#ANYWAY THIS GOT SO AWAY FROM ME

[phantomsxafterxdark]

[Comes back covered in a mess of blood and sweat, shakily making my way into the room and ignoring all until I get my coffee while sitting on the couch] You ever just come back from one of your mains tags and find the hottest, most deranged fucking art that you just WISH you could comment on but that requires showing rather than telling but everywhere you turn sites like this one require a 'no dick and no butts and no penetration or nuts!' clause?

Cause believe me, the things I've seen.....

When I get the free time I'm unwinding by putting dirty thoughts to textpost and hitting enter after tagging

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[theloveinc]

mating press is so objectively ugly ... embarrassing

[whaliiwatching]

diagnoses u with fanfic tags

yeah i caved. welcome spideysona

their universe is 1990s san francisco. by day they work as a struggling writer for the bugle, sort of following in the footsteps of (movie-adjacent) eddie brock; by night they’re spider-scrawl, fighting systemic injustice, writers’ block, and the occasional mad scientist invention. his world is less rife with supernatural evils than most, but he’s also fucking with the government and corporations and all, so it balances out

their unique thing is that they have, like, shitty meta clairvoyance in the form of inherently understanding tropes, clichés, story structure, etc. like if cinemasins/wins were a superhero. they were approached to join the society because miguel thought they’d be chill or even helpful with canon events—unfortunately scribble here is not whatsoever into following rigid plot structure for the sake of unnecessary thematic suffering, saw the plot twist a miles away, and peaced. but not before snagging a day pass so they could watch atsv in person

they never take off their mask, and no one knows their name—he says it’s because he doesn’t want to lose his identity in a sea of spider-people, leading most to theorize that san-fran-spidey is some flavor of peter parker, but who’s to say for sure? the doylist reason, which he is in fact aware of, is that i don’t know either lol

[peachesofteal]

Lieutenant Riley and his favorite thing (physio!reader) 18+ mdni - series crossover, alcohol, rough blowjob.

You've decided the Lieutenant is certifiable.

After he takes you home and babies you through your period, he disappears. You don't see him for weeks. The 141 is still on base, but he's turned into a ghost. The Ghost, you guess, the whispers circling around and around, twisting and turning into gruesome stories, long drawn out tales told between pints in a bar.

You don't see him, but there is something else. A feeling, a creepy, crawly sixth sense that comes from the sensation of being watched.

It's beyond weird. Like him.

The worst of it all is you find yourself looking for him now. Wondering about him. Almost wanting to know where he is, the question of why he hasn't come to see you again flourishing from a small niggling thought in the back of your mind to a full blown distraction.

It's unnerving. He's unnerving.

Because you don't want him, right? And clearly, since he's MIA for weeks now, he doesn't want you.

Right.

Your thoughts do stray though, to the night he tucked you in with a heating pad, the way he sat at the edge of your bed until you fell asleep, stroking rough, calloused fingers down your cheek when he thought you were completely out. He was murmuring under his breath, grit and grain in his throat impossible to make out, the sandpaper strain of it finally pulling you under.

Weird.

The weather is finally starting to turn. No longer boiling, the breeze is now crisp, and cool, a welcome reprieve considering the standard issue pants that suffocate your thighs at every turn.

You bask in it. Enjoying it so much, you're lost in breathing it in as you trek back to your place, not paying attention to where you're going-

until you physically run into another girl.

"Oh my god-" She bounces away from you, bag spilling over her shoulder, stumbling to the side. "Oh my god I am so sorry!" You snatch her by the arm, trying to keep her steady, and once she rights herself, she gives you a half panicked, half flustered look, eyes focused past your ears.

"It's okay, I'm okay." You recognize her. She's the big deal analyst, the one apparently flew in by the station chief. What do they call her? Cypher? She gives you a weak smile.

"I'm sorry," you apologize again, and she shrugs. "Really, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Oh," she looks down, "I do that all the time." Her fingers twist at the bottom of her jacket, gaze snapping back to your face after it leaves her feet. Something clicks in her eyes, some sort of recognition. "You're the physio." It's not a question. It's a statement, and the vowels turn downward, almost a hushed pitch. Weird.

"Um, yeah. My office is over there." You nod, and so does she. There's awkward silence for a beat, and you extend your hand, giving her your name.

"Right, Sorry." She smiles sheepishly. She is really cute, you realize, looking her up and down quickly. She returns the favor, giving you her name, but follows up just as fast. "- but most people call me Cypher."

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too!" She chirps, and then something catches her eye. Sergeant MacTavish of the 141. You blanche, trying to you school your face into a neutral expression. "Ah well, that's my... my uh..." she's flustered, words jumbled, before just giving up. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." You call to her retreating form, but she's already out of earshot.

Weird. Again.

"He's so fuckin' annoying!" Your friend half shouts over the raucous pub, and you giggle.

"You're the one who dated him." You spit back, jostling your shoulder against her where you're both crammed into a corner table, two others still at the bar, getting another round.

You're drunk. You haven't stumbled into unreasonable territory yet, but the blood in your veins is thinning, world starting to wobble at the edges. There's no caution in you now, common sense quickly slipping away, but you're not worried. With four of you here, there's safety in numbers, and you're just off base.

"Alright, four tequilas," shots filled to the rim with golden sweet liquor slosh across the table, small plate of salt and quartered limes following. "Bottoms up."

