#as well as being able to pay attention to any singular thing for more than 2 seconds unless my livelihood depends on it LMAOO

[rockoblanco]

lol talking to a family friend & told him im trying to get diagnosed for adhd bcs the more i learn about it and treatment options the more hope I have that I can have some semblance of a better life for myself and instead of being like “good for you” he’s playing at the “oh but narcotics are stimulants and you’ll get a dependency and you can’t trust big pharma and it’s not worth it.” Like you’re not entirely wrong but you’re incredibly narrow minded & don’t know what you’re talking about if you think that the only medication for adhd are stimulants (there are other drugs that aren’t stimulants that can help to clinically “normalize” an adhd brain), and also like how dare you try and tell me that trying to build a better future for myself where i don’t feel like dying everyday isn’t worth the risk lmaoooooooooo

[formosusiniquis]

inspired by this post by @ruelogy

ao3

Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes.

Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication. Cause it goes like this: Henderson comma Dustin is a fellow Hawkins transplant. Son of a single mother -- divorced or widowed, Eddie knows enough now to be sure that fueled the Hawkins gossip mill for weeks -- who brought her young son with her. Son, singular. Dustin joined the first grade class of Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and William Byers and that is as they say history. If there had been sons, plural, this mysterious older brother should have by all of Eddie's figurings joined Hawkins junior high right around the same time as a miserable Eddie. There should have been whispers about two new kids, there should have been someone for him to commiserate with, befriend.

Yet week after week young Dustin sits at Hellfire spinning yarns of a brother who was, what, homeschooled? Sent to a private military academy? Boarding school? Stayed at home with the mysterious father that Dustin doesn't mention -- and Eddie knows enough about fathers that go unmentioned not to break the silence -- but suddenly decided after he graduated to come join his mother and brother in Hawkins? Cause the thing is, Hawkins isn't that big. If pressed he's pretty sure he could name at least 90% of both of the classes he was supposed to graduate with and at least 75% of the group he's stuck with this year. He'd at the very least recognize them on sight, and not just cause he's dealt to the greater portion of the high school. Eddie pays attention, there are only like 400 students at the high school at any time, he should by all accounts be able to say, "Oh yeah that scrawny, bespectacled loser is Steve Henderson."

Except maybe there is no Steve Henderson, he's already faintly sure there's no Suzie so what's one more fictional friend from Dustin Henderson. Maybe this Steve is just the product of a fractured mind brought on by too much hands on parenting. Eddie knows people think all of his bad behavior is the product of underparenting, but if the opposite causes imaginary siblings he'll take the hand he got thank you very much.

Cause, sure he's doing his best to be third time lucky with this whole high school thing. He does know that compared to the should be starry eyed, but actually unsettlingly wary freshmen he is an ancient being of chaos. Yes, he feels every ounce of the five year gap between 19 and 14 when he speaks to them. But beyond all of that, he is still young. Still capable of swooning now and then; and the now is when Dustin describes his big brother and the then was all the other times Henderson the older has been detailed.

"Well that's cause I'm not really sorry, Mike," Henderson is on a tear already when he makes it to Hellfire, "I told you I have plans already."

"It's not that big a deal," Lucas placates, "we can do it another day."

"My parents won't be out of town another day," Mike sneers, "Will, you wouldn't ditch out on an all night Nintendo marathon for a date with Steve would you?" He says it like Will is the voice of the populace or something.

Maybe he is, and going by the way Will flushes a bright pink up to his bowlcut the voice of the people would in fact rather go out with Steve Henderson than hang out in a basement playing video games.

"It's not a date, he's my brother, and yeah dude I'm gonna skip out on watching you scream at Mario to go to an all night Stephen King movie marathon." Dustin says.

And swoon. That sounds like a dream.

"Like Steve would ever do something that cool, you can just say your mom won't let you come over cause my parents aren't gonna be home." Mike is surlier than usual, a trait he has noticed happens a lot when Henderson the elder gets broached. Eddie's theories range from misplaced sibling jealousy to repressed queer crush on Steve.

"C'mon kiddies save the tantrums for your mommies," he doesn't have a taste for it regardless of the answer, puberty is a bitch he's glad to be seeing the back of and Wheeler can go from being an angel to the kind of brat you do want to narc on just a little. "The rest of us have hoards to slay, maidens to save, things that don't involve listening to your play date fall apart."

He desperately wants to ask Henderson where they're movie night is taking place, because it sounds amazing and not at all because he wants to finally see this mysterious brother.

“It wasn’t even mine!” Henderson is moaning by the time Eddie makes it from O’Donnells to the cafeteria. He wasn’t that late, five minutes to plead his case for his grade at most, but Henderson could monologue with the best of them and it took about as much to get the kid going as it did Eddie, which was saying something.

“And you and Erica made fun of what was under my bed.” Lucas says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.

“What was under your bed?” Will asks.

“We are not going to let Dustin get out of the fact that his Mom found his Star Trek porn that easily,” Mike shrieks, he sounds like he’s trying to mind his volume but it’s still too loud for a public venue, “You gave me shit for weeks about that Penthouse you found under my bed.”

“We gave you shit because you stole it from your dad,” Lucas corrects, not that anyone but Eddie hears it.

Cause as Lucas speaks Dustin is shouting, “It wasn’t fucking mine! It has to be Steve’s but try telling my mom anything about her favorite son.”

Three sets of disbeliving eyes look over at Dustin, but it’s Mike who says, “There’s no fucking way anyone is gonna believe it was Steve’s dude, just give it up.”

“I don’t even like Star Trek that much!”

Eddie has been having dreams of a mystery boy with a gorgeous head of hair and Dustin’s sweet smile. He likes horror but will pretend to get scared so he has a reason to hide his face in Eddie’s neck, and when he gets there he’s a biter. “Now, now Henderson, what kind of self-respecting nerd doesn’t enjoy the dulcet tones of Mr. Spock.”

Henderson wrinkles his little nose, what a twerp or maybe he’s thinking of his brother’s zine again, “It’s okay, but who goes to sci-fi for philosophy when you could watch space battles and deathstars.”

Eddie spares a prayer for Dustin’s English grade. “Well at least one Henderson has taste.”

He’s never had a younger sibling in Hellfire before, Gareth and Joey are only children and Jeff is way older than his miracle baby sister, so it is a treat to watch the way Henderson goes red, white, and then green as he cycles through a series of emotions surrounding his brother so fast it gives Eddie a headache.

“Dude, he probably bought it for you not knowing what it was,” Mike says, “it’s not like Steve is watching Star Trek.”

"You didn't see it."

"Maybe it was a prank?"

Eddie tunes them out, returning to the Steve in his imagination. They're slipping out of the movie they just finished, the one they bought tickets for, Steve giggles -- Eddie thinks he'd have a nice laugh, thinks he makes his brother laugh a lot -- and tugs him into The Voyage Home. "You gonna think of your favorite captain while we hide in the back row, Stevie?"

"Kirk is an Admiral now, he has been for three movies. Some fan you are."

He wonders if it’s creepy, this mental file he’s compiling on Henderson’s brother. It’s not like he knows the guy, truly a backwards fucking miracle in this two stoplight nothing of a town, but Eddies’ always liked something that he can sink his teeth into and pull apart. That’s what Steve Henderson feels like to him, like if a rubix cube was also a steak. He’s lost track of the metaphor in his own head, it’s whatever.

Cause Steve Henderson loves horror movies, but watches sappy romance flicks with his mom when they both have the same day off. Steve Henderson’s favorite color is yellow, but he only wears it on days that he can barely get out of bed; Dustin says that like it’s a warning sign for the others “Steve has his yellow sweater on today,” explaining away his absence at the arcade that afternoon. Steve Henderson could have any girl he wants -- this factoid Eddie takes with a salt, lime, and tequila -- but he never goes on dates anymore and only hangs out with his best friend and coworker. Steve Henderson baked a brownie so good Jeff moaned in the middle of Hellfire but can only over or undercook pasta when he tries.

Dustin loves his brother. Dustin thinks he’s the worst person to ever grace this side of the planet.

That Eddie thinks is at least typical for siblings, barring the Byers who seem to be so close knit they’d put the Bradys to shame.

“Henderson, my man, why the long face? We’re about to begin the most dangerous leg of your quest yet!” Hellfire was getting a delayed start -- the drama club was actually using their prop closet, go figure -- it was just him and Henderson lurking outside so Eddie did have to find his fun where he could get it.

“Steve and Robin went up to Indianapolis and they’re gonna be gone the whole weekend.” And yeah, he probably could have guessed it was about big brother Henderson. Dusty has the cutest case of hero worship when he wasn’t wishing big brother dead. “They say they aren’t dating, and it’s just for her birthday, but a weekend trip seriously it screams romance.”

“And you’re mad they didn’t bring you?”

“I could have been out of the way! Do you know the kind of specialty tech shops they have up there? I need some things you can't get in Hawkins to improve Cerebro and it's twice as much to get them mail order. I could make myself scarce for a couple hours so they can get it on.

He smacks the bill of Dustin’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes, but nobly refrains from giving him a noogie, “Dusty if you ever want to pop your little Mormon girl’s cherry, maybe don’t say shit like ‘get it on.’”

“Suzie is an angel, don’t be crude, man.” Dustin’s hands are quick as they smack him away, that must be another little brother trait.

“An angel, huh, another point in the ‘girlfriend isn’t real’ category. How many imaginary friends do you have, kid? A girlfriend in Utah and a brother that no one but your party has seen.”

The rest of Hellfire starts to trickle in, having used their time waiting for their table more wisely than Eddie has. Dustin’s comment is delayed only momentarily as he says hi to the rest of the freshmen that he definitely saw only a few minutes ago. “For the record, Suzie is very real. And you…” It’s the way he trails off that makes Eddie nervous, the way a light goes on in his eyes that sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. His danger instincts are finely honed and that's the same, 'I'm smarter than you look' Henderson was wearing when he managed to sniff out half the traps Eddie had laid out last session. "You should meet Steve, I bet I could get him to pick us up next week instead of Nancy."

He thinks this must be what the raccoons behind the trailer park feel like. The obvious trap of the shiny silver cage that's been baited so sweet it's hard to resist walking in anyway. "Sure, Henderson, tell the mysterious brother to stop by. Have him bring one of those zines that definitely belongs to him."

Dustin is especially vicious as dispatches with every creature that Eddie throws at him that day. It’s hard to be that upset, he’s feeling pretty fat and happy sitting in whatever animal control rodent trap Henderson thinks he’s got him in.

The next week’s session comes in a haze of vague daydreams and intense session prep. He’s had Steve Henderson on the brain for so long that he all but forgot about his little tête-à-tête with Dustin the week before. Forgot if not for the way that Baby Henderson is vibrating at the Hellfire lunch table when Eddie arrives.

“Steve is coming to get us from Hellfire today!” Eddie personally thinks this doesn’t quite deserve the level of reaction that it’s getting, but Henderson is so worked up no one even needs to prompt him to keep him going. “He had to leave right after his weekend trip to go deal with lawyers and shit.”

“Are they still..?” Lucas trails off, he’s clearly concerned but for all that Eddie hates that the kid is looking down the barrel of jock life he is extremely emotionally adept.

“Mom and Steve both said it was handled now. They won’t answer me when I ask any questions.”

Ominous, everything about Steve Henderson was so fucking weird. A kid who didn’t exist all through high school, that he’s never seen in town, who has lawyers now?

“Maybe Hop could,” the kid started to ask, hopeful.

“Mom says that it’s Steve’s business and we should all stay out of it unless he asks for our help.” Will responds by rote, something he’s clearly already tried before.

“So the infamous Steve Henderson is going to grace us with his presence today?” Eddie knows the answer already, but like most of his vices he can't resist indulging.

"He's taking us all out for ice cream after," Dustin agrees, "you could come too Eddie, I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind!"

"Steve minds everything," Mike grouses.

"Steve always buys your triple scoop sundae."

Eddie thinks Steve Henderson would have elegant fingers. He thinks about how they might toy with the straw of his milkshake while he smiles, coy and teasing, at Eddie, who he's charmed by. This Steve lets Eddie snatch the cherry from his drink, blushes when he gets his stem returned tied in a knot by Eddie's tongue.

"Well if Steve is buying, who am I to refuse an invitation?"

He does not end Hellfire early because Steve Henderson is coming. 

He does, by pure coincidence, need to piss 15 minutes before things are set to wrap up. If that gives him enough time to clean himself up a bit that's just luck. This isn't for Steve Henderson.

His bathroom break, and definitely not pre-date primp session, puts him at the back of the pack when Steve Harrington's maroon beemer pulls into the lot. It feels a little bit like sophomore year again. When his hair was in another awkward stage of growing out and curled around his ears, he didn't have his mom to help him with the curls anymore and he didn't know what to do with them now that they seemed to twist and turn in new directions post-buzz. He caught the sweetest looking boy with puppy dog eyes staring and he'd been so embarrassed about getting caught he'd touched his own locks. Hairsprayed into oblivion and locked firmly into place the touch was ripped away and a shy, 'what can you do' smile was shared between the two of them. It feels a bit like junior year when Steve Harrington broke the keg stand record as a sophomore. Rounding the corner from tipsy into drunk or maybe bypassing it altogether for blackout, he wandered over into Eddie's domain. He had that same shy little wave, but a stronger confidence. He sidled up to Eddie and wrapped a curl around a finger. He tugged, just a bit, the way kids do when they want to see if it'll bounce back. "Yknow you'd be pretty if you were a girl." The slip slide of his definitely drunk tone didn't take Eddie out at the knees any less.

The car curves up closer to the front steps and Henderson is shaking like a rocket leaving Canaveral. He actually starts to take a step toward the still moving car when four hands clamp down on him saving Steve last-name-to-be-determined from a vehicular manslaughter charge. Eddie is the last to release him when he hears that car slide into park. The engine has barely had time to rumble to a stop before Steve Harrington is out of it. A toothy smile splits his face and, hidden behind Byers and Wheeler, Eddie watches as Steve Harrington proceeds to engage in the nerdiest fucking handshake he's ever seen. Steve Harrington finishes dying by what seems to be lethal lightsaber disembowelment and waves at the other three teens. 

"Alright let's rock n roll if you twerps want ice cream before I drop you off. Joyce will kill me if you're late."

"Steve, can Eddie come with us?"

As Henderson asks Eddie now sