of the AT-AT, and Kylo wished more than anything to have that bottle back in his hands to finish off the remainder of its contents. Her words had sent a hot flush crawling up his skin, and he couldn’t blame it entirely on the alcohol this time. To hear her describe him in such a way… Had she really studied him just as intensely as he had studied her that day? She had appeared to him, this rare desert creature that should have been nothing more than a passing source of information, and all he wanted to do was pick her apart and find out all that he could. Nothing brought him greater pleasure than when he could display his powers, to watch others bow to him as he demonstrated all he was capable of. But when she had fought back, when she refused to shrink away… oh, he knew she was more than special then, and he wanted more.

He should have been infuriated by this random scavenger girl who dared to oppose him. She radiated a power he only knew to exist within himself, and getting even a slight taste of her power was enough to get his heart racing and the coil of excitement to churn deep in his gut. Right now, sitting aside from her and hearing what she has to say, he could only pray she didn’t notice the subtle shift of red across his face.

“I kind of wish I had been combing for your thoughts while I was looking for that droid’s location in your mind. Perhaps things would have been different if I had.”

“I wish we hadn’t met the way we did.” Rey whispered in confession, like the words were sinful to speak. “I wish we weren’t caught in this complicated situation, and we had met like… like any random people would.”

“It would be easier.” Kylo concurred. “But chances are, our paths would never have crossed. If this life we exist in is the only one where you came into my life? I wouldn’t want to live in any other one.”

She genuinely hated it when he did that. It made her forget everything else that was happening. It made her forget about who he is, who she is, how messed up all of this is. Kylo Ren was good at putting on a mask, but he was also very talented at letting the mask slip just enough to get what he wanted. And right now, letting Ben Solo scrape his way to the surface, she was sure he knew he had her right in the palm of his hand. She really regretted getting out that bottle of brandy now… there was part of her still sober enough to know continuing this line of conversation would lead to something… something new, something that wouldn’t be a good idea, but the problem was the sober part of her mind was being drowned out by the intoxicated part that, quite frankly, didn’t care one bit.

“Do you ever wonder what will happen with us?” Rey didn’t pass him the bottle this time. He didn’t need it. Neither of them did anymore. “Do you wonder if either of us are on the right path? Are we to follow the one laid out for us, or seek out our own?”

“I used to think I knew everything.” There could be a Star Destroyer crashing outside, and not even that could get Kylo to tear his eyes away from her. “Now, with you, I question everything… I don’t know what to do anymore. I know what I’m supposed to be doing. What I was told I should do. All my life, I’ve had others telling me what I should be doing, who I should be. Looking at you now, I should be planning on ways to end your existence. Of you, of the Jedi, of all those that associate themselves with such a name. That’s what I should be doing.”

It seemed like it happened in a blink, except it could have easily taken longer as she had been so wrapped up in his words that she didn’t pay enough attention. Kylo had pushed himself forward from the couch, leaning towards her until his face was mere millimeters from hers. It hadn’t just been him either; over the course of these last few questions Rey had found herself scooting closer and closer to the edge of her bed, her body pushing her towards him even if she didn’t realize it. He was close enough that she could count every one of his dark lashes, fluttering over hazy bronzed eyes that flicked from her own down to her parted lips.

“But why is it, Rey-?” His breath was warm as it puffed across her face, the smell of the brandy following with every exhale.  “-That whenever I look at you, all I can think about is whether your lips are as soft as they look?”

Link To Chapter 9

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo fanfic #ben solo/rey #kylo ren/rey

[dxmichelle]

OLSSM Section Snippet

Surprise! 

Again, spoilers under the cut.

This is actually the section for the bit I previewed earlier. CH 35 will visit these specific characters twice,, and I’m really loving how part 1 came out, so here ya go!

From Ch35: Coercion

Seto didn’t make any move to join him.

Voldemort’s bony hand was still outstretched to the empty chair. “You need not be afraid, Mr. Kaiba,” he said, “I will not harm you.”

Seto blinked through the pounding in his skull. “You’ll forgive my skepticism. Your people broke in and abducted me from my own office.”

“Ah,” said Voldemort, “I’m afraid it is rather hard to get a hold of you these days. Dumbledore prefers to keep his prized students close.” He pushed a potion bottle across the table towards the empty seat. “Come. This will do wonders for the pain.”

“No thanks,” said Seto shortly.

“Oh, no,” Voldemort chuckled, “I insist.”

There was a shift in movement out of the corner of Seto’s eye, and he turned his head slightly. A pair of broad-shouldered Death Eaters stood by the door to the study, wands in hand, but not aimed at him. The message was clear.

With a loud exhale, Seto crossed the room and sat in the offered chair. “Happy?”

“Very much so,” said Voldemort calmly, and pushed the potion bottle a bit closer. “That should clear the proverbial fog. I need your mind sharp.”

“Why?”

The grin on Voldemort’s face was rather unsettling. “In due time. Now – I must apologize, for it seems I have pulled you from a rather important engagement.” He waved Seto’s phone around in his other hand. “It seems a great number of people have tried to reach you on this device.”

Seto merely glared at him.

