#I'm not writing in order

[the-raindeer-king]

Honestly, you should've known better. Soap was never one to take a joke and drop it, and joke like this? You should've know he'd take it and run with it. You just never thought it'd go this far.

Someone had brought cupcakes, the kind that come with those gaudy plastic rings meant for little kids. You and Soap had ended up with the same ring on top of your cupcakes.

"Oh, hey. They're the same. Guess we're married now."

It was a joke. Something you had laughed off, before ducking out of the break room, missing the way Soap's eyes followed you. Missing the way he stared at you, something dark and hungry in those baby blues.

The next morning, Soap's waiting at your desk with flowers and a coffee. He gives you a bright smile, watching you as you take the flowers with a smile.

"Oh, my favorite! How'd you know?"

"I know all yer favorites. Part of bein' a good husband, aye?"

That makes you pause, coffee halfway to your lips. Husband? It takes you a second to realize he's referring to the joke you made yesterday, and you give him a sheepish smile, shaking your head.

"Johnny, that was a joke. I wasn't -"

"I've got to go. But I'll get ye later. Make a proper wife of ye before the day's over," he promises, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

You don't even have a chance to argue. And when he shows up with Ghost at the end of the day, all you can think to ask is why Ghost is there.

"Johnny said you needed a witness," is Ghost's reply.

[wantonlywindswept]

okay but like space jesus baby anakin declaring 'you can't kill a jedi' and the force is like 'oh shit fr? guess that's how it is now'

so jedi just. stop dying. they're confused but maybe okay with it? like some of the older ones still die of old age but when they're out fighting somehow they always make it through

palpatine is furious. he knows what's going on and tries to convince anakin that jedi CAN die, look at all these past instances, but anakin just looks at him like he's crazy 'okay but none of the jedi I'VE met ever die'

and palps is desperately trying to prove that jedi can die by actually killing jedi but like. no. they can't die. all his attempts to kill them fail.

and anakin is a nine year old child going 'well if i've never seen it happen then obviously it's not true'

10-year plan to wipe out the jedi foiled by one (1) overpowered boy confidently deciding that jedi can't die, seeing that jedi never die growing up, and thus continuing to believe that jedi cannot die even when there's a war on and jedi should DEFINITELY be dying

palpatine has time scheduled every night just so he can scream into the void in frustration

[artemismatchalatte]

NaNoWriMo 2022: Day 13

I did my writing when I first got up this morning. I have an idea for tomorrow’s session already which I’m glad about. This was a chores/rest day mostly because I’ve been working on both school and on sales this week. 

Day 13 Word Count:1,703 words

November Total so far: 43,213 words

Excerpt:

"Tilly! Tilly!" Mama shrieked when she saw Papa hugging me. 

She barreled over to us and threw herself into my arms. She kissed me several times all over my face in a frantic sort of way. I was slapped in the face with her high strung energy. 

I cried too, overwhelmed that they were happy to see me again. I thought they wouldn't want to see me. 

Clara came up to me, clutching two dolls to her closely. One was Annabelle, one of Rosie's fine dolls from childhood and the other was my Miss Sampson, still in her uniform- her confident smirk still visible on her face. 

"It's okay, Auntie Matilda, don't cry." She said with such concern. 

The little girl was now nearing thirteen, but Rosie did not rush her into adulthood. She was very much still a little girl and I agreed with Rosie- that might protect her from the world. She was always with Rosie or our parents. Ashby did dote on his only living child. He never pushed Rosie to have another baby again though she admitted to me that she wouldn't have minded maybe another one or two more. She had wanted a son, but Clara was all she would ever have.  

Clara sat between Rosie and me on one couch while our parents sat across from us on another. Tea and snacks were carried in. 

Gerry let me borrow one of her suits: we were close to the same size. I was a bit wider where she was about two inches taller but the tailoring had been loose so I could wear her clothes and she could wear mine. Gerry had great taste in clothes too; I was used to farmer and work man's clothes because they were functional. It had been ages since I wore a suit.

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[rebrandedbard]

How does the great Sandpiper successfully smuggle 130 children out of the Nilfgaard-occupied territory of Hamm? With the power of a forgotten story, a traditional song, and a masterful lie.