Some guy across the room by the pool table lifts his pint to you as you swallow down the citrus rich burn, and your cheeks warm. Your friend leans in. "He's checking you out."

"No he's not."

"Without a doubt. He's practically-" she burps, and you laugh. "practically undressing you with his eyes. You should go over there."

"And do what?" Your focus shifts, remembering the Lieutenant stroking your cheek in the dark, surprisingly gentle but still rough on the edges. You shove it away.

"Talk to him!" She nudges, shoves, you with her hip towards the edge of the booth, and you hiss.

"Knock it off."

"No. You need to get laid. It's been years." She makes it sound like you're an old maid. "I know for a fact you haven't slept with anyone since you moved here. Time to dip your toes in, or at least flirt a little." Drunk, you're having a hard time combatting her badgering, and the insistence is shifting the tide, convincing you it's a good idea.

A little flirting won't hurt, right?

The floor squeaks under your shoes, sticky already, and the guy lights up when he sees you coming his way.

"Hey." It's lame, but what else can you say?

"Hey, beautiful." Okay, a little thick there bud. "Haven't seen you around before." It's loud, but he manages to push his voice out over the noise.

"Oh I uh... I don't come here often." His mouth opens, but whatever he's going to say dies before it can break free, his eyes widening in panic. There's real fear in his expression, and he stumbles back a step.

You feel the Lieutenant before you see him. Instinctively, you take a step away, like he's going to materialize in front of you, tipping off balance to one side as an arm, a giant arm, an arm you know well, one you've studied while it's laid on your table, traced it's tattoos again and again, wraps around your waist and jerks.

Oh my god, ohmygodohmyg-

"Fuck off," he snarls, full of venom, and you've never seen someone scamper away so fast. Everything spins. "Let's go pet."

"Wh-what?" You protest, but he's steering you out of the bar with a hand on your shoulder, past your friends who watch with flabbergasted, stunned expressions dropping their mouths in perfect circles. "Lieutenant-" You dig your heels in, but you're no match for him, not even close. Where are we going?

You get your answer. Swiftly.

It's the bathroom.

The lock clicks at your back as he shepherds you inside, and twists you to face him by your hips.

Fear slithers through the air like a snake. The look on his face is starved. Feral as a wolf in a barren winter. It’s unbridled, raw.

And not rooted in any kind of sanity.

It only swells when he folds his paws over your shoulders and forces you to your knees on the dirty, disgusting bathroom floor.

"Lieutenant..." Your voice is wary, but he only shakes his head.

"Simon." You're not sure what you're expecting. You're frozen, watching a movie play out before you, trying to determine what the characters are going to do next, except the main character is you, and she's thoroughly confused-

Until the Lieutenant unzip his jeans and fishes the heaviest cock she's ever seen out from his pants.

Your mouth drops open, and because you're flailing in this moment, free falling through every emotion known to man, you bark out a laugh. It's obscene. Too long, too thick, swollen red tip drooling milky white spend. He's stroking it, jaw clenching when he squeezes the base.

He steps forward, you jerk back. His lips twist into a scowl.

"Not gon' hurt ya." You look up and down, trying to put the puzzle together, thought the answer is glaringly obvious and literally staring you in the face. You peer upward, and his gaze snaps to yours.

What you find in his eyes... steals your breath.

The foreboding, carnal hunger is still there, almost akin to rage, but beneath it, so far beneath you can hardly recognize it, lurks something else.

Vulnerability. There one moment, chased away the next, but it changes everything about this. He's hesitant, lost, studying you for something, a cue, an indication, like he's not sure how to proceed.

You wrap your fingers around his length and repeat his own motions, a stroke and a squeeze, his shoulders stiffening at first, and then slumping with relaxation. The peace last only so long before he steps forward, and you lean into it, into him, and as he smears the head of cock against your lips, you don't pull away. You just open your mouth like a good little girl. His.

You stretch your jaw wide, and you swear it clicks. He's in the back of your throat with still more to go, but you try as hard as you can to take him, take it all, sucking hard, encouraged by the warm palm at the back of your skull. He grunts.

"Hold still." He covers your ears with both hands, unintentionally, you think, palms on your cheeks, and flexes his hips, forcing himself as far as he can down your throat. You gag on it, holding onto to his thighs for dear life, and when he does it again, your throat tightening with the reflex, he groans. He likes it.

You're totally fucked. He's going to suffocate you.

"Gon' be fast," he pulls back, allowing you a gasp of air, before shoving back in, "breathe when y'can." You fist his pants, and cling to him. He's rough with it, shoving your nose into the curls of his pubic hair, thumbs rubbing through the tears streaming down your face.

It should feel wrong, to have someone take their pleasure from you so violently, but it doesn't. Your clit throbs, thighs pressing together instinctively, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tile in the room. There's a rugged rush of words flowing from his mouth, things you're only catching bits and pieces of, but you've got the gist.

Needed this. Needed you.

Pretty thing. Takin’ it. Good girl.

You do. You take it through your tears, through the drool slipping over your chin to your neck, you take everything he gives you, even the rush of hot, salted come spilling down your throat.

He hauls you to your feet after, and you catch yourself in the mirror, horrified. Your makeup is everywhere but your eyes, mouth swollen, lips raw. "I should wash my-"

"No." He tucks you into his side. "Want you to stay like this 'til we get home." Home? We get home?

"Lieutenant, I'm not sure what's going on but-" He twists your shoulders back and tips your face up to his so fast your head spins.

