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Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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Hello there! May I ask for a big favor? Could you write about Tech, after THE FALL, you know? About how he survived, maybe badly hurt, and how Hemlock wants to experiment on him. But female reader is an assistant scientist or nurse working there, and they fall in love, and she frees him?

Aloha!

Sorry for the late (and very long) response! Okay, this is something I can get behind. Hold on, I got you.

Tech x Fem!Reader One-shot - AFTER THE FALL

Warnings: ANGST/Hurt/Injured Tech/Tension/Fluff/Comfort

______________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

______________________

First, euphoria floods him as he is slowed down more or less gently by the branches of one of the huge trees. But then he hits a thicker branch that breaks several of his ribs. Tech can't breathe for a moment, falling further, he slows down as he continues to fall through a tangle of branches. He loses his helmet, the branches whip him in the face, leaving bloody bruises. Then he loses his goggles. His hands automatically shielding his face as best he can. He can barely see, but he knows the ground is getting closer. The impact is hard, not fatal thanks to the tree, but extremely painful nonetheless. His right shin breaks, the sound unnaturally loud, and the pain travels through his body like a lightning strike, sharp and violent. The impact on the broken ribs does the rest. At first, his breath catches and his voice gets stuck in his throat. But finally a scream comes across his lips, shortly followed by a groan, his breath heavy with pain. But not only pain, also panic is spreading. He is badly injured, defenseless, in the middle of a forest full of alien flora and fauna and the Imperials who will surely search for his corpse soon and if he was unlucky, they would find one too. Tech lost his weapons in the fall, his visual aid, helmet and probably a few other things. For a moment, he wishes he had just died quickly, cursing the tree that gave him false hope only to take it away.

His fingers feel for the com on his wrist, unsuccessfully. He pulls off his glove with his teeth to feel for it more effectively. His fingers slide to the com again. Broken. "Kriffin hells," Tech groans in pain. It doesn't matter that he's still alive, without a com, with his injuries, without his goggles, in the middle of nowhere, his chances of survival are practically non-existent. He can only see his surroundings dimly, blurred outlines, blurred colors. The pain is bad enough to make him nauseous. Tech tries to breathe against the pain and rummages blindly with his fingers in his remaining belt pouches for the emergency painkiller. Some of the pouches are torn from his belt, and the belt itself is also hanging by a thread. He finds what he is looking for, hastily injects himself in the leg. The drug works quickly, the pain slowly subsides. Tech allows himself to breathe for a moment. The pain may be temporarily relieved, but his situation has not changed. He is afraid, for the first time in his life he is really frightened. It's a more than uncomfortable feeling. He is alone, helpless, his brothers think he is dead. Tech feels the wind brush across his damp face, and he realizes he's crying. "Pull yourself together, Tech, you're a soldier, you're smart, you'll find a way out," he says to himself, trying desperately to believe his own words.

But he can hardly move despite painkillers, he doesn't even know where to go, can't see his surroundings properly. Tech tries to crawl, but he repeatedly has to give up and lie down. The hours pass and the painkiller begins to wear off. The pain slowly creeps back into his body, steadily, increasing. On impulse, he calls Hunter's name, the big brother who always bailed him out, even as a cadet. He knows no one can hear him, but it's a helpless, automatic impulse. At some point he begins to drift, he's not sure if he's just tired, if he's dying, or just passing out, Tech just knows that his senses are fading, little by little, slowly enveloping him in darkness.

Lights, echoing voices, the smell of disinfectants, are the first things that reach Tech's senses as he slowly regains consciousness. The ground on which he lies is cool, hard. He can't immediately make out the words being spoken around him, he only understands snatches of them. "... the wounds will heal.... much potential.... take good care of him.... this will be an interesting project" Slowly he feels parts of his body again. The pain is just dull now, like an echo. Tech feels sluggish and suspects that he has been given strong painkillers. It is relatively cool in the room, he feels that all his equipment has been taken from him. The fabric on his skin is not that of his blacks, he has been clothed. He blinks several times, noticing that his vision is clearer. Tech wants to feel his face to see what visual aid he has been given, but he cannot lift his arms, there is resistance. He has been strapped to the surface on which he is lying. A figure appears next to him, his gaze clears, and he looks into the face of a woman, he finds her pretty, and somehow she seems familiar to him, but he doesn't immediately know why.

A man's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"You are not to make small talk with the project, only inject the serum".

Startled, you look up and into the face of Doctor Hemlock. His blue eyes are cold, despite the implied smile on his lips.

"Do what I told you and run some scans, then I need you in my office".

"Yes, Doctor," you say quietly, opening the small case of injections.

Hemlock looks at Tech, their eyes meeting.

"We'll see if we can't improve you," he says to the restrained Tech.

"Enhance?" the latter asks in alarm.

"A serum used for genetic manipulation, it should theoretically unlock more hidden abilities," is the brief explanation he receives, "I'm not going to lie, this whole thing could get very uncomfortable, painful, but a seasoned soldier can take a beating, can't he?"

With those words, Hemlock turns away.

Tech watches Hemlock disappear again, then his gaze twitches back and forth between you and the small case.

"This is a dangerous experiment," Tech says quietly, his tone clearly resonating with his unease, "genetic manipulation is a delicate thing."

"I know," you say quietly, taking one of the injections from the case.

Tech begins to struggle against the restraints, whereupon two Stormtroopers he hadn't noticed before start to stir. You pause and say to the men, "He's strapped down, no danger of escape, and no danger to me. There are other, more dangerous projects you should be monitoring."

The men look at each other, finally one says, "Fine by me. But call us if he gives you any trouble"

You nod curtly and wait for the troopers to leave the room. Tech is still writhing in his restraints on the table, but can barely move a millimeter.

"Calm down, Tech," you say gently.

He sees you coming closer with the injection and his breathing quickens, panicked.

"Now listen to me carefully," you say seriously, "I've switched injections. This room is video monitored, but without audio. So try to keep a low profile"

Tech blinks several times. The tone in your voice, conspiratorial, serious but gentle. He's torn between hope, fear and doubt.

"I switched out the injections. This is just saline and some food coloring to make it look just like the serum. Nothing at all will happen to you from this injection."

Tech frowns critically and says stubbornly, "Why should I believe you?"

You sigh softly and say, "I know it doesn't inspire confidence that I'm working with Hemlock. I just want to take away your fear, you'll see that nothing will happen to you from the injections."

"If you really want to help me, free me," Tech says shakily.

" This is not something I can do so easily-"

"Then why should I believe that nonsense!" he interrupts you angrily.

You push up his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense. He is still squirming uselessly in the buckles with which he is tied to the stretcher.

"Be reasonable, Tech, you're too badly hurt to try to escape, the baccta will take a few hours before you can walk again without assistance. That being said, this facility is well secured. Lots of troopers, droids, alarm system, lockdown mechanisms. You wouldn't get far, we need a plan first. Crosshair and I have been working on it for a few days. I just hope I can fool Hemlock with the serum long enough to get it done."

Tech's eyes grow wide, "You talked to Crosshair?"

You nod and say, "Daily, since he got here."

"How is he?"

"Better than you at the moment, even though he provoked Hemlock several times in the beginning, and he was often disciplined"

"Disciplined?" asks Tech brightly.

"Torture by electric shocks. Hemlock calls that corrective education."

Tech grits his teeth, then looks at you questioningly, "So you're helping him too. Why are you helping us anyway?"

You put the needle in place and Tech flinches briefly as he feels the sting.

"Because what's happening here isn't right. There are a lot of disobedient clones here, clones who have defied orders and Order 66. You guys have been through more than enough already. At some point, this nightmare has to stop. I only came here with Hemlock because I thought we could make a difference for the clones. But I soon found out that Hemlock had other interests and missions. So at first I started to ease the circumstances for the patients as much as I could. And little by little I managed to trick Hemlock into replacing the serum and so on. But it's only a matter of time before he figures it out. The doctor is anything but stupid, at the moment he's just very busy, with many… projects, probably the only reason why he hasn't caught me yet."

Tech blinks several times. The injection is over; at the moment, he feels nothing.

"You're taking a big risk," he says quietly.

You nod nervously and say, "I know if I get caught there will be no punishment, only execution."

The days pass, Tech's wounds heal, and you regularly send messages back and forth between the two brothers. You secretly pass on plans and ideas. But something is missing. The guys need floor plans, accurate data on troop movements around the compound, and information on all security and surveillance systems.

Getting this information is damn dangerous for you, but still you do it, little by little, skillfully, using the access codes of other employees among others. For days on end, you're under a constant flow of adrenaline, always in danger of being discovered. But you've finally gathered everything that's needed, except weapons.

"I don't know how to get weapons, the medical staff doesn't have weapons, only the troopers, and they're unlikely to give me their weapons willingly, I'm not a fighter," you say dejectedly.

Crosshair growls softly, "I'll figure something out, you've already done more than enough".

You say quietly, "I've given Tech all the information, like I did you".

Crosshair wants to nod, but his head is strapped to the table as you give him the fake injection.

"Good," he mumbles softly.

His serious face softens a little when he sees your worried expression.