A piece for my upcoming fic, The Piper of Hamm, based on The Pied Piper of Hamelin, next in my fairy tale series.

[mobius-m-mobius]

You wanna hear a good story? Listen to this one.

Mobius + comfort

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

I realize disney's been tending to stick with the jedi exclusively adopting children with parental permission, if parents are alive, and I appreciate that aspect, but I have thought about the concept (which I am told crops up in legends) of them having some sort of legal right to force sensitive children in the republic, just because it is interesting- especially thinking about cases of child abuse.

Something that disney, legends, and fanon, all generally agree on is the idea that force sensitive children are often in danger because of their force sensitivity. Some take it further with an analogy for neurodivergent kids, since them being weird kids is a recurring theme.

And well. Realistically, over the course of about a thousand years there must have been a few jedi who found a force sensitive child who was in a deeply unsafe situation but their family or guardians had no intention of giving them up for whatever reason. How firm is the parental permission rule in that situation? What if that child is gonna die there?

Laws and systems and rights are finicky things, with often odd histories. I guess, out of all the options available, I can imagine that there was legal framework giving jedi a kind of social service role for force sensitive children and only force sensitive children*, the probably mediocre result of some bit of regulatory legislation that happened at some point, ostensibly there to protect these vulnerable children, that makes it so that technically, if a child passes this standardized test, the jedi can take them away, and that's written in republic law somewhere. Does that law also specify the jedi have to prove unfitness of the guardian? Maybe, maybe not (the republic doesn't seem to have a lot of attention to detail). Does that mean it's actually jedi custom to just go ahead and forcibly take children as a normal thing? Every line of canon dialogue says no. It could be a legal right they have but aren't 100% comfortable with, and are aware it would be unwise to abuse.

.*this is where I plug my headcanon that the blood test is bureaucratic box ticking first and foremost. it's not that i hate midicholorians, but it's a well established thing that jedi can sense force sensitive children absolutely fine without doing a blood test. For their own internal purposes, it's maybe a scientific curiosity to get a count. but for the paperwork? That is a piece of paper that officially categorizes a child as force sensitive in a way that regular people can quantify. so there.

[literatus-ao3]

Tommy opens the door and is hit by the mouth-watering smells of tomato sauce and enough garlic to drown a vampire. It’s been a long day, he’s barely had time to neck a coffee let alone sit and eat a proper meal. Dropping his keys in the bowl by the door, he kicks off his shoes and is pulling off his jacket as he moves through his home.

“Evan?”

“You’re home!” It takes a second before Evan appears, apron splattered with tomato sauce and flour streaking his temple. The sight of him causes his heart to skip a beat, stomach swooping at this gorgeous man looking so thrilled to see him. “You look like you’ve had rough shift.”

“Long,” Tommy says. “Very long.”

He tips himself into Evan’s arms and turns his face into the sweet-smelling neck, nuzzling in as strong hands sweep up his back. Evan’s happy to hold him, supporting his weight and the vulnerability he’s been shy about showing. But no matter what he offers up, Evan’s always thrilled to take it and keep it safe, even the ugly parts of him.

“You’re home now,” Evan says, soft and sweet in his ear. “And dinner’s going to be about ten more minutes if you want to wash up.”

Tommy shakes his head, tightening his arms around his waist. “How was your day?”

Evan hums, carding fingers through the back of his hair: a shiver runs down his spine and his face presses deeper. “Was good. Eddie tripped and fell into an open sewer. He was not happy.”

He laughs, lifting his head and nudging his nose against Evan’s cheek. “I wouldn’t have been either.”

“It wasn’t funny though,” Evan promises, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Come on. Let’s get you sitting down. I don’t want to burn the sauce.”

And Tommy’s hand is taken, fingers linking with his own, and he’s tugged into his own kitchen that’s never felt more like home.

[essektheylyss]

"When you make stories or art that are a kind of shortcut to proving yourself right, that's sort of the definition of propaganda, I think."

SAY THAT, BRENNAN.

[negativecharm]

Sugar daddy!Ghost x reader fluff HCs for my own well being (could be yours too)::

-Maybe Sugar daddy!Ghost would send you a box of your favourite brand of cookies because he just had a thought that he can just send you stuff randomly more than you ask from him.

-He'd get obssessed with you too quickly and more than he ever actually mentally signed up to the whole thing.

-He'd get more and more involved with your lifestyle than you ever really expected him to.

-He'd undoubtedly check in on you once he returns home from the military because he's turning to a point where it's way too obvious that he likes you more than he says it.

-He considers you as the most precious thing in his life even if he thinks you don't take him as anything more seriously than your sugar daddy.

-If you tease him about his age and the age difference he'll say something in return that'll have you flustered for days whenever you think about it.

-He silently wishes that you would fall for him like he falls for you anytime you guys are on a phone call or a video call.

-He'd be the most reliable source for your emotional support during exam seasons. He finds it endearing how much you work hard for your own future (he also adds him being apart of it to his wishlist.)

-He'd literally intertwine your souls together if it was possible so you wouldn't leave him on any conditions. He's scared that one day you might make a decision when you think you can divert ways and live on your own without needing anyone (without needing him.)

-He makes up excuses to meet up which always ends with him getting dazed by just looking at you and wishing on the inside that he'd met you on a more significant reasons.

-The first time you met him outside you were stunned by his demeanour and size which was written all over your face. That definitely awaken something in him nonetheless he finds it adorable. He finds YOU adorable.

-On your first meet up he took you on a bike ride. It was just another excuse for you to hold him a bit tighter around his waist like real couples do. When you tell him you've never ridden anything higher than a 125 or a 300 he decides to go faster, scaring the shit out of you, eliciting a little squeal out of you that he also finds adorable. You didn't even open your eyes to see the nightlife passing by like nothing but blended lines of colorful lights. You were too busy getting scared shitless while you have your whole face pressed to his back. He loves putting you in that kinda situations.

[royalarchivist]

Everyone this week: *lore, conspiracy theories, long conversations with Cucurucho, multiple attempts to summon the Binary Monster*

Spreen when lore:

[mean-vampyre]

Archie realizing he is bisexual in his 30s but panicking because he is so far behind in his gay education he hardly knows how to gay, goes to the riverdale gay bar and freaks out because they ask him if he is into twinks or bears and he has flashbacks to that time he fought a bear and goes home in survival mode, and jughead is there like hey archie what's wrong dude did someone try to kill you again? but archie is like no jug i don't think i can do this bisexuality thing, betty makes it look so effortless but she doesn't get asked if she is into twinks or bears because everyone knows she is into woman who kill, and jug is like hey pal calm down I'm sure we can find a way to help you out. so they visit gay kevin for a crash course in gay but kevin is soooo condescending and gatekeeps gay because he doesn't want more dating competition, so jughead is like archie pal we have been going about this whole thing wrong we must ask the bisexuals. and they go ask fangs and toni but they assume that jughead is tagging along because he too is bisexual and toni says why don't you two come to the bi night at the white worm you can meet other bi people. so archie and jughead show up together to the bar but everyone assumes that they are a couple and keep refering to jughead as his partner and archie is like yeah haha my partner in crime. and the next day everyone thinks that jughead also came out when cheryl sends them a fruit basket and a congrats bert and ernie card.

[souenkun]

Larry's random conversarion lines 🍙

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Random conversation 1:

Ever since I met a certain individual, I now find myself gazing up at the sky every once in a while. There's scenery you'll never even notice if you stick to flat, well-trodden paths. Just something I've observed. I don't dislike the vast, clear sky... But I don't think I can reach it. It's nice to know that there's something like that out there, though.

Random conversation 2:

Pasio seems to have many good restaurants. Ah, I'm not asking for specific recommendations, though... I actually enjoy walking around and looking for a place I might like. That's part of the experience. I seek the exceptional only when it comes to food. Pasio has a variety of cuisines to choose from, so it's hard to stick to just one.

Random conversation 3:

(Player), which do you tend to favor: the exceptional or the average? I was thinking of inviting you to have a meal sometime. Casually figuring out your client's preferences is a special skill that you learn as a salaried employee.

Random conversation 4:

Lunchtime is one of the few things that a salaried employee like me can look forward to at work... We can decide whether to spend that precious time eating something familiar or trying out a new restaurant. It's not just about the meal. The decision-making process leading up to it is also something to look forward to.

