#and was like.. zero effort into making things line up or measuring at all. one window on one side is like twice as big as on the other lol

[lucalicatteart]

A few silly little small sculptures that I made with some of the leftover clay from the main one I did recently

[ceterisparibus116]

What's your opinion on Maggie? I'm fairly torn about her. On one hand, she absolutely needed help and support, and fely she was a danger to Matt. On the other, she did leave Jack a single parent with no financial support, then remained around Matt for literal years, allowing him to believe himself an orphan. I am glad they reconnected, but I've seen some people act like she is some kind of perfect caring parent, which I find especially bizarre given the nature of her relationship with Matt. Letting your child believe themself an orphan is not a neutral action as some make it out to be, it does cause harm.

THIS IS SUCH A COMPLICATED QUESTION.

I think you did a great job zeroing in on what makes this so complicated. Maggie was harmed by many things (society, possibly the church, even her own brain); Maggie also caused a lot of harm. How do we reconcile all this?

I think we have to consider all of it together.

See, I think people err by focusing too much on one of three things:

Her lack of help; her unmet needs in her early life;

The good she can and does do for Matt later in life; and

The harm caused to Matt.

I think in reaching a nuanced opinion of Maggie, we have to account for all of these things.

It might seem easy and convenient to focus on how she is, in many ways, a victim of society and lack of education. We tell ourselves how different things would have been if only she'd had a therapist, if only she'd had more support, etc.

But one person's victimhood doesn't mean they can't cause harm. Maggie absolutely caused harm. As you pointed out, her actions weren't neutral.

At the same time, surely there's a difference between someone who caused harm intentionally vs negligently. For some people (though not all), the harm itself might even be less. For example, Matt was hurt (negatively affected) by Maggie's actions, regardless of her degree of intentionality. But I think he would have been hurt worse if he'd believed she abandoned him on purpose. Such a belief would, I think, have fed into his "I have the devil in me" self-hate even more than the simple fact of abandonment, without intent, already feeds into that.

Finally, we have to consider her efforts later in life. They are, in many ways, half-measures. She'll care for his body and attempt to care for his soul, but she won't actually confess her sins to him - which perhaps wouldn't be so bad if she kept her secret out of concern for how it would affect him, but she admits to Karen that her motive was cowardice. That said, the half-measures are still present. These good deeds do not erase her bad deeds (she can't "make up" for wronging him), but her good deeds do nevertheless have a good impact on Matt. She enables him to regain his strength and is one of the few people he can talk to at this point in his life. She clearly cares about him, even if she struggles to know how to care about him well.

And so personally, I sympathize with people who can't look at Maggie and see anything but hurt. However, I am like Matt: I don't believe redemption should be withheld from anyone. We all make mistakes; we all hurt people.

Actually, the Hebrew Bible has an interesting take on this. There are several Hebrew words used to describe something as...well, as a problem. There's chata (often translated "sin" but it means, really, "anything short of perfection"); there's marad (often translated "rebellion" which implies intentionality); there's sur (which means to "turn aside" or "wander" which, I think, doesn't imply intentionality); there's abar (which means to trespass or cross a boundary line); there's also avah (which means "to be bent or twisted") - which is something you can do to yourself, but it also something that can be done to you that leaves you "twisted."

That last one is particularly interesting to me. Maggie was, I believe, "twisted" by depression and by the ways she was treated by the church, by society, etc. She acted, at least in part, in accordance with how she'd been twisted.

Those actions harmed Matt. They twisted Matt. And Matt goes on to act, at least in part, in accordance with how he has been twisted. This causes further harm to people like Foggy, Karen, and Claire, who are hurt by the ways Matt lies to them and pushes them away - which are behaviors he engages in because of how he has been twisted.

Speaking of twisting: Stick. Matt tells Stick to his face that Stick's ideas of the world are "warped". In other words, Stick was twisted. And Stick ended up twisting Matt.

And one of the ideas I've tried to explore a lot in the Ella series is Matt's struggle to avoid passing on any of those twisting ideas to other young children.

What I appreciate about this idea of twisting is that it acknowledges the reality that: a) someone can be hurt; and b) someone can hurt other people out of their hurt; and c) we can call this overall Thing a "bad" thing (as in, "this is not the way things should be"); and yet d) no one did anything intentionally wrong.

In the complicated, messed-up, far-from-perfect world we live in, I think that nuance is absolutely crucial.

Ultimately, when I look at Maggie, I see someone who is incredibly relatable. Some of her terrible choices are, I think, the result of others failing (or twisting) her and I wonder how much she was even capable of choosing differently. Other terrible choices are, I think, done in rebellion against what she knows she should do (such as refusing to confess her sin to Matt, which she knows she should do, and refusing to do so purely out of cowardice/pride). And still other choices are good choices.

I know some Maggies in real life. I'm not the Matt to their Maggie, so the hurt is less personal (although they have hurt people I care about deeply). With those sorts of people, I hope that I am always able to see them still as people. I don't want to write them off because of their harms - no matter how harmful those choices are. We all need grace, mercy, and redemption, and I will not be the one to withhold it from someone.

That said...it is important for the Matts of this world to know that "mercy" is not the same as "trust." Nor is "forgiveness" the same as "never feeling hurt." I explored this more in my Trust fic, but I do not believe Matt owes Maggie anything. If he finds it painful to even be in the same room with her again, then he should not have to be in the same room with her again. Alternatively, if he wants a relationship with her, that's also fine, but the relationship still needs to be safe for him. There needs to be healthy boundaries, and she needs to earn his trust.

And finally, I have to say that I love Maggie as a character. From a storytelling perspective, she adds so much to Matt's arc, and I could ramble for days, but this is already really long, so I'm going to sign off here.

Anon, thank you for the very challenging ask. I'm sure I took this in some weird directions, but...yeah, these are (at least a lot of) my Maggie thoughts.

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S05E08 Their water's so delicious. and Series Five Winner.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Goodbye Series Five, you will be missed. Also, I think I may get a bit too verbose, so feel free to TLDNR.

Prize Task: The Most Awkward Item For Somebody Else To Take Home

I gotta say that there are some A+ submissions in this one. Bob goes for a pretty baseline political joke which I would describe as uninspired. Sally bringing in balloons creates a fun thing to do on the stage at the end of the episode and I do appreciate that. However, Nish and Mark are the tops here. A bathroom would be harder to get home than a bunch of curry.

Aisling: 2 Bob: 1 Mark: 5 Nish: 4 Sally: 3

VT 01: Get this coconut as far from here as possible. You may not touch the ground. You may not step on anything more than once. The coconut may not travel by car.

There's a list of restricted items you can send to Fiji.

This is interesting because "the ground" can mean different things in different contexts. One could imagine a game of "The Floor is Lava" where stepping on the carpet might not feel like it's in the spirit of things.

Alex breaks it down in studio by explaining that it is okay for him to step on the carpet, but when he leaves it he can't return. I think I get the heart of what he's going for, but it's a messy rule. Nish appears to shuffle his feet a bunch of times on the carpet, but Mark is the only one who gets disqualified.

There's another question in whether you measure the maximum distance the coconut ever got from the living room or just where it ended up at the end of the task. It really doesn't feel like Sally got her coconut to the post office in the allotted time (especially since it couldn't travel by car).

Furthermore, Alex said Aisling got it further than Bob but for some reason Bob got 4 points.

All this said, there are so many problems here that I think I have two choices: (1) Defer to the original scoring. (2) Completely discredit the task. Seeing as this task never seemed particularly controversial, I'll defer to the original scoring but switch Bob and Aisling.

Aisling: 4 (+1) Bob: 3 (-1) Mark: DQ Nish: 2 Sally: 5

VT 02: Create the best graph.

I'll fill his boat with piss.

What constitutes the best graph? The most important factors would probably be interesting subject matter, accuracy, and ease of comprehensibility.

Nish's graph is easy to understand -- spending time with him is fun at a 1:1 ratio . . . although who knows what units of fun are measured in. It's also clever because he uses himself as the y-axis and makes the thing vertically. It's not a particularly interesting subject, but it's fine.

The point Mark is trying to make is that individual politics is an incredibly small factor when held up against the vastness of eternity. I believe it's supposed to be a bar graph, but the scale is intentionally done poorly to help effectuate the point so I'm not sure. It's kind of ambiguous what the y-axis is measuring (there's a percentage symbol, but percentage of what?). Greg dismisses it because he immediately forgot the subject matter and I am in agreement that it wasn't an amazing effort.

Sally's graph compares how much sex she gets versus how much sex she wants over the course of time. It's easy to understand and I would be bold enough to say it's interesting subject matter. The only downside is that she builds it out of a variety of different objects, so it's not very pretty.

Aisling's graph is attempting to compare the number of women and men on Taskmaster by series. The data is pretty easy to visualize, even without a graph: 1/5, 1/5, 1/5, 2/5, 2/5. Lots of problems here. The lines shouldn't start at zero (unless we're including Edenborough as Series Zero), the show didn't begin with more women than men in the cast, and the lines should be flat for the first three series then adjust beginning with Series Four. This is an easy last place.

Bob does a bar graph of units of piss by county. I can't verify it's accuracy, so I'm giving it five.

Aisling: 1 (-2) Bob: 5 (+1) Mark: 2 (-1) Nish: 4 (-1) Sally: 3 (0)

Solo Task: Make the most fish puns.

I just thought you were bad at speaking.

I almost want to give Sally a point for the unfairness of it all. Alex did not make his puns in a minute, he made them over the course of days. No points for either of them.

Sally: 0 Alex: 0 (-5)

VT 04: Write and perform a song about this woman.

Do we strike you?

This is an obvious contender for the best task in the entire show. I think the opinions on this one are pretty well settled. The team of three writes a very funny and unhinged song, but Mark and Nish absolutely knock it out of the park. Greg was still splitting points here so the team of two somehow only get three for the best creative work anyone has produced on the show.

I really really want to give them five, but absent a disqualification four is the maximum.

Aisling, Bob & Sally: 1 (-1) Mark and Nish: 4 (+1)

Live Task: Throw the egg through the hoop and catch it as many times as possible. You may not touch the net or post.

This looks pretty straightforward.

Alex blowing the whistle and Nish immediately losing his egg is the funniest, most predictable thing ever. For some reason Aisling starts the task standing on the base of her hoop, so she definitely touched it. By the end, Bob is the only one who pulls off a successful throw and catch.

As unfair as it seems, logistically the other four contestants should probably be put into joint second. Aisling should be disqualified, but I read this one as disqualification stopping score accumulation rather than outright losing you the task.

Aisling: 4 (+4) Bob: 5 (0) Mark: 4 (+4) Nish: 4 (+4) Sally: 4 (0)

F I N A L

Aisling: 12 (+2) Bob: 15 (-1) Mark: 15 (+4) Nish: 18 (+4) Sally: 16 (-1)

Oh my god, I gave Nish a win.

S E R I E S F I N A L

Aisling: 119 (-7) Bob: 125 (-13) Mark: 129 (-1) Nish: 115 (+8) Sally: 124 (-6)

I triple checked my math because I in no way thought I'd have Mark beating Bob. I think it ultimately boiled down to evaluating what he did objectively whereas Greg enjoyed randomly docking him for laughs. Even so, I was pretty sure Bob was going to win so this is a stunner.

In the end, I gave Nish two more episode wins than he had in the real show. Aisling never ended up getting one (losing that tiebreaker with Mark hurts).

With that, I can say goodbye to Series Five. Series Six is next and it's worse, but I won't let that stop me. If I end up doing a regrade of Champion of Champions, it'd likely be after everything else. It's taken me six months to get through five seasons and they get longer from here, so it'll be interesting to see if I'm still plugging away at it by then.

Anyway, having gotten through five seasons, my version of Champion of Champions would have been Josh, Richard, Dave, Hugh, and Mark. I'd honestly say we're better off with the cast that we got.

[wordacrosstime]

A Short Course In Computational Geometry And Topology

[A Short Course in Computational Geometry and Topology. Herbert Edelsbrunner. 2014. Publisher: Springer. Book series: SpringerBriefs in Applied Sciences and Technology. Sub series: SpringerBriefs in Mathematical Methods. Pages: IX, 110. Softcover ISBN: 978-3-319-05956-3. Thanks to publisher for publication details]

For many decades the job title statistician was sufficient to describe a practice involving mathematics, computation, and more than a smidgen of artistry and intuition.  In today’s complex, extremely fast-paced digital world, this title is no longer sufficient; instead, the terms data scientist and machine learning expert have become pre-eminent.  Along with this upgrade in nomenclature has come an explosion in techniques that straddle the admittedly fuzzy boundaries between mathematics, computer science, statistics, and even the physical sciences from which a great many inspirations and innovations are drawn.

One of the most fascinating (at least to this writer) developments over the past 15 years or so has been a subject loosely called TDA, or topological data analysis. Simply put, this technique seeks to locate and recognize patterns within numerical and semi-numerical data that is generally hidden behind a veil of nebulous vantage points and high-dimensional obfuscation.  An elementary example will illustrate this point:  You have doubtless seen examples of sculpture that, when viewed from an arbitrary angle, looks like a group of disjointed components floating in space. However, when viewed from a specific angle, the pieces all line up to render a recognizable image or fgure. TDA attempts to do much the same thing, ie to acquire a certain mathematical viewing perspective from which random data appears to coalesce into discernible shapes and arrangements that have statistical significance.

The key concept in this effort is something called persistent homology.  Persistent homology is tricky to explain, but as luck would have it, it’s actually fairly straightforward to work with in a computational sense.  The idea is this:  Information embedded in a cloud of data (this concept actually has a name:  point cloud) lives in a natural dimension, and certain mathematical properties of this information become obvious when this dimension is discovered.  Again, an example will help make the picture more precise.  A point has zero dimensions  - it has no length, width, or depth.  What this means it that a point naturally lives in 0-D (zero dimensional space).  In a similar vein, a line or curve (either of finite or infinite length) has (possibly infinite) length, but no width or depth; thus a curve lives in 1-D.  The examples can be extrapolated from there, namely that a region such as a polygon, circle or other flat shape has length and width (again, possibly infinite) but no depth, and therefore lives in 2-D – and so on.  Each of these objects can be measured and sensibly dealt with only in the context of their natural dimension.  Persistent homology makes this concept more general and is equipped to deal with cases where the natural dimension of a group of data elements might not be so easily categorized.  It does so using the tools of a branch of mathematics called topology.

The subject of topology is often popularly described as that which calls a circle and an ellipse the same thing, or where a doughnut cannot be distinguished from a coffee cup with a handle (both have one hole in them).  What topology aims to do is to characterize objects in terms of the number of holes they have, how many dimensions they occupy, and whether or not they are orientable (this doesn’t actually apply directly to TDA per se – it simply means does the object have a well-defined inside and outside).  So ultimately, the objective of TDA with the aid of persistent homology is to sweep away noisy data points from the point cloud to reveal a well-defined object in its midst – in other words, find the vantage point from which the underlying feature can be easily seen and rendered.

Dr Edelsbrunner has done a truly masterful job with this monograph.  I have read literally hundreds of texts over the years, many of which I’ve surveyed here at Words Across Time, and I can say that as of this time, I would put this little gem in the top two or three of those books in terms of its pedagogical value.  Despite the strangeness of the topic, Edelsbrunner explains things extremely well and extremely thoroughly.  The volume is relatively self-contained as well, despite being fairly brief.  I will say that it doesn’t hurt for the reader to have had at least an introductory course in topology, as well as at least an advanced undergraduate level of mathematical maturity in general.  But for the intelligent non-specialist (or the gifted amateur), this book will serve up a tidy and satisfactory explanation of a riveting statistical method.

For extra insights, I recommend Michael Henle’s “Combinatorial Topology” and a separate volume by Edelsbrunner and Harer called Computational Topology: An Introduction. For the really advanced reader, I can recommend Kaczynski, Mischaikow and Mrozek’s Computational Homology (I’m actually reading this one now – it’s also an outstanding text from a pedagogical perspective).

[Images thanks to copyright holders, thought to be: Cover © Springer 2014. Portrait © Institute of Science and Technology Austria, Klosterneuburg, Austria]

Kevin Gillette

Words Across Time

27 July 2022

wordsacrosstime

[valuechainplanning]

Sailing Through The SAP APO Ocean

As we all know SAP is an Ocean where the chance of getting lost is quite high.

Below are key takeaways from my experience while working on SAP Demand Planning projects. While reading this article you may find uncanny resemblances to movie titles and dialogues.  The pun has been intended.

Silence of the stats

Almost for all the clients, we have witnessed an “Ahaa” moment when we show them their own data and how beautifully a tuned stat model can work. We all love before and after picture. Here is an example –Tuned Stat Model

In our opinion, planners should have the ability to edit the history. This is your input to APO engine to populate stat forecast, so if garbage in garbage out!

Remember with great power comes the great responsibility. Extreme values can make the forecast unstable. Here is where demand planners have to combine art and science. Science is about getting comfortable with the Greek alphabets, a world of alpha, beta, gamma and phi. After you tune the stat model, the art part comes in. You need to incorporate intelligence.

With all these powerful features of the statistics in APO DP, now comes the greater part handling it responsibly.

Process Unchained!

Working meticulously during the wee hours of the night when the planners are sleeping to make sure they get the right set of numbers, is really commendable effort.

But why? If the system has the flexibility to run Process Chains, which connect one successful step to the other, one should invest their resources in streamlining auto execution of jobs.

Silver Linings Planning Books

All implementations are complicated and give jitters to the implementation team. Folks are so immersed in the intricacies of the APO design that they forget the simplicity that the business is demanding for.  (By lacking simplicity we may make Dr. Lecter unhappy)

Demand planning is both art and science. We need to reflect this philosophy while working on the design. Again this is not a golden rule and will definitely change from a business perspective. For some companies demand planners are structured around customers while for others it’s by geographical regions or by products. We need to keep such uniqueness in mind, while designing the planning books.

Below is such one such example of a data view –Planning Book Building Blocks

SAP Alerts: Mission Impossible

First things first, “not being able to save and see the right set of key figures needed for such diagnostics calculations”, is I think a key issue here.

By now we all know how APO struggles to calculate MAPE, if it has very low or zero historical observation. Thus, by using MAPE you will end up managing by incorrect exceptions.

Does MAPE of 200% really mean a bad statistical model? Should I really focus my attention on how to drop such 200% MAPE to a certain threshold? Are the efforts even worth the try? We have resolved such questions through dedicated stat modeling sessions as part of our project.

Again not a golden rule, Should I look at MAPE …? Yes…! Should I look only at MAPE…? Absolutely not! Then we are left with scale dependent metrics like MAD and RMSE. And here is where the analytics part comes into play. Different business group within a company cannot have the same MAD thresholds as it is scale dependent.

Making alerts possible also ties back to a structured process chain. Depending on the business needs some alerts we will have to execute on daily basis (e.g. tracking the demand compared to forecast). Because we don’t want to see stale alerts, we also want to delete old alerts.

The Most tricky of them all is, calculating forecast error alert.

A good practice is to measure your performance with respect to a lag forecast e.g.2 month or 3 month lag depending on your business and specific lead times.

Here is list of clients we have worked with in the past –Partial List of clients

Contact us if you have any comments or questions. Meanwhile, you can explore additional information on SAP APO Usability at http://demandplanning.net/SAPAPODownload.html

Please visit http://demandplanning.net/consulting.htm to know about our services offerings at DPLLC.

Follow Us to keep updated on our regular content in the SCM space –

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[kaihoku]

V13 TO CREATE - December, 1995

"By making something from scratch with our own hands, I think we grow as people. It takes an incredible amount of effort, however."

~*~

My place is currently pretty plain with nothing much in the way of décor. The walls were so bare at first, it’s almost sad. So I thought I could make something to adorn it with. It’s not going to be anything so high brow as to be considered a piece of artwork, mind.

First, I asked a friend to help me procure a plank made from a century-old tree. When it arrived, I had a tough time transporting it home as it measured around 2 meters in length and 1 meter in width. Both ends ended up sticking out of the windows of my car. When I got it inside, I leaned it against the wall and temporarily placed another long piece of wood across to form something like a Torii. Simply placing a piece of wood straight across seemed boring somehow so I positioned it with a slight slant instead. I've already got a hammer and all the other tools I may need. The nails were the usual sort made of iron that’s shaped like a hook.  After installing them into the wood, I started hanging stuff like the cowboy hat and lasso I got during my short excursion in Colorado and this ceremonial vest for tribesmen I had. Other stuff I hung up were these super worn denim shirt and jeans I’ve had for years. The result actually turned out pretty nice.

What I really wanted to do was to install them straight into the walls but my apartment unit is a rented one and I can already imagine what my old man would say if I were to ruin the walls without permission.

“The hell...? You bloody daft or what?!”

Pop works in interior design so he’s real fussy when it comes to things like building materials and wallpapers. He has zero inhibition when it comes to openly criticizing anything he doesn’t agree with, even if it’s in front of the people who designed it. He both paints and sketches and even as a kid, I always knew that I could never surpass him in that domain. I couldn't even begin to compete.

I’ve always loved the things pop drew. In fact, he taught me all the basics: how to hold the pencil, how to draw steady lines, how to properly smudge when sketching, etc. For example, when lightly drawing over lines multiple times, it‘s always better to hold the higher side of pencil. He’d watch from the side and if I did it wrong, he’d tell me, “No, not like that.” Back then, I didn’t ask any questions and simply followed.

I went to art classes from pre-school up to 3rd grade so as a kid, there was plenty of opportunity for me to draw. But more than wanting to draw, I kept going to those classes because I liked the teacher a lot. He was an old man whose hair had already gone all white. I loved the beagle he drew for me and kept it for a long time. On days we drew still life, if they happen to be fruit, he would peel the skin at the end of class and offer them to us. I remember being particularly overjoyed when they were apples.

These days, when I draw, I like to use a box of 18-color crayons. Red depletes the fastest. I’m not a fan of oil paint because it tends to cover up the pencil lines. The feeling of tension is less that way so it doesn't excite me as much.

Come to think of it, there was a time when I kept feeling this intense need to draw. There was this night I couldn't fall asleep and stayed up until dawn just drawing a bunch of eyes. As I kept at it, mind empty, each one I drew came closer and closer to being something that I liked. It was only after I stopped that I noticed that my hands were almost completely black and the crows were already crowing outside. My eyelids felt heavy but I felt refreshed and light.

I think I somehow get it when people say that they like to make things because thinking about what it is that I like, I realize that it’s the same for me. Even for work, I find that I really enjoy the process of it. Even the kanji for tsukuru, I prefer using “造る” over the more commonly used “作る" because it gives off a stronger sense of something unfolding.

Right now, whatever I’m doing always somehow has something to do with work. As much as I enjoy it though, I really do wish I had the opportunity to do something that’s completely unrelated to it. To do that, I would need to completely remove myself from where I am now and go to some place I’ve been wanting to go...say, for example, Bali. When the chance arises, two things I will definitely bring with me would be a camera and a box of crayons.

One day, I’d like to hold an exhibition where I can put the things that I drew, photos that I took and objects I made on display. If people visiting see something they like and wish to purchase it, they can. The proceeds can then be sent to welfare associations who are working on rebuilding towns ruined by disasters. When I get a chance to do that, it'd probably be nerve-wracking but I’m sure there’d also be a lot of invaluable experience to be gained from it.

-hitachinaka-

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes

Word count: 5,839

-------------------------

The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.

The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.

What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)

(Is there?)

When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.

All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.

Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.

This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.

“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”

“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”

“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”

“You still haven’t told us your name.”

“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”

“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”

“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about nonentities.”

The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”

Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.

The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”

“I’m older than you!”

“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”

Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”

Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.

Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.

Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.

“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”

The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.

“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”

Du Crion pauses.

Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.

“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”

Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.

“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”

“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.

“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”

“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.

Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.

Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.

“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”

“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”

“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”

Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”

“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”

Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”

“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”

This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.

“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.

“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”

Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”

The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”

“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.

The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”

“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.

“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”

Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!

The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.

The unknown knight is better.

There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.

The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.

(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)

The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.

Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.

“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.

“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”

“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”

“Our ship was also shot down.”

The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.

“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.

“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”

“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”

The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”

-------------------------

Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.

“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”

“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”

“Buir says you have to go to medical.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”

“They can visit you in medical.”

“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”

“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”

“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”

“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”

Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.

“Is that a blaster wound?”

“No.”

“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”

“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”

“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”

“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”

Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”

The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.

The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”

Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.

“I’m just a knight--”

“General Skywalker.”

The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”

Jango’s going to wring his neck.

Right after he calls Shmi.

-------------------------

Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--

“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”

Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.

“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”

Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”

Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”

“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”

“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.

It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.

Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.

“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”

Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.

“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”

A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.

“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”

“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”

“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”

“So?”

The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”

“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”

“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.

“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.

“No, just regular ones.”

Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.

“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”

“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”

The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.

The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”

“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”

“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”

“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.

Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”

The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.

“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.

“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”

“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.

You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.

“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”

Komari dies a little more.

“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”

...oh no.

This one’s pretty.

The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.

“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.

“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”

“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”

Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”

“Well, some manners would be nice.”

“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”

Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.

Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.

“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”

Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”

“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”

“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”

“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”

Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.

“Buir?”

Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...

Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.

“They’re yours?”

That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.

“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”

It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.

“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”

“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”

Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”

Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.

The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.

“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”

“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”

Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Because you’ll lie?”

“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”

“Skywalker.”

“Mereel.”

The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.

Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.

-------------------------

Yan Dooku is having a Day.

He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.

Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.

(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)

(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)

“Hi.”

Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.

He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”

“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”

Child of the king.

He does remember that much from the briefing.

“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”

“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”

“The General is your father, then?”

“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”

“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.

“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”

“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”

“Probably.”

“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”

Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”

“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”

“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”

“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”

That’s... very personal.

“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.

She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”

The words are too old for a girl her size.

“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”

She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”

Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”

It’s a lot of information.

It’s confusing information.

It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.

“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”

“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”

“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.

She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”

“He’s sure of such a thing?”

“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”

Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?��

“No,” she says. “Ben did.”

The six-year-old.

“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.

“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”

Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”

“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”

Right. Togruta.

“And what was your father doing at that age?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”

Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.

That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.

Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.

It’s not confirmation, really, but...

Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.

“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”

“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”

“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”

[angelguk]

jock!jaykay is your favourite boy! yes, this a childhood bestie!au. jaykay is gym rat who likes invading ocs personal space and likes bullying his bestie for being small and weak unlike him. or alternatively the one where jeongguk realises his bestie has giant boobs. listen to best friend by rex orange county. roughly 2k words. this is brain spew. boobie ogling.

You love Jeongguk.

It's a natural thing to say; a platonic affection for him that has steadily grown over the past decade of your intertwined lives. But, you never expected to develop this level of affiliation towards him. It happened by mistake. He’d stumbled into you at the playground in the middle of recess during one lonesome afternoon. Soft brown curls a halo on his round head and his doe eyes sparkling as he mumbled a compliment at the sandcastle you were knee-deep in constructing. You’d taken one glance at the boy, noted how your stature towered over him and then immediately enlisted his assistance in completing the mammoth of the sandcastle you were creating. He’d lit up — bright like the burning sun behind his tiny figure —  jumping in with zero hesitation; small hands quick and sure as he stuffed sand into buckets. He never opposed any of your suggestions, considering them with a timid nod of his head and a tiny sheepish smile that revealed the delightful dips in his cheeks. It was beguiling, how quickly you grew attached to the smart but shy boy who’d wormed his way into your heart. Since then the two of you have been attached at the hip. Everyone knew you in relation to each other. Jeongguk wasn’t Jeongguk unless you were around and the same was for you. You’d spent sleepless nights at his house, huddling under the thick blankets of the fort you’d built in his living room, exchanging horror stories with the aid of a flashlight he’d nicked from his dad’s toolbox. Even his extended families adored you; random aunts and uncles sending cryptic messages via WhatsApp once every blue moon. And he knew yours too —  you’re certain that your mother likes Jeongguk more than she likes you. There was even a designated toothbrush for him perched on your bathroom counter, for days Jeongguk was too lazy to go back to his own home. It was wonderful, having that reassurance in your relationship, a steady rock that you clung to amidst the harsh wild seas of life.

And then puberty hit.

Suddenly, Jeongguk was taller than you. His jaw was more defined, shoulders broadening seemingly overnight. Your sleepovers vanished, Jeongguk preferring to hole himself in his room alone. He wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of your ageing. You never thought Jeongguk had noticed it, the way your body had subtly changed throughout your teenage years, the rapid blossoming of your chest because he always treated you the same. The shit-eating grin and snarky comments that appeared at the beginning of freshman year never subduing. That was until one day, he did notice.

“You stink,” you say. And it’s true. He’s just come from lacrosse practice, your bedroom door kicked wide open and his gym bag dumped on your floor. His smelly socks leak from the opened zipper, wafting through the room with dangerous intent. The smile he shoots in your direction grips your heart, digging deep enough to send a thrill through your system. You swallow hard, gaze ripping from his rosebud lips. It settles on your laptop screen with tangible resignation, the sudden spike in your heart rate not completely lost on you.

“Nice to see you too, bestie,” Jeongguk returns, eagerly padding over to your bed. You hold out a leg to his intruding figure, halting him in his steps. From here you can see the sheen of sweat clinging to his golden skin, the muscles in his arm defined beneath the loose fabric of his practise shirt. There’s a strange heat forming in your gut, and you have to take in a small breath before you can let your gaze falter on his. His honey eyes are warm, the glittering in his gaze drawing you close. Even the damp mussed hair on his head has arranged itself into perfectly defined curls. They tumble into his face, crowning him in an innocence that tugs at your heart. There’s an itch in your fingertips. You wonder whether you're allowed to tuck them aside, away from obscuring his pretty eyes.

“Do not come on my bed smelling like the pits of a sewer, Jeon Jeongguk.” You say that instead, settling your mouth into a firm scowl. He whines in relation, swift hands yanking at the hem of his shirt.

“I showered at school! I don’t smell that much — you’re being over dramatic.” Your mattress dips under the weight of his knee but the foot that smacks into his chest prevents him from crawling any further into your space.

“And yet I can still smell you — not my fault you can’t. You reek, Jeon. Go take another shower before you even think of lying on my sheets.” Your laptop wavers precariously on your lap when Jeongguk clasps his large hands around your calves, gently shoving your foot off his chest. You hadn’t discerned how… Big his hands had gotten.

The corresponding flutter you feel in your tummy the moment that realisation strikes feels like imminent death.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go shower.”  Jeongguk sighs like you’re the one causing him an inconvenience, shifting off your bed. Your mouth is already open, a retort tipping off your tongue. But then he’s hauling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, the moment so swift and fluid you don’t even note how your heart halts in your chest. It starts a second later before abruptly falling into cardiac arrest because your gaze lands on his chiselled chest. You never truly registered how buff Jeongguk was. You knew he worked out, the insane regime he’d concocted the only thing he could talk about for months on end. Coach had him doing some insane sets at the gym and coupled with his weekly lacrosse practises it rapidly added up. You knew he was somewhat of a brawny guy. But Jeongguk preferred to wear his old baggy sweats around you and didn’t put much effort into his wardrobe for school. If it was black and clean it was going on. The look was effortless, simple and understated like Jeongguk was. So nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Hard lines of muscles forming his abdomen, flexing at the slightest movement as he tosses his shirt to the ground, a tiny ruffle of his curls accompanying the action. He’s glorious, warm skin glowing as if the sun is trapped within it. Perhaps you blink, blinded by the vision before you. An Adonis at the foot of your bed, shorts tugged low enough to reveal the band of his underwear. And, to make matters worse, the sharp-angled lines that direct your gaze right to his crotch.

You don’t think about it. You can’t. Another hard swallow hits your throat as you rise, arm outstretched to whack him hard across the head, the desire spurring in your guts short-circuiting your brain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” The pout he hits with you sends a wave of heat to your cheeks. You respond by landing a rough punch to his brawny shoulder.

“Why are you getting naked in my room?” Your voice sounds like an entity outside of your body, head still not comprehending the naked teenage boy in front of you.

“You told me to go shower!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Your house is a five-minute walk away! What made you think I meant in my house?” He catches the next punch you throw at him. There’s a thrill that surges fast when his large hands enclose around your wrists, grip taut. You tumble into his arms with a sharp tug, your chest colliding into his firm one.

“We used to share baths as kids. Why can’t I use your shower?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, wrapping around you promptly, like poison settling in your system. You abhor the tremor sweeps through you.

“Cause that was when we were kids! Look at you now! You’re all — all — all —,” your gaze falters downwards, hitting the rise of his pecs. It doesn’t take much for him to spot the heat that floods your face, a smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards.

“I’m all what?” Jeongguk implores. He flexes one of his pecs for good measure, a tiny laugh floating from his mouth when he spots how fast your eyes flicker from his chest.

“You’re a dickhead,” you retort, ripping your hands from his hold. Jeongguk lets you go, but when you glance up, there's a caution in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. “Go use your bathroom, you dingus. Come back when you don't smell like a garbage can.”

“But why,” Jeongguk whines. “Your bathroom is right there — like right there. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Get out of my house before I kick you in the balls, Guk.” For some reason, you poke at his chest, fingertip landing right between the dip of his defined pectoral muscles. His hand snatches yours before you can rip them away, head cocking to the side mischievously. You know you’ve fucked up the second that smile hits his lips, the grip on your hand a warning.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you stupid bastard, you’ll end up infertile if I hit you the way I want to right now.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” He tenses his biceps on purpose, feigning a shiver at your empty threat. The quiver in your knees is betraying. “Like I couldn’t body slam you into this bed right now.” It’s like the light clicks in his head the moment the words drift from his tongue. You didn’t even get a chance to protest, a scream lodged in your throat as his arms swiftly enclosing around you, plucking you right off the bed as if you were a feather. He keeps you suspended for a moment, paying no heed to the pounding of your fists on his broad back, his shoulder digging right into your stomach before he flings you right back into the mattress.

“JEONGGUK!” If your laptop is broken you’re going to kill him. It’s as simple as that. He doesn’t give you time for recovery though, brain still whirring when his broad chest smacks into you. “Ow! What is wrong with you? Get off! Get off!”

The bastard giggles, smothering you under the weight of his bulky body, the mattress pressing hard into your back. You prod and pinch and punch until he grows tired of it, snatching up your wild fists with a quick hand. They hit the pillow over your head with a muted thud, arms stretched out as he shuffles over you. The movement has the material of his shorts bunching up at his crotch. You swear you don’t look, gaze shifting to the taut muscles of his stomach. But that’s worse, your thighs clamping together as heat blooms between them. You’re forced to settle on his face, a tiny whine escaping your lip as he traps you beneath him. But then you realise Jeongguk is not staring at your face, his honey eyes locked on the sway of your chest every time you squirm beneath him. You hadn’t thought about the shirt you’d yanked over your head when you’d gotten home today, picking it solely for the sun scorching outside. The heat had leaked into the house, warm enough for you to forgo one of your usual loose sweatshirts. But it’s a low cut, the rounds of your chest on display for all to see. Even when you lurch up, attempting to knee him in the groin, your chest bounces and his eyes follow, rose lips parted in thought. He catches your erratic leg with ease though, pinning you to the sheets effortlessly.

There’s a lot going on in your head, too much to sift through at the moment. But there’s no denying the fast flutter in your cunt, heat rippling through your nerves as you sit in a silence that feels suffocating. When bites his lip, you ignite. It feels like too much, too quick. A crack in the ice barrier between the two of you, the dam of unresolved emotions behind it threatening to break past and down you.

“Jeongguk…” You try, wafting through this sudden tension. He hums, a low sound that echoes deep inside of you. “What are you doing?” It’s innocent enough to allow the situation to dissipate, give the both of you a moment to gather yourself, sweep this under the rug and move on like it never happened.

He cocks his head instead, contemplating with a quick sneak of his tongue along his petal lips, still staring at your chest. “Uh, realising something.” He pauses like he doesn’t want to ask but question floats out like he can’t help himself. “When did your boobs get so huge?”

[allthecanadianpolitics]

though as much as i support the ndp, im concerned abt the lack of detail regarding their energy and carbon platforms. if we're going to push the ndp left we should focus on genuine commitment to effectively reducing emissions

I don't think there's a major lack of detail:

After having overseen emissions increases every single year in which they have been in power, the Liberals have set a target that is not in line with what the best available science says is needed, and won’t do enough to prevent the catastrophic consequences of warming above 1.5 degrees.

Parliament recently passed C-12, to put in law our collective commitment to reaching net-zero emissions by 2050. New Democrats are proud of the role we have played in getting here – from Jack Layton’s advocacy for climate accountability legislation almost 15 years ago, to our success in ensuring C-12 included short-term accountability measures – measures that will be so critical in setting Canada up to meet those targets.

C-12 was a step in the right direction, but it was not the bill New Democrats would have written. New Democrats are committed to helping stabilize the global temperature rise to 1.5 degrees Celsius. To that end we will set a target of reducing Canada’s emissions by at least 50% from 2005 levels by 2030, reaching further wherever possible to account for Canada’s fair share. We know that reaching net-zero by 2050 means taking action now, during the term of this next Parliament. We will work with partners to establish multi-year national and sectoral carbon budgets as a key guiding framework to develop Canada’s path to 2030 and beyond. And we will create and fund a Climate Accountability Office, to provide independent oversight of federal climate progress, to engage the public, and to make recommendations on how to achieve our goals.

Putting a price on carbon has been an important tool in efforts to drive emissions reductions. We will continue with carbon pricing while making it fairer and rolling back loopholes this Liberal government has given to big polluters. But we also recognize that carbon pricing won’t be enough to tackle the climate crisis. Further action is needed.

Building on net-zero legislation will also be a priority for a New Democratic government. We will support Canada’s net-zero target by reviewing financial legislation, such as the Bank of Canada Act, the Export Development Canada Act, and the Canada Pension Plan Investment Board Act, to ensure federal financial levers and Crown corporations are aligned with the goal of net-zero. We will work with provinces to put in place a framework for corporate climate accountability to ensure mandatory transparency on carbon risk from publicly traded companies. And we will ensure that strict rules are in place to prevent big companies from using the purchase of offsets as a way to escape their net-zero obligations.

One thing we won’t do is continue down the path that Liberal and Conservative governments have chosen when it comes to spending public money on oil and gas subsidies. Under Prime Minister Trudeau, the federal government spent $18 billion to support oil and gas exploration, production, refining, transportation and more in 2020 alone – and that’s on top of purchasing the Kinder-Morgan oil pipeline. New Democrats know that public funds are best spent supporting the transition to renewable energy, rather than on profitable oil and gas companies. We will fulfill Canada’s G-20 commitment to eliminate these fossil fuel subsidies and redirect these funds to low carbon initiatives, and make sure that future governments can’t reverse this by putting in place legislation to ban any future oil, gas and pipeline subsidies.

We’ll work with the provinces and territories to make Canada an innovation leader on methane reduction in such areas as real-time monitoring and leakage detection, ensuring that provincial methane regulations are genuinely equivalent with the federal regulations, and increasing the ambition of those targets in the 2025-30 period.

The federal government can also model change, by becoming a trail-blazer in energy efficiency, clean technologies and renewable energy use. We will lead by example and procure from Canadian companies producing clean technology, ensure that federal buildings use renewable energy, and move the vehicle fleets of the federal government to electric by 2025, choosing made-in-Canada wherever possible. We will protect Canadian businesses who are taking action to transition to a low-carbon future with a border carbon adjustment that will level the playing field on imports from areas without a carbon price. And we will appoint a Climate Emergency Committee of Cabinet and establish astrong Climate Emergency Secretariat in the PMO to ensure a whole-of-government approach to responding to the climate emergency.

And:

Canadian workers are worried about their place in the changing global economy. The global climate is changing, and Canadian jobs are changing too. But successive Liberal and Conservative governments have left workers to navigate these shifts on their own. New Democrats know that skilled Canadian workers - construction, trades, engineering and others - will be needed to build a low-carbon economy. We will put those workers front and centre of our climate action plan, and fight for workers and their communities to make sure nobody is left behind.

We have a plan to create over a million new good jobs in all communities and rebuild local economies with meaningful, family-sustaining work in every part of the country, all while helping to make the changes we need to succeed in a low carbon future. This will include jobs building green infrastructure in communities across the country, and because products produced by Canadian workers have some of the lowest carbon emissions in the world, we will require the use of Canadian-made steel, aluminum, cement and wood products for infrastructure projects across the country. And just as climate change disproportionately impacts marginalized communities, we are committed to ensuring these same communities benefit from the job-creation and community-building benefits of these investments.

As we turn the corner on COVID-19 and build an economic recovery for people, we have a precious opportunity to build back better. New Democrats would ensure that recovery funding is used to support our net-zero objectives. To that end we would ensure that large businesses receiving recovery funding agree to plan for net-zero – and we would ensure those funds go to supporting Canadian jobs, not executives or shareholders.

The workers most impacted by the changes in our economy cannot pay the price of inaction on climate change. We will work together with labour, employers and the provinces and territories to find solutions for workers and communities. This includes providing dedicated employment support combining access to expanded EI benefits, re-training and job placement services, ensuring companies retain and redeploy their workers when in transition, and ensuring that workers nearing retirement have the retirement security they have worked their whole lives for, without penalties to their pensions if they retire early.

We will boost clean tech research and manufacturing with new funding, incentives and Buy Canadian procurement of environmentally friendly technologies. This will help bring more innovative Canadian clean technology to market and support Canadian manufacturing of batteries, energy storage solutions and alternative fuels like biofuels made from waste. It will also help keep jobs here in Canada.

We will work to put in place joint workplace environment committees – modelled on the successful joint workplace health and safety committees which have had a major impact on making workplaces safer – to help reduce emissions at the source in every workplace.

And we will support sustainable agriculture, working with Canadian farmers to promote sustainable land-management techniques and methods to reduce GHG emissions. We’ll also work with the agricultural sector to help them access low carbon tools and technology, and adapt to climate-induced weather changes and other impacts of the climate crisis, including the associated increase in pests and invasive species.

And:

Our communities are where we can most clearly feel the impacts of the climate emergency – and one of the best places that we can invest to rapidly reduce emissions, save money and make life better.

At the current pace, it will take 142 years to retrofit all low-rise residential buildings in Canada. New Democrats will undertake a mission-based approach, setting an ambitious retrofitting program to upgrade where people live and work, including requiring large scale building retrofits in all sectors. And we will set a target of retrofitting all buildings in Canada by 2050 – beginning with upgrades to all buildings built before 2020 in the next 20 years. Helping families make energy efficient improvements to their homes through low-interest loans help save families almost $900 or more per year on home energy costs. Targeted supports would be provided to low-income households and to renters. Supporting retrofits to improve indoor air quality will also help prevent further waves of COVID-19.

We will work with provinces, municipalities and Indigenous government to make sure that communities have the resources they need to cope safely with extreme weather events. This National Crisis Strategy will help communities plan for and adapt to the changing climate and the weather extremes we are already facing – particularly for vulnerable, remote, and Indigenous communities. The strategy would be supported with long-term funding for adaptation, disaster mitigation, and climate resilient infrastructure. And a new Civilian Climate Corps would mobilize young people and create new jobs supporting conservation efforts and addressing the threat of climate change by undertaking activities such as helping restore wetlands, and planting the billions of trees that need to be planted in the years ahead.

We’ll improve the National Building Code to ensure that by 2025 every new building built in Canada is net-zero. Energy efficiency and sustainable building practices will be at the core of our national housing strategy, leveraging the power of federal investments to create good jobs all across the country delivering the affordable homes Canadians need.

As more Canadians have become accustomed to working from home as a result of the pandemic, more than half of Canadians living in rural areas still don’t have access to high-speed internet. We will make sure that every Canadian has access to affordable, reliable high-speed broadband within four years. This will include taking the first steps to create a Crown corporation to ensure the delivery of quality, affordable telecom services to every community. Supporting more remote work will reduce commuting times and support efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

[drabbles-mc]

Compromising Positions

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by @adela-topaz-caelon: So, seeing your Juice post just now, I got another idea (oops) if it's okay to send another. I was thinking a Juice x Female reader, who gets super defensive over him, gets teased over it a lot, but goes absolutely ape shit at the guys when she finds out they stapled a sign to his chest when he accidentally drugged himself to sleep. And then after she goes ape, threatening to staple some bitches, she cleans him up and maybe some sudden release of emotions and pooooossibly smut? ^_^ maybe :D

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Being ready to pop off in defense of Juice is a sentiment that I can totally get behind, so thank you for this request lmao. I didn’t end up going the smutty route because I just didn’t feel like it fit the whole mood of this story. But fear not! There will be other fics for our boy in the future that take care of that haha. Hope you enjoy!

SOA Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @mijop @garbinge @xladymacbethx @kkim120 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-read-stuff @chibsytelford (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

You tried to tune out the conversations of the guys as you wiped down the surface of the bar. They’d hardly been out of church for five minutes and they had already completely moved past everything that they had been talking about behind closed doors. You loved them all but you would be lying if you said that listening to the way that they spoke about things sometimes didn’t get underneath your skin a little bit. You’d learned to pick your battles wisely because there was only so much that you could be frustrated about all the time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the guys reach over and give Juice a light smack to the back of his head. You looked up, eyes instantly zeroing in on what was going on. It wasn’t shocking to you that it was Tig who was doling out the abuse—that seemed to be a large part of their relationship with each other.

Juice never seemed overly bothered by it whenever the guys would rag on him. You wished that you were as good at brushing it off as he was, but every time you saw them picking on him it made your blood boil. For that reason alone you knew that your feelings towards Juice were no secret, and the guys went in on you about it just as much as they went in on Juice for everything else. It seemed like the only person who never picked on you for how you felt about Juice was Juice himself. He never said anything about it one way or the other.

“Look out, Tig,” Jax spoke up with a laugh, “keep that up and you’re about to catch some hands from someone else.”

Your frustration must’ve been instantly apparent on your face. You made a concentrated effort to relax your features, but it wasn’t much use. Shaking your head silently, you returned your attention to the bar.

“Go on, then, Y/N,” Tig said with a cocky laugh, “If you got something to say then say it.”

You didn’t lift your eyes, knowing that getting into it right now wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Juice spoke up on your behalf, though, “Leave her alone, Tig. She’s just trying to work without having to listen to you guys talk shit all the time.”

“Funny how she only seems to get uptight when it’s about one person in parti—”

“Are you done?” you cut him off.

Tig held his hands up in mock surrender, “Sure, doll,” he turned to Juice, “Should start bringing her with you on runs. Maybe she can keep you safe out there, too.”

You gnawed at the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying something that would undoubtedly make the situation worse. You tossed your cleaning rag onto the surface of the bar before turning and walking towards the door of the clubhouse. Without missing a beat, you swiped a pack of cigarettes off of one of the tables as you went. You could hear the guys murmuring behind you but you blocked it out.

You were lost in your thoughts, camped out on the picnic table outside the clubhouse, when someone came and sat down next to you. Glancing over, you saw that it was Juice. You didn’t have to fully look at him to know the expression that he had on his face. It was the same one that he always had whenever the guys gave you a hard time—a mixture of pity and being flattered.

You shook your head slightly, “You don’t need to check on me, Juice. I can handle them.”

“You realize I can handle them too, right?” he gave your shoulder a playful nudge with his own.

Despite your annoyance, you smiled as you took a drag from the cigarette between your fingers. You let yourself make full eye contact with him, “I never said that you couldn’t.”

You passed him your cigarette and he took it with a smile. The two of you didn’t say anything else about what had just happened, opting to just sit and enjoy each other’s company silently. Juice was one of the few people in the world that you could enjoy silence with, and you knew that in moments like this when you were cooling off from being frustrated, it was truly a blessing to have him around.

A few days ticked by and you managed to not get yourself into any more arguments with Tig or any of the other guys. Every now and then when things were getting a little rowdy in the clubhouse you could feel the guys looking at you, waiting for you to speak up and insert yourself into the middle of it. It took some conscious effort on your part, but you stayed out of it.

You were just starting to get ready for your next shift at the bar when you heard the door to the clubhouse open. You didn’t look up at first, too immersed in everything that you were doing to try and straighten up a little bit. The only thing that caught your attention was the quiet groan that filled the room.

Looking up, your eyes went wide when you saw Juice. You had so many questions but you weren’t sure if you really wanted answers to any of them. You went to walk up to him to offer a helping hand but he waved you off as he walked back to his dorm. Every fiber of your being was telling you to follow him, but you didn’t. Part of you knew that you weren’t going to get any answers from him, so instead you stormed in the opposite direction from him to find the other guys.

You flung the clubhouse door open and were greeted by the sight of the guys huddled around the table, all laughing and joking around. You had a feeling that you knew exactly what they found to be so funny.

“What the fuck did you do this time?” you made a direct line for Tig.

“Whoa, whoa,” he laughed as he took a step back from you, “why do you assume that it was me?”

“You telling me it wasn’t?”

“Depends on what you’re talking about.”

“What the hell happened to Juice?”

“Maybe you should keep a better eye on your boy, Y/N,” Jax said, trying and failing to stifle his laughter, “and he wouldn’t land himself in such…compromising positions.”

You weren’t naïve enough to think that Juice couldn’t get himself into difficult situations on his own. He didn’t always think things through. But you also knew that when he was putting himself in sketchy situations, the guys were the first ones to try and capitalize on it.

“Alright then, VP,” you turned your attention to Jax, “what did he land himself into this time?”

“Your boy knocked himself the fuck out. Thought he was taking vitamins when he…wasn’t. That’s on him for popping whatever gets put into his hands,” Jax was shaking his head as he spoke.

“That doesn’t explain why he walked into the clubhouse practically naked and bleeding.”

“The blood was probably from the staples,” Tig chimed in with a laugh.

“The what?” you managed to keep your voice below a yell, but barely.

He continued to laugh as he motioned for Chibs to hand you the sign that had been discarded onto the table, most likely tossed there by Juice when he finally made his way back to the clubhouse. You snatched it from the man’s hands, unfolding it and reading what it said. As you continued to put the entire situation together, you saw red for a moment.

“You stapled this to his fucking chest?” you folded the sign in half and proceeded to start hitting Tig in the head and chest with it, “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tig was holding his hands up to try and block the onslaught of slaps coming his way.

“Y/N,” Jax reached to grab your arm to stop you and you ripped it from his grasp.

You turned back to him, not afraid to go toe-to-toe with the VP. He might’ve held an office in the club, but he was just another blonde biker at the bar as far as you were concerned, especially in this moment.

You shoved the sign into his chest, pushing him back in the process, “What? You got some smart shit to say?”

“You’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to. Juicy is a grown man, he can handle his own shit.”

“You think it’s not a big deal?” you stepped in close to him, “You put two staples in his goddamn chest and you think it’s not a big deal?” you shoved him once more for good measure, “Get me a goddamn staplegun! We’ll see how big of a deal it is when I’m drilling shit into your chest!” you shook your head, “I swear to fucking god, Jax, I should put some staples into your fuckin—”

You stopped short when you felt a hand land on your shoulder. You whipped around, ready to fight, but you were met with Juice’s eyes. He was still going without a shirt, but he’d taken the time to go put pants on. You were assuming that he could hear your rage from inside the clubhouse and it prompted him to come outside. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes and you would’ve been more enamored with it if you weren’t still focused on the two wounds that were bleeding on his chest.

“C’mon,” Juice tried to redirect you back towards the clubhouse, “it’s fine, Y/N. I’m alright.”

You turned back around, staring daggers at all the guys, but mostly Jax and Tig, “This isn’t over with,” you huffed and shook your head, “Motherfuckers.”

Before you could say anything else, Juice started nudging you back towards the door. You were grumbling underneath your breath as Juice continued to usher you into the building. When you were inside and it was just the two of you, you turned to him and let the anger fade away slightly.

“What the fuck is the matter with them?”

He laughed and shook his head, “We’re all a little fucked up. Can’t just hold it against them.”

“I’ll be mad at you later, don’t worry,” you sighed, unable to pry your eyes away from his injuries, “At least let me clean you up a little? I’m no doctor but I feel like I could still help you out a little bit.”

He smiled and nodded, glad that he had a way to pacify you a little bit for the time being. The last thing he wanted to be dealing with was you going on a rampage with a staplegun. You went and dug out your first aid kit from behind the bar before following him back to his dorm. The two of you sat on the edge of his bed. You wanted to stay completely focused on the task at hand but you were only human. You chastised yourself for your wandering thoughts.

“Considering you took a bunch of mystery pills,” you said with a slight shake of your head as you laid out your supplies, “you don’t look too worse for wear.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he chuckled as he watched your calculated, meticulous movements.

“Trying to sweeten you up because cleaning out these cuts is gonna hurt like a bitch,” you managed a smile, “Don’t want you to end up hating me too much.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

You tried to ignore the heat rising in your face as you set about cleaning the torn skin on his chest. He cringed and cursed under his breath when you swabbed the cuts with alcohol. You fought the urge to apologize but it was difficult.

You were leaning in close enough to feel his breath on the side of your neck. It was taking all of your self-control to stay focused on placing bandages on him. Your hands begged you to let them wander but you kept it together. When you pulled away and looked at Juice, there was something in his expression that made you feel like he was reading every thought that had been crossing your brain as you worked.

“What?” you tried to sound less nervous than you really were as you started to put your medical supplies away.

“Were you really about to threaten to put staples in Jax’s dick?” he couldn’t keep his laughter in any longer.

You smiled as you set your first aid kit off to the side, “I sure fucking was.”

“Felt like you really meant it.”

You waited for his eyes to meet yours, “I did.”

He laughed, draping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, “I know I spend a lot of time telling you not to worry about the guys, but I hope you know it is nice to know that someone has my back.”

You nodded as you tried to focus on both the feeling of warmth coming from his body and the words he was saying, “Of course. I’ll go after anyone with a staplegun for you. No questions asked.”

He chuckled before leaning in and pressing a kiss against your temple. You nearly melted into a puddle in his arms at the contact. He let his lips linger against your skin for a moment, “Thank you.”

You rested your hand on his thigh, allowing yourself to lean completely into him. His arm wrapped tighter around you and you smiled as your cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest, careful to not touch the bandages you had just dressed him with.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

When he didn’t say anything else, you pulled away so you could look at him. There was a small smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as he looked at you. Your eyes searched his, trying to figure out just what he was thinking.

His free hand came up and rested on the side of your face, and you instantly leaned into his touch. The palm of his hand was rough and calloused, but despite that you couldn’t deny that it felt like it was in its rightful place resting against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as you soaked up the moment. Juice chuckled quietly, not expecting you to react so quickly and comfortably.

It gave him a little boost of confidence as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes, smiling as your heart began to speed up inside your chest.

“Wanna know what would really make me feel better?” you could hear that he was trying not to laugh as he spoke.

“What?” a giggle slipped out past your lips.

“If you let me kiss you.”

You laughed, reaching up to rest one hand on the back of his neck, “For your health.”

You could feel the smile still on his face as he pressed his lips against yours. Everything else that had been happening suddenly faded from your mind—the only thing you could think about was how right it felt to be kissing him. His thumb traced lightly along your cheekbone as he leaned into you. You couldn’t win out over the urge to smile as you continued to kiss him, and you could feel the laughter starting to vibrate in his chest.

He pulled you so that you were straddling his lap, keeping his lips locked onto yours as he did. Your hands cradled the back of his head as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You could feel the warmth of his body seeping through your shirt and the only thought coursing through your brain was that he felt like home.

When he finally pulled his lips off of yours, they were still curved up into a smile. You could feel the warmth flooding your face as you tried to stifle a laugh, biting down lightly on your bottom lip. He ran his hands up and down your sides and you pressed a quick, light kiss to his lips.

“Feel better?” you finally said, your laughter beginning to escape you.

“I think so,” there was a playful glint in his eyes, “but just to be sure, could you do that again?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head despite the fact that you knew you were never going to say no to him, “Anything for you.”

[hockeywhy]

lights out (1); t. konecny

PART 2 WARNINGS: language, smut. WORD COUNT: 5.7k

You [attachment: photo taken in what appears to be a dimly lit room. The image is taken from the nose down, mouth slightly open and evidently smiling, two fingers pushed down against your tongue. A white shirt hangs off your shoulders around your elbows, revealing a cage bra, the straps and lining black and the orange lace of the cup sheer.]

You bet you wish you were here now

You released a small sigh, sliding down the headboard of your bed until you felt the plush pillows behind your head again. For a while, you stared blankly upwards at your ceiling, your phone held loosely in one hand while the other rested against your stomach, fingers tapping idly against the exposed skin. 

It had only been around a month since you allowed your friendship with Troy to develop into something a little more than that, but less than a relationship should be. You have known him almost for as long as you could remember, going way back to the days when the two of you would be made to stand side-by-side for photographs while your families cooed over how adorable you looked. Had anyone told you that years down the line you and Troy would be exchanging messages meant for each other’s eyes only, you would’ve laughed at them, spun on your heel and walked away. He never once struck you as someone you would even consider dating, much less send semi-naked photos of yourself to for the simple fact that Troy was a friend and nothing else. Not once did you even bother sparing a thought to the possibility of liking him beyond that but, well, coming to think of it, you still didn’t. And you were pretty sure he thought the same but occasionally, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Measures which just simply happened to coincide with word floating about Travis possibly keeping a relationship away from public eyes. 

Your brother being traded to the Philadelphia Flyers coincided with your own college admission in the city roughly three years ago and you’d guess it was almost just as long since you started carrying a torch for Travis. If spectators got to see him as a dynamic, feisty, valuable for the team yet annoying for others sort of player, you got to know him as a laidback, funny, endearing and…well, occasionally annoying guy though apparently, only towards you. As if drawn to him by some invisible force, you found yourself in his vicinity often enough and it seemed that Travis welcomed it as an opportunity to tease you one way or another. You gave as good as you got though, and admittedly, that also helped you keep your feelings in check a little. Or at least, enough to never give even the smallest of hints to those around you that you might have a thing for Travis. Tolerate him, sure. Hold a genuine conversation by resisting the temptation to push each other’s buttons, no way. If, behind closed doors in the privacy of your own room, you wondered what it’d be like to have him next to you and occasionally, allowed that idea to take on an entirely different meaning while sliding a hand between your legs, then that was for you to know only. 

When you caught wind of the rumor that Travis may have finally, finally found someone at last, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water, cubes and all, on you. Of course, there wasn’t anything more to whatever weird back-and-forth the two of you had going. After all, the two of you were fully grown adults not five-year olds who pushed each other around in the playground by way of saying hey dummy, I like you. Part of you expected that to come at some point. Travis was handsome, young and successful, and you were witness to numerous instances in which he was approached by girls who wouldn’t hesitate to press their numbers scribbled on napkins or small pieces of paper in his hand. It was only a matter of time until one of them caught his eye and it was painfully obvious that person wouldn’t be you. There wouldn’t be a chance, anyway. Too weird with your older brother on the team, probably. And besides, you couldn’t see yourself as being his type. Regardless of how often you tried making a conscious effort of not comparing yourself to others, nagging thoughts starting with I wish I had or I wish I was or Maybe I should too still crept up on you now and then. Sure, you were plenty confident in yourself: personality, looks, individuality, but you could see little of yourself in the girls who Travis let his eyes linger on a moment longer than maybe necessary before pocketing their number. 