"Don't worry, it's up to me and Tech now. You did what you could. Maybe you should come with us."

You look at him in surprise.

"Come with you?"

Crosshair shows a barely noticeable smirk and says, "Yeah, sure. Tech would be very pleased. If I remember correctly, he had quite a crush on you back when you were working on Kamino."

You pause in your movement, surprised.

"What?"

Crosshair laughs softly, "Don't tell me you didn't notice. From the moment you started working in the infirmary, he regularly hurt himself on his tools or fell, which miraculously almost never happened to him before you showed up. I told him several times it would be easier to just ask for your com number, but our Tech was just too shy. He was very disappointed when you suddenly disappeared."

"I had been transferred to Coruscant, unfortunately," you say quietly, still intrigued, surprised, and flattered by the news. You liked Tech back then, too. He always told a lot of stories, he had whole stories to tell to every question you asked him.

Suddenly Crosshair's expression changes, his eyes shift to the right, looking behind you. You hear the typical sound of troopers in gear.

"Hemlock wants to see you, it's urgent," growls one of the two troopers who have entered the room. You turn around and see that both men have their weapons at the ready.

"But I'm still not-"

"Right now," the second interrupts you.

Panic rises in you, burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He must have figured out what you were doing, you think nervously. Crosshair thinks the same thing and automatically braces himself against the restraints, whereupon one of the troopers smacks him in the forehead.

You sit in the chair opposite Hemlock, at his desk. The desk is so gigantic that you both seem quite small next to it. Behind him a huge panoramic window, forest, mountains and clouds can be seen.

You have your hands folded in your lap, nervously kneading your fingers.

Two troopers stand at the door in a guarded position. Hemlock in front of you is calm, he doesn't seem furiously angry as you expected. Not at all. He seems strangely composed, calm, collected. You are not sure what would have frightened you more. There was something strangely, ominously subliminal about this calm, something you couldn't directly grasp, but it was there. Like a monster waiting in ambush.

"I know what you've done," Hemlock says quietly, after an awkward, seemingly eternal period of silence.

"Doctor?" you ask cautiously, still clinging to the hope that you're here for different reasons than you think.

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

You remain silent, not knowing what to say anyway.

After what feels like an eternity, you sigh, and somehow some of the tension that has clung to you for so long falls away.

You say indifferently, "I would say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

Hemlock laughs softly.

"I have to admit, you have more moxie in your bones than most troopers I know. You may not be a fighter in the usual sense, but girl, you have guts."

You blink, trying not to let on that you're confused at the moment and don't quite know where you stand.

Hemlock claps his hands a few times, making you frown critically.

"You need to use that grit more constructively!" he says, suddenly sounding excited.

You want to sound cool, to say something cheeky, to not mince words, but his demeanor elicits only a confused, "Huh?" from you.

"I know," Hemlock says indulgently, almost understanding, "You think you're doing something good here, for these men. But you're missing the big picture."

As he stands up and comes around the table, you automatically stand up as well, prompting the troopers to point their weapons at you, but Hemlock waves them off with a simple gesture and the men lower their weapons.

You back away a step as he walks toward you. Hemlock stops, reading your posture, your demeanor.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, I wasn't planning to hurt you," he says calmly and finally continues explaining, "Now this big picture I'm talking about is why we're all doing these projects. The reason why all these projects are necessary."

You shake your head and say, "Nothing justifies what is happening to these people here".

Hemlock raises his finger and corrects you, "Clones, my dear, clones, not people. Copies of a man, not even a particularly honorable one. Copies of a bounty hunter. But that's not the point. What I'm getting at is the big picture. The purpose of these experiments."

"Improved soldiers for the Empire"

Hemlock smiles.

"That's right, my dear, that's right. Better soldiers, for the protection of our Empire and all the people who live in it, for the protection of every single citizen. Yes, we are experiencing setbacks and some of the clones are suffering terrible agonies, but the end certainly justifies the means in this case"

You shake your head and say, "No it doesn't, it shouldn't."

Hemlock shrugs.

"Wait until your home world is attacked, and no adequate protection is in place, then I'm sure you'll think differently"

Hemlock walks slowly, leisurely up and down. His gait is supposed to make you think he is relaxed, sure of himself, but the fact that he is walking up and down at all already exposes his inner turmoil.

You watch him and finally ask, "Why so restless?"

Hemlock stops, turns back to you, and looks at you critically.

"I'm thinking about what to do with you. Basically, you sabotaged me and probably broke some other rules that I don't know about at the moment. Normally I wouldn't think twice about that, but you're a very good assistant, despite everything"

Your heart hammers nervously in your chest.

"So you won't have me executed?"

