I Am Unwell - Blog Posts

boys

something something despite the all horrors and tragedies of the world, love was there and that's all that matters

there’s a special place for him in my heart 💞

A quiet moment between the two partners in the Park of Innovation of Piltover~

Blew away my comfort zone with this one… Hope you'll enjoy this artwork as much as I enjoyed figuring out the palette, pose and atmosphere!

Close-ups below

I love getting into fandoms that I have a distinctive Favorite Guy vs Guy i am Obsessed with

"Ah I love this guy I'm gonna draw them and hold them and give them some self projection headcanons 🥰"

Vs

"Yes I understand that there's not that much in-canon Lore or any After Story for them but I'll make it. Ohhhh boy I'll make it. So much of it. Pages. I'll give them their ending. Happy? No. You've seen their source. I'm gonna put them through so much. Their character is mine now. This is My Fella. There is no going back. I'm making Playlist detailing all they have and will go through. I am instilling myself so hard into this guys perspective i might as well BE them. I am unwell."

It's just fun to me.

drunk walk home ; soukoku

synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.

author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3

In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.

Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.

That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.

All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.

“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”

“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”

Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”

“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.

“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”

“It was your idea to go drinking!!”

“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”

“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”

“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”

Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.

The fuck?

A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.

“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”

Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”

Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”

Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.

The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.

But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.

Tap.

The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.

“Think we can make it if we run?”

“Yeah, think you can keep up?”

“Any day, slug.”

Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.

Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.

Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.

I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!

I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!

And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.

By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.

It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.

So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.

Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.

“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”

type “i am” in the tags and whatever comes up first is your new mandatory kin

WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE WEREN'T DONE AT EPISODE 12??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE HAVE A THIRTEENTH EPISODE TO SEASON 4????? I AM SO FUCKING BEHIND NOW YOU CANONT DO THIS FSHJDFK TO ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i...Uhhhhhhh...ummm..i.i.

Dushan laugs, the sound roaming deep and warm in Solas' face. The man never keeps his distance. Always back to back, nose to nose, in the heat of battle or a drunken night. It makes his frame seem larger than life, brighter, so much more. "Felt the whole world change?"

"A figure of speech."

Dushan shakes his head. Laughs again, shorter, quieter, softer, smaller. Leans in even closer, squinting his eyes in a deeply amused manner.

Solas wants to flee. He doesn't admit to it again, holding his ground.

"A figure of speech," Dushan repeats after him, face open and mockingly curious.

So Solas tries again. "You changed everything."

There's something in his eyes, utterly tired and utterly angry, a wounded creature Solas can't quite make sense of. He walked his dreams a dozen times and yet, as the Inquisitor turns away and clicks his tongue, Solas finds himself wanting to see even more. A desperate thought.

"Sweet talker that you are."

A moment of quiet stillness and then a hand grips his hip, drawing him in swiftly. It's awkward, their teeth clacking together and Dushan's hair getting between them in a way that makes the kiss break apart in a second. There's guilt and a sudden flush of shame and Solas reaches out to palm away the wild strands from his face before they have time to think more. It's a lost fight, the way the hand moves up to his back and slides down, following the curve of his spine, anchor burning the touch like open fire and Solas gasps into strange lips. He traces the man's brow, his cheek, finds the heavy bone of his chin buried under coarse hair. Finds the ears, unfamiliar to the touch, smaller and tender and rounder, but Dushan pushes his elbow up until Solas' hand slips and grips the neck. Dushan pulls him in closer, Solas pulls on him too, lickings into his mouth with some quiet insanity.

I want to love you. Gods know I want to.

Solas pushes his way out with a barely audible "no, no" and Dushan blinks in a daze. Doesn't reach for it, a searching hand carefully frozen in the air.

"No?"

"We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here."

They flee apart without much to it. The Inquisitor clears his throat, lost fingers digging into his scalp for a second, gaze wandering somewhere above as Solas watches the snow set on his shoulders.

"Even here?"

"Where do you think we were?"

He takes his last liberty in the false safety of his room. The hair, as much of a mess, covers Dushan's face as he jolts his head uneasily on the couch. Solas hooks the strands behind his ears once again, kissing the broken line between his eyebrows with dry lips.

The fade makes him restless. The voices from the tower above grow louder. Solas cracks his knees, getting up, and grabs a mug from his table as Dushan almost tumbles down from the couch with a gasp.

Solas smiles.

"Sleep well?"

Ngl saw the F1 tag and thought it was some article written and Nico and Lewis

coming for blood fr...

sneak peek for lando imagine :3

femzai nation rise up 🩹

he's beauty he's grace he'll kick you right in the face

this last addition is SO SO BARS i’m in love. yes, exactly; gaon chooses and thrives with the kangs from the start because that’s a place where he can comfortably act on his own based on what he wants and what he envisions. he has so much free will that he makes use of in that house, he has the chance to take charge in a way that he’s very comfortable doing, and he has so much influence on those around him — in contrast to his other relationships, where it is largely just him being influenced and affected by the choices and desires of the other person (min jungho, soohyun).

it’s honestly hard to blame yohan for wanting that family gaon had built up with them to be gaon’s first priority, but by pushing with that ultimatum — instead of, say, just talking to gaon and letting him make that choice — he’s effectively shown to gaon that even here, he does not have the power or equal standing to simply choose whatever he wants and be respected for it, not in the way gaon respects the decisions of the others around him (with a little nagging towards yohan sometimes but ultimately comes back to acceptance, at least up until that scene). and in being triggered into this realization, he pushes back against yohan, lashes out, walks away.

soon afterwards, he chooses soohyun, who dies barely an episode later. his choice is wrested away from him again by something completely out of his control, and it’s no wonder that being manipulated into thinking that there is, indeed, someone to blame for it, and that that someone is yohan, prompts such fury in him that he does go and confront yohan — who, actually, seems to understand and empathize with that anger very well, based on how he initially reacts to gaon trying to stab him.

gaon needs to heal and grow from this place of disempowerment, where his choices are so guided by those around him. he’s frankly a pretty static character throughout the show, and i think it’s done deliberately — that the people around him and his circumstances don’t allow him to really change or grow in a way that’s meaningful to himself. it’s only set up in the very end that he is entering new circumstances which will allow him to explore and exercise his power and free will. (god. i want a season 2 so badly.)

simultaneously, though, yohan is the same in some sense. despite how unilaterally he works and how in control of everything and everyone he seems to be, yohan is a man that’s been driven by his desire for revenge for years — that’s the ultimate “making choices based around the influence of others.” he needs to learn, too, how to take on a life he genuinely wants for himself now. in the time gaon spent with the kangs, yohan clearly realized how much he valued that sort of peaceful, domestic life with his loved ones; but yohan can’t rely solely upon gaon to realize that dream for him. if he wants it, he needs to put in the work to heal and prioritize that, too.

it’s why their choice to walk away / stay away from each other in the last scene of ep 16 is so powerful, in my opinion. no matter how much they still have left unsaid between them, and how deeply they still clearly care for each other, they know that both of them need to grow and heal in their own ways, separately. they want the best for each other — if not yet themselves — and so they choose to leave each other to their personal growing. to them, just getting to see one another, and ascertain that they are safe and healthy, is enough for now.

Kim Gaon as a character is so important to me.

This poor boy, whose parents committed suicide when he was so young, ends up being manipulated by almost everyone in his life who think they know what's best for him.

His mentor, who he saw as a father ends up manipulating him to further his own agendas and goals all while giving him the illusion of choice. Ga On has never truly had a choice.

And Soohyun too. Yes, she only ever wanted to keep him safe, and that is a nice sentiment, but in acting the way she did towards him she caged him in.

Maybe it's the Gemini in me, but if someone tries to limit my freedom of choice or influence my judgement in any way, I start to get suffocated. No matter what the sentiment behind their actions are. She didn't deserve the end she got, and she genuinely cared about Gaon but at the same time she ended up trying to influence him because she thought she knew what was best for him.

And then comes Yohan. Yohan is complicated (as morally grey characters tend to be), because for a good while in the beginning, he too tries to use (or at least wants to use) Gaon for his own ends.

But also, after he sees who Gaon truly is: a kind and caring and a firecracker of a soul, he is the first in Gaon's life to offer him a choice. And not the Min Jungho type of choice where it's just an illusion; but an actual choice.

And Gaon. Gaon only ever tried to do what he thought was right even while being pulled in a thousand different directions by different people. He tried so hard to make the right choices. He finally found the family he lost when he was young in Yohan and Elijah and Ms Ji. Lord knows I wouldn't survive if I found out that the fucker who drove my parents to suicide was living alive and well somewhere else with nothing on his conscience, and that I had been lied to for so long. And then, Soohyun, the last person who he has left from his past tied to his parents, his best friend, dies.

And then he loses his found family as well.

Kim Gaon, at the end of the show has absolutely no one left from his past; the Kangs, Soohyun, his parents and Min Jung ho are all gone.

All he has left is himself and a herculean task of rebuilding the justice system.

And how miserable must that be?

Stimming isn’t enough I need to explode

fr, yall will never understand how disappointed i am of myself rn, bcz i was actually getting kinda better n now im thinking abt the fastest n easiest ways to commit again

The moment you actually start thinking about suicide again after being okay is so painful

BARKBARKBARK!

This much hand content? FOR FREE?!

i feel a hyperfixation coming on. don't know what it will be, but TRUST when yellowjackets season 3 stops having an iron grip on my heart, i WILL be injecting more things into my veins.

love you to the moon and to saturn

part one

part two: ten months older i won't give in

Notes/Warnings: Whump, torture (Torture droids), major character death.

For the umpteenth time that day, Omega told herself to just breathe. Hunter was captured too, he couldn’t worry about comforting her and getting them both out of here at the same time. Still, she felt his eyes on her as they were led through the halls of Mount Tantiss. Omega’s vision tunnelled, reacting purely on muscle memory as she was led along the route she knew so well.

They were brought to Hemlock’s lab, the first place she’d seen when she first arrived at Mount Tantiss. Some of the clones Omega had seen then were still alive, like Crosshair, but most had vanished.

“So you’re Sergeant Hunter,” A voice cut through the haze of cotton that blanketed Omega’s mind. Emerie left her position at one of the examination tables, and approached Hunter, hands folded behind her back as she studied his face.

“I was expecting someone of your prowess to be a bit…taller.”

Hunter chuckled, casually taking a step closer to Omega, “Well, you seem to know all about me, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about you.”

Emerie shrugged, “There’s not much to know. My name is Emerie Karr, I’m Doctor Hemlock’s assistant, much like Omega was for Nala Se. I’ve heard a lot about you from Omega.”

Hunter glanced down at Omega, who for reasons she didn’t understand, felt ashamed. Would he be mad that he had talked about the batch with an Imperial Scientist?

But when she looked up at him, he wasn’t glaring at her, he was glaring back at Emerie.

“You’re going to regret ever laying a finger on her,” He snarled.

Emerie didn’t look the least perturbed. “I’ve never touched her,” she told Hunter, what little assurance that gave.

She glanced down at her datapad, making her way back to the table, and one of the TK troopers placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed. A reminder.

Omega gulped nervously.

“Hunter?” She whispered, wondering if anyone would strike at her for speaking without having first been spoken to. “She says she’s our sister.”

Hunter was just as surprised as Omega had been when she was told. Omega didn’t even know if Emerie was telling the truth, she had no evidence to back it up. Omega thought that, having spent her whole life in Nala Se’s laboratory, she would know of any other female clone troopers. But even if Omega tried to bring it up to the Kaminoan, she would blatantly ignore any inquiries.

“I am a defective clone of Jango Fett, much like the two of you and the rest of Clone Force Ninety-Nine,” Emerie said. She pressed a few buttons on the screen connected to the examination table, talking as if Omega had simply remarked on the weather, and Hunter’s perception of himself and his brothers wasn’t completely shattering for the second time in his life.

“If you’re a clone, what are you doing with the Empire? They’re wiping out the rest of us.” Hunter still didn’t believe her, Omega could tell.

“Only the ones who pose a threat to the Empire. I’ve worked with Doctor Hemlock since my adolescence. I am loyal to him, and he is loyal to the Emperor.”

Hunter’s move to shield Omega from Emerie’s view was much more obvious this time, but it was futile.

A door across the room opened, and Omega found herself gripping Hunter’s pants leg as Hemlock entered.

“Ah, Sergeant Hunter. I thought we might meet again soon,” Hemlock greeted almost cheerily.

The TK Captain stepped forward. “His comm and weapons, sir,” He held them out.

Hemlock glanced at Hunter’s pitiful-looking arsenal and his mouth twitched like he was struggling not to laugh.

“You really thought you could take on an entire base with nothing but a blaster and a vibroblade? You could have found a lightsaber at least.”

Hunter shrugged, “Not quite my style.”

With his hand bound behind his back, he tried to brush Omega in a comforting way, but it just felt awkward. Omega was grateful that Hunter at least stood between her and Hemlock, that forced Hemlock to look at Hunter instead of her, and she knew she couldn’t withstand the scientist’s gaze at the moment.

“Are his friends anywhere nearby?” Hemlock asked his men, and Omega allowed hope to soar in her heart for one fragile moment.

“No sir. He snuck beneath our shields in a modified V-wing. Its serial number matches one that was swiped in a raid on the Coruscaunt shipyards two weeks ago. No transmissions have come in or out since then.”

Omega looked up at Hunter in shock. He was always livid with her whenever she pulled a risky move on her own, even if it was to help, and here he was trying to rescue her on his own! Where were Echo and Rex in all this?

Hemlock shook his head, “You’re more foolish than I thought.”

“Omega’s my kid,” Hunter snapped at the Doctor, “I wasn’t leaving her in your clutches if I could help it.”

“Indeed.”

Hemlock nodded to the TK troopers, and Omega felt herself being pulled away for the second time that day.

“No! No!” She screamed, reaching out for Hunter as two TK troopers pulled her across the room towards Hemlock.

“Omega!” Hunter tried to lunge after them, but several troopers held him down, dragging him towards Emerie’s examination table. For all the anger in his voice, Hunter was nowhere near as strong as Wrecker.

“No! Stop, no! Hunter, Help!” Omega screamed though she knew Hunter couldn’t do anything. He shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t have to always swoop in to rescue her, to clean up her mess. He shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes she had made.

Hemlock placed his cold, gloved hand on Omega’s shoulder, giving her a light squeeze to remind her of her injuries. Omega whimpered softly, but it was enough to make Hunter freeze in terror. As her brother tried to think of any possible way out of this force-forsaken room, he was yanked down onto the examination table, and strapped in with the rough woven bonds that Omega hated so much.

Hemlock sighed, “And why all this drama? We could have avoided all of this if you had just cooperated.”

Hunter mustered all his strength to hurl a glob of spit across the room at Hemlock. It hardly made it halfway there, and Omega could see some blood mixed with the spit.

“Cooperation was out of the question the moment you killed my brother.”

Hemlock raised one eyebrow at the audacity of the man in front of him.

“It wasn’t I who gave the order to shoot down your cable car on Eriadu. In fact, all of you are far more valuable than simply to be used as target practice, there’s so much we can learn from you.”

Hemlock left Omega standing on her own, but she was too enraptured by Hemlock’s calm, creeping voice to make any escape attempts. That, and the two guards at each doorway would make quick work of her. Or worse, Hunter.

“Do you know how long it took your brother to break?”

Hunter strained against the straps around his head, trying his best to glare up at Hemlock.

“I’m sure you know we’ve had Crosshair in here for a while. It’s quite remarkable how stubborn he is.”

Unyielding, Tech had called him. Omega’s heart ached at the thought of her lost brother.

“Even more remarkable is his lack of self-preservation. It’s a trend I’ve noticed in many clones, on or off the battlefield. You have a quality about you that makes you so determined to live, but not at the cost of another’s life.”

Hemlock chuckled darkly, and Omega shivered.

“He had the opportunity to escape, you know. Emerie tried to stop him, telling him he wouldn’t be able to make it, but he tried anyway. If anyone could break out of our facility here, it would be one of you from Experimental Clone Force 99. But instead of escaping, he did a peculiar thing.

“He warned you about me.”

A thick silence settled over the room, like the humidity on Kamino.

“He could have called for help, given you his location, but he chose to help you.”

Hemlock rubbed his thumb against the palm of his gloved hand.

“I wonder why he would waste such a valuable opportunity on you.”

Any defiance Omega had left seemed to melt from her shoulders. They’d already lost Tech, she couldn’t risk losing Hunter, or Crosshair.

“Not that I’m complaining, however, that message did pull you out of hiding— the opposite of its intended effect, of course—and allowed me to find Omega, who is now an essential part of our work here.” Hemlock tried to hide his laughter this time, “You should have seen the look on Crosshair’s face when he realized Omega was behind held in the cell next to him.”

The table Hunter was strapped to creaked loudly as Hunter exerted all the strength in his body to his attempt at escaping. His muscles strained against the bonds as he rocked the table.

Hemlock took one step back and smirked, pleased with having gotten a rise out of Hunter.

A haunting humm echoed through the room, and Omega saw Hunter’s eye twitch at the incessant sound as it grew louder, drawing closer. The IT-O torture droid floated ominously into Omega’s field of vision, slowly making its way to Hemlock’s side as he stood over Hunter. There was hardly ever an excuse for Hemlock to use the torture droids. He needed a steady baseline in order to collect data from his experiments on the many, many clones that had made their way through Mount Tantiss. But he didn’t need data from Hunter, Omega realized with terror. He needed answers.

“Unfortunately, I’m not as familiar with your unique capabilities as I am with the standard clone’s, but am I correct in hypothesizing that your enhanced senses include an enhanced sense of pain?”

Hunter was a highly trained operative of the Galactic Republic. He knew how to keep himself from revealing sensitive topics and he was willing to die before he gave away any of his secrets to Imperial scum.

But Omega had no such training, and her gasp could be heard echoing throughout the room.

Hemlock shook his head.

<em>”Pity.”</em>

The droid was at Hunter’s neck with a syringe of suspiciously clear, viscous liquid. Before Omega could warn him, the needle was in his neck.

“Where’s the Clone Resistance hiding?” Hemlock asked, his voice dangerously calm,

Hunter was breathing heavily as the IT-O droid slowly pushed more of the serum into his veins.

“Go…to…hell.” he grunted.

“Interesting reaction,” Hemlock nodded to Emerie, who made a note of it.

Tears welled up in Omega’s eyes. She was rooted to the spot despite the terror she was witnessing.

Hunter jerked his head away from the IT-O’s needle, bringing him eye-to-eye with Omega.

Omega didn’t know what it was that Hunter saw that made his eyes go wide with terror, but then the IT-O shocked him and he howled in pain.

“Excellent. Again.” Hemlock instructed.

Hunter grit his teeth, trying not to scream. His teeth ground together through another volt of electricity. Tech was always telling him to relax his jaw and not grind his teeth.

"Omega, come here," Hemlock beckoned her forward. Omega shuffled her feet, but the TK Trooper hit her in her shoulder again, and she stumbled towards Hemlock and Hunter.

Hunter trembled on the table, his eyes squeezed shut like he was having a nightmare. Omega bit her lip as Hemlock placed both his hands on her shoulders.

“Maybe you can help us, Omega.”

“What?” She whispered hoarsely, trembling with every breath she took.

“I wonder how long you could last watching your brother be tortured. How long would it take for you to break, to give me the information I want.”

Omega’s breath caught in her throat.

“Doctor,” Emerie hissed, “Omega’s mental state is rather delicate.”

Hemlock ignored her.

"You've been with Clone Force Ninety-nine on a good bit of their adventures. Surely you would know where Captain Rex and his fighters are hiding?"

Omega stared at Hunter for a while. How was she supposed to answer that?

"I… I don't know-"

The IT-O droid shocked Hunter again.

"Omega," Hunter took deep breaths, and she could hear the wheezing as his lungs strained, "Don't tell them…don't tell them anythi-"

Another shock. Omega jumped, even though the droid hadn't shocked her.

"Do you know what that serum did to him, Omega?" there was a playful tone in Hemlock's voice, like a teacher in creche, and he crouched at Omega's side, nudging her closer to the table. Her hand brushed against Hunter's, clenched tightly in a fist. When he felt her touch, he flinched away at first, but then he nudged his pinky in between her fingers, wrapping around her own.

"When you're a hardened soldier like Hunter is, your barriers for pain are heightened, trained, strengthened from years and years. But with the introduction of a single chemical," Hemlock snapped his fingers just in front of Omega's nose, and she jumped again.

"They can disappear just like that."

Omega tried to pull away, but Hunter kept his finger wrapped around hers.

"Omega, it's gonna be okay," Hunter insisted.

"And yet he still tries to comfort you. How touching. Hit him again."

Hunter tried to hold back his scream, but it ripped out of his chest all the same, drilling into Omega's skull.

"Are you certain you don't know where Captain Rex is, Omega?" Hemlock sang, "If there's anything you could tell us, you can stop this from happening to Hunter. We've got a bacta tank right here. All you have to do is answer the question."

"I-I don't!" Omega insisted, "It's been too long, they must have moved it since I got captured!"

"AUGH-!" Hunter choked on his spit as the IT-O upped the voltage.

"Doctor," Emerie said sharply. Omega knew that tone, and she knew the sound that was coming from her tablet. The monitor was detecting Hunter's heart beating faster and faster, far faster than it was supposed to.

"STOP IT, STOP, PLEASE, I DON'T KNOW!" Omega screamed. The IT-O ignored her please, shocking Hunter several times in rapid succession.

Hemlock scuffed her, his hand around the back of her throat as he pushed her close to Hunter's face.

"That's not good enough, Omega, and you know it. Tell me now, or your brother dies."

Omega's throat was dry. Hunter was dying, and it was all her fault. She could tell Hemlock where Echo and Rex were and spare him, but then they and all the clones they'd rescued would be in danger. She couldn't do that to them. How was she supposed to choose between her brothers?

"Where is Captain Rex hiding?" Hemlock asked her one more time. The IT-O shocked Hunter again.

Hunter heaved a sharp breath as his heartbeat stuttered, "I lo- I love-"

The rapid beeping turned into an eerie siren, and Hunter's last words were lost to the ringing in Omega's ears.

Taglist (comment/dm to be added): @chopper-base

My dad was downloading some pictures from my moms phone to his laptop, but upon seeing the downloaded pictures he gave her a weird look like “what is this??”

We were like “what”, and he responded with “there’s just.. Star Wars pictures.”

And my soul left my body because we realized it was downloading everything from the CLOUD

THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN MY GALLERY THAT ID RATHER THEY NOT SEE?? THEY ARENT READY FOR WEREWOLF HUNTER STOP ✋✋✋

HE EVEN CHUCKLED AND SHOWED ME THE SCREEN- IT WAS MY HUNTER STASH‼️‼️‼️

“It’s all just that Rambo guy Giganonyx likes a lot.”

STOPPPP THE HUMILATION ✋✋💀💀😭😭

Pray for me y’all my goofy cringe ass is NOT going to survive this