"Simon. It's Simon, pet."

[iamacolor]

Casual touches between Sol and Sunjae 💛

LOVELY RUNNER - EPISODE 16

[solarpunkani]

You know what, while I'm doing hot takes. And this one may be obvious considering I'm actively contributing to hosting the Solarpunk Aesthetic Week event but like.

Dear everyone who's constantly deriding the aesthetic portions of the solarpunk movement/genre; do you just not understand that being able to visualize the future you want is immensely important to being able to work towards it? Being able to get other people on board with it?

When I first got interested in Solarpunk, it wasn't for the hot leftist takes about the top ways to dismantle the government for the people, or top tips on how to build your own solar panel apparatuses. What brought me in? Visions of a hopeful future. I learned and began to love the rest as I dove deeper into solarpunk circles, but there is no denying that my first intro to it--and likely many people's first intro to it--was via the art and aesthetic spheres. The term 'solarpunk' was literally coined to refer to the aesthetic movement, and we've been building up from there ever since.

'When are people going to realize the aesthetic parts don't matter and what really matters is praxis--' dude, the aesthetic parts do matter. Inspiring people does matter. Showing people visions of a hopeful future is immensely important, it's why so many people join this movement. We see glimpses of what a hopeful future could look like, through beautiful art or riveting stories, we're inspired by things like stained glass and organic designs and statues and fashion concepts--and then we think to ourselves 'how can we help make this future happen?' And we learn the praxis and we work towards the goals and we share it with others because that's just how we work.

Seeing isn't always believing, but sometimes in order to believe in something with your whole heart, it helps to be able to visualize what you want. For yourself and for others.

So yes. The aesthetic parts of solarpunk do matter. Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

[dreamofbecoming]

listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done

but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says

and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.

she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.

so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.

but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.

(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)

[sonadowkismesis]

sorry, no art this week. just edits of fem!ford of varying quality. her name's andromeda. grauntie andy. and i love her

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[varpusvaras]

Fox is being punished. 

That has to be it. He had been a bad Commander, a bad soldier, a bad brother. All he had ever done had been mistakes, one after the other, leading up to his miserable end. 

But even after that, even after his body had been broken, even after he had had to lay there, in pain and numb, slowly choking out because no matter how much he had wanted to, his lungs would not draw in another breath. The only mercy he had been granted there had been the fact that he had lost consciousness before the end had actually arrived, so he had not had to actually see it. 

Fox had known when the end had come, though. There had been a flash of something, a landscape of rivers and lights he had fallen through, all the way back towards the hard ground beneath him. 

Then, he had stood there, watching himself laying on that hard ground, unmoving and cold. 

Fox had watched as his men had gathered around him, how they tried to find a pulse, even though Fox himself could tell it had been too late just by looking at himself. He had looked like a doll that had been played too harshly with, and then left behind, once his owner had grown bored with him. 

Fox had watched as his men had gathered his body and covered it, despite the fact that he had still had his entire armor on. He had watched them carry it away. 

Fox had not followed them. 

He knows what happens to all the bodies already. 

He did…he did not want to see himself go through it. 

It is selfish of him, he knows. He should’ve followed them, should’ve watched himself burn, like all of his brothers before him, who had been fortunate enough to make it back. It shouldn’t have mattered. 

He is already dead, after all. 

Still, he had not followed them. Instead, he just continues to stand there, at the foot of the Temple, where he had taken his last breath. 

He had thought he would see his brothers again. 

He had thought that he would finally get to apologise to Thorn. He had thought that Thorn would throw his arm around his shoulders and call him stupid for thinking that he had something to apologise for. 

He had thought that he would get to run to Ponds’s arms again. He had thought he would get to be held, and his older brother, always forgiving, would tell him that he still loved him, no matter what. 

Fox stares at the ground, where his body had fallen. 

It seems that once again, he had thought he deserved more than he was ever meant to. 

— — — 

Fox is being punished. 

That has to be it. He is being punished for all his failures, by having him witness the same things happen over and over again, but this time, he is even more helpless than ever before. 

He watches as his brothers continue to die. He watches as bolts that he could’ve warned them about hit them over and over again, because his voice doesn’t carry anymore.

He watches as his brothers continue to lose themselves, pulling the triggers of their blasters over and over again, because his hands are as much nothing as the air around them is. 

He watches as the Galaxy continues to fall deeper and deeper into the darkness. 

He watches it all, and he knows it is his fault. 

— — — 

Fox thinks about visiting Alderaan, sometimes. 

He misses it. It’s weird. He misses a place that he has never been to. He misses a place that was never his home, and never would be. 

He misses- 

Fox pushes the thought away from his mind, frightened of the possibility of what will happen if he thinks about it, thinks about them too much. He is not tied to the laws of regular travelling of the Universe anymore, and he is afraid that if he thinks too much, the next thing he knows, he will be standing there, looking right at them. 

He can’t do that. 

— — — 

Fox watches Bly die. 

His screams don’t reach him before he is gone, and they don’t reach him after. 

— — — 

Fox watches Stone die. 

He screams, again, even though he knows it’s pointless. He screams at him, orders him to get up, orders him not to leave Thire alone to this place. 

Stone doesn’t hear him. He dies, bleeding out in front of Fox, his blood flowing through Fox’s hands, no matter how hard Fox tries to hold it all in. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

He still tries, for some reason. Tries to hold them, tries to keep them from falling apart, tries to tell them they aren’t alone as they fade. 

He tries, because he has to. Because he didn’t try hard enough when he still had the chance. 

— — — 

He thinks of Rex a lot, whenever he sits by one of his brothers during their last moments. 

He thinks of Rex and the ARC Trooper in Rex’s arms and with a hole in his chest, and he sees himself holding the weapon. 

Fox is being punished. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

He stays with them until the end. 

All of them leave Fox after. 

— — — 

Fox surrounds himself with his brothers. 

He sits there, among them, the living and the dead. He listens to their voices, he watches their faces, he searches their eyes for recognition as they look towards him. 

It never comes. They can only look towards Fox, but not at him. 

Fox doesn’t know if he even wants them to see him. 

He doesn’t want them to leave him. 

He closes his eyes and listens to his brothers’ voices.

— — — 

Fox watches Wolffe. 

He follows him around as he goes across the Galaxy, and closes his eyes whenever he pulls the trigger. 

Fox watches Cody. 

He follows him around as he goes across the Galaxy, and holds his hand whenever he pulls the trigger. 

Fox watches them destroy themselves, and all he can do is cry silent, invisible tears. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

As he sits there, in a pool of blood that cannot stain him any further, he knows that he is being punished. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Fox is being punished, and there is no place left for him that won’t hurt him further. 

He still goes, wishing for the reprieve of a different kind of pain. 

— — — 

The sun is setting when Fox arrives to Alderaan. 

He stands there, at the gates to the Palace, and watches the sun disappear behind the mountains and paint the sky with the colors of the warmth he can not feel anymore. 

He only has enough courage to enter through the gates once the sky has begun to turn dark. 

He remembers the stories Bail and Breha had told him. He remembers the terraces Bail had told him about, the ones where he would sit with Breha whenever he was back home. He remembers the halls Bail had described to him, the ones where he and Breha would dance in when they had the time, when they had a moment just for themselves to enjoy. 

He remembers the corridors and hallways Breha had told him about, the ones she had grown up running through, her shoes forgotten in the haste of seeing the ships leave in the morning. 

With the stories playing in his mind, he wanders through the Palace, all the way to the living rooms of the Queen and her Consort. 

Fox can hear them, through the door. He recognises the low, gentle sway of Bail’s voice, and he knows the melody of Breha’s voice as she speaks. 

He stands there, outside their door, and listens to them speak words he cannot make out. 

Bail says something. Breha laughs. 

Fox smiles. His tears don’t burn his eyes anymore. 

He sits on the floor and leans against their door, and he listens. 

— — — 

When the morning comes, Fox hides. 

He’s not hiding because he fears they will see him. He knows painfully well by now that he is invisible to the Galaxy as it is now. 

No, he hides, so that he can’t see them. 

So it goes. Fox hides in the halls and rooms of the Palace, living as a shadow in the house that was never his home, and he listens to the voices of the people he had once hoped would be his home. 

He knows the sound of Bail’s footsteps already, and he quickly learns Breha’s as well. Sometimes, he catches a glimpse of them, and he averts his eyes, no matter how much he wants to do nothing else than just look at them. 

There’s pain waiting for him in their faces, and there is pain here, where he doesn’t see them. 

Fox is being punished, after all. 

When the night falls, he sits by their door and listens to them talk. 

Bail says something. Breha laughs. 

There is silence. 

Breha cries. 

It’s an awful sound. 

Fox thinks that it’s his fault.

— — — 

Breha is not back to the Palace yet. 

Fox still sits in front of their door, even though there is no conversation going on on the other side. 

It’s silent, for a long while, but then there is noise. 

Bail is crying. 

It’s an awful sound. 

Fox thinks it’s his fault, too. 

After all, had he not ruined everything that Bail had worked so long for?

— — — 

They have a child, now. 

It’s impossible for Fox to not know that. Everyone around him is talking about her. 

The little Princess of Alderaan. 

Fox knows that they always wanted children. They talked about it often. So often, that sometimes, when Fox had been foolish enough for a moment, he had imagined a little girl himself, a little girl with dark eyes and dark hair, with a toothy smile and bright laugh. 

A little girl, just for them. 

He’s happy for them. He really is. He knows how much they wanted to have a child. A little girl, just for them. 

Fox had always known that he had been nothing more than a pawn on the board of war. 

Somehow, there is still a new pain to be found, from the realisation that the Galaxy and the lives in it would continue to move forward even without him. 

They have a child, now. A little girl, just for them, like it had been before Fox, and how it is now without him. 

— — — 

The little Princess has not been sleeping properly, lately. 

Fox doesn’t know a lot about babies, but he has heard some say that it is quite normal for them to sometimes go through periods where they seem to be doing nothing more than cry, day and night. 

The little Princess has certainly been doing that for the past week. 

Her cries always start the same. First as a few hiccups, that will eventually grow to sobs, and then to loud, demanding and shrill screams, that will go and and on, before she grows tired, and her little voice becomes hoarse, until she has the energy to just whimper. 

Fox hates the sound. He hates every second of every part of it. 

There is a need inside of him. A need that tells him that he must stand up, that he must walk through the door, that he must take the child and soothe her until she stops crying, that he must do so until she is happy again. 

He wonders if this was what the Prime felt like when he had been given his son. 

The little Princess cries. Fox listens to it, his teeth drawing blood that will not flow from his lip as he bites down on it, in order to keep himself composed. Breha and Bail sound both exhausted, as far as Fox can hear through the door, but still, they carry on, trying their best to soothe their daughter, as she continues to cry. 

Eventually, a silence falls. 

It draws on, far longer than it has in many days. 

Fox listens to it for a while, until it becomes simply too much. For a week, he has been holding himself together, and now, during a moment of peace, he has run out of any patience he had still had left.

He stands, and moves into the rooms on the other side of the door. 

He moves slowly and quietly through the dark living room. It feels appropriate, still, even though he makes no sound anymore for anyone to hear. He glances at the marks of a long life together, a life that he was just a small, brief moment in, and makes his way to the bedroom. 

Fox does hesitate for a long moment before he actually steps in. It feels like he is intruding, no matter how many times there had been promises, promises of this place, promises for his place exactly here. After all, those promises had never been able to come through, all because of Fox himself. There is no place for him here, anymore. 

Bail and Breha are both asleep. Fox can see them lay on the bed, turned towards each other in their slumber. Breha is curled against Bail, and Bail is curled around her, his back to Fox, like he is protecting her. 

Fox finally looks at them properly, now that they have their eyes closed. 

He feels like a stranger, stumbling upon a picture of a perfect life. It has been a while since he has wished for anything else than the final mercy of true death be granted upon him, but now, there is a longing for a life inside of him, burning him cold. 

He stands there and he longs, longs for two things he cannot have at the same time. 

Fox is being punished. 

There is a small, dim light on at the nightstand on the other side of the bed, and next to it, is a small cot. 

Fox tiptoes around the bed, and he slowly, so slowly and carefully, makes his way to the cot and looks in. 

She is sleeping there, the little Princess of Alderaan. She has a round face and small body, and tiny arms and legs with even tinier hands and feet. 

There is a tuft of brown hair on top of her head. 

Fox has a feeling that if her eyes were open, he would see that they were also dark. 

A little girl, with dark eyes and brown hair. 

A little girl, just for them. 

There she is, just like Fox had imagined her. 

There she is, now that Fox is not. 

She makes little sounds when she sleeps. Tiny gasps and soft sniffles, and even tinier whines every now and then as she shifts around a bit, her eyelids fluttering for a second before she settles back down. 

Fox cannot look away. 

He stands there, looking at her, at her round cheeks and tiny nose, at the tiny shadows her little eyelashes are casting on her skin, at the way her hair is longer at her forehead and curls ever so slightly towards the left side of her head. 

She whines a little, then again, a little louder. Breha shifts a little on the bed behind Fox. 

She needs her rest. 

Fox knows it doesn’t matter, but he hums. 

There hadn’t been any songs for them when Fox had been little. No lullabies or nursery rhymes. The only songs that had been sung to them had been the endless melodies of the ocean and its waves, and the songs of war, of bravery and brotherhood. 

None of them are suitable to be sung to a little Princess in the dead of the night, to lull her back to sleep. 

It’s a good thing, then, that she cannot hear him. 

Still, despite all of this, Fox hums the song to her, the song of his brothers and their hearts. He hums the song over and over again, with his voice that cannot tire anymore, as it is as soundless as it was eternal. 

The whines stop. She squirms around a bit, before she settles again, and stays there for the rest of the night. 

Fox flees when the morning comes and he hears Bail awaken. 

— — — 

Now that Fox has given a part of himself, he cannot take it back anymore. 

He goes in the next night, stands there next to the cot and looks at the little Princess, and he hums the song for her. She sleeps through night after night. 

Fox knows he is only deluding himself in thinking he is actually helping in any way. 

He still leaves every morning. 

— — — 

Babies grow fast. 

Fox notices it all by himself without anyone having to tell him. She seems to get bigger after every week. 

Leia. The little Princess. A little girl, just for them. 

She is five months now, Fox had heard Breha mention it the day before. 

Fox realises that she must’ve been born right after the Rise of the Empire. 

It feels like it has been a lot longer than that. 

— — — 

Fox hums. Leia had fallen asleep an hour ago, so it was still early into the night. Bail and Breha were also in the bed already, trying to catch as much sleep as they could. 

Fox had really thought they were asleep. 

Until he hears a quiet, choked sob. 

Bail pushes himself up instantly at the sound. Even though Fox could disappear instantly from where he stood, his mind had stopped working for a moment right then, and it’s already too late when the thought to do so finally crosses him.

“Breha?” Bail murmurs. 

Breha doesn’t answer instantly. Fox hears her draw in a deep breath that comes out accompanied by another sob. 

“I-” She says, and tries to breathe in deep again, but her voice just wavers more when she speaks after it. “I miss him. I miss him so much. He was supposed to be here.”

“I know”, Bail says. “I know. I miss him too.” 

Breha buries her face into Bail’s chest and cries.

“He was supposed to be here”, she sobs, digging a hot, burning blade of pain deeper into Fox’s chest with every noise. “He was supposed to be here, with us.” 

It takes Fox a moment to realise that they are talking about him.

He looks Bail in the eyes properly for the first time since before his death. 

They are full of tears, already making their way down his face, steadily and quietly as he holds Breha through her cries, steadfast and strong as always. 

Fox remembers how much he loves them again. 

He wants so badly to reach for them in that moment, he wants so badly for them to see him, to hear him, like he is still there. 

But he is not there.

He continues humming, through his own, quiet and weightless tears, and Leia sleeps through the night. 