Troy was, for the lack of better word, convenient and not that awful of a distraction from Travis. Initially, you wanted to feel bad for thinking of him as such, but it quickly became clear to you that what Troy wanted was nothing more than someone he could count on for some release every now and then. So, really, you carried your fair share of convenience also. 

You casually dated since starting college, but you couldn’t bring yourself to trust anyone as much as you trusted Troy to get to the level where you’d exchange nudes. Perhaps it had something to do with the two of you being friends for so long, but you also knew that if you ever wanted to call it quits with Troy, you’d be able to go back to how you were before. Simple as that. No way would he ever reveal anything you sent him to anyone. Troy proved his honesty and ability to keep to his word on several occasions, and that was more than enough for you.

Your phone vibrated and you blinked rapidly several times, pulling yourself away from your thoughts. Lifting the device above your face, you unlocked it and pressed the message notification, focus zeroing in on the response.

Travis is this your way of getting me to agree with you and say that this party really is boring?

A quiet giggle left your mouth but in the next second, you would swear you actually heard your breathing being cut short. You scrambled up on the bed and in your haste, almost dropped the device on the floor. As if someone had suddenly intruded, you pulled the shirt up on your shoulders and gripped the material tightly around you, bunching it up in your free hand to hide your torso. The seconds during which that happened, you could swear you read wrong or were imagining things. Surely…surely you just didn’t click into the wrong messaging thread, right? Right. That’d have to be it. You breathed in, then out. In, then out once more and looked at your phone again. As you did, it vibrated again, indicating a new message.

Travis if that’s the case, it’s working

It couldn’t be. You weren’t that careless. You always made an even greater effort of double checking the contact you clicked into whenever you messaged Troy, except… Except you were a little distracted this time around. Distracted and somewhat excited, truth be told. It’d been a while since the two of you have had the opportunity to get together and during this time, your conversations were of the ordinary sort: general comments about campus gossip, heated agreements about surely written exams were an outdated method of testing. 

Your hands visibly trembled and you tried to steady yourself by inhaling deeply before daring to scroll just a little further up on the screen. There wasn’t any real need for that though: your photo was in clear view, not in the message thread you had with Troy but the message thread you had with Travis. Because he was the last person you messaged. Because he was the one who asked if you’d also be joining them for a get-together your brother organised at a venue often frequented by the team. Because maybe all you saw were the first two letters of the name and decided that was about as far as your concentration could manage before sending the photo. In hopes of getting a different type of attention from Troy at the time, you messaged Travis back to say that unfortunately, they ‘won’t benefit from my wonderful presence tonight, much as I know that’ll make things boring but try to find a silver lining if you can’. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily as if that’d help erase what you’d done. 

What you saw behind your eyes, however, wasn’t stars but Travis’ own messages relayed back to you over and over like blinding Times Square ads. You had to blink several times to clear your vision when you opened your eyes again, looking down at your phone to re-read them. As if, again, in your haste you’d done something wrong like misread what he responded with. It was there, though, on your screen – clear as day. You frowned.

You could think of a hundred different ways in which Travis could have responded to that – or even, not bothered with a response and save all the awkwardness for the next time you’d both be under the same roof. You read that back to yourself and it sounded less like what the fuck are you doing and more like now you have my attention. But that couldn’t be it… Had he not paid attention to the display name, hooked in simply by the photo alone? You wouldn’t put it past him. Or anyone else who’d be on the receiving end of photos like that, really. The selfie was suggestive in a way that invited action to try and get a better sneak peek. Maybe Travis hadn’t even checked to see who it was coming from. And besides, what about the rumors of him seeing someone? There couldn’t be smoke without fire, and you lived by that. 

You shit, sorry! wrong person

You do me a favor and forget this happened

Not your smoothest moment, you had to admit but it’s as if your brain had short-circuited. You had to direct most of your attention and effort in trying to not read too deeply into Travis’ response. As if you reeled him in. As if he were willing to allow it to happen and wanted more. It couldn’t be because at no point did he leave anything to the imagination that he might have a thing for you. All the teasing, all the back-and-forth, there was never anything more to it than what was on the surface. Besides, something told you that if there was even the smallest chance of Travis having a thing for you, he would’ve made it fairly clear. He was anything but shy. Definitely not the sort of person to beat around the bush, regardless of whether you were the younger sibling of a teammate or not. Maybe he was just surprised. Yeah, that had to be it. 

When your phone vibrated again, it wasn’t just a short notification for a new message. It vibrated and vibrated until you registered that actually, it was a call.

“Hey,” you answered, voice a little raspy. Your mouth felt dry, throat scratchy.

“You’re asking a lot from me,” came Travis’ response. On his end, you could just barely make out the muffled sound of thudding bass-heavy music. “Who were you going to send that to if not me, doll?” 

The pet name sent a rush of heat all the way down to your belly. Much as you didn’t want to, you knew you’d end up playing that back to yourself for days to come. Regardless of how much you tried to direct your feelings elsewhere, Travis always found a way to weasel back to being at the center of your attention. Or better said, you found a way to put him back there, but it was easier to deal with the idea if you blamed it on him. It was equal parts pitiful and desperate to carry a torch for him for so long, knowing damn well nothing good would come out of it. 

“Just a friend,” you responded, fingers tightening around the material of your shirt. “Travis, please—”

“I’m just a friend, aren’t I?” he interrupted, emphasizing his words in such way that he sounded almost…spiteful. “You still wearing that?” he added, a little lighter this time around.

“Travis.” His name fell from your mouth the way a plea would: whispered, urgent, tight. 

“Only a simple question, Y/N, all you’ve gotta do is answer it.” You were ready to respond, but Travis added, “and then I’ll forget about it.”

You glared at the wall across from you. “Sounds a hell of a lot like blackmail to me,” you said without heat because suddenly, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Saying yes, you were still wearing that. Yes, you still looked exactly as your photo indicated you did, all delicate lace and glossy lips. Minimal effort from your part that always seemed to do the trick for boys like Troy. For boys in general because most were easy to hook in like that. “Yes,” you finally admitted, and you were surprised by how confident your voice sounded. 

In your ear, Travis hummed thoughtfully. “Is it a matching set?”

You can’t help the small, breathless laugh that slipped from your mouth. It doesn’t take away from the fact that your hands were shaking, but it releases some tension from your shoulders. It was all it took for you to realize you wanted to cling to this, if even for just a few more minutes. “The second photo would’ve been the one to answer that.” 

A small pause followed during which you could hear the bounce of what sounded to be wood against wood and then, the unmistakable fiddling of a metal latch catching. “Tell me about it instead. If you want.” 

You wanted. You wanted so much that for a moment, his request made your breath hitch. Pressing your lips together into a tight line, you cast a glance towards your reflection caught in a tall mirror resting just opposite your bed. Unconsciously, you loosened your grip on the shirt and you shrugged the material off your shoulders again, tentatively as if you were being watched while doing so. The dim yellow lamp at the side cast a warm glow across the entire room which seemed to amplify the entire picture: you in the middle of your bed, legs bent at the knees and slightly spread to reveal a little of the thin lace material of your panties that left little to the imagination. You swallowed quietly, falling back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. There’d be no going back from this, you knew that, and you knew Travis was well aware of it also. But you could see his face behind your eyes, could easily recall the intensity of your feelings towards him and you heard the pet name he used just moments ago bouncing around in your mind incessantly. It didn’t just make heat crawl along the expanse of your skin. It made you actually throb for him.

“It’s not the usual red lace or black silk, but I could help myself when I saw it,” you admitted quietly, no lie in your words whatsoever. “It’s more memorable. More unique. Kind of reminded me of your alternative jersey, coming to think of it.” 

On the other end, Travis sighed a long, low sigh. “You thought about it when you saw it?” 

I thought of you, you think, but what you said instead was, “orange and black is a surprisingly good combination. That, and it was also one of the simpler sets. Made for taking off quickly, no hassle.” You could swear you could hear the pounding of your heart in your own ears. “Doesn’t need to all come off, though. I’m a panty pulled to the side sort of person if we’re short on time.” You swallow quietly, pulling in your lips a little to run your tongue across them. “Are we?” you asked quietly.

“A little,” Travis responded after a short moment of silence. His voice sounded a little weak; worn. “Panty pulled to the side sort of person, huh? Wouldn’t have pinned that on you.” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Travis. Don’t tell me you didn’t at least think about that before,” you encouraged, thighs pressing together. “Wanting someone so much, so desperately that there’s no time to take all clothes off. Push them down on the bed, against a door…wherever it is you are just to get a little taste. I did. I do,” you admitted, turning a little to the side, eyes falling shut, all and any form of shame flying out the window. Might as well enjoy it. “I think about someone seeing me like this, wanting me so badly that that they can’t even bring themselves to take it all off. All it’d take with a little number like this is a pull to the side. It’s fucking sexy. Did you ever think about it?”

You heard him draw in a shaky breath and a moment later, the sound of metal and clothes being fumbled with joined as background noise. You closed your eyes and imagined him in a cubicle, tugging on the buckle of his belt, pulling on the zipper of his jeans, pressing a palm against his length to add that extra bit of much needed pressure. The idea of him growing hard for you, because of you, in a public place was nothing short of arousing. 

“Often,” came his response, voice gravelly in your ear. “That time you came along for the party at the end of our summer training camp, I thought about taking you away from all those people to a place where it’d be only us two. Thought about it again a couple of weeks ago when we went out to celebrate that win, remember? I thought, what would it look like if I took you in the nearest restroom, locked it and fucked you in front of one of these mirrors? What would you look like with my hand between your legs? How would you feel like?” he questioned and, when you didn’t respond to him immediately, too caught up in the fantasy he was helping build in your mind, demanded, “tell me”. 

Your hand was caught between your thighs, fingers brushing against your panties and there was no denying how wet you were becoming. “’m wet,” you whispered, turning your head slightly more into your pillow while pressing the heel of your hand against your clothed clit, circling it over your panties. “Travis, just… Just thinking about it makes me so wet.” 

Travis hummed a small, satisfied hum and you heard him release a low exhale. “Do me a favor, doll. Bring your hand up to your mouth and wet your fingers. Make them nice and slick, okay? It’s what you were doing in your photo, no? Do it properly this time,” he instructed. 

You withdrew your hand from between your legs with difficulty and once you did, you whined at the loss of contact. But you were weak for the guidance Travis was giving you and you did as you were told. You brought your hand up to your mouth, taking your index and middle fingers in the heat of your mouth and without hesitation, your tongue swirled around them, ensuring they were as wet as you were told they should be. 

All the while, Travis continued speaking in your ear. “Think of my mouth when you touch yourself with them, doll. Think about how willing I’d be to get on my knees for you to get a taste of you. Come on, touch yourself for me,” he encouraged gently. When you removed your fingers from your mouth, you released them with a ‘pop’ sound that had Travis groaning into the phone, the noise sending another rush of heat across your body, goosebumps forming over it. “Panties to the side, doll. Just like you like it, okay?” 

You hummed in agreement and did as you were told. You lifted your top leg just enough for you to be able to push the lace aside and when you dragged your wet fingers between your folds, you shuddered, moan muffled into the pillow. With your eyes closed, it was easy to picture Travis kneeling between your spread legs, tongue flat against your core, dragging upwards and downwards in slow languid strokes. You knew your fingers couldn’t compare but the sound of his heavy breathing into the phone meshing with your own breathless, almost restrained groans helped push your fantasy further. 

“Bet you’d taste so good on my tongue, doll,” Travis whispered just as the tips of your fingers pressed against your clit, causing you to curl forward a little as a small whimper slips from your mouth. He chuckled, although it sounded strained to your ears. “Right there. That’s the spot I’ll circle back to time and time again just to hear you cry out for it. Quietly though. Remember there’s a bunch of people just outside the room. Can’t let ‘em know what we’re doing behind closed doors, okay? Seeing you so worked up, so wet… We’ll need to keep that for my eyes only, yeah?” 

You nodded, belatedly remembering he couldn’t see it so you whispered a “yes” as you circled your clit, adding pressure and removing it the moment stars began dotting your vision. “God, Travis, I wish I could…just want to feel you inside.”

“And you will,” he promised. “I’d want to be inside you too, so of course you will. I’d want to use my tongue first though. Get as much of you in my mouth as possible so that I’ll remember how you taste. You know what to do, doll. Tell me how it feels.”  

You did. Slowly, you guided your hand down to the center of your heat, pushing a finger inside you. You did so with ease yet you still sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding you. “It feels so good, Travis,” you sighed, curling your finger upward tentatively and your breath caught in your throat. “Oh god, it feels so fucking good. All because of you.”

You pushed part of your face into the pillow as you added a second finger, slipping it in with ease as a result of how wet you’d become and with every upward push, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your clit. The sensation, coupled with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear, was heady. Knowing he was on the other end touching himself to a fantasy the two of you shared, knowing you were in his mind as much as he was in yours while doing that pushed you just that much closer to the edge. 

“Travis, I’m gonna…ah, I’m gonna come,” you muttered, words leaving your mouth in a muffled slur. “Fuck, I’m so close…”

“You’re doing so well, doll. I want to hear you when you do, okay? Don’t hold back. I need to hear you,” he emphasized.

You were nothing if not obedient at the best of times and this, well this was one of the best times you’d ever gone through. All it took was just a few more thrusts of your hand, fingers finding that right spot and pressing against it continuously while your thighs closed around your wrist for extra tightness and finally, finally you called out Travis’ name followed promptly by an unrestrained cry. Your hips bucked unconsciously against your palm, trying to ride out your orgasm as much as you could and when you slowly withdrew from your core, you brought your glistening fingers up to your mouth. You didn’t lick them clean, opting instead to suck on them so that Travis knew exactly what you were doing. He did. You could tell by the way he let a curse slip from his mouth and when you took your hand away from your mouth, you did so with a satisfied hum. 

“Good girl,” he praised, evidently straining. 

Whether it was your heightened sensitivity, his words or a mix of both, the same dull white-hot heat crawled across your already warm skin. You allowed yourself an extra moment to compose yourself before the idea struck you as soon as your limbs ceased feeling like jelly. 

“I want to ride you, Travis,” you declared pushing yourself on your knees. You shrugged out of the shirt entirely, discarding it somewhere on the side of your bed and pulled one of your pillows lower down the mattress. “Imagine that. I’d be so warm for you, still so wet and loose. Bet I could take all of you at once,” you said, pitching your voice to a more playful though undoubtedly teasing tone. You pulled your panties to the side again before lowering yourself down on the side of the pillow, straddling it. “There’d really be no better time than now for you to be inside me properly, baby.”

“Fuck,” he bit out sharply and you heard the unmistakable sound of him spitting into his hand. And well, wasn’t that a thought? 

You chuckled in response. “You’d let me fuck myself on you however I want to, right? I’ll start off slow. You already made me come once, so gotta take it nice and easy,” you told him, rolling your hips gently against the pillow between your legs. Still pretty sensitive, the friction of the cotton made you tremble when you rolled your hips against it, almost losing your balance but you managed to support yourself just in time by pressing your free palm against the headboard. “Ha… I’d feel so good around you, Travis. You know I would. And it’s all thanks to you,” you praised softly, moving your hips back and forth against the pillow. “I swear, I’ll end up thinking of how good you made me feel for days to come. I’ll think of you for nights to come.”

On the other end of the line, Travis groaned. “Only me,” he demanded and there was so much clarity in his tone that for a moment, you thought that was something he meant even outside of the heat of the moment. 

“Only you,” you confirmed and knew there would be no lie in that whatsoever. “Who else do you think would get me to fuck against a fucking pillow, Travis?” A breathless, exhausted laugh left his mouth and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against the cushioned headboard. You could feel yourself approaching that very same edge again with every roll of your hip, every brush of the soft material against your sensitive clit and you had to bite down on your lip to hold back a shaky whimper. “Wish you were here though… I’d prefer you underneath me rather than a pillow. Doubt it appreciates the roll of my hips as much as you would, don’t you think?”

“Fuck, I’d be there in an instant if I could,” he agreed, voice tight. You’d bet anything his jaw was clenched, biting back on the back of his teeth. 

One thing was for certain: occasionally, Travis made his emotions clear so easily, you could even read him over the phone. A part of you was focused on the way you ground your hips down against the pillow though you paid as close attention to the noises Travis was making; he didn’t deprive you of them. It was only as he hissed into the phone that it dawned on you just how unfair it was you couldn’t also see him. Couldn’t even think of the sort of expressions he was making solely because you knew the reality would just be so much better than what your mind could conjure through the haze of the moment. Frustrated, you rocked your hips against the pillow quicker, eyebrows furrowing a little as you whimpered at the friction. It wasn’t enough. It simply wasn’t enough. If anything, it was only adding fuel to a fire you hadn’t even managed to come close to at least dimming, if even a little bit.

“Travis, I’m close—fuck, I’m so—”

“I know, doll. Fuck, I know,” he said shakily and your name fell from his mouth gruffly, accompanied by a rough, drawn out moan that you knew would haunt you for as long as possible. 

You fell forward against the headboard, blinking slowly as you stared down at the disheveled sheets. Vaguely, you could make out a small voice at the back of your head chastising you for needing to replace them even if you’d just changed them earlier in the day. And then, clearly, a louder, more rational voice suddenly snapped you to attention as the magnitude of your actions came at you like a bullet speed train with no breaks to hold it back. You swallowed quietly, heart hammering against the cage of your ribs. The feeling of frustration cleared the heavy post-orgasm fog fairly quickly and you wanted to yell. To scream and wish there was a way to turn back time. 

This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be straddling a pillow, half naked with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear after he guided you through two orgasms. Whatever it was you felt for him should’ve remained locked off in a box at the back of your mind, guarded by the loudest warnings possible so you knew never to touch. And yet here you were, past the blaring sirens, flashing neon lights and spray painted ‘STAND BACK!’ warnings and into a corner of your mind that now had Travis’ moans and the way he spoke your name recorded second by second. 

“Fuck,” you whispered quietly, lips pressed against your forearm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Y/N, listen to me—”

“No. What the fuck? Travis, what the fuck did we—did I do?” In a flash, you scrambled off the bed but found you didn’t even know what to get started on. Ripping off the bedsheets? Reaching for the discarded shirt to cover yourself with as if that’d undone what was said and done? “Travis, you promised,” you said suddenly, vaguely recalling his words from earlier. “You said you’ll forget about it.”

On the other end of the line, you could just barely make out the sound of a roll of tissues being spun and then, a few seconds later, water being flushed. “You’re freaking out on me and you need to take a deep breath, okay?” Travis instructed.

You shook your head, to hell with whether he could see that or not. “No, no, you don’t understand—Travis, this shouldn’t have—It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Listen. Listen, Y/N,” he insisted more loudly when you were about to interrupt him. “And I will, okay? If it makes you feel better I can just… I’ll forget about it, okay? It didn’t happen if that’s what you want from me.” 

“Okay,” you said, tone neutral. You ceased your pacing but didn’t stop from casting a glare towards your bed as if it was the very thing that pushed you to do what you’d done. “Okay. That’s—yeah. Yeah, let’s forget about it,” you concluded tightly, vehemently trying to deny to yourself that the head you felt behind your eyes wasn’t the telltale sign of approaching tears and rather it was…shame. “Thanks. Uh. Look, Travis, I have to go. I have to… I have something to do.” He didn’t respond for so long that you thought the call had ended. You had to take the phone away from your ear to check the seconds were still ticking upwards and when you noticed they were, you frowned. “Travis?”

“What are your plans?” he questioned, tone neutral. 

Nothing aside from stripping my bed bare again and then taking a long, cold shower in hopes of not thinking about how you sounded like moaning in my ear, you thought. What you said instead was, “just”.

More silence. Again, you had to double check the call didn’t cut. “You meeting that friend of yours?” 

“Which one?” you asked, genuinely confused and then it dawned on you: Troy. The guy who should’ve been in Travis’ position instead. “Oh. Uh. Maybe…maybe not. It’s pretty late, so…”

“Okay. Good. Yeah, good thinking. Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe don’t send photos like that next time. To anyone. Just in case the wrong person gets them again,” he suggested and there was a certain sharpness to his tone you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It wasn’t a demand, but it sure sounded like it cocooned in a half-hearted excuse. “Can’t be too careful these days.” 

You swallowed, teeth clenching. Without thinking of it, you blinked rapidly several times and yeah, there they were. Those tears that’d threatened you only moments ago. You wished you could pour a bucket of ice over your feelings for Travis and wipe your hands clean of them instead of trying to distract yourself from them instead of searching for a convenient fuck and in turn, becoming a convenient fuck.

“I’ll pay closer attention next time, then,” you said by way of goodbye and ended the call before he could get another word in. 

Across from you, a framed photo of just you and Travis taken during the previous summer vacation was staring up at you. His arm was thrown around your shoulders, trying to reel you in just a little closer despite the look of disgust on your face while he held up a fish by its hook in his other hand, head thrown back with laughter at your reaction. In two short strides, you lowered it face down on the dresser before rushing into the adjoining bathroom. 

Regardless of how well you scrubbed your skin clean of all evidence to what you’d done, there was no soap and water that could wash away Travis’ praise and pet names. Certainly nothing that could remove the memory of how your name rolled off his tongue while at the height of his pleasure.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Prologue)

Summary: When your college roommate asks you to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, you pack your bags and jump on a flight to Montana. What was supposed to be a relaxing week on the husband-to-be’s ranch is turned upside down when an old flame decides to make an appearance. Mix in lingering feelings, a meddling bride, and the mother of all misunderstandings, and your week out west turns out to be a whole lot more than you bargained for.

series masterlist

playlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.5k

           Spencer gets the email on a Tuesday.

           He’s fresh off of a quick trip to a nearby café that sells the most delectable scones, and he’s eagerly unwrapping one and lifting it to his mouth when he gets the notification. The quiet ping is enough to make him pause with the scone midway to its destination.

Because the thing is, Spencer Reid doesn’t get a lot of emails. In fact, there are approximately ten people that even know his email address, and seven of them are currently in the same room as him. Spencer peers over the top of his monitor and scans the room. No one is doing anything indicative of having sent Spencer yet another prank email (thanks a lot, Luke), so he deems it safe and clicks on the email icon.

           As it boots up, Spencer takes a bite of his scone. The warm, sugary dough tastes like heaven in his mouth, once again proving to Spencer that the fifteen-minute walk there is more than worth his time. He’s mid-swallow when his inbox pops up on the screen, and when he sees the all too familiar name on the sender’s address, he inhales a sharp breath that leaves him choking on his pastry.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Melville

Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Sewell

Joyfully request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their children

Cassidy and Mason

Saturday, the twenty-seventh of May

Two thousand nine-teen

           His choking fit garners the attention of every one of his colleagues, but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. All he can focus on is sucking in as much air as possible in between coughs. It doesn’t help that his oxygen deprived brain is currently reeling. Long suppressed memories are fighting their way to the surface, and now it’s not only his lungs that are engulfed in a searing heat, but his heart, too.

           Cassidy Sewell. A fiery, opinionated redhead that Spencer hasn’t thought of in nearly fifteen years. But Cassidy isn’t the reason that he feels like a knife has been thrust into his ribcage, nor is she the reason he is currently aspirating his scone. The basis of his distress is another woman entirely.

           Spencer eventually regains control of his windpipe and when he does, he rereads the email several times. It’s wonderful news - really, it is. And he’s happy for Cassidy. His memories of her are plentiful and he thinks back on them fondly. The only problem is that he knows wherever Cassidy is, you’ll be there, too.

           He really should just delete the email and go on about his business - that would be the smart thing to do. But Spencer’s never really been smart when it comes to you, so he does the worst thing possible and clicks on the ‘view recipients’ button.

           And sure enough, your name falls just above his on the list.

           Which brings up another issue entirely; why is he receiving this email? And, more importantly, do you know that he’s been invited? Spencer can only come up with two possible answers to that question, and both are equally heartbreaking. Either you know he’s been invited and you’re indifferent to the fact, or you haven’t a clue and his showing up would be entirely inappropriate.

           He briefly entertains the possibility of a third option; one in which you knew he’d received an invitation and were hopeful that he might show up. Spencer allows this possibility to live in his mind for approximately two seconds before he’s stomping it out and killing it. That’s just… unlikely.

           “Ooh! Who’s getting married?”

           Spencer quickly exits out of his email and spins around in his chair to find Penelope pouting her lip out at him.

           “No one. Just a spam email,” Spencer lies. His efforts are in vain, however, because Penelope fixes him with an unimpressed glare.

           “I’m going to save you and I both the trouble of me hacking into your computer and offer you the opportunity to try that again.”

           Spencer visibly deflates and mentally curses the creators of the interconnected computer networks. He weighs his options. He could be completely honest and be subjected Penelope’s endearing, yet suffocating enthusiasm, or he could skim a little bit off the top and hope she doesn’t pump him for information.

           Spencer decides on the latter.

           “An old friend.”

           Penelope narrows her eyes at him and he shrinks under her gaze. She might not be a profiler, but she damn sure could be.

           “Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”

           “No reason.”

           They’ve reached a stalemate, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to do with that. Usually, if this were a chest match, Spencer would already have the upper hand. He’s not used to being backed into a corner. At first, Spencer’s sure that he can outlast Penelope’s inquisition, but the longer those seemingly omniscient eyes of hers bore into his own, he can feel his resolve crumbling into nothing. All it takes is her lifting one perfectly plucked eyebrow in challenge for him to break.

           “An ex-girlfriend of mine will be in attendance.”

           Spencer knows he’s fucked from the way Penelope’s entire face lights up upon hearing that little tidbit of information. In a flash Penelope’s dragging over an empty chair and seating herself directly in front of Spencer, eyes shining excitedly.

           “Tell me everything.”

           So, he does.

           And an hour later, Penelope is booking him a flight to Montana.

--

           “I cannot believe you did this to me,” you murmur into the receiver as you stare at your computer screen. Your eyes are zeroed in on the email, but all the words are blurring together into an intelligible mess. All except two.

           Spencer Reid

           “Correction; I did this for you,” Cassidy replies, sounding awfully pleased with herself. If you could see her, you were certain she’d be grinning ear to ear. “You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit excited at the possibility of seeing him again.”

           “That is exactly what I’m telling you!” you groan as you throw your head against the back of your chair. “Fifteen years is a long time, Cass. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has, too. That door is closed.”

           Cassidy snorts, “Well open that sucker back up, because I just got an RSVP from one Doctor Spencer Reid who, and I quote, ‘cannot wait to see everyone.’ This RSVP came without a plus one, might I add.”

           You jolt up in your seat and instantly regret it when your stomach churns painfully as a result. Suddenly, your decision to place your waste basket on the opposite side of the room seems awfully ill advised. The only thing keeping you from lunging for it and expelling the contents of your stomach is the fact that he isn’t bringing anyone with him, which is… something.

           “He’s coming?” you squeak out. “Why would he do that?”

           Another laugh from Cassidy floats out through the speaker.

           “Well, I’d like to think he might be going to see one of his oldest and dearest friends get married, but I think we both know that this has nothing to do with me, and a whole lot to do with you.”

           You’re just about to open your mouth to protest when a head of long, blonde hair peeks through the crack of your door. You only know one man with a head of hair like that, and that man just so happens to be the only other person in your life that lives for taking the piss at your expense. You can’t help but think that you must’ve done something terrible in a past life to be subjected to all of this before noon on a Tuesday morning.

           You wave Damien in, because why the hell not? He’d be hearing about it over one or several bottles of wine this evening, anyways. What was one more spectator to the worst moment of your entire adult life?

           As he takes his seat in a chair in front of your desk, you flash him a tight smile and turn your attention back to Cassidy.

           “You’re reading way too much into this. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

           “You know that boy does not forget anything,” Cassidy points out.

           Yeah, you think, and that’s what makes not hearing from him for fifteen years even worse. That means the radio silence was a choice.

           “Doesn’t matter. You need to uninvite him. I’m being so serious right now.”

           “I absolutely will not. That’d be terribly rude of me,” Cassidy sniffs. “And you obviously have no choice but to attend, Miss Maid of Honor, so consider this your warning. I was going to keep this a secret, but Mason said that would be cruel. So.”

           You want to argue that the entire thing is cruel, but Cassidy’s indifference to your plight leads you to believe that your protest would fall on deaf ears. To make matters worse, Damien looks positively delighted at the prospect of something exciting happening. He’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in an attempt to hear Cassidy’s end of the conversation.

           You really needed to pick more sympathetic friends.

           “I’m going to hang up now, because I physically cannot handle being a part of this conversation any longer.”

           “That’s the spirit!” Cassidy trills. “Trust me, you’re going to thank me for this later. Oh, and do yourself a favor and Google search him. You will not be disappointed!”

           At that, the line goes dead. You don’t even have the chance to say something embarrassing like too late, I already do that like twice a year, which is probably a good thing.

           You slam down the phone and let your head fall into your hands, adding in a dramatic groan for good measure. Usually, you like to think you’re a little more level headed, but the Spencer Reid sized hole in your heart that you’d been trying to mend for the last decade and a half was just ripped wide open, so you figure you deserve a moment to panic.

           Damien, however, doesn’t share that same belief.

           “I get that you’re trying to have a moment, and I respect that, but you know how impatient I get and I haven’t seen you this upset since One Direction split up. Color me intrigued. What did dear Cassidy do to get your knickers in such a twist?”

           You lift your head and fix him with a withering look.

           “She invited Spencer.”

           That wipes the smile right off of Damien’s face.

           “Oh, fuck,” Damien swears. Finally, someone understands how extremely not okay this situation is. You let out another despairing groan. “What are the chances he’s actually going to show up?”

