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the-mandalorian-clone-lover · 3 years

Text

Aces in Spaces Chapter 11

Monday again!

Erica has come over to Roman’s to get ready for dinner, he’s fawning over her, dinner is a little ridiculous, Butcher is a hero, and Roman gets to be a sap again (but more because it’s just been their 7th month anniversary and man can’t help himself)

Tags: @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @princessxkenobi @agent-450 @maybege @obaby-wan

Reference photo’s are below again (apologies for terrible quality Obi-Wan (my laptop) was being stinky today), enjoy guys :)

Masterlist

(this is literally the only picture I could find of Ewan in purple so Just imagine he has a black button down instead of the striped shirt)

Roman pulled Erica close before lifting her slightly to sit on the counter, her floor length long sleeve wrap dress is a deep velvet purple, the neckline shy of plunging and the wrap of the skirt giving her a knee-high slit. He is dressed to match her, purple suit accented by the black button up that hides behind his blazer, black sunglasses accompanying the grey pocket scarf that ties in with the sandals he’s carrying for her. Flat footed she stood about an inch taller than he, but he always relished the height difference (as was evidenced by the four-inch heels he was now buckling onto her feet). As he fastened them Erica smiled softly and began brushing her fingers through his auburn hair, he was always tender with her and she couldn’t begin to thank him enough. As if he knew her thoughts, he spoke softly into the room.

“I was thinking we could finish painting the purple and grey in the studio this week. Like your flag.” It was his six-month anniversary present to her, he knows she loves training with her weapons of choice still (even if she has her own guard team now) and he wanted her to have her own space. If that keeps her out of the community training area, that’s just an extra bonus.

The soft smile on her face grows fond, “does the great Roman Stanton have time to watch paint dry?” it’s said almost teasingly.

“With the love of his life?” His eyes meet hers as the endearment passes his lips “there’s nothing I’d rather do.” It is said so matter-of-factly that a full smile breaks across her face.

“People might talk, finding out this isn’t for sex”

“You know,” he begins and his face is full of an exasperation that shows just how many times he’s had the conversation, as his hands find her waist and he stands between her legs, “You can love someone, without having sex.”

She laughs a little at this, albeit softly, and cradles his face in her hands. “My Roman” she brings their foreheads together and for a moment they breathe one another in, basking in the stillness. It’s soft, undeniably so, only interrupted by the furrowing of Roman’s brow.

“Did someone say something?” He pulls back before continuing, hands finding her shoulders as hers slip to his chest. “It’s been a moment since I told the last batch you were asexual; do you want me to mention it?” Despite the calmness his tone brings her, Erica knows ‘mentioning it’ will involve more than just talking (and it certainly won’t be done in passing, her mind briefly pulls up the memory of the time Roman made a 47 page slideshow for Butch about what being Ace meant, how dragons were the mascot, and how that pertained to him. As the main bodyguard for them both Butch had appreciated the education, contrary to what his immense size and intimidating presence suggested he was truly kind). Her smile broadens again, “No, I’m just teasing you, I’d love to finish the studio”.

Romans face splits with a grin that Erica is convinced rivals sunshine with its warmth and brings his hand up to suspend itself by the side of her face. She’s always loved this about him; he never falters at asking before he touches her, some days she doesn’t need him to ask, but knowing he always will, heals her on the days when she does. She leans into him then, closing her eyes and relishing the contact.

“May I please kiss you?”

Its spoken so softly Erica isn’t even sure she heard it, but she opens her eyes to find his and the pleading of his own gives him away. “softly” she conditions in a whisper. He gives her the briefest of nods before leaning in, giving her the time to change her mind if she desires and then she closes the space, pressing her lips to his lightly and gripping at the lapels of his suit jacket. She doesn’t deepen it, and he follows her lead, but she still puts love into the kiss, gently tugging him closer. He pulls away first, thumb stroking her cheekbone from its place on her face. “Well my Evenstar, shall we go?” She buries her face in his coat at the reference to her favorite fantasy world, “Yes Mr. Stanton,” she drags her eyes up to him with another soft smile “we shall”. His hand is extended to help her down (though it isn’t far at all with the addition of the heels) and the smile he directs up at her resembles the cat who got the canary, as he tucks the same hand around his arm. “The world awaits”.

*Dinner that evening*

The dinner goes well, Erica and Roman separating (he’d sent Butch with her for his own peace of mind) as the night went on, it turned out the man he’d been meeting with had several companions and Erica was willing to make a few friends if the situation lent itself to such a thing. She’d come back after a while, (maybe a little less care-free than before Roman thought but he hadn’t been able to ask at the time) saying that Butch had had something to take care of and would be re-joining them both soon.

It isn’t until Butcher is walking with them to the car, Erica on his right arm and Roman on hers, that anyone mentions the situation, Butcher commenting softly

“She kept asking me who I’d like to,” he pauses and Erica trains her gaze on his face “do, things, with” he finishes lamely; gaze resolutely focused ahead of him, only breaking to scan for threats. Erica tilts her head in silent question. “Adult things.” He tacks on and confusion flits across her face before he adds “not taxes, the other stuff”. Her posture straightens before she breathes a noncommittal “ah”.

Roman tilts his head and looks to her in question.

“One of the girls was, very thrilled, with Butch, she couldn’t have held a candle to Hannah. I didn’t much care for any of them so I rejoined you.” She says by way of explanation.

Butcher scoffs, “No one could hold a candle to my Hannah. All due respect Ms. Erica” He says it with a smile sent her way and his hand coming to rest over hers where it rests on his arm.

Butcher plunges ahead as they exit the venue, “She took a real shine to you though, I kept trying to explain you wouldn’t be into it, but she wasn’t really getting the hint. I told her you were ace, she said that meant you hadn’t been with the right people. That she could fix it for you”. For a brief moment Erica almost wants to turn back to ensure Butcher hasn’t left the poor thing tied up somewhere as she is absolutely certain Romans slideshow did cover this response (if she didn’t remember after his insistence that she proofread it for him the tension she can feel from him is indication enough). But once again Butcher carries on without thought and finishes with a flourish as he opens the car door.

“She got a real nice cab home, courtesy of the local police department.”

Erica stops halfway in the car in shock, still holding roman’s forearm in preparation to slide in “Butcher, you had her arrested?”

He shrugs, “Well, I couldn’t take her into the men’s room for a talk myself could I?” he says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if arguing in her defense during dinner hadn’t been kind enough, as if leaving the woman any chance to say such things to her face would have been absurd. She hugs him then, throws both arms around his neck and pulls him down despite her own impressive height.

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet, barely a whisper, and yet she hopes he knows it means the world to her. As she pulls away, she tells him so, and slides into the car before the emotion can make itself known. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Roman shake Butcher’s hand and she hopes to God it’s over a raise (it’s not as if she wants to buy respect but she’s certain whatever they pay him isn’t enough with the defense he just gave for her). Roman slides in after and Butcher closes the door before moving to sit with the driver, she almost moves to ask Roman to have Butcher keep them company but pauses when she meets his eyes, instantly seeing somethings on his mind. Her eyes soften, “Don’t be upset for me, he handled it better than I could have ever dreamed.”

Roman sighs, “You know me so well love.”

“I do.” It’s punctuated by her bringing their foreheads together, placing a quick peck on his lips before leaning back again. He chuckles, rubbing his thumb along the side of her face gently, reaching toward the dangling earrings she’s wearing before brushing his fingers along the length of her earlobe, down to the cartilage to cradle her bling.

“These are lovely.” His eyes find hers with a knowing smile, they had been her 7th month anniversary present and the reason she’d gotten ready at the pent-house, he’s pretty sure he’d be a failure if he didn’t mention them. “They pale in comparison to the woman wearing them, but they are beautiful.”

She blushes then, looking down before tracing her fingers up the line of his lapel, up his throat lightly before tapping the end of his nose with her finger. Eyes following the trail her fingers blaze, they finally meet his.

“The man who bought them had great taste.” She declares and Roman smiles wider,

“It would seem his taste in lovers is even better.”

Now she’s looking down and laughing, crinkling her nose because she’s trying to stifle the sound, its his favorite expression out of all the ones he’s seen her make so far. She doesn’t do it as often as she laughs, only when she’s found something exceptionally funny, or when she’s being tickled, it only happens when she’s become so full of joy that she forgets to school her expression into something conventionally ‘pretty’

As she looks up she says, still giggling, “You’ve already won me Roman, you don’t have to woo me too.”

He makes a conscious effort to look scandalized.

“My dear, I would simply waste away were I forced to forgo my endeavor to love you better than Shakespeare could write or Da Vinci could paint. I must be nothing less than a master at my craft lest I fall into the pit of despair that is the thought of you needing another. I must never lax, disregarding the passing of time. For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll love you.” The culmination of his declaration consists of him bringing her hand to his lips, holding eye contact as he presses his lips to the back of it softly. He had begun in grandiose, but he’d barely spoken a few words before becoming fully aware of his own sincerity and embracing it wholeheartedly. She’s smiling now, eyes turned soft and accepting of his affection.

“Then I’ll consent to be loved.”

***************************

#asexual #ewan mcgregor #aces in spaces #ace character #original characters #original fic #original story #new chapter #i love this one so much #like theyre all just so soft for each other #and Roman is such a sap #and Butch is always ready to throw hands for Erica #I just love it

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legobiwan · 4 years

Note

could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going.

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder.

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay.

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is.

And sometimes he finds it.

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed.

Szimon had seen it all - and more, but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks.

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end.

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant.

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale.

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates.

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert.

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot.

Again, he winced.

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse.

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate.

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible.

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for.

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight.

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup.

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat.

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming.

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush.

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer.

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand.

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared.

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this.

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.”

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down.

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man.

It was something familiar.

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp.

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything?

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth.

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms.

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family.

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this.

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life.

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

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writer-and-artist27 · 5 years

Text

Video Game Dialogue

Since Fate: Grand Order has kinda taken a bit of my time for destressing purposes, I couldn’t help but remember this old drawing and decided to explore it a bit more. Basically, me getting the chance to write Tomoko a bit more in a video game setting, where she interacts with someone new. That someone being you as the reader/player.

Think of the following under the cut as a What-If where fanfictions could get games and Tomoko was your helper character. Also, this is to see how many character references I can smash into one post!

Tagging @langwrites, @owlsofstarlight, @abalisk, and @hylianhick here too since their characters are mentioned.

Opening the game for the first time: “Oh! Hi! Welcome to Konoha!” (waves at you with a smile) “I’m Hoshino Tomoko! What’s your name?”

Opening the game after establishing a save file: “Hi, [Player’s Name]! Welcome back!” (smiles) “It’s good to see you!”

You’ve played the game for more than 2 hours: “I’m glad to see you hard at work at something, but make sure to take a break, please?” (smiles wryly) “It’s better to have just one workaholic in the group.”

You’re playing at 12 am at night: (frowns at you, arms crossed) “...Not to sound rude, but please go get some sleep. Work doesn’t look as great when you’re sleep deprived. Take care of yourself!”

It’s your Birthday: (lights are off before candles light themselves, revealing a cake) “Happy Birthday to you~” (room slowly lights up, revealing Tomoko behind the cake, beaming and singing) “Happy Birthday to you~ Happy Birthday to you, dear [Player’s Name]! Happy Birthday~! To~ you~!”

During an Event: “Huh, there’s something going on outside. Make sure to suit up with whatever you need and be careful, okay?”

You just won a trophy: “Congrats on the newest achievement! I’ll go get the cake! Hm? Yes, yes, I made a cake. And it’s all for you!” (grins)

You’ve won a battle: “Congrats on the win! Make sure to heal up when you can!” (pauses) “Hm? You want a break?” (smiles happily) “I can play piano for you!”

You’ve lost a battle: (reaches over to pat your head, voice soft) “I get it’s frustrating. It’s okay to feel that way. You did a lot. Take what time you need to recover, think, or really vent. I’ll always be here if you need me. For now, what can I do for you?”

You come back to the game after a long period away: “Eh?” (gasps) “[Player’s Name]...” (tears up before smiling softly) “Welcome back. And yes, before you say anything. I did miss you. Where have you been?”

Loved Ones: “Who I love? Um. Mama, Papa, Sakumo-jichan, Wataru-jichan, Miyako-bachan, Team Minato, Haya-kun, Jack-nii, Leith-nee, Saber, Archer...” (counts off fingers) “Kuroha-san, Kei - eh?” (shakes head, face red) “I-I am not blushing! Please stop focusing on that, [Player’s Name]!”

Likes: “What I like? Hmmm... the piano, being with my friends and family, baking, no war whatsoever, dreamless sleep, and uh...” (blushes) “Can I say lots of hugs? I mean, I’d like to hug you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfy, so...” (giggles nervously) “I’ll just leave it at that. What do you like, [Player’s Name]?”

Dislikes: “What I don’t like?” (immediately frowns) “The entire ninja system, war, and bullshit fighting tactics. Konoha’s seen its fair share of bad stuff. Um. Just don’t tell Team Minato I said that first part, please?” (shakes head) “Also, I’m not for sex, bullying, and any form of abuse. Eh? What I mean by the first part? I-I mean, it’s fine for others to like sex, I’m just not for it myself...” (smiles sadly) “When it’s all okay, I’ll tell you that story another time, [Player’s Name].”

Conversation 1: “You certainly have some time on your hands. What can I do for you?”

Conversation 2: “When do you want to head out, [Player’s Name]? Do you want me to set you off with some blueberry muffins? Or are cookies better?” (blinks) “Wait a minute, maybe granola would be a better choice...”

Conversation 3: “You’ve really come a long way since we met, [Player’s Name].” (smiles softly) “You’re amazing, y’know that? Keep up the good work. Just remember to take breaks every now and then, and if you need music, just visit the Cafe. I’ll be there. Hm? I look sad?” (shakes head) “No, no, I’m just...thinking. If you’re worried, all I ask is to please come by and visit me every now and then, okay? I’d like to check up on you.”

Conversation 4 (Requires Uchiha Obito): “Eh - Obi! Aaaah, it’s good to see you! Hehehe, you’re tall now. You should’ve told me you were around [Player’s Name] sooner! I would’ve made an extra helping of muffins for you!” (pouts before smiling softly, opening arms) “C’mon, you owe me a hug. You absolute goof. I love you too. And you don’t have to cry now. I said I’d be there and support you whenever I could, didn’t I? Now get over here.”

Conversation 5 (Requires Nohara Rin): “Ricchan! You’ve been keeping up the medicine! Ehhhh? I know I saw you just yesterday on hospital duty, I just like seeing you! Blame a civilian girl for loving her ninja friends! Muu.” (rolls eyes before giggling) “I have my keyboard, I can play something for you again! Yay! Or, if you want to go out for shopping, we can go!”

Conversation 6 (Requires Hatake Kakashi): “Kashi... you’ve definitely mellowed out since I’ve last seen you. Are you taking care of yourself properly? Yes, yes, I know you’re helping [Player’s Name], and that you can live on your own now, but you should know me after all these years. I worry about you because you’re my friend, okay? I can get some Scooby Snacks for you and the ninken.” (blinks) “Oh? Broiled saury? Okay.” (smiles) “Welcome home, Kashi.”

Conversation 7 (Requires Gekko Hayate): “Hi, Haya-kun.” (smiles fondly) “You’ve definitely gotten taller than me. Even though I would like to be a bit taller, oh well. The fact that you’re helping out [Player’s Name] and fighting just as well as everyone else really shows how far you’ve come from that little boy I hugged all the time. You dork. Let me go get a banana-muffin for you and [Player’s Name] before you head out again.”

Conversation 8 (Requires Yuki Judai): “Papa... You’re heading out again, with the headband.” (sad smile) “I know you want to, I wasn’t going to stop you, even though I really really want to. You’re my only Papa, of course I love you a lot. Just be safe out there, okay? And come home soon. With [Player’s Name.]” (blushes with a frown) “Y-You didn’t have to kiss me on the head, Papa! [Player’s Name] is still looking!” (still smiles) “Okay, okay. I know. I love you too, Papa.”

Conversation 9 (Requires Hoshino Hikari): “Mama... When did you get that spear? I feel like I should be worried, especially since I’ve never seen you fight before, but I know you’re really strong in your own way. Just come home quick, okay? It gets lonely without you, and I still need to learn how to dance better. You’re my dance instructor, and no one else does it better than you. Not to mention all the clothes. I guess... yeah. I love you, Mama.”

Conversation 10 (Requires Hatake Sakumo): “Sakumo-jichan, you’re sure?” (pauses) “I know, I know. Just, just give me a hug and let me play you something before you go out with [Player’s Name], okay? And be safe.” (opens arms) “Love you too, Sakumo-jichan.”

Conversation 11 (Requires Gekko Miyako): “You definitely look tough with that headband on, Miyako-bachan. Eh? You’ll come back soon?” (smiles) “Aye. I could already tell with the look in your eyes. Kei has the same look when she heads out too. I know, I’ll do my best to keep up the base when you’re gone. And I’ll make sure to have some tea when you get back.” (giggles nervously) “D-Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to not be lonely. I love you, Miyako-bachan.”

Conversation 12 (Requires Gekko Wataru): “Wataru-jichan... hee hee. You definitely look handsome with the headband on. But you know what I’m going to say, right?” (smiles wryly) “Now I know where Kei gets her dorkiness from. No offense intended, Wataru-jichan, you’re silly sometimes. But that’s what makes you the Wataru-jichan I love a lot. Just come back soon, okay? And be as safe around your explosives as you can be. I love you, Wataru-jichan.”

Conversation 13 (Requires Gekko Keisuke): “Kei...” (unsure smile) “Hey. You’re a dork, you know that? I’m guessing you’re heading out again. Another mission? With [Player’s Name]?” (sighs) “I don’t even know where to start. You know me, and I know you’re going to call me out for being too emotional or broody or something.” (pauses) “Eh? You’re not calling me out? Or going out yet? Then... why?” (blinks) “Inertia? Again? And you just wanted to check in... Oh.” (turns face away, ears red as she opens her arms) “...Just give me a hug, you ridiculous swordsman. I love you too much and frickin’ missed you like all hell, now get over here before I want to throttle you. Or tackle you.”

Conversation 14 (Requires Kuroki Otoha): “Kuroha-san! Welcome back. You’re working with [Player’s Name] too?” (smiles happily) “I’m glad to see you nonetheless. Friends seem to like coming back, and I’m glad that you do. Do you want to make mochi together? Kei’s here too! I think. What I do know is that you’re here, we get to spend time together, and you deserve some nice things.” (opens arms) “I missed you too, Kuroha-san. So, hug?”

Special Conversation 1 (Requires Davy Jackson): “Nii! Hi!” (blushes a light pink from embarrassment) “I love you too. I’m sorry for not coming to see you sooner. Things happen, and well, you’ve met Kei. And [Player’s Name]. They’ve both taken up seats in my heart. You’re still here, though.” (pauses) “...With a beard and abs.” (ducks head, ears pink) “Could I ask for a carry hug? Like when I was little?” (pause) “I just missed you. And your hugs, and Mr. Hat, and Wendy-nee, and everything back there. I still love you.”

Special Conversation 2 (Requires Leith): “Hi, Leith-nee. You’ve certainly changed since I last saw you. In the good way. Is Ace-nii doing alright? I hope he is, since you look happier. Eh? You’re a mom now? And I’m an auntie?” (blushes a bright pink) “Th-That’s new. I wasn’t expecting that. For now, though...” (opens arms) “I’m still your Princess. So, um. Can I ask for a hug? I missed you.”

Special Conversation 3 (Requires Arturia Pendragon, Saber version): “Saber... You look more satisfied now, with that invisible weapon in your hand. You’re sure that you’re going to be okay?” (pauses) “I do trust you. So much. I just worry, okay? Because you’re not just a Servant to me.” (smiles softly) “You’re my friend and the Knight I grew to love, so please, take care of yourself, okay? And come home soon. With [Player’s Name]. I love you, Arturia-san.”

Special Conversation 4 (Requires Heroic Spirit EMIYA, Archer version): “Archer... You definitely are dead set on doing what you feel is the right thing, huh?” (smiles wryly) “I wasn’t going to stop you in the first place, just give you a few words. You heard me talk with Saber, didn’t you? Then you know what I’m feeling now. You’re my friend too. And I care about you. So don’t die. Do your best to live out there, and come back to Nagareboshi Cafe soon. I love you, Shirou.”

Special Conversation 5 (Requires Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancer version): “Dia, you’re here too...” (fond smile) “Make sure to handle everything with Usako-san before you head out with [Player’s Name], okay? And come back soon. I’m not your Master, nor am I any royal you should pledge your allegiance to. I’m still a civilian girl, but you are my friend and you deserve lots of nice things. Be safe.”

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nny11writes · 5 years

Text

My Padawan- Chapter 2

<-Previous

Ahsoka froze and pressed herself into a small alcove near the corner of the hallway listening to the conversation happening just around the turn. She had been planning on speaking with Petro today, to understand where the two of them stood. He had, after all, completed the Initiate Trials and she had promised him they would speak. She had been almost excited, six months after their first conversation she’d gotten the message from him. Ahsoka had sheepishly explained to Anakin and Master Obi-Wan why she needed to skip a few missions around that time and had, very begrudgingly, accepted the teasing that came immediately afterwards.

Ah Snips! May your Padawan be just like you!

Anakin, that is terrible to say. May your Padawan be just like your Master young one.

Good luck.

Rex was truly her only friend.

Still she’d gotten their blessing and here she was. Here she had gone only to hear the voice of Master Aayla Secura from around the corner, talking to Petro.

“So what do you think Petro, would you be willing to be my Padawan?”

Ahsoka had been the one to ask for time, she had even purposefully delayed asking him directly after the trials to make sure it wasn’t just her own adrenaline pumping from the excitement of seeing this particular group of younglings pass. Her gathering group, her first one. Each of them held a special place to her and not just for the timely rescue. Of course someone was going to ask him, Petro was nearly always at the top of his class, he had great potential and skill. She just wished it could have been someone like Knight Paabuqi who would be too wishy washy to make a decision. Master Aayla was practically a legend already, her skills and achievements well known, and her experience speaking where her humbleness could not. Ahsoka had held out a little hope of being Aayla’s Padawan herself when she’d been younger. After having completed a few missions with her, Ahsoka could also say that Aayla was twice the Jedi she was and more than ready for another Padawan.

It was ridiculous to feel so cheated, worried, and proud in the same breath. She had all but turned him down flat after all. Slowing her breathing Ahsoka reminded herself that eavesdropping was wrong moments before she stretched her hearing to its limits trying to hear every last word.

“Master Secura, I…” Petro paused before continuing, “Thank you, but I can’t accept your offer at this time.”

Can’t accept your offer? Ahsoka briefly wondered if a youngling had even turned down an offer to be someone’s Padawan. Especially someone as well known and liked as Aayla Secura. The implications left her feeling a bit like she’d been zapped by an electro staff.

“Oh, may I ask why? If you have concerns about me as your teacher, I would be happy to discuss them with you.” Aayla’s voice was musical and light.

“No! No Master Secura, it’s not that. I think anyone would be fortunate to have you as a teacher. I, there’s just someone else who I think is supposed to be my Master and I haven’t spoken to her yet.”

Oh. Oh.

Aayla’s laughter was subdued but honest. “Ah, that would be Knight Tano yes? I could see the way she watched your performances, and Master Kenobi told me she’s been keeping an eye on you.”

“Really?!” Petro’s voice was full of excitement.

Ahsoka echoed the sentiment, but also reminded herself to return the favor in kind to Master Obi-Wan. She wasn’t sure yet if that meant owing him a favor or conspiring with Anakin to prank him, she’d probably decide the next time she saw him. He had been gossiping about her to the other Masters after all.

“Yes, in fact I believe she was on her way here to speak to you.” There was a pregnant pause before Aayla continued, “Tell you what. If she doesn’t ask you or if you change your mind, my offer still stands. You have great potential Petro, no matter who you train with it will be an honor to serve with you.”

Ahsoka was sure her stripes had darkened significantly at the unsaid compliment, and wasn’t sure what to think about this. Her Padawan was being targeted by head hunters! It was crazy, and the better Jedi had managed to withdraw her request without invalidating anyone.

Then the first comment Master Secura made clicked, and Ahsoka tried to not die of sheer embarrassment from being caught listening. It was balanced out by her gratitude at being allowed to ask Petro if he would be her Padawan.

…to ask her Padawan. She could get used to the sound of that.

Stepping from around the corner Ahsoka looked at Petro’s back before clearing her throat. He whirled around, smiled, and then tried to suppress his smile. Probably trying to look like a ‘Mature Padawan’. She was pretty familiar with the maneuver after having used it for the last several years. Aayla smiled warmly at them both before turning and taking her leave.

“Congratulations on completing your trials Petro, you did very well.” Ahsoka spoke with as mild of a tone as she could muster. It was still awkward and stilted.

“Thank you Knight Tano, I’m glad you could make it back.” He bowed and Ahsoka managed to not laugh at the way his emotions had shot near through the roof in excitement.

“Walk with me?” She motioned down the hallway, no real destination in mind as he practically skipped a few steps to be in stride with her. “How have your classes been Petro?”

Petro glanced up at her before snapping his attention back down the hallway. “Good, I’ve been doing better in in dueling, and history has gone really well. I, uh, I could probably apply myself a bit more to politics.”

Ahsoka smiled as she imagined Padme’s sparkling eyes, another student to study and learn about politics. She might even be inspired to have him sit in on a few senate sessions. Of course, she’d drag Ahsoka in too but that was a bridge to cross later.

“Everyone has at least one subject that they struggle with in the classroom. Perhaps a different perspective on politics could help you.” Ahsoka turned a corner to avoid putting them too close to the other Initiates. “How about meditation? I know you have the forms down, but how has it been?”

Petro answered slowly this time, “Well enough, I’ve gotten better at controlling my breathing but sometimes my mind wanders too much. But—I am working to improve that!”

She wasn’t surprised in the least, most Initiates enjoyed meditation but struggled to maintain it for any significant length of time.

“I understand, I’m only able to meditate for certain stretches of time,” She opted to not mention their dismal length specifically, “but it’s good you’re working on it. One more question, I promise.”

Petro practically bounced on his next step, excitement and anxiety flaring before being spooled back up behind his shields.

Ahsoka gave him a small smile, “If you are still interested in being my Padawan that is.”

“Yes!” His voice cracked and Petro tried again to school himself into something approximating the ‘Mature Padawan’ look. “Yes, I am.”

“Why?” She asked.

His confusion flew out before he caught it, and for the first time Ahsoka felt him trying to hide his emotions from her in a more significant way. Out of respect, she didn’t pry. Letting the silence sit for several minutes as they walked while he considered his answer, their pace still slow and leisurely. He quietly followed her lead around the temple even as he squinted mostly at the ground in thought.

“Because, well, because you’re kind.” Petro answered slowly but with certainty. “You always wait for us to figure out what you’re talking about, and you don’t talk down to people. And, you’re patient.”

Ahsoka spared his feelings by not snorting in amusement. She half wished Anakin was here to witness this. Patient!

“If someone doesn’t get it done the first time or is struggling to understand something, you give us time to figure it out and you try to help us without telling us the answer. Some people snap when we don’t know and others spoon feed you. I don’t want someone to hold my hand like a baby, but I do need help. Oh! You’re not afraid to ask for help from younglings!” This was said with special conviction. “You treat us like equals instead of like idiots or little kids! That’s ace! On top of all of that you are really brave, and strong, and you defend people, and, uh, you…”

Ahsoka waited for him to finish, already feeling equally proud and completely embarrassed that this had weirdly turned into fishing for compliments.

“You’re really good with lightsabers?” Petro cleared his throat. “I think that we would work well together. I think you would push and challenge me, and not treat me like a personal servant or like a little kid.”

Ahsoka nodded lightly as she led them down a path in the room of a thousand fountains. In silence they walked to a small spot surrounded by bushes and flowers, before she slowly sat cross legged on the ground. Petro only paused for a moment before sitting across from her. Holding out her hands Ahsoka waited until he placed his hands lightly on her palms before allowing her emotions to seep across the force to him. Excited, nervous, proud, sheepish, uncertain and certain in the same moment. His eyes became two green plates as he stared at her.

“I’m not sure I can be the perfect Master Petro, despite what you think I can be very impatient. I’m too aggressive and passionate, I attach too easily. My bad habits, and my bad traits, may get passed down to you and hinder you. You may feel that I am overbearing at times or that I’m asking too much of you. I can’t be the perfect Master you just described.” She gently squeezed his hands, which had gone from resting to nearly holding hers in a death grip. Focusing her gaze back to his, she smiled, “But, I would like to try to be a good Master, if I can’t be a perfect one.”

“YES!” His shout was swallowed by the leaves. “Yes, thank you, you won’t regret this!”

She laughed as he shot to his feet and pumped a fist into the air. No she didn’t think she’d regret this either.

#fanfiction #fanfic #star wars #star wars the clone wars #Ahsoka Tano #Petro (star wars)#Petro #My Padawan #the one where they finally get this thing going #there is more to this but not as complete as these two chapters were #will post more as I feel like #not sure where tho #No Editing We Die Like Meh

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tisfan · 7 years

Text

It’s All in the Wrist

I did a little contest for a custom fic, when I was close to 500 followers. The winner of that contest was @whatisluniana and here is their fic request...

“Out of all the people in the world you could pick to come and save you, and you choose me…” Their rival’s eyes gleamed, and they bit down on their lip, utterly failing to smother a grin. “I’m flattered.”

“Just get me out of here!”

Later

“Why did you come for me?”

"Because if anyone's going to bring you to your knees, it's gonna be me."

Wakanda

Bucky was beginning to think he’d inherited Steve’s itch. They’d talked about it several times when they were both younger, before the serum. Before the war. Steve’s constant twitchy fingers, a hand that had ached to hold a pencil and sketch, to balance a brush on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He had often stopped dead in the middle of the street to just stare at someone, or something, and Bucky had learned that it meant he was committing a scene to memory to be able to draw it later.

Bucky had always put money aside, had lurked around places like the newspaper and rummaged through their pins for pencil nubs and scrapped paper that Steve’s itchy fingers could get some relief.

Bucky hadn’t seen Steve hold a pencil since Bucky’d been awakened from his stasis pod in Wakanda. When he had asked, Steve just said that he didn’t see anything worth drawing.

Bucky thought that might have been the worst thing he’d heard in the better part of a century.

Except now his hand itched.

Not the flesh one, the one with callouses from holding a gun, and not the old metal one, the one with so much blood on it. But the new one.

The new one that had arrived, crated up and packed in special foam to protect it. The new one that had no name attached to it. The new one that Bucky had damn good reason to suspect had been made by Tony fucking Stark.

It would be easier, Bucky thought, if he could just hate the guy. Instead, the whole situation was like force-feeding himself wormwood and bile. There was guilt and shame and anguish over what he’d done, no matter how many times Steve had tried to absolve him. (He couldn’t. There was no way, ever, that Steve could forgive him for his crimes, because Steve was… well, Steve. He was fucking loyal. He rescued 400 men during the War just because Bucky was there. He’d never see the blood on Bucky’s hands, even if Bucky wiped if off on his fucking jacket.)

It didn’t matter; even if Tony Stark forgave him, Bucky could never hear it from the people that actually mattered. The lives he’d snuffed out on Hydra’s orders. He could never apologize to Howard who’d been his friend. To Maria Stark, who he’d never even met, but that Howard had loved.

Complicated by the fact that Bucky was scared shitless of the guy. Steve brushed it off, and Bucky thought Steve was being deliberately, stupidly, mulishly blind. Stark could have killed them both and chose not to. What the hell was going to happen when Stark decided that they weren’t worth sparing? The man could have killed them more than a dozen times over in the fight; he was holding back, and Bucky didn’t know why.

Further complicated by the fact that Bucky was completely, totally, and irresistibly drawn to the man. It was the ultimate case of “wanting what you can’t have” and Bucky knew it, which was annoying as fuck.

So, he didn’t hate Stark.

And he didn’t know why Stark kept sending presents.

“You don’t know this is Stark tech,” Steve had tried to reassure him. Again with the blindness. Steve was deliberately being hard-headed for more reasons Bucky didn’t understand.

Until it dawned on him that Steve and Tony might have been lovers; or maybe not quite lovers, but headed in that direction. A destination that Bucky’s arrival had thrown off the path. It would never happen now; Steve would never forgive, and Stark would never forget.

So, even more complicated; Bucky was fucking jealous of a love for his best friend that didn’t even fucking exist anymore.

Jesus Christ. It was a wonder he didn’t ask King T’Challa to go back in the fucking cryo-pod. Anything had to be easier than dealing with the stewed mess of having emotions like a real goddamn person.

Bucky was out of practice being a real goddamn person.

God dammit, his palm itched. He wasn’t used to that, either. The old Hydra arm hadn’t had anything like itches or the ability to sense the touch of another person. It had pain. And pressure.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d put it past Stark to install something just to annoy him. Stark seemed that kind of petty, really. Just a little bit.

The itch got worse, steadily, through the day, until Bucky was rubbing at his fingers constantly, whining when he couldn’t dig into skin that wasn’t there, couldn’t get any relief to his frazzled nerves. He was within an ace of going to Princess Shuri -- she’d been in charge of the installation, and maybe she could help -- when his eyes fell on the pencil Steve had left out in their shared quarters.

Bucky picked it up in his right hand; a perfectly normal pencil. Then he switched it over; he’d never been able to maintain such fine motor control with Hydra’s arm to write anything. He’d learned to be right-handed, although his penmanship was even worse than it had been back in the day.

He cradled the pencil, resting the wood in the precise spots that itched.

His arm jerked down suddenly and he was writing on the table without his permission at all, like someone had taken possession of him.

It’s about fucking time, asshole.

Vladivostok, Russia

“Out of all the people in the world you could pick to come and save you, and you choose me…” Bucky’s eyes gleamed, and he bit down on his lip, utterly failing to smother a grin. “I’m flattered.”

“Just get me out of here!”

Like Tony’s had a fucking choice. There just weren’t very many options open to him. Tony’d never exactly been a team player, and his team was picked pretty thin at the moment. He had a frustrating man-child synthroid and Rhodey. Sometimes the kid, Parker. None of whom he would risk for this; not for him.

Not ever for him.

He wouldn’t even have tried to get through to Barnes, except that, in that particular case, he was willing to say that Barnes owed him. He could let the man pay a debt and then, both of them might have some fucking closure. Maybe Tony could stop waking up at night feeling those fingers close on his arc-reactor, trying to tear it out of him. Could keep that nightmare from turning into memories of Obie Stane from using a handkerchief to remove the arc-reactor, like Tony was something toxic and vile that Stane couldn’t even stand to put his hands on.

Tony gagged at the memory, even now, even with Barnes standing not ten feet away, smirking that little grin that was just tempting. sexy. fucking annoying.

“Can’t fault their taste,” Barnes was saying and Tony dragging his genius brain back into the room where he was fucking zip-tied to an overhead bar, ankles bound together and toes barely brushing the ground. His shoulders had burned and ached for so long that Tony hardly registered the agony anymore, although he suspected it would rush back as soon as he was released. You know, if Barnes ever got around to it.

“Yeah, yeah, pick on the actual human on the goddamn team, I know,” Tony snapped. God, he was so tired of being damselled. Just once, he’d like someone to strap Captain America to something uncomfortable. “Come on, come on, Pinnochio, let’s get a move on before they come back.”

Barnes strode over, that predator movement, all punishing dominance and aggressive masculinity and Tony was suddenly grateful for the ties because they held him up. And then Barnes put his right hand on Tony’s hip and knelt down in front of him.

Holy Christ.

That was nothing Tony should be visualizing. Not that he was. He wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t so goddamn fucked up in the head that he was having lustful thoughts about the person who’d murdered his parents. Who’d tried damn hard to kill him. He really was not. It was unacceptable.

Tony made a sound. Some sort of sound, he didn’t mean to make a sound. It was a cough, or a little bit of a loud breath or something.

Barnes glanced up, those long eyelashes framing eyes the color of clouds in the winter.

Okay, so Tony might have made a sound.

You are so, so fucked up, Stark.

“Look, if you’re not gonna blow me while you’re down there, you could at least do something useful.”

Barnes’s tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip.

“Was that a request?”

What? What the hell even? “What the fuck is wrong with you, Barnes?” Except that Tony’s dick was twitching. Getting hard.

Barnes’s eyes shifted, his gaze was drawn to Tony’s waist groin. “Oh my god,” Barnes choked suddenly. He stared up at Tony, and that was really unfair, because --

Tony couldn’t even think why it was unfair, just that it was, and he wanted to nope right the hell out of this conversation except… except he was still tied up and Barnes was looking at him like Tony was a goddamn dessert course.

The metal hand, the one Tony had designed, crafted, fabricated, modified. Tony still could control it, a little. He’d made some installs to it -- hey, it wasn’t meant for removing Barnes’ free will, so long as what Barnes’ free will wasn’t trying to kill Tony. Tony thought that was a perfectly good use of the tech. And reasonable. -- and the nanobots that he’d used to summon to armor could work on it. Different frequency, and that was the one left open when Ten Rings had stuffed him in this goddamn shielded Pit of Despair.

He didn’t want to do that, not while Barnes was right there in front of him, and Tony was still bound; his control wasn’t that good. Barnes had to cooperate. Or be caught off guard. Just enough, enough to let Tony escape. Enough to write a message, provided Barnes picked up the goddamn pencil.

But Tony had to admit, the idea of smacking Barnes in the face with his own goddamn hand had its appeal. He visualized it, in as much detail as possible.

Which was his excuse for why he missed it when Barnes tore through the zip ties. Not like a few bitty pieces of plastic were going to survive against an adamantium laced titanium-steel alloyed arm.

Tony stumbled and fell.

And Barnes caught him.

And that was awkward, because they were kissing close. Tony could fucking taste Barnes’ breath in the air between them, the way heat swirled in the narrow gap between their bodies. And… apparently Tony wasn’t the only one sporting wood.

Tony raised his arms; to push Barnes away? To draw him closer? Tony didn’t even know.

Barnes just continued to look at him; eyes serious and at the same time, questioning. His mouth twitched a little, that smug smile. Plush lips parted.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Tony said, and he wasn’t even sure what he was daring, or not daring, Barnes to do.

“Nah,” Barnes said, and he licked his damn lip again, and how was that even remotely fair? “I ain’t got time to do you proper, doll.” He let his arm slide under Tony’s, supported him so that Tony could walk, and Tony fucking hated leaning on people, but he had to admit, it was probably for the best. Even he couldn’t make a case for it being better to fall in his face in front of this man rather than being assisted by him.

When Barnes led him out of the compound, Tony realized why he hadn’t been in a rush. Bodies littered the floor, blood spilled in the corridors.

“You killed them all?”

“Only the ones who were stubborn about getting out of the way,” Barnes said. “I gave them a chance to run.”

“So, you killed all of them.”

“Pretty much,” Barnes said. He didn’t… look happy about that. There was a certain set to his jaw that Tony was familiar with; regret. Remorse.

“Why did you come for me?” Why did you do this, if you were going to have to kill again, and you hate it?

"Because if anyone's going to bring you to your knees, it's gonna be me."

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #contest prompt #fic

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