— — — 

Fox stays when the morning comes. 

He cannot look away from them anymore, either. So he watches as they dress themselves and then dress Leia, and he follows them when they walk out of the Palace and through the gardens, down the hill and to a smaller garden, away from the main one at the central courtyard. 

Fox didn’t remember either of them ever mentioning it to him. They had both talked so much about all the plants and flowers of the Palace in detail when Fox had asked, in wonder of having living things in such abundance all around, even indoors. 

The little garden looks new, as Fox takes a better look at it. The stones around the flowerbeds have no weather to them yet, and the ground on which the flowers themselves stand is dark and loose and looks like it has just been placed there. 

There are young trees at the center of the garden, their blooming branches arching over white stones in the middle. 

It takes a Fox a moment to realise that it’s a grave. 

There are some petals that have fallen on the stone in the middle. Bail sweeps them away, before resting his hand on top of the stone. 

“Good morning, our love”, he says, and with air that he doesn’t need to breathe stuck inside his throat, Fox reads the writing on the stone. 

Where he lives now is in our hearts

Eternal, everlasting

Like love

Fox Organa

Remembered and lived by his wife, husband and daughter

Oh. 

Fox had thought- he had thought- 

Breha takes Leia’s little hand to hers, and she presses both it and her own hand on top of the stone as well. 

“Good morning, love”, she says. “Say good morning, Buir.”

Leia is five months old. Fox knows that she is too young to know how to speak yet. 

Still, she babbles happily, her little fingers curling against the stone, and Fox-

Fox stands beside his own grave and cries. 

— — — 

He looks at Leia that night as she sleeps. He looks at her round cheeks and tiny nose, her dark hair and tiny hands and feet, the way her chin is shaped and the way her mouth curves. 

He looks at her, and hums a song for her, to their little Princess. To their little girl, a little girl who is just for them. 

Fox sits on the edge of the bed once Bail and Breha are both asleep, and he feels like he somehow belongs, even though he is not there. 

— — — 

Leia is six months old. 

She is still rather small, as far as Fox has understood, but Bail and Breha are not worried by that. Fox trusts that they have a good reason. 

He is sitting on his spot on the edge of the bed, humming the song, as Leia suddenly scrunches her face, looking very much like she is about to cry. 

Fox stands up in a hurry and leans over the cot. 

“Shhh”, he hushes. “Shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” 

He only realises that he is trying for nothing, like all the times before, after he has already said the words. 

Indeed, Leia does open her eyes, her face still scrunched up and her mouth drawn tightly, and she blinks rapidly, and- 

She looks up, her dark eyes locking in on Fox’s. 

Fox freezes. 

No. No, she is not looking at him, he reminds himself. She cannot see him, since he is not actually there-

Leia’s face relaxes as she continues staring at him. Her mouth goes lax for a moment, and then it curls into a toothy smile, and she reaches her hands towards him. 

Fox cannot help it. Readying himself for inevitable disappointment, he reaches his hand into the cot. 

Leia’s hands reach for his. First they don’t seem to be able to grasp on anything, but then, all of a sudden, they curl around Fox’s thumb. It feels like there is static between them, as a layer on Fox’s skin, but he can still feel the pressure and a hint of warmth through it. 

Leia looks at him, and smiles. 

Fox smiles back, wavering and on the edge of tears yet again, but he smiles back at her. 

“That’s right”, he says. “It’s alright. Buir is here.” 

Leia falls back asleep that night holding onto Fox’s hand. 

— — — 

There are limits to what Fox can do. 

He cannot lift Leia up properly. He can put his hands under her and lift her maybe half an inch for a second or maybe two, at max. The static feeling is always there whenever she touches him, but Fox can let her hold onto him, and he can lightly brush her head to soothe her. Leia giggles every time Fox runs his finger down the bridge of her nose. 

Fox has no other option than to exist with the fact that there is one person in the whole Galaxy who can see him. 

He cannot touch her as much when she is being held by someone else. He cannot pry her away from Breha or Bail, not that Fox even wants to. 

Breha is holding her on her shoulder as she mixes her a bottle. Leia is a little fussy, hunger making her impatient. 

Fox calls to her, and when Leia looks up at him, he sticks his tongue out at her. 

The fussiness and the hunger are completely forgotten. Leia laughs and clumsily claps her hands together. She shrieks out a louder laugh as Fox does it again. 

Breha turns, and looks around the room. There is still a bang of loss in Fox’s chest as her eyes pass right by him. 

“Something caught your eye?” Breha asks. She is smiling as she looks at Leia, and Fox loves her immensely. 

— — —

Bail stands next to Fox at Leia’s cot. 

Fox had always leaned against him whenever they had stood this close to each other. It had been a habit, born from the fact that Fox had always run cold while Bail had always run warm. 

Fox misses that warmth. 

Bail looks at Leia, who stares right back at him. 

“The last time I checked”, Bail says slowly. “It was way past the bedtime for little Princesses.” 

Leia only grins at Bail, who looks extremely dejected. Fox cannot help but laugh a little. 

Leia’s eyes move to Fox, and she laughs back at him. 

Bail frowns, and turns to look. For a moment, it feels like he is looking straight at Fox, but his eyes never stop searching. 

Fox wants to just lean forward and fall against him. 

He stays put, until Bail’s eyes turn away. 

— — — 

Leia stands up against the couch. 

