@cacodaemonia has me by the throat with their Reconstruction Corps AU: Open Skies, focusing on Boil, Waxer, and Numa, and their life on Ryloth. It is a touching, sincere, love letter to clones, and I cannot reccomend it enough.
So I made their house in the Sims 4 in a gesture of affection
The apartment is beautifully clean. Every mug in the cabinet is lined up with the handle angled to the left. Every stainless steel surface is kept polished, the countertops have nothing but a bowl of decorative fruit painted in cheery colors, the coffee table has been sanded and freshened up to erase old rings of coffee stains. Quinn lounges on the couch, comfortable but refusing to pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch to cover their chilly arms because it’s sitting so perfectly where they laid it.
Knuckles rap quietly against the front door. All wandering thoughts about how elephants are cute when they use their trunks to drink water are erased in an instant. Wary brown eyes flit to the door. They are shirtless, freckles and scars on display to the empty, cold room. The patio door is in their bedroom, and the nearest window will creak if they try to push it open quickly. There is a gun under the coffee table, and one in the cabinet above the sink, and a knife in the entryway drawer, but none of those will really do much good if Quinn doesn’t have enough time to strategize. They don’t even know who’s there.
Pajama pants brushing against the sofa cushion as they swing their legs to stand up, the spy shakes their head to get their curls out of their face. They showered this morning and took care to curl their hair like they were undressing a wound, cleaning it, and redressing it. Now they’re wondering if that was a mistake. It was certainly stupid to have changed into pajamas this early in the night, to have not even bothered to grab a shirt. What if this is someone who expects them to be playing the role they used in some random mission months or years ago? What if it’s someone here to kill them? Do they really want to die wearing plaid?
The soft knock comes again. It’s oddly respectful, like the sound of someone unnecessarily asking for permission before entering a mausoleum.
The handle is cool under their swollen hand. It always seems to be too warm and tender, the other not so swollen but far more stiff, and it just gives the most awful cracks and clicks when forced to move. Quinn doesn’t spare the attention to frown down at their ugly crooked fingers as they turn the doorknob and crack the door open.
Exhausted dark eyes. Aquiline nose, bushy eyebrows, collarbones standing out under the neckline of a white T-shirt.
CW: recovering pet whump, ex-handler and ex-pet dynamic, implied knife play, implied dubcon, past conditioning, violence, Scott rage, Connor messing up, B struggling to be a person again
Thank you @ashintheairlikesnow for letting me use her characters and for helping with some of the dialogue and actions!
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Scott never wanted to come to Connor for help, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
He found Connor behind the house, swinging down a large axe and splitting a lump of wood with a loud crack.Scott flinched, a twig snapping under his foot.
Connor looked up, sweat beading his forehead, dark eyes settling on his ex-trainee.
Scott had to crush the urge to fall to his knees, bunching his hands into fists and forcing his nails into his palm.
“I can’t find Daniel… B… I can’t find him anywhere.” Scott’s gaze flicked to the ground, focusing on the fallen autumn leaves.
Connor frowned, lowering the axe and letting it rest against a nearby stump.
“He’s not in the barn?”
Scott felt a little flare of anger at the question. Of course he checked the barn, Connor isn’t the only one who knew where B liked to spend most of his time.
“No. I checked.”
Connor sighed, pulling off his sweat soaked shirt and throwing it to the floor.
Scott took another step back, swallowing down panic at the sight. He didn’t have to serve his handler. He wasn’t a pet. He’s safe.
But B’s not here to protect him.
“I think I know where he is.” Connor said, seemingly oblivious to Scott’s distress as he set off back towards the house.
Scott followed on shaky steps, wrapping his arms around himself as a chill rushed through him.
“Baby! Where are you? B?” Connor called out, his voice carrying across the quiet countryside.
Why not just whistle for him like the dog you still think he is? Another bitter thought skips across Scott’s mind.
![hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9b4bc271cf08e38e2425dae57f35f335/5b24159c2b34940a-58/s1280x1920/5ff0e68a53916cbd362993d7376b7f970b839d59.png "hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]")
![hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bb413264b6d5c0c28d2f692e3a043769/5b24159c2b34940a-10/s1280x1920/dd812548707c03af3036e6c450f625c3f13e8308.png "hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]")
![hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/94c95a6a1db2f810710708b81e4e0ff3/5b24159c2b34940a-ed/s1280x1920/4ad7efcde37c2aea0b5f81e7bc4a8e9693532450.png "hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]")
![hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d43f268d57f863b2c1cdf0827fcbc701/5b24159c2b34940a-64/s1280x1920/4ab441a73fcf7e375558761cbe856a688873d285.png "hegodamask:“I was once a quirked up white boy the same as your father.”[Original Post]")
