#I love that lil chestnut

[pissed-whizard]

there's not enough Puck appreciation in the Berserk fandom if you ask me

[fbfh]

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 9

wc: 3.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? apparently????

warnings: emotional damage!!! unusual behavior from ben, reader has a lil mini breakdown, reader is a just a tad autistic coded and has kind of a meltdown??? could also be read as emotional distress so interpret how you will

summary: ben gets weird during a tourney game and your gut is telling you something you probably shouldn't ignore.

song recs: twisted - aviva, cradles - sub urban, rabbit heart - florance and the machine, heads will roll - yeah yeah yeahs

a/n: YOOOOOOOOO IT'S GETTIN JUICYYYYYY. also our cat I mentioned in the an of chapter 8 has settled in well. he's so talkitive lol. I LOVE YOU GUYS I HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING HAPPY PRIIIIIDEEEEEEE~~~~~ BEEEEE WHO YOU AARRRREEEE FOR YOUR PRIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDEEEEEEEE

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE YELL AT ME IN THE NOTES AND ILL ADD YOU LOL

You take in a big lungful of the crisp, springtime fresh Auradon air as you crawl out of your rabbit hole and back into Overland. Roots and twigs and grass stick to your skirts, but you don’t mind much. You check your pocket watch in a panic, and scurry to the tourney match. You’re merely a pebble’s throw away, so you reach the bleachers quite quickly. Late, granted, but not too late. Not horribly, irreversibly, all-endingly late. You climb up to your usual spot in the bleachers, only a few seats away from the isle kids. Well, Mal and Evie, really, since Jay and Carlos are out on the field. You try to wave at the girls, but they seem much too preoccupied with the game to notice. You understand their fascination, tourney matches are simply addictive. 

You yourself hadn’t been one for sports - aside from the occasional caucus race - that is, until Ben joined the tourney team last year. He must have spent every spare moment leading up to his first match trying to explain the rules to you with no luck, but the moment the referee blew her whistle, you were enamored watching him play. And it’s simply been that way ever since. No matter what it is, you know it will be a fantastical time if Ben’s the one playing. This seems especially true today. 

Ben tears up the field like an absolute animal - no pun intended - and within minutes has scored yet another goal for Auradon. The Fighting Knights are pulling out all the stops, and through even your unwavering faith in Ben’s athleticism, it’s starting to look like a close call. You pull out a teacup from your bag, the china cool under your fingertips. It’s adorned with a white catchfly and chestnut print, but you don’t pay much attention to it. 

Your eyes are locked on Ben as he races down the field, and you pour the spout of your tea pot shaped bag into the cup. Warm, perfectly brewed rooibos and nettle tea trickles from its spout. You shake it absentmindedly a few times, and some lemon slices and lavender sprigs fall in, floating atop the beverage. You take a sip of the warm, perfectly seasoned herbal tea, nearly choking on it as Jay drags Carlos across the field. You watch with bated breath as they move strategically, setting up Ben to score the perfect winning goal. The ball flies straight into the net, and you jump up, cheering and applauding, not even noticing the rooibos and nettle tea stain on your skirt. The crowd roars right along with you, applauding and cheering deafeningly while the announcer congratulates Auradon Prep on their win. Before he can even finish speaking, Ben grabs the mic from him.

You stop dead in your tracks, brow furrowed.

That’s not like him. 

Not at all. 

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Ben pants, still out of breath as he tries to get the crowd’s focus. “Can I have your attention please?”

The stands quiet as he speaks. 

“There’s- uh, there’s something I’d like to say!”

What in the Knave’s good name is he doing? Your mind races, trying to remember if he’d said anything about something like this. Were there any speeches, any announcements, anything like that he was going to make after the game? You can’t remember him mentioning anything like that. Besides, he always runs his speeches by you first to make sure it comes across the way he intends it too. Even something as small as an opening statement or homework presentation, he always gets your feedback first. You watch the way his eyes dart around, the way he hesitates as he tries to figure out what he’s saying. Your stomach drops. He’s improvising this. This whole situation feels surreal. Most peculiar, and most definitely unlike him. 

After another moment of floundering, he finally addresses the crowd. 

“Give me an M!” 

The crowd complies, shouting out the letter and mirroring the shape he’s making with his arms. 

“Give me an A!” 

“A!” 

While the crowd complies yet again, throwing their arms over their heads in an A shape, your eyes fly over to Audrey. You’re afraid you know where this is going, even though it makes positively less sense than the most twisting turning riddles you’ve ever encountered in Wonderland. Your horrified, bewildered expression is the opposite of her hopeful one, and you realize you’re thinking the same thing. Your stomach sinks in a sick, twisting feeling. Your mind races in a dreamlike panic. 

He can’t seriously be asking Audrey to marry him, could he? 

There’s no way. There’s simply no chance that the Ben you’ve known for longer than you’ve been brewing tea would do something so… impulsive. Everything about Ben is calculated. Well thought through. Ben agonizes over each and every decision, he lies awake at night paralyzed by the potential consequences of each action, each choice not being thought all the way through and analyzed from every possible angle. If proposing to Audrey was even a thought in his mind, he would have told you about it. 

There’s simply no other way. There’s no possibility this was even an option in his mind. Just last week when you had quietly implied that maybe he should consider ending their relationship, his silence spoke louder than any words could have. You had seen that. You saw it in his eyes. There’s no way he could be changing his mind that quickly, and not consulting you - or someone about it? You know you would have gotten wind if he even implied he was toying with the notion. Ben does not flip-flop. So what is… this?

“Give me an L!”

Audrey’s face drops. Yours floods with relief. 

He’s not proposing. 

“C’mon, I can’t hear you!” Ben calls out into the mic, hyping up the crowd. They yell Mal’s name again at Ben’s encouragement. You think you see where he’s going with this. It makes sense - Jay and Carlos each got a big starring moment during the tourney game. Now, Ben is giving a shout out to Mal and Evie so they can share in the glory, and won’t feel left out. It’s a brilliant idea, you realize, but you still can’t figure out why he didn’t plan something like this ahead. Did he realize last minute that Mal and Evie might feel excluded? It’s possible. And right now, it’s the most rational explanation you have for this unusual behavior. Before you can feel too relieved, he leans into the mic. You wait for him to instruct the crowd to give him an E, beginning to spell Evie’s name, and-

“I love you, Mal!”

Your stomach drops. You freeze again, brow furrowed more than before. The world around you spins as you stand in the crowd, disoriented. He says it like a deathbed confession, the words tearing from his throat. Through your confused stupor, you can hear the sincerity, the yearning in his voice. 

What?

You don’t even think to look over at Audrey, but you’re sure as anything her expression is exactly the same as yours - completely and totally shell shocked. Probably moreso, you think, she is his girlfriend after all. But is she? Anymore, that is. You can’t imagine she would want to be after a display like that, after Ben publicly- 

Ben…

Ben. 

His gaze flicks over to you for a split second, not even long enough for you to silently ask him what the hell is going on. But it’s just long enough for you to see a flash of something. A look in his eye. Fear. Confusion. Everything you’re feeling for him right now. His attention is ripped forcefully back to Mal. Whatever was there, you can’t see it now. 

“Give me a beat!” Ben demands overzealously to the band. They start playing something for him, something loud and fast. Ben begins singing Mal’s praises. Literally. You’re still frozen, sick with a cold, confused feeling that makes the world around you feel like a strange dream. Unreal. You begin to question if you are dreaming. Through your dazed state - which you only later realize has begun to be accompanied by hot tears blurring your vision - you could swear you saw Mal and Evie share some sort of look, whisper knowingly. They giggle. Mal pulls a zip top bag of cookies out of her jacket pocket and they both start giggling. Laughing. 

A noise catches your scattered attention and you notice Ben has launched himself into the stands, crowd surfing to get all the way over to Mal. He climbs down, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. It’s so intense, so passionate, so unlike him to do something like that in public. You start to gasp, but you can’t. The stands are so loud, each noise feels like a gunshot deafening you. Your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed from the bottom up like paint tubes, gripped by an artist desperate for the last drops of cadmium yellow deep. 

His hand rests firmly on the small of her back.

Just like it does on yours.

Something sickening twists through you, contaminating your heart and sapping away at your strength. Audrey’s voice cuts through, piercing and shrill as she announces to Ben that Chad is her boyfriend now. You see them kiss in your peripheral vision, eyes still locked on the way Ben’s hand sits on Mal’s back. He doesn’t seem to notice Audrey either, or at the very least, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Normally you’d giggle privately at how much that would irritate her, but nothing so frivolous crosses your mind just then.

“I love you, Mal!” Ben exclaims into the microphone. “Did I mention that?”

He leans closer, aching for her, needing her. But she puts her hands on his chest, trying to keep more distance between them. 

“Mal,” he begs, panting as his breath fans across her face, his cheeks flushed. He grips her tighter, leaning closer until he’s practically dipping her. The crowd watches, shocked at the sight of Prince Ben - who is known for his diplomatic reserve and continuous composure - acting so bold in public. “Will you go to coronation with me?”

“Yes!” Mal’s response comes a little too easily. 

You stare off into space in his general direction, choked with disbelief. You feel so frightened and confused and unwelcome. It’s a cold, isolated feeling of strangeness you’ve been running from since you could walk. You knew what people said about Wonderlandians, what they whispered behind your back when they thought you couldn’t hear. It was always Ben who made that feeling go away. He had seen the change in you, too. The more time you spent together since you were littles, the more he included you and sent disapproving princely looks to anyone who dared to tease you or make you feel like you’re not a part of Auradon, the more it started to work. He saw you relax, saw you believe him when he said he was happy to see you. He saw the shame and paranoia from accepting the fact that everyone around you was teasing you behind your back, spreading lies and rumors fade away. 

Ben watched you grow into yourself the moment he showed you that you were safe to do so. Now, after ten years, that horrible feeling is back and Ben is gone. You turn, rushing out of the bleachers, hopping down to solid ground and turning underneath the stands. You’ve barely stopped before the world caves in around you, and the familiar scent of earth and night and the good kind of confusion envelop your senses, like a hug from your mother. 

You fall down the rabbit hole, and you weep. Shamelessly, loudly, uncontrolled. Your tears fly off into the air above you as you fall, no longer afraid of prying eyes. You cry and cry, losing your sense of time and space as you fall deeper and deeper away from the world that never seems to lose amusement in stinging you when you least expect it. You take in a breath, but before you can let it out as another aching sob, you’re plunged underwater. 

Your eyes flare open in the deep waves around you, the black void of a sky above. You kick yourself up to the surface, gasping as you tread the current carrying you downstream. The water splashes around you, getting into your mouth, and it’s salty. A stork sails by on a little wooden raft, adjusting her captain’s hat. “Well, that would do it!” She exclaims in a thick, Wonderlandian accent. “I was wondering what caused these high tides.” 

She maneuvers her raft towards you and hauls you onto it, her gangly legs wobbling awkwardly as she keeps her balance. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and hands it to you, her long feathers tickling your fingertips. 

“Dry your eyes there, dearie, or else we’ll be having to build a new dam!” 

You sputter an apology, which she dismisses goodnaturedly, and begins singing a confusing sea shanty as she navigates the waves, coming and going as you try to calm yourself. After a few minutes, a particularly large wave pushes you two over the river’s edge and sends you spinning into the forest. 

“Well, there you have it.” She says, taking off her cap and dumping out water, sand, a few shells, and a very irritable codfish. She unties the strings of her raft, gathering up the large sticks used to make it into a bundle, and tucking them under her arm.

“Quite useful, you know,” She says softly, before handing you a piece of nicely shaped paper. It reads The Two Blwo’s Shipping Survise. “And if you ever need something lickety split, I do hope you’ll give me a call.”

She tilts her hat and lopes off through the woods into darkness. 

You plop yourself down on the nearest thing - a large, bioluminescent blue mushroom with little purple spots that makes a sound like a big deep drum when you sit down on it. Several smaller mushrooms varying in size scatter near the base of the one you’re seated on. As you pull your foot up to get comfortable, you graze a few of the litter ones, and let out different tones and types of drums too. Normally this would fascinate you. Normally you would be taking pictures, writing about them in your journal, and trying to learn how to play a song on them - if they’re in the right sort of temperament, of course. But today you don’t even notice.

Your mind is still spiraling, sucked down into a whirlpool of the day’s events. You go over and over what happened, hoping to make sense of it, but unable to really process anything. That was so strange, Ben is acting so strange. Why is he acting like that, you wonder. Did he hit his head? Has he somehow been possessed by a very extroverted poltergeist? Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t even make nonsense. Even in Wonderland, there are still patterns, there are still rules and motivations for doing things. Even if those rules and patterns don’t make sense to anyone else, they’re still real. Wonderland is illogical and absurd, but it’s not purely random. 

You rock yourself comfortingly on the bouncy mushroom, the soft noise providing an ambiance that helps you start to think again. There’s no feasible pattern or non-pattern or non-pattern pattern to Ben’s behavior. If there were one, you would be able to find it, especially if you know him as well as you do. And you do. You glance down and see some beetles marching in a line, carrying leaf umbrellas to avoid any more falling tears. You wipe them from your cheeks quickly. 

“My apologies.” You say, your voice polite and fragile. The head beetle chirps, clicking his wings and tipping his hat. He ushers the others past your mushroom quickly, putting their leaf umbrellas onto an umbrella leaf bush nearby. 

A few bread-and-butterflies flitter over, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. They place it before you gently, brewing you a cup of blackberry earl grey with extra honey. You thank them, and they nod, flittering off and leaving a trail of buttery breadcrumbs as their wings flap. They land nearby, listening to you mutter to yourself as the line up to form a loaf. The tea and cakes are delicious, full of jam and honey, and they steady your nerves. You take in another breath, less shaky this time, and begin to think. Not panic, really think. 

“There has to be a reason,” you mumble out loud, “There simply has to be. Ben doesn’t just lose his composure like this. He’s not devoid of sensibilities and decision making. He’s worked so hard to hone his reputation as someone trustworthy, someone full of common sense and compassion, and that… being that person for Auradon is everything to him.”

You place down your tea cup firmly, brow furrowing as your confusion melts away to determination. 

“Everything! He would never do something so… impulsive, and foolhardy, and- and… not like him!” 

You stand up quickly, landing on your feet. 

“I must get to the bottom of this.” You pause. “Or top. Either way.”

You gather your things, fix your hair, and wring out the water from your dress. Even if Ben doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, about his future, the very future of Auradon and all who reside within it, you do. Your loyalty to Ben simply cannot be broken by a day like today.  You won’t let him throw away everything he’s worked towards for no reason. For any reason! If he’s just gone mad, that’s one thing to be dealt with. But there’s a good chance he’ll come back to his senses sooner or later, and you refuse to let everything to hell in a handbasket until he does. 

You are going to figure this out. You’re going to do as much damage control as needed until Ben is back to you and Back to himself. And he is going to come back to himself. You’re sure of it.

Filled with tea cakes and determination, you summon a rabbit hole back to Auradon, and jump through. You flip and twist through the darkness, falling past a bookshelf that floats along with you for a moment, offering a few titles that might prove useful. 

When light breaks the surface and you hear the cracking of polished stone floors, you climb through and emerge into the library. You dust the dirt off yourself and off your hands, setting down your books on a table. You begin to look around, rushing through the library and moving with purpose. You pull book after book off the shelves until you can hardly carry them to the checkout desk. Many of them will be fruitless, you’re sure, but anything is better than nothing in times like these.

“Doing some light reading, Ms. Liddell?” The librarian asks, chuckling at the imposing stack of books you’ve placed before her as she scans through them. 

“There’s nothing light about it, I’m afraid.”She looks up, surprised by the unusual heaviness to your voice, the sharp, focused determination. “Thank you, madam.” You say, grabbing all your books and marching off to your dorm. You have a lot of reading to get through.

[druidrot]

Okay 1 and 13 from the sultry prompts list feel VERY Gale to me, if that inspires you at all!

Your honor, based on provided evidence the jury has come to the conclusion that Gale Dekarios is indeed guilty of being a munch. Not actual smut but like pretty damn suggestive. It borders on it. It’s dirty. Don’t talk to me 😭😭

Real talk I’m sorry this has sat in my drafts for so long. Anon, you deserve better but work has been draining lately and tonight for some reason was the night my mind decided to work. Anyways muah i love u thank u for requesting, i hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Gale Dekarios x Reader

Prompts:

1. A kiss to the thigh

13. You are constantly finding new ways to surprise me.

Rating: Explicit - MDNI

warnings: foreplay, like lots of it. this came out a lil worship-y but gale is a fucking loser and I’m so weak to that shit. i say that with the most love but 😭😭. allusions to good ole’ cunillingus babey!

unsure of the word count

Gale takes his time tonight.

There is no urgency in his actions, no desperation–just pure, unadulterated adoration. His hands are gentle against your skin, soft, like too much pressure might shatter you like glass. He is resolute though, driven, unyielding in the face of his desire for you. He knows exactly how to touch you; he knows exactly where to touch you. It's like your body was made to be known by him, to be loved by him.

You sit comfortably in the big armchair he has nestled in his study, legs spread wide to accommodate his frame. He is kneeled before you like a man devoted; like a man pious, besotted and yearning for you . He looks so very hungry when he turns his gaze up to meet yours, though his smile is soft, beckoning, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You answer his smile with one of your own, smoothing a hand through his hair as he begins to creep his hands under your dressing gown.

"I will never tire of this," he murmurs, reverent, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your knee. "I will always be starved for you, my star. I will never have enough; there will never be enough to satiate the hunger you inspire.”

You can’t help the silly, lovesick grin that pulls at your lips. To you, he is breathtaking in his want for you, unabashed and proud. You love the way he loves you, so fully, so complete, like this is what the two of you were made to do together. It is intense, all-encompassing, makes your insides twist and turn.

“You spoil me rotten,” you whisper, all sweet smile laced with heavy-handed desire. “I burn for you, Mr. Dekarios. You make me ache.”

He offers a punched-out sound, a chuckle, and his molten eyes darken in the heat of his want. His kisses grow heavy, then, hot where they land on your skin, teasing where they trail up and up and up…

“You are my renewal and ruin all at once,” he breathes, sticky with need. “I am lost to you, my darling. Eternally lost to you.”

You mewl, tangling your fingers in his chestnut hair. “Show me, my love. Show me how you love me.”

He grins a wickedly handsome smile, pressing another hard kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh. He bites down gently, teasingly, basking in the sultry moan that rumbles in your chest.

“Gale,” you urge, pleadingly. “Let me see how lost you are. Let me see what I do to you.”

He squeezes the flesh of your opposite thigh, tongue laving over the little indents his teeth left in your skin. His eyes are sharp, heavy with lust, and you think you might drown in their depths forever.

“How desperate you are,” he teases, hands now moving to push the fabric at your hips up higher and higher. You can only sink further into his touch as his intentions become clear.

“You are constantly finding new ways to surprise me,” he muses, eyes locked on your pleading gaze. “I sometimes forget how eager you are to have me. But no matter, my star. I will happily oblige your desire to be tasted.”

You can only gasp, body pliant, mind foggy, already drunk on him as you surrender to the heat of his mouth.

[harlowtales]

Paparazzi knew puppy’s name and Y/N was left to her own devices 😤 🐶

18+ Only - Adult themes, Language

“Hey baby” Jack said calling early on FaceTime. It was early morning where he was on tour in New Zealand.

“You look so sexy and groggy.” You said admiring how gorgeous your husband always looks. He took off his bonnet and shook out his curls causing your heart to flutter.

“Stop looking at me like that Y/N that’s how we got Ella.” Jack said cautioning you. You had a little boy from a previous relationship and Jack accepted him fully as his own. “Where’s my little muffin and my boy?”

“Well Jax is at school and Ella is right here. She just finished nursing.” You said happily and showed Jack baby Ella half passing out, and smiling at the breast.

“Funny how our happy place is the same.” Jack said wistfully happy to get a peak at your boob.

“You’re so silly!” You giggled. “I miss you so much”

“I miss you guys like crazy but some people don’t want to pull their kids out of school to go on a world tour.” Jack said with an eye roll and still feeling a way about you making that decision.

“Stability Jackman. It’s all about stability.” You said taking a stretch. “I better get moving. I’m meeting Azura for a walk.”

Just then Lil puppy Lou Lou came bounding up and licked you in the face. Jack was thrilled to see her. She woke up Ella drifting off but she was happy anyway. Ella was always happy unless she was tired and then she’d fuss and rub her head of chestnut curls. She rarely fully cried and was almost sleeping through the night.

“Aight my baby tell Jax I love him and don’t worry about his math test ok. I’ll call y’all later. Your husband said. He made a naughty gesture just before he signed off.

“Jackman! I swear!” You yelled to a blank screen as he vanished. “Daddy looks too good Imma have to be careful before I have 10 y’all” you said to Ella who looked like she was gearing up to go out for a walk.

You took a quick shower and slipped into your favourite hoodie of Jack’s, some yoga pants, and your one of many pairs of New Balances. Today it was Carolina blue 550s because you were missing your man bad. You slipped Ella’s wiggly chubby legs into a New Balance jumper and got the leash on Lou Lou.

“Hey girl!!” You said excitedly to Urban’s girlfriend Azura. Little man is getting big!” You said ruffling their son Liam’s hair.

“Yes he is girl and getting like his daddy wanting to take pictures of everything. We got him a toy camera and he carries it around his neck everywhere like Urb.” Azura said looking down lovingly at 4 year old Liam.

Liam wandered a bit away as you chatted with Azura. Suddenly you heard him talking a few feet away to a lady who was asking questions about his toy.

“Hey there little guy I like your camera” She said with a smile and had a cute dog with her that Liam petted. Azura was watching and everything seemed fine. Liam loved dogs and nothing seemed wrong. It was a beautiful sunny day and lots of people were out walking with dogs.

“Liam be gentle with the puppy ok?” Azura cautioned as he politely asked to pick it up and the owner agreed.

“It’s fine.” The lady said “Hey, you’re Jack Harlow’s fiancée….Y/N isn’t it? And Baby Ella so adorable with puppy Lou Lou. Nice to see you enjoying this beautiful day.”

Both you and Azura froze with a bad feeling. They had been following you and poor little Liam walked right into the trap because the lady had a dog and seemed nice.

“Liam hunny put the doggy down we have to go.” Azura said sternly and cautiously.

“I’m not answering any of your questions.” You said firmly to the paparazzi and turned to leave.

“Well I bet the world will like to see how rude one of the hottest stars’s fiancee is.” They said taunting you.

Azura made a sudden move to jump on the lady and caused a scene. Urban wasn’t under as much scrutiny as Jack so him and his family didn’t have to go through people following them. Jack had trained you how to be in public and around the media. You leaped in front of Azura to prevent her doing anything foolish.

“Well one of you has some sense! I would sue you!” The lady spat back.

“….and we would sue yo ass right back bitch!” Azura clapped back

While the back and forth with the sneaky paparazzi and Azura was going on you had discreetly emergency dialled Andy an “sos” message. It was something Jack had set up for your safety. Andy’s secretary sent police to your location. You stalled the lady until they got there. Let me tell you something.” You said calmly to the lady maintaining your composure “Tell all your slimy fellow bottom feeders that make a living off of this that me and my family, including my husband are not taking any shit and WE will be suing YOU.”

Everyone in town knew who you were but only a small circle knew the puppy’s name. Someone must have told someone else and that someone else was paid off. A small crowd had gathered which made it difficult for the lady to take off running. Police were carefully approaching so as not to provoke her to flee. You saw them coming. You and Azura kept her talking with Azura continuing to intimidate her which she was much better at than you.

“Listen bitch, you don’t get to talk to people’s kids like that with your rented dog and pretend you’re friendly. That’s like attempted kidnapping.” Azura said angrily holding onto Liam who was scared.”

“Get over yourself lady. Nobody even knows who you are.” The paparazzi argued with Azura.

“They know me on twitch bitch!” Azura shot back as she was one of the biggest gamers.

Police were behind her without her knowing and heard the whole conversation.

“Look behind you.” You said smugly to her. She turned and realized she was under arrest.

“I didn’t try to kidnap no kid!!!” The lady paparazzi yelled. “I’m just doing my job!! Let go of me!” She said as police cuffed her and walked her away.

The call you were dreading coming in started lighting up your screen with your husband’s picture. You hesitated to answer. “Y/N dafuq is going on? Are y’all ok?” He said right away with Urban right beside him. “They knew pup’s name?”

“Azura? Liam? Daddy’s right here!” Urban shouted concerned and on the verge of tears.

“Bro call your chick on her phone.” Jack said to him annoyed.

“Jack we are fine see? Wave to daddy Ella, wave pups.” You said as cheerfully as possible and Azura waved too as Urban called her.

“Jack it’s all good we’re fine.” You said calmly not wanting him to know how you were really feeling.

“Nice try Y/N. I invented that whole never show people how you’re screaming inside type shit.” Jack said catching you in the act of trying to appear unbothered. I need Ella where is she?” He asked trying to see into the stroller. “Y/N why are you not holding her close right now with wackos on the loose and why are y’all still out?? Go back home please, and call when you get in.” Said Jack cooing with Ella and being strict with you. “Now Y/N”.

“Ok ok we’re headed back in.” You said irritated your one day out in a while turned into this.

“Listen I’ll have one of boys pick y’all up and take you to my parents. My mom is losing her mind right now. Ella and Lou Lou can play in the back yard.” Jack said in full dad mode. “Go pick up Jax first ok? You need to tell him before he finds out and make sure he’s not scared.”

All you wanted to do was go for a walk. Being Mrs. Harlow was not going to be easy. You didn’t like how firm Jack was with you and felt like he thought you weren’t being responsible enough. You hated when he got like this. “Oh and I love you too.” You said sarcastically. “Bye Jack.”

“Wait..I’m..I’m sorry baby. If you were hurt, if Ella…I can’t…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I just…” He paused and was holding back tears. “I love you ok?” He finally finished looking away and trying to keep it together.

“Jack I’m sorry. I snapped at you.” You apologized. You knew he loved you.

“Please get little man, take Azura and Liam home, and sleep at my parents house tonight. Please Y/N.” Jack begged. Seeing him soften up made you feel warm inside.

“Ok baby whatever you need for peace of mind but I’m fine. Really.” You said.

“Yeah she not a little bitch like you!” Urban said getting off the phone with Azura and his son.

“Will you two get off my phone!” You giggled.

@itsyagirljaz @okaaay-mice @ride4harlow

[simmergetic]

Santa's 'Lil Wonderland

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Happy Holidays! I am so excited to announce that Santa's 'Lil Wonderland is officially uploaded! I put a lot of time and effort into this build and had so much fun creating it. I hope you have just as much fun playing it. Hope you all have a great holiday season. Don't hesitate to PM me if you have any questions!

A few notes...

-this lot has been play tested with no issues found

-it is recommended you clear your cache and thumbnails before attempting to open this lot as it requires a lot of memory

-this lot is free of custom content

-requires ALL expansions including Holiday Stuff

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Santa’s Retreat

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire… Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”

As the freezing temperatures set in over the quaint village, many seek shelter and comfort in Santa’s Retreat in hopes of easing holiday stress. Some will get warm by the fireplace while listening to sounds of the piano, while others might head upstairs for a massage from the village’s best (and only) massage therapist around or sweat out all those Christmas cookies in the hot ‘n toasty sauna. After some much needed relaxation, why not head downstairs and have a good ‘ole toast with those they love around the Christmas tree, perhaps make some hot soup in the mini bar, touch up on piano skills or just simply relax and unwind on the couch with a good movie? No matter who you are, Santa’s Retreat is sure to offer a warm and inviting atmosphere to ring in the holiday cheer and spirit!

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Santa’s Toy Store & Workshop

“Our finest gifts we bring, Pa rum pum pum pum”

What will the kids do on this little holiday trip, you might ask? Fear not, as Santa’s Toy Store and Workshop will be sure to keep the kids entertained for hours! Planes… trains… and automobiles…. Oh my! While parents and grandparents shop around for that one special gift, the kids can let their imagination run wild at the train table, zoom around remote controlled hot rods and helicopters or perhaps find something fun in one of the toy chests! And for parents who are just as much kids like their own, they can head upstairs to Santa’s Workshop and learn how to make their own toys… oh, the simoleons that will be saved this Christmas! And don’t forget to check out those picturesque views on the rooftop… capture that special moment and paint the perfect holiday picture. Just don’t freeze up there… brrrr. It’s a lil chilly!

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Santa’s Clubhouse (more pictures coming soon)

“And they never let poor Rudolph Join in any reindeer games”

Join in any reindeer games, you say? No one needs to feel left out… as there are certainly no shortage of games here at Santa’s Clubhouse! This central area of the village is a great place to seek refuge, catch up with friends and family with chats by the fire and play timeless games upstairs. So… how about a coffee, nice game of chess by the fireplace and a holiday movie afterwards? Sounds quite delightful. What’s that? You’ve got more simoleons than you know what to do with? Hmm… I know! How about a game of poker? Just don’t lose all your money before enjoying the other festive activities this wonderland’s got to offer!

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Cheers! Bar & Bistro

“And later we’ll have some pumpkin pie… And we’ll do some caroling”

Pop! Sizzle! Delish! What better way to ring in the holiday than at Cheers Bar & Bistro? Right next store from Santa’s Clubhouse you’ll find a grand hallway and entrance to this cozy restaurant nestled up on a hill overlooking the entire village. Grab some holiday cheer inspired drinks at the bar and dine downstairs for or make your way upstairs to the family style dining room complete with a fireplace and covered outdoor dining! Whether you’re in it for the drinks or just want a little date night with the honey, Cheers is sure to leave everyone full of tasty food and fun!

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Holiday Stop ‘N Shop (pictures coming soon)

“Joy to the world, my shopping’s done…”

So you made it to Santa’s Wonderland… but you just realized… it’s so cold and you didn’t bring your winter clothes…. One stop by The Holiday Stop ‘N Shop will surely fix that! This clothing store features an indoor/outdoor shopping experience with more great views of the village and skating rink. In addition there’s magazines and cologne for sale to make this lil shopping trip well worth it!

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FLOOR PLAN

ADDITIONAL PICTURES

DOWNLOAD LINK - CLICK BELOW

https://simsfileshare.net/download/4345193/

Enjoy! And Happy Holidays to you and your family. <3

[ubtendo]

Imagine Torbek having gold-hazel eyes before everything happened and after the witchlight, it's now more like.... amber-ish, with flecks of Witchlight Magenta and little sparks of smth almost orange.

And while the WL cases some very SPECIFIC differences, he's somehow most self conscious due to his eyes - the more WL rushes in his veins, the more Magenta his irises become. It's almost just blanched the melanin in his irises when it gets to higher concentrations - or just glows brighter than the finely woven muscles in there. He can't articulate why it bothers him so much, but it's... uncomfortable. Good, maybe, for the visual when he's closer to slipping with the Other, but still.... he's just not very happy about it.

Briggsy meets him first prior to the witchlight. And while the captain's eyes are not very good, up close, he can make out some of the color, it being so vibrant. And so Torbek is called all sorts of sweet pet names like "treasure" and "my golden love".

When Briggsy learns about the witchlight changes, he doesn't even hesitate. "I mean, the gold thing still stands - a heart of gold, right there!" And when he taps Torbek's chest, he tilts his head up with a grin. "And you know something interestin' about gems and stones? They come in all sorts of colors, have all sorts of meaning."

So Briggsy still calls his lanky lover his treasure and his precious gold. He just also happens to call Torbek things like "my diamond" and "my rose ((quartz))" and "m' lil Padstone" or, for Special Occassions, "my ruby eyed angel".

((And if Briggsy has a friend help him color match to have on him for Random Spoiling Hours, then that's HIS business))

((Tbf though Torbek has a moonstone necklace bc it reminds him of Briggsy))

Let them be healthy and sickeningly sweet

Okay I'm done now ily baaaiiiii

Pet names.... pet names my beloved... save me pet names....💖💕💞💖💕💞💕

"Heart of gold", I can't anymore you people break me for REAL

We can leave all the sad and dramatic stuff for the other ships, we just harbour all the fluff for Briggsbek in our little cave like spiders (or more accurate; we roll those two I a ball like dung beetles because they are stinky)

Also since I was curious what colour the mix of hazel and magenta actually is here is a visual representation of what I might is

Turns out it's like a deep chestnut colour

And since you've mentioned gemstones as nicknames I've got curious about that too and I've spent some time searching up a few ones trying to find a match ( I don't know if there is a more officiant way other than typing brown gemstones on Google but that's what I did ) and from what I could find red jaspers seem like a good match

Aaaand you can do with that info whatever you want, I'm just feeding your people's shipping manic with my curiosity on accident (I love you all for that💖)

[quixoticall]

The View Between Villages

Summary: Steve Harrington offers to be your ghostly tour guide after your mysterious, unexpected death.

AN: Hiiiii, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been then, first of all thank you for thinking of me, and secondly, I have been sick with bronchitis for weeks. Tbh I never understood in Regency novels where they would make such a huge deal about someone being sick until now. That shit took me out. Anyway, in my convalescence I watch the show, School Spirits and I couldn’t help but see the similarities between Wally and Steve—both men of the 80s, hot labrador retriever jocks with a compulsive need for parental approval? So, that’s how this lil piece was born. I would love to continue writing in this universe so please, if you have any requests, send them in! In the meantime, I am hard at work on This Could Get Ugly and a lovely lil Eddie number inspired by another Noah Kahan song.

Warnings: School Spirit!AU, Major Character Death, talks about own death, brief mention of violence and death, angst, this is sad! Ghost!Steve and Ghost?Reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

WC: 2K

It’s Steve Harrington who first declares you dead. Admittedly it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize, it wasn’t like they sent out notices for these types of things either, as convenient as a note would’ve been:

To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you that on February 12 of this year, you will unfortunately perish under unclear circumstances in the city of Chicago, Illinois at Northwestern University. Please make sure to get your affairs in order before the set date.

No, none of that, instead you had attended three whole lectures before noticing that no one was acknowledging you—not your professors when you raised your hand; not your classmates when you asked if they could loan you a pencil; not even your best friend when you ran into him in the hall. You thought it could’ve been a weird prank. Then the news began to spread, you were missing. Reported by your roommate after not having come home from a late-night study session at the library. And then they found traces of blood in the boiler room of the library’s basement.

Still, you thought to yourself, maybe you were having a really long terrible dream. Or maybe you were in a coma. Or doing one of those VR headset things. Or maybe you were dead and cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the very campus where you died.

Your friends were never the gym type, which is why you end up at the school’s pool in an effort to avoid the pain and desperation you feel every time you see their tired but still-hopeful faces.

That’s where you see him. Or, more importantly, where he sees you. You first spot him sitting at the edge of the pool, observing the ongoing swim team practice and are immediately struck.

Sure, you may be stuck in some weird reality where you may or may not be dead but you can still appreciate a hot person. Especially one as handsome as Pool Guy who’s striped swim trunks sit low on his hips and he has a smattering of dark hair trailing from his belly button almost up to the base of his neck. Thick, chestnut-colored hair swoops in his handsome face in golden-touched waves and gracefully frame a pair of honey-hued eyes. Of course you were going to stare.

You’re sure you stare for an indecent amount of time, but it wasn’t like that mattered, you remind yourself, you’re invisible to him like you are to everyone else.

Except you’re not invisible to him because Pool Guy was making eye contact and worse, he was waving, solidifying the fact that he is very aware of your presence. He can see you.

“Hi, you must be new here. I’m Steve Harrington, class of ‘86,” he introduces himself, with way too much verve once he swims over to where you’re still frozen in place.

“You can see me?” You ask, once you find your voice, “How can you see me?”

You reach out to grasp his offered hand and to your shock, your fingers don’t go straight through his, like it would with anyone else’s. Instead you’re enveloped in the warm solid grasp of his hand.

He cracks a smile at this, “because I’m dead too. Which, I totally get you’re probably wondering how someone this good-looking could’ve died so young but i will—“

“Dead?” you squeak out.

“Sorry,” he says with an awkward grimace, “I know not everyone likes that term, um, how do you identify—?“

You cut him off once again, “I didn’t know I was dead.”

It’s his turn to be confused.

“Really? Most people are really quick about putting it together. When they see their body the memories all come back. I mean even I put it together and I was never the smartest even before the accident—oh, shit. You’re the missing girl. The one from all the flyers.”

Clearly he’s referencing the myriad HAVE YOU SEEN ME? flyers with your face on them that paint the campus. Up until now, you had been categorically missing not dead, and now that someone has spoken your fate out loud, you’re certain it is all but sealed.

“Listen, I am so sorry. Let me go get someone who’s way better at this than I—“ you cut off his apologetic rambling,

“I need to leave right now.”

Before he can say anything else you’re running in the opposite direction as quickly as you can.

You don’t go back to the pool after that.

Being dead wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had spent a solid five weeks distraught over the loss of the life you had once lived and mourning everything you will never get to do. And yeah, it was a uniquely painful type of loneliness getting to see all your friends and never getting to interact with them, especially during those first few weeks when your disappearance was hot on everyone’s lips and heavy in the hearts of your friends. But outside of all that, being dead was okay. At least, you didn’t have to submit any more papers or do laundry.

After your encounter with Steve Harrington, class of ‘86, you decide to hole up in the library. You desperately convince yourself that if you search the shelves enough you’ll be able to find something in one of the many books that talk about the afterlife that might provide you some clarity about your newfound ghostly status. Surely there’d have to be something helpful. Anything. A ghost manual, perhaps or some graduate research paper about being stuck in between realms. You’d easily settle for a Chicken Soup for the Ghostly Soul.

Or you think traitorously to yourself, a tour guide to the afterlife, someone who has experience with being dead and a great set of abs. Every time you’re close to convincing yourself to go back to the pool, the embarrassment of your mortifying first encounter pulls you back. No way you were going to see him again. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you’d lost all your dignity.

Your internal back-and-forth ends up not mattering because he ends up coming to you.

You spot his well-coifed head maneuvering through the tall shelves from where you’ve holed yourself up on the fourth floor mezzanine and watch as he weaves through the unassuming crowd, completely unnoticed, just like you.

He’s wearing clothes this time, which both disappointing and surprising since you haven’t quite figured out the mechanics or social expectations of how often ghosts should be changing clothes. In a pair of snug-fitted jeans with a Northwestern Athletics sweatshirt and a pair of high top Nikes, he takes the winding steps up to your unofficial perch two at a time . If this is what he looks like some 40 years dead, you can’t imagine what he looked like when he had a pulse, it must have been like staring into the sun.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively when he approaches, like he’s sure you’ll run off spooked.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just, well, my friend Robin told me she saw you here and I wanted to come by and apologize for what happened. At the pool. I truly had no idea, sometimes I just say things without thinking, which I am working on, trust me.”

You smile, appreciative but defeated, part of you was hoping he was coming up here to tell you that there had been some sort of mistake.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it was just a bit of shock, is all. I guess I’m still adjusting to this whole being dead thing,” you joke weakly.

“Yeah, about that, if you ever need help adjusting or learning the ropes or anything like that, I—we are always happy to help. There’s a few of us that band together and we’d love to have you. Truly,” he claws nervously at the back of his head as he makes his offer the tip of his sneaker digging into the worn library carpet.

“Thanks,” you say, genuinely, “I really appreciate that.”

He looks at you now, finally, and his gaze is golden, warm honey and it’s like a shot to the chest. Like you’ve promised him the moon. A hand is extended towards just slightly, a twitch, and you realize he’s expecting you to take it.

“I can’t right now, though,” you say, lamely and you watch his smile waver. Quickly you add, ”I need some time, I think, before it becomes permanent. If I go with you, I’m dead. Alone up here, I’m still just missing. Does that…make sense?”

He nods, furiously, “It makes total sense. You can come find me by the pool whenever you’re ready. I will be there.”

He makes a move to leave and you register the paper in his hand for the first time. It’s a flyer with your face on it, different than all the ones before.

“Wait, what is that?” You ask, fingers skimming the plush of his sweatshirt to get his attention.

“Oh, um,” he swallows thickly, “they’re having a vigil for you tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d seen or if you were going, but if you were going, I was going to see if you wanted some company. “

His voice is small now and the regret is etched thickly on his face.

Fingers shaking, you extend a hand out for the flyer. Steve sighs but gently places it in your trembling grasp nonetheless.

It’s true, what he said about the vigil, you had no clue. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at your own face, long enough for the words to stop making sense, but not long enough for them to stop meaning anything.

Steve stays the entire time and when you sink to the floor, tear tracks heavy on your cheeks, he sinks with you. You cry, and he stays.

“I can’t go,” you admit, and then, in the same breath, plea, “How can I go?”

Next to you, Steve lets out a shuttering sigh.

“When I died, they did something similar, my parents came down from Indy and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to go either. But shit, maybe if I did, I would’ve gotten what I needed to move on from here. Closure or whatever. Or maybe not, who knows? But I will never know and I would hate for you to never know.”

It’s still too hard to go you decide, but you can’t pretend it’s not happening. Instead, the two of you sit on the roof of the library, feet dangling over the ledge watch a river of candlelight flowing through the center of campus. You can hear, faintly, as your friends make speeches talking about how kind you were, how good, how funny and undeserving until their voices fail from holding back tears.

You cry the whole time, but you don’t regret it.

The two of you stay sitting there far past the end, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, holding the pieces of you together.

After, when you’ve had enough of it all and the last candle has gone out, you turn to Steve and say, “thank you, that did make me feel better. You were right.”

He chuckles wryly.

“I don’t hear that I’m right very often,” he admits before cracking another smile, “but I could get used to hearing it, especially from you. Now, what do you say about getting some ice cream? No offense, but that thing was a total downer.”

You laugh, genuinely, not only at his joke, but the absurdity of it all before playfully shoving his shoulder. In response, Steve pretends to lose his balance and almost fall of the ledge and you both know it’s silly but it makes you smile so it’s worth it.

Dying is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to you, but at least you are not alone.

[beaconfeels]

Happy, happy birthday to my darling @derpylittlenico I wrote a lil Stargent just for you. Love you lots! ❤️

It’s Friday night, and Chris is holding down his favorite barstool at Mick’s. The music isn’t too loud, the pool table is well-maintained, and the crowd is mostly affable. 

He swivels around on the stool and leans backwards against the bar to survey the crowd while he waits for his food. He spots Deputy Phillips at his own favorite table, in the corner near the jukebox. 

It’s then that he sees him. Well, truthfully he notices the ass first. The man’s back is to him, and damn, it’s a nice back too. A round, firm ass that even his loose jeans can’t hide, a trim waist, broad shoulders, and muscles that bulge just a little under the long sleeves of his Henley. The guy pushes his sleeves up as he talks, and yeah, those are nice forearms too. They don’t look like the kind of muscles someone gains from working out at the gym all the time, more the kind that comes from doing manual labor, and lots of it. 

Chestnut hair curls around the guy’s neck, and Chris imagines running his fingers through it. Hmm. Been awhile since he’s felt attracted to someone like this. Granted, the guy hasn’t even turned around yet, but it’s hard to imagine there would be anything so wrong with the front that it would put him off. 

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, the guy turns around, and Chris tracks his eyes up from that waist, up to the bit of dark hair showing through the unbuttoned Henley, up to the guy's face and—Jesus Christ. Stiles Stilinski? Chris only just manages not to smack himself in the forehead at the realization that he’s been ogling Stiles Stilinski’s backside. 

Tonight is definitely not his lucky night, because Stiles is looking right back at him. He smiles at Chris, a wide smile that he refuses to recognize as knowing. No. Stiles didn’t catch the hungry look he was giving him. Absolutely not. 

Stiles says something to Deputy Phillips, and then he’s heading across the bar towards him. Shit. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less attractive than he did before Chris knew who he was. He knows that Stiles had worked on a fishing boat doing tours off the Oregon coast before fighting wildfires all over the west in late summer, and all that manual labor had done that body good. 

“Hey Chris,” Stiles says.

Chris swallows. His name in Stiles’s mouth. It sounds so strange. Why does it sound so strange? Then it hits him, Stiles has never called him by his first name. It was always ‘Mr. Argent,’ or in recent years, ‘Mr. A.’ Said with a little smirk that made Christ fluctuate between wanting to wring the kid’s neck and throwing him over his shoulder to do something more fun with him. 

“Stiles,” he says, jerking his chin upwards.

Stiles grins. “Still holding down the fort huh?” 

“Yup.” Chris wishes he could speak in something other than monosyllables, but it doesn’t seem to be happening at the moment.

Stiles leans up at the bar next to him, and Chris has a hard time taking his eyes off the movement of the muscles in Stiles’s forearm as his fingers tap the bar. 

“Hey, Clint,” Stiles says as the bartender nears their end of the bar, “Can I get another beer?”

”Sure, Stiles,” Clint says. He’s young and blonde and handsome, and he winks at Stiles when he hands over the beer a few moments later. 

Stiles just grins and looks down at the counter. Still not used to attention then, although looking like that, there’s no way he hasn’t gotten plenty of it. 

“Been awhile,” Chris says. “How have you been?” There. That’s normal conversation, right? This is Allison’s friend, and he’s Allison’s dad. This is the sort of thing your friend’s dads ask you. Granted, none of Allison’s other friends have been sending him memes all summer, and making him laugh with increasingly ridiculous texts.

“I’ve been good,” Stiles says, grinning over at him, “And it’s good to be back, to see…everyone.” 

The energy crackling between them isn’t the same energy he normally feels around Allison’s other friends either. His mouth feels dry, and he licks his lips and goddamn nearly blushes when Stiles’s eyes track the movement. Fuck. “Good,” he croaks out. “That’s, uh. Good.” 

Stiles is full out smiling now, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Chris stares across the bar and tries to remember how not to be attracted to Stiles. He was just some kid at one point. Some defiant, brilliant kid always winding up places he shouldn’t be.

“You good to drive?” Stiles asks.

Chris nods, confused.

“You got your bike?”

Chris nods again. 

Stiles puts his beer down on the bar decisively. “Take me for a ride,” he says. 

His brain shorts out a little at that. He happens to keep an extra helmet on his bike because he’s not immune to pretty people asking him for a ride, but this feels different. 

He feels like he should be protesting, but he lets himself be dragged out of the bar, and over to where his motorcycle is lined up with a bunch of others along the curb.

Stiles runs his hand over her appreciatively. “Just as sexy as I remembered,” he says. “Extra helmet, huh? You do this a lot?”

“Not a lot,” Chris protests, shuffling his feet. 

Stiles laughs. “Whatever you say, man. I’m not mad about it. My dad would be pissed if I got on a motorcycle without a helmet, so it all works out.” 

Chris just shakes his head, still feeling like he’s about to do something incredibly unsafe, helmets or no. That wicked grin on Stiles’s face as he pulls on the helmet only confirms it. 

The rumble of the bike is soothing in its familiarity, as is the winding road up through the trees at the edge of town. Stiles’s arms are tight around his waist, and he lets himself sink into it a little. 

He doesn’t know he’s taking Stiles to one of his favorite places until he arrives at the overlook. Stars wink into focus as he shuts off the bike and takes off his helmet, the lights of the town down in the valley spread out below them. He gets a little mesmerized by the sound of the wind in the pines until a disgruntled grunt wakes him out of his reverie. 

“Can’t. Get. it. Off,” Stiles says, wiggling hard enough that he threatens to overturn the bike. 

Chris laughs. “Get off the bike first, baby, and I’ll help you,” he says. 

Stiles gets off the bike, and Chris follows, running his fingers under the strap to the familiar buckle and carefully lifting the helmet off Stiles’s head. 

“Did you call me baby?” Stiles asks. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is rumbled and he looks delectable. 

“Maybe,” Chris says. 

Stiles squints his eyes at him, but he heads over to the large, flat rock in the middle of the ring of rocks surrounding the pullout. 

“You’ve been up here before,” he comments, settling down on the rock beside Stiles.

“Yup. Used to come up here all the time with Scott. Derek, too, once in a while.” 

“Derek too, huh?” he can’t help but ask. “Did you two ever, uh…”

Stiles gets what he didn’t say. “Nah. Don’t get me wrong, I would have, but he was never into me like that.”

“His loss,” Chris says before he can think better of it. 

“Damn straight.” Stiles laughs, leaning into Chris a little. 

Chris puts his arm around him and pulls him in closer because that’s what he wants to do, and he’s really tired of denying himself what he wants. 

Stiles lets out a little contented hum, and leans his head on Chris’s shoulder. They don’t say anything for a long while, and he can’t help but wonder when his feelings shifted in this direction. Sure, it was Stiles’s body that first drew him in tonight, but if that had been all it was, then it would have dissipated when he knew who he was looking at. 

He thinks maybe it was that phone call in late August. It was the only time Stiles ever called him. He’d sounded worn down and a little shocky. He hadn’t wanted to go into details, but Chris gathered it was a moment gone wrong, a change in the fire that could have gone south quickly. “Just wanted to hear your voice,” Stiles had said, and Chris had wondered why me? But kept talking to him until Stiles’s voice had gone soft and slurred, and Chris had told him to hang up and get some sleep. 

Or maybe it was before Stiles had ever left. That pack BBQ when Stiles was 24 and they were picking teams for volleyball. When Stiles had said, “I want Chris,” and Erica had giggled, and Chris had found himself replaying the words in his head later that night for reasons he hadn’t been able to articulate. 

Maybe it was when Stiles turned 23, and Chris had made him a knife for his birthday. He spent hours shaping the blade and carving the handle, and researching what ruins to put where, and it had all felt worth it when Stiles flung himself into his arms and held on tight for an awkwardly long moment when Chris gave it to him. 

Maybe he’s been a little blind. 

He kisses the top of Stiles’s head and threads their fingers together. 

Stiles squeezes his hand and lets out a deep breath. “You know, I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream all the time about showing up back home and you finally seeing me like that, finally wanting me back. I feel like I should pinch myself, like this can’t be real.” 

The ache in his voice makes Chris’s heart hurt. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. I was so stuck on how I thought I should see you, that I didn’t really let myself see you in any other way.” 

“That’s okay,” Stiles says, snuggling closer, “These past few years have been good. I learned a lot about myself, and I had a lot of fun, and I just kept loving you more.”

Chris stops breathing. There’s a long silence.

Then, Stiles whispers into the dark. “Oh fuck. Wasn’t supposed to say that.” 

Chris laughs, feeling lighter than he has in ages. “I think I kept loving you more too, I was just too stupid to know it.” He tips Stiles’s chin up so he can look him in the eye. “You’re so smart, baby, are you sure you want to be with a stupid old man like me?” 

“You’re not stupid,” Stiles says, already starting to giggle before he adds, “Now, the old man part-”

Chris shuts him up with a kiss right on the corner of his smiling mouth, then nuzzles against his face until Stiles kisses him again, holding Chris’s face and murmuring against his mouth and still smiling too much to turn it into a proper makeout. 

“I want to take you out on the boat I worked in Oregon,” Stiles says in between kisses to Chris’s neck. “And I want to go running with you in the mornings,” he says while caressing Chris’s face.

“We should get a dog,” Chris says, slipping a hand under Stiles’s shirt.

“Mmm, yes,” Stiles says, crawling over to straddle Chris’s lap. “You know I let my lease go on my apartment when I left,” he adds. 

“Move in with me,” Chris says, cupping Stiles’s ass. 

“Okay,” Stiles answers, running his fingers through Chris’s hair. “Let’s become regulars at Lucy’s. I wanna be one of those guys who eats breakfast out most of the time.”

“I could like that,” Chris says, although the last word comes out a little wobbly when Stiles grinds down on his lap. 

He retaliates by biting down on Stiles’s earlobe, and Stiles moans before he asks, “Do you have a fireplace at your place? Because we need to sit in front of it and read books and drink hot cocoa.” He pulls back to look Chris full in the face, gripping his cheeks between his hands, “This is a very serious fantasy of mine. I need it.” 

Chris kisses him. “Yes, I have a fireplace. And I have a faux fur rug in front of it that would be nice and soft on your hands and knees,” he says. 

“On my hands and knees?” Stiles asks, and then his eyes go big. “Christopher!” he sounds scandalized, and Chris can’t help but laugh. 

Stiles laughs too, before leaning in to kiss him again. “We’ll definitely use the rug,” he says, scraping his nails gently down Chris’s back, “and the bed, and the couch, and probably the kitchen counter.”

“So unsanitary,” Chris says, pulling Stiles’s shirt to the side to kiss his collarbone. 

“You’ll love it,” Stiles says.

“I’ll love you,” Chris counters, and Stiles’s answering smile is brighter than the full moon overhead. 

[thehardy-boys]

The Platform Part 5 (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Hey there! Thank you guys so so much for all your lovely comments!! I'm SO glad you are enjoying this little story!

Warnings: Lil bit of fluff, sorry it's kind of slow burn

Part 5

When (y/n) left her house that morning and turned around to walk down the few front steps she didn’t expect to see Thomas Shelby waiting for her, hands in his pockets, cap glinting. She jumped at his presence and clutched her bag.

“Christ!” Thomas smirked at her reaction.

“What are you doing here Mr. Shelby?”  

He huffed a laugh and gestured vaguely towards the car behind him.

“I told you I would take you out to see the horses, didn’t I?”

“Oh, but I have work.”

“I already told Mr. Beavers. Anyways, this is work.” It seemed to be the end of the discussion because he turned around and opened the passenger door for her and waited. (y/n) only debated for a second the value of just ignoring him and walking to work. But he was right, this was work. She sighed and got in, pointedly ignoring the gentle, respectful touch of his hand on her back as she climbed in.

The drive was quiet. She could feel him glance over now and again, but she was busy watching the wretchedness of Small Heath disappear and turn into wild grass, soft country air, and wide-open fields. It was like another world out here. They passed by a few estates that she grew envious of. The privilege of living out here! The beauty of it! It made her shrivel inside when she compared the milk white stone of the large houses to the crumbling rental she had in Small Heath with its dark corners, damp walls, pathetic cutlery that consisted of one fork, knife, and spoon. They must have an army of cutlery in these places. A set for each season, a set for each mood and party.

“Beautiful isn’t?” The rumble of his voice broke her inwards spiral.

“Yeah,” She whispered, “Terribly.”

They pulled off the winding roads onto a dirt path and up to a well-kept stable. She could already smell the hay of the horses. Thomas opened her door for her but this time she pretended not to see the hand he held out for her in favor of taking in the view.

Thomas cleared his throat, “This way.” He led her around the stable to a large enclosure that contained a gorgeous chestnut horse.

“This is Copper.” (y/n) looked over at Thomas who was already removing his jacket leaving him in his vest. And she ignored it, the way the vest emphasized his narrow build. And she ignored it when he rolled up both his sleeves and she glanced his forearms. She was hit with the strong desire to be in his arms. The memory of the platform teased her. The heat he had carried with him as she neared him through the crowd.

But now Thomas climbed over the gate and walked up to the horse, caressing the fur, and taking the reins. He led the horse around the ring a few times. (y/n) could see, even without knowing anything, that the horse was incredibly well-trained. Thomas looked over at her and gestured for her to come over, but she shook her head. She could see him furrow his eyebrows and he walked over, followed obediently by Copper.

“What’s wrong?”

(y/n) glanced at the horse then down at the ground, “I’m scared of horses, a little.”

Thomas was silent so she looked up at him, afraid he would be angry, “I’m sorry. I can still write the article.”

But he didn’t look angry he looked thoughtful. He held out his hand, “Let me show you.”

“Mr. Shelby, you can just tell me about the horse, and I can write it.” She tried again.

But his hand remained outstretched, waiting, like he knew that she would give in and take it. And she hated that she did. His hair tousled by the wind and his cheeks slightly rosy from the brisk morning – she couldn’t argue with that.

Copper was on his left side, and she was on his right his hand still holding her own. He led them into the middle of the enclosure. He let go of her hand and guided her, so she faced the side of Copper. She watched as the creature’s fur rippled under the soft winds. Her heart thundered at the sight of the animal’s muscular shoulders and neck.

“It’s alright.” Thomas’s voice was right next to her ear. He was standing behind her. He took her hand again and with his own he raised it up to stroke the horse. Right before her hand made contact with the rich fur she hesitated, and he could feel it, but he didn’t push or force her.

“Nothing will happen to you. I won’t let it.” She nodded and they continued on. The fur was silky smooth, welcoming, and slightly warm. Copper’s head lifted slightly up at the contact but continued on with his snuffling in the grass. Her frantic heart began to slow, and a smile found its way onto her face but then Copper made a sudden movement, his legs stamping slightly, and letting out a loud noise that startled her, and she stepped back suddenly. Her back met Thomas’s chest and his hand caught her waist.

“He’s just spooked by the crows. That’s all.” Thomas reached up and patted Copper’s long nose and soon he became docile again. With a shaking hand (y/n) held onto Thomas’s hand that was resting on her waist. She clung to it and brought it further around her middle. The weight of it grounded her. It was weak of her to do it but once again the past came in to haunt her like a ghost hovering outside her bedroom door. It hung heavy around them and as Thomas took a tiny step forward to meld his firm chest against her back the bedroom door opened and the ghost swept in, inescapable.

She had pushed through all the men, all the soldiers just to catch a glimpse of her brother. He had sent her the message that he would be traveling back to Small Heath after the war. She knew he was safe, but she needed to see it for herself. The men looked at her and she looked back. No matter how they acted: rambunctious and overly happy or the sullen ones, the quiet, tired ones – they were all empty. She remembered thinking, as she moved between them, dodging their hands and their words, that nobody on this platform made it out of the war. Each one of them was changed, broken, gone.  

Then it was the eyes. He was just standing there, unmoving. And she knew, she just fucking knew it was Thomas Shelby, the boy who she had played with in the fields and who had gently taken her palm to read her fortune. She walked towards him and when she stood in front of him, he had said her name like it was an answer, the end of the road, a life’s ambition fulfilled. She had moved without awareness until her arms were wrapped around his neck and his around her waist. (y/n) remembers how tightly he gripped her as if trying to meld the two of them together. How his face rested in the crook of her neck, and he took a deep breath.

He had leaned back, and they had looked at each other, “Tommy…” She had whispered to him. and she watched as something in him shattered completely, the dam opening, and he leant forward to answer her call.

“There you go. He likes you, he does.” (y/n) rather felt his chuckle through the vibrations of his chest. (y/n) exhaled in relief as she continued to delicately stroke Copper’s mane. As she became more confident, she was aware of how tightly she was holding onto Thomas’s arm.

“Sorry.” And she let go. Thomas hung on for a moment longer before stepping back completely and (y/n) hated that it felt wrong. How she felt like something was missing. The rest of the morning was spent with Thomas telling her about horses, the different breeds, each of their strengths. Then (y/n) spent the afternoon back at her desk writing the article. That morning with Thomas remained in the forefront of her mind. Even her visits to her mother were bearable when she had the feeling of Thomas’s warmth to hide away in. And soon enough the hopelessness that she had condemned herself to was forgotten. It was dangerous but what else did she have? She allowed herself to daydream, to imagine, and create but that was it. She drew the line at the formation of anything real. She would remain as an outsider but with the occasional foray into hope but with no expectation. No expectation.

Winter was here, cruel, unforgiving, and cold. The office was planning on having their annual holiday office party. Last year it was a small affair, a few desserts, and a few drinks. (y/n) dragged herself out to it just in order to not disappoint the boss. However, this year because of the agency’s new attachment to Shelby Limited the party had now been blow out of proportion. The party, usually held at the local ball room was now transferred all the way into London in order to compensate for the large number of London based clients of the Shelby company.

“Are you attending the holiday party, Mr. Shelby?” Evelyn batted her eyelashes as he waited for (y/n) to gather together the newest horse articles she had written. (y/n) couldn’t think of a good reason why Evelyn was over at her desk, but she had found herself there when Thomas had walked through the small halls of the agency.

He blew out some smoke, “Not sure.”

“Are you goin’?” He asked (y/n) as she straightened up from her desk to hand him the packet.

She shrugged, “Not sure yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s a business party, aren’t you required?”

She shrugged again, “I don’t think Mr. Beavers can force me to go. I might already have plans.”

He continued to stare at her.

“So, are you going Mr. Shelby?” Evelyn voiced up from her corner. Without breaking eye contact with (y/n),  “I’ll go if she does.” He gestured at her with the packet before turning and making his way out into the blistering cold.  

Part 4 --- Part 6

Tags: @black-kitten-imagines, @illuminwtesz, @slutforcoffein

[besaya-glantaya]

While the previous exorcism was fairly sucessful, new brain gremlins appear with repeated rewatches. So, here's another incomplete list of my rambling thoughts and favourite moments from the Red White and Royal Blue movie:

1. Breaking doors down to get a wedding cake through - actually a thing that happened. Well, almost. Prince William and Kate Middleton's gigantic 8-tier wedding cake was so large a palace door had to be removed to allow it through. Apparently the Queen was "unimpressed".

2. Henry snubbing Alex in the reception line at the wedding is hilarious. Way to ensure Alex doesn't fixate on you for the whole party, Henry. A+ job.

3. Alex drunkly navigating the wedding reception, swiping drinks, petting rich people and hiding foul smelling canapés behind furniture. Adorably comedic.

4. HeNnrrYyy!

5. Aww. I wanna see pictures of Jonathan the Shih Tzu too.

6. Shaan's scathingly dry wit is everything - I can see why he's such a great match for Zahra.

7. "No-one is more mystified than I" is another phrase I am stealing for people who exist purely to vex me.

8. Shaan shoving Alex bodily through the low hanging branches of a chestnut tree to stand beside Henry for a photo op. That had to be at least partially improvised on location.

9. Dogs in jumpers. This must be some British thing that I have simply failed to notice. Is this a thing Americans associate with the UK?

10. The ridiculously small child's costume that Alex is wearing for the puppet show in the hospital.

11. Alex saying "WRONG!"

12. Henry, on the phone, opening with "Good God, man, what have you done?" Honestly, is there any other response when your crush sends you a picture of a caged turkey, in their bedroom, in the small hours of the morning?

13. Nora strutting into the NYE party in that head turning, jaw dropping, red outfit. Stunning.

14. Henry's face after Alex tells him he's going to do "very bad things to him". Every single fantasy he's ever had about him and Alex is flashing rapid-fire through his brain and he just... overloads a lil' bit. Error code 54 [NETWORK_BUSY].

