#or whenever you need a code word or phrase

[iocheaira]

i cant think of anything non traumatic like that but we do have a weird all purpose code word which originally (pre me being born or conceived) meant “lets go fishing” but now is just how you say in mixed company that the thing we discussed before did happen (grandma did bring three pies, etc)

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | southern drawl

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @itscalledastrategyfred) : how the grid reacts to a texan!driver!reader and her southern accent — from flustered blushing to terrible cowboy impressions and a whole lotta “yes, ma’am.” 🤠💬

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2116

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : yall i missed the race cus i fell asleep... am i cooked?

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

gives you so much shit for your drawl at first.

“did you really just say y’all while threatening me?”

can’t stop smirking whenever you get riled up... especially when you say something like “i swear to god, i’ll whup your ass.”

fully imitates your accent when teasing you... and it’s terrible.

lowkey loves it though. it reminds him of daniel, in a way that’s nostalgic and soft.

once heard you say “darlin’” to someone and just froze for a second like okay, maybe this is the hottest thing alive.

pretends not to care but definitely perks up every time you say something country-coded.

yuki tsunoda

is very confused at first. “why do you sound like a cowboy?”

teases you constantly but in a very you’re my favorite person to annoy way.

starts mimicking your phrases just to make you laugh — “howdy” becomes part of his vocabulary purely to irritate you.

calls you “cowgirl” when you beat him in anything and grumbles when you call him “city boy” back.

secretly adores how unapologetic you are about it. says it makes you sound confident.

would 100% ask you to translate slang and then say it in his best impression just to see you roll your eyes.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

first time he hears you say “bless your heart,” he panics. “wait… is that… a good thing or not?”

tries to keep it professional but gets flustered when you throw a “yes, sir” his way with that southern sweetness.

definitely raises an eyebrow every time you drop a “y’all” during press, but secretly thinks it’s endearing.

once tried to imitate your accent on live tv and it came out as australian. never lived it down.

thinks it’s hilarious how you say things like “fixin’ to win this race” — quotes it back to you every chance he gets.

might tease you gently, but 100% defends your accent if anyone else makes fun of it. “it’s not weird, it’s hers.”

kimi antonelli

very confused at first but listens so intently whenever you speak — your accent is like a whole new language to him.

starts asking what everything means. “what is… ‘rode hard and put up wet?’”

tries to mimic you saying “howdy” once and instantly turned red when you burst out laughing.

quietly loves the way you talk. it’s soft and warm to him, even if you’re smack-talking.

calls you "texas" like it’s your nickname. “hey, texas. need help with your helmet?”

100% memorizes your slang and starts slipping it into conversations to make you smile.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

confused the entire first week. just stands there smiling while you say things like “i’m fixin’ to head out” and later quietly asks carlos what it meant.

blushes furiously the first time you call him “darlin’” — tries to play it cool but is visibly short-circuiting.

imitates your accent once during an interview and gets roasted online for how bad it was. “i wasn’t even that bad, right?” you nod slowly, hiding laughter.

starts calling you “cowgirl” in private, just to see you roll your eyes and smile.

says your voice sounds like “sunlight on hot pavement.” he’s a romantic.

lowkey tries to learn country music just to bond with you — gets too into kacey musgraves and now you catch him humming “slow burn” on race days.

lewis hamilton

absolutely obsessed. tells you it’s “the sexiest accent” he’s ever heard.

constantly asking you to say things again, slower this time — just so he can hear it twice.

you say “yes, sir” once and his whole soul leaves his body.

teases you when you get heated and slip into full-blown southern mode, but with the softest grin. “there she goes, my wild southern girl.”

absolutely convinced you two need to do a cowboy-themed photo shoot. insists on wearing the hat too.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

the second he hears your accent, he’s already planning impressions.

“well howdy y’all, ah’m fixin’ to win me a lil ol’ race today!” — said in the worst cowboy voice imaginable.

you threaten to fight him. he grins harder.

calls you “ma’am” dramatically and tips invisible hats at you in the paddock. you once slapped him with your water bottle.

has no idea that it’s kind of hot until you call him “sweetheart” mid-argument and he just shuts up entirely.

you catch him watching country tiktoks so he can learn phrases to throw back at you. he says it’s “research.”

may joke nonstop, but the second someone else mocks you? “nah, only i get to call her cowgirl.”

oscar piastri

didn’t expect to fall in love with your accent, but here we are.

says nothing when you speak, just blinks slowly and listens like it’s music.

every now and then you catch him smiling to himself after you say something super southern like “he ain’t got the sense god gave a goose.”

finds your little quirks adorable. “you just said ‘buggy’ instead of shopping cart,” he says softly, grinning.

doesn’t mimic your accent. not even once. too respectful.

will 100% ask you to teach him how to say certain phrases, then casually use them later to make you laugh.

you say “c’mere, sugar” once and he actually blushes. he’s so gone.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends like he doesn’t care but he’s obsessed with your accent.

the first time you say something like “sugar, that was a rough quali,” he just stares for a second before going, “say it again.”

tries to mimic you with his own spanish accent and ends up sounding like a cowboy in a telenovela.

“how do you say it? y’all? yuhhhll?”

laughs at himself when you make fun of it but still keeps doing it because your eyes light up every time.

secretly loves how fiery you get when you're mad — especially when you let the accent fly. “you gonna kill me, cariño?” he teases.

absolutely calls you "cowgirl" in the most smug voice imaginable.

lance stroll

immediately thinks your accent is the cutest thing alive.

“you sound like a character from a movie. it’s awesome.”

gets super flustered when you call him anything sweet — “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun.” it kills him every time.

has a weird little canadian twang himself so when he tries to imitate you, it comes out like “howd-eh y’all.”

you cry laughing. he commits to it anyway.

lowkey loves how different you sound from everyone else — thinks it makes you magnetic.

tries to “cowboy up” next to you in interviews and fails miserably. “we’re a dynamic duo,” he says. “city boy and the wild west.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

thinks your accent is the best thing ever, and won’t shut up about it.

constantly repeats your phrases back to you in a horrendous mock accent just to make you laugh.

“well shoot, sugar! i reckon we got ourselves a pole!” — said at full volume in the paddock.

you threaten to hit him with your boot. he tells everyone “she threatened me in southern again. it was so hot.”

teases you with names like “rodeo queen” and “yee-haw y/n” but goes feral the first time you call him “sweetheart” on comms.

100% starts saying “y’all” unironically. refuses to admit it.

tells his PR team you’re his “emotional support cowboy.”

carlos sainz

tries to act unfazed like “it’s just an accent” but his eyes go all soft when you call him “darlin’.”

loves hearing you talk — especially when you ramble. just nods along and smiles like he understands every word even when you say things like “that boy ain’t right.”

calls you mi vaquera under his breath when you walk away.

one time you called him “baby” and he blinked twice, turned red, and muttered “mi vida...” like a reflex.

doesn’t tease, but subtly flirts back in spanish until you’re the one blushing.

quietly practices a southern phrase or two just so he can surprise you later. you catch him whispering “fixin’ to win” before a race and nearly crash your scooter laughing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

absolutely thrilled the first time he hears you speak. grins like a little menace and goes “wait, say that again.”

becomes obsessed with getting you to say weird southern phrases. “wait wait, what’s the one about biscuits and gravy again?”

mimics your accent constantly but in that annoying younger brother way. you threaten him with a tire gun. he laughs harder.

teases you with a fake lasso motion every time you walk into the garage. “woah there, cowgirl.”

once called you “ma’am” in a joking tone and you shot back with “watch your mouth, sugar.” he shut up immediately.

genuinely adores it though. thinks you’re the coolest person alive.

starts picking up your slang accidentally. pr catches him saying “fixin’ to” in an interview. he panics.

esteban ocon

acts completely unbothered at first. nods politely while you talk, no visible reaction.

but he’s so internally flustered.

one day you say “yes, sir” in that sweet, drawling tone and he just stands there blinking like you short-circuited his brain.

asks pierre what certain things mean later in private. “what’s a ‘hoot and a half’?”

doesn’t tease, but is very intrigued. tells people he likes how “unique” you sound.

once tried to say “howdy” as a joke but it came out awkward and overly French. he never attempted it again.

secretly loves when you call him something soft in that accent. might not say much, but his smile says everything.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

pretends to be unbothered but he’s fully gone the first time you say “darlin’.”

literally pauses mid-sentence when you call him “sweetheart” like… yeah. that’s it. you’ve got him.

teases you gently, but it’s always with heart eyes. “you really gonna charm everyone with that voice, huh?”

obsessed with how passionate you sound when you’re fired up. just lets you rant and watches, smiling like an idiot.

tells everyone “i don’t get the hype” and then immediately melts when you rest your boots on his lap.

absolutely wants you to teach him how to two-step. “for educational reasons.”

isack hadjar

chaos incarnate. tries to mimic your accent constantly and fails in the funniest ways.

“whatchu doin’, sugarplum?” he says. you throw a wrench at him. he ducks and cackles.

you start mimicking his french accent right back. “ohhh la la, baguette!”

you two are just rude to each other and completely in love about it.

insists on calling you “sheriff” like it’s your job title. even salutes you sometimes.

if you ever call him “baby” or “mon cœur” in your accent, he shuts up immediately.

secretly thinks your voice is the most comforting sound on earth, even when you’re yelling.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

absolutely loses it the first time you call him something soft like “sugar.” full flirty grin, immediately flirting back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna start fallin’ in love, mon amour.”

mimics your accent way too often and does it so dramatically it’s offensive.

“well HAW-DEE Y’ALL,” he says, strutting into the motorhome in your cowboy boots. you throw a towel at him.

turns every southern phrase you say into something scandalous.

“i’m fixin’ to fight you, pierre.”

“please do.”

but when you’re soft? when you call him “darlin’” and it’s not a joke? he’s quiet. maybe even a little breathless.

“don’t stop,” he mumbles. “say it again.”

jack doohan

acts cool at first but the second you hit him with a “yes, sir,” he’s toast.

blinks. stares at the floor. full body flush.

“you alright?”

“yep. yeah. mmhm.”

loves your voice but doesn’t tease. just listens. takes in every word.

gets kind of protective when people joke about your accent. “don’t be weird. it’s just how she talks.”

one time you called him “honeybun” in the middle of a race debrief and he messed up a tire strategy.

definitely the type to lowkey start picking up your phrasing — you catch him saying “reckon” once and he immediately denies it.

“i didn’t say that. you imagined it.”

he 100% said that.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

pretends he’s unfazed but absolutely notices every time you say something country-coded.

raises an eyebrow and goes “what does that even mean?” but secretly writes it down for later.

makes sarcastic comments like “you gonna ride a horse to the race next?” while absolutely staring when you wear boots to media.

calls you “cowgirl” in the driest voice imaginable but it makes you grin every time.

once heard you say “lord have mercy” under your breath and now repeats it back in a bad drawl just to mess with you.

claims he’s above it, but the second you call him “baby” in a sweet voice, he forgets how to speak.

accidentally got flustered once when you offered to teach him how to line dance. “oh. uh. yeah. maybe.”

gabriel bortoleto

fully enchanted from day one. like… heart-eyes level enchanted.

asks you a million questions. “wait, say that again? what does it mean when you say ‘bless his heart’?”

doesn’t mock, just listens with a little awe in his expression.

is super respectful, always like “you sound really cool” instead of teasing.

lowkey tries to learn southern slang so he can flirt back better.

once called you “sugar” in a heavy brazilian accent and you nearly fainted.

gives you that boyish grin and shrugs like “you started it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[alinathinkstoomuch]

HANDS WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: it was supposed to be sangrias in the shade, but somehow you ended up wet....in rossi's bathroom....with your ex….based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, tension relief via hands.... aka fingering, mutual pining, mirror kink making an appearance AGAIN!! use of the iconic ‘it’s nothing you haven’t seen before’ line🙂‍↕️ word count: 1.4k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

You hadn’t planned on actually getting in the water. When Rossi sent out a group invite for a ‘pool party,’ you assumed it was code for day drinking in expensive shade, not full submersion. You wore sunscreen, not swimwear, which, really, was poor planning on your end. And on Morgan’s, who elbowed you mid-sip, accidentally sending you plunging into the deep end of Rossi’s pool.

To be fair, you probably needed the cool-down. Rossi’s extra-strong sangria had been heating your body and face at an alarming rate, your skin prickling with that telltale flush of warmth that showed up whenever you were too hot or thought too hard about your ex-slash-boss in a navy polo (both of which were happening currently, all at once.)

Still, you could’ve done without the saturated walk to the bathroom, waterlogged, dripping, and tasting chlorine behind your teeth, your flip flops letting out a series of humiliating squelches that echoed like applause for your misfortune. 

Rossi’s guest bathroom was absurdly nice. Bigger than your first apartment and, if you were being honest, not miles off from beating your current one which you considered an upgrade. Though now, standing in the gleaming expanse of marble and mood lighting, your so-called upgrade felt more akin to the BAUs printer room.

Your reflection was…questionable. Your hair clung to every piece of skin it could claim and your eyeliner left faint bruises beneath your eyes. You grabbed a cotton pad from one of those silly little acrylic containers, and began undoing the damage to your makeup which stood no chance against Morgan’s clumsiness. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted your ministrations. 

“Better be a bottle of wine from Rossi’s cellar in your hand,” you called out, “because that’s the only form of apology I’m accepting from you.”

There was a pause.

“I can offer a towel.”

Definitely not Morgan.

“Hotch?”

“Are you decent?” he asked, tone infuriatingly polite. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you blurted out, way too quickly.  “Sure.”

You reached for the door handle and opened it a few inches. He stood there, holding a neatly folded towel with both hands like the six perfectly rolled ones already stacked on the shelf somehow weren’t up to par. 

He handed the fluffy thing over wordlessly, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange.

“Thanks,” you murmured, using it to blot the water beading at your neck.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He took a step closer. “Did you hit your head?”

You shook your head, showing him that it was still attached and mobile. “No. Just slipped in gracelessly, that’s all.”

He nodded, his eyes cataloguing you. You dabbed the towel along your collarbone, suddenly aware of the movements you could control and use to deceive him. Control the hands, control the nerves. Keep your eyes low, keep your breathing even. Pretend you’re not trying to remember what it felt like to have his mouth on your shoulder instead of cotton. 