“I am sure you have a great many questions. As do I,” said Voldemort, tucking the phone away out of sight. “But first, dinner. Having traveled to Japan myself, I am aware that time there is not the same as here. You have been unconscious for several hours, and must be famished. I did, after all, pull you from attending your meal with Potter and his friends.”

A third Death Eater appeared – from where, Seto wasn’t sure, but he produced two plates piled high with offerings Seto expected to see at a Hogwarts feast. He didn’t make a move for it, instead stared at it a moment before returning his glare on Voldemort.

“…You expect me to eat that?”

Voldemort only looked amused. “Does it offend you? I can have something else prepared, if you wish.”

“How do I know that’s not drugged, or poisoned?”

“You don’t,” said Voldemort, picking up his own fork. “However, you have been in my company, asleep, for several hours. If I had wished you dead, I had plenty of opportunity to do so. But I expect you to dine with me.”

Seto crossed his arms. “Do you treat all your prisoners this way?”

Voldemort laughed icily. “Oh, no. You are no prisoner of mine. Quite the opposite. You are here as my honored guest.”

The way the words were spoken sent chills down Seto’s spine.

Voldemort’s lip curled upwards. “And, after all, I have given you quite a personal gift. I trust it is still customary to show gratitude for such things – in which case you may do so by dining and carrying on conversation with me this evening.”

“The only gift you’ve given me,” Seto snarled, his voice dripping with venom, “Is a migraine from whatever you did to knock me out.”

Voldemort’s eyes flared, and he continued to grin. “Is that so? Are you sure?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t whatever was in that bottle, because I didn’t drink it.”

Voldemort laughed. “Oh, no, not that. I Despite my offering, I did not expect you to take it. I am referring to something else. Something I know you have wanted for quite some time.”

Seto’s eyes narrowed. What was he on about?

Voldemort tilted his head to the side. “…Perhaps you need a hint. Think carefully.”

Seto shook his head. Something he wanted for a long time? He had the means of getting whatever he wanted, so he doubted it was something physical. The only thing on him was the clothes on his back – his phone was gone, and no doubt so was the Millennium Rod –

Seto froze. He didn’t notice, not at first with the pounding headache, but his mind was silent. Surely, Set would have been calling out for him by now, to make sure he wasn’t hurt…but…nothing. He attempted to switch himself out with Set, to return to his soul room, or at least the corridor, but nothing happened.

“What have you done?”

“I have given you the one thing you craved most: peace,” said Voldemort. “I can only imagine the relief you must feel, knowing that your mind and thoughts are your own and no one else’s; that there is no extra unwanted whisper questioning your decisions at any given time.”

Cold dread washed over him. Seto tensed, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. “What have you done with Set?”

“Ah, so the ‘High Priest’ has a name after all,” said Voldemort.

Seto glared back and didn’t say anything.

Voldemort waved a hand. “As I understand it, your connection to the spirit in your Millennium Rod has been severed. The pain you are feeling is a residual effect, it will pass in time.”

“You say that as if you weren’t the one to do it.”

Voldemort’s lip curled upwards again. “I didn’t. That act was done by a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

“The Shadow,” Seto said flatly, but he couldn’t help but stare down at his right palm. The wounds suffered from sealing the bond with the Millennium Rod had long since healed, but this revelation made him feel slightly ill. He knew the Shadow was powerful enough to invade his mind and both mentally and physically torment him from however far away. But to have the power to remove Set as if he was never there?

Voldemort laughed again. “Is that what you’ve gone to calling him?”

“It’s never given me anything else to go on,” Seto crossed his arms.

“You can refer to him as the ‘Great Shadow Magus’.”

Seto rolled his eyes. “So Shadow for short. Doesn’t kicking Set out defeat the purpose for bringing me here?”

Voldemort tilted his head, eyeing him curiously. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

Seto huffed. “Look, it’s no secret that you’ve been looking for the Millennium Items. You’ve gone off attacking people related to them. And the first thing you do after nabbing me is cut off the only link I have to one?”

“Ah,” Voldemort said. “I may be searching for the Millennium Items, but that is not the sole reason for having you brought here. The Shadow, as you prefer to call him, and I have similar but separate goals. I wished to speak to you without the distraction of your spirit friend. He needed assurance that…” Voldemort paused, remembering the Dark Priest’s recent failures to breach the boy’s mind. “…outside forces would not interfere with his plans. Our interests in this case were aligned.”

“And what are his plans?”

Voldemort merely smirked again. “I am certain you will find out, once he has recovered his powers. Cutting you off from the Millennium Rod was a rather tedious act for someone with no true anchor in this world.”

Seto stared icily.

Voldemort waved his fork again, “Though I am surprised that you believe yourself to be here on the basis of the Millennium Items alone.”

When Seto didn’t make a move to say anything, he continued, “In fact, I have been looking forward to this day for quite some time.”

“Have you.”

“Oh yes,” said Voldemort, “Between yourself and Yugi Muto, I was much more invested in meeting you.”

This didn’t make any sense, Seto thought to himself. If this were about the Millennium Items, Yugi should have been the more sought after target. Everyone wanted something from Yugi, one way or another. Marik’s freak personality went so far as wanting the Pharaoh dead. Even if Bakura was still completely off Voldemort’s radar, Yugi was the greater expert on all the Millennium Item nonsense that had been going on. He’s worn the Puzzle for years, versus the Rod that was in his own possession for only so many months.