Carefully, she lets go of it. She looks at Breha, who is sitting just a few meters away from them, and then she looks at Fox, who is sitting on the couch. 

Fox smiles at her. 

“Go on”, he says. “Go on, Leili’ika, you can do it.” 

“Come on”, Breha says, extending her arms towards Leia. “Come on, you can do it!” 

Leia takes one, hesitant step away from the couch. Then another, and another, until she has made it to Breha, who catches her in a hug. 

“There you go!” Breha laughs, and kisses Leia’s cheeks. “There you go, I knew you could do it!” 

Leia giggles, and then looks over at Fox. 

Fox claps his hands. 

“Good job!” He says. Breha puts Leia back down, and Leia turns around, and makes her way towards him with small, wavering steps. She grabs at the couch right in front of Fox, and looks up at him, with a wide, toothy smile. 

Fox glances at Breha.

Breha is looking at Leia, but slowly, her eyes move up, following Leia’s gaze. 

She doesn’t see him, but she keeps looking, almost like she is expecting to see something there. 

She is not smiling anymore. Fox swallows, and turns to look back at Leia. 

Leia is still smiling, and Fox quickly smiles back at her. 

“Good job”, he says again, and runs his thumb over her cheek. “Good job, Leia.” 

Leia giggles again. Breha is still looking when Fox looks back at her. 

— — — 

“Sometimes, it just…” Breha trails off. “....it just seems like she’s really seeing something we’re not.” 

“I know”, Bail says. “But…she always looks happy, correct?” 

Breha nods. 

“Yes”, she answers, and then pauses. “...do you think it’s because of…” 

Bail takes her hand into his. 

“Maybe”, he says, almost whispering. “Maybe. Though I…I cannot imagine what she is seeing. I’ve never heard of anything like this. Obi-Wan or Master Yoda could know, perhaps, but…” 

He cuts himself off, and shakes his head. 

“It’s too dangerous”, he says. 

Fox stares at his hands as he listens to them speak, his mind trying to catch up with what had just been said. 

They aren't all gone. The Jedi are not all gone. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi is alive.

— — — 

Fox goes to see Kenobi that night, after Leia has fallen asleep. 

It’s the middle of the day there, with two suns blaring down on the desert. Fox finds Kenobi easily enough. 

He looks like he has aged several years in just a span of one.

Fox cannot blame him. 

He watches Kenobi for a while, looking for any sign that he can see Fox. 

When none come, Fox steps closer. 

“General?” He calls. “General Kenobi?” 

Nothing. 

Fox tries not to feel disappointed. 

There’s a strange feeling then, like he is being watched. Fox turns around. 

No one around him is looking at him. 

— — — 

Fox goes to visit Cody after. 

He watches as Cody cleans his blaster, just like he always does. He looks like he usually does as well, with his helmet off, and his brows creased in a gentle, concentrated frown. 

Fox wonders what Cody would do, if Fox could tell him that Kenobi is alive. 

Perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t.

Fox returns to Alderaan, and sits on the edge of the bed. Leia makes a sound, and he hums her song to her to settle her back to sleep.

— — — 

Kids are fast. 

Much faster than they have any right to be. Leia especially, because she is still tiny.

“Leia!” Bail calls after her, as she speeds off. “Leia, slow down!” 

Fox can move a lot faster than anyone else. In less than a blink of an eye, he is in front of her, and she hastily slows herself down to a stop. 

“You heard your papa”, Fox says. “Slow down.” 

Leia has the gall to pout at him. 

Bail has now caught up to her as well, and he scoops her up. 

“What are you pouting at?” He asks her, tickling her stomach lightly. 

Leia laughs.

“Buir!” She giggles, which makes Bail stop immediately. 

He looks at Leia, looking a bit confused for a moment, and then glances towards the small garden. 

“Do you want to go see Buir?” He asks her. 

Leia turns to look back at Fox. 

“Buir”, she says. 

Bail doesn’t notice her looking, because he just nods, and starts to make his way towards the garden. Fox decides it’s for the best if he follows them. 

Bail puts her back down on the ground in front of the grave. 

“There we go”, he murmurs. “Say hello to Buir.” 

Leia frowns at the stone, and then looks at Fox. 

“Buir”, she says. She sounds rather confused now. 

Bail looks at her, and then up, straight at Fox but straight past him.

Fox makes himself smile at Leia. 

“It’s okay”, he says. He brushes his hand across the top of her head. “It’s okay, Leili’ika. Buir is right here.” 

Leia looks at him, and then reaches her hand.

“Buir”, she says. 

Fox lets her grab onto his hand. He watches as Bail looks at him, still straight past him, with a lost look full of grief in his eyes. 

Once again, Fox wishes nothing more than to be able to speak to him, make him see, make him hear him, so Fox could tell him that he is right there. 

But he cannot. 

Because even when Fox has found his place, even when Fox has found happiness, even when Fox has found a home, even when he has been granted a reason to be here. 

Even then, Fox is being punished.

[sleepy-steve]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday Thursday 🧠 🪱

thank you for tagging me @stervrucht 🖤

no pressure tags: @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @stevesbipanic and of course anyone else that would like to ♡

thinking about Steve and Eddie who, after going through rounds of physical therapy after everything, continue to work out together because Steve obviously loves it and loves having a friend to work out with. and Eddie notices the difference in his stamina when he gets back to performing on stage. (and if Eddie likes to watch Steve work out a little bit, and likes Steve coming over to help his form more than a little bit, well that’s his business.) but Steve takes a dance class and shakes up his usual warmup, leaving Eddie with some… thoughts.