“Could you, um…” You cleared your throat, setting the towel aside. “Undo the back of my dress? The knot’s too tight.”

He looked like he was considering your request with caution. His eyes dropped briefly to the damp straps clinging to your collarbones, trailing upward in dainty lines to the knot at your nape, fabric embedded gently in skin.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” The phrase tumbled out carelessly, making you cringe a little.

“Turn around,” he said softly. 

You turned like he asked, gathering your hair to one side and exposed the knot at the back of your neck. In the mirror, you caught him stepping closer, his warmth already bleeding into your skin, a feeling that pulled you straight back to all the times he’d sneak up behind you mid–morning coffee, or in the evenings when you were taking off your makeup.

Your hands dropped to the counter, trying to keep the memories at bay. His fingers touched your shoulders first. Almost tracing the straps of your dress, as if remembering where they used to lead.

You held your breath. 

He worked on the knot with the same precision you’d watched him exude in everything he did, a reminder of how deeply it lived in him, spilling into even the most simple tasks. The fabric loosened quickly under his fingers, the damp straps slipping free from the bow. You felt the front of your dress begin to slide—not all at once—peeling away in the more precarious places, clinging stubbornly to the rest.

Your hand shot up to your chest, clutching the fabric against you. 

Hotch stilled. 

His hand hovered near your shoulder, caught between choices with vastly different outcomes. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush the curve of your arm. His touch traced up, settling at your shoulder. 

He stepped closer, and then his lips were on your skin, just below your neck.

A kiss. Then another, lower.

It might’ve seemed unlike him, if you hadn’t already seen every side of him. Words could’ve been cleaner than this, less complicated, but they’d never come easy to either of you. So you chose to believe that this was his way of speaking, of saying I missed you, without letting it tremble in his throat. 

You let your hand fall, the dress slipping completely. The air got to your skin before he did, a cool breath across your chest, followed by the warmth of his palms as he cupped one of your breasts, the other sliding around your waist and pulling you to him until there was no space left. 

Your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder. You reached one hand behind you, finding his cheek, holding him there as his mouth worked its way down your neck. He leaned into the touch, into you, his hips pressing forward.

The hand at your waist shifted, gathering damp fabric in his fist, and then he was lower. Sliding between your thighs like he’d never unlearned you. His fingers found your clit and began to move in circles. You pressed your palms flat against the counter while the rest of you burned. Your eyes fluttered shut, not from modesty, but from the overwhelming feeling of being touched like this again. 

“Look,” he murmured against your ear, his breath brushing your neck. “Open your eyes.”

You obeyed just as your other hand reached for his thigh, gripping him as he began to pick up the pace. 

“Still know what you like.”

“Yeah,” you managed, tilting your head to the side, giving him more of your neck, your shoulder, whatever he wanted. “You never forgot.”

“Not once.”

Your eyes flicked back to the mirror, to the image of yourself, the image of him working you over and through. “You always did like watching.” 

“Only when it’s you.”

You would’ve scolded him for that comment, because he wasn’t allowed to say things like that anymore. But clearly neither of you were great at following boundaries, your current predicament becoming your prime example. You felt his fingers grab your waist a little tighter, like he couldn't believe you were his again, even if it was only for now. 

Then your balance wavered as he slid his fingers inside you, one, then another, your mouth conjuring a moan before you had the chance to stop it. You could feel yourself getting close, the release edging up fast after months without anything that didn’t start and end with your own hands. 

“Right there, isn’t it?” he asked, fingers curling in a way that made it impossible to answer. All you could do was nod, over and over again until his name tore from your lips as you came. 

His palm braced against your stomach, keeping you upright as your body bowed forward. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a minute to collect your bearings. And when your breathing started to even out, you felt him reach around you, gathering the straps of your dress that had fallen before he retied the knot at your neck. The same one you’d asked him to undo. Go figure.

A knock at the door brought the two of you back to reality, causing you both to stiffen.

“Everything okay in there?” Emily’s voice called.

“Yeah,” you answered, mid cough. “All good. Be out in a sec!”

There was a pause, just long enough to think she’d walked away, before you heard her add, “Will that be both of you?”

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[justlemmeadoreyou]

solace-2* (famous!harry x masseuse!y/n)

summary: part 2 to this (tq for 1k notes!)

words: 5.2k+

warnings: fluff- so much of it. smut. p in v sex, sex in different positions, creampie, kissing, dirty talk.

Harry didn't reveal the full truth about the Italian coordinates tattooed on his hip. Instead, he simply smiled and changed the subject whenever Y/N tried to probe further about their meaning.

Y/N tried to shake off her nagging doubts about it too, but the sight of those precise geographic coordinates seemed to bore into her mind. She knew her boyfriend too well - he never did anything without intention or deeper meaning.

Over the next few days, she found herself scouring Harry's personal effects any time he left the room, searching for any other clues about what he could be hiding. Paranoid or not, she had to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Harry's laptop was password protected, as were his phones and tablets. Y/N briefly felt a pang of guilt going through his devices behind his back like this, but the need to uncover the truth overrode her hesitation. She tried every important date, nickname, and phrase she could think of based on their years together, but nothing seemed to crack his codes.

In his planner and calendar apps, she found no unusual appointments or Travel arrangements corresponding to those Italian coordinates. Harry's work schedule was booked solid for the next few months with the usual recording sessions, interviews, and meet-and-greets.

Rifling through his desk drawers, closets, and travel bags yielded no other obvious clues either. Just the typical miscellany of everyday life - old ticket stubs, charging cables, a modest collection of simple jewelry he favored.  

The more Y/N searched fruitlessly for answers, the more unsettled she became. Just what kind of explosive secret could Harry be keeping from her, going to such lengths to conceal it?

Harry, for his part, seemed to be going out of his way to be extra attentive and loving towards Y/N over those days. Bouquets of her favorite flowers in full bloom arrived for no reason. He suggested romantic home-cooked meals filled with all her most beloved comfort foods. At night, he initiated lovemaking with an almost frantic passion, settling between her thighs and worshipping every inch of her body like a man desperate and touch-starved.

"You know you're everything to me, don't you,dove?" He would pant against her sweat-slicked skin, emerald eyes burning with an intensity that simultaneously set her ablaze and lodged a kernel of anxiety in her chest. "You're my whole bloody world and then some."

It was like he could sense her pulling away on some subconscious level and was determined to overwhelm her with affection and reminders of their connection, reeling her back in before she could drift any farther. The more Y/N felt herself falling under the intoxicating spell of Harry's doting lover persona, the more unshakeable her doubts became.

What was he fighting so hard to distract her from? And more importantly, could their relationship withstand whatever seismic truth he was keeping from her?

***

A week later, Harry said he had an important audition for a new movie role. He needed to fly to Milan for a few days. As Harry packed his bag, Y/N felt that gnawing doubt and curiosity come back.

The moment Harry left for the airport, Y/N opened her laptop. She searched for the coordinates from his tattoo. The coordinates pointed to a small town called Bappino near Florence in the heart of Tuscany's wine country. More specifically, they pinpointed a large villa estate surrounded by vineyards and olive groves.

Y/N stared at the beautiful scenery on her screen. Her mind was spinning. Could this Italian villa be what Harry inherited from his family, like he had started hinting before changing the subject? If so, why all the secrecy and obvious desire to surprise her?

Y/N's thoughts kept circling as the days went by with no word from Harry about when he would return from his "audition" in Milan. She tried not to read too much into his silence, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something big was happening behind the scenes.

Five days after Harry left, Y/N woke up in the middle of the night. Her sheets were tangled and her chest felt tight. In the quiet flat, she could no longer ignore the persistent urge to take action and find out the truth about that location.

It was impulsive, maybe even crazy, but Y/N made up her mind. If Harry was truly keeping a surprise about this Italian villa from her, then she was going to travel there herself and uncover the truth firsthand. No more waiting in suspense for him to tell her.

Within a few hours, Y/N had booked a flight to Florence and packed a small bag. She didn't bother leaving Harry a note about her spontaneous trip. After all his secrecy, he didn't deserve that courtesy right now.

The long flight passed in a blur of nervous anticipation and fitful napping. As Y/N's plane began descending towards the rural airstrip near the villa's coordinates, her heart pounded in her throat.

What if she was flying all this way just to satisfy her own fanciful assumptions, only to find some reasonable explanation? Or worse, what if Harry's surprise was something she hadn't braced herself for at all?

The small rental car agency in the village center of Bappino was empty when Y/N's taxi dropped her off. Within twenty minutes, she had the keys to a sleek black Fiat.

Y/N checked the GPS for the coordinates to the villa. The dusty backroads leading into the hills were quiet. Cypress trees and grapevine trellises lined the roads. Y/N watched out the window, trying to stay calm. She was used to the noise and crowds of London, not this peaceful scenery.

When the villa's gates finally appeared around the next bend, Y/N felt like she couldn't breathe. The estate was even more beautiful than the photos - with terracotta roofs, ivy-covered walls, and elegant arches. It looked like a Renaissance painting.

Y/N pulled up to the tall iron gates feeling nervous. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. What if this villa was the surprise Harry had been keeping secret? How could she just show up unannounced?

Just then, an older woman in a flower-print dress came out of a side door. She squinted at Y/N's idling car, like she was expecting someone.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N got out and approached the gates on shaky legs. Up close, the woman seemed friendly despite her stern look. She smiled warmly and used an old key to let Y/N inside.

"Welcome, miss!" the woman said in English with an accent. "We've been awaiting you. Welcome to Villa Arca del Cielo."

Y/N blinked in surprise at the warm welcome. "There must be some mistake," she stammered. "I'm actually more of a...surprise visitor myself."

The woman studied Y/N carefully for a moment before nodding.

"Of course, of course," she replied pleasantly. "We've prepared everything for your arrival. Leave your car and follow me, dear."

Though still utterly confused, Y/N did as she was told. The woman led her through stunning gardens filled with bright blooms and cozy benches along the winding paths.

Eventually they reached a spacious courtyard centered around a bubbling stone fountain. Y/N's breath caught when she spotted the man lounging casually on the fountain's edge.

"Harry?" she gasped before thinking.

He looked like a living Renaissance statue - handsome in linen and tailored clothes. Harry's green eyes found Y/N's, shining with some unreadable emotion.

"Why hello there, darling," he purred in that deep, velvety voice she loved. Rising smoothly to his feet, his lopsided smirk made butterflies flutter in her stomach. "Fancy meeting you here of all places."

Y/N opened and closed her mouth, a million questions spinning in her mind. But before she could speak, Harry was crossing the courtyard towards her. In one fluid motion, he dropped down on one knee and pulled out a small black box...

Y/N felt like her heart stopped as Harry opened the little black box. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen. 

"Harry...what are you doing?" she gasped, barely able to speak.

Harry looked up at her with those bright green eyes and gave her that lopsided smile that always made her knees weak.

"I'm doing something I should have done ages ago, my love," he said in that deep, rumbly voice. "I'm asking you to marry me. Will you be my wife?"

Y/N's hand flew up to cover her mouth as she let out a shocked little cry. She couldn't believe this was happening! She thought for sure Harry must be hiding some huge secret. But instead, he had planned this incredibly romantic surprise proposal!

"You...you want to marry me?" Y/N finally managed to say. "Here at this incredible place?"

Harry's smile stretched even wider across his handsome face. He gave a small chuckle and shook his head happily.

"Yes, darling. More than anything, I want you to be my wife," he said sincerely. "And what better place than my family's historic villa? This estate has been passed down for generations upon generations."

He swept his free hand out, gesturing to the beautiful terracotta buildings, lush gardens, and rolling vineyards all around them.

"When I received word that I had inherited the villa, I knew immediately this was where I wanted us to start our lives together. This place is filled with so much love and tradition. The perfect fresh start for our new adventure."

Tears blurred Y/N's vision as she stared down at the man she adored. She felt silly for doubting him, even for a moment. His pure heart and romantic spirit shone through in this amazingly thoughtful proposal.

"So what do you say, my love?" Harry gave the ring box a little shake with a wink. "Make me the happiest man in the world and marry me? We can build our happily ever after together right here in this paradise."

A joyful giggle burst out of Y/N's chest. She launched herself at Harry, sending them both tumbling onto the soft grass in a tangle of limbs. She peppered his face with kisses, cradling it in her hands.

"Yes! Yes, a million times yes!" she exclaimed between delighted laughs. "I can't think of anything I want more than to be your wife!"

Suddenly a cheer went up around them. Y/N looked up in surprise to see the courtyard was now filled with a small crowd of smiling people - couples, families with children, and elderly folks. These must be Harry's relatives from nearby, brought in to secretly witness this magical proposal.

Harry easily regained his feet, pulling Y/N up into his strong embrace. He slid the dazzling diamond onto her trembling finger as the crowd burst into applause again. Someone popped open a bottle of crisp white wine from the villa's own vineyards and began passing out glasses.

As the well-wishers surged forward to hug and congratulate the beaming couple, Y/N pressed herself against Harry's side. She gazed up at her new fiancé with eyes shining with love and happy tears.

"You brilliant, wonderful, maddening man," she said through her megawatt smile. "You really had me going there for a while with all your secretive ways!"

Harry's deep laugh rumbled against her cheek as he kissed the top of her head. "What can I say? I do love a good dramatic surprise," he drawled unrepentantly. "But I promise, from here on out, no more secrets between us. Just you and me, partners for life, building our forever in this little slice of paradise."

Y/N felt her heart swell to overflowing with love and joy as Harry pulled her close to sway among their joyfully celebrating new family. Whatever surprises the future still held, she knew they would face them side-by-side, heart-to-heart. This enchanting Tuscan villa was now their eternal home - an oasis of beauty, heritage, and boundless devotion between two soulmates. And really, what more could anyone want than that?

***

It was Harry's big wedding day and he was super nervous. He was getting ready in one of the fancy rooms at the beautiful Italian villa where the wedding was happening.

"I can't bloody well do this," Harry groaned, struggling with his bowtie. "What was I thinking, putting all this together?"

His best friend Niall gave him a look through the mirror they were standing in front of. "Don't start getting cold feet on me now, mate. You've been dreaming of this day forever!"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It was the morning of his wedding to the love of his life, Y/N. After he surprised her with his proposal a few months ago at his family's villa in Italy, they quickly started planning an intimate but fancy ceremony right there in the villa's pretty gardens.