Hemlock clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"No. But I need to make sure you don't do something so reckless again".

Distracted by an unusual flying Omicron shuttle you see through the panoramic window, you say something absent-mindedly.

"And what do you have in mind, Doctor?"

Before he can discuss what exactly he means by that, the power goes out, for a few seconds, then the emergency power comes on and a shrill alarm sounds. A metal shield covers the huge window, blocking your view of the shuttle.

Hemlock seems tense. He tries to contact someone, but the com systems don't work. Your pulse is racing, nervousness, excitement. You know this can only be a sign that Tech and Crosshair are on the run. The Omicron shuttle, must be their brothers.

It's a satisfaction to see Hemlock panic, trying to make contact with his men, trying to grasp the situation, figure out what's going on. But then he spins around, furious, and he sees the smile on your face before you can hide it.

The doctor reaches into a drawer at his desk and pulls out a blaster from it, pointing it at you.

"You! This is your doing, this has something to do with you and those clones from the 99 batch!"

You blink, suddenly back in fear mode. You're relatively sure, that blaster in his hand, isn't set to stun.

The sound of a plasma cutter distracts you both. Someone is cutting through the metal guard and glass on the paned window.

"What the hell-"

With a clang and a thump, the material comes loose and falls into the room, directly behind it the ramp of a shuttle and an armed Tech in full gear. You barely have time to react, or say anything. Tech stuns Hemlock and the troopers with quick, well-aimed shots, deftly puts the weapons away again, and finally reaches out his hand to you.

"What are you waiting for? Come here!" he calls to you.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you grab his hand, and he gently pulls you toward him and into the shuttle, closing the ramp immediately after. He gently but firmly pushes you into a seat and straps you in.

"Hold on tight, we're not safe yet".

As if his words were the cue, the shuttle suddenly comes under fire and Tech rushes back into the cockpit. Crosshair sits at the gun, across from you sits a giant who grins kindly at you, next to him a clone who has almost more prosthetics than body parts on his body, also with a smile on his face.

The evasive maneuvers are violent, daring, you are jolted back and forth in your seat. You know Tech is at the wheel, and he's one hell of a pilot. Hell of a good one. Your hands are clutched to the seat, you're getting hot and cold, your pulse is racing. It's like the worst, gnarliest roller coaster ride of your life. Tossed back and forth in your seatbelt.

Then, finally, the shuttle settles into a steady position, and you hear the typical gentle noise of hyperspace.

Tech comes back out of the cockpit and looks at you.

"Are you all right? You look a little light-headed," he says with concern, and unbuckles your seatbelt.

You're dizzy and reality hasn't quite gotten through to you yet, but you finally nod and say, "Sure, I'm fine."

"I guess she's not used to combat maneuvers," the giant says with a laugh.

Crosshair, climbing out of the gun seat, laughs softly, still wearing the suit from Hemlock's facility.

"Tech's maneuvers take some getting used to," he says, winking at you.

Tech is indignant, "My maneuvers are extremely effective and have saved us several times, including today"

You slowly stand up, but your wobbly knees shake, and you practically fall towards him.

With a "Woah", he catches you, with his arms around your hips, your hands braced on his breastplate.

You look up and as your eyes meet, Tech's ears flush red.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks quietly.

In the background, Echo pushes the rest of the group into the cockpit to give you a small moment of privacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Crosshair still trying to look around the corner, but a hand on his collar pulls him away.

You blink and look at Tech again.

You laugh softly, nervously, his arms around your middle releasing a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. Almost automatically, your hands move to his shoulders.

"Sure, I'm fine. It's just like Crosshair said, I'm not used to this kind of flying. Impressive, I didn't think we'd escape."

Tech smirks flattered.

"Thank you for not leaving me behind," you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, whereupon his ears turn even redder.

Tech blinks several times, then smiles nervously and says, "You didn't think we'd leave without you, did you?"

You grin at each other.

Still smirking, Tech says, "This time I'm not letting you go without asking for your com number."

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

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@arctrooper69

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@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

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@echos-girlfriend

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@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

I might've added the BG3 Art Book to my dnd assets stash

It' 100% does not have things like the 5e players' handbook + 5e’s character sheet, several gm guides, critical role's explorer's guide to wildmount, baldur's gate and waterdeep city encounters, 101 potions and their effects, volo's guide to monsters, both of xanathar's guides, a bunch of other encounters, one shots, and class builds

In no way are there any pdf’s relating to any wizard who may or may not be residing on any coast

(Edit that I’ve moved the folder to the new link above! So if you catch a different version of this post that link won’t work anymore!)

RadenWA is honestly a hero for these

they're got even more than these, too!