“Why?”

“You’re not eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“And I said you are to dine with me,” said Voldemort.

“What are you going to do, point a stick between my eyes if I don’t take a bite? Is that how you treat your honored guests?”

“No, not at all,” said Voldemort. He placed the fork down and clasped his bony fingers together in front of him. “Let me tell you how this will work, Seto Kaiba, and then you may decide if you wish to rethink your decision.

“I have a number of visitors, so to speak, that I must equally split my attention, along with my routine matters of the day. I have decided to spend my meals here in your company. You may choose to eat and talk, which are the only two requests I have made, or you may sit and be silent. But know this – you will only be fed whilst I am here. I will not force you to dine, nor will I have one of my Death Eaters feed you. You will not receive anything while I am gone.”

“If that’s supposed to scare me, it doesn’t.”

“Very well,” said Voldemort, and he held up a hand. The third Death Eater appeared again and set a dark bottle of some sort of liquid onto the table before stepping back towards the door and the other two sentries. “I am aware how long a man can live without food or water. I don’t need you healthy, just alive. And if I must take other measures to keep you that way, then so be it. By that time you will be in no state to keep up your defiance, and I will get what I want anyway.”

Voldemort leaned forward. “May I also remind you that The Shadow Magus is here, and has been eager to see you in person for quite some time. Should you choose to weaken your mind and body by starving yourself, I am sure he will have no trouble at all paying you a visit even in his current, weakened state.”

He couldn’t resist adding in. “And without the Spirit of the Millennium Rod to assist you, I imagine such a visit would not be a pleasant one.”

Voldemort watched with glee as the color drained a bit from Seto’s face. But the dark look his way continued, and his guest stayed silent.

After a moment, Voldemort vanished his plate away and stood from the table. “I hear you are a rather bright individual, Mr. Kaiba. I trust you will think this through and come to a sound decision. For this night, you can keep that. I assure you, the plate is not laced with any poisons or ill intent. But I expect you to be a bit more compliant come morning.”

He was halfway to the door before he turned back. “Feel free to use the study as you see fit while I am gone attending other matters,” said Voldemort. “Read the books if you wish. The Death Eaters will not harm you so long as you make no move to leave.”

Seto raised an eyebrow. “And if I did?”

“Attempting to escape will force me to move you to less comfortable accommodations,” said Voldemort, “And I’d rather not have to do so to someone so special. So weigh your options carefully, Mr. Kaiba. I will return in the morning. Pleasant dreams.”

And with a final curl of his lip, Voldemort disappeared from the room.

#michelle writes fic #olssm #fic snippet #honestly the parts of the chapter holding me back aren't with these guys #it's yugi and harry and friends

[trollhunter94]

This Isn't Most Haunted

Characters: Ghostfacers and Hunter!Reader

Warnings: Flashing Gifs, Swearing, Creepy-ass Ghosts, character injury.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween! Let’s get spooky.

Summary: A haunting in Ohio leads the reader to a house that has more than one unwelcome occupant. Can they work together to solve the case?

Cleveland, Ohio.

This was the first time that you’d ventured into this town, but only by recommendation of Garth. The ‘Old Western house’ was famously known for paranormal activity, but had never been proven by professional investigators in the past.

Most recently though, a group of teenagers- most likely looking for a party spot- had been found butchered inside the house. Definitely worthy of an investigation.

Driving the car up to the boarded and rickety old building, the setting sun was casting shades of crimson through the sky and giving an eerie sense of forewarning.

Checking that the coast was clear, you stepped out and headed quietly to the trunk before stocking up on the usual items. Salt and shotgun rounds, EMF reader, Iron rod and Flashlight. Check.

The front door opened with a protruding creak, revealing a rush of cold and uninviting energy from the entrance hall. Ducking under the police tape and switching the torchlight on, you entered cautiously. The house was eerily dark and the smell of dust and rot was thick in the air.

You made your way through the house with the EMF in the other hand, checking the energy of each room. The counter was showing no sign of activity until you passed through the kitchen, where it spiked near a heavy wooden door.

Turning the EMF off, you pulled out the iron rod, gripping it tightly as you slowly turned the handle. Pushing it open in one swift motion, you were immediately blinded by a succession of moving lights. “Oh shit!” you cursed, bringing a hand up to shield your eyes.

The sound of multiple voices became present, shouting in hysteria and confusion. It was clear that these were just civilians, gatecrashing a crime scene. You instinctively switch into authority mode, calling to them. “Police! This is a crime scene. You kids shouldn’t be in here”.

One of the individuals kept their torchlight still and quickly calmed their friends from their panicked frenzy. “Guys, guys. Who does that remind you of?”

“Oh crap” the tallest kid said in distaste, lowering his camera. “You’re not with the police. You’re here with the Winchesters aren’t you?”

A sudden moment of confusion washed over at the mention of the famous hunters. “What the- How do you know about Sam and Dean?” It was obvious to them, from the plaid shirt and boot combo, not to mention the lack of any official uniform or badge.

“Those lumber heads are always bursting in on our cases” the tall and nerdy kid complained. You repeated his words, “your cases?” Were these people really a part of this world? “Who are you guys?”

“We’re the Ghostfacers” the smaller guy chirped proudly. “Professional paranormal investigators, at your service”. You let out a hearty chuckle. “Ah yes. I’ve heard of you guys”.

“You have?” They both looked at each other, pleased that they had reached a partial fame. “I’m Ed, and this is Harry”. You outstretched both hands for a double handshake. “Nice to formally meet you, I’m Y/N”.

“Oh, and that’s Spruce, our cameraman” Harry informed, pointing to the guy behind him. “Hi Spruce”. You gave a small wave, to which he waved back, his face still obscured by the large camera.

“So, Ghostfacers” you addressed them optimistically, hands falling to your hips. “What’s your verdict thus far? What are we dealing with?”

“Well”, Harry spoke up. “It’s a known fact that Old Man Western was a butcher. Legend says that he killed fifteen people, chopped them up and sold it as meat”.

“Okay”... you responded, feeling nauseous at thought of cannibalism. “So, does anyone know the cause of death?”

“There’s various myths” Ed explained. “Some say he died in the cholera epidemic, others say that he was burned alive at the stake for his crimes”.

This seemed a plausible explanation, considering your research. “Well, I’ve just been to the County Records department. There’s no record of him being buried, if there was a body. So, it’s a no-go on the Salt ‘n Burn”.

“His spirit must be tied to an object then”. You looked to Harry, impressed with his knowledge. “Yes, anything with DNA on it. Could be hair, nails, teeth, blood or even saliva”.

“Or sperm”, Spruce joked. Everybody’s eyes squinted in distaste, turning to glare at him before Ed questioned his sensitivity.

“Dude!?”

Shaking it off, you set a quick plan in motion. “We’ll have a better chance of finding it quicker if we split up and cover more ground”.

Ed jumped at the chance of working with a serious Hunter. “Great! I’m with you, Y/N”. He stood closer to you and looked to his co-workers with a smugness. “Harry, you and Spruce check this floor and the basement. We’ll take the upstairs rooms”.

Harry frowned at this decision and raised a hand. “Objection. Why do we have to check the basement? Do you remember what happened to Corbett?”

Ed placed a hand on his chest and took a step backwards, dramatically shocked by Harry’s hurtful reminder of their lost intern. “How dare you. Of course I do... God, Harry. I live with his death on my hands every day”.

“Could you live with mine?” Harry challenged, still unamused by the plan.

Ed’s eyes danced around as he thought about it. Eventually he sighed, knowing this was going to have to be decided the ‘good old-fashioned way’. “Fine” he said, lifting his fist and holding it outwards.

Harry nodded at the universal symbol of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’, holding his own fist outwards. Three counts were followed by a paper and scissor result.

Ed made a scissoring motion with his hands. “Chirp, chirp” he gloated. Harry turned around and threw his arms in disappointment. “Stupid, stupid game!”.

Eyes rolling at the dramatic performance, you pinched your nose and took a calming breath. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can go home. “Right” you asserted, “before we get started, how are you guys doing for protection? Got any salt, iron?”

“We’ve got Salt and our EMF reader” Ed prompted, feeling the need to prove their credibility.

Harry waded in, pointing to their new equipment. “And some full-spec cameras set up throughout the house. Hopefully we’ll catch some decent orbs or apparitions”.

“No, guys” you dismissed, looking to Harry in disappointment. “This isn’t Most Haunted. Ghosts don’t just throw things about and make weird noises. They can kill you, or worse, wear you as meat-suit”. Silence was the only response from each of them.

“Here, take this”. You reluctantly passed over your favourite shotgun that had killed its fair share of creatures over the years. Harry accepted the weapon with uncertainty, having never fired one before.

“Trust me. If something does show up, that will save your life. Just cock the barrel and pull the trigger. Simple”.

“Simple” he echoed, placing the strap around his shoulder, not believing it himself.

“Alright Ghostfacers” Ed addressed the group. “Let’s hustle up”. Stretching his hand into the middle of the congregation, Harry and Spruce’s were quick to pile on top.

Together they lowered the hand pile, “Ghost-” Lifting up and apart, their hands glided down their faces dramatically, whispering the remaining word “-facer's”.

As Team 1: Harry and Spruce fanned out, you and Ed climbed the stairs. Each plank of wood announced your accent with croaks and squeaks.

The first bedroom was piled high with clutter. Giving the EMF reader to Ed, he scanned the room before wandering off, leaving you to do the heavy lifting. First course of action: start looking through draws and stacks of boxes.

After checking the ground floor, Harry and spruce began to descend the stairs to the basement. The room was dimly lit and smelled of damp, full of large furniture and cobwebs. Harry led the way forward with caution. “Getting a lot of EMF spikes” he said, pivoting on the spot and watching the counter.

Eager to capture some strong evidence, Spruce reached out and started talking. “Hello? Is anyone here with us?... What’s your name?”

It wasn’t long before Spruce felt something pass behind him, causing each hair on the back of his neck to stand on alert. Turning around, he watched the space before him, seeing nothing there but now feeling a static chill within the air.

Something was standing there.

An immediate flush of forfeit spread through him as he lowered the camera and began to walk back upstairs, eager to get to safety. The door slammed shut behind him, instantly alerting Harry. He walked over to the door and pulled strenuously at the handle.

"Spruce? Was that you? Come on. It’s not funny. Open the door”.

Spruce tried to turn the doorknob without any luck. “I can’t. Harry? It wasn’t me. Wait there. I’ll go and get help”. A loud plead of objection came through the door as the EMF counter beeped noisily. “No! Please? Don’t leave me!”

Spruce came back down a step and spoke to him through the wooden separation. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you. I’m right here”. This gave Harry some reassurance, allowing him to reach into the salt bag and start making a circle. He stepped inside before taking the shotgun off his back and balancing it against his shoulder.

No shitty ghosts are taking any more members of this team today!

An eerie silence washed over the room, only Harry’s rugged breaths being audible as he waited anxiously for any change in atmosphere. What happened next was quick and sudden. A full-bodied apparition flickered across the room, stopping just meters away. With the face of an older man, pained and angry, it warned him in a low and threatening tone.

{Get out! Leave!}

The remaining wind from its deep bellow brushed across Harry face, which was now plastered in fear. Pulling the trigger, the kickback made him jolt as the salt round hit the spirit’s torso. A dissipating cloud of fog was followed by a clicking of metal from the door.

Spruce took this opportunity to test the knob again, turning it with ease and revealing a shell-shocked Harry. “Dude” he yelled supportively, “let’s get out of here”.

Scuffling over to the stairs with motivation, Harry dropped the gun and grabbed Spruce’s arm in relief and followed him up the creaking steps. The door-frame quickly came into view, followed by a manifestation of thick, black mass that surrounded it.

A low and ungodly moan vibrated through the wooden fixtures and sent chills through both of their bodies. The only way out was through this black cloud, would they have the courage to face this obstacle.

Apparently not.

That same face, aged and angry, manifested within the dark cloud. Producing a low and ungodly scream, it sent a burst of energy against the duo, forcing them backwards down the stairs.

Frustration was now building as you finished looking in the second bedroom and came out empty-handed. A floorboard creek originating from the corridor drew your attention over to Ed, who was transfixed on the counter as he paced slowly. You approached from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh shit” he jumped at your presence.

”Sorry” you whispered, holding your hands up in defence. “Getting any activity?”

“No” he replied, dropping his arms and looking in both directions down the corridor. “Just a few point 1's and 2's. Did you find anything?”

Heading to the next room, you remained optimistic. “Not yet. There’s still three more rooms to search though”.

“Yeah, sure” he agreed passively, walking alongside you with a sense of intrigue. “So how long have you been doing this? You know, hunting ghosts”. 

“About six years” you recalled. “It’s not just ghosts though. My first case was a Wendigo and yesterday it was a Crossroads Demon”.

“Oh, cool” he mused. “We’ve encountered Angels and what we thought was a Tulpa”.

“Really? An Angel?”

“Yep”.

“You looking to become a Hunter?”

“No. Not really. Ghosts are enough trouble I think”. The conversation seemed dead until the strangest sentence came from his mouth. “You know, I once lit a match off of a shark’s dorsal fin”.

You stopped and looked at him sceptically. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

He seemed to forget that by being here, his team were walking the thin line between life and death. This was no time for charm and distraction. “Can you please focus. We haven’t got a lot of time before this thing shows itself”.

“I know” he admitted. “It’s just that I want you to like me, you know”.

The room at the end of the corridor echoed as a floorboard creaked under the pressure of a heavy foot. You and Ed quickly turned to investigate the spooky sound.

The room appeared to be empty, containing nothing but an old wooden bed and uneven piles of paperwork on the floor. Ed scanned the room before looking over to you. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go back downstairs”.

As he began to turn away, you extended a blockading arm across his chest as something else came into ear-shot. “Shh. Did you hear that?” Full concentration was given as you both stilled and listened tentatively. 

The faintest of mumbles passed through the corridor, sounding almost child-like. Wide eyes met each other, mouths dropped open with recognition and chilled to the spot.

“I heard that” he gawped quietly, hand running through his hair in astonishment. Rather than talking about it, you and Ed continued to listen.

Suddenly, a gunshot from downstairs stole your attention. Looking to Ed, he shared your concern for a moment before pulling out his walkie and attempting to contact his partners.

"Harry? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

There was no reply. Seconds had passed before a symphony of screams came flowing up the staircase, causing you and Ed to share a worried glance. He began to move towards the sound. “We have to help them”.

You quickly pulled him back and took control of the situation. “No, you stay here and find that object. I can help them”. You pulled the iron rod from your belt and shoved it against his chest. “Take this. You need to find that object and burn it”.

After their interaction, Harry and Spruce had made their way back down the staircase and jumped into the salt circle, standing back-to-back, scanning the room and waiting for it to appear again.

Seconds of anticipated silence passed before the sound of scuffling wood gained their attention. They watched fearfully as large objects were catapulted towards them, the impact cracking the screen of Spruce’s camera.