Now as Harry stood there in his perfect tuxedo, he felt really anxious bubbling up inside. What if something went wrong? What if he messed up his vows or the weather turned bad suddenly?

"It's not the marriage part that's scaring me," he tried to explain to Niall, sitting down on the old couch. "I've never been more sure of anything than wanting Y/N as my wife. It's all this..." He waved his hand around at the luxurious room.

"This huge romantic, over-the-top destination wedding at a historic Italian villa. With all the family flying in from everywhere and the crazy timing to coordinate, it all feels a bit...overwhelming."

Niall raised an eyebrow at his lifelong friend. "And whose genius idea was it to have your wedding at this place again?" he said flatly.

Harry smiled a little, knowing Niall was right. He'd admitted before that he could be quite dramatic, especially when it came to being romantic with Y/N. But part of him worried that Y/N might think this whole destination wedding was too much or too showy.

"I just want everything to be perfectly perfect today, you know?" he sighed, running his hands through his styled hair. "Especially for her. Y/N deserves to have the most magical dream wedding after everything we've been through."

Just then, the door burst open and Harry's sister Gemma came in, looking beautiful in her robe with her hair and makeup done. She gave Harry a look, hands on her hips.

"There you are, worrying over nothing as usual!" Gemma fussed, pulling Harry's fidgeting hands away from his hair. "Honestly, H, with all this huge production you've planned, someone would have to be crazy to doubt how much you adore that girl."

Harry felt himself relax a little at his sister's gentle teasing. Gemma always knew how to put things simply and lovingly. He made a face at Niall, who snorted with amusement.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point, Gem," he said with a little laugh, kissing her cheek. "I'm just going to take a few minutes to myself to get centered, yeah?"

Gemma nodded briskly and shooed Niall out so Harry could have some privacy. Her warm eyes shone with real affection as she gave Harry's arm a reassuring squeeze.

"We both know today is going to be one for the books, love. Just focus on that feeling of pure joy when you see your bride walking down the aisle and everything else will fall into place. I believe in you."

Then Harry was blessedly alone with his whirling thoughts. He went over to the windows, breathing in the fresh spring air from Tuscany while trying to focus his energy. Gemma was right - none of the little details mattered in the big picture. The only important thing was honoring his everlasting love for the extraordinary woman he loved more than life itself.

Straightening up with renewed determination, Harry glanced at his reflection one last time before heading out to take his place. He was about to marry his soulmate in the place they would start their new life together, surrounded by their most cherished people. What could possibly be more magical than that?

Y/N could barely breathe when she saw the breathtaking wonderland that had been created for her wedding in the villa's garden. What was once a normal pretty garden had been totally transformed into something from a fairytale.

Everywhere she looked, there were vibrant splashes of jewel-toned flowers beautifully arranged into lush garlands, bouquets, or delicate sprigs woven into the soaring archway where she and Harry would exchange vows. The warm evening air was filled with the mingled sweet fragrances of peonies, roses, freesia, and sweet pea blossoms that drifted on each gentle breeze.

Overhead, thousands of twinkling lights were suspended amongst gauzy fabric and greenery stretched across the entire garden. As the golden Tuscan sunset faded into dusk, the effect was like being surrounded by a shimmering canopy of fairy lights and stars.

"Y/N, sweetheart, are you ready?"

The familiar gentle voice of her mother came through Y/N's dreamy haze and she turned, fresh tears pricking her eyes. Her mum looked impossibly elegant in her sleek champagne gown, eyes shining with barely contained emotion as she took in her only daughter.

"Oh Mum..." Y/N choked out, feeling a rush of euphoria and disbelief that this day had finally arrived. "I don't think I'll ever be ready enough for the honor of marrying someone like Harry."

Moving carefully so as not to disturb the delicate lace and tulle of her wedding dress, Y/N hugged her mother tightly and allowed herself a quiet moment to simply bask in the surreal joy. She had spent years picturing this day in her mind, imagining every possible detail down to her shoes and makeup. Yet now that it was really happening, she felt even more awestruck and humbled.

A gentle knock came and Y/N's dad was there, looking so handsome and proud in his suit. He cleared his throat roughly, but his watery smile gave away how sentimental he felt.

"Sorry to interrupt, but...it's just about time, petal." His warm fatherly gaze took in every inch of her bridal look - from the shimmering crystal-embellished bodice to the delicate beaded sleeves and sweeping skirt fanning out around her. "You look...well, I've never seen anything more beautiful in all my life."

Y/N hastily wiped beneath her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. Not that it truly mattered, of course. She would happily embrace any imperfections if it meant getting to marry her other half at last.

"Shall we, then?" she managed to say, linking her arms through her parents' and falling into step with them.

The walk down the villa's arched galleries leading to the main gardens felt both endless yet over in a blink. Y/N focused on drawing deep, calming breaths as she absorbed every sublime detail - the glow of the ornate lanterns, heady jasmine fragrance, and cheerful chirping of crickets.

Finally, she rounded the last archway and her gaze was instantly drawn to the man she had chosen to walk life's path alongside from this day forward.

Harry.

He was standing beneath the towering archway covered in flowers, hands clasped loosely in front of him, full of nervous energy. For a single heartbeat, their eyes met and locked - shimmering forest green and sparkling hazel exchanging entire paragraphs of adoration, promise, and reverence in one penetrating look.

In that crystalline moment when their eyes met, everything else fell away. The decorations, the assembled guests watching, even the balmy Tuscan evening - it all faded. All that existed was Harry's reverent, loving gaze drinking her in like she was the most precious gift he'd ever received. A look that spoke straight to Y/N's soul, whispering 'you are my forever' without a single word.

As she glided down the petal-strewn aisle on her fathers' arms, Y/N took in every delicious detail of how heart-stoppingly handsome her groom looked. His polished boots shone, his tuxedo hugging his broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly. The subtle patterns of his trousers and ivory vest added a dapper touch.

But it was Harry's soft, glowing expression that made Y/N weak - those bright green eyes sparkling with happy tears, pink lips curved in a radiant smile, cherub curls framing his chiseled jaw. In that moment, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Y/N barely registered her parents passing her to Harry's waiting hands under the arch, or the hushed scrape of the officiant clearing their throat to begin the ceremony. She and Harry simply stood transfixed, holding each other's gazes as the familiar words of the marriage rite washed over them.

Harry was the first to break the reverent trance when it was time for them to exchange their vows. He took a deep, steadying breath and squeezed Y/N's hands in his large, ring-warmed grasp.

"My darling Y/N, I knew from the very first moment you walked into that massage room that you were someone really special, sent just for me. Do you remember how nervous and shy I got just looking at your beautiful face? I tried acting all cool and confident like I usually do, but you saw right through that act." He gave a little laugh. 

"You looked me straight in the eyes and said 'Cut it out mister, just be yourself. That's what I want to get to know.' And that moment changed everything for me. As your strong but gentle hands started rubbing out my muscle knots, it was like you were untying the knots around my heart too. You made me feel free just to be my real, imperfect self with you, no need to pretend."

Harry took a deep breath. "Our life together hasn't been perfect, babe. We've been through a lot of hard stuff that nobody should have to deal with. But through it all, you've been my one constant. My guiding light when I'm lost, my warmth and sunshine after the darkest days."  

Tears shone in his eyes. "You are my true home and safe place, Y/N. Where I can always find love, laughter, and acceptance, no matter how beat up I am. Choosing to spend forever with your beautiful spirit is the greatest gift I could ever get."

He squeezed her hands tightly. "So on our wedding day, surrounded by everyone we love most, I vow to cherish you, my endlessly patient and loving wife, through every happiness and struggle life brings. I'll always be your safe harbor to come back to. This is my sacred promise to you, my soulmate."

Y/N had to blink back happy tears as she squeezed Harry's hands. "My dearest Harry, my whole life changed that day you walked into my massage room too. You came in acting all charming and cocky with your messy curls and those gorgeous green bedroom eyes." She grinned at him.  

"But I could see right away I wanted to know the real you, not just some act. And that's when you truly captivated me - by wearing your heart wide open and feeling every emotion so deeply. Your childlike wonder at small joys, your kindness to all living things, your ability to empathize...that's when I knew you were someone who could break through all my walls."

Her chest felt ready to burst with love as she gazed at him. "This man standing before me is the rarest gem. You're boundlessly talented and creative, yes, but also so humble - using your art to uplift people and shine light into the darkness. Over the years you've uncovered the most beautiful soul, and I'm so honored to nurture that forever."

Y/N took a shuddering breath. "You are my safe haven too, my love. The place where I can let all my vulnerabilities show without fear, knowing you'll protect my fragile pieces as fiercely as I protect yours."

She raised their joined hands and kissed his knuckles gently. "So here, in our new beginning place, I vow to spend the rest of my days delighting in your spirit's brilliance. I'll nurture and endlessly celebrate your exquisite soul. Walking peacefully beside you is the greatest privilege imaginable. I'll make sure you never forget that."

***

His mouth was crashing over hers in a searing, all-consuming kiss that brooked no argument. Y/N melted into the hard planes of his body with a shameless moan, all thoughts of their reception and revelling guests evaporating like rain on desert sands.

They barely made it to the longue before articles of clothing began puddling at their feet in reckless abandon. All that existed for Harry and Y/N in that breathless, eternity was finally, surrendering to the long-anticipated unionn they had fought for.  

"Tell me what you want, love," Harry husked into the heated space between their mouths. "Want to give you everything."

Y/N whimpered at the gravel of her husband's voice, dragging him down into another searing kiss. She licked fervently into his mouth, savoring the smoky, masculine taste that was purely Harry. She craved him.

Harry growled in approval, palming Y/N's breasts roughly before giving the peaked buds a sharp pinch. She cried out, arching into his touch as liquid fire lanced straight to her core. Not to be outdone, Y/N rolled them with surprising strength until she was straddling Harry's muscled thighs.

His gaze followed the path of her hands as she slowly, teasingly trailed them down the sculpted ridges of her own torso. Y/N threw her head back with a breath when her fingertips grazed the slick, throbbing bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

"Jesus..." Harry bit out, hips punching up instinctively when Y/N began working herself in tight, frantic circles right in front of him. "You're so bloody gorgeous, darling. Don't know how I got so lucky."

Y/N hummed breathlessly, catching Harry's stare as she continued touching herself shamelessly in clear view. Her other hand drifted lower to wrap around his thick, achingly hard length. She gave him a few firm strokes, smearing around the pearly bead of moisture leaking from his tip.

"Want you inside me," she rasped without preamble. "Need to feel you stretch me wide open, baby."

A low, guttural sound tore from Harry's chest as he instantly surged up into a seated position, cupping Y/N's bum and grinding against her slick entrance. She keened at the prod of him nudging insistently between her folds.

"Yeah?" he husked against the swell of her breasts. "You want this thick cock filling you up, love? Fucking you raw until you're sobbing my name?"

"Yes!" Y/N hissed out on a broken moan, rising up on her knees until just the bulbous tip of him caught on her soaked entrance. "Now Harry, oh my god, please!"

Harry snarled something incoherent before crushing their mouths together in another all-consuming. He swallowed Y/N's shrill cry as he abruptly surged up in one slick, powerful glide - burying every thick, throbbing inch inside her with a lewd grunt.

"Fuck YES!" Y/N sobbed out, throwing her head back as her inner walls fluttered wildly around the stretch and burn. "Oh god, just like that..."

"Bloody fucking perfect," Harry gritted through clenched teeth as Y/N rolled and clenched around him experimentally. "Grip me so damn tight, sweetheart."

Both spurred into a frenzy, they instantly launched into a rapid, frantic grind atop the rumpled sheets. Y/N rose up and dropped back down with shameless abandon, chasing the euphoric drag of Harry's girth splitting her open over and over. Her nails left crescent-shaped indents across the muscles of his straining shoulders and back.

"Yes, yes!" she chanted breathlessly, meeting Harry's brutal upward snaps with her own. "That's it, baby, fuck me just like that!"

"Jesus, the noises you make," Harry gritted out, his large hands flexing around Y/N's hips hard enough to bruise as he guided their filthy rhythm. "So fucking sexy, love. Gonna come just from hearing you."

Y/N keened in delight at his ragged words. She somehow managed to yank him even closer, savoring the rigid press of his abdomen rubbing against her swollen, aching clit with each punishing grind. Her breasts bounced with the feverish motion, nipples pebbled and aching for her husband's mouth.

Seemingly reading her mind, Harry latched on with a snarl, laving and sucking at the tender peaks with focused intensity. The pleasure arrowing straight to Y/N's center had her throwing her head back on a broken wail.

"Oh shit, shit yes!" she babbled frantically, legs beginning to shake and tremble. "Right there, Harry, fuuuuuck don't stop!"

Lewd sounds of flesh on flesh echoed throught the room, paired with their moans and grunts as they made noises freely. They didn’t care about their guests listening to them, because, well, they owned this place.

"Stay right there," Harry suddenly grunted through clenched teeth, halting Y/N with a bone-crushing grip on her hips. He then snapped his hips up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt on each brutal thrust.

Y/N screamed as she finally came around him, every muscle seizing up in pure bliss. Her back contorted sharply as shockwave after shockwave of pure bliss blitzed through her nerve-endings. She could barely draw breath, completely shattered by the force of her release as it gushed hotly around Harry's relentless possession of her core.

"Oh FUCK," Harry roared out, head tossed back as Y/N's clenching finally dragged him over that edge as well. His whole body strained, tendons in his neck and arms flexing as he erupted torrentially inside Y/N with a long, drawn out moan.

They clung to each other throughout their shared ecstasy, trapped in an endless cycle of crashing between blinding highs and soft lows.. Harry's mouth was persistent, soothing across Y/N's damp hairline and temples once coherent thought became possible again.  

Finally, when the last ripples had faded away, he gently manoeuvred them onto their sides without separating their bodies. His now-lax biceps flexed around Y/N's hips, pulling her even closer so he could nuzzle fervent kisses beneath her jaw.

"You're everything," he murmured in a voice gone coarse and raspy from their cries. "My whole fucking universe, you understand me?"

Y/N shivered at his words, craning her neck to slot her mouth over his in a deep, intoxicating kiss. She matched his confession with one of her own without breaking the languid back-and-forth of their kiss.

"Forever, baby. You and me forever."