Random conversation 5:

People, Pokémon... There's no need to overcomplicate things. Nowadays people only seem to want a shock factor. Something weird, something bizarre. When all's said and done, simplicity is strongest.

Random conversation 6:

You don't necessarily have to follow every instruction from your boss. But I pretend to follow them, at least, so I can avoid hassles later on. That's a technique you can use to get by in the workplace. Keep it in mind.

Random conversation 7:

I'm here in this famous tourist spot, but I can't really spread my wings while my boss has her eye on me. I guess I'll do what I usually do on my lunch break and find a spot to Roost...

[mrghostrat]

Big Name Feelings - 11/17

“She… She recognised me,” he started, which Aziraphale interrupted with a shockingly loud gasp. “Yeah. From the panel selection thing. Knew who I was.” Aziraphale stared straight ahead as he floundered to process that information. Crowley was looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t even know where to begin. So, he just stammered, “Does that mean she’s read your eighty-thousand word incubus PWP?” Crowley barked out a laugh and didn’t stop until they’d moved a full pace up the line.  “Fuck! Who knows? Maybe!”

[varpusvaras]

The Millennium Falcon was, perhaps, a fast ship for its type, but it was not smooth flying in the slightest.

Things had definitely been thrown around during the fight, but still, Leia had kept herself pressed against one of the windows, and she was staring right at the planet on the other side of it. The Death Star still loomed over it, like a mechanical moon, which was definitely a nerve-wracking sight. Luke couldn't fault her for looking afraid.

Still, he believed that Obi-Wan and Rex were going to succeed. He had to. There were no other options.

"Move, kid." Han pushed past him to the consols. "We need to make the jump before they send out more of them after us."

"There are already more coming", Cody said. He looked nervous too. Well, maybe not nervous, but tense. Luke could understand that, too. It was his partner and his brother that had stayed behind on the Death Star, after all. "We need to go."

"Already on it", Han grunted. He was typing on his consol even faster, decidedly not looking at the approaching swarm of TIE-fighters. "Okay, everybody hold onto something!"

Leia didn't move to hold onto anything. She was still standing at the window, staring at Alderaan. It looked almost like she was trying to see something, but Luke didn't know what. They were too far away to see anything on the surface, anyway.

She must've been just worried in general. It was her home, after all.

"Hey." Luke grabbed her arm. "It's going to be okay, the message said that your parents have already been evacuated. The Viceroy and the Queen are both on the way to the Rebel base-"

She whipped around to look at him.

"The Queen and the Viceroy?" She repeated. She looked more worried now.

"Yes", Luke said. "Commander Organa said that-"

"Where is he?" Leia interrupted him. Her voice had risen a whole lot. The ship shook beneath them as the hyperdrives begun to start up. "Commander Organa, where is he?"

"He said he was on Alderaan-" Luke started, attempting to explain the whole thing since he hadn't had the time earlier, but Leia wasn't listening to him anymore. She had turned around and was lurching towards Han.

"Stop the jump!" Luke had not heard her sounding so panicked before, not even when they had been inside the Death Star, surrounded by Stormtroopers. "Stop it!"

She reached for the consols, but Cody jumped forward as well before she got too close, and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away.

"Leia, calm down-" Leia struggled in his grasp, glawing at his arms, her eyes wide.

"No!" She tried to push him off of her. "We can't leave him there!"

"We have to-"

"No!" Leia didn't look like she was even listening to anything that Cody was saying. "No! Stop it! Stop it, he's your brother, you cannot leave him there!"

Cody went still.

"What?" He asked, sounding somehow even more confused than what Luke felt. "What did you-"

The ship lurched forward in the way that Luke felt all the way at the bottom of his stomach, and the stars outside the cockpit started to blurr.

"No!" Leia almost managed to push Cody's arms away. "Buir-"

They jumped into hyperspace, Alderaan and the Death Star disappearing from their view all at once.

[autisticrosewilson]

Um if you write Jason having to get drugs for Catherine I want you dead btw. Not only does it tell me you assume the average drug dealer would give the hard shit to a very small child and then not supervise them at all (classist stereotype that all drug dealers are inherently evil + lazy writing with no grasp on reality) and you genuinely think that Catherine was CONSTANTLY high, as if that's even possible without overdosing far sooner than she did. That's without even getting into the bad mom Catherine propaganda.