           You chuckle bitterly, “Pretty fucking high, if you consider the fact that he already RSVP’d any indication.” You push away from your desk and begin to pace around the room, all while fanning your shirt out because holy hell did it get hot in here, or is it just you? “I mean, I could always back out. It’s Cassidy’s fault anyways. It’s not like she could hold that against me. She’s the one who did this, after all.”

           “Oh, she most certainly would. And you’re not going to going to skip out on the wedding - quit being so dramatic.”

            You snap your head to where he sits and narrow your eyes at him.

           “Oh, I’m not? Who’s gonna stop me?” you challenge.

           You can practically see the light bulb go on inside that blonde head of his. Damien gives you a saccharine smile and claps his hands together.

           “I am. Because I’m going to go with you,” he announces excitedly. You’d think he just came up with a way to end world hunger from the pride that’s practically radiating off of him in waves. 

           You raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re going to come with me? To Montana? Have you ever even been outside of New York?”

            Damien shrugs his shoulders.

           “No, but that’s about to change. Plus, weddings are fun,” Damien pauses, before tacking on, “-bridesmaids are fun.”

           If he weren’t such a damn good friend, you’d throw him out of your office.

           His proposition was tempting. Being in close proximity with Spencer for almost an entire week was going to be harrowing as it was, but add to that the inevitable sight of Spencer in a suit and harrowing graduates to fucking excruciating. Having Damien in your corner to keep you sane was more of a necessity than a want.

           But still, you hesitate, because the idea of both Cassidy and Damien conspiring against you for an entire week sounds like the undiscovered tenth circle of hell.

           Damien apparently senses your apprehension. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes up from his seat, walking over to where you stand and placing his hands on your shoulders.

           “I solemnly swear to be on my best behavior. You have my permission to fire me if I act up, Boss Lady.”

           Your shoulders slump under the weight of his hands.

           “You know I can’t fire you,” you grumble, pouting out your lip for dramatic effect. “If I fire you, then I’m stuck with fucking Brenda. And I doubt she’d be as agreeable a drinking partner as you.”

           Damien lets out a loud laugh and pulls you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, sighing in resignation. Might as well bring him along for the ride. It’s not like the situation could get any worse than it already is, right?

           “Brenda is the worst,” Damien agrees as he places a kiss to the top of your head. After basking in his warm embrace for several moments, you pull away and run a hand through your hair.

           “Okay. Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Damien. “I can do this. Worst comes to worst; I can just avoid him. Five days isn’t that long. I can do five days.”

           Damien leans up against your desk and nods in agreeance.

           “Exactly. Five days, in and out – no big deal,” he breezes. Like the absolute bastard he is, he waits until you’re taking a sip from your travel mug before continuing. “And who knows? Maybe the two of you will pick up where you left off and have some slutty wedding sex.”

           Now, there’s coffee all over your white blouse and Damien’s laughing obnoxiously at your expense.

           “You did not just quote One Tree Hill at me,” you choke out between ragged breaths.

           Damien doesn’t waver under the weight of your death glare.

           “I so did. Best show of our time, truly. Chase hit the nail on the head with that one. Weddings are always an absolute bone fest - trust me. Something about all the proclamations of love and eternal commitment gets everyone all hot and bothered.”

           “There will be no slutty wedding sex,” you mutter as you dab at the coffee stain.

           “There will be if I’m going,” Damien trills as he pushes off of your desk and saunters to the door. “Don’t rule it out, babe. No need to miss out on all the fun!”

           You roll your eyes and toss the wadded-up paper towel at him. Damien is quick to shut the door, resulting in the paper towel hitting it with a wet plop.

           Damien’s absence leaves the room uncomfortably silent, save for the sound of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. You hesitantly lift your eyes back to your computer screen, and as irrational as it is, you pray that you’ll see that something has changed in the past ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, his name is still there, just below your own.

           You silently curse the tiny twinge of excitement you feel from seeing his name and exit out of the email.

           Five days, in and out. No big deal.

-

-

-

taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck​ @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​ @lovesicksofi​ @idgafayiowf​ @shadyladyperfection​ @mercy-burning​ @sapphic-prentiss​

[vannahfanfics]

Heavenly Bodies

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima

Additional Tags: Quirkless AU

Howdy, everyone! Today I have my story for the @ashidobigbang! I had the privilege of working with the wonderful @mallowfac​, so be sure to go give her beautiful art some love!

The picturesque campus of U.A. High School was always abuzz with activity, even after the final bells rang to mark the end of the school day. As expected of the number-one high school in the district, the institution hosted a vast number of after-school sports and clubs, so much that it was almost unheard of for a student to be uninvolved in anything. Thus, even as the sun had sunk low across the sky, the halls were still packed with many students fervently discussing events and fundraising and planning, walking to and from their classrooms. 

The exterior of the school was no exception; one would be hard pressed to find an empty sidewalk or field—except for today, when the American football team would be taking on the baseball team in an impromptu flag football game to determine once and for all the title of best sport. The halls and sidewalks and fields were abandoned, for the entire student body had crammed themselves within the confines of the spacious practice field nestled in the back corner of the campus. The baseball team had asserted that football was so easy that even they could do it, and the school had become divided on whether or not that was true. 

“Kick their asses, Eijirou!” a particularly loud fan crowed from the top of the bleachers. He was standing tall, hands cupped around his mouth and stamping his feet as he cheered for the school’s idol and star quarterback. The bleachers sang with chants and stomps, trying desperately to smother the boos drifting from the opposite end of the field, where the baseball team’s supporters sat. Eijirou Kirishima, his grin blinding and his red hair gleaming in the spring sun, laughed nervously as praise was rained down upon him. 

As Mina zeroed in on him in the lens of her binoculars, she knew she’d found her latest victim— er, recruit. 

Mina Ashido was the president—and only member—of U.A.’s astronomy club. Well, it wasn’t technically a club yet since they needed two members for the administration to approve the application. An avid admirer of all things cosmological and an aspiring astronomer, Mina refused to allow her pride and joy to collapse before it had even begun. Thus, for the last few months, she’d been concocting hare-brained scheme after hare-brained scheme to recruit at least one more member and officially christen the U.A. Guild of Astronomers and Astrophysicists. All of her efforts, unfortunately, had crashed and burned brighter than a supernova. 

At first, she’d just camped out in the hallways and leisure areas pitching her case and attempting to garner interest in the subject, but she’d been met with polite refusals or awkward avoidance. With so many extracurriculars available, sometimes drastic measures had to be taken to garner interest in a club— the Shakespearean drama club, for example, had performed Macbeth completely backwards in the courtyard, and their numbers had swelled immediately. Mina had cooked up a dramatic scheme of her own, which involved her running around the school screaming about a falling star and the end times. After inciting a mass school panic that led to a lockdown and police involvement, all Mina had managed to acquire was a fierce scolding, detention, and the label as a kook—not even one person expressed interest in joining her club even for the shits and giggles! No, it was clear that the inner workings of her mind were too sophisticated for humble high school students and staff, so she would have to try a more nuanced approach—manipulating the most vital high school variable: popularity. 

Her first target had been gorgeous cheerleader and school sweetheart, Momo Yaoyorozu. Despite the stereotype that popular girls were great big bitches, Momo had been nothing but polite when refusing Mina, since her rigorous practice schedule would unfortunately not allow her to devote the time to the club it deserved (but they did regularly meet up for Sunday tea now!). The next one to fall into her crosshairs was the school heartthrob Shoto Todoroki. He’d entertained her for an afternoon, but he destroyed one of her very expensive telescopes while attempting a night viewing and she’d politely informed him that perhaps he wasn’t cut out for it. He didn’t seem too sad about it, though he did occasionally ask her how the recruiting was going when they met in the halls. Very sweet guy, but bless him, he was an airhead. 

Thus, Mina had moved on to her next opportunity—the pride and joy of U.A.’s sports program, star American football player Eijirou Kirishima. Incredibly handsome, charismatic, and kind-hearted, Eijirou was beloved by everyone at U.A. If Mina managed to recruit him to her humble club, half the student body would be clamoring to join before it was printed in the school news the next day. 

She snickered to herself as she watched him through her binoculars, hiding in the thick, leafy bushes lining the backside of the sports complex. Her cotton candy-colored hair blended well with the hydrangeas blooming amidst the emerald leaves, camouflaging her as she conducted her vital research. The redhead strode across the field with confidence, yet his sunny smile made him seem anything but arrogant. Though she couldn’t hear him, she could see his lips moving as he relayed orders to his team while they set up the play. The players seamlessly fell into an offensive stance, a testament to the faith they held in their captain—and how seriously he took their practice and performance. 

A deep and bassy “huuuuup!” resounded through the field, and then the player hiked the ball. With a speed much at odds with his muscular frame, Eijirou took off down the field. Mina admittedly salivated a little as she watched his muscles ripple, his gray muscle tank displaying his biceps and triceps in mouthwatering detail. She could see the sweat shining on his skin and flicking from his hair as he whipped his head around to eye the ball that was sailing through the air toward him. The baseball team’s defense could only watch in awe as Eijirou leaped into the air over the endzone. The ball landed in his arms like it belonged there, his grip smug and sure as he landed in the touchdown zone. The supporting crowd erupted into deafening cheers, while Eijirou just smiled bashfully and gave a little wave. 

Mina lowered her binoculars to compose herself, a blush dusting her cheeks. So effortless… And the crowd loves it! she thought in awe. No matter what, I have to get him to join the Astronomy Club! She snapped the binoculars back to her eyes, watching intensely. She really didn’t need to watch the entire game, but… damn, that was a mouthwatering piece of man. She had to find some way to entertain herself while she waited for the game to end and her chance to corner him to finally present itself. 

Needless to say, the football team absolutely demolished the baseball team. The rival players marched back to their diamond in defeat along with their gaggle of supporters, while the crowd flooded the practice field to heft a very bemused but giddy Eijirou on their shoulders with chants of his name. They dunked the container of water over his head as soon as his feet touched the grass again, making him laugh jovially. Mina’s heart fluttered at the sound; his laugh was as sunny as the rest of him, so bright she almost felt the need to close her eyes. He was just blinding, like the most intense star. 

And just like with a star, Mina gravitated toward him. 

Eventually, the raucous crowd dispersed and the football team started heading to the locker rooms to change out of their sweaty gym gear. They came tromping onto the sidewalk, with Eijirou trailing in the rear dripping wet and trying to wring water out of his tank. Mina almost forgot to spring out of the bushes, too occupied with the planes of his abs being revealed each time he wrung the fabric. She remembered her mission just as he passed the hydrangea bush, and leaped out in front of him with a delighted trill. 

“That was a wonderful game, Eijirou!” she squealed, throwing her arms up and hiking up one leg behind her in a cute little flourish. The redhead jumped back with a small gasp, startled by her sudden appearance and the leaves and hydrangea petals clinging to her clothes and the soft fibers of her pink hair. Once he recovered, however, he gave her a charming smile that nearly had her melting into a pile of space slush. 

“Oh! Thanks. Hey, you’re, uh—” he snapped his fingers quickly as he struggled to recall her, then pointed his fingers at her in a gun-like shape once it clicked, “Mina Ashido! You have homeroom with Tsuyu from the Amphibian Care club. She talks about you when she helps run the concession stand sometimes!” 

“That’s right! The one and only!” she chirped, trying to suppress the surge of anger at the fact that Tsuyu could recruit for her club about pet frogs and turtles but Mina couldn’t get one single underling. Not to worry; that will all change soon! 

“This might be an odd question, but, uh… is there a reason you were hiding in the bushes?” he laughed awkwardly. Mina blushed when he leaned forward to gently brush the leaves and petals from her shoulders and hair, which made her short-circuit for a second. It was only when he looked at her inquisitively that her brain jump-started again. 

“O-oh! I thought it would be fun to surprise you! Yanno, like in the movies where someone jumps out of a big ol’ birthday cake!” It was a bold-faced lie, but it wasn’t like she could tell him she was spying on him through binoculars while she schemed to reel him into her club. Trying to keep him from thinking too hard about it, she placed her hands on her hips and straightened up. “I watched your practice match with the baseball team and have decided that you’ll be a perfect fit for the Astronomy Club! So please join. <3” 

Eijirou blinked owlishly at her, his bright red eyes swimming with confusion. He smiled bashfully, clearly trying not to let his utter perplexity show on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. 

“Well, um, I’m really not sure how you made that connection watching me play…” 

“The inner workings of a woman’s mind are quite an enigma~” she hummed with a waggle of her finger. Eijirou only scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and jumped when she slapped her hand down on his shoulder. “Seriously! You seem like a great fit! Please consider at least trying it out for a little while?” She batted her eyelashes demurely; if nothing else, her womanly charms could entice the burly football player to at least humor her for a while. 

Sure enough, a pink blush dusted across his cheeks and a bashful smile curled onto his lips. 

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt checking it out… Stars are cool…” 

“Fabulous!” she squealed, making Eijirou flinch again as she clapped her hands together and jumped up and down in elation. Even if Eijirou didn’t join permanently, just the rumor of his interest in her humble little club was liable to attract attention. “I know that you’re busy with football practice, so we’ll schedule club meetings on Friday afternoons when you don’t have them, okay?” 

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to inconvenience any—” 

“Great! So it’s settled then! I’ll see you on Friday afternoon in Room 310!” With that, she jumped back into her bush, leaving Eijirou staring at the quivering leaves in confusion. Through the gaps in the branches, she saw him open and close his mouth like he wanted to say something, look around and then up at the sky with a pensive look, and then smile with a shrug of his shoulders. Mina clutched her binoculars to her chest as a smile bloomed on her own lips, but one of satisfaction. Surely this will work! The Astronomy Club will be booming in no time! She thought with a giddy snicker. 

If nothing else, she could look at Eijirou’s absolutely dreamy body and face for a few club meetings and drive his fangirls nuts. 

At the end of the week, Mina paced impatiently in front of Room 310, chewing her fingernails to nubs as her eyes darted back and forth around the hall. It had only been a few minutes since the final bell had rung and the students had scattered to attend to their Friday afternoon obligations (or lack thereof), but anxiety swirled in Mina’s belly at the complete emptiness of the halls. Has he stood me up? Was I too pushy? Is he secretly a great big jerk who is nice to people’s faces but scathingly berates them behind their back to his football teammates and they all laugh evilly at the unknowing victim’s expense? 

With a dramatic sob, Mina flung herself against the classroom door and hugged it, her fingers just barely curling around the wide frame. Once again, it seemed that her recruitment plan had failed miserably, and she was still the sole member of the Astronomy Club. Was she a doomed stranded astronaut, left to traverse the stars in silence awaiting a bitter end? She sank to her knees, sliding down the door with a long squeeeeeeeeak and crying bitter tears. Stars were hella cool! Why did no one at this stupid high school appreciate them? 

“Mina!” 