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! and also if part 2 lived up to the expectations lol.

please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld  @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs   @hisparentsgallerryy   @storyschanging  @selluequestrian   @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

solace taglist (y'all asked to be tagged in part 2!): @lhhlver @mysteriouslydecaffeinatedfox @fangirl7060

[xxchaosjojoxx]

My friend i have a request for you!!

Law and/or Shachi in a secret Relationship with the Reader! 👀 You can decide how it goes and if they get found out by the others. 👀👀

I also very much hope your day is going well and that you're doing good 💚💚

Hello my lovely Penguin lover <3 i love your requests so much and i hope its ok that i got shachi for this.

Secret (Shachi x strawhat!reader)

The news coo landed on deck of the Polar Tang.

“Oii Shachi.” Penguin yelled, holding a letter in his hand. “You got a letter from Y/N again.”

Shachi walked over, taking the letter in his hand. Penguin grinned. “You often received letters from Y/N. What is this about?”

Shachi chuckled. “Important information about some mission.” And with that he went to a secluded corner.

He opened the letter, reading the words written on it. He traced the ink on the parchment, smiling at the thought of your touch on this. Each coded phrase, each carefully veiled warning was laced with longin and affection. The coordinates you gave me will always be etched in my heart. He read and he knew the meaning behind this. It’s not just about the information, Shachi. It’s about you. We will meet again soon. We will be there as well. Shachi grinned like a lovesick puppy. 

Whenever the strawhats met him and the heart pirates they were exchanging information. Maybe it was too foolish to risk everything for the subtle brush of fingertips as you exchanged ‘intels’? Both of you were pretty sure that your captains would be ok with you being in a relationship. But the possibilities of being enemies later when you reached the end of the new world, was enough for the two of you to hide your feelings in front of your friends and crewmates. 

Then the day arrived you joined the heart pirates on a nearby island, together with your crew, the strawhats.

You walked towards him. Holding his newest letter close to your heart. “I think I found a loophole in  your last  report.” A smirk was creeping across his face as he leaned in. He replied softly. "Oh, really?" And what is that?”

You placed your finger on his lips. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You winked at him. It didn’t take long for you two to sneak away and make out. Your longing and all of that build up desire you both held for way too long, came to the surface. He trailed kisses on your neck and jawline. “Your last ‘supply report’ nearly gave me away. Luffy saw the pressed flower. Clever, but be more careful. Any other would have asked about it.” Shachi smirked against your skin. Kissing you softly on your lips. You melted instantly into the kiss. As you pulled back you looked at him with a warm gaze. “Still it smelled lovely.”

Your hands were roaming over his body, as you kissed him once more.

After a while you both pulled away, his forehead resting on yours. “Soon you will be mine forever. I know it.”

You gave him a quick peck on the nose. “Soon enough. When we have the new Pirate King.”

A few weeks passed and you were on Elbaf hearing the news on Winner Island. You were devastated. No one knew what happened. What about the heart pirates? Are they alive? Are they ok? Is Shachi ok?

You tried your best to not show any emotions but it was hard. Especially after you received a letter without a name. You opened it quickly. The mission was successful. Casualties minimal.

But between the lines you read the hidden message and cried, while breaking down in the arms of Robin and Nami. They knew you were fond of them, especially Shachi. They assumed you two had a secret relationship but waited for you to tell them. Until the day comes, they will support and comfort you as long as you need them.

We survived. And I miss you more than I can say.

Years later after the pirate era began you and Shachi were sitting on a hill, watching the sunset. Your fingers intertwined, your head on his shoulder.

Next to you was a box field with your and Shachi’s letter. You both read them all over again. The coded language faded, leaving only the raw, undeniable passion behind.

[xmintpiex]

TY4BB - sfw, Michael Kaiser x gn!reader, fluff, cheesy, sunshine!reader wc: 964

"I said no peeking, honey!"

The pout on your lips lighthearted, harmless, as you cover your current project with your hands, looking back up to where he was lounging on the leather sofa. Glue, paint, construction paper, and little jars of glitter littering the living room coffee table. In your pajamas, those tacky fuzzy socks you always insisted on wearing when at home, sat comfortably on the plush carpet, hair still a little damp from the bath.

The little mouse that had curiously wandered into his cage so long ago, now sat comfortably in the center as if there wasn't a something lurking in there. As if the mouse didn't mind the claws that belonged to the beast it cuddled against for warmth and shelter. As if content to stay there forever and ever.

A sneer ready on his lips, needing to bare his teeth, fingers tapping against the plush velvet sleeves of his robe.

"It always ends up looking the same, I don't need to look."

A little too much, that little painful squeeze in his chest warns as he carefully watches your reaction, hands gripping his arms. But like always, it never seems to bother you. Your eyes crinkling in amusement, something delicate and too kind. His skin too hot and tender under your gaze. Nauseating. Addicting.

"Oh well, consistency is good too, right?"

That stupid, lovely giggle spilling from your soft lips as you turn back to your project on the coffee table. Your back to him, your arm moving in that familiar, well practiced way. Creating another blue glitter heart on the poster board. Too much.

The stadium is loud and bright, packed like always. Not that it matters to him, far more focused on the game, on being the only one to bloom in the field.

He scores a goal. Eyes betraying him like always, already going to find your face in the crowd. So easily found in the spot in the VIP section that he had selected for you. Not too close, not too far.

He expects your overly enthusiastic cheering. He expects your jumping and bouncing, doing a stupid silly dance, your back adorned with his number for all to see.

He expects it, craves it, needs it. But it's still too much.

He hates it. The field around him slightly blurring, his heart too loud, too heavy, as if needed to be ripped out. Too much. Your face too captivating, completely unapologetic with your love, showcasing it on a silver platter for the whole world to see.

"Let's Go!! Michael Kaiser! I LOVE YOU! Woooo!"

Your words, your voice, resounding even without a megaphone. Eyes twinkling, only on him. Your smile disgustingly bright, too wide. Too real. Blowing a kiss right at him, the ring on your finger sparkling under the bright stadium lights. That overly bedazzled, cringe worthy sign in your hands, painted blue this time, with too many hearts and too many words, one phrase standing out among them all, always present yet always making his hands claw, his heart twist.

TY 4 BB

The stupid little acronym you had come up with, adorning all your homemade signs to be a little more unique. To standout. Wanting to be special.

Back when you didn't have a spot in the VIP section. Back when he kept you at arms length but the grip around your wrist extra tight, eyes and teeth icy and venomous. Back when you were just a little mouse that stuck to the perimeter of his enclosure. His shoulders hunched and tensed whenever you tested reaching out to him.

TY 4 BB

A secret code just for the two of you.

What you text him on those rare nights the two of you are apart. His phone lighting up on the nightstand with the familiar text before bed. What you text him in the morning, paired with a 'good morning' and a little heart emoji.

What you trace onto his back. Warm fingertips against hot, bare skin beneath the silk covers, legs entwined. Fingertips too gentle yet searing, engraving your love into his back, beneath his flesh. Your words a sleepy mumble but still too clear, too sincere.

Too much.

TY 4 BB

Originally for his birthday cake that first year he had let you celebrate with him. Jaw too clenched and vitriol ready, to hide his wobbling lips. Heart squeezing and writhing as you lit the candles for him.

"I couldn't fit the whole thing on..but I think I like it better this way!"

Your smile too gentle as you carefully position the homemade cake in front of him. Small yet too dense, decorated with too much frosting, and clumsily made little blue roses.

"Like this, the words only belong to the two of us, you know?"

Baring your heart to him too easily. Not minding if he scratched or bit or squeezed.

TY 4 BB

The cryptic caption under the rare photos of him you upload to your social media account, leaving his fans to speculate.

Embroidered into the robe you had bought him last year and the one before that. Your own matching robes donning the same embroidery, over the heart.

Warm and cuddled in bed and waiting for sleep, the full words always coming out. Too sweet against his temple, his body limp to your touch, his heart bleeding, face melting into your neck. Hands tight, bruising around your hips, even though you would never run from his hunger. Every adoring word from your sweet lips ripping him open, finally letting him breathe.

Thank you for being born, Michael Kaiser.

Thank you for being apart of my world.

Thank you for being mine.

And

Thank you for letting me be yours.

Thank you for being born. (TY4BB)

[kleyasradio]

if brokenness is a form of art [1/2]

Summary:

Coruscant is cold.

Not its air. Its soul.

The city is large in a way that defies Bix’s imagination. It’s all straight, sharp lines that do not belong in nature. It stretches endlessly in every direction, and in every direction, it is the same. Artificial. Lifeless.

Three trillion people live in the ecumenopolis. Ferrix was a speck compared to it, but it was bustling with life, even under the Imperial boot. There were voices in the street and in the wind. The walls held the warmth of the sun after it had set.

Stone and sky do not exist here.

This place is so cold Bix feels it in her teeth.

[In the aftermath of what happened on Mina-Rau, Bix and Cassian try to pick up the pieces. A deeper look into the year we didn't see.]

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Author's Note: I set out to write a one-shot, and as usual, I wrote too much and this became a two-parter. I love Bix and Cassian individually and together and I'm surprised that there are so few fics about them, so I couldn't help myself. Fair warning, this gets worse before it gets better. Any comments/thoughts/feelings are truly appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

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She hasn’t said a word since they left Mina-Rau.

A strange stillness has settled over her. It’s as if her body were covered in liquid lead. It traps everything within. The pain, the screams.

She can feel Cassian’s eyes on her. He keeps looking at her over his shoulder, concern etched in the lines of his face. He doesn’t speak, yet his eyes ask, and apologize, and grieve.

Bix looks away.

There is only the humming of the ship for a while, until Kleya’s voice crackles through the comms.

Bix is only vaguely aware of the conversation she and Cassian are having.

“Are you still aboard the freighter?”

“We are.”

“We… How many?”

“Three.”

There is a measured pause.

“The forecast indicated a storm. Did you run into it?”

“Yes. Big one. We need shelter.”

“Do you expect it to follow or are you in the clear?”

“Damn it. Stop wasting time and find us somewhere safe!”

Cassian’s seething impatience is met with static and silence. Bix doesn’t know Kleya very well. Or at all. She is a voice without a face, that’s all she has been for one year. But from her voice, Bix has come to understand the workings of her mind, and she knows that this silence means she is evaluating the situation, whether they are worth the risk.

“I’m sending you coordinates. The engineer will be there to take care of the freighter.”

The layers of code phrases are a necessity, they keep everyone safe, as safe as they can be.

In that moment, Bix hates them. They are a reminder of how little freedom they have. They aren’t even afforded the luxury of openly screaming their devastation.

Bix wishes she could. Just this one time. She wants to say it as it is.

We lost another home. I was almost raped. I killed two Imperials. Brasso is—

“We left Bee.”

Wil’s voice is a trembling, wretched thing. The boy’s eyes are glassy, bloodshot. He presses his lips together, trying not to cry. He fails.

Cassian turns around again. Bix sees the twitch in his eyebrow as he takes in this new loss. She knows that, inside, he is screaming.

 He looks at her. She closes her eyes.

When Wil smashes his fist against the durasteel of the hull, she doesn’t flinch.

-

They land on a swampy wasteland. The air is thick and humid when they get off the stolen prototype. It clings to Bix’s skin and makes it sticky. It is an unpleasant feeling, and it brings back other phantom sensations.

She wants to shower.

The adrenaline that had kept her going has worn off, and her body is re-awakening to things she does not want to feel. Amongst them all, pain is the one that bothers her the least.

They wait, and wait, none of them speaking. It hurts to breathe, Bix realizes. There is a spot on her right side that screeches whenever her lungs expand. It’s painful enough that she wonders if she might have broken a rib.

She tries to hide it, breathing through her nose in small, stilted huffs. But she is dizzy and even just standing is an effort.

Cassian notices it. Of course he does. She had fallen into his arms when she had seen him appear through the wheat fields of Mina-Rau. Now she stands away from him, bones taut and avoiding his gaze. She knows her forehead is bleeding, and if the pain she is in is any indication, her body will soon start showing the evidence of the assault she endured.

“Bix?”

The arrival of Luthen’s Fondor is a small mercy, interrupting the beginning of a conversation Bix does not want to have.

Bix hasn’t seen him since Ferrix, when he was still only a buyer to her, and she had no sense of the real scope of his role in the Rebellion. The Empire taught her, so very thoroughly.

His hair is different than what she remembers when he descends from the Haulcraft, his clothes elegant and made of lavish fabrics that do not belong on a marsh planet.

He is angry when he confronts Cassian, receives the same energy in return.

“What were you thinking? Flying right into an Imperial inspection alone, with the ship you were tasked to steal!”

“My ship was destroyed! A band of idiots killed Porko and kept me hostage for days.”

“The Maya Pei Brigade?”

Cassian scoffs.

“She’s gone. And that was not a brigade. Those were not soldiers! Is this how your network communicates? The rebel alliance that is supposed to bring down the Empire? No wonder we keep dying.”

Luthen remains aloof in the face of Cassian’s fury.

“I told you at the very beginning how hard this would be. That every fraction of a victory would be accompanied by a loss that would make everything feel pointless. You knew what you were signing up for. You asked me to take you in.”

“My friend is dead because I wasn’t there. And that wasn’t the Empire. It was the people that are supposed to be fighting our fight. How can I accept that? How can you?!”

Anger gives way to exhaustion. From where she is standing next to the TIE, Bix can see Cassian’s shoulders drop. Heartbreak has a weight. She knows it intimately.

“You’ll learn. Like I have,” Luthen says with a sigh. “I’ll take care of the ship, and of everything else. But I need you in Coruscant. We can no longer afford to be scattered.”

Bix sees him nod in her direction.

“Kleya is already looking into options to relocate them. There’s an agriworld in the Astal system—”

“No,” Cassian cuts him off. “I’m not leaving them again.”

Luthen looks at Bix, then. Even from afar, she feels his stare piercing her. She knows what he is seeing. A nuisance. A danger. Cassian’s commitment to her reduces her to that, and not much else. She wonders how little it matters to Luthen, that she was tortured within an inch of her life because of her affiliation to him.

His eyes find Wil next, sitting at the bottom of the TIE ramp and almost shaking with a quiet rage.

She was spared the sight of Paak being hanged in the middle of Fountain Square. Perhaps that’s what Luthen wishes had happened to her, too. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

Or perhaps he is thinking none of this and his heart instead aches for what they have been through. Perhaps it is her own heart that has blackened and gone rotten.

“Fine,” is all Luthen says to Cassian with a nod. “You do not want to let this become an issue.”

Next thing she knows, they are trekking for half an hour through the swamp, until they arrive to a ship hidden in the vegetation.

It’s old, a piece of junk that in what feels like a different life she would have been excited to work on.

Cassian helps her up the ramp. He wraps an arm around her waist and presses his hand over her ribs, below her right breast. It’s meant to steady her, instead the touch steals the breath from her lungs.

She flinches away and Cassian freezes.

She limps past him as hastily as her wrecked body allows and gets inside the ship. It’s a tight space, she drops into the first seat she finds and straps herself in, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

Wil collapses in the bench across from her.

“They’re going to pay,” he whispers to himself, filled with a hatred a kid like him should not know.

Cassian’s boots walk past her, then stop.

“Bix.” His voice is so quiet. So small and scared. “What happened?”

Her eyes don’t leave the spot on the floor. She doesn’t answer.

The boots hover at the edge of her visual field for a long, unbearable moment. Then Cassian gives up and keeps walking to the cockpit.

The entire ship shakes and rattles when they take off. They leave the planet and Cassian makes the jump.

She feels sick.

-

Coruscant is cold.

Not its air. Its soul.

The city is large in a way that defies Bix’s imagination. It’s all straight, sharp lines that do not belong in nature. It stretches endlessly in every direction, and in every direction, it is the same. Artificial. Lifeless.

Three trillion people live in the ecumenopolis. Ferrix was a speck compared to it, but it was bustling with life, even under the Imperial boot. There were voices in the street and in the wind. The walls held the warmth of the sun after it had set.

Stone and sky do not exist here.

This place is so cold Bix feels it in her teeth.

The safehouse is buried in a forgotten building of the lower levels. It has a view, which surprises her, and it is bigger than she expected, though compared to the mobil-haus, everything would seem big. It smells of recycled air, the overhead lights cast a flat, sickly glow. The red dust and bricks of Ferrix are even more of a distant memory than they were on Mina-Rau.

They have been here for less than ten minutes. As soon as Cassian closed the door behind them, Wil disappeared into one of the bedrooms. She thinks he might cry again, now that he is alone. A part of her hopes he does. If he lets all that pain and grief out, maybe he’ll be able to exorcise it and it won’t calcify inside him. Not like it has with her.

The trip was long. Wil slept for most of it. Bix did not even attempt. She merely closed her eyes to try and calm the painful pounding in her head. It didn’t work.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” Cassian said at some point. His voice reached her from the cockpit.

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“If you know it, then don’t ask,” she cut him off, more bitter than she meant to.

She heard his intake of breath.

“Ok,” he finally said.

He did not speak again until they arrived in Coruscant, when slipping past the watchful eye of the Empire became far more important than any tension between them, or than the thing festering inside Bix that she refused to acknowledge.

She should be relieved that they made it. Instead, the safehouse feels like a cage of concrete and steel, and with Wil hiding away in one of the bedrooms, the silence between her and Cassian becomes unbearable.

It presses down on her, squeezing tighter. Her pulse throbs in her temples, her body hurts all over, it is glass trying not to shatter. Cassian’s gaze might just be what does it.

She walks past him, down the narrow hallway. He doesn’t try to stop her. She drops the dark cape she was wearing as disguise as she goes. Her legs are trembling.

The fresher is small, a metal box. She closes the door behind her. The light flickers once, then steadies. There is a mirror above the sink. For the first time since everything happened, she looks at herself.

It is a broken woman the one staring back at her in the reflection. She has seen her before, when she arrived on Gangi Moon after Cassian rescued her from the hotel. She kept seeing her for months afterwards.

Her eyes are sunken, her forehead swollen and sore, dried blood crusted below her hairline. There is a bruise spreading across her jaw.

Bix strips slowly, every movement painful. Her skin feels tight and hot, like it doesn’t belong to her. She removes her work apron and her red jacket, leaving her only in her ruined tank top. It covers the worst of it, but what she can see is enough to make her stomach churn.

The skin of her biceps is a splotchy mess of black and blue and dark red. Five purple fingerprint marks are wrapped around her left wrist like a shackle. The same shape mars her right collarbone, creeping down to the top of her breast.

The assault was a blur, and yet she remembers every second of it. She looks at her mottled skin and can feel Krole’s fingers squeezing, and pulling, and digging.

She lifts her shirt with shaky hands. She is bruised all over her stomach and ribs, but there is a deep, dark line across her midriff where the bruising is the worst and blood has risen to the surface. It’s raw and tender, the source of the sharp pain that gnaws at her every time she breathes.

She knows what it is. The moment returns to her as sensations. She doesn’t want to remember, but it crawls under her skin, fills her lungs and mind.

The edge of the table slamming into her abdomen, knocking the breath out of her lungs. He pinned her there, trapping her with his body, trying to make her bend.

She remembers the strangled sound she made when he grabbed her face and pulled her back into his body. She hadn’t meant to give him that, but she was terrified.

A sound escapes her throat now, too, as she remembers it all. His hot, wet breath against her cheek, and his thumb on her lip, and his erection pressed against the small of her back.

Nausea washes over her too fast to do anything about it. She bends over the toilet just in time. Dry heaves wrack her. Nothing comes up, she hasn’t eaten since Mina-Rau.

When her stomach finally stops spasming, she has tears in her eyes and her skin is clammy with cold sweat. Her tank top is plastered to her spine, her hair has fallen over her face, matted and damp.

She pulls herself up on wobbly legs, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the sink just to stay upright.

The heaving has stopped, the shaking hasn’t, her chest aches from the strain. Each breath scrapes against her ribs. The pain flaring up from the bruises is blinding, unfair.

She closes her eyes, but it doesn’t help. The dark is full of him. His hands, his grunts.

She tries to push it all down, into a place in her mind where she buries all the dark things she doesn’t want to touch. It doesn’t work.

A soft knock raps against the door.

“Bix?”

She exhales, tries to gather herself.

“I’m fine,” she says, hoping it will make Cassian let it go, and knowing it won’t.

“You’re not,” he says through the door.

She says nothing. Silence hangs there, heavy.

“I’m coming in.”

It isn’t a question, though he waits enough for her to stop him.

She doesn’t. She doesn’t have it in her.

The door slides open with a hiss.

She can feel him, standing behind her, hears his breath catch.

She turns slowly, and watches his face change as he takes her in. Her battered skin, the finger-shaped marks. He clenches his jaw. His throat works around something hard.

“I’m fine,” she repeats, and it’s pitiful, how thin her voice sounds, how much it shakes with the lie.

Cassian only looks at her, his warm eyes are too soft and haunted for her to bear.

He doesn’t say anything. Good.

There’s a medkit in his hands. He sets it on the tiny counter and unzips it. His fingers shake for a second before he stills them. He lays out the items one by one with careful hands.

He pauses when he is done, eyes downcast for a moment before flicking back to her face.

“You’re hurt,” he says. Toneless, efficient. She still hears the slight waver in his voice. This is as unbearable for him as it is for her. “Let me check.”

She wants to protest, to tell him that she can patch herself up on her own. But she is exhausted, and some small, defeated part of her nods.

She peels her shirt over her head, wincing as the movement stretches the muscles along her side and the fabric tugs at her tender skin. She drops it on the floor, next to clothes she is never going to wear again, and stands still.

There is nowhere to hide. Cassian can see every mark on her skin, the full extent of the damage she endured. The disaster that is her back is revealed to him by the mirror. She knows she is bruised, and she knows she is torn, because the pain hasn’t left her alone since Krole threw her against the wall.

She didn’t look at it directly, she doesn’t have to. She sees it in Cassian’s eyes.

She watches him try to breathe through it, the stiffness in his shoulders as his gaze flicks over the purple and yellowish handprints at her waist.

Something dark and terrifying crosses his eyes. It vanishes in a blink, replaced by a tortured look that he tries to school into a neutral expression. For someone whose job is to lie and hide himself away, he is terrible at it.

He works in silence, methodical. She still shudders when his fingers first brush against her skin.

His hands move with practiced care. He applies a bacta patch over a gash that runs below her shoulder blade, his thumb hovering before pressing down to smooth its edges.

Once he finishes cleaning the wounds on her back, he rubs ointment over her bruises. He murmurs an apology when he palpates her ribs, to make sure there are no broken bones.

He is gentle. Too gentle. It makes her feel like livewire. He traces the line of broken blood vessels across the abdomen and she wants to scream.

While he cleans the split skin of her knuckles, he finally asks it again. For the first time since the ship.

“What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

She says it to Cassian as much as she says it to herself. It’s what she wants to believe, because she stopped him, and she has been through so much worse, and Brasso is dead. She doesn’t want to accept that this is the thing that’s eating her alive.

Cassian pours some antiseptic on a gauze, then dabs at the scrape on her forehead. It stings, but she doesn’t make a sound.

He lingers there, his hand cradling her cheek, feather-light and familiar. It makes everything worse.

“Bix. Please.”

There’s an edge of desperation in his voice.

Something inside her cracks.

“It was an Imperial,” she whispers. “He found me when I was alone. He’d been circling me for days.”

She looks at the floor, holding Cassian’s gaze is impossible if she wants to get the words out.

“He knew I was undocumented. He said he was going to arrest me, unless I—”

Her voice fractures. She closes her mouth, swallows hard against the choking pressure in her throat.

The nausea is back as she remembers his smirk, the ease with which he stepped into her personal space and demanded she gave up her dignity. He had the confidence of someone who’d done it countless times before.

“He made it sound like I had a choice.”

“Bix…”

“I said no and pushed him away,” she says. “That’s when he attacked me.”

There is only silence for a moment. Cassian has gone so quiet, so impossibly still, like it is taking every fiber of his strength to keep his muscles restrained. Even without looking, Bix can feel the tension exuding from his body. The anger.

Then he asks it. What she knows he’s been wanting to ask since he wrapped his arm around her and she flinched away.

“Did he do it?”

Bix shakes her head.

“He tried. He didn’t get what he wanted.”

She keeps it at that. She has already let him see more than she can bear.

She doesn’t realize she is crying until she feels Cassian’s thumb at the corner of her eye, the ghost of a touch brushing away her tears.

She looks at him, finally. His eyes are locked on hers and he looks like something is tearing him open from the inside.

There is no pity in his gaze. She couldn’t survive that. Just a raw, quiet devastation.

He grinds his teeth so hard she can see the muscle of his jaw twitch. There is so much grief on his face. Grief, and fury, and guilt. Even before he speaks, she already knows the exact thing that he is torturing himself with.

“I should have been there,” he says, his voice like gravel.

She can’t help it. A small, broken laugh escapes her mouth. It’s an ugly sound, and another tear trickles down her cheek.

“You can’t keep me safe forever, Cass. You should know that by now.”

His face crumples like she just slapped him. He doesn’t deserve it, but she cannot take his guilt, not when she is drowning in her own.

Because she can’t get over the suspicion that Krole fast-tracked the audit of their Council just to get his hands on her. If he hadn’t, Brasso would still be alive.

She says none of this to Cassian. It’s not his to carry.

She expects him to apologize, or to try and put together some false promise of safety that is meant to reassure her. He does neither.

“How did you do it?” he asks instead.

It takes her a moment to understand what he is referring to. She only told him Krole was dead, but he understood, right away.

“I hit him with a hammer until he didn’t move anymore.”

He inhales deeply, measured.

“Good. I hope he died afraid.”

He reaches out. His hands brush gently up her arms, tentative, like he is waiting for her to pull away. She doesn’t.

Careful of her wounds, he pulls her into his arms, his lips coasting over the top of her head. She presses her face against his chest, inhaling. He is warm, solid. She can feel his heartbeat. It’s a familiar embrace, and for the first time since Mina-Rau, the tightness in her chest loosens a little.

She knows it’s a temporary reprieve. She still takes it.

She wets his shirt with her tears.

-

Bix tries not to sleep. She doesn’t want to.

But exhaustion is cruel. It lulls her in, disguised as rest. Her body, wrecked and raw, sinks into the mattress. The pain meds make her head heavy.

“I’m right here,” Cassian tells her, adjusting the blanket over her and curling his body into hers.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder. It’s the last thing she feels.

Then there is darkness.

And then there is him.

“Calm yourself down.”

She is on the floor of the mobil-haus. She’s not fast enough to reach the hammer.

He drags her by her foot like she is a ragdoll, a toy he’s about to use and break.

He throws her on the bed unit and climbs on top of her. She can’t breathe.

He’s smiling, his smell suffocates her.

“Where is your husband?”

She tries to scream. No sound leaves her mouth.

He laughs.

“Bix.”

She can’t move. She thrashes about, she needs to get his weight off of her. She screams and screams—

“Bix!”

The dream shatters and her eyes snap open.

Cassian’s face is the first thing she sees above her, drawn tight with worry.

“Bix,” he repeats. It was his voice that she heard. “It’s me. It’s over.”

She gulps down air too fast, it makes her throat burn. She screamed it raw.

She twists away from Cassian when he tries to touch her, her body still thinks she is in danger.

She sits up with a jerk and there’s a burning stretch in her ribs. She’s soaked in sweat, her heart hammering in her chest and refusing to slow down.

She curls forward, elbows on her knees and fists pressed into her eyes, wishing she could dig the memories out of her skull.

“Is she ok?”

She glances up. Wil is standing by the threshold, looking at her in concern.

Cassian stands up and crosses the room in three strides.

“I’ve got this. Go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go. Now,” he says, with a tone that leaves no room for argument.

Wil retreats and Cassian clicks the door shut.

In an instant, he’s back by her side.

She has her back to him. He doesn’t try to touch her again. He sits close to her, makes sure she knows he is there.

“It’s ok. Breathe.”

His voice is quiet, patient. He has done this before.

Her breathing is starting to level, but the tremors won’t stop. She squeezes her eyes shut, and then she is crying again.

It slips out of her in shudders and small whimpers. She covers her mouth with her palm to suffocate the sounds.

“Bix…”

She doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want him to see her like this.

He saw her when she was hardly human and much more akin to a feral animal. After Ferrix, after Dr. Gorst. He was there, when she wouldn’t come out from underneath the bed because nowhere else felt safe. He was there, holding her hair when the sounds in her head made her throw up, and he was there when she soiled herself after a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

For some reason, she feels more shame now than she did all those times. It clings to her like a second skin.

