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jaigeye · 3 years

Note

for the prompt meme: 20, rex + saw thank u

30 multipurpose prompts. ( rex + saw. ) / read on ao3

"how far can you carry this?"

Onderon is in the Japrael sector. It's inner rim, but not a bad place to hide when you've got business in the area. And Rex has- well, he has plans, so to say, here on Onderon. It's unusual for him to be so untethered. He hasn't taken or given an order in ages.

He spent six days on a little neighboring planet called Morvolo, keeping track of how many times he saw its four moons and trying to bear the bitter cold weather. He had to hide; Rex was certain he'd been tracked to the sector, and it would be too obvious to go to Onderon first, so he set his ship on the ice floats and waited. There's no food on Morvolo, no animals or insects or life at all, really. Just him and the infinite tundra.

For all these reasons, he hasn't eaten in five days. The rations dried up quicker than he'd thought. Usually he wouldn't be so careless; Rex is nothing if not organized, prepared for all outcomes.

Anakin used to say-

No. He scrubs his face and sits on a crate in the little camp. It's hard not to think of all that when he's back here again- the only real difference is that this time he's unaccompanied. He scrapes the heel of his boot in the dirt and stares hungrily at the beast that's slowly cooking on the spit in the center of camp. It's being slowly dissected and loaded onto different rebels plates, but he's only just arrived and nobody seems to know what to make of him, so Rex waits for the right moment to come along to get some for himself. If they'll let him.

He could try to hunt. It's not an entirely foreign concept to him. The forest is so alive all around them. It puts him on edge; Rex isn't familiar enough with the flora and fauna of the area to rightfully judge what is or isn't a threat, so he eyes even the meekest of lizards with suspicion when they pass him by.

"Hey," says a deep, steady voice, interrupting the nothing he was doing. "Your name is Rex, isn't it?"

He glances sharply, at first suspicious that anyone would so easily recognize him, much less recall his name but then he sees him and his defenses collapse.

"Yeah," he rasps. His voice is a little worn from disuse. "Rex."

Saw Gerrera leans against a tree, a plate in each hand. An easy smile lingers on his lips. Rex's eyes linger there a little, too, but then the food is too tempting to ignore- and Saw must notice, because suddenly he's holding it out to him the way one might entice a cautious animal It works embarrassingly well; his stomach clenching with hunger, Rex huffs and reaches out to take it.

"I'm Saw."

He stares at the meat and the rice on the plate, not yet eating, still caught between his manners and his ravenous hunger. "I remember."

(How could he ever forget a man like Saw Gerrera?)

Saw nudges his shoulder gently, urging him to scoot so he might sit beside him. Rex flinches. "Sorry," he mumbles, making room.

If he noticed his reaction, he doesn't bring it up. Saw just settles in beside him, rests his plate on his armored knees and looks at him. "You can start eating, you know. It's fine."

He can't help it; Rex brings it up to his mouth and tears into it, starving, and surely the rice is sticking to his hands and he must look frantic but he doesn't really care. It's been three days. He was so cold, out there, and he'd resorted to holding a pebble in the back of his mouth just to taste something, waiting it out. He'd stayed in his ship, shivering, melting blocks of ice in cans to drink.

It's amazing, frankly. The food. It's juicy and fresh, so hot it burns his fingers a little as he pulls it apart and it smells like spices he's never tried before but will certainly crave in the years to come. It's coated in butter, sharpened by onions, and whatever sauce it's been doused in is a little caramelized.

Rex lived off nutrient gruel for most of his life back on Kamino, so things like this are still.. exciting. Overwhelming.

Once, after Ahsoka accompanied Master Ti to Shili for some Togruta hunting ritual, she came back and made Rex sit down and eat what she'd caught. Said she wanted to share; that it was special, that it meant something.

Never in a million years would he have turned her down. It tasted a little like this. It burned his tongue and made his eyes water but he still thinks of it sometimes- not long ago he'd thought maybe he'd ask for her to make it for the men after they returned from Mandalore, that they'd like it, after all they'd painted their buckets to look like her. They trusted her. It would feel just like the old days.

He gulps from his canteen and keeps going. It's so good. He's eaten mostly only ration bars these past weeks. There's no time to cook or eat a real meal in some cantina when your own brothers are hunting you- there's no time for anything anymore. His hand clenches around the plate like someone might take it from him.

His face feels hot, eyes burning. The first time they had a night off on Coruscant, he and the 501st had gone to some back-alley restaurant and spent hours there together, laughing over the meal that they themselves had to cook on the little stove over their table. It was good. It was so long ago. It feels like yesterday.

Numb to the world around him, he doesn't notice the concerned face Saw makes; only the hand that presses gently to his thigh when Rex realizes he's crying.

"It's Pikobi. What you're eating. It's my specialty." Rex stops mid-chew to follow the direction of Saw's pointing, over at the half-eaten animal turning on the spit. It's skinny and reptilian and by the look of it, shouldn't taste nearly as good as it does. Saw smiles calmly, distractingly, and though he can barely see it through the blur of tears in his eyes Rex just nods.

"You made this?" He asks, finally reaching a point in the meal where he can bear to slow down. Rex wipes off his face and hands on his cloak and tries to subtly dab his eyes. It's a little pathetic to cry over a meal, but he couldn't help it.

"With a little help."

"It's really good," he manages. "It's- sorry. I haven't eaten in a- in a good long while. It's good."

"I understand. It's fine, Rex, there's plenty more where it came from."

It's all too much. He can't even eat without losing his grip- Rex's life is gone, and he's left wandering this world full of things that remind him of it. He was a captain not so long ago, then a commander- and now he's just Rex, a man so burdened by the weight of his world that he's constantly buckling beneath it.

He doesn't know, some days, how he can still carry it, or why he even tries to go on.

It's then that he realizes dimly that Saw's been talking the entire time. "-- not a hard recipe to make. It's harder to hunt than it is to cook; Pikobi are fast, evasive creatures."

It dawns on him that Saw is probably trying to soothe him.

When he'd last seen him, the man was a mess; Saw didn't eat or sleep following the death of his sister. They'd draped a flag over her casket and now he wears it as a cape, always standing upright and proud.

It's incomprehensible to him that one might be able to move forward in such a way. Rex clutches his plate and thinks about a world where his pain isn't so raw.

"Maybe sometime.." Rex exhales shakily. "I could accompany you to hunt one. Sometime."

Saw's hand squeezes his thigh once more, just above the armor plate. "Sure. Could show you how to cook it, too."

The hand retreats. Rex looks out at the bustling camp and then at the man beside him once more, giving him a small smile- the only one he can muster. Perhaps he can bear to carry it all a little further.

"I'd like that."

#rexsaw #saw/rex #rex/saw #ask games #writing #;-;#also halfway thru writing this i realized it was perhaps mildly similar to urs my bad 😭#food as love language <3 #ever cry eating smth bc ur day has just been that bad? yeah #hm. this came out different than i expected when i started #gandalf voice i have no memory of this place #still happy w it tho #THANK U FOR THE PROMPT ☺️

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spideydaddyboy · 4 years

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SUGAR

CHAPTER 1

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A chilled breeze hit the city, turning Gwen’s nose and cheeks cherry red, the same shade of cherry lip gloss she began to chew off her lips. She tugged the ugly orange handknit beanie her mom sent her last Christmas hard over her ears, and skipped the steps down to the subway, knuckles white and blue from the cold and clutching the strap of her shoulder bag so tightly. Nerves were high, today was important, it was a chance to get in on an internship Gwen had her eye on since she started Uni. Oscorp Enterprises was offering a seminar for engineering and science majors from Empire State University and a couple other small colleges. The professor that offered her the ticket clued her in on a little inside information, 2 spots for interns were open, with 260 candidates attending they were looking at, and Gwen got to be one of them. Her name was already on the list, but she had to make sure to climb her way to the top of it in the 3 hours she was there. Peter is such an idiot, she thought to herself and scowled. Originally Peter was the first recipient of the ticket offered to her, but he turned it down because he had “things to do”. Of course Gwen knew he was always out late doing God knows what and slept until his classes at three. The six am presentation was just not in the realm of his capabilities. A little part of her was jealous, Parker was the perfect student on paper, and he could put in little effort and get high scoring results. Gwen threw herself into her projects and research, only to be a sliver behind Peter, which was never good enough for her. She couldn’t understand how he did it.

The subway slowed at her stop and she scuffed her black docs on the rough concrete, scurried up the steps and found herself a block away from the Oscorp building, a glittering glass paneled building that reached and touched the sky. From the moment it was built Gwen couldn’t help but drool over it, it was a scientist’s dream to get to work in that building. A directional flyer she was given earlier along with her pass led her to the opening of an amphitheater, hundreds of students like her chattered about, grouped together in the dimly lit dome shaped room. She perched in a seat mid-back, with a great view of the stage and the screens displayed off to the side for people who couldn’t make out the presentation from where they sat.

The lights dimmed and the room ceased with a hush, yellow toned spotlights followed a smartly dressed woman in a dark navy pantsuit to the centre stage, the sound of her heels clicking echoed off the sides of the domed ceiling.

“On behalf of Oscorp Enterprises, welcome…”

A trail of drool trickled down the side of Peter’s cheek, glistened off his face as Ned yanked their dorm blinds open, the light hit every corner it could reach in the tiny room. Peter sat up with a snort, hitting his head against the post of his bed, he’d rolled on to the floor in his sleep-or just didn’t make it to his bed at all. The city was busy with low-life’s the night before, 2 car thefts, 7 muggings he could get to. Not to mention the end of the night “bonus”, a jumper he had to sit with and coax down for an hour. Not that he minded, he still loved being the Spider Man, but it was tiring after a full day of University.

“What the hell Ned,” he grumbled and propped himself up on an elbow, yanking the sheet closer to his body.

His roommate and high school best friend shot him a look, “you missed both your afternoon classes dude, you can’t keep doing this to yourself every night.” He tossed an oatmeal bar from his backpack and Peter caught it easily, “I’ve got a study group with Betty to get to-aaaand you were supposed to meet Gwen about 15 minutes ago, you’re lucky I forgot my book this morning and came back, she’s gonna have your balls.”

“Shit,” Peter uttered gruffly and pulled himself up off the floor, reaching for the nearest shirt and pair of jeans.

He hopped around tugging at a light faded pair of jeans and tugged an Empire State Sweatshirt over his head, pairing it with the worn carhartt jacket May bought him two birthdays ago. The Dorm hallway smelled like stale ramen and faintly of weed, it gave him a headache across the bridge of his nose. Once outside in the fresh are he sprinted toward the campus cafe, making fiery eye contact with Gwen through the large clear glass windows. She sat in their usual spot, a table in the far right corner, next to the window so they could look over the lawn. Gwen's eyes sparked with annoyance and her nose was slightly scrunched like it got when she was angry, and she was angry at Peter. He couldn’t blame her, their meetings were almost nearly put off a good 20 minutes all the time because of Peter’s chronic lagging.

“You’re late,” Gwen uttered, Peter plopped in the chair across from her.

A yawn tore out of his mouth, “yeah I’m really sorry Gwen, I was out late last night, sleep got the better of me.”

She eyed him, tired bags under his eyes, the lazy smile, a bruise blooming on the underside of his chin, it alarmed her, “where’d you go?”

“Uh, nowhere really, just around,” he twirled his finger in a circle motion, evading the question. “How was your seminar this morning?”

“It was interesting, how’d you get that bruise,” he looked at her confused. “On your chin.”

Soft fingertips brushed over his jaw, he hadn’t realized she reached out to touch the sore spot until pain blossomed across the left side of his face, “ack! Gwen knock it off!” He swatted her hand away and grimaced, “you didn’t need to do that.”

His memory was flaked, it got like that sometimes after a couple knocks to the head, but he remembered the hard right hook he got from one of the ladies he returned a purse too last night. She didn’t seem to appreciate the help. Dread settled in his stomach, Peter didn’t like having to lie to Gwen, but he didn’t want to involve her in his double life. He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to her just because of what he was. They had been best friends since high school, Junior year when she transferred. He was as close to her as he was Ned, they were an inseparable trio, at least until they started college and things became complicated for Peter. Ned started to date Betty again, and Gwen was left to herself and studies.