15. The emotional connection between Alex and Henry when they are making love in Paris. The eye contact, the unspoken communication. Ugh. Hats off to all involved - especially Robbie Taylor, the movie's intimacy coordinator - for creating this scene.

16. Alex, talking about being someone his father never had: "You can't know what that means." Henry responding with a heartfelt "I'm learning". Just... yes. All the yes.

17. In the mood for love might be one of the swooniest movies of all time, but it's heartbreakingly sad. It's a doomed romance - two people who are irrevocably in love but can't be together, trapped as they are by the pressures of societal expectations and their own psychological barriers. That this is a version of romance that Henry holds dear is telling and painful to think about.

18. Alex's bloodshot eyes when he's laying on his bed with Nora, hugging that cushion for dear life, pining hard for Henry. Did they do that scene after another intense emotional one? Were there lots of other teary takes of that same scene? Did they rub onions in Taylor's eyes? I need to know.

19. I often think that the core of who we are as teenagers - our hopes, our desires, the things we cherish - are the beings we settle back into as older adults after we're done trying to fit in or live up to other people's expectations. One of Alex's greatest gifts is helping Henry to reach out and reclaim those seemingly distant hopes and dreams. To dance with the person he loves, in a place of beauty that brings him peace.

20. I love the Perfume Genius cover of "Can't help falling in love". It hits you squarely in the feels.

21. God, the casting of this movie was a stroke of genius. Taylor and Nicholas truly become Alex and Henry on screen.

22. On the private air-field: Henry's little overwhelmed smile when Alex squeezes him in the tightest hug and tells him, "I love you, I'll be as patient as you need."

23. Immediately after 22, Alex leaning in for a kiss goodbye but pulling back quickly as he reads Henry's discomfort. Alex might not always understand Henry's reasons but (if he's paying attention), he's so very good at reading Henry's needs and responding to them.

24. In the aftermath of the email leak, Alex has been "hanging in there" - he's had people supporting him, with agency over how to respond. But Henry is understandably not OK - he's been put back in his box, and the Firm has taken over in all matters. There's one scene where you can see Henry shrinking, literally making himself take up less space at the table.  Poor baby.

25. Zahra to the rescue. Truly the MVP.

[nerdstreak]

woah concept art of princess eclair from ttyd leaked (real) (not clickbait) (uncle works at nintendo frfr)

lol but yeah fun to do the paper style once more, so now my lil paper plumber has a gf to himself! (fuck the chestnut king that aint my true love)

now to see if i can animate her...

[latelyanobsession]

Hii! Could you please do H and R for billy? I adore those posts omg im dreading the time when all of the letters are taken 😭

thanks so much babe! 🥰 i love writing these, and luckily there's 26 letters in the alphabet, so we still have some time.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

I would say that at least initially, Billy is not fond of hugs. He tolerates them but he gets this rather confused look on his face anytime you come up and wrap yourself around him. It's like he doesn't know what he should do with himself. Should he hug you back? Are you gonna stop hugging him? Are you gonna hang on him like a leech? He just has no clue. So he kinda awkwardly wraps one arm around you and gives you this little half-assed pat on the back, like someone would give to a puppy or a little kid. He gives you this tight-lipped smile, with eyes that almost say "are ya happy now?" He didn't grow up in a huggy-type family, so for him, this is totally foreign.

Most likely as things move along and he learns to expect hugs from you and grows more comfortable with it he'll settle into it. He'll do things like throw his arms open ahead of time if he sees you walking towards him, he may sigh in annoyance, but still wrap you up and give you a small kiss to boot depending on how much of a brat he wants to be for the day. If he sees you talking with your friends, he may hang back but then walk up and sling his arm over your shoulder and pull you in as they leave. He definitely starts initiating contact more frequently the longer that you two stay together.

On nights when things are tough, it may be hard for you to gauge how much you're allowed to touch him. You don't want to overwhelm him because he seems so upset, but increasingly he'll reach for you, grabbing at your hands and curling himself up in your arms.

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

His favorite memory is when you made him laugh so hard that he cried. It's probably pretty sappy of him to have this be his favorite memory with you, but Billy doesn't have a whole lot of bright shining happy memories so when a good one appears, he really wishes he could jar it up so he could keep it and look at it on repeat whenever he wanted.

The pair of you were fighting actually, and it was reaching the point in the argument where someone was just a breath away from saying something that would probably be regretted when you belched right in his face. The argument ended right there. With you trying to hide your face and stay mad at him, and Billy doubling over with laughter. You ended up laughing with him and giving yourself hiccups, which only made him laugh harder, tears coming out of his eyes.

By the end of it, neither of you two even remembered what you were fighting about in the first place.

H - Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Billy is pretty damn well-groomed, the boy doesn't have that mirror and vanity in his room for nothing. Overall he takes pretty good care of his appearance year-round, but once summer comes then he especially pulls out all the stops. This boy is a Californian after all, he thrives in the sunshine.

I would say that he definitely has a beauty/haircare routine, that may or may not be as extensive as Steve Harrington's. He shaves his face and likes to keep his budding lil mustache well-shaped. Everything you see outwardly he carefully crafts because Billy wants his appearance to do a lot of heavy lifting for him. He wants people to think he looks good, he looks fit, and he looks sexy. So he does everything he can for that.

Does the carpet match the drapes? Yeah pretty close, most blondes tend to have pubic hair that is slightly darker than the hair on their head though. So of the times he's au natural he'd probably be medium brown, chestnut-colored. I would say Billy's typical mode of operation though is to trim down or shave completely. I'm not certain if waxing was available or trendy in the 80s but it was probably just as expensive as it is today, so any 'manscaping' Billy does is probably all undertaken at home and on a budget. Nothing that a bottle of Nair can't fix...

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

I truly believe that Billy is a big-time experimenter. If he sees some odd article mentioned on a porn rag cover in a gas station, he will full-on stop and read it like it's the Sunday Times. If he overhears about some great position or little move that Dick Mackey is spilling about while the guys are talking in the locker room after basketball practice, he's gonna listen. He wants to know, he wants to learn. If there's potential to learn new tricks and feel good at the same time, Billy is sold sold sold.

When Billy hits 18 he definitely visits the adult novelty shops and video stores. Lets his eyes wander and takes it all in. Maybe buys himself a little starter set with handcuffs and a blindfold to use on his partner. Maybe for them to use on him if he's feeling really generous.

In terms of risk, I think Billy is a conditional risk taker, but above all Billy is much more impulsive than he is risky. His propensity to do impulsive and at times stupid things can then turn the situations he and his partner partake in into risky ones. For example, hurriedly finding a supply closet on school grounds but then completely forgetting to lock the door. Or pulling onto the shoulder of the highway for a hot second but then getting wrapped up in the moment and leaving the car door open. Billy has a tendency to think only in terms of "this'll be great if we..." and then all other parts or the logistics are completely gone from his mind. So there may be a time when he's definitely been caught or interrupted to a full stop.

Billy may seek out some risks on purpose like messing around in the school library or study hall. But in those instances, his play is much lighter and teasing. Or he'll just focus on his partner's pleasure, making the payoff more likely and the risk of being caught at least slightly lower than if you both fully participated.

[the-monkey-ruler]

I heard someone say that Rin Rin (one of SWK's most well-known love interests in jttw media) dies in the sequel and I was wondering if it was true, because you know, at least she was the only one to escape that curse to be swk's love interest and not die.

Yes there is something like that. There isn’t a sequel to the Saiyuki 1960 movie but rather this is considered a remake of the OG manga that was made in 2003. While they don’t make it obvious it is sadly true that in that version when Rinrin comes to check on Wukong under the mountain she doesn’t feed him the lil chestnuts this time.

The 1960s Rinrin fell in the snow in her constant effort to feed Wukong while he was under the mountain. But she was saved by Guanyin when she fell in the snow and Rinrin was the one to save Wukong with her love as Guanyin rewarded HER by letting Wukong be free and take Sanzang on the mission. If anything Rinrin SAVED Wukong in this version.

Rather the 2003 version of this story looks like the movie takes the direction that Rinrin only has a mortal life and cannot live the 500 years when Wukong is under the mountain. She is there for him... but there is no Guanyin coming for her this time.

In this version, it is suggested she does not survive the winter....

The next scene cuts to Sanzang coming to free Wukong from the mountain to save Wukong but there is no Rinrin there to say goodbye.

I don't know which version follows the manga better as I haven't read it nor found a copy to read it but the 2003 was considered to be a more... intense version of the story with more heartache despite its cute anime-style. The 1960s was meant for a more child audience so I wouldn't be surprised if they changed the movie so that Wukong and Rinrin may be happy after all.

[unclejezzzy]

Aren't You The Sweetest Thing On This Side of Hell | Part 5 of I Despise My Rotten Mind (And How Much It Worships You)

It's 1990. Following the fire at Club Venus, Eddie is forced to confront his past in order to make his relationship with Steve work.

Eddie's chest ached.

He had been staring at the back of Steve's head for around half an hour, watching him breathe. And his chest ached.

But he was noticing. He noticed the strands of gold in his hair that weaved throughout the layers of chestnut. Never being too loud, never drawing attention to themselves. He noticed the changing hues from the tan of his skin past the neckline of his shirt, and the never before seen moles that dappled along it.

He wondered if he dragged his fingers across them to connect them, they'd show him to some sort of pot of gold.

Eddie used these stolen moments of complete silence like a lifeline. Just watching Steve breathe and sigh, unaware of the world around him in his slumber. It felt like a reward. For what? He didn't know. But he must have done something right along the way to deserve this. Or maybe - it was a blessing for everything wrong that had happened to him.

In the same way that he was noticing, he was starting to panic. This could be his life, now. Exactly as they are now.

And there was that voice. That guy. Hanging off the side of his neck with his canines buried in the flesh, telling him he was no good for it. He was no good for any of it.

He loved his solitude. He loved basking in the aloneness of it all. But he felt as though maybe he could be made for this too, if his self would allow it. He could be a good lover. He wanted to be.

But he wasn't soft like Steve. He wasn't instinctively kind or enthusiastic like Steve. He didn't see the good in people like Steve. But maybe the two of them were the same in a way. They had both been worn away with acts of hatred and violence to become gentle like this with one another.

Steve stirred, taking a sharp intake of breath through his nostrils as Eddie didn't dare move, eyes wide and body frozen in place.

He quickly averted his gaze to the ceiling, arms folded tightly across his chest. He soon realised that it's probably kinda weird to be staring intently at another person the second they wake up.

Steve groaned softly, stretching out his arms underneath his pillow as he acclimatised himself in his consciousness. Eddie peered at him out of the corner of his eye, now affronted with the all encompassing vision before him.

"Hey." Steve smiled, voice strained as he wiped the sleep out from his eyes.

"Hi." Eddie said, biting back a smile that spread far too easily across his lips.

Was it natural for somebody to look this beautiful the second they open their eyes? It wasn't perfect by any means. It wasn't the kinda beauty you see in movies when the actors wake up and somehow their hair and makeup was pristine and they had just the right amount of rouge on their cheeks. That was unrealistic. That glowy, ethereal bullshit.

It was beautiful because it was real. His stubble had darkened ever so slightly, his eyes were puffy and red, lips chapped and eyes watery. Eddie had built dreams around something like this.

"You sleep okay?" Steve asked - scratching his head as he scooped his hair up and out of his face, still laying on his stomach.

"Mhm." Eddie hummed. "You?"

"Yeah, not bad." Steve smiled this giddy, gleaming smile that made Eddie's insides churn.

"Good." Eddie acknowledged quietly.

"Hand?" Steve asked firmly, his pointer finger prodding against the flesh of Eddie's exposed wrist that sat atop his ribcage.

Eddie flexed his fingers beneath the bandage that had loosened in his sleep. His skin tight and tender. "Mm. Lil' sore. But - fine."

"Make sure you change those bandages. Let it breathe a bit before it gets all weepy and gross." Steve spoke sternly as Eddie bungled out a laugh.

"Yes, Doctor Harrington."

"You wish." Steve shot back with a short smirk.

Eddie did wish. But he wasn't going to let the thought of Steve in a full Doctors getup, stethoscope and all, make his already uncomfortable morning situation any more uncomfortable.

"Did I snore - at all? I'm just feeling a little congested. I get allergies in the Summer."

He gets allergies in the Summer. Of course he does. He's fucking perfect.

"Not that I noticed. If you did I slept through it." Eddie shrugged. "Did I?" He asked, a sudden whelm of self consciousness engulfing him.

"No."

"Hm." Eddie resided, nodding to himself. "You did kick me a couple times but it's fine."

"You must have deserved it." Steve snarked with no bite.

"I don't doubt it."

Eddie watched Steve's throat expand and shrink as he swallowed hard. He propped himself up on his elbows, drinking in the morning before he exhaled deeply. He glanced around the room before his gaze fully settled on Eddie again.

"It's nice actually, waking up and you still being here." Steve eventually sighed. "Got worried for a sec that maybe you wouldn't be."

Eddie turned onto his side, cheek nestled against the plush of the pillow so he could really look. "Got worried for a sec that maybe you wouldn't want me to be."

Continue reading on AO3

[thecomfortgoth]

I would like to request Steve Harrington x Reader. After what everyone went through in the Upside Down, the reader has panic attacks. Steve is there to help the reader when she has them.

Thank you so much for your request @lma1986 ❤️

Okay so, I really hope this is what you wanted! I kinda took your idea and ran with it a little WOOPS

Steve Harrington x Reader

⚠️ Please make sure you read the content warnings before reading as this work contains some heavy themes/topics ⚠️

CW: established relationship, takes place in 1987, anxiety, panic attack, talks of the Upside Down, talks of a major character death (y'all know who I mean😞), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington loving the bones off of you, breathing techniques, lil bit of kissing at the end hehe, all characters are 18+

WC: 1.6k

You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

You're not sure what led to this.

You'd been sitting quite happily, watching a movie, a soft fuzzy blanket over your lap, the comfortable couch underneath you, warm, cosy and content. When suddenly you felt it seep in. It started with your mind wandering, your palms becoming sweaty, your heart beginning to race. 

You froze. Even though you weren't moving anyway, you definitely felt your body stiffen up. Like you'd just been dunked in ice cold water. Or at least that's how your blood flowing through your veins felt. Your eyes were fixed on one spot, the TV where The Goonies still played out. You felt like you couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't focus. Your chest was moving faster and faster with each breath, your heart feeling like it was about to burst as your breathing picked up. 

No. Not now. Why the fuck was this happening now of all times? Literally nothing had happened. Nothing had triggered this. And then you remembered. You remembered why you sometimes got this way, the cause of these horrible anxious feelings and these.. you didn't want to even think the word nevermind say it. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you remembered the events of last year, feeling yourself hyperventilate more. You squeezed your eyes shut, the whole room sounding, looking and feeling like static. God you hated this. You really really fucking hated this. 

After the whole Upside Down incident of 1986, you'd never been the same. And neither had anyone else who was there. You'd all lost Eddie and that was heartbreaking enough. Not to mention everything else you all went through. When you got trapped in the Upside Down because you'd got a little off the beaten path while you'd been trying to find someone to help when you'd found your poor friend with Dustin, when the gang thought they almost lost you too. Luckily, he saved you. He got you out of there. But that didn't stop the nightmares and the panic attacks that came after. 

One of which you were currently in the throes of. It always felt like you were back there. Back in the midst of it all, back in the eye of the fucking storm. Your mind racing and telling you you had to get out of wherever you were. That you had to run. That you had to just-

"Honey?" you heard a gentle voice speak, sounding a little panicked itself, momentarily stopping your racing thoughts and breaking through clouds of your psyche. It was the only thing you heard through the loud ringing in your ears. It sounded far away, but close at the same time. "Honey, open your eyes for me, please" 

You did as the voice told you, even though your body told you not to and alarm bells went off in your mind, telling you to get out. That's when your eyes met a warm chestnut pair. Round and wide and full of concern. 

It was Steve. He was the one who had saved you, and still did every day. He was the one you fell in love with before any of this had even occured and were too scared to tell him in fear of ruining your friendship. But after everything that happened? You couldn't not tell him. Life was too short not to take the leap. You had been thrilled when you found out he felt the exact same. 

"Baby, listen to me okay?" You felt warm palms gently grab either side of your face, a thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek in a soothing manner, wiping away a few of the tears that creeped out. You didn't respond, you just kept looking back at the man in front of you. The man that you loved. Your Steve.

"Breathe with me, honey. Deep breaths. In and out, just like this, 'kay? Follow my lead and do what I'm doing" he said softly, keeping his tone calm and his voice gentle. He didn't want to startle you, especially not right now, he was very wary of how he spoke to you when this happened. You watched as his shoulders slowly rose up, filling his lungs with air before he opened his mouth in a tight O and blew the air out steadily between his lips. He did that a few times and nodded at you, signalling for you to copy him. 

You did your best, breathing in through your nose, albeit not as deep as he could, but you filled your lungs as much as the crushing feeling still in your chest allowed. Before slowly but shakily exhaling through your mouth while he smiled at you softly and continued.

"That's it, angel. Keep going. Just focus on me and keep breathing like this. You're doing so well, so so well" he said to you, nodding his head slowly as he took another breath in and you copied him.

With each breath in..  and then out..  you felt the bad feelings and the bad thoughts slowly dissipate. You felt the weight pressing down on your chest lift off and soon vanish. You looked back into the eyes of your saviour, your boyfriend, your honest-to-god true love, and soon enough you felt a little better. 

Steve knew what it was like. He'd been there. He was still there. There were times you had to do the exact same thing for him. And you never questioned it, not once, you just.. did it. Because you loved him. And he loved you too. There was never even a singular thought of "why would I do that?" between you both when it came to helping each other out like this. You both never hesitated, especially since you both more than understood exactly why this had been happening. 

You felt your shoulders drop a little and you blinked slowly, reaching up and resting your hands over his gently. Warm soft palms to rough knuckles. Slowly sliding them down until you were holding his wrists carefully. He smiled a little wider at you, most of the concern leaving his face as he studied your own and your body language, figuring that you were over the worst of it now. 

"You okay honey?" He said, a hand reaching to stroke at your hair. It was only then that you noticed he was kneeling on the floor in front of you, in his Hawkins gym shorts and a fuzzy blue sweater. He had been previously nestled next to you before this happened. He must have felt your breathing change and immediately got in front of you to help you. 

"Yeah.. m'okay Stevie.. sorry I.. I don't know w-" you began but you were soon shushed softly. 

"Hey, what did I tell you about apologising for that? You never have to apologise to me, baby. Never. Especially not for this. You'd do the same for me right? You do the same for me" he smiled at you warmly, leaning forward and placing a gentle peck on your forehead. You smiled a little as you felt his lips press to your skin, all plush and soft. He didn't move away though, he just slotted his nose next to yours and stared into your eyes. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're human. And what we went through.. it was tough. But you don't have to go through it alone. I'll always be here, every step of the way" his voice was low, his tone sincere. It made you kind of get a little dizzy, thinking of how in love you were with this handsome tall man of your dreams, how you really wished that always would be your reality. 

"I know, Stevie. I'll always be here too. Thank you babe, I feel much better now." You whispered back to him, smiling and nodding your head as he watched your face, confirming to him that you were definitely okay. You had calmed down and were feeling more yourself again, thanks to him. It was a wonder the magic that he possessed, in the way he could make you feel less like your world wasn't crumbling in just a few breaths and a few seconds. 

"Good. Now can I get a kiss from my girl?" He grinned cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows. It made you roll your eyes and giggle at him. He thought he was so smooth. Okay, maybe he was but.. you wouldn't tell him that. His head was already big enough as it is, thanks to the Farrah Fawcett spray. 

"Hmm I don't know.. it'll cost you" you smiled, leaning in and pressing your lips to his gently, giving him a long peck. 

"Oh yeah? Well how about I just use my.. boyfriend discount?" he smirked, lunging forward and wrapping his arms around you as he climbed back onto the couch, practically laying on top of you as he made you fall to the side and onto your back. You sprawled out along the length of the couch as you wrapped your arms around his neck and allowed it, letting him pepper kisses all over your face, before he finally met your lips. He tasted like cinnamon and sugar. Warm and sweet. Just like him. 

There was nothing sweeter than Steve's kisses and having his arms around you. Nothing could make you feel bad when you had him nuzzling his way into the crook of your neck, laying his weight on top of you and playing with the ends of your hair, sighing through his nose into your skin as he breathed your scent in and out, which he could never get enough of. 

He could never get enough of you, not in a million years. You were his safe space. And he was yours. You smiled, humming contentedly as you closed your eyes, running your fingers through his soft brown locks, listening to the little huff of happiness come from him and feeling his smile against your skin.

"I think that boyfriend discount definitely works" 

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

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Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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