“I wish I could bring him back to life,” Cassian says. His voice is eerily calm. “So I could take my time with him.”

She tilts her head to the side, just enough that she can see the shape of Cassian’s profile. She understands his urge for destruction. She wishes she could feel it, too. Instead of this exhausting, consuming helplessness.

There is one small, secret thing that haunts her more than anything Krole did to her.

She rasps it out.

“I begged him. I hate that I gave him that.”

There is a rustling of sheets behind her. Cassian shifts closer, enough that his breath tickles the back of her neck.

“He is dead. And you’re here. And I love you.”

It cracks her open, the ease with which he loves her. Like it’s nothing, like he isn’t tying himself to someone who doesn’t even feel human anymore.

She doesn’t want that for him. But she wants him. She needs him in a way that scares her.

She leans back against him, lets him lay her down again. She rolls onto her side, curled into a little ball.

“Can I hold you?” Cassian asks.

She wants to say yes. Desperately.

“Stay very close to me. But don’t touch me,” she whispers instead.

This, too, was taken from her.

Cassian obeys. She feels him adjusting behind her. His chest brushes against her back with every breath, the tip of his nose so close to the shell of her ear.

She closes her eyes, and a silent tear squeezes out. It runs down the bridge of her nose and pools on the fabric of the pillow.

She thinks of nothing but Cassian’s warmth.

She prays this isn’t permanent, that she’ll get over it.

She has done it before.

She prays she isn’t beyond repair.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi, if it's not too much trouble, could you tell me who you think each guy's ideal woman is? I know that in theory they could be with anyone, but I need something more specific. I need this information for a fanfic I'm writing.

Sorry this took me a few days to answer but I've been struggling with a prolonged migraine. But, I know I've answered this question before a long time ago, though it might've been phrased differently back in the day.

See, I have such a hard time saying, "Well, this would be the ideal type of man or woman". When I imagine someone who is their type, I don't see a specific gender in mind which makes it difficult to answer this question the way it's worded.

Like, you're right, their partner can be anyone out there, but... I can't limit the notion down to things that are specifically gendered. I read the RFA as so largely queer that the idea of trying to wrap my brain around what they might like in women or men makes my head spin! This might also be because of the way I view romance? Because, I'm attracted to pretty much anyone and it's defined by personality first and foremost. People definitely do have preferences for more than just personality, aesthetic, style, hair color, etc, but I guess it's hard for me to imagine some of these preferences being limited to woman they might like when so much of it could apply to men, non-binary folks, pretty much anyone of any gender or of no gender.

So, I am sorry for not being able to answer this ask in the way you're asking it, LOL, but I did my best.

Yoosung wants a partner who respects him. He wants someone who sees him as he is, and doesn't pinch his cheeks whenever he doesn't know something that other people do. He's inexperienced because he is coming into his own but that doesn't mean he's immature or a kid. A huge part of his route is built upon someone... recognizing him for who he is as a person. A kind, compassionate man who is exploring a world that's just opened up to him and he isn't sure where he wants to turn yet.

That's really what he wants in a partner. A nice person who sees him as their equal and doesn't mind letting him call the shots sometimes, because he would relent and let you take the wheel, too. He wants to be treated his age and enjoy silly relationship cliches. Can he take you to the carnival? Win you a few prizes? How many a simple date at the movies? A picnic? An amusement park? He is the relationship of what I would like to call "firsts". There's a first time for everyone and there's no doubt he wants all of his special firsts to be with you. Someone in his bubble who listens and doesn't speak over him when he feels like something's amiss. A good listener and advocate, that's his type.

Zen is the kind of person people assume has a cliche type. He wants to be the hero who saves his partner in distress. When, in reality, he's coded himself as Cinderella and wouldn't mind being saved, too. He's dreaming of the day he meets someone who looks at him and knows he's more than his pretty face. He wants to be seen as someone who is more than just something to gawk at. He's spent his entire life with people constantly poking and prodding him without his consent. He's desperate for a partner who waits and listens to him.

Someone who knows he's humble, and sometimes he just wants to lay in bed all day and cuddle with his partner. His life might filled to the brim with work but that doesn't mean he doesn't want the works. He wants to take you out on dates, to the movies, to watch the stars, to take a ride across the city, and what have you. He wants someone who talks just as much as he does and isn't afraid to hold back. He's dreaming of a partner who isn't ashamed of being who they are!

Jaehee's perfect partner is someone who wants to see her succeed in life. That person who listens to her spill her heart out and doesn't hold back for a minute when they say she can do whatever she puts her mind to. Someone who knows she is worthy of everything she's dreamed of and is willing to say it's worth the fight. That's the hard part of her route, the fact that she's resigned herself to living a life that doesn't make her happy because she thinks that's the only way to life.

You are the color in her dull world that honestly says to her, "You are capable of anything you want to do in this world, Jaehee. You have to be willing to try. Even if it doesn't work out, wouldn't you be happier if you said you gave yourself a chance? I'll follow you no matter where you go, so... will you take my hand?" Believe in her so much that she finds the strength to believe because she believes in you. That's her kind of love.

Jumin's dream is a partner who empathizes with him. Someone who knows where he's coming from when he says he wishes people would listen to him when he speaks about the things he loves. He wants so badly to be heard. The problem is that people do listen to him but they only listen to the things they WANT to hear, they don't actually care about what he's saying unless it pertains to them. It's why he doesn't have a lot of close friends outside of the RFA. It's why being able to speak his mind and share his emotions with you matters so much in the first place.

He wants his emotions to be respected. He wants a partner who can read him just as well as he can read them. Do you know how long he has waited to find someone who won't think of him as a wallet or an unfeeling robot? You don't have to have lived the same experience as him to get it. But, it is crucial for the ideal partner who tries their best to understand his plight because he deserves to be heard. Anyone in this world can struggle with loneliness and having you there helps his heart feel complete.

Saeyoung's ideal partner is someone who not only respects his boundaries but pushes them, too. You need to be willing to stand by his side when he's facing a mountain but also brave enough to be honest with him when he's doing something wrong. He's prone to destroying himself even when he wants to live a happy life, too, so having a partner who puts their foot down for his sake is important. Fight for him because you know he wants to be fought for, too. He can try to throw himself away all he wants but it's not what he really wants. He wants to be selfish, too. He wants to experience life with you.

Challenge him... and not only that, have fun with him, too. He's not just the clown he pretended to be in the chatroom. He's a serious guy who has a lot of love to give. Listen to him when he talks about his hobby and let him unload things he's buried away for years because he was forced to deny himself simple pleasures. A partner for him is someone who smiles and fights for not only their happiness, but for his, too.

V, first of all, has to heal from his relationship with Rika before he jumps into any new relationship. But, for him, the best partner would be someone who engages with his zest for life and explores what it means to be passionate. Someone who speaks their mind but also doesn't talk about him when he speaks his. Someone who can talk a mile a minute and make goo-goo eyes at him when he's knee-deep in a conversation about some deep philosophical topic. He can talk for hours, mind you, so I imagine any partner of his loves doing that just as much.

Have you ever wanted support from someone to follow your dream no matter what it is? Someone who is patient and willing to wait for you because they know you're the one for them? That's the kind of person who is perfect for V! You know what you want and you don't want to settle for anything less. Even if life is a challenge, you know you're happy with him and he knows he's happy with you. Oh, and it's okay if you poke his buttons a little, he doesn't mind being tested in a debate! He's not a pushover when he's at his best, mind you!

Saeran's ideal partner is someone who not only listens to him when he's at his lowest but helps him figure out what he wants to say when he isn't sure how to communicate it. Someone who has known life at his worst but still came out of it with a smile on their face because life is a challenge but that doesn't mean you'll let it destroy your belief in happily ever after. A partner who is truly his equal in every way and is quick to not only jump to his defense but hold him accountable when he makes a mistake.

A partner who is so innately human, both flawed and honest in every way imaginable, because that's who he is. You don't have to be a saint to be his perfect partner. You just have to love him as he is and know he'll brave every storm with you because that's what life is about. He isn't afraid because he's realized there's no such thing as perfect and trying to imagine perfection would put him back in a fantasy. Trust me, he doesn't need a fantasy to be happy. He wants real life and he doesn't mind if it's messy.

[chaisshitposts]

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Have you ever found yourself feeling impatient about the 3D conforming to your desires? Have you ever wished that you could manifest anything you ever wanted in a certain time frame? Have you ever wanted to manifest anything you want just by doing 'normal' things?

Rejoice! It's time to take these matters into your own hands and make yourself a Manifestation Foundation.

What is a manifestation foundation?

It's just that! A foundation built of manifestation rules that you create for yourself, allowing you to manifest as you please without needing to worry about how long things will take or when they will show up/conform in the 3D.

How do I make myself a manifestation foundation?

Easy. Compile yourself a list of manifestation rules and affirm for each of them. They can be any rules you can think of or any kind of rules that resonate with you.

What if I don't want to affirm each of them individually? Is there a shortcut?

Absolutely there are, and one of them is something you may have heard of if you've been around my blog for a while— the list method. Once you've created your list of manifestation rules for your manifestation foundation, all you need to do is affirm that 'my manifestation rules are always true,' or 'regardless of everything, my manifestation rules are always true,' these are just some basic affirmations but feel free to create your own.

And if even that is too much for you, you also use code words // switch words. These are the same thing as the list method but usually shortened into one word or a few. Some say that code words // switch words are even greater to use because they move around the resistance you may have about a certain desires topic. If you decide to use code words // switch words for your manifestation rules, all you have to do is come up with a word of phrase that will connect your list to this specific word/phrase. Such as 'RULES' or anything else you can think of. Code words // switch words can also be useful for repetition because they are simple, quick, and easy to remember.

Can I create my manifestation foundation while simultaneously affirming for my desires?

Absolutely, I would even recommend that you do so because then that will aid in fully hardening your manifestation foundation into fact. While you create your manifestation foundation, it would be ideal to also manifest the things you'd like to happen in your life to provide yourself with proof.

Are there any example rules I could use for my manifestation foundation?

Every thought I have makes the 3D conform faster than the speed of light.

I can manifest anything and everything I desire in three days or less.

Regardless of everything, I can manifest anything I want overnight.

I can manifest anything I want overnight.

I can manifest anything I desire instantly, no matter what.

Everything speeds up my manifestations.

Every breath I take speeds up my manifestations.

Only my positive thoughts manifest.

Physical appearance changes are the easiest thing for me to manifest.

Manifesting people is the easiest thing ever.

Manifestation is the easiest thing ever.

All methods // techniques work [insert time] for me.

Everytime time I clap my hands, something good happens to me.

Subliminals grant instant results after a single listen.

The list of rules you could ever possible use are endless.

How long does it take to create a manifestation foundation?

Realistically, that depends on the person, but if one can manage to keep a decent mental diet and stay consistent, it shouldn't take that long at all.

Do I need a manifestation foundation to manifest?

Absolutely not! However, it can be helpful in the long run and can also allow you to fully embrace your birthright and power as a master of manifestation.

If I create a manifestation foundation will I be able to manifest anything I want, whenever I want?

Of course! Your manifestation foundation is all about you and what you want and how you want things to go. It'll eleviate the feelings of impatience many of may have and replace it with expectancy.

NOTES:

I hope that this will help you out in the long run. If you have any questions, feel free to comment on this post, message me privately, or send in an ask.

[goodolddumbbanana]

Can we have some wholesome dark sun x sun headcanons?? Angst is good, but its just suffering without the fluff

Before, when things weren't complicated, they used to hug each other to sleep.

Dark Sun didn't say it, but he always feel cold and he also doesn't like the dark or alone, and Sun just wanted to do something to make Dark Sun happy.

So they would bring a big pile of blankets and just the two of them lying close together, holding hands and saying goodnight to each other like vows.

"Goodnight, I love you."

"Night, Sun. I love you too."

That habit sticks around for a long time, even when things go wrong between two of them.

2. Dark Sun would comfort Sun whenever Sun feels sad by suggesting Sun to get an ice cream or something sweet. They didn't need to eat, but Sun loved to cook and often Dark Sun would watch Sun eat the food he cooked with ease.

3. The reason why Sun insisted that he had hair and took such good care of his rays was because the first time he told that joke, Dark Sun laughed, It is the first laugh Sun had ever witnessed from him.

4. The ribbons they wore were from the same piece of cloth. Sun had cut it and embroidered their respective codes on it like matching bracelets so they could always recognize each other. Dark Sun still wears it to this day. Sun would never admit it but his ribbon still hide somewhere under his bed. Even for now, he doesn't want to risk tearing it off.

5. They are very affectionate. Sun loves to cuddle, and often throws himself into Dark Sun's arms. Dark Sun, although not fond of affection, will also gently caress Sun's rays and pat Sun's head whenever they are together.

7. The words I love you become a daily phrase. Sometimes, it will turn into a game where they will think of wonderful things from the other person, and say them over and over until the other person blushes. The winner will have the right to make the other person do what they want. It is just simple things, like go out with me, tell me a story, pat my head, hug me…

8. Dark Sun has always been very patient with Sun. He is the one who taught Sun everything and made Sun the person he is today.

Never once did he think Sun was a fool, no matter what Creator or Nexus sometimes said in a fit of rage.

[cyclone-rachel]

MERRY CHRISTMAS PESKY

For once, Querl couldn’t think.

Inside of his mindscape, with Brainiac having taken over his body, he knew only pain- unable to move, or speak. He’d never meant for it to be this way… all he’d wanted was to find a way to save Kandor, to make up for the deeds of his ancestor in Superman’s eyes, and if he had to obtain some of said ancestor’s knowledge by accessing his code to do that, then so be it.

But it had not been that easy, and here he was, forced to watch what Brainiac was doing while using his image, his voice.

He would understand if Superman turned his back on him after what he’d done.

Which is why it surprised him so much when he didn’t.

~

Superman was here- him and Kell-El, somehow.

(If they got out of this, he would have to ask.)

Brainiac was speaking to them, attacking them. Of course.

But… then they became one being, and they- he- was up again, still fighting. The best of both Supermen, still defending him against Brainiac.

“Humanity?” he heard Brainiac ask. “He was a robot, Kryptonian.”

