Wax scorches a gleaming, glistening, golden trail into my ribs, my spine, my arms, my legs;
Burns into my soul, my heart, my mind—
When wax melds and meshes and falls away to ocean blue.
This, is the fall.
CW: Talk about The Fall, talk about burning while falling from heights– i mean, it’s the myth of icarus. So like. Y’know. There’s some sort of graphic descriptions, it doesn’t go past describing location, and vague parts (icarus is bloody, the wax burns him, etc)
One moment it was clear, we were building, creating, living–
Then it was my uncle, shoving the nearly finished waxen wings across my shoulders, clicking straps in place, urging me out of the window.
“Will I see you, on the other side?” Asked I, eyes of sky dripping in hope, in warmth, in worry, in love.
“Yes, yes, boy– now go!” Urged the great inventor Daedalus, the man of whom I’ve studied under for so long. The man who looks so annoyed, but so gleeful. So bright, but so malicious.
The window is there, and so am I. I leap, I fall, I fly.
It was air– Aoelus and I, in open gleaming sky. It was the beat of wings, as I harrowed myself not to wander too low, not to dip into the sun’s melting, boiling grasp. To stay… stay safe, in a perfect, riskless degree.
But who am I, if not a seeker of warmth?
Who am I, if not the taker of risks, a finder of joys, a curious insatiable inventor with the world in his hands— the earth herself in his mind's grasp!
Just a mere arm’s length, is what I promised myself. Just enough to be held by Apollo’s sweet hand, for merely a moment. I know it will never be enough but i promise myself it will simply have to do, it will be safe, i will fly and soar, and know so much more and i will trust and move and sail and this–
This, is when Aoelus betrays my heart.
When Zephyrus pulls me higher, higher, higher… higher than any boy is meant to go.
When wax scorches a gleaming, glistening, golden trail into my ribs, my spine, my arms, my legs;
Burns into my soul, my heart, my mind—
When wax melds and meshes and falls away to ocean blue.
This, is the fall.
Air caresses my burning not-yet-corpse, my soon to be cadaver, and I tumble from my sweet lover’s reach. The sun was warm when I had him, but now, Poseidon will be the one to win my fate. The waves pull high as I spiral to meet them, their arms open wide, waiting for my falling, burning, bleeding young body. Waiting, like the air for my wings. Waiting, as the sun for my palms. Waiting, as my kin before me, in the depths of the underworld far, far, far below.
Waiting, as am I, for the embrace of the fifth God I will meet today.
Thanatos, my friend, I will see you soon. We will meet, when the wind leaves my skin, as the sun’s hold falters from my cheeks, and the ocean’s grasp claws into my sweet, untouched lungs.
I laugh wildly, freely, into this space between life, death, and the unknown higher realms. This proves it all, that I have soared, that I have met my Gods in a space unfit for a mortal boy such as I. This is eternity, and I am in it, and I will never forget this place.
Then, my world goes quiet, the ocean gains new treasures, a cold hand pulls me into the depths, where I will meet my maker. Or so, did I predict.
Statistically it has to be more than just me who like this ship rn right. Right. Ri
Anyway uh m hi I’m writing and MPGIS posting again. Latest project is a character exploration of Britt and Saison leading up to them as a couple <3 I dragged 1 person down into this hellscape with me where are the rest of you please I’m begging ple
Tysm to @nmbrrr77 for beta reading and for amusing the SaiBritt brain rot you the real MVP <3333
Summary, more notes, and link:
Brittnay doesn’t really know how to be a “good friend,” exactly. With the way Saison saved her ass in Paris, and the shit she’s given her over the last year and a half, she’ll sure fucking try to be.
Saison’s never hated Brittnay. Not really, anyway.
With the trauma of being kidnapped and tortured, she’s a little more of an emotional mess, and much more reserved. They do their best anyway.
This will be multiple chapters, I’ve got the prologue and ch1 completed and I’ll publish ch1 once ch2 is done. Also features ShayMack and maybe I’ll throw in some more ships later. For now this is gonna be a slow burn for both <3 please read the tags of the fic n make sure it’s safe for you to read!!
Kyle Garrick's love language is act of services and quality time.
He always makes sure Captain Price has the best cigars, that Ghost has his tea warm and sweet with just the right amount of milk in it.
He sits with Soap for hours when he makes new kinds of silly explosives to test on the training field, listens to him and praises him for his 'big brain'.
He helps his lieutenant and captain with paper work, making little jokes around the table to ease the tension of bureaucratic bullshit. Price laughs and he can sometime see a smirk behind Ghost's mask.
When Laswell is visiting, her motherly aura makes him happy and relaxed and they end up gossiping about what's going on base. Their favorite subject is the ambiguity between Soap and Ghost. They have a bet going on still about who will confess first.
He cherishes his team like family, born an only child wasn't always easy on him. The 141 taught him what's it like to be part of a fraternity.
I want a Jeverus fic where James and Severus are potion boyfriends. Fleamont does potions for a living there’s no way some of that talent didn’t rub off on his son. Give me a James who sees Severus experimenting with potions and at first scoffs at him for endangering himself but then realizes the potions actually work better that way. Give me a James who is partnered with Severus in potions by Slughorn and the two of them work together seamlessly. Give me a Severus that begrudgingly accepts that James isn’t the idiot Gryffindor he assumes him to be. Give me a James and Severus who sneak into the potions room after hours to brew and experiment. I could go on and on.
Darry walked into the cold evening, glancing around him to make sure no one was watching, before pulling out a cigarette.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure where he was going. Paul was busy with his parents, and Hudson had told him about this new girlfriend he had over today.
Darry looked over his shoulder when he noticed the car following him. It was a red mustang. A Soc car. Darry moved to the side of the road, wishing he had Paul with him. No one messed with him when he had Paul. The guys normally left Darry alone. It didn’t feel great, knowing they only liked him because of Paul, but whatever.
The mustang got closer, and Darry moved further. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. He grabbed the switchblade in his pocket, ready to use it if necessary. He looked behind him again when he heard the car speed up. Sighing in relief when it passed him, Darry loosened his hold on his switchblade. Glancing down to kick a rock in front of him, Darry paused when he heard the motor stop.
Looking up, Darry saw the mustang now ahead of him. It had taken a sharp right, blocking Darry’s way. Darry took a sharp breath, relief replaced with fear. 3 guys came out of the car, none of which Darry recognized.
He backed up, preparing to make a run for it. But before he could try, one of the guys had a hold of his arms, tugging backwards so Darry lost his footing.
Darry grunted as he fell, cursing under his breath. Darry snapped his eyes open, not noticing that they fell closed, when he heard the familiar sound of a switchblade opening. He doubled his efforts in fighting, trying to wiggle out of the guy's grasp or at least get his own blade.
It hit Darry that these boys weren't the ones from school, they were older. College guys. He could smell the booze on them, could hear the way they were slurring their words.
“Looks like we caught a grease.” One of the guys said, a sneer forming on his face. He was the one with the blade.
Darry glared at him, briefly thinking about spitting in his face. Another glance at the blade told him not to.
One of the guys grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Darry gasped, clenching his jaw.
Now, with one guy holding arms back, one holding head, and the last one in front of him, Darry was completely vulnerable.
“Hit him, James!” The guy behind him said. James grinned at him, before reeling his empty fist back and striking Darry in the diaphragm. Darry gasped, body folding into itself. They finally let go of his head and Darry looked down, coughing. He barely got a glimpse of the blade before it was plunged into his stomach.
Sucking in a breath, Darry was finally allowed to collapse onto the sidewalk. The boys walked back to their car, laughing and stumbling.
Darry lifted himself up, groaning in pain. Sitting up, he placed his hand over the stab wound and pressed down. Gasping slightly at the new wave of pain the action brought, Darry closed his eyes and tried to figure out what to do.
He could go to Paul’s house and risk being kicked out. Or, he could go back home and risk worrying his parents.
Or he could go to Hudson.
Darry hated to bother him when he already does so much, but he didn’t seem to have a choice. His house was closest and Darry was losing a lot of blood real fast.
Inhaling, Darry used his free hand to push himself off the ground. He exhaled once he was standing up right, grimincing when he felt the wound start to throb in pain. Hudson’s house was about a half a mile away.
Taking another deep breath, Darry began the long walk (stumble) to the house.
After a tiring, slow paced walk, Darry finally got to the doorstep of Hudson’s place. Breathing heavily, Darry brought his fist to the door. Knocking, he heard the shuffling of feet inside, muffled voices of two people. Before Darry could change his mind and walk away, the door opened.
“Darlin’?” Said the southern accent Darry has grown to love. Darry couldn’t help it, he let out a low whimper, his body crashing down onto Hudson.
Hudson grunted under Darry weight, looking at him curiously before grabbing him by the upper shoulders and dragging him inside.
“Who’s the wet dog?” The girl on the couch asked. Hudson glared at her, hauling Darry onto the armchair by the door. Darry groaned as the movement agitated his wound. He turned to the side and finally allowed himself to throw up.
When Darry was done, Hudson left to go get some cleaning supplies. Darry groaned in his spot on the chair, turning his head to cough up what he hoped wasn't blood. Though judging by the sound the girl made, it probably was.
Breathing heavily, Darry took in the girl. She had brown hair, blue eyes, and clearly high out of her mind. Darry traveled his eyes to her arm and saw that she hadn’t bothered to take the belt off it yet. She was pretty, a clear Soc girl. The thought made Darry's stomach turn.
“Fuck you staring at, mutt?” She sneered. Darry averted his eyes.
“Nothin’” He mumbled, praying for Hudson's return.
And as if God was real, Hudson turned the corner to the living room. Darry perked up, glad to not be alone with the girl.
“You gonna puke anymore?” Hudson asked, bending down to clean up the mess. He paused at the sight of blood, before going back to the task on hand. Darry groaned, coughing.
“No, but I'm still bleedin’ out.” He hissed. Hudson looked up, raising his eyebrows. Seeming to finally notice the wound, Hudson started cussing.
“Shit! Why didn’t ya mention that?!” He yelled, startling both Darry and the girl.
“I thought you knew!” Darry shouted back, startled by the change of events. Hudson abandoned the cleaning, running to get first aid.
“Damnit kid, thought you knew better than that.” Hudson was muttering, walking back in. Darry didn’t get the chance to reply when Hudson came to him and yanked his shirt up.
“Shit!” Darry swore, throwing his head back. Hudson muttered an apology.
Darry kept his eyes on the mystery girl the entire time Hudson spent stitching him up. He tried not to grimace or let the tears fall, and she was nice enough to keep eye contact with him.
“Alright darling, all done.” Hudson said, standing up. Darry breathed out a sigh of relief.
Collecting the medical materials, Hudson walked out the room.
“You okay, kid?” The girl asked. Darry let his eyes focus on her before nodding and allowing his head to fall back. Hudson came back holding a small bag.
“Take this.” He instructed Darry, handing him a small tablet from the bag. Darry blinked up at him.
“What is it?” He mumbled, reaching out for the pill.
“Just put it in your mouth.” Hudson said, rolling his eyes and sitting on the coffee table.
“Not the first time you’ve said that.” Darry grumbled, forgetting about the other girl. He put the white tablet in his mouth and swallowed it dry. “You gonna tell me what it is now?” Darry asked.
“100 milligrams of Fentora.” Hudson deadplanned, moving to stand up.
“What?!” Darry yelled, sitting up. He barely registered the pain in his side.
“Lay back down!” Hudson said between gritted teeth, snapping his fingers and pointing to the couch. Darry obeyed.
After what feels like the world's longest hiatus, my personal life is back on track and this fic is ticking over once again. To apologise for my absence may I present a 9k chapter that I spent far too long agonising over. Biggest of thank yous to @wild-karrde - Karrde my friend, you are the reason this fic continues to live, thank you for all your help, advice, and for battling through my lack of commas <3, one day I will learn 😁.
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Steam clouded Issa’s lenses as she wrapped her thin hands around the mug of tea before her, lifting the red liquid to her lips. The Jedi took a sip and gave a content sigh as the warm drink did its work of fighting off the cool from the ship’s air supply.
It was her first moment of peace in little over a month she realised. The fighting on Antar 4 had been relentless, and the only reason for the battalion’s sudden respite was the fact that their initial campaign had been a success. They’d managed to push the Separatists out of the main city, and established a secure perimeter to keep them out, which gave Antar 4’s elected government the chance to begin their defence efforts against the local terrorists. There were a few moments where things had been tight and times when casualties had been higher than anticipated, but overall, their success had been noted by the Jedi Council and higher ups in the GAR.
That recognition is what led them to this point, being aboard the Triumphant and heading back to Coruscant. It seemed now that the 104th had proven themselves, Issa, her master and the battalion were being reassigned to a more pressing fight in the war.
This morning they’d welcomed the 182nd Legion and their general, Master Kolar. They spent a few hours bringing them up to speed on their surroundings before beginning the process of packing up and shipping out. It’d been a long day, but the troops were looking forward to sleeping in their own bunks again on the Venator.
As was she.
Fighting on the frontlines of a war was something Issa had truly had to experience in order to gain some semblance of understanding of what it would be like. Words and stories didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. It’d been grinding, dirty, and exhausting to the bone. The fear and uncertainty she felt each time she got a chance to close her eyes pushed rest and ease far from her mind.
It had been an odd feeling, not being able to slow her mind for such an extended period of time. Everything had felt thrown together and reactive, no matter how long they’d spent hunched over a holotable, strategising into the early hours of the morning. The Pantoran also didn't remember a time when she’d been among other people’s company for so long, having spent years in the calm and steady presence of only Master Plo on their extended research missions. She’d always found solace on her own, in her own safe spaces where she could unwind. But out there, she’d had no escape, especially with every sense being pushed to the extremes. It’d been overwhelming to say the least.
But, in spite of it all, she and a majority of their men survived.
We’re still here.
Since they’d returned to the Triumphant, Plo had given her the green light to retreat to her quarters to take stock of herself and what they’d all been through together the past month, while still fulfilling her new command duties but from a distance. It’d been a couple of days since she’d seen anyone really, but it had helped, so she was thankful for her Master’s understanding as always.
Having gotten used to sleeping for short bursts while on the frontlines, Issa was struggling to readjust back to a normal sleeping pattern. She’d spent a good hour that night tossing and turning in her bunk before giving up and hunkering down in the mess hall with a cup of tea and a few datapads.
Might as well use the time to get some new scenery and do some work.
As another smooth sip of tea warmed her throat, it hit Issa that it’d been nearly a year since the last time she’d had this particular blend, and for a moment she was transported back in time. She was back in Obi-Wan’s quarters at the temple with him and one of her closest friends, Anakin. The Jedi Master was a connoisseur of teas from around the galaxy, always trying to stop off and pick up different recipes while away on missions. He’d been particularly excited about the one he’d finally managed to source from a small village on Karlinus. The three of them sat in his sparse room while the steam of freshly boiled water drifted through the small space, quietly chatting and joking amongst themselves. She remembered Anakin’s face behind his Master’s back as he grimaced at the drink’s sweet taste, sticking his tongue out dramatically in a way he knew would have Issa chuckling. He'd always been one who sought out the more bitter flavours in life, like the ten cups of caf he drank each day.
With a knowing smile as he turned back around to the pair, Obi-Wan shook his head as he caught the way Anakin tried to hide his reaction from him. “I feel as though your palate might be a lost cause, my Padawan.”
The Pantoran smiled, shaking her head in amusement at the memory of Anakin’s failed antics. Issa couldn’t believe that the young Jedi she’d spent half her life training alongside had recently been promoted to the rank of Knight, making history as one of the youngest in the Order aged just nineteen. She was truly proud of her friend. It seemed he was truly destined for greatness, and Issa could think of no one more deserving. I’ll have to congratulate Obi-Wan on finally being free of his Padawan too.
As the feeling of nostalgia settled in warmly within her chest, Issa placed down her cup and grabbed her abandoned stylus so she could continue her notes on Antar 4. She’d been studying a battle plan when the door to the mess swished open. Issa noticed someone paused in the doorway for a moment before entering the room with a huff. “What are you doing up?” the new entrant questioned.
“Hello to you too, Wolffe,” Issa replied, not lifting her eyes from the work before her. “I’m going over those strategies we drew up with Book and Master Plo. I want to make sure I know them inside and out for the briefing on Coruscant.”
“Well you’re not going to be of any use to us half dead on your feet. You should get some sleep.”
“Could say the same to you, Commander. What are you doing up?”
Wolffe just grunted at her before making his way over to the caf machine and pouring himself a strong cup. Still maintaining his silence, he leaned back against the counter and stared down into the dark liquid before him. Issa chanced a moment to look her commander over. He was clad in his black body glove he usually wore under his armour, and his eyes were heavy with the beginnings of dark circles blooming beneath them. Her eyes traced up to his hair, which was slightly mussed, and his frown was even more downturned than usual, which was really saying something.
Wolffe had something on his mind, that much was obvious. Though it was also kyber clear that he didn’t come in here to talk. In fact, he was surprised to have seen her, which meant he’d likely been looking for some solitude.
Do I check on him anyway? Issa asked herself. She knew she would likely be met with a biting response demanding she mind her own business, but as her eyes flitted over to Wolffe once more, his sombre expression gave her the final push of concern she needed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered quietly, averting her eyes so that they remained firmly on the datapads before her so as to not put him off with any unwanted attention. Issa and Wolffe weren’t exactly close. The clone commander was rather rough around the edges, and they were still finding their feet with whatever working relationship they were forging, which added a nice layer of uncertainty to many interactions between them.
“No,” Wolffe grumbled. Though he didn’t say anything else, which was more positive than Issa was expecting.
“Okay.”
Maker, this is awkward.
With a small nod, Issa pushed her frames higher up her nose and returned to her work while Wolffe began sipping at his hot caf. A good few minutes went by, and they settled into a rocky silence while Issa lost herself in strategies and plans. She became so engrossed in the data before her that when Wolffe spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“We lost some good men in that last battle.” Wolffe’s voice wasn’t loud. In fact, it could probably be called a whisper, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like he’d shouted into the quiet room.
Issa knew her eyes had widened in shock, confused and relieved that Wolffe was actually talking about what was bothering him. She peered up at him through her lenses and settled the datapads away from her, giving the commander her full attention. “We did. Wrexler, Vick, Kip, Dino and Zander were all great guys.”
Now it was Wolffe’s turn to look shocked. “You remember all their names?”
“Of course. Master Plo and I said we’d learn everyone’s names that first day we all met. We don’t say things we don’t mean. You’re people Wolffe, not droids. The lives we lose aren’t so easily swept away for us either you know.” Wolffe grunted again and fell silent, staring back into the mug in his hand as if it held the answers to whatever questions he was torturing himself with.
Feeling brave and maybe stupid, Issa took a steadying breath before choosing her next words carefully. “Do you… blame yourself?”
Wolffe’s eyes shot up to meet hers, his amber irises burning with something she couldn’t pinpoint, making Issa swallow. Shit, okay too far. Feeling her face flush with embarrassment, she held her hands up in an apologetic manner. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.” Great, that’ll set us back nicely. Smooth Straun.
As Issa mentally kicked herself, she noticed that something in her reaction to his heated gaze had caused Wolffe’s frustration at her to cool. His glare softened, and he averted his eyes to stare at the wall to his side as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the galaxy while bouncing his leg ever so slightly.
“Yes,” he eventually replied, biting the word out as if it went against everything in him to utter it. It took Issa a moment to realise he was responding to her question. So he does blame himself. Wolffe continued. “I’m their Commander, my choices lead to their deaths. I’m the person who's supposed to protect them.”
“That’s not your job alone, Wolffe. If that’s your logic, Plo and I are equally as to blame as you.”
“It’s different.”
“How so?” she asked. Her question wasn’t fuelled by impatience or frustration at Wolffe’s mindset but by genuine curiosity. Issa wanted to understand exactly the reason why he was putting this responsibility solely on his shoulders.
“Because you’re not one of us,” he snapped, eyes burning brightly once more. His harsh tone appeared to be an accident as a sliver of regret slipped onto his features while he flexed his jaw.
Issa gave him a soft smile. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. You don’t have to explain yourself. I'm not offended.” Every soldier lost is another member of his family gone, another face identical to his that was taken too soon. “It’s personal for you, I understand.”
Wolffe scoffed and lifted a hand to rub at his jawline, his fingers scraping across the rough, growing stubble there. “I don’t need a lecture on the losses of war, just so you know.”
Issa’s smile grew. “I wasn’t planning on one. I was just going to say that should you ever want to share that burden, Master Plo and I are carrying it as well, maybe in a different way, but we are. We’re here to support you, Wolffe, as much as you are us.” He didn’t have a reply to that, but Issa was happy that she’d been heard. She chanced a look down at the chrono on one of the datapads and realised it was very early in the morning.
“Hey, since we’re both up, fancy a spar? Might help tire you out.”
Wolffe took another sip of his drink with a raised eyebrow. “A spar?”
“What? Don’t think you can handle a Jedi?” Issa teased, which earned her one of Wolffe’s signature eye rolls, slow and exaggerated, and she couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his dramatics.
“Fine. But I'm not explaining to the general why his padawan’s pride is in pieces tomorrow.”
“Understood.”
The pair made their way to the training room. The open space was cast in shadow until the sensors detected their presence and triggered the lights to roll on. In the centre of the hangar was a blue mat, which Issa stepped onto gently. The plastic covering was cool beneath her feet as she stretched her arms above her head, sighing as some of the bones in her back popped. Kriff, I’ve been sitting down for too long. Across from her, Wolffe shook his limbs out and rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“What sort of spar did you have in mind?” he questioned as he pulled an arm behind his back, stretching the Republic cog in the middle of his shirt even further across his broad chest.
Issa shrugged. “You’re my military teacher. I thought you could decide.”
“Fine. Hand-to-hand it is. You know the rules?” Issa shook her head and he continued. “Mostly anything goes, though no career-ending hits, and if your opponent taps three times you let go and the match is over. Clear?”
“As transparisteel.” At her confirmation, Wolffe locked eyes with her and met her in the middle of the mat. The area they were fighting on was rather large; the hangar the mat sat in was designed to house multiple gunships, and the mat itself was almost the size of one. Issa took a steadying breath as she tracked the strong commander in front of her.
“Sure you wanna do this Straun?” Waves of confidence rolled off of the clone as he stepped closer.
“I’m not going to break.”
“Alright.” The word had barely left his lips before he darted forward with a swing of his right fist. Issa managed to duck just in time to miss Wolffe’s punch, but her confusion left her open, which Wolffe utilised by delivering a swift kick to her ribs, winding Issa and forcing her back a few paces.
For someone so bulky, I thought he’d move a hells of a lot slower than that. Unfortunately the universe wasn’t that kind. It seemed the commander had plenty of training on keeping his speed up in a fight. The Pantoran heaved a few ragged breaths before she willed her breathing back under control.
“Sure you want to carry on?” The question was genuine, but the slight upturn on the corner of his lips made Issa bristle.
“Only just getting started, Wolffe.”
They traded blows back and forth fairly evenly from then on, Issa decidedly not underestimating her commander any further. She might not have had military training, but the ways of the Force lended well to combat, and her years at the temple hadn’t all been studying and katas. She’d trained on how to fight without her weapon just as much as she had with it. It was just a skill she hadn’t had to call upon in a real world scenario in a while. As she analysed Wolffe’s movements and opportunities for attack, her training slowly came trickling back on how she could lean on the Force to make her movements more swift, her attacks hit harder, her defensive positions more fortified.
By the time they were bone-tired and sweaty from their fight, Issa had managed to get a few good hits in on the clone commander, including a kick to his cheek that left the skin bright red. Overall, Wolffe had bested her more times and was the clear winner of the fight, but it was progress, both in her training to become a better commander and also in her relationship with Wolffe. This had been the longest the two of them had been left unsupervised, and they were both still talking to each other, which Issa felt was a great victory.
“Not bad, Straun, though you’re thinking too much. I can tell you were holding back at times. You don’t trust yourself. You’ve got to get more comfortable with your abilities if you want to throw your all into a fight.”
“Right.”
“We’ll try again when we stop off on Coruscant, bring a few of the men in so I can point some things out to you.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Wolffe.” The commander nodded at her and the room descended into silence until an almighty yawn tore its way through Issa before she could stop herself. She met Wolffe’s gaze, a look of exasperated confusion conveyed through his raised eyebrow as she gave a sheepish chuckle.
He huffed at her with a shake of his head. “Let’s go back to the barracks.”
The pair of them walked in silence through the halls of the Triumphant, passing the odd pair of patrols on their way who always stopped to salute their two commanders. Finally they arrived at their neighbouring rooms and bid each other goodnight before Issa collapsed onto her bunk and drifted immediately off to a dreamless sleep.
—
The next day the 104th arrived on Coruscant. Issa, Plo, Wolffe and Admiral Coburn had been holed up in a meeting room for an in-person debrief of the situation on Antar 4. They’d spent hours divulging everything including their findings on the enemy, loss ratios and any future battle plans they had drawn up which could be passed onto the 182nd, who would be taking over the protection of the Republic-aligned moon.
It’d been a long day, but Issa felt confident that she’d been able to contribute to the meeting where appropriate rather than just listening and learning. They’d also been told that they’d be heading to the Outer Rim to Scariff. Apparently the Separatists were planning to build a factory on the planet and were shipping in large portions of materials for the development. The 104th’s job would be to disrupt the delivery of the materials and take out as many of the enemy forces as they could.
Since landing on Antar 4, it felt as though everything had been non-stop for the battalion. They’d barely had a moment's respite in the month they’d been fighting, and it was starting to show among the troops. Thankfully, Plo had convinced the council to extend their layover in the Republic’s capital for an extra couple days, giving the full squad some well-earned downtime.
The news of their first night off had sent shockwaves of celebration through the ranks of the 104th, which warmed Issa’s heart. They’d fought hard in tough terrain and deserved the time to themselves to revel in their victory and remember the brothers they’d lost. What had sweetened the deal even more for the soldiers was that the Republic had created a bar dedicated to the clones right here on Coruscant where they could drink for free and enjoy their downtime in peace amongst their brothers.
The Wolfpack were truly overjoyed with the news of a night partying and had even kindly extended the invite to their two Jedi to join them. However, Plo and Issa decided that the troopers deserved a real night off, away from their natborn commanding officers, as Issa had learned they’d been called.
At the GAR headquarters, Issa was chatting pleasantly with Admiral Coburn as they exited the meeting room, the pair trailing behind Master Plo and Wolffe. The padawan watched as the two men in front of her talked amongst themselves. It was clear to see in Wolffe’s presence how he respected his general, and while Issa was on the road to earning that respect herself, it warmed her to know that Plo had the same effect on other people as he had on her. From her few conversations with Wolffe over the past couple months, Issa had been gaining snippets on Wolffe’s views and the weight of responsibility for his brother’s safety that he shouldered, and it was clear that his trust was rarely given out. Issa was glad he at least had someone of seniority who he could truly put his faith into beyond the respectful level of courtesy he automatically gave as clone commander.
Admiral Coburn cleared his throat politely, drawing the small group to a stop. “Padawan Straun, Master Plo, Commander Wolffe, I’m afraid I will have to bid you a farewell here. Please enjoy the rest of your shore leave and I look forward to our first mission together in a few days.”
“Thank you Admiral, we shall see you soon,” Plo replied, nodding in goodbye as the naval officer turned on his heel and down an adjacent hallway, his shiny black boots clacking on the metallic flooring as he walked away.
“Issa, I believe we should head back to the temple.”
“Yes of cour-'' Issa was cut off by her comm chirping, the light flashing up at her from her vambrace. Her forehead creased as she clicked the button on the device. “This is Commander Straun.”
“Sir, it’s Sinker. We were hoping you could come down to the barracks with Commander Wolffe after your meeting.”
“Do I dare ask why?”
“Probably best you didn’t.” Issa could practically hear Sinker’s smirk on the other end of the line, picturing his silver eyes sparkling in mischief, likely with Boost and TP hanging over his shoulders.
“Alright, we’re finished now so we’ll head down.”
“Well it appears you have other business,” Plo suggested fondly. “Enjoy your evening Commanders.”
Issa’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’ll be back at the temple after this, Master,” she assured.
The Kel Dor said nothing as he inclined his head at the both of them and began walking towards the exit, leaving Issa perplexed. She chanced a look at Wolffe to see if he could elaborate on what had just transpired. Unfortunately all she received was a restrained eye roll before he silently led the way to the turbo lift, leaving her to trail after him.
During the battalion’s stay on Coruscant, their troopers were given bunks at the Guard’s sleeping quarters. The lower levels beneath the HQ practically acted as a clone hotel; there were levels upon levels of rooms for any visiting soldiers to use alongside the resident red and white troopers.
As the lift skid to a halt, the pair stepped out and made their way to where the 104th were staying.
—-------
The slow and deliberate thump of footsteps sounded. Followed by the scrape of something metallic being dragged across the floor.
The man held his breath, hands clamped over his mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping him as the attackers' steps sounded ever closer.
Suddenly all noises came to a halt, and the man could do nothing but wait… Until–
“Booooook, come on it’s going to be morning by the time you put that ‘pad down, vod,” Boost whined as he clipped his now polished vambrace back into place.
The strategist locked his datapad reluctantly and sighed. His perfectly crafted world for his story in his mind had now officially been shattered at the interruption. Can’t get a minute's peace in this place. A heavy weight fell onto the mattress next to him, causing the clone to bounce slightly.
“Yeah Bookworm, we want some attention for a change,” Two-Pint teased, wrapping his arm around his brother’s shoulder and yanking him into his side for a crushing hug.
Book scowled as he fought the stronger man for his freedom, his copper hair ending up more than a little ruffled as he broke away with a half-hearted frown. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
The heavy gunner grinned. “I do.”
“Come on short-ass, be nice,” Boost challenged with a mischievous smirk, which only widened at Two-Pint’s pout at his own nickname. Serves him right, Book thought smugly.
“Alright alright, reign it in you lot,” Wolffe chided as he made his presence known with a humoured Commander Straun standing at his side.
“Commanders! Perfect timing,” Sinker called out pleasantly as he pulled his gloves on.
With one last ruffle of Book’s hair, TP and Boost moved away to find their boots. The strategist carded a hand through his red curls to try and tame them while his Jedi Commander walked over to take TP’s spot at his side.
The Pantoran bumped his shoulder lightly with her own and gave him a small smile. “Whatcha reading?”
“Ah, it’s nothing, just a thriller novel.” He tried not to sound too deflated, but he couldn’t help it. He loved reading, but moments of jabs with his brothers served to remind him that he was a bit of an outlier in their group. He wasn’t crazy about weapons like TP and Cloud, or strong like Boost and Sinker. Instead he favoured learning and reading as his method of developing his skills as a soldier. Book knew his squad didn’t mean anything by their teasing; it was their way of showing that they cared, but even still, it did a good job of highlighting just how different he was sometimes.
Of course, the Jedi next to him was somehow able to figure all this out without him even having to utter a word. With a gentle look in her eyes behind her lenses, she placed a blue hand at his shoulder bell. “You know, as much as the ‘Pack love to wind you up, your interests are what make you you Book. Your brothers would never want you to change or be ashamed of them. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah… I know.” He gave a small smile of thanks. Because he did know. But it was nice to have the reminder every now and then he supposed.
Seemingly content that she’d eased his worries, the Jedi looked up at the rest of the group. Their previously battle-worn armour had been cleaned and polished, not the the point of shininess as each scrape and scuff ingrained in the plastoid was a sign of each battle survived, but clean enough to not be caked with the mud and blood of their last campaign.
“So Sinker, you called?” Issa questioned as she caught the sergeant’s eye.
“Yeah, we’re going out sir, and you’re coming with.”
Still sitting next to Book, Issa sighed. “Guys we went over this-”
“Yeah but we’ve decided to overrule you, so there you have it,” Boost explained, leaving no room for argument.
“We want you to come along, Commander. It’ll be fun. You’re one of us anyway. Your insides were christened with TP’s brew,” Cloud added with a soft smile.
Smirking, Issa replied. “Oh so there is a reward for suffering through that.”
The heavy gunner in question somehow managed to pout even harder, which given his intimidating exterior, only served to make the room chuckle. “Hey! Don’t you all come crying to me when you want a night to unwind.”
“We’re kidding ‘Pint.” Sinker huffed as he threw his arm around his shorter brother’s shoulders and pulled him into a loose headlock.
Eventually the Wolfpack stopped rough housing and were ready to paint the town red, as it were.
—---
79’s was a beacon of life. Neon boards decorated the walls while the sound of laughter and chatter wove through the notes of the heavy bass music reverberating through the venue. The dance floor was already packed, clones and natborns alike dancing their troubles away, connecting with new souls as their inhibitions faded and bodies moved to the beat. At the bar, a group of pilots were sharing a round of shots while a squad of commandos in their heavy duty armour took quiet sanctuary in a booth in the corner, flirting with the beings who’d captured their attention.
Issa couldn’t quite believe that the Republic was providing such a normal place for the troopers to unwind. I suppose it’s the least they can do. After all, they are heroes fighting for the civilians across the galaxy, protecting their way of life.
As the Wolfpack made their way towards an empty table, Issa noticed a few of the patrons whispering as they passed. While most of 79’s was full of plain white armour, she supposed a maroon, wolf-stylised commander and Pantoran Jedi were a bit of a giveaway as to which battalion they were. It seemed their success on Antar 4 had been passed through the other ranks.
Next to her, Boost nudged her with his elbow, smirking. “How’s it feel to be famous, Commander?”
“Famous is a bit of a stretch.” Issa rolled her eyes at the sergeant who chuckled next to her.
“I don’t think that’ll be our last big win, so you best start getting used to it.”
Once the group had settled in their spot, Issa had offered to get the troopers their first round of drinks, allowing them to relax for a moment while she navigated the sea of bodies to reach the bar. After finally clearing a space for herself to lean forwards, the Pantoran drummed her fingers on the neon surface as she waited to be served. She was minding her own business until the being next to her gave her a nudge, knocking the Jedi off balance. Frustrated at the person’s lack of awareness, she spun around to confront them. That was her plan at least, but unfortunately the person she came face to face to made her pause, her fiery words dying on her tongue.
“Quin? What are you doing here?” Issa breathed.
There he was, Quinlan Vos, Jedi Master and Shadow, back from his extended mission like he hadn’t just disappeared for a year without a word. It’d been a while, but it appeared his flare for the dramatic hadn’t changed.
“Issa! I was supposed to meet Aayla but she got stuck doing General things, so I stayed for the free booze and pleasant scenery. Fancy seeing you here.” His honesty and cheeky smile were so familiar that it nearly made her heart ache. It’d been too long since she’d last had a chance to spend time with her friend and despite all of his bravado, Issa had missed him dearly. He looked well, a few new scars littered his bare upper arms and his dreadlocks had grown, extending to his jawline, but he was in one piece. A weight the Pantoran didn’t know she had been carrying suddenly lightened, and she smiled fondly at the Kiffar’s antics.
“The drinks aren’t free for you, you know,” she chided.
“Ah but surely they’ll have to take pity on a poor religious figure like me. Remember young Padawan, Jedi can have no attachments, which means no material items, which means no credits to buy those items, which means free watered-down Corellian ale,” Vos explained while lifting his drink in the air in a ‘cheers’ motion before taking a satisfied sip.
“That’s not how that works, and you’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you,” Quin replied with a beaming smile of pride.
Without another word, Issa launched herself at the man, locking her arms tightly around his neck and catching him by surprise. “I’m glad you’re home safe.”
Issa felt it as Quinlan relaxed in her hold and wrapped his own glove-clad arms around her middle, smiling into her shoulder. “Missed you too, kid.”
Issa was finally able to place her order and while she waited, she spent the time catching up with the man she’d come to look up to as a brother. His mission had been a success, as they always were, and he managed to take down a critical drug ring in the outskirts of the Mid-Rim.
Smiling with pride, Issa nudged the man beside her. “Sounds like another job well done.”
“Yeah, it went about as well as the Council would allow.” The end of his sentence was slightly muffled as he lifted his glass to his lips, but Issa heard him all the same.
She took a moment, trying to unpick the meaning hidden in Quin’s words. “The Council? I thought you were heading this as a Shadow?”
“Let’s just say if it was up to me, I’d still be out there.”
“Why?” Issa’s brows were furrowed as she tried to navigate Quinlan’s vague hints.
The Shadow Jedi seemed to have noticed her questioning look and snapped out of his mood with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. Let’s talk about something else. How’s the war going, Commander?”
His sudden change of topics perplexed Issa. Whatever Vos found at the end of his assignment had him on edge, and seemed to be straining his already tenuous relationship with some members of the council. Not wanting to spark a debate about the politics of the Order at that moment, Issa let him off the hook for now and launched into her experiences of leading an army for the past month.
“You’ll have to come meet the Wolfpack. They’ve heard all about you.”
“All flattering things I presume.” Just as Issa went to reply, a light began blinking on Quin’s forearm, pulling his attention. “Ah I better get this, but I’ll see you over there in a bit.”
While Vos trudged through the many bodies to an exit, a striking Mirialan placed a tray of drinks in front of her, which Issa took with a quick ‘thank you’ to the bartender before using all her concentration to avoid spilling the ale as she finally reached the 104th’s table for the evening.
Now that everyone had a drink in hand, the Pantoran allowed herself the chance to relax, sliding into the spot Sinker had made for her at the edge of the booth, facing Wolffe across the other side of the table. His permanent frown was unsurprisingly still in place, but it was slightly softer than usual which was nice to see. This may be as relaxed as I'll ever see him.
After a round of ‘cheers’ and the first few sips of their drinks, they asked about Quin after having seen the two of them during their reunion.
“Do all Jedi make fashion choices alarmingly unsuitable for battlefields?” Wolffe cut in sarcastically, making Issa bark out a laugh she wasn’t expecting, nearly choking on her drink.
“Actually if Quin had his way, he would probably rather have a lot more of himself on display, but he needs things like the gloves he wears to prevent accidental use of his Psychometry. It’s a power that lets him see impressions or events tied to an object based on who’s touched or used it previously. As you can imagine, that can get quite invasive quite quickly.”
“Woah, can you do that?”
“Unfortunately not. Jedi all have similar basic skill sets, the standard things we’re taught at the temple, but some of us excel further in some areas or are born with special abilities. Quin was born with Psychometry. It’s a common gift among Kiffars, and it runs in his family. He’s grown incredibly skilled in it, but it can be quite overwhelming at times, hence the gloves. While psychometry is one example, some Jedi have been known to have deep connections with animals, plants, space matter and even technology, making them easier to read or utilise with the Force.”
“Have you got a fancy skill, sir?”
“I’ve always been quite good at illusions. In fact it’ll probably start to come in handy during the war so I’ve been working with Master Plo on pushing my skills a bit quicker than we normally would.”
Wolffe raised a suspicious eyebrow. “What do you mean by illusions?”
“Care to be a volunteer and find out?” At Issa’s challenge and smirk, Wolffe scoffed.
“Fine.” He was clearly intrigued but trying his damndest not to show it. The Jedi humoured him and took his feigned indifference as consent for her demonstration.
Issa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Using all her concentration, she manipulated the molecules around her using the Force, picturing as each one shifted and changed to mimic the image she set in her mind. As she let the air out of her lungs, she allowed her eyes to flutter open once more and took in the clones surrounding her.
“No way.”
Issa spared a look down at herself, and sure enough, she was clad in white and maroon plastoid, the skin of her hands no longer blue, but a beautiful tan.
“That’s creepy, two Wolffes is the stuff of nightmares, turn it off!” Two-Pint squealed as he tried to hide behind Book, who rolled his eyes at the heavy gunner.
Vos chose that moment to slide into the Wolfpack’s booth, smirking and elbowing Issa in her side, breaking her concentration and shattering the illusion. “I see you’re doing your-” Quin paused to do a little waggle of his fingers, “-magic show.”
Huffing, Issa shoved the Kiffar back, making him chuckle and throw an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah well we can’t all read emotions like you. Gotta find my ways to be useful somehow.”
Quin then infuriatingly chose that moment to ruffle her hair, making her bristle slightly in annoyance as her troopers chuckled, Wolffe notably was taking great joy in her embarrassment at the hands of the Shadow as he smirked slightly behind his glass.
“When I tell you guys that your commander got us into some trouble over the years at the temple using those little tricks of hers.”
“Ha! I knew I liked you sir!” Two-Pint exclaimed with a beaming grin.
Soon introductions were made, and the rest of the evening was spent in pleasant comradery with the Wolfpack and Vos. Issa realised now that she’d been worried about nothing. Spending an evening with her troopers hadn’t seemed to have stopped them from being able to enjoy themselves and relax, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy spending her free time hanging out with them. They were a fun group; even Wolffe had gradually loosened up ever so slightly as the night dragged on, matching the boisterous energy of his brothers around him as they joked and wound each other up.
It’s nice to see.
—----
Much to Book’s dismay, the Wolfpack and two Jedi had eventually gravitated to the dance floor as the alcohol in their system began to do its work. The strategist had cut himself off a few drinks prior to that, not interested in losing control of himself that evening. Subtly, Book had managed to excuse himself from his dancing battalion, giving him the chance to escape to the sanctuary of the bar where he could take a moment to himself. He even managed to snag an empty stool, pulling himself up and trying to catch a glimpse of one of the bartenders so he could place his order. Unfortunately, it was still fairly busy, so he was left to his own devices for a moment. To keep himself occupied, he spent his time eyeing up the liquor on the back shelf of the bar and trying to guess if he could name each luminous bottle. He’d definitely read up on enough world exports by now to be able to identify most of them, so he began cataloguing each spirit quietly to himself as he waited.
For not the first time that day, the peace in his mind was once again shattered, but instead of the cause being his squad, it was the result of a loud crash of a server droid clattering into one of the beer taps. Every being in the vicinity scattered in fear of being drenched as the tap went up in a dramatic fountain display, leaving the now damp Mirialan bartender to deal with the situation.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” The bartender cursed as the battered ale tap continued to spew everywhere despite them attempting to use their hands to stop the spray. Unfortunately, the tactic only served to push the liquid to the floor as opposed to up in the air.
Looking around and noticing that no one was coming to help, Book pushed off of his stool and walked over to the scene.
“Excuse me, do you-”
“Look I’ll serve you in a sec, can’t you see i’m a bit busy?” the Mirialan snapped, huffing a breath to try and move their damp claret fringe from where it had fallen across their face. The sheer look of concentration as they attempted to fix their predicament caused the black geometric facial tattoos trailing down the centre of their forehead to crease between their brows. Book knew it wasn’t the time or place, but he dared to think that the bartender looked rather cute while flustered.
No, that is not helpful right now. Wise up, Trooper. Book cleared his throat, gearing himself up to try again. “Um, sorry, I was just going to offer some assistance. Your method of stopping the leak isn’t the most efficient. I’m happy to help.”
Those bright green eyes snapped up to his face, and he froze under the sharp gaze. Oh Maker I’ve stuck my foot in it haven’t I?
After a few dragging seconds, they finally relented, nodding behind them towards a cupboard. “Fine, there’s a wrench in there. Once you’re back we can get this sealed off and I’ll start cleaning up this mess.”
Book nodded and set about getting the tool as suggested. He ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with the bartender as he tried to get the pump to seal off while they protected his face from being sprayed with alcohol.
It seemed they made a rather good team as after a few seconds of fiddling, Book managed to stop the flow, making the Mirialan sag in relief as they were finally free to move once again. “Thank the Maker for that… and you, I guess. What’s your name, Trooper?”
“Oh, uh Book, and you are…”
“Jae, Jae Tevv.” They reached a soaked hand out towards him before realising what they’d done and retracting with a nervous chuckle. “So Book, huh? How’d you manage to end up with a name like that?”
“It’s unfortunately very simple. I always had my head in a book while growing up on Kamino.”
“I suppose I should’ve guessed. What kind of books? I’m always looking for some new things to add to my reading list.” Suddenly, Book found himself engaged in the most wonderful conversation about literature as the two of them fell into the flow of working as a team to fix the mess from the broken tap. Jae was incredibly well-read, enjoying a variety of genres that they spoke about with a deep passion. Book was pretty sure he had a dopey smile on his face, but Jae’s enthusiasm was infectious, so who could blame him? He could listen to them talk for hours, their hands gesturing wildly, eyes alight with excitement as they relieved one of their favourite romance novels, clearly excited to finally be able to discuss the story with another reader.
All too soon, the mess was cleaned and Book found himself running out of machinery behind the bar that he could tinker with to prolong their conversation. With a sigh, he slid the wrench back into the borrowed tool box and extended a hand to Jae to help them back to their feet from where they were scrubbing the floor.
“Thank you, Book. Both for the help and the conversation. I think I've finally met my reading match,” Jae said with a kind smile. “Now that the tap’s working again, can I buy you a drink as a thank you, something a bit more upmarket than that cheap beer the Republic is feeding you boys?”
“Ah there’s no need to thank me. Plus I best stop with the drinks now. Someone has to make sure my battalion gets home in one piece, and something tells me it won’t be my commanders.” Book spared a pointed look at his two superiors. Issa was on the dance floor with General Vos, Two-Pint, Sinker, Cloud and Boost, giggling and dancing without a care in the world, her drink sloshing dangerously close to the edges of her cup. Wolffe was seated a few tables away with one human and one Zabrak woman hanging off each arm as the three of them sank a shot each before he sat back and let the two shower him with attention. Jae followed his eyes and chuckled warmly.
“Well… If not a drink, how about dinner?” Their deep emerald eyes sparkled with the offer, making Book swallow nervously as his stomach fluttered. When did my collar get so tight?
“Uh, dinner?” he choked out.
“Yeah, dinner. Give you a chance to eat something that isn’t rations maybe. My treat, I can cook us up something.”
Book felt his face flush bright red as he averted his eyes. “Dinner. Right… yes. Dinner is good. Let’s… let’s do that.”
Jae beamed at him before grabbing his datapad out of his hands and tapping something into the notes. “Great, well, here’s my comm frequency. Drop me a message next time you’re planet-side, or if you have any more books you’d like to recommend in the meantime.”
“Yes… I'll definitely do that. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Book.” And just when Book thought he couldn’t get anymore flustered, Jae leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. That was the moment Book’s brain finally short-circuited. “Stay safe out there, I'm holding you to that dinner.”
Jae disappeared across the bar, set on a mission to serve the backed-up requests of orders, leaving Book standing there like a tooka in the headlights as his hand lifted up to ghost over his cheek where Jae had kissed him.
—
It was 0300 by the time Book decided to corral his brothers, Jedi, and apparently General Vos. The Wolfpack and friends collectively stumbled out of the front of 79’s, giggling amongst themselves as TP told another Maker-awful joke.
As the laughter died down, Issa strolled up next to Book and swung an arm over his shoulder. Her dark eyes were sparkling with mischief, and the strategist shook his head in anticipation. “Soooo Book, where did you run off too?”
To his right, Sinker crept up and also threw an arm around him, officially trapping him for their questioning. “Did my eyes decei-” Sinker’s question was abruptly interrupted by a chest-shattering hiccup, “...ow… anyway, did my eyes deceive me, or did I see you talking to that cute bartender?” The silver-haired clone waggled his eyebrows, making the Pantoran to Book’s left cackle loudly in his ear.
“Well actually, I was. And um, I think… I think I’m going on a date?”
At his admission, the whole group paused and spun around to face him. Book felt his face begin to heat under their teasing gaze, and just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, TP launched himself at him to crush the slighter clone in an almighty hug, knocking his previous two captors aside.
“Look at my little Bookworm, all grown up, going out on dates. It’s so karking cute it nearly brings a tear to my eye,” TP announced loudly while clutching Book to his side and wiping fake tears from his face, making the strategist flush with embarrassment as he shoved the heavy gunner off.
Everyone extended their congratulations to Book and finally continued on their way back to the barracks. As they walked the lower levels, Book chanced a look up to the sky above, littered with the shimmering lights of speeders flying in all directions, and he couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face until his cheeks hurt. Despite the cheeky comments, Book felt everyone’s genuine excitement and happiness for him which warmed his heart, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just a soldier bred to die on the battlefield. Because surely no cannon fodder could feel the sheer peace he felt in his chest at that moment.
—--------
Finally they reached the GAR HQ, and Quin cheerily went to bid them all a goodnight. But as he turned to Issa, his demeanour changed slightly. Issa had seen that look before during her years growing up at the temple. He was plotting something, and she had a bad feeling about just what was going on in his head.
“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
With an air of nonchalance, Quin shrugged and lifted his hand to examine his finger nails before answering. “Do you remember that time you broke Obi-Wan’s favourite tea pot?”
The question sent a wave of guilt coursing through Issa, bringing the memory alive in her mind as she tried with all her might to push it away. It was years ago. She’d been trying to do something nice for Plo as Master Fisto had let it slip that the Kel Dor’s birthday was coming up. So Issa had decided that she’d try and make her Master his favourite tea as a surprise. She knew Obi-Wan had a full set that he brought out when he had people over, and she would’ve asked his permission but of course the young council member was stuck in the same meetings for the day as Plo. So, she’d made the decision to borrow it and leave a note, thinking Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind. But as she went to leave his quarters, she tripped and couldn’t get her hands out from under the tray quick enough to use the force to catch the fragile items, leaving her to watch as they hit the ground and shattered into a hundred pieces. She’ll never forget the image of Obi-Wan’s sad blue eyes as he cleaned the broken porcelain from his floor later that day.
The Pantoran cringed. “You know I do.”
“Well, you know how I covered for you and got a twenty minute lecture on my lack of appreciation for other people’s property and you said, and I quote,” Quin paused to clear his throat before his voice changed to a higher pitch, attempting to mimic Issa. “Oh Quin, my hero. Thank you, I owe you big time.”
“That’s not verbatim and I do not sound like that,” Issa huffed.
“Well the gist is there. The point is, I’m looking to cash in that favour. I know I said my mission is over and the council is moving me on to another problem, which is great and all, but I don’t think my job on this one is done just yet.”
“Well, did you tell them that?”
“Yeah, but they weren’t exactly happy with me. Apparently because of the war we’re spread thin, and they need me to move on. I’ve gone against their word one too many times now, so they’re watching me like a Blood Eagle this time. Listen there’s a guy on the lower levels here, level 1313. He’s got connections to the Narkabb family and there’s been rumours that the crime lord’s cousin is looking to take over while there’s a power vacuum. I just need you to go down there and find out if that’s true so I can put it back on the council’s radar for someone else to pick up.”
“Maker Quin, that’s a big ask. Plus I don’t exactly want to go around pissing off the council. The same council where my Master, who is freakishly good at telling when I'm lying, is a member.”
“Yeah well, you do have the sabacc face of a Tooka in Plo’s defence,” Quin conceded with a chuckle, before shaking himself and guiding the conversation back on topic. “But seriously Issa, this information could help us save some lives later down the line. The Narkabb family is bad news, and if they’re coming back with a vengeance. People are going to pay and it won’t be me; it’ll be innocent people.”
His words were starting to affect her, wearing down her resolve. “Surely there’s someone better suited for this. Have you not heard back from Desh yet on when he’s coming home?”
Quin sobered for a moment at the mention of his closest friend. “I still can’t get hold of him,” he admitted with a frown that looked far too out of place for the usually easy-going Jedi. The admission that Desh was still out there alone, his status unknown, sat heavily on Issa’s chest.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t ask you for this if I thought I had any other option,” Vos insisted.
Issa gnawed at her bottom lip as she weighed her options. She’d never gone against the council’s wishes before. There’s rules and hierarchy in place for a reason. But the urgency in Vos’s dark eyes was tearing at her logic. This means a lot to him, to save the people this family has hurt.
I’m so going to regret this in the morning.
“Ugh, fine, I'll do it. But I swear if I go down in front of the council for this Quin-”
“Kid, you won’t, I promise. I’ve got you covered. You're a lifesaver. Thank you.”
Issa crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man before her. “Are you ever going to stop calling me ‘kid’?”
“When you stop being younger than me maybe.” Quin smirked at her before sweeping her up in a hug, mumbling his thanks again into her shoulder.
The pair bid each other goodbye and Issa jogged to catch up with her troops. The Pantoran just managed to join the clones in the lift before the doors sealed shut.
She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath as she tilted her head back against the durasteel of the lift and closed her eyes.
Maker’s sake, Quin. It’s been nearly ten years since the teapot incident, I can’t believe he’s been sitting on that for so long.
Next to her, Issa heard the small clang as one of the troopers copied her stance. Cloud quietly leaned a few centimetres closer before whispering. “Hey, everything okay? You seem tense.”
The quiet ones are always the most observant, Issa thought fondly.
“Yeah Cloud, I’m good. It’s just been a long day.” She didn’t expand further and he didn’t push, which Issa was beyond thankful for. The two of them stood in companionable silence as they observed the rest of the Wolfpack chatting amongst themselves while the lift continued to plummet down floor after floor to their accommodation.
The troopers had been kind enough to provide her one of their spare bunks for the night to save her having to sneak back through the temple in her inebriated state. Gracelessly, Issa nosed-dived into her bed for the evening, all background noise falling away as she settled into the hard mattress and flat pillow. As the dark bliss of sleep closed in around her, a final thought drifted through her mind, in particular an image of her Master’s amused, all-knowing look earlier that day when Sinker had first called. Issa smirked to herself at the reminder.
Summary: After James Potter is forced to retire early from professional quidditch he struggles to find direction. Perhaps helping a talented ice skater fulfill her dreams of winning a gold medal will get him back on track.
AO3
Chapter one: Rock bottom
James felt the surge of adrenaline as he heard the roar of the crowd intensify over the wind whistling past his ears. This was what he loved about the game. The crowds, the passion, the everything or nothing feeling. The way the noise of the crowd followed every swing of the game like waves surging and crashing. When the crowd roared his heart swelled, this was the only way to feel truly alive.
His team was at the top of the league table and were all feeling pretty unstoppable. They were the best, no other team was even coming close. It was almost getting too easy. The whole team was still riding high from their last victory, beating last year's champions. Perhaps the team were overconfident going into this match, perhaps they were not as prepared as they probably should have been. But this game was hard. They were still winning, but they were having to take greater risks against a much more physical team. A team that didn’t mind how hard they pushed.
It only took him a few more moments to realise it wasn’t the move he had just put past his opposition that had the crowd going wild, but his teammate making an impressive dive for the snitch. Knowing this catch would end the game and get them off the field, James turned his broomstick in a fast but fluid motion to support her if needed. She was an incredible seeker, the superstar of their team. So skilled she made the rest of them look average. He knew the only way she wasn’t ending this game in the next few moments was by the opposition trying something illegal.
They were known to not shy away from dirty tricks to take the seeker out of the game, and by the way they were amassing they were definitely up to something. They had already managed to stop her and make the snitch disappear an hour earlier. Not that it had helped their chances any, in fact it had given James the opportunity to increase his own personal record, and become his team's highest goal scorer this season. James tucked the quaffle more securely into the crook of his arm as he took a defensive position between the seeker and his counterpart chaser, who didn’t seem to be at all interested in trying to get the quaffle from him. Something was definitely up. Their team were not behaving like a team that was willing to accept the fact they were being resoundingly beaten.
There was a flicker of something unexpected, a glimpse. All his instincts told him there was no way the seeker would be able to avoid it.
James didn’t hesitate when he positioned his body to take the hit.
The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the announcer calling a good catch.
playing on the edge | squid game | salesman (gong yoo) x oc
word count: 2605
warnings: this is a s.mut fic, don’t interact if you’re under 18.
tw: age difference (not explicitly mentioned), praise k.ink, s.trip tease (vaguely), s.exual content.
note: this is a chapter snatched out of my squid game fic, posted for those who only wanted the salesman s.mut part.
ao3 link: playing on the edge.
When he first came around, it was a year after her game. She hadn’t expected to see him again. Albeit, she has sought him out a few days earlier, nearing the anniversary of when she had first been introduced to the game. If only to further remind herself it wasn’t a dream. A suit-wearing salesman-guy playing ddakji while waiting for the train, slapping his opponent. That wasn’t something even her mind could have come up with; nor was it necessarily hard to find. It drew a kind of crowd. That doesn’t mean she expects to open her door and find him standing there. Her brows crease, she leans against her doorway, arms crossing.
“Do you usually visit the winners?” she replies dully.
“Only the interesting ones,” he replies with a smile.
“Am I supposed to be flattered?”
He shrugs. He doesn’t make a move to leave though, so Na-Eun sighs and steps aside, opening her door wider to let him in. A smirk grows on his face. Na-Eun was beginning to grow familiar to that smirk and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. There’s a short huff of a laugh from him as he passes her, stepping further into her apartment.
“What?” Na-Eun asks, frown on her lips - though it appeared more like a pout, if you asked him.
“I forget how short you are. You wear heels all the time, but you really are just tiny, princess,” he teased. She didn’t know how to feel about that nickname either, but it had long since stuck, even if he knew her actual name. She didn’t know his though. She doubts he would give it to her if she asked.
Door closes behind them, and she passes by him to go sit back in her armchair and pour herself another drink.
“Quite the small place despite all your winnings,” he comments.
“I’m one person, I don’t need that much space.” She doesn’t offer him the information that much of her ‘winnings’ had gone - and was continuing to go - to her family. She had enough to keep herself afloat for a while, if she saved it right and didn’t spend it all willy-nilly on whatever she desired without thought. “Drink?” She offers instead.
He nods, sits on the couch across from her. She gets up to fetch a glass from the cupboard, sets it on the coffee table between them, and fills it with soju.
He’s got that case with him, like he usually did. She must have been staring at it, because he tilts his head into view. Smiles.
“Did you want to play?” He asked. She huffs a laugh, sips her drink.
“Don’t you get bored of it?” She replies, leaning forward to flip the case open. Inside is a familiar sight, albeit there is less money off to the side. The red and blue ddakji tiles are there though. She plucks one up and stands, “I’ll be blue.”
There’s enough space between her kitchen and living space for them to play comfortably. He follows her from the couch, picking up the remaining red tile from the slot in his case.
“You go first,” he offers, throwing his tile down laxly. Na-Eun snorts.
“How gentlemanly of you,” she teases. Focusing in on the red tile, she raised her arm and slammed her tile down. It uselessly bounces off his tile, not flipping it even slightly. Na-Eun frown. “I just remembered I hate this game.”
Sighing, she turns to him, pushing her hair back from her face. Her gaze locks on him, lips a flat line.
“Get on with it then,” she says. He stares at her, then laughs.
“I’m not going to hit you.”
Her brows crease: “I’m not paying you.”
“You can still pay with your body.”
Na-Eun laughs in disbelief, though her cheeks flush pink.
“I don’t know how you haven’t been beaten up for saying such things to people.”
Before she can say anything more, he steps closer to her, leans down to her level so they can see eye to-eye.
“How about a kiss?” He offers. She blinks in surprise. Before she can say anything, he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. Then he steps back, turns to pick up his tile. A glance at her, to gage her reaction. She looks slightly dazed for a moment, then just hums quietly, nods. On with the game then.
The game goes as expected. Na-Eun has little luck in flipping his tile, he flips her with ease and presses kisses against her skin; her cheeks or her nose, her forehead or temples, her knuckles once or twice.
He can tell she’s getting frustrated.
She’s scowling and cursing under her breath with every failed throw. Another loss and she throws her hands up, a swear escaping loudly passed her lips. He leans in close to her ear, whispers.
“I’m starting to think you’re losing on purpose,” he teases, then presses a kiss to her jawline.
He leaves her to her grumbling complaints, chuckling lightly. As he kneels down to pick up Na-Eun’s tile, he pauses glancing at the smattering of small pink scars on the side of her thigh. His brows furrow slightly. Confusion paints her features as she watches him, then she follows his gaze down. Her hand drops, fingertips touching the slightly-faded scars.
“You didn’t think I got out of the game unscathed, did you?” she muses, “Albeit, I did get these when I was dropped off in the city. There was some broken glass on the sidewalk, guess they didn’t notice it before they tossed me out.” Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I have worse ones from inside the game.”
A frown creases his features as he stands, holds the tile to her.
“Worse ones?” he asks, gaze flickering over her, trying to spot them. Na-Eun smirks.
“Bet you’d like to see them, they are much easier hidden,” she replies, swiping her tile from his hand. Twirling the tile, she stares down at his still on the ground, trying to figure out her plan of attack.
“What if we change up the winnings?” he offers. A glance towards him, curiosity drawing to Na-Eun’s gaze. “Whenever I win, you show me a scar.”
A short laugh.
“And what if I win?” she counters. He quirks a brow at her, waiting for her to name her choice. She hums, smile then growing to her lip. “If I win, you take off a piece of clothing. Like strip poker.”
Surprise flashes across his face and she just laughs in response. Tossing her tile in the air, she catches it again easily.
“If you are so confident in winning, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” he replies, then nods towards his tile. She angles her own tile, then throws it down. His tile flips. Na-Eun grins. It was pure luck, but he didn’t need to know that.
He glances at her, then just smiles lightly. His hand reaches up to undo his tie, laxly folding it and dropping it in his open suitcase, then undoing the top button of his shirt.
So the game begins anew. He picks up his tile, slams it down. Unsurprisingly, it flips. Na-Eun pulls her long sleeve up, just above her elbow. Arm raised, she shows the scar over her elbow.
“I tripped over the finish line in the first game. Luckily it wasn’t my dominant-hand side.”
Explanation over, she picks up her tile again. This time when she throws it, his tile doesn’t flip and she pouts. She really did hate this game. On his turn though, her’s flips. She sighs, shakes her head slightly. She tugs her sweater off, turns around to face away from him. She tugs the strap of her top aside, showing the scar on her shoulder blade.
“Another player attacked me one night. He didn’t last through the night.” It hadn’t been a fun time.
Another round. His tile flips; he takes his jacket off, folds it, hangs it over the arm of her couch. Her tile flips; she pulls up her shirt, revealing a scar on her ribcage, another injury from
that night of madness. He seems to be staring.
She’s taking aim when she notes movement out of the corner of her eye. He’s rolling up his sleeves to the elbow. She misses her throw entirely and curses under her breath. She’s only got one scar left to show. As expected, when he throws, her tile flips.
She pulls the hem of her shirt up, tucks her fingers under the hem of her bra to pull it slightly up. There’s a thin scar.
“I was stabbed during the squid game, but my foot was already in the circle. I had already won. My opponent was not happy. He was shot shortly afterward. I was lucky enough to get some medical care before they dropped me off,” she explains, pulling her clothing back into place. He seemed to be staring more at her exposed skin than the scar she was trying to show him. She plucks up her tile again. “That was the last one. I have one more shot, right?”
He nods: “Unless you want to go back to the old rules. I win, I get a kiss.”
She shrugs: “Fine.”
Anything was better than simple conversation. She had no interest in small talk tonight.
Na-Eun throws her tile, bated breath as she awaits the outcome. As his tile flips, she grins with a small cheer. Amusement painted on his face at her reaction. She’s too busy with her little celebration to notices he’s started to unbutton his shirt. When she has refocused, he’s already removed his shirt.
“You’ve got tattoos,” is what escapes her mouth. She had tattoos too, littered minimalistic across her body. His though, words of letters she couldn’t fully read. He just smiles at her, leans down to pick up his tile. She stares down the slope of his back. Right. The next throw. Focus, Na-Eun!
The tile is poised in his hand, thrown, her tile flips. She’s still looking at her tile when he takes two quick steps towards her. His hand slides to the side of her neck, fingertips tangling in the hair at her nape. His lips press against her’s. Her surprise gives him the chance to slip his tongue passed her lips, into the wet cavern of her mouth.
She finds herself taking steps backwards, lead by him, until her back touches the wall. He hasn’t stopped the attack on her mouth. His other hand slides over her side, starting at her hip, tracing up her ribs, then slipping down. Her hands, timidly, had lifted, found purchase on his shoulder and chest.
When he finally pulls back, her lips are bruised red and she’s breathing hard. There’s still amusement in his eyes, though they darken with … something. Lust?
His fingers find the bottom of her skirt, curling into the fabric. She says nothing, not even as he gives a pull on the fabric, displacing it off her hip. It drops the floor shortly after and Na-Eun draws in a shaky breath. His hand slides over the newly uncovered flesh of her thigh, massaging it. His other hand, still by her neck, shifts until he wraps his thumb over the front of her throat, steadying her against the wall.
His hand slips between her thighs, rubbing the sensitive inner sides until he reaches the cleft between. Na-Eun gasps quietly. His fingers slide against her through her panties, pressing against her wetness until the fabric is damp. Fingertips track up until they brush the bundle of nerves, making her jump slightly. His hand squeezes her neck slightly, holding her in places and rubbing his thumb against the side of her throat. His hand leaves her core so he can hook a finger into the side of her underpants, pulling them down her thighs until they drop to the floor with her skirt.
Now naked from the waist down, ‘exposed’ is only one way to describe herself. His fingers dip between her thighs again. A small moan escapes her. He grins, pleased. He slides two fingers into her to the hilt in a fluid motion. A small whimper. His fingers are long, moving easily in and out of her. He bumps his palm up into her clit. Her hips jerk in reply.
His fingers continue their movement. Her moans and whimpers only egg him on. He presses a kiss to her mouth as she grows close.
“Look at me,” he says. She forces her gaze to him. His fingers quicken, her fingers grip his shoulder tighter. Finally, she cums, moaning. He fingers her though her orgasm, not relenting. He doesn’t stop, even when she finishes, her thighs slick and wet, her cunt pulsing around his digits.
She whines when he doesn’t stop, but it does nothing to dissuade him. He slips another finger inside, stretching her. Leaning in, he nips at her plush bottom lip, licks into her mouth. It’s not long until she’s cumming again.
“No more,” she whines, pleading. He relents, pulling his fingers from her. When he lets go of her throat, she slumps to the floor, breathing hard. Her cunt was twitching. She glances up at him through her eyelashes, watches as he brings his hand to his mouth, sucks her wetness off his fingers.
He looks down to her, crooking a finger under her chin to lift her face higher. She’s panting, trying to drag air back into her lungs. He runs his thumb pad over her bottom lip, then slips his thumb into her mouth, pressing on her tongue. Gripping her jaw, thumb in her mouth and finger beneath her chin, he pushes her mouth open wider.
His other hand glides across his crotch for a moment before fumbling with his belt and zip. His hand slips inside the confine of his pants, pulling his cock out. His hand strokes his length, giving a small pull on her still-held jaw to urge her onto her knees. When he’s pleased with her position, he releases her mouth. She swallows thickly. He taps the tip of his head against her lips until she opens up again and he slides inside.
He’s moaning now. His hand settles on her head, brushing through her hair as he thrusts shallowly.
“Good girl,” he croons. His hand curls into her hair, holding her head steady and still so he could thrust deeper into her mouth. Her hands fumble upwards, find purchase on his thighs, fingers gripping the expensive fabric of his pants. She looks up at his through her lashes. Her tongue shifts against the bottom of his cock and he moans, thrusts so deep it makes her eyes water.
A few more thrusts and she feels something hit the back of her throat, then he pulls back slightly, the next few spurts hit her tongue. He pulls out of her mouth.
“Show me,” he says, voice thick. She opens her mouth, tongue curving out slightly so that nothing drips. Her mouth is filled, she’s practically choking on it. He groans. With him seemingly pleased, she closes her mouth, swallows. He pets her head again. “Such a good girl.”
He doesn’t say another word, not even a goodbye after he redressed and picked up his game. Na-Eun stays sitting on the ground, trying to fix her breathing, watching him. At the door, he turns back, meets her gaze. He smiles at her. Her tongue flicks over her red lips.