***

“Okay, Munson,” Steve says, pulling his arm across his body for a shoulder stretch. “You ready?”

“Ready to be tortured? Always,” Eddie jokes. It was their thing. Eddie acts like he hates being there, but he still shows up every other day to their local gym in Indianapolis. And he won’t ever deny the benefits he’s noticed since starting their exercise regime. He's faster on stage, doesn't get winded near as easily, holding those screaming notes without feeling like his lungs will explode. Little did he know that today his joke would come to be true.

Steve liked most kinds of exercise. He was a sporty guy. He liked the pull and stretch of his muscles, the feeling of accomplishment after achieving a new goal, that delicious soreness the day after a really good workout. But mostly he loved trying new things. He’d give anything half a chance if he thought it might be fun. Which is how he ended up at a dance-aerobics class the week prior, finding himself having a lot of fun, blushing furiously when the women in the class complimented how quickly he picks up the steps.

He went back three more times that week. Part of his enjoyment came from the new warmup he was taught in the class. Steve’s usual warmup consisted of basic stretches and a light jog, covering all bases to ensure he didn’t get injured, but not very exciting.

This, however, was far more enjoyable. Steve found himself sinking deep into stretches he didn't know he had flexibility for, and moving his hips to a beat, ultimately just having way more fun with the warmup. And it was about to become a huge problem for Eddie.

Steve pops his headphones over his ears, the tape deck tucked securely in his shorts pocket. He bends over, inhaling deeply as the song starts, rising up with his hands overhead, exhaling as he rolls his wrists, hips moving side to side with the beat. His already short cropped t-shirt rises, showing off a good amount of his chest. He lets his arms come down, bending over again, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. Gripping his elbows, he lets the top half of his body hang, swinging from side to side, his hamstrings fully stretched out.

Eddie looks up from his own basic stretching, shocked to see Steve fully bent over, because hey, since when was he so flexible? With Metallica blaring through his own headphones, Eddie just stares, completely forgetting where he was at in his warmup.

Steve lets his hands drop, moving to one foot, back to the centre, then the other foot. Ass just up in the air, his shorts way too tight. Eddie swallows. He’d been denying his crush for months at this point, and good god this was not helping.

Rolling his shoulders as he stands up, Steve lets his hands travel down his bare thighs, sinking into a squat with his back arched and head tilted back. Eddie's eyes are wide as he watches those tight little shorts with the little cut-ins on the sides ride up, showing far more of Steve's glorious hairy thighs than Eddie can handle. Steve drops his head forward, hunching his shoulders as he moves back to standing. He repeats the motions, and Eddie wishes he had the strength to pull his stare away from Steve's ass.

Seeing Steve's head tilted back and his back arched is sending Eddie insane. Like, he geninely thinks he might evaporate on the spot if he keeps watching. But he just can't look away.

Turning himself sideways, Steve has one foot stepped out in front of the other, legs perfectly straightened into a triangle shape, bent over his front leg. Just when Eddie thinks he’s about to get up and end his suffering, Steve lowers himself down into a lunge. His little shorts definitely way too small and tight for the movement, Steve lunges back and forth, fingertips resting on the ground on either side of his front foot. Eddie watches as the t-shirt rides up with each lunge, the desire to get his lips and tongue all over Steve's chest overwhelming him.

Shaking himself, Eddie tries to remember which shoulder stretch he was up to. He attempts something close to a stretch, but he can’t be sure he's doing it right, because Steve has lowered himself to the ground, front leg bent and back leg perfectly straight, and is fucking thrusting into the ground. If he were to ask Steve, he’d find out this was a hip flexor stretch. But Eddie’s forgotten how to form words entirely, suddenly imagining nineteen different ways he wants to get dicked down by the man before him.

Eddie suffers in silence, heart racing in his chest, watching as Steve repeats the movements on his other side. He prays that the torture ends soon, that they can just get to the workout, and Eddie can go back to pretending he doesn't want to ride Steve until his thighs give out. But Eddie gets no such luck.

Steve has moved into some kind of triangle position, hands on the ground, legs straight, and of fucking course, his ass in the air. Eddie marvels at how straight the shape is, only for a moment, because then Steve is lifting his heels up and down in turn, and jesus christ those tiny little shorts are just riding up, and Eddie can see a hint of Steve's ass peeking out. His jaw drops. He may actually explode.

Just when Eddie's thinking he can't take much more of this, Steve lowers himself down, knees spread wide, arms stretched out in front of him and head tucked down. A wild and rushed series of thoughts fly across Eddie's mind, all centred around Steve kneeling down in front of him. Eddie needs to get it together quickly.

As Steve brings himself back up to the triangle position, walking his feet to meet his hands and rolling his spine up, shoulders and head rolling back last, he sees Eddie taking off for his warmup jog. Assuming that he probably just took too long with his new warmup, Steve shrugs it off and starts his jog shortly after.

Eddie hits his personal best in several weights that day, desperately trying to expend his excess energy in some way. He barely registers the wins, mind still stuck on Steve and his perfect ass in all those new positions. He almost dissolves on the spot when Steve claps him on the shoulder in congratuations.

At the end of their session, Eddie takes a freezing cold shower and prays for the sweet release of death.

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[b4kuch1n]

siren