#but seriously it's genuinely sad that two men who were *severely* wronged by fate and gods ended up being each other's undoing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

exovapor · 3 years

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I'm OBSESSED with your writing. Can you try.. Maybe, Donnie being a filthy boy being an 'stalker-ish' of his long time crush? Be checks their FB for new posts, saves every picture of them he finds? He doesn't mean to be a creep, feels guilty, but just doesn't know how to ask for more than friendship?

Good afternoon Anon. Here is my short story in relation to your ask.

I wasn't sure where you wanted me to take this, so I had to do a bit of guessing on my part. I hope this something like you were wanting.

I will admit that this ask was a bit of a struggle for me, not knowing a clear direction to take it outcome made me a little unsure of my writing and guessing abilities LOL. However, I will admit to crying along with the characters in this story more than once.

Thanks again for the ask and the initial compliment. I hope to continue to earn your favor in future posts.

· Stalker [noun]: 1a person who harasses or persecutes someone with unwanted and obsessive attention. 2a person who hunts game stealthily.

· Donnie stared at the definition on his one of his monitor screens while his various other screens were busy flashing receipts of files downloaded, text trail streams from your phone, notices of any social media post/update/like/heart/emoji, a GPS line grid of your routes today (overlayed over the routes you’d taken previously), and data search hits of anything and everything that pertained to you.

· At this point, the boy had literally every picture you had ever posted, anywhere, of yourself. In fact, he had all the pictures that other people posted of you in them. He had even gone through the effort of designing a face recognition program that picks you out of the background of total strangers’ pictures and, yeah, he had those in a file too.

· He has special file folders that compile things that you like, things you don’t like, things that make you happy, things that make you sad. He is your own personal Pinterest and you didn’t even know it… and maybe that is the part that keeps bothering him so much.

· He sits staring at that word and definition and chewing his bottom lip. True, he knows the word and the meaning, but he needed to LOOK at it, analyze it, mull it over in his guilt ridden brain.

· He just KNEW the word Stalker couldn’t apply to him.

· After all, he isn’t harassing or persecuting you, you don’t know! So, it isn’t necessarily ‘unwanted attention’. It is just…unknown attention.

· Stealthily, hmmmm, did that part apply to him? Well, He isn’t EXACTLY being stealthy.

· If you knew about technology like him, then you would probably see his programs running on your devices and be alerted to his activities. AND, if you shared his love and view of technology, then you would probably be more understanding of his activities and not consider them stealthy…just data mining. In fact, you might applaud him.

· ‘Ok, that was taking it a bit too far’, Donnie thinks to himself and he feels a band tighten and squeeze around his infatuated heart.

· He is almost certain that you would be shocked to learn of his extra curricular activities and how they revolve around every aspect of you.

· Regardless of how he tried to spin the truth and wiggle out of the definition of stalker, Donnie still felt guilty for invading your privacy. However, he honestly couldn’t help himself…at least not anymore.

· He has fought the urge, the nagging thoughts and the burning need, to know more about you for what seemed like an eternity.

· Listen to him, he is starting to sound dramatic like Mikey! What is his turning into? He is losing his rational edge!

· To be accurate, it hasn’t been an eternity. In fact, he has known you 1 year, 36 days, 14 hours, 11 minutes, and 23 seconds to be exact. However, you started occupying space in his mind 2 minutes into meeting you and your claim over his mind has grown exponentially over time.

· You were quiet and reserved during that first meeting, so there wasn’t much to go on. It started as a simple visual interest with a thought of ‘Oh. She’s pretty’.

· However, then you started talking and that changed everything.

· You opened up more and more each time you hung out with their little group, revealing layers and layers of interests and personality. You were fascinating…and that’s when his thoughts about you really started to snowball and spiral out of control.

· You went from being a simple pretty face to being a walking embodiment of everything he seriously ever dreamed of having in a mate.

· Early on, there were three sticking points that really made Donnie’s feelings problematic. 1. He was a nearly seven foot tall walking talking turtle and you weren’t. 2. You had a boyfriend that you were deeply in love with and adored. 3. Donnie was too insecure about #1 and how you felt about inter-species dating to let you know that you had started to OWN his heart.

· Now, thanks to his surveillance, there were only two sticking points….#1 and #3.

· He still remembers the feelings of that day, 44 days ago, when the blip of information popped up on this screen alerting him to the fact that your boyfriend was starting to stray.

· Donnie had severely conflicting feelings bombard him at once and it was overwhelming.

· The initial knee jerk reaction was elation, one of the problems blocking him from you may soon be null.

· However, the feeling of elation only lasted for a second or two before the intense anger and sadness set in. Donnie was honestly shocked at the depth of his anger, he didn’t even know he had that level of malice in him. Had he been in physical proximity to your boyfriend at that moment in time, Donnie isn’t sure that he wouldn’t have hurt your guy…or worse.

· How COULD this guy do this? WHY would he? He HAD YOU! What the heck was this guy thinking? Not only did he have you, but you thought the world of him. When you spoke about him you would smile so genuinely, your eyes would shine and gaze off into a bright imagined future. Donnie was always so jealous to watch it happen, he wondered what it would be like to be THAT GUY. And here the idiot was throwing it all away and meeting up with another girl!

· WHAT THE…(yes, this called for a curse) HELL…IS WRONG WITH HUMAN MEN?

· As the anger set root in his heart, the sadness engulfed Donnie like an all-consuming wave. He realized he was going to have to share this information with you, somehow, and that he was going to have to watch as it destroyed you.

· At first, Donnie had a plan to try and save you both from that fate. True, it would hurt him more to save your relationship, but he would rather be the one facing the pain and not you.

· He TRIED to circumvent the situation. He sent anonymous messages to your boyfriend stating that he knew about the infidelity and that he would tell you if needed. However, it didn’t seem like your boyfriend cared because he sent messages back stating Donnie could, basically, go fuck himself.

· Life had cruel sense of irony, thought Donnie, that is exactly what I do since this moron has the woman that I love.

· So, after trying for nearly two weeks to stop what was happening behind your back, Donnie had no choice but to let you in on the secret.

· Donnie couldn’t come right out and tell you that he caught your boyfriend cheating by hijacking your data streams and the data streams of those around you. So, Donnie intercepted some texts between your boyfriend and his mistress and he then sent you a text, under the guise of your boyfriend, telling you to meet him at a specified restaurant for a date.

· It had been a gut wrenching night for Donnie. He remembered watching it all play out on camera feeds from around the restaurant and street outside. He watched you dressed up in your pretty dress get out of your cab in front of the restaurant. You had such a lovely smile on your face, you must have thought you were in for a romantic evening.

· He watched as you walked inside and how the hostess got flustered and confused by a 2nd girl showing up for your boyfriend’s seated-for-two table.

· Donnie stopped breathing as your eyes found the new couple holding hands and giving each other sweet kisses across the table. Hands and lips that were supposed to be yours were touching some stranger.

· Donnie watched your smile and eyes die…the light of your inner sun go out…

· …and it killed him.

· He’s not sure who was crying the hardest, you standing there in that restaurant witnessing the scene or him back at the lair watching your world crush around you on his monitor.

· It had taken a while for you both to recover from that night.

· His brothers noticed his melancholy mood for a couple of weeks but Donnie wouldn’t tell them what was bothering him. And you stayed in your bed, refusing to face the world, for nearly as long.

· Eventually, the group began to notice your silence and absence, so April stopped by your apartment to check on you. She was the one to pull you out of bed, get you to shower and eat. She visited everyday and made sure you had someone to vent to and a shoulder to cry on.

· Donnie was glad that April could be there for you when he couldn’t. He didn’t think it was appropriate for him, a male, to be your confidant at that time. Especially since he felt so much guilt over having to be the one to expose you to that pain.

· No, he didn’t CAUSE the pain, but he did have to make you face it and he didn’t like not being able to protect you from it. You were such a rare, precious creature and watching you in pain felt like he was suffocating slowly.

· There were some points during those first few weeks that he questioned if he did the right thing, but logic told him it would have eventually come to pass with or without his involvement. It was better to rip the bandage of quickly and let you start to heal than it was to let you linger and drag out the inevitable.

· Donnie did secretly check on you every single night during patrol. And, of course, his surveillance feeds were always running. He watched from a distance as his beautiful phoenix burn down to ashes and, eventually, started to rise again.

· Now, it’s been over 3 months and you’ve begun to be more like your old self. Donnie can tell there is a silent sadness there, but you are able to laugh and smile with the group during your get togethers. And each time you two are left alone, his mind nags at him about those last two sticking points.

· Would you be at all interested in him? And HOW does he go about telling you that you have become the center of his world?

· Still staring at the monitor and the Stalker definition, Donnie sighs and rubs the bridge of his snout to release of the pressure now pushing against the inside of his head. The memories of what has happened, the emotions of what was and what is, it was all starting to be too much.

· “Bro, what’s all this?”, Mikey says standing behind Donnie’s chair, talking around a mouth full of pizza.

· “NOTHING!”, says Donnie, voice breaking from the stress of being caught. A startled Donnie quickly taps some keys on his keyboard and the screens revert back to the standard lair camera feeds.

· Mikey may look or even come off as naïve at times, but he’s no fool, he can sense that his older brother is trying to hide something. “Dude, seriously, what was that? I’ve been standing back here reading the screens. I saw Y/N’s name and that looked like her phone number on that other file…, you know the file that looks like texts messages. And why is there a plotted map of the area around her apartment, her work, and to the lair? What’s up?”, Mikey said giving a disapproving look at being thought a pushover.

· “Just standard surveillance, Mikey, nothing to worry about.”, Donnie says trying to placate Mikey’s curiosity. Donnie hates lying, especially to Mikey, but he’s feeling so guilty about being such a…(inward sigh)…stalking creep that admitting the truth is hard to do.

· Mikey stands there staring at Donnie and, as he does, Donnie begins to fidget with his computer chair armrests.

· Mikey stuffs the remnants of the pizza slice into his mouth and does his best Leo impersonation by crosses his arms and staring down at Donnie as sternly as his jolly face can achieve, “Dude, I’m not going to ask you again. You’ve been weird for months. We’ve let it go for the most part but now you are hiding things from me…from ME, dude! You and I, we’re like peanut butter and jelly, we’re ice cream and chocolate fudge, we young dudes have got to stick together. Trust me, bro, I’ve got you!”.

· Donnie stared at the floor, too ashamed to meet Mikey’s eyes any longer. He gave a heavy sigh and reluctantly started to speak, “Sorry Mike, I…I honestly don’t know what’s come over me lately. I’m doing things I never thought I would do, I’m feeling so guilty about it, but I don’t know if I can stop doing it either. I feel…lost.”.

· Mike relaxed his leader stance and leaned against one of Donnie’s lab tables, “Bro, I can tell you’ve been carrying some heavy stuff lately. You need to let it out.”

· Donnie felt the heat rise up through his body like he was suddenly being consumed by a fire and he ripped his glasses off his face and drew them down on the desk in frustration, “Mikey, I’m in love with Y/N. I have been for a while. I have been…”, Donnie hangs his head in shame, “…tracking all her digital foot prints and watching her. In fact, I’m the reason she found out that asshole boyfriend of her's cheated.”

· Mikey’s mouth drops open at Donnie’s demeanor and use of the word ‘asshole’, “Whoa, dude, why didn’t you say something earlier?”.

· Donnie can feel a stinging at the corners of his eyes, this was so embarrassing, so frustrating, so…..so many things at a once. He didn’t have a response for Mikey, all he could do was shake his head.

· Still with his head hung down and staring at the floor, Donnie starts to hear Mikey chuckle. Donnie looks up to see Mikey’s eyes on him and for some reason they are full of merriment at his painful dilemma. Donnie stares at his, normally, very considerate brother in astonishment, this isn’t like Mikey at all!

· “Mikey, I’m more than serious here, now is not the time to make fun of me. What is so funny?”, Donnie asks exasperatedly.

· Mikey shakes his bald head and claps his brother on the shoulder with his green hand, “Bro, she thinks you’re cute.”.

· “W-What?!”, Donnie stammers out.

· Mikey, still chuckling, says, “Yeah, dude, that’s why I asked WHY you didn’t say something about liking her sooner, she’s always thought you were cute. She and I talk about it all the time.”.

· Donnie just stares at his jolly brother in silence. His mind is too blown to form a sentence.

· Mikey turns to leave stating, “And by the way, dude, stop watching her like that…that’s just creepy.”.

@turtle-babe83 @tmntspidergirl @kokokatsworld @nittleboo @the-second-circle-of-shell

#tmnt donatello #tmnt #tmnt donnie #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2016 #tmnt fandom

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calcinators-blog · 7 years

Text

Two Irons (Part 11.)

I should have known better.

Before where you stood, the unresponsive body of Nines had all but confirmed that you had succeeded. Your inner voice threw itself against the trap of your skull as it tried to free itself from confinement. I should have known better– scraped away with each echo.

One hand latched over your mouth to unsuccessfully muffle your sudden sobbing. The other wound itself around your body to both keep yourself whole. It did nothing to deaden the separation you were stunned into

Though your imagination been running farther and farther away from you, seemingly helping you retreat from a difficult reality, you could not have prepared yourself for the louring scene of Nines draped over a chair you frequently sat in while tethered to your second desk. Limp appendages drooping like the poppies you imagined under the General’s feet.

Just when I thought I could feel no more pain, a new kind takes its place.

You were not shorn of the intent of a stormtrooper. You understood that going planetside while adorned with their body armor was no different from bargaining with fate, whose gluttony had claimed a seemingly immeasurable total of lives. It only added insult to heinous injury knowing that Nines had been blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking within the base, what you had both considered your surrogate home. Unlike battles he had seen, he was unaware of what had been brewing around you as the General and Commander readied themselves.

He was, without a doubt, blind-sighted. A casualty of your own personal war. The body-count swelled and you had thrown yourself to the wolves in exchange for nothing.

This was the very thing you had set out to obviate; you had been tricked into placing your head in the guillotine. Yes it’s safe, no it won’t hurt you while all while the weighted blade traveled ever closer down the stock to acquaint itself with your neck.

There was no protection from the apparatus, there was no protection from the First Order.

Finding a great pain in your lungs at the movement of your lips, you falsified sound, “How dare you die on me.” Dare. The word itself dug a trench to be buried by the lullaby of silence. Death hid in the quiet of the room, swirling around you. Laughing.

Gods, Nines... You were supposed to be safe.

Your recent negotiation with the General had not withheld the mistral. All that was left was a final gnashing of metallic teeth, wilted red petals, and an entire universe that derived pleasure from working against you.

But sound, of an origin unknown, wedged itself into the lethal motionlessness of the world existing outside you. It hadn’t been a page over the comm systems, lacking static or patois. It hadn’t been a knock on the door either, you being a little too distressingly familiar with the sound of knuckles, fists, and boots, against the impenetrable barriers. And even as you ruled out the most obvious of sources, you waited to hear it again to confirm that it had possibly been that of a deep inhalation, which one often makes, while deeply asleep.

Another stifled sob, both of your hands returning to your sides.

“Nines?”

Craning your neck, to observe some indication of change on FN-2199’s still body, you prayed that the sound would make itself known once more. Straining your ears, you watched the pot boil, condemning all idioms that advised you nothing would happen. You felt as if, if you were to wait patiently, he would wake up– you would wake up. Turning your gaze over his face with impossible submission, hardly straying at all, his lips parted to snore. Again.

And it goes without mentioning: dead men don’t snore.

FN-2199’s head rolled on his neck, lazily, obliging you with a hearty snore for the third time. Setting all previous thoughts aside, you could now recognize the likelihood that he had been severely overrun by fatigue, worn away from a day full of simulations, trying to achieve perfection in combat. He was directly under Captain Phasma, after all. The only dead he had been, was dead asleep.

Holy Mother of Meteors. I’ll kill you for scaring me like this.

Though his breathing had mended you, with your head restored to its proper place on your neck, you were still chalk-full of adrenaline. Channeling what you could, attempting to discard the superimposed dread, you picked up his discarded helmet from off the table and tossed it in his direction.

The thing, colliding at his chest with a dull thwack, rolled apologetically into his lap and then further to the floor as he jolted back into his body, all limbs moving in different directions, becoming animate and flushed with life. Red lashes lifted like blinds allowing light to filter in. Flecks of amber, which muddied and cluttered up the blue, were caught somewhere between the space of surprise and sleep.

With his voice crackling, proving that he had likely been waiting for you for some time, he asked, “Hey... A credit for your thoughts?”

“Shoot,” your words were strangled by a tug-of-war between anger and sadness.

“What the crink was that for?” His tone was unmatched by sheepishness about his face. He had expected to find you, only not drenched in tears and cut down by shock. His voice changed drastically to fit your expression the next time he spoke, practically tripping over himself to respond, “You didn't come back to the table so I had to make sure you were okay!”

Between following the breadcrumb trail, finding a dead body, passing out, nearly breaking both hands, negotiating with the General and betraying the Commander, there was no opportunity. Your voice flattened as you explained, saving the story, “I couldn’t make it back.”

To put it lightly. Nines, if you only knew. What’s it like to be “okay” again anyways?

“I understand. You probably already know that... er, somone was uh, well... something happened to someone earlier here and I was running around like a dweezer thinking it might have been you.” He assured you with both hands up to gesture as he spoke, finding the words awkward and unnatural.

Matt had a funny way of changing you. As you looked at your friend, who in turn looked at you with genuine concern, you felt undeserving of his kindness, especially considering that you were keeping all the terrible details to yourself. You swallowed down descriptions of how you had seen it all– the hallway, the trooper, the Commander’s bed, the General swelling with impatience– everything.

Nines kneaded his shoulders, explaining as he massaged, his torso locked by sleep and intensified by maintaining the uncomfortable position, “Matt left as soon as you did. I was almost worried he followed you.”

As badly as you wanted to tell him that he wasn’t wrong to hold onto his claim, you understood that it would serve to stir him, to force him to react or rebel. You couldn't jeopardize his safety.

“I, um...” Nines cut into your thoughts. Pushing himself out of the chair then nervously setting it back under your desk, he spoke to you all the while, “... I need to tell you about something.”

You had a very clear idea what it could be about, yet acted otherwise. The General, besides being capable and dangerously intelligent, was also annoyingly efficient. If he had figured out how to hold up his end of the deal, it would not be unheard of that Nines would have already been informed.

“You need to tell me what, exactly?” You hardly felt the need to prepare yourself for what he would say to you. Your best guess involved him telling you he would be stationed for patrol on harmless planets; something ordinary or routine. Ultimately, something safe.

Nines heaved a great sigh, leaving you to silently marvel at your friend’s remarkable seriousness. It only occurred to you to pay attention to how he picked at words, struggling to take the helm in conversation, that something could have been wrong. There was something in the way that his eyes tried to signal to you without him actually speaking that filled you with unease. Opaque, filled with surreptitious ideas and plots, the likes of which would cause storms.

“Captain Phasma pulled me aside after training...”

Snared with birdlime, there were no wings to lift you from the moment. You stood solidly in place, waiting. His voice, the way he paused to search for the right words worried you. He wasn’t ever this careful in speech.

“She told me that... Well, she didn’t tell me much actually but she did mention something about me getting reset.”

Reset.

The terrible echo.

A reset was the most extreme form of reconditioning. All of what made him more of an individual and less of a serial number would be stripped from him, washed away with sophisticated apparatuses. Living was cruller. Loosing memories of the people he had grown to care for, of his accomplishments in training, of unpolluted air passing through his helmet; he would loose it all.

The immense burden, the levy of responsibility attached to that word– reset. The echo again. The General had found something worse than death. He prescribed death without dying. Nines would forget you.

You had caused this, the cascade from bad to worse. You whispered, “Not you.”

Solemn in how he stood before you, his face on the very border of shame as if it was something he had done to himself, he was entirely speechless for once. His fate was final. Irreversible. Worst of all, from your lapse in judgment.

There was no telling if you had made the less critical of errors. Time would tell, time you couldn’t afford to waste but allowed it to tick away between you and him.

“I guess I pissed off the wrong people, huh?” All at once, he looked like himself all over as one corner of his lips tugged up into an endearing lop-sided grin. That’s all it took for him to be restored, as if he hadn’t just fractured the planet with the news. It was just so like him to bypass grief. Nothing stuck to him.

“They can’t do that to you!“

There was no way that Nines could have accepted the providence of a turncoat. Grinning again in the face of the accusations, he was not visibly afraid. And maybe he had already accepted it, but you hadn’t.

“They can. So, they will. But it’ll be okay.”

What would be okay? Loosing you?

He could gauge that you were struggling, that you were conflicted. He could taste the coppery bad blood, the bruises around your heart. He knew you had things you couldn’t say so he continued to beam without prying.

“Got anything to drink around here?”

Shesharillian vodka, in a chest by the window.

You could stand and splutter, avoiding looking at him too closely, or you could do as he would and oblige the request. The latter was necessary, a strong drink to keep your conscience at bay.

You had obtained the substance while offshore, in celebration of earning a modest sum of credits after you completed basic training. While visiting a lofty, aristocratic community on a small remote moon, with a name in a language you couldn't speak without butchering, you had been perusing for some extravagant purchase to make just because you felt you had deserved it. While a great number of beautiful trinkets had caught your eye, none had spoken to you like the bottle had, with its pearlescent details and clear crystal decanter.

As you bust the fastener, unscrewing the margaritaceous cap, you were thankful for a honeyed fragrance but would have drank the cheapest, most vile liquid regardless. Its luster meant nothing to you, just as the gleaming stygian floors did. What good was aesthetic appeal now that everything was falling apart?

Having none on hand, you skipped out on glasses, just as intent to pass the bottle between each other. The first swig was his, which he accomplished without his face twisting. As he passed it to you, you experienced astringency and blaze of the distilled liquid as it first met your palate. Just as soon, sweetness chased away the initial unpleasantness.

Refraining from commenting before you had a taste, with a gentle shrug he laughed, “I’ll be kessled. That’s potent. You don’t realize what it’s doing to you until you’re on the floor.”

Funny, that’s the same as the General. I didn’t find him a threat until he perverted the deal. Now look at us, it’s the last supper and I don’t even have glassware for the occasion.

You avoided talking about anything too serious and he knew you well enough to understand when it was time to change topics. As the bottle got lighter, so the narratives increased in extravagance. Expertly, he steered into and out of stories– some you’d heard hundreds of times, some you'd never heard at all. The fables would dissolve into bouts of laughter, a sound you had almost forgotten you could make.

You drank both the vodka and each word that poured out of him with the warmth in your throat spreading. You had to remember it all, each characteristic gesture and the tempo of his voice in beat of his narratives. You had to keep it with you.

The vodka was strong and it allowed you to tolerate the dread of the evening as it slipped from you. In the process, the drink allowed you to forget about what happened before and what would happen after. You were orientated in present moment, without fear, fortified by each time Nines grinned. He was brave. His end was just on the horizon but he looked to the dawn without concern.

After much back and fourth, the conversation turned a new corner; he held a different tone in his voice, of amazement. With his words reduced, a level just above a whisper, he mentioned that he’s had dreams of a planet full of green. The words were just for you, private and secret, and you inched in closer. He explained the planet is nothing like backdrop outside you’ve been waking up to for the past few weeks, it’s like how you had described your home: overgrown and lush. He says you might have inspired his head to piece it together. There are trees taller than trees can grow, the ground is twisted with roots and leaves. There’s a giant body of crystalline water next to a fantastic looking castle, dressed in flags and banners.

“That sounds incredible.”

“I’m finally free there, you know.”

I remember free.

It didn’t strike you then, to question his use of the word.

His voice crumbled as he asked you to come with him to find the planet. The air between your bodies, fully electric, swirled and crackled. Your eyes only had to slightly narrow with skepticism before his shoulders shudder with contained amusement. He straightened up and assured you it had been the vodka talking– not him.

“But would you go?” Nines held the bottle up to the light, swirling the remaining liquid, watching it chase and splash up the sides.

Even if he were testing you, even if he had been kidding, you assured him, “Absolutely.”

His eyelids dropped over his eyes, the last genuine smile growing then reducing, having obtained exact response he was searching for from you, “I know you would.”

The hour of veto hung heavy on your limbs and weighted you where you sat. You both lied to each other, that you felt fine and that you had not at all felt even remotely as inebriated as you had become, drinking so much with nothing but a suggestion of stimcaf from earlier.

You told him that you’ve always enjoyed having him around. “You’re like my brother.”

Touching. His mouth twisted in response, becoming suddenly soft-spoken again, “Before you get me crying over here...”

He got up to go. Not out of stories, just out of time.

With your heart heavy, you pulled him in for an affectionate hug. Contact was welcomed but at the cost of it also being remarkably difficult. He squeezed you back, staving off tears and any signs of his sadness with a nervous chortle.

This is really it. Really.

Speaking low, words slipped over your shoulder in your embrace, “Whatever happens, don’t forget who you are. Before all this. Remember you’re better than this. Then them.”

What are you talking about?

You knew Nines had a marginally better tolerance for alcohol than you, from indulging more frequently, but you couldn’t fixate on the phrase for long. After he released you from his grip, it took a few blinks to fully process, but he moved into the open doorway, helmet in tow. “I’ll see you around.”

Out of habit. You both saw each other daily, for longer than you could recall especially in the murky, swirling miasma the alcohol produced around you.

“See you.”

And as all things had been lately, the separation created by the durasteel door felt exactly like a guillotine.

Your small refresher unit was within a few paces of where you were left standing. Stumbling over, holding the walls as you did to guide you along, you awkwardly managed to reach the sink. Uncapping the bottle, you watched the transparent fluid spatter down the drain while coating the room in its strong perfume. Setting the empty container to the side, you caught a good look at yourself in the reflective surface facing you. As suspected, your cheeks were rosy and there was a glazed expression about you, all accompanied by a dull burning in your throat.

A slow blink, you found you were the same. Another blink, you were nothing but tears, collecting and brimming in your eyes. Dragging your forearm over your face, more tears replaced the ones you wiped away.

You knew you were alone. You knew that neither the General nor the Commander could derive any personal satisfaction from the devastation, as it was your own gaze before you and not theirs. The feeling had never been more intense, you promised yourself to find a way to leave.

Eventually falling into bed, eyes puffy from the sudden surge, you dreamed about FN-2199, FN- 2187, and the green planet.

To your frustration, the employee common area was the same as it had always been.

You kept searching for signs of mourning but there was nothing save for pristine tabletops and the rich, bitter smell of caf brewing. You cautiously eyed the propaganda slapped up on the wall, teamwork posters and reminders. Today felt like the first day you looked at them with complete objectivity.

FN-2199 was missing. You expected it, braced for it, and were still taken off guard. Even still, you could hear his howling laughter, desperately trying to place him there. You saw him in every trooper that walked in and allowed yourself to feel crushed as each helmet was removed.

“I heard about FN-2199... Nines.” The sympathetic voice of Lieutenant Colonel Zack came from over your shoulder. Glancing over, he held onto a tray of food with two cups of steaming stimcaf, presumably for the two of you.

You had nothing to offer but a sad nod as he acknowledged; at least you would be saved from an explanation. He offered a sympathetic shrug in return, biting the inside of his cheek before offering, “It’s just their way.”

I know. That’s why I can’t stand it.

Motioning with another head nod, he singled out a place for the two of you in a quiet corner, removed from the chatter of the long tables. He handed you a mug that you wrapped your hands around with the hope that it would tame the pounding in your temples that you had woke up to. The vodka crudely reminded you of how you had gone overboard. The last few sips would have entirely done you in; you would regard dumping the remainder as the only informed decisions you had made recently.

“I want you to know, I never thought Nines was a bad guy.”

“I know."

The Lieutenant Colonel didn’t believe anyone was truly bad. Maybe not even Kylo Ren, which almost stuck you with annoyance. He cared so much for other people. He should have been cold.

He took another sip, gave another sigh, then glanced around the room in a calculated manner, as if to survey certain points. Surveillance? In a suddenly low voice, he leaned in, mumbling, “How much do they know?”

Wait.

“They?”

He pulled back, sipping the coffee inconspicuously, “That’s the only way to explain it. I think they know.”

Lost still, as if stuck in a script that you had forgotten the lines to. “Know what?” Your voice became a harsh whisper.

Zack looked at you grimly, eyes surveying you over the cup. He cleared his throat, holding a hand over his mouth, “Know about it. All of it. I’m not sure but I have a feeling they found out we’ve duped them.”

You did your best to not leave your jaw unhinged. “Duped? How?“

“The psytech says they barged into his office, demanding to see his files. That’s the first time that’s happened.”

“Dr. Thos?” The one shred of information the General had given you had proven to be useful yet. You counted the happy accident as another smart decision.

Zack was stunned at the drop of the name but he pressed on, still trying to cover his mouth as he shushed you, “Don’t say his name so loudly!”

You set your cup down quickly, caf nearly splashing over your hand in momentum. “Can you just tell me what exactly is going on?”

After a few false starts, he attempted to explain, “FN-2187 was the first but he’s not the only one.”

Has Zack gone over the falls or did he just insinuate he has the information that Matt had me chasing? I must be dreaming or still massively intoxicated.

A page over the comms for the Lieutenant Colonel stole him away before he could elaborate. He assured you, standing and smoothing the front of his uniform, that he would give you more information once he came back. “They have the worst timing, don’t they?”

Leaving promptly to not inspire suspicion, he left his tray sitting forgotten with you, appearing outwardly collected as he weaved through the tables and bodies.

Tired, volatile, and too many things at once, Matt entered to take in his place as if on cue. Your lip curled, territorial; he wasn’t supposed to be here, the General was supposed to have sorted this out. Argus-eyed, you followed each of his movements as your heartbeat gradually became audible. You could feel the need to run before he could find you. But he found you first.

Pinning you where you sat in seclusion, his shuddering eyes grew behind the lenses of his glasses. No burning, no hate. You still weren’t fond of the feeling of his presence and how it obscured all space he occupied.

Suddenly afraid of what he might have picked up on– “I’m always listening”– you imagined shutting the impenetrable doors around your brain, as if that could keep your thoughts away from him. Preparing to resist, to be frozen or to be thrown around, you readied yourself as best as you could

But that was it. You blinked and he became lost, swallowed by a wave of ivory-plated bodies. Had you imagined it?

Menial work was impossible with it still hard to focus, if not more so, from the accumulation of everything. You had waited for the Lieutenant Colonel to return but understood whoever had paged him had kept him still. Not to mention after seeing a certain person, as brief as it were, you had no interest in staying put.

Tapping away and plugging in figures at your console, working at less than half of your usual pace but just enough to say that you had, your office remained the same but you felt different about it. The walls were weakened, the chair fought to hold you, and your thoughts were a cycle.

Don’t think about Matt... Don’t think about Kylo Ren... Don’t think about Hux... Don’t think about Nines... Don’t think about Matt... Don’t think about—

A sharp, sudden knock echoed throughout the space. Lieutenant Colonel Zack was right about the timing of the officers. Of course, the sound was not without you thinking of how you had acquainted your hands upon the door to the Commander’s private quarters.

The mortar and pestle of your knuckles to the hatch was not a feeling that you would soon let go of.

You pushed yourself away from the desk, willing yourself to the control panel to unseal the door you had diligently locked. Not for a moment had you been expecting any visitors, work-related or otherwise though you decided if it happened to be Kylo Ren, you would contemplate confession. All in the same thought, you knew if it were him, he would not have the restrain to knock and let his arm drop to his side. No. You would hear the scouring of plasma and unchaste, unholy howls.

As the durasteel peeled away, you were met with a sneer and red hair neatly pulled back. Accompanied by two achromic bodies, the General had come exclusively to wallow. Navigating the environment of your deal with meticulousness, he found a way to come first and set you into your place. Restoring his crown, with you at his feet.

You resisted the urge to punch him, square in the face. You began to visualize red spilling down over his philtrum, over his lips and chin. Red on his gloves, from cradling his likely broken nose. The red dwarf poppies again, flourished by violence, red as blood.

Lovely.

Your hands burned. Itched. You looked down to see more of the same red, blooming without pause. Hate set deep within your shuttering veins, blue turning black just beneath your heated skin. Hate that stole you from yourself, that transformed you into this. Hate that had began to trigger your imagination, as you prepared for idle words, to be snookered and reduced by whatever he had the audacity to say.

Uncharacteristically dilatory with his proceedings, unaware of how you trembled, he finally spoke. “See,” giving you an arrogant laugh, the words were sweet, “I’ve kept my word. Everyone is safe from Kylo Ren.”

Presenting himself in an uncharacteristic manner, his forehead appeared slick with perspiration, though unevenly, as if it were dabbed with a cloth or the sleeve of his uniform. Pallor slipping into or out of flush glowed quietly while his ghostly nephrite eyes smoldered; you knew all too well he was hiding a fire in his belly by his unfastened appearance alone.

He clicked his tongue, using a voice that attempted to scold you, “I’ll advise you to refine your demands next time. Anything less than airtight and you’ve already lost critical pressure, whether you notice it or not.”

It was true. You had been so focused on surviving that the rules of the hostile game had slipped your mind. Instead of exoneration, relieved of Matt’s presence, you had become the focus of both men. The General had not been perceived as a risk and you had understood his potential too late.

Ambient pressure was lost; the vacuum of space was no longer a gentle beauty but stuck in peril– as were you.

Ruefully, your inner voice unfolded and spoke to you once more.

I should have known better.

#general hux #matt the radar technician #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic

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