“Brainy may not have been human.” Superman said. “But he had the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. He was a hero- my hero!”

That stirred a spark of recognition in Querl- he knew those words. He’d programmed them into his simulation, scripted the encounter between him and Superman after he sacrificed himself defending the Kryptonian, with nearly that exact phrase being the last words he heard from him before passing away.

Did Superman know? Had he seen?

Or…

Did he just know Superman better than he thought possible?

Those thoughts spurred Querl on- he now had to regain himself.

And in ways he had not even thought possible, he did.

~

Querl still wasn’t truly able to be among the other Legionnaires yet- he had too much to answer for, there were too many questions and stares whenever he entered a room, too many possibilities for where conversations could go that could end uncomfortably. Ever since some of them had found out what the first Brainiac did, he thought they had looked at him differently, but that was nothing compared to this.

However, there was still one Legionnaire he wanted to see, and luckily enough said person was also willing to be around him, and would hopefully answer his question.

“Superman?” he asked, knocking on the door of his quarters- and grateful yet again that Clark had chosen to stay a little longer after Brainiac’s defeat. “Can we talk?”

As an answer, the door opened, and Querl stepped in.

“Brainy! What’s up?” Clark asked, rising from where he’d been sitting on his bed. “You feeling alright?”

“Yes, but… I did want to talk about what happened.” Querl said. “While we were inside my mind.”

Clark scowled, an uncharacteristic expression on what was usually such a kind face. “Brainiac…”

He placed a hand on Brainy’s shoulder, gaze now protective.

“I’m so sorry he hurt you.” He said.

“Yes.” He said again. “But I was more referring to what you said to him. About…”

His face flushed, and Clark squeezed his shoulder.

“About me being your hero.” He finished. “What made you say that?”

“It’s true.” Clark answered, and Querl could only stare up at him. “Seeing what he did to you… standing up to him must have taken a ton of strength. I respect you so much- and I have since we met. You’re the one who taught me to be a hero in the first place.”

“You mean you didn’t hear those words before?” Querl asked, deciding to be direct about it. “Somewhere else?”

“No.” Clark said. “They just… felt right. And they were, given what happened afterward.”

“I agree.”

“Wait.” He said. “Had you heard them before? How was that possible?”

Querl smiled, and offered his hand to Clark, which of course he took.

“I need to show you something.” He said. “Follow me.”

So Clark did, and on they went to the simulation room, where Querl loaded up the program he’d spent so much time refining, the scene he’d practically lived in following Clark’s departure to the 21st century. He told Computo to play it, and together they watched as simulated versions of them fought off the Dominators, at first having the upper hand until one of them took aim at Clark. Watched as the hologram of Querl dove in front of him, and upon getting fatally wounded, told Clark to finish the job- and when he did, rushing to his side, swooping down and immediately taking his hand, comforting him in his last moments.

And Querl watched, as Clark’s eyes widened, seeing a simulated version of himself virtually repeat what he’d said in real life.

(it had sounded even better coming from him in reality)

~

As the music faded and the simulation cut out, though, Clark didn’t seem happy.

“Why?” he asked. “What made you think you’d have to do that? Sacrifice yourself for me?”

“You would do the same for me.” Brainy said. “And you nearly did, going into my mind without any thought to your safety, attempting to save me from Brainiac.”

“But you saved me instead.” Clark finished. “You really are my hero.”

Querl smiled, but Clark still didn’t.

“But… I think we can make a better simulation.” He said, expression finally softening. “One that doesn’t end in you dying. Don’t you think?”

“I have the perfect idea.”

~

When Garth looked at the active simulation from outside, he expected Brainy to be in the room- he knew how much time he’d spent in there while Superman was gone, and it still made sense for him to be taking some alone time in that same room… even if the last time he was controlling things, it had been Brainiac pulling the strings in his head.

What he didn’t expect was for the simulation to have nothing to do with fighting at all- instead, Brainy and Superman were sitting at a table in the middle of the room, having dinner.

As he continued to watch, they finished dinner- and then they were dancing, Superman leading the way, taking Brainy through the steps.

And in no time at all, they’d stopped, and then they were kissing. Clark held Brainy in his arms, and Brainy’s arms were thrown around Clark’s neck.

Garth turned away, smirking. It had been obvious to most of the team- at least those who went on assignment with them together, anyway- that Brainy had had the biggest crush on Superman since he’d come to their time. The other simulations had only added to that, and he and several of his teammates had even taken bets on when exactly they were going to just kiss already and get it over with.

But there was also always something pulling Brainy back- that Clark had to go back to his time, to his own life and his own relationships. He had to grow up into the Superman they mythologized in museums, the greatest hero of all time, the one their team was built on the legacy of. Their relationship couldn’t last- easier for Brainy to just suffer in silence, create holograms and program scenarios of what could have been.

Besides, it was easier to tease Brainy about it this way.

“So, guess you and Superman skipped past saving the day this time, and got right to the fun stuff?” he asked as Brainy left the room. “I would too.”

“Something like that.” Brainy said, smiling, as he walked past Garth.

A moment later, the door opened again, and Superman stepped out.

The real Superman.

“You were- that was- you’re really-“

“His idea.” Brainy and Clark said in unison, and Clark held Brainy’s hand again as they left the simulation room behind.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.5<< >>Ch.7

Notes: Miguel is enjoying your presence with each passing day. Realizations is slowly creeping through.

Chapter 6: Tell Me that You Love Me...

Word count: 2.1K

Three weeks passed when you first officially hung out.

Six weeks when Miguel's “tabs” turned into genuine daily conversations ranging from text messages to phone calls that he never imposed on missing.

Nine weeks when things began to take a turn.

Over the course, you two have gotten closer. Miguel would sneak from his workstation over to your humble abode at any chance that was available. 

It eventually became a routine, a regime. Wednesday nights were the ceremonial ‘hangout days,’ as you had every Thursday off.

And every Wednesday, Miguel had justifications on precisely why he should not be troubled on that particular day.

“I need to double check if the code for stabilizing dimensions is up to date.” Liar.

“I'm performing augmented machinery work for the portal watches. They've been malfunctioning for me.” Bullshit.

“I'm tired.” That was sort of true, but it never slowed him down before.

Whenever someone even attempts to debate or raise any doubts, he flares, defensively striking more so than usual. It became a phrase around the coven of Spider-people.

“Be careful; it's ‘Snappy Wednesdays’ for Miguel.” Would be telephoned throughout.

It vexed him to no end. If he wanted to remain unbothered, he should just be permitted to do so with no hassle. But no, it's never that easy for him. It was never easy until he crossed that threshold. 

When he steps through your door, the stress and the unease lingers yet vanish. A strange balance.

“Are they still giving you hell about leaving?”

You poured the boiled noodles into a cauldron as Miguel was sprawled out on your couch, his sheathed claws harshly massaging his temples.

“Yes, and today was no better. I swear if I hear one more, ‘but are you sure you want to leave? It's a scary world out there,’ I'm going to lose it ¿Por qué tengo que ser uno para ponerlos todos? ¿Por qué me estoy plagando de estos idiotas?”

You peer up at the grouchy man and smile. 

“I just don't understand why they're not used to it by now. I mean, maybe the first or second time it'll be weird, but the fifth or sixth? It's just a routine at that point. Or maybe that's just me. I can't speak for everyone.” You giggle, dumping the spaghetti in the meat sauce, and begin to stir.

“No, you're right. I just wish they would get used to it. Having to endure this shit is mind-numbing.”

You hobbled over to him with a giant bowl of pasta for him and a decent portion for you.

“Well, I hope there's some solace here. Even if it's just a smidgen.” You wormed your way right next to him before handing him his portion, crossing your legs on the sofa.

“Trust me when I say there's peace within these walls.” Miguel twirled the fork around.

“As peaceful as an apartment building can get, so a good forty-five percent.”

“Why so low?”

“Have you ever heard neighbors going at it in the middle of the night? I mean, they're certainly finding solace in each other! There's other factors, of course, but that's the biggest.”

A shared laugh broke out as you sighed in unison.

A comforting quietude rested; the only sounds being made were the clanking and clattering of the forks against the bowls.

“I've been meaning to ask, what's the name of the store you work for?” He filled in a little bit of space between you two.

“Huh, I never told you? I swore I did.”

Miguel shook his head.

“Guess I've gotten so comfortable around you, my brain assumes I did tell you.”

That rocked Miguel. You felt comfort in his presence? Was it an obligation or authentic? He disrupted that train of thought and briskly attuned his focus back to you.

“Alright, are you ready for the name?” You perched your dish on the table, relaxing your palms on your full belly.

“Sí, tan listo como siempre lo estaré. Go for it.”

“Adequate Antique Antics.”

Miguel's eyes flickered as his brain made an effort to process what you said.

“Adequate anti- what now?”

“Adequate Antique Antics. Bit of a tongue twisting mouthful, isn't it?”

He nodded in agreement, setting his bowl next to yours.

“Eso estuvo delicioso. So why did she name the store that?”

Your face heated at the compliment he gave you. He was just expressing that he enjoyed the spaghetti. Yet it made you giddier than how you normally would react.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. And she didn't pick it–a family-owned business. You know how that goes.” Settling more onto the couch, minding the glass bowls, you prop your feet and free a displeasing sigh.

“She's been in a fight with her parents to change the name ever since I can remember. And oh my gosh, I'm still hearing about it until this day!”

Miguel blinked as he waited for you to continue. A week or so ago, he picked up on your facial expressions when you were done speaking. 

And you clearly weren't.

“For nearly three and a half years I've been working there, she somehow manages to bring up the argument for the name every day without fail. And here I'm thinking I'm persistent, but my goodness.”

Miguel snickered at your heated explanation. “Ronnie sounds very vehement.”

“I prefer hard-headed. But that works too.”

You grin at each other as you pretend to readjust yourself, scooting closer to him.

“I'm weirdly tempted to meet this Ronnie and see what she's like in person.”

You blew a raspberry before flinging a hand over your mouth. You possibly got too comfortable around him. 

Miguel lifted a brow at that reaction from you. He's never seen you do that before.

“Ah! I'm sorry. An atypical response I get sometimes. Just a slip of the tongue.” You cringed at the unintentional pun.

“I think it's adorable.” Now it was Miguel's turn to wince. The difference was that he hid it well.

You squirmed in your seat before mentally scolding yourself.

“Oh, thank you. That's very sweet of…”

You trailed off, gazing into his hypnotizing, vermillion eyes. Miguel returned the stare, taking in every part of your face. 

Every inch, from your eyes, your nose, your lips, and more. How your skin gleamed–even if the lights were dimmed in your apartment, it still managed to make you shine ever so brightly.

Dazing back simultaneously, you both spun your heads towards the front. Your heart pounded so hard that even your stomach felt it. Miguel controlled his breathing, his cheeks heating up. 

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

“Um, but yes, if you want to. Ronnie can be a bit of an intense menace, but she means well. Well, as well as one can mean.”

“That's how I feel about Peter.” Miguel grumbled. Even speaking his name causes him to instinctively grouch about it.

“From the stories you told about him, putting those two together under one roof?” You shuddered just at the thought of it.

“She can't be as bad as Peter.”

You gave Miguel a tentative look.

“It's that bad?”

You heavily nodded your head. “Minus the baby.”

“Funny how we both have someone who causes some sense of hassle.”

You gave a crooked smile. “It's a curse but also a blessing. Because at the end of the day, we know they just want the best.”

“For themselves?”

“Yes, but also in general. Though I don't fully agree with the methods she uses, Ronnie will always have my back. For example, if ever I need a day off for an emergency, I know I will receive it. Or when she told me I get every Thursday off. I was skeptical at first, but no, she kept her word. I only had to come in one Thursday because it was so heavily swamped, but I did not mind whatsoever. She goes out of her way to help me, and if she ever needs something, I'm willing to sacrifice to help her out. And I'm sure if you ever required anything, Peter would be there for you, and in return, you would do the same for him.”

Miguel could only gape.

“Heck, that even goes for us. Remember the first time you slept over? I told you I wouldn't let you suffer because you also helped me.” You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling.

“I personally like to think it's a give and give, with an occasional receive. Self-sacrifice? Maybe that's what I'm thinking of. I don't mind giving, but I'm also human, so if one is glad to lend more, then I'm going to return that favor, if not extra.”

“Some may see it as a beneficiary sort of deal. I helped this person out, so I should get something in return. Even though we humans are very reliant on one another in certain ways, some can use it for selfish needs.” You began to leisurely drum on your stomach.

Jutting up from your laid-back posture, you rotated your body toward him.

“I'm so sorry for the rambling. I hope anything I said made even a lick of sense.”

Your voice was slightly panicked before Miguel placed his hand on your arm, making sure to retract his claws.

“No, you're fine. I understood what you were alluding to.”

Your eyes landed on his fingers. They were calloused against your skin. He was always gentle around you.

“You aren't necessarily afraid to give and get nothing in return. But you're willing to go beyond and above for those who also have your best interests in mind.”

“Yeah! Wow, you summed up my spiel so easily. It might be that super duper smart spider brain.”

You giggled as his shoulders shook with a breathless laugh.

“Si. My spider brain is too highly advanced for many common people.”

You stared at him. He meant for it to come off as a joke. The problem was that his delivery was stern and dry. It almost sounded as if he suggested it as more of a statement.

He began to tighten until your face creased buoyantly. “It undoubtedly is for me. I'm going to assume jokes don't come easy for you?”

He slumped, and his jaw slackened. “I've been told I'm not funny.”

“You give me more sarcasm vibes than jokey ones. And I do enjoy a good sarcastic reply.”

You nudge him mischievously, garnering a joking eye roll. 

You two carried on your conversation until, at one point, Miguel self-reflected while you went to the shower.

Miguel bit his bottom lip as his mind raced to the earlier conversation. He sacrifices, but does he self-sacrifice? He gives up so much for the others, but do they even acknowledge his efforts? He’s aware they won't do the same, but would it be different if it were someone closer? 

It never crossed his mind how much he exactly does. The trillions that he's keeping safe. He's willing to let a few things go for them.

The one he truly wanted to keep safe is gone. He would be ready to give up everything just for her.

Miguel got startled as your voice sprang from the corner.

“You know what I was thinking–you should visit the antique shop! It would be fun to show you all the vintage items scattered!”

Sensing that there was something off, you sped over to him.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

Miguel bowed his head. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost in thought.”

“Well, if you ever wanna talk about it, just let me know, okay?” You rubbed his shoulder, kneading it some to relieve a bit of pressure. “Know I'm here for you.”

That smile. That tranquil, patient smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat. Those considerate sparkling eyes that have him believe things are okay, even if it's just for a split second.

Would he give everything up for you as well?

A string breaks loose.

He decided to not dwell on it anymore.

“What were you saying before you came in?” He smoothly switched the conversation.

“Oh! You should visit the shop. If you want to or have time, of course. We're open from nine until seven.”

“I'll try, but I don't know if I really can during the day.”

You swallowed your disappointment and waved your hand. “Remember, just an offer! I'll probably still be working there for the next few years anyway, so I'm sure we'll still get time in the future.”

He was shocked. You would still want to be around him? He doesn't believe he's particularly special.

And there are just too many wrongs within him that would turn anyone away.

“Yeah, I will see.”

You flopped yourself on the sofa as you proceeded to converse until Miguel had to leave.

“We will see.” He murmured, staring up at your apartment complex, and trudged away.

[havemyheartaziraphale]

Ok so this is for @melbatron5000 and @somehow-a-human mostly because I want input on your theories and my forming theory. Also, @indigovigilance has some decent screen grabs too. Sorry for having a wall of text here, I'm on mobile and still not used to posting on Tumblr

I absolutely agree with something being passed to Aziraphale during their kiss. I have watched the scene several times now and can spot the thing myself. I can see it in the photos you guys have as well.

I also stand by my theory there's a body swap going on. I wasn't entirely sure when it happened, until probably tonight. I know not everyone agrees with me but right now that's fine. Whatever.

Nightingales is DEFINITELY a code word. Got that straight off, wouldn't be able to tell you 100% what exactly for, except to me maybe it's saying "we need to do the body swap again".

Here's the thing: I had to go back and watch the body swap in S1 before I felt confident in this. I will stand by this theory now because I'm pretty certain of it.

There's clearly missed signals and unsaid things. I think the conversation we see is not everything that was said, based on the camera angles, the fact that so many of those lines can easily be pulled for sound bites and not seem odd/off, and the fact that their actions when out of shot don't entirely match up to what's being said. But the gist of the conversation is the same. They eventually come to the understanding that something needs to happen and they're not going to like it.

Here's where I think things change.

Nightingales is the signal that there's a swap that needs to happen. Crowley has already told Aziraphale that he can't leave the bookshop. Crowley knows this, and he also knows that the only way to get to Heaven is by having an angel escort him there. Aziraphale on the other hand will have no problems going whenever he needs to. Crowley needs to be taken, so he needs his Azi-suit.

With Crowley-as-Aziraphale(CAA) in heaven, he'll be able to do whatever mischief he needs/wants to. He can clearly already access files up there still. We know he has to have been a powerful/higher up angel before his Fall. He just needs a way in first.

When did the body swap happen?

Good question, and it took me a lot of thinking and rewatching of that flipping kiss to finally decide and work out when it was; the moment Aziraphale "allows" himself to hold Crowley.

What am I on about? I'll tell you.

Rewatch the body swap in S1. They hold hands, time stops, and you see them change back. Obviously CAA and Aziraphale-as-Crowley (AAC) are sat in their usual spaces so the characters are in the wrong seats. Once they're back, they look normal. Everything is tickety-boo.

Except in the KISS, they're very much in the same positions. Of course, Aziraphale places his hands on Crowley briefly, allowing for stability, a time freeze, and the chance to switch round before resuming. Probably gives them a little time to confirm some stuff too. There's so many camera cuts and frame changes that allow for this to be true, otherwise why not just show it from one angle? And why is that dang clock also skipping time suddenly yes I know Neil may have said it's just a continuity error at one point but I don't trust him because he also lies and it's way too obvious with that clock in the background

So what about the bullet/metal ball in CAA mouth? Definitely Aziraphale's memories of his chat with Metatron, and anything else CAA may need. (This isn't a repeat, this is a mirror of the bullet catch. Crowley fired the bullet, Azi caught it. This time, Azi fires the bullet, Crowley catches it.) CAA then says the phrase he knows AAC will understand, and that also sounds like Azi to anyone listening, and AAC responds. Like codes. "I forgive you... Dont bother." Exit: Azi-as-Crowley.

Of course Metatron then swans in and interrupts CAA while he's still getting his bearings, and mentions the Second Coming. I don't think even Crowley expected it to be this. Hence the Look he gives AAC.

Metatron still gives CAA a slightly suspicious look in the elevator, which I don't think many people mention enough. And that whole end credits bit of them as they're heading off is just... Odd. BUT, and here's where I'm certain it's CAA, the look of sheer determined destruction on Azi's face is the same from S1 body swap. I went back and checked, just to be sure. That's 100% Crowley right there. And now he has the bullet in his mouth, access to heaven thanks to being escorted by Metatron, and Aziraphale still able to look after the bookshop in disguise.

Points I also want to make

Crowley would not be the sort of person (demon/being) to just stand there and wait for Azi to go up to Heaven. We've seen he'll just go off without a word. At least twice. (When Azi is in thought about Job, and when Nina talks to him after she confirms she'll be at the Street Traders meeting). Crowley doesn't linger.

Crowley would also not be the one to choose to listen to A Nightingale Sang. That is all Aziraphale babyyyyyy. The Bentley knows them both well enough by now. Crowley likes his rock and Bebop, Azi likes his classical, more soothing tunes. Crowley certainly wouldn't listen to a song if he was upset with it. Azi allows himself to hear it before turning it off. He's the sentimental one.

[therentyoupay]

How many languages do you know?

💕 english is my first language but i speak both spanish and english at home! i've been studying spanish for 20+ years, i speak spanish exclusively with my husbands' family (they only speak spanish!), and am comfortable getting my point across on most everyday-life things. i read in spanish for fun/to study (i forced my husband to read la sociedad de la nieve with me when we both got obsessed with the movie on netflix, even though he's not a reader at all haha), and we have a house rule about always watching movies in the language in which they were created EXCEPT FOR SHREK, which we both agree is extremely well done and just as funny (if not even funnier) in spanish. we do a lot of code-switching for the most part, and whenever we have kids, we'll follow the One Parent One Language plan, except for when we're out at restaurants, because we always ONLY speak spanish while going out to eat, it's just habit at this point. 😂 i once tried to write fic in spanish back in the early 2010s while living in spain but i felt that i didn't have all the vocab that i needed to give my writing the same vibe as in my first language, so i haven't tried writing fic in spanish since... (maybe i should??) for now i content myself with reading larivera's (@laurakrivera) spanish fic!! however, my academic!professional!spanish is much more developed than my fic!spanish writing style, lol, so when i publish my non-fiction book in english, i will work on writing the spanish translations myself (and force my husband to help me lmao)

i learned japanese fundamentals (e.g., basic vocab/phrases, word order, hiragana, katakana, some core kanji) when i was 12 (like most inuyasha-obsessed kids, maybe?? 🤣) and i learned a LOT when i lived there for a year and a half as an adult! but i never took any formal classes, it was all self-taught and in the streets (LITERALLY lmao, shoutout to the people of tokyo). i wasn't allowed to speak japanese at all in my job, so i turned to apps like hellotalk to practice and make friends who really wanted to engage in language exchange. (duolingo didn't add japanese as a language option until after i came back! 🤣😭) so i was just out there in the wild, picking it all up as i went along. i understand a lot more than i can speak, but i could probably hold a pretty convincing conversation with someone for 2 minutes before it became clear that i'd exhausted my limited repertoire. 🤣 i'd get by with a lot of discourse markers and reaction expressions and いいね! and 本当に!? and そうですね 😊 before i fell off the track completely lol.

i did 3 months of german on duolingo to prepare for a conference i presented at in austria a few years ago! helped with everyday basics, but i'm not currently investing in this language right now since i don't have many opportunities to use it in daily life like i do my other languages.

also just started learning korean literally five days ago. still working on the vowels. 🤣 i'm learning for friends, for potential work opportunities, for K-POP joking joking or am i, and also i'm a big believer in the philosophy of keeping the mind fresh and getting excited about Being "Bad" at Something every once in a while, as i purposefully Try New Things to ward off complacency, keep my brain happy and sharp, and remind myself that i can Do Hard Things. (of course, once you start to learn so many languages, your metalinguistic and metacognitive pattern-seeking skills really kick in, so approaching korean is a lot different than how it was in my other language learning experiences, so far 🤣) stay tuned, i guess haha!!

i guess you can see why i'm so obsessed with the idea of elsa being a serial polyglot/multilingual queen in basically every universe i write her in, not only because it fits with her upbringing/education/oryal duties but also i feel like elsa would appreciate all instances in life in which she could exert control over her surroundings by finding patterns and "rules" in languages and finding beauty in expressing so many meanings through so many different avenues when she herself had so much trouble expressing herself at all for so long should i write a one-shot about elsa's multilingualism as it pertains to NO KRIS NO STOP YOU HAVE WORK NOW KRIS NO

[frownyalfred]

So I've been reading through bloodletting and I'm very curious about how the Creator's Style works

You use it to give the translation hover option whenever characters speak in Mando'a and I'll be honest, I had no clue that was even an option or how to even go about doing that for my own fics

Sorry if this is a stupid question, but do you have a resource for how to use Creator's Style like that?

Hi anon! I'm copy and pasting a post I did with instructions and comments on how I use this function (below the cut). I hope it helps!

I had an awesome commenter (the lovely @notquiteaghost) suggest a CSS script, since the initial hover text translations I used didn't work on mobile.

Here's the link to the instructions: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30290274

Fair warning, it took me a little bit to get the hang of it. If you're like me and need a little hand-holding, here's how I implement the script:

Copy the code from the CSS section into a new work skin (or the one you're currently using)

Save that skin and make sure to enable it in the work you're going to implement hover text on

Open up your chapter or fic and switch to "HTML" instead of "Rich Text"

When you find the word or phrase you want to have hover text, paste this:

Next, replace the Text to hover over section with whatever your original word or phrase was -- this is the only place that word should appear, and it should still have whatever punctuation you need in it

Replace the text for the tooltip section with whatever your translation or hover text is

Finally, triple check that there's a space between the final section and the rest of your sentence or paragraph. If there isn't a space, sometimes the script pushes the translation onto the next word or shoves them together and italicizes them

Here's what this looks like in my HTML view:

Here's what that looks like in my rich text view:

and here's what the final product looks like:

You should be able to hover over those underlined sections on mobile or desktop and see the translation you inputted. If you don't see it, there might be an issue with how you set up the individual tooltip, or the workskin itself.

My other tips for using this:

Keep a copy of the basic HTML tooltip script to copy and paste into your work as you edit it

Test your hover text in draft view on ao3. You should be able to see it.

Using italics can make the HTML part a little bit harder but it's not impossible

Keep an eye out for your punctuation! Sometimes the formatting can throw your commas and periods around without warning

Try to keep any translations or comments to one sentence max, otherwise the hover text bubble can be cut off in mobile view or stretch the view strangely

If you're translating many words (like I am in my current fic) it's easier to copy and paste a HTML tooltip that's complete but shorter so it doesn't throw off every single line (like copying a one-word translation instead of the original tooltip template)

Hope this helps! I really love using this for my fics and I'm so grateful to @notquiteaghost and everyone else in my comments who offered solutions for my hover text issues.

Here's my current fic with the hover text if anyone wants to see how I'm using it throughout the chapters.

[voxofthevoid]

Wait I— WHAT— 500k+ words for JJK? Alone? Oh my god. I’m one of your new readers, and I’m blown away by not only your word count but the wRITING LOGS?? How?? Do you keep track of your WIPs?? Do you write consistently, period?? Do you have any advice for someone who can barely squeak out a paragraph to describe a vision in their brain?? Please bless me with your skills, Vox-sensei 😭🙏

Welcome to my madness 🤣❤️

Okay, in all fairness, I'm usually not this unhinged productive. Last year, for instance, my total word count was only around 250k (iirc). I'm sure I wrote more than that from 2018 to 2020, but my logs from those are divided by fics/chapters or weekly.

... I've, uh, tried a lot of shit over the years.

Which is an important point! I've been posting to ao3 for nearly a decade now (not consistently, but I don't think I was away for more than a year or two), and I've been writing in some capacity for around 15–17 years now. There's been a lot of trial and error over the years, plus changing life circumstances leading to varying energy levels and writing time. The main factor is inspiration; if it's there, I'll write a lot, but if not, I'll be a potato.

So with all that in mind!

Logs

I do keep track of both my word count and my WIPs. I've got color-coded docs and spreadsheets even because I'm a fucking nerd. I've got pictures of it floating somewhere on this blog, but my fic folders tend to be nested, numbered little monstrosities.

WIPs

I call them WIPs sometimes because they're extensively detailed outlines mostly, but the more accurate term is ideas/plot bunniesdemons. I don't work on more than one story at a time. Typically, I start something and write it in narrative order until it's done. There are exceptions—my current fic was started in a post-236 frenzy, and I set aside the PWP I was working on for it. But usually, I only actively write one story at a time while everything else gets developed/outlined as inspiration strikes.

Consistency

You could say I write consistently, yeah! I don't do it every day because I take breaks whenever I finish a chapter (and of course, life throws curve balls sometimes), but typically, I write around 22–25 days a month. I set aside a few hours for it. Average daily word count also varies, but these days, it's 1.5–3k. When I'm really in the zone, it can reach 5–6k.

I'm a hobbyist writer with no aspirations of writing professionally, so my approach to the whole thing has been to wing it and see where it takes me. So I haven't really done anything with the concrete goal of improving. The best (and only) advice I have is very boring and cliche though: read and write.

Read widely if you can and narrow in on the kind of style and genre you like. Note down passages or turns of phrase that struck you and figure out why. You'll absorb a lot automatically, but I've heard people recommend emulating styles on purpose as a writing exercise.

Mainly though, the best and easiest way to improve is to keep writing. Technical rules can be learned pretty easily, especially with how many resources are available online now. Field/subject-specific reference materials are also abundant. But developing your own style and improving the flow of your prose are things that need practice. And it never really stops, especially because your writing will continuously evolve in more ways than one.

This got way longer than I intended. Oops? Thanks for asking though, anon. I did have fun replying!