“Holy shit!” He dropped the device without care, running to hide behind Harry. The final projectile was a wooden stool that slid along the floor, pushing through the grains in the salt circle.

The spirit materialized, vivid facial features that radiated pure hatred as it flickered towards them. With nowhere safe to go, they began to wail in fear as you reached the bottom step and clocked the moving mass.

Picking up the discarded shotgun, you aligned the shot and fired, sending the bullet flying directly through its torso. Tension left the air as it dissipated into a cloud of fog, leaving behind a pair of bewildered spectators.

You approached them with concern. “Is everybody okay?”

Snapping out of their paralysis states, they both replied in unison. “Yeah”.

Now that everybody is alive and safe, it was a good time to get the situation back on track. “Spruce, fix the circle”. Handing the shotgun over, you continued. “Harry, you cover him. If you see it, don’t hesitate. You pull that trigger, got it?”

Harry passed Spruce the salt bag before raising the gun, face now serious and focused. “Got it”.

The room was silent as everybody stood completely still, wondering where the ghost was. Seconds passed before the Western Ghost appeared once more, this time it was pissed.

“It’s back!” Spruce warned, aiming a finger at the other side of the room.

“Shoot it!” you commanded, unintentionally drawing the spirit’s attention. Malicious eyes fell on you. “Oh shit”.

Pulling the trigger, Harry felt the kickback as the bullet travelled through the barrel and into the wall, just inches off target. “Oh shit” he cursed, moving to reload as quickly as he could.

As suspected, you came under attack. With holographic movements, it flew up and hit you with a mighty force, sending you flying across the room. As you hit the ground harshly, Ed came rushing down the staircase.

“I’ve got it” he shouted, looking from Harry and Spruce, across the room to see you climbing back to your feet. The lighter in your pocket was the only obstacle between life and traumatic paranormal death.

As you fumbled to grab the lighter, the Western spirit flickered before you once more. A ghostly hand outstretched to penetrate your body, closing around your heart with a frozen fist.

Harry aimed the reloaded shotgun and studied his view with uncertainty. Growing impatient, Spruce encouraged him. “Shoot it!”

“I can’t!” Harry refused, glancing sternly at his friend. “Y/N’s in the way”.

Chest pain now at severe, it took all your energy to give a flick of the wrist, sending the lighter across the floor. “Burn it” you groaned, hoping someone would save you this time.

Ed scrambled to pick it up and ignited it with one flick. Holding the flame under the blood-stained hat, it was soon spread with a bustling red fire. Old Man Western’s hold on you grew weak, sparkling flames danced along his outline and cackled. With a scream of defiant agony, he dissipated before your eyes.

The silence that held the room was now laced with peace. Ed’s face radiated smugness as he closed the lighter lid and headed towards his friends. Dropping to the floor with your back against the wall in recovery, you praised the Ghostfacers for the successful mission and their bravery. “Yay. Go team”.

Thanks for reading.

#ghostfacers x reader #hunter!reader #spn reader insert

[inyri]

One last prompt to round out the weekend-

For @thievinghippo, who requested: Theron and Nine and implant maintenance

Routine Maintenance 

The third time Theron nearly twitches out of Nightshrike’s pilot seat she turns toward him with a frown.

“I know you keep saying you’re fine,” Nine says, “but I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You remember that shock trap we ran through on the way out of the base?”

She interlaces her still-tingling fingers in front of her, flexing them until her knuckles crack. “It was rather memorable, yes. Why?”

“My implant’s shorting out.” He twitches again, raises his hand to his temple as he bites back a curse. “Pretty sure it’s just a blown connection, so I thought I could live with it until we get back to Odessen, but-”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” The moment the words leave her mouth she thinks better of them, watching him grit his teeth and the corner of his eye dart upward with every pulse of energy through the device. “Sorry. Not funny. You know I’m not much good at implant maintenance, but I can take a look at it if you’d like.”

“Yeah. Let me just switch over to autopilot-” his other hand hand moves across the console, locking in their route, before he stands and steps toward the rear of the bridge- “and grab my kit out of my bag, and I’ll meet you in medbay?”

She nods agreement and stands, too, a watchful eye on him, but he’s moving just as well as he’d been when they’d been running frantic from Arcann’s Knights twenty minutes ago; he hides his injuries far too well for her liking, pushes himself too hard, always throwing himself in front of her into the line of fire. He worries about her, he says, about Valkorion in her head and Arcann and Vaylin relentless at her heels.

She worries about him, too.

By the time Theron steps into the infirmary she’s got a pair of sterile gloves, a disinfectant swab and a pack of clean bandages on the tray beside the examination table- she’d be kidding herself to call this proper technique, but she can at least pretend. He holds the little metal box toward, her, hand outstretched.

“You, me and the medbay… must be a day ending in -y.” She takes the kit, setting it alongside the rest of her equipment. “Is anything else hurting? I should take a look while we’re in here.”

“I could do with a thorough going-over- ow-” the flirtation in his voice makes her grin, remembering previous interludes, but when he winces she just points and he settles back onto the table, turning onto his right side, facing her. “I’m okay, otherwise. I’ll walk you through the repair.”