Mina’s mood did a complete one-eighty when she heard Eijirou calling her name and his footsteps pounding around the corner. She jumped to her feet, her tears drying up instantly and her pout morphing into a giddy smile. The redhead came trotting up, a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead and an apologetic smile on his face. 

“Sorry!” he panted. “I didn’t get a chance to warn you that my class is all the way on the first floor. I hope you weren’t waiting long!” 

“No, no! I just got here mys— yeowch!” 

She had still been hugging the door, so when she tried to turn to face him, she accidentally pulled it forward and smashed her fingers in the doorjamb. She screamed as her knucklebones crunched and the skin tore; the pain rocketing up her arm sprang tears to her eyes immediately, and she released a petulant whine as she retracted her bruised and bloody fingers from between the wooden door and concrete wall. 

“Oh my gosh, are you okay, Mina?” Eijirou gasped, dropping his school bag and rushing to her side. Mina cradled her throbbing hand to her chest with little sniffles, curling away from the football player when he reached for it. He gave her an encouraging, sweet smile. “I know I look big and tough, but I promise, I can be gentle too. Let me see; you may have broken something.”

Whimpering but enticed by his soothing words and demeanor, Mina obediently allowed him to pull her hand forward to inspect her fingers. They were bruising already, big blotches of purple blooming around the torn and bloody skin. Eijirou leaned over her hand, and goosebumps sprouted on her skin as his warm breath puffed over her electrified skin and aching bones. With featherlight touches, he inspected her knuckles, prodding as gently as he could to feel for any deviations in the bone. 

“I know this may hurt, but can you bend them?” he asked, looking up at her through his red bangs. Mina whimpered again, hesitant to comply for fear of the pain. However, the glitter in his vermilion eyes urged her to comply. She hesitantly bent her fingers, wincing as pain skittered up her nerves— but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she thought it would. Eijirou smiled satisfactorily. “You crunched ‘em pretty good, but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured,” he said as he straightened up. 

“Thanks… I can’t believe I did that,” she sighed, using her good hand to knock on the side of her head a few times. How embarrassing, injuring herself like that in front of him! “Well, now that all that drama is over, let’s go inside so I can tell you about the club.” 

Eijirou followed her inside. While she rifled through the teacher’s desk for some bandages, he looked around at the desks, which were empty aside from a build-your-own-telescope kit, Mina’s completed telescope, and astronomical charts and textbooks. As Mina wrapped bandages around her fingers, he looked at her with knitted eyebrows. 

“There’s no one else here yet?” 

“There’s no one else to be here,” she replied with a shrug and a wan smile. “I’m the club’s only member.” When Eijirou’s eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair, she sadly added, “If that information makes you want to leave, go ahead and do so,” she said with a wave at the door. She then looked down at the adhesive wrapped around her knuckles. “You wouldn’t be the first.” 

“No, I don’t want to leave,” Eijirou said quickly. He marched up to the front of the desk, leaning against it. Mina didn’t know what to look at—his flexing muscles or his bright smile. He tilted his head slightly as he smiled charmingly at her, then said, “Tell me about your club, Mina. I want to know everything.” 

Oh God, he’s hot! Mina screamed inside her head, her good hand flying to her rapidly-beating heart. It took everything within her not to absolutely swoon at the complete sweetheart of a man gracing her with his presence this Friday afternoon. Her eyes watered a little in gratitude, or maybe it was the sheer emotion at being witness to such a wonderful human being’s kindness. 

Thus, Mina did as he asked. She first instructed Eijirou how to build the telescope that he would use on nights they did observations; he bungled through it a little, but remained patient and tried his best to follow the instructions. Mina had to giggle at the absolutely triumphant grin that plastered his face when he successfully assembled the telescope; he held it up over his head and pranced around—nearly giving them both a panic attack when he bumped into a desk and nearly dropped the telescope on the ground. Mina didn’t think she could handle a Shoto 2.0. 

After assembling the telescope, she started him off with easy information—constellations. She unrolled her star map which had all the constellations displayed by season, explaining specifically which ones they could see at the moment. Eijirou was very excited to see them in person, so they arranged a meeting for the following week. True to form, he showed up that Friday night with his telescope and all his zeal, his smile brighter than the full moon hanging high in the sky. 

“It’s hard to believe that people stared at the sky thousands of years ago and traced shapes out of ‘em!” he exclaimed as he plonked his telescope down to the ground. “And made up all these stories to go with ‘em. And all the stories and constellations are different based on what civilization was lookin’ at ‘em!” 

“The stars have always been fascinating,” Mina hummed, gently setting up her telescope and adjusting the lens. “Sometimes I like to find my own constellations and make up stories about them.” 

“Really? Tell me one!” 

“Well, my favorite is the Alien Queen!” 

“The Alien Queen?” Eijirou laughed, making Mina flush shyly. “Show me!” Not waiting for an answer, he shouldered in next to her telescope and peered into it. She flushed darker as his sturdy shoulder dug into the meat of her side, warmth blooming across her skin. With slightly trembling hands, she moved the telescope to the right section of the sky. 

“Do you see that big, bright shiny star right there?” she asked, waiting until Eijirou confirmed. “Well, that’s the tip of the back of her head. If you follow them like this—” she gestated in front of the lens, tracing the star pattern— “it looks kinda like the alien from the horror movie!” 

“Leave it to Mina Ashido to find the Xenomorph constellation,” Eijirou snickered, straightening up to smile at her in amusement. “No wonder you’re the club president.” Mina shyly played with the hem of her skirt, unable to control the giddy smile playing over her lips. 

They spent the rest of the early evening finding the constellations and discussing the various mythologies behind each. Eijirou loved the Greek-based patterns and myths the most. Every time they pointed one out, he would flex dramatically and proclaim how much he loved the famous heroes of old—Hercules, Achilles, Odysseus, Perseus. Mina laughed at his sensational flexing and grunting each time, her giggles bouncing around the empty practice field to join the cricket song. 

Monday morning, Mina was surprised to find Eijirou rushing down the hall towards her as she went to enter her classroom. His face was flushed pink and his forehead dotted with sweat, indicating that he’d sprinted all the way to her. He pin-wheeled to a stop, nearly bumping her with his broad chest, and his breath puffed in her hair as he grinned brightly down at her. 

“Mina! Guess what I saw on the news this morning! The Creati comet is gonna be passing by this Wednesday, and it’ll be visible here that night!” 

“Yeah, I know!” Mina cried. She’d been glued to the news program this morning as astrophysicists and space program officials discussed the once-in-a-lifetime event; it was rumored to be an absolute gorgeous comet, with a rare rosy pink-lavender tail due to its high concentrations of lithium and potassium chloride. She then blushed, warmed by the fact that Eijirou had found it so important to inform her that he’d run all the way across campus first thing in the morning. 

“Yeah! We’re gonna watch it together, right?” he asked, clapping his hands on her shoulders. Mina flushed, fidgeting in place and chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

“A-are you sure? I’m sure you’ll be tired after football practice.” 

“Are you kidding? What kind of Astronomy Club member would I be if I didn’t see this comet?” he objected. 

Mina felt her heart thrum at the statement. Does he enjoy being a member that much? She’d only recruited him as a means to an end, but was it really turning out that Eijirou liked being a member of her club? She felt her belly twist with guilt and a cold flush pulse through her body. She curled into herself a little, blood roaring in her ears and nearly drowning out what he said next. 

“I know you’re planning on going to watch it, so let’s see it together, Mina!” 

“Okay,” she found herself saying before she even processed it. The next two days were a similar blur of guilt and anxiety amidst preparations to view the comet Wednesday evening. All traces of excitement she would normally possess was swallowed up by the remorse poisoning her from the hard ball in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t help but obsess over the fact that she’d recruited Eijirou on false pretenses, abusing his kind heart to use his popularity for her own gain. She’d already received a flood of interest in the club once news had spread that Eijirou was seemingly an official member, but she’d evaded them with half-hearted promises that she’d contact them soon to set up a general interest meeting. 

On Wednesday night she stood by the hydrangea bush, chewing on her bottom lip and tempted to hide within its emerald leaves and pink blossoms so she wouldn’t have to face Eijirou. Before she could take shelter in its branchy depths, the redhead came trotting up the sidewalk, his smile gleaming in the starlight as he called her name. His telescope flopped on his back in its canvas sheath. 

“Hey, Mina!” he grinned when he came to a stop in front of her, panting slightly. Always in such a rush, she thought fondly. No wonder he’s the star quarterback. “Are you excited? I sure am!” 

“Yeah,” she lied. There was no room to be excited with all the guilt filling her to the brim. Eijirou’s smile somehow managed to get brighter. Despite everything, her heart still jumped in her chest when he grabbed her hand, his thick and calloused fingers so strangely perfect around her slim ones, and pulled her onto the practice field. 

“This is perfect!” he exclaimed, looking up at the starry night sky with his hands on his hips. Mina only hummed quietly, robotically unfolding a blanket and placing it over the grass. She’d arranged for the school to shut off the nighttime lights for the evening, giving them a clear view of the moon and stars. Thus, they were the only things that provided illumination as Mina and Eijirou sat down on the soft blanket together. “I didn’t know if we would want to get a better look at the comet, so I brought this!” he said excitedly, slipping the telescope off his back and setting it down between them. Mina hummed again, anxiety swirling in the pit of her belly. In the gloom, she could still see Eijirou’s bright red eyebrows scrunch. 

“Mina…? What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. Mina debated lying for a moment; she nervously plucked at the loose fibers of her stockings, unable to meet his pretty vermillion eyes. The lie never got the chance to dance on her tongue. She knew she had to come clean, to tell him the truth before she toted him along even further. 

“Eijirou… I have to confess something,” she admitted quietly. He shifted beside her, eyebrows raised. 

“What is it?” 

“I’m not as good a person as you think I am.” Her voice shook as tears flooded her eyes. She bit down on her lip as a sniffle slipped free. Eijirou looked at her in utter bewilderment, confusion swirling in those gorgeous vermillion eyes that had struck her the moment she had first seen them. He gently reached out to stroke his fingertips ever-so-lightly down her cheek; she turned away, a tear slipping down her cheek that was still tingling with his featherlight touch. “Don’t,” she begged, her voice nothing more than a strained whisper. “I don’t deserve your sympathy.” 

“Mina…” 

“I used you, Eijirou,” she said finally, choking the words out as her throat constricted with guilt. “I used your popularity for my own gain. I just wanted my club to be popular.” 

She didn’t look at him as the silence hung heavy between them, like an anvil suspended on a slowly fraying rope. She waited with bated breath for the rope to snap and for it to plummet, for him to explode on her like he rightfully should, to tell her she was selfish and cruel and for him to storm away and never look back. She cringed when he inhaled sharply, already preparing for his raised voice. 

He didn’t yell or scream or curse. Instead, his voice was heartbreakingly soft when he murmured, “That doesn’t make you a bad person. That just makes you lonely.” 

Mina’s eyes fluttered as her heart swelled with hope. She didn’t resist when he cupped her cheek and gently turned her tear-stained face to look at him. Her watery eyes met his red ones, and she was so relieved to find them brimming with understanding, not hate or anger. He swept his thumb over her cheek to catch the tears still streaming over her ruddy skin. 

“Mina… I knew that already,” he confessed with a small smile. She gasped in shock, while Eijirou smiled bashfully and rubbed at the back of his neck with his other hand. “As soon as you told me that you were the only member of the club, I figured that you wanted to use my popularity to recruit more people. I was a little bitter about it for a second, but… Then I saw how sad you looked.” He used both his hands to cup her cheeks and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. “I didn’t want to see that look on your face. Even if you were using me, I wanted you to be happy.” 

“Why?” she hiccuped, chest drawing tight like a balloon ready to burst. “Th-that was so horrible of me… And you still wanted to do that for me? Why?” 

“Because from the moment you jumped out of that hydrangea bush, I’ve been head-over-heels for you,” he purred, mouth twitching up into a smirk. Her face flushed with a fierce, fiery blush and her mouth dropped open in shock. “And maybe I was a little hopeful that I could get you to be head-over-heels for me, too,” he added with a playful wink. Mina couldn’t help but laugh, mostly from the overwhelming relief bubbling up inside her body. She leaned into him, finding solace in how well her small body fit into his muscular one—like a lock and key, like they belonged together. 

Sniffling happily, she curled her fingers into the leathery fabric of his varsity jacket and smiled joyfully. 

“Well, you didn’t have to try very hard. How could I not be head-over-heels for you?”

Before they could say anything else, the sky was suddenly filled with bright light. They both turned to see that the comet had appeared among the stars. Its powdery tail streamed pinkish-blue behind the large white body, slowly traveling across the expanse of inky blue like a leisurely sailboat. Mina inhaled sharply as the pastel colors reflected in her eyes and the light danced over her skin and hair; it truly was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She was so entranced that she didn’t register Eijirou’s hand sneaking under her chin again until he turned her face back. The comet danced in his red eyes, making it a pink nebula of stars and space and beauty. 

No. Those eyes of his were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

She almost didn’t want to close her own as he leaned in to kiss her, but as soon as his lips smoothed over her own, she couldn’t help it. They drifted shut as she melted against him, savoring the gentle motions of his mouth against hers. Her heart fluttered when his hand drifted up into her cotton-candy hair, twirling around the strands like he was memorizing the feel of the silky threads. He kissed her with rising passion, like an astronaut adrift in space who’d finally found the oxygen he needed. 

They pulled apart slightly panting and blushing the same color as the comet streaming slowly above their heads. He stroked her face gently, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on the blanket. She laughed when he hugged her tight, nuzzled into her hair and inhaled deeply. 

“You smell like hydrangeas.” 

“Eijirou, I thought we were here to watch the comet.” 

“It’s pretty,” he remarked with a glance up at the sky. He then looked down at her with that dazzling smile she adored so much. “But I’ve got a heavenly body right here that I’m more interested in.” 

“Oh my gosh! That’s so corny!” she howled, throwing her head back in laughter. Eijirou snickered and snuggled into the side of her face, making her laugh more at the ticklish sensation of his nose brushing her skin. He peppered butterfly kisses over every inch of skin he could find, making her squirm and giggle in his grasp. 

Finally, he rolled on his side, one arm still snug around her shoulders while he watched the comet slowly make its way across the horizon. She pressed against him, warm and fuzzy and happy. 

“You know, despite the circumstances, I’m still glad you asked me to join, Mina,” Eijirou said with a contented sigh. His fingers drifted up to play with the fluffy strands of her hair. Mina rested her head on his chest, smiling while she watched the comet. 

“Me too, Eijirou. I can’t wait to spend the rest of the school year checking out heavenly bodies.” 

Eijirou gave her a wan look as she snorted piggishly in laughter. 

“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” 

“Absolutely not. I’m already planning to sell tee shirts!” 

Eijirou laughed, then rolled over to attack her with snuggles and kisses again. Mina welcomed his embrace and affections. Their laughter drifted up into the sky to join the stars and the streaming glittery trail of the comet, finding a home forever in the vastness of space…

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