She sighed, dropping her hand and picked up her cappuccino, her mouth perched over the rim for a small sip, “you never tell me anything anymore, you and Ned both.” Peter frowned, she wouldn’t meet his eyes and her lips twisted, “you’re always tired, and bruised, I’m worried Peter. You and Ned are in your little bubble all the time and I’m left out.”

“Gwennie,” Peter tapped the top of her hand with his fingertips and her blue orbs met his, “if anything we’re trying to keep you in a bubble, I’m only trying to protect you.”

“From what Peter?”

He gave a boyish smirk, “if I told you I wouldn’t be very good at keeping you safe would I?”

She scowled, “you’re so odd Parker.”

“Now tell me about the seminar, did you make an impression?” He diverted the conversation, “did you get to meet the big man himself?”

A peachy blush tainted her cheeks, thinking back to the end of the presentation earlier that afternoon. It was so crowded, students flooded the stage, one after the other trying to get in a conversation with Norman Osborne, it felt hopeless thinking she would get a turn. Gwen stood toward the back, hand gripped on her shoulder bag tightly, and drummed the fingers on her other hand against her elbow. Out of the corner of her eye she had caught a boy staring at her, leaned on a post at one of the side wings of the stage. She gave a small smile and returned to look out over the crowd, a moment later she felt a light tap on her shoulder. The boy had walked right up to her, a charming smile on his face. He was very attractive up close, with deep blue eyes and a straight nose, “it’s a pretty crazy charade wouldn’t you think?”

Gwen had shrugged, “we’re part of it aren’t we?”

“I suppose…” He chuckled and gestured to the pin on her bag, “Empire State? What’s your major?”

“Science, if you couldn’t guess, never dreamed I would be here with this opportunity,” she waved a hand over the crowd, “I don’t know if it means much with all this insanity though.”

He gave her a coy smile, “I believe you’ve got a better chance than any the lot of that swarm, what’s your name?”

“I’m Gwen Stacy, you?”

“Harry-” his phone chimed and he looked down for a second, then back up to give her another heart palpitating smile, “-Osborne. I’ll put a word in for you. It was nice to meet you Gwen Stacy.”

Peter broke her out of the memory with a cough, “you met his son? That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I hope he meant what he said,'' she peered at him, the profile of his face as he looked out at the quad, the dip of his nose and his mouth. He’d lost all the baby fat on his face and it sculpted sharp cheekbones and a solid jaw. She savored moments she got to sneak peeks at him. Peter was beautiful hidden under the bedhead and baggy worn out clothes. In high school she had a major crush on him during the first couple of months they had met, but that faded when she realized his attention was elsewhere, so she opted to be a friend and that was where she stayed.

“Thank you for being a lazy ass or else I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity,” she shot him a wicked smile and he gaped at her, a guffaw escaping his lips.

“No thank you, Gwen, for making me realize I shouldn’t throw you a bone ever again,” he laughed as she faked a shocked offended gasp, “no, no you deserve it more than I do, you deserve all of that.”

Gwen took a moment to drink in Peter’s boyish grip, then gulped down the last of her coffee and stood brushing the crumbs of a chocolate biscotti off of her corduroy pants, “I’ve got to practice for a gig tonight with MJ in about 30 minutes and it takes about an hour to get over there, I lost track of time because of you Parker.”

He gave her a cheeky smile. She leaned down to kiss his cheek, her sweet coffee breath wafting under his nose, and ruffled his hair as she passed him. Out the window his eyes trailed after her as she walked away, an ache filled his chest. Never could he understand what drew Gwen to befriend him, sometimes he wondered if she did it as a tease, to make him fall in love with her, but then would remember it was the Spider Man’s fault he was plagued by friendship. It wasn’t hard to miss how he admired her, looked at her, loved her. Either Gwen ignored it or was blatantly oblivious to it, Peter could see her doing both. He watched until that incredibly ugly orange beanie on top of her short tied up light hair disappeared around the corner before he stood to return to his dorm and scrap together as much homework as he could before his night patrols.

Peter’s walk back to his hall was kept at a leisurely pace, an afternoon sky darkened the window lit hallways of his floor, the only sounds to be made was a gaggle of laughter behind a closed door and the swing of Peter’s lanyard, the keys jingling together. He slowed nearing his door, brows quirked in a curious confusion observing the long haired brightly blonde girl leaning on it, concentrating on the screen of her phone.

“Uh, can I help you?”

The girl looked up, a dazzling smile lighting up her face and she shoved her phone in the pocket of her tight leather jacket, “Peter Parker? Professor Tuscollini sent me to check up on you since you weren’t in class today? To give you notes, make sure you catch up and all that.” Her voice was soft, like Jan Brady from the Brady Bunch.

“Oh okay,” he took a paper clipped folder from and twiddled his keys in his other hand. “May I ask who is the messenger?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she gave a coy smile. “I’m Felicia Hardy, pleasure to finally meet you, Tuscolloi’s hermit star pupil I hear.”

Peter nodded and gave her a look, she left him feeling unsettled, “Yeah, see you around Felicia, nice to meet you.”

The leather clad blonde slid off the door and watched him put his keys in the lock. He twisted the key but it stuck, the handle already loose and unlocked, “I could’ve sworn I locked this before I left.”

Felicia sucked in an exaggerated breath, “weird, gotta be a little more careful Peter Parker.” She saluted him and slinked down the hall and around the corner, soaking up the way he watched her leave.

Laid out on his bed where he definitely didn’t leave it, was his old suit.

**Please contact me to be added to the taglist :)

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(A/N): I’m super excited to drop this fresh fic! Daddy’s Girl is still ongoing but In Between will be holding until further notice. Thank you guys for the read!

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wolfieonatypewriter · 7 years

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Bayojeanne Week - Gates of Hell

Fandom: Bayonetta

Ship: Bayonetta/Jeanne

Summary: Late to the party! but done for the bonus day of Bayojeanne week.

AN: Same universe as Barren Ground Blooms in Change but you don’t really need to read it to get this, just know that Bayo hasn’t recovered most of her memories

It's not that Jeanne was a princess. No, the fact she had grown up in the lap of luxury of the most powerful Clan in the realm was not what made her frown with carefully cultivated disgust at having to be hanging around Cereza's favorite hellhole of a bar.

The Gates of Hell, for all its fame, had sparse customers at all times. Groups looking to be dangerous fleeted in from time to time, from criminals on bikes to mobsters all lit up like a novice on Summer’s Eve when they stumbled into the dimly lit lounge. Fortunately for her, those sorts of boorish patrons quickly scurried away when the nature of the proprietor and his more permanent patrons seeped into their bones.

At present time, Jeanne was sitting at the bar nursing about her fifth ‘whatever will get me the drunkest the fastest’ and it was, moon’s blessing, a quiet night. The Redgrave boy ( “Just call him Luka, Jeanne” played in her mind in Cereza’s mildly stern voice) plucked a more or less harmonic tune on a piano she had just noticed was there while Bayonetta hovered about with the occasional snark.

Rodin was standing a ways away from her, wiping a ridiculous glass of a size so small she was not entirely sure what was served on them. He looked as he always did, placid and composed but utterly unreachable, like an unfathomable entity trying to blend into a reality not of his own and failing.

And thus, was her reason for avoiding the Gates of Hell. Rodin was an enigma wrapped in at least five other enigmas and with a tale so tall, angels would squawk at the intrusion. Jeanne had not survived as long as she had without a Clan if she was stupid enough to get mixed in with the likes of him.

What she hadn’t been counting on was the Left Eye of Darkness barreling onto the scene like a train accident, with no memories of anything whatsoever and force her out of her solitude and good habits.

And her prison. (That she was forever grateful for but that was a definitely a reflection for another day)

Now, mingling with Rodin was frequent and she didn't like it any better. He knew too much, talked too little and as the fifth...whatever she had downed settled in, Jeanne remembered there was something that had yet to sit right with her.

“Why didn't you tell her?” Was what she found herself blurting, momentarily forgetting this was a person she did well to avoid quizzing too hard.

The faint squeak of the towel rubbing against the microscopic glass stopped and without missing a beat, he replied “Didn't tell her what?”

Jeanne bristled, her better judgement clouded by booze and exhaustion which had the unfortunate side effect of bringing out her combative side. “Don't play games with me. You could have told Cereza she wasn't the last Umbra 20 fucking years ago.”

To his credit, he grunted and fished another of his inordinately undersized glasses to dry. She was about to shove one of her guns right under his perpetual shades when he deigned to reply to her. “There was no other Umbra to care about, at least not one Bayonetta should go tangle with.”

His eyes, a burning red behind the tinted glass, bore into her and she resisted the undignified urge to squirm in her seat.

She noticed Cereza had stopped ribbing the boy's not terrible piano playing and was paying attention to their conversation. Far enough she couldn't hear but close enough to intervene if needed be.

At his words, Jeanne growled and gulped her half glass in one go, slamming it back down on the worn down bar before the intense burn hit her throat.

She didn't like being reminded of that but then again why had she asked? Her defensiveness had just skyrocketed into legendary levels and it was a minor miracle she wasn't pummeling Rodin with her fists then and there. Probably because she made it a point to not fight with someone currently pouring her 6th drink.

“She didn’t need coddling, she needed answers.” Her tone was dark and low, to anyone else it would have a clear warning but he wasn't the average entity.

“Puppets don't talk truths, your highness, and the machinations of the Trinity of Realities are” he paused with a dramatic flair of his large hand that ignited several flames dancing around his fist in an erratic pattern “shall we say…Best left undisturbed.”

The anger simmered low on her chest with a building crescendo but she said nothing else and Rodin snuffed out his little display.

She breathed into the large glass for several beats, the intense mix of alcohol and Sheba knew what else burning her airways. So what, *so what* if she had been at Balder’s beck and call for literal centuries, hadn't she earned her “Having Cereza's Best Interest At Heart” badge well before that?

All the rational, perceptive parts of her had taken a walk at the moment and she was left alone with the raw, undiluted maelstrom that were her conflicted feelings and sheer, unaddressed trauma. Her guilt hounded her, her pride couldn't deal with it and there she was, caught in the middle.

After the ever so mysterious proprietor turned his back to the bar to gaze at the rows upon rows of bottles stored as high as the dump would allow it, she spoke again.

“What of the guns then? You made them for me, as powerful and mastercrafted as any other the Smith Of The Gods had ever produced.” His back remained turned but the tension in his frame betrayed his attention. “ I doubt they are your magnum opus, all things considered, but they are exceptional and you knew what they were for.”

The rumbling chuckle surprised her more than what it should have, Rodin wasn't a man famous for his patience or his sunny disposition. “As I said, who am I to stand in the way of events. I'm here to make shit and kick ass and luckily for all of you freaks” His eyes flared a deep, bright red when he turned back around and leaned into her bar space. “I still ain't out of shit to make.”

As his massive, corded arms shoved themselves way too deep in her personal space, she frowned and tensed tighter than a hangman's noose.

Fucker, timeless elder God wannabe or not, was asking for it and by Sheba's infernal knickers she was going to give it to him.

Her ill advised motion to rise and distribute some well placed bullets was halted by a strong hand settling on her shoulder.

Cereza looked at her with worried eyes, searching as they often did for cracks to soothe.

Jeanne nearly growled at her, the frustration bubbling into a hot boil she couldn't deal with but Bayonetta didn't deserve it. Closing her eyes for a second, she leaned into her arm and did her best to center herself.

“Besides” Jeanne snapped her eyes open and glared with frank openness at Rodin as a hint of a smirk ghosted over his features. “I don't know what you're complaining about. Didn't you get the girl in the end?”

The gated back section slammed open by itself, startling the hipster boys in the far corner that had been looking to bolt for the better part of an hour. Without waiting for her reaction, he disappeared just as theatrically as he has expounded on metaphysics and Jeanne was left alone with her turbulent thoughts and a worried lover.

“What in God's name was that all about?”

#Bayonetta #Bayojeanneweek #Bayojeanne Week

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