Hands duly gloved and a surgical mask covering her nose and mouth, she runs the swab across his temple as one of the implant’s lights flickers and stutters in time with his spasming muscle and then she opens the case, drawing out the first of the instruments. “Go ahead.”

He’s done this before, she can tell- with his clear instructions within a minute she’s found the fault and starts teasing the wire out around the thin metal rod held in her left hand. Focused on the work, bent over him with her head bowed scant inches from his, she doesn’t notice his hands moving until his fingers slide into the back pockets of her trousers.

“Normally I wouldn’t complain,” she says as the wire finally comes free and she reaches down for the- oh, what’s it called? the one with the hook- “but I’m trying to concentrate.”

“And I’m trying not to get in your way. I need somewhere to put my hands.” Theron closes his eyes. “This is the part I hate, where it feels like it’s pulling right on- eh, never mind. You wouldn’t know. You haven’t got hardware.”

“I do, actually. It’s basically inactive, now-” (more or less; she still hears him in her head sometimes, whatever it is that Watcher X is now, artificial or ghost or a fragment of her own shattered self. But he is a counterpressure to Valkorion’s constant psychic assaults, and there are days when she is glad of him. She never thought she’d say that.) “-and I had to have the scar removed. Protocol. But-” there it goes. Stupid wire. She picks up a fresh one with the forceps, wrapping it into the implant’s connection. “It’s still there. Too risky to take out, they said.”

He blinks at her, slow, as his hands shift and she tries not to squirm. “Didn’t know that. Where?”

“My spine.”

“The SIS offered me something like that once- okay, if the wire’s on, just thread it down into the open port and-” a stifled little noise: the other end of the wire slides into the socket, slipping in and down like a living thing, winding serpentine until it pulls the implant down flush against his skin- “fucking Void, that gets me every time. Anyway. I told ‘em no. This one’s worth the hassle with everything it can do, but you’ve seen what happens when it malfunctions. I don’t care about quicker reflexes if the minute it blows it’d cripple me.”

“My feelings exactly. Imperial Intelligence considered augmentations optional, thankfully, and my training scores were good enough without that they never pressured me.” Slotting the tools back into their places in the kit box and peeling off the gloves- she doesn’t need them now, the last of the real work done- she holds the calibrator between two fingers. “Just the reset now, hm?”

Theron nods. “In a second- I need a break. I was just going to say that I know you don’t like permanents. How’d you end up with a spinal?”

“I didn’t really have a choice at the time,” she says, carding her fingers through his hair until some of the tension eases from his neck and shoulders. A small comfort (he never wanted sedatives if he could help it, not after Ziost) but still, he smiles up at her. “I needed to get somewhere and it was the only way to bypass the security system. It worked, though in retrospect I probably would have opted for the anesthesia.”

“You let someone put in a permanent spinal augment with no anesthesia. Seriously?”

She shrugs, smile wry, at the memory. “In a prison cell in Shadow Town, to boot. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Long story short, I know how you feel, at least in a general sense.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again and just looks at her, eyebrows raised, unspeaking, until she rolls her eyes at him and ruffles his hair.

“Oh, don’t you start. Like you never did anything stupid in your younger days.”

“Not like that.” He’s still holding on to her and he slips one hand free, a playful swat against her backside that makes her jump, laughing. “You can start the calibration. I’m ready.”

She lays the device atop his implant, lining up the sensors, and activates it. “So you wouldn’t call stripping half-naked and throwing your blaster at a Darth stupid?”

“It was a tactical decision, which you promised never to bring up again. And that makes it sound like those two actions were directly related.”

“Weren’t they?

“In my defense, it was-” the lines across his forehead ease as his implant chirps and its lights pulse once, twice, and then stay on- “really, really hot in there. Which had nothing to do with my blaster misfiring.”

She grins, kisses his cheek lightly through the mask before straightening, tucking the last of his tools neatly away into their case “Mm-hm. All done. Is that better?”

“Much.”

“Should we head back to the bridge now, then, or-”

Theron lets go of her, sitting up on the exam table with his legs dangling over the side. In the next moment he hooks around the back of her thigh with one foot, pulls her forward toward him and the surgical mask down off her face; it falls, forgotten, to the floor. “Later.”

#thievinghippo #inyri writes #writing prompts #equivalent exchange outtakes #theron shan #theron/nine #imperial agent #swtor #swtor fanfiction

[bacoose]

So uh Vaude died in last night’s dnd session and I wrote a thing bout it

"So we just got through fighting all the specters of battles past, including our greatest fears, and here we were. The final fight." Vaude wrote, then he stood up and  loomed over the kids as if he were Strahd himself.

"I'm impressed you've made it this far," Vaude boomed, using Strahd's voice "I didn't think you'd make it, but this is as far as you go, but I'll offer you a choice. Leave. Leave Ravenloft and never come back, and I won't bother you anymore. You're free to live your lives. That...or this will be your grave!"

Vaude slumped back into his seat looking tired and worn, switching back to his normal way of communication, "Almost everyone said no. I, however...needed to think about it.  Before I came to Barovia, I was just a weird half drow kid who couldn't talk and had to take care of his mom. After I went there, as miserable as it was, and as many times as I nearly died...I had found family, and who I was, and just maybe there was a chance to get back home, but I couldn't do that to myself. Not to my family, torn apart by a mad ruler; not to the other countless families that Strahd also ripped apart and tortured and killed, and turned to vampire spawn. And so, the fight began."

"Before any of us had the chance to act, for me...the fight was already over," He quickly stood up, and hoisted one of the kids by the armpits and took the facade of Strahd again; twirled the kid around and set them back down, “He grabbed me, and I was too weak to struggle out of his grasp, and like a scrap of paper, I was tossed off the balcony to fall 1000 feet to my death in the falls.” Vaude decided to be a little superfluous and conjured an illusion to show just how high up they were, with a small Vaude falling in slow motion while Strahd confronted the party. The illusion switches, a smiling Strahd sneering down, two outstretched arms; the last thing Vaude saw before he was consumed by the mist.

Vaude swept his hands through the illusion dissolving it into mist before continuing, “And so I fell, and I fell, and I fell,” Vaude dropped back into his chair as he wrote the final fell,  “I thought, ‘This is how it ends dying before even landing one hit.’ I had near given up hope, but something flew past me. Then again, it was trusty Dusty! We had once tried to kill each other, but here Dusty was, rescuing me from falling to death. But unfortunately that is not where our story ends.”

Vaude conjured the image of Kairos fighting Strahd, and how he imagined the fight must have gone. Kairos landing a powerful blow, but Strahd catches it, and while grinning, wrenches it out of Kairos’ grasp before tossing it over the edge as well. The illusion follows the sword as it falls, and as it does he shouts in Strahd’s voice, “Cover your eyes little ones.”

Vaude makes sure the younger children cover their eyes before continuing the scene. The Illusion shows Vaude, happy to have not fallen to his death, but his celebration cut short by a stroke of terrible luck, as an icy cold blade impales his chest.

“I still wasn’t dead. I don’t know how I wasn’t, I’m pretty sure that Kingslayer was buried to its hilt in my chest, but I wasn’t dead. I wish I had the thought of running away, normally I would’ve at this point. But my party; my friends were up there fighting that monster, and I had to help them. Also how would Kairos fight without his sword?” Vaude chuckled.

“We flew up, and up and up, and I came back in time to give Strahd a good shock, but shortly after Strahd grabbed Kairos, and sent him flying as well Elisabet jumped off after Kairos, a mad dive to save him I suppose. Strahd was going to throw Isil next, and I had to stop him! The others were busy fighting an amber golem, and couldn’t get past it to fight Strahd. Dusty and I flew up next to Strahd and I unleashed the strongest thunderwave I could, but Strahd is a monster and shrugged it off. Please avert your eyes for this next part, though if you must see I don’t blame you.” Vaude warned, the next scene wasn’t for the faint of heart.

The scene starts from Vaude’s point of view, electricity sparking from his fingers and Strahd who strides up next to Vaude and stops. Strahd smiles, a haunting smile as he grasps the hilt of the sword, and wrenches it up, and before Vaude hits the ground, the world fades to black.

“And so, I died.” Vaude ended

Some of the children had started crying about Vaude being dead, and Vaude jumped up to comfort them, “Come on come on, that wasn’t the end of the story; not yet.”

“All was black,” Vaude continued, “I had died, but then I heard a voice calling to me. Dear Elisabet!” Vaude gestures to the lady in question, scowling in the back, a wild grin on his face because he knew she hated this part.

Vaude sits up, his hands resting in his lap, “I didn’t know what happened after I died, but Elisabet was calling to me, so I answered, or to be accurate, I asked. I asked if we won, if Strahd was defeated, and he was! Elisabet told me that they dealt the final blow and Strahd dissolved into mist, but she had some bad news. She explained, that she could bring me back, cast revivify and be alive again, but it would come at a cost. The way I was killed, I was cut in half. I’d be all right.”

Vaude laughed at his bad joke and conjured a cartoony image of a small Vaude awkwardly leaning against Dusty trying to fight off vampire spawn.

“Elisabet left the choice to me. Now, I wasn’t fond of being dead. It sucks and frankly I’m terrified of it; but I also didn’t want to be a detriment to the party. To hold them back when the timing was crucial. With a heavy heart, I told Elisabet to tell the party I was proud of them, and that I’m glad to have met them, and that I love my dad and…” Vaude took a deep breath, “And that I’ll see them in ten days. Now, it looks like some of you have questions, like ‘Why 10 days?’ or ‘What would’ve happened to you?’ That’ll be a story for another day, but let’s say that after 10 days I would’ve found my way back, maybe in a different from what you know me as now.”

“But anyways, continuing on...turns out we had a rod of resurrection that everyone completely forgot about till after this super touching moment, which means we cried over nothing” Vaude laughs, “I didn’t have to be a quarter elf or a lich after all, I could be brought back in one piece.”

A quiet “wait a lich??” was murmured from one of the kids, Vaude put his finger to his mouth and winked, and he finished his story, “After they brought me back we made sure Strahd was really dead, and we had a close call with Grandpa Kassamir. Turns out dying and being dead runs in the family. So that was the story of how I died...the second time. “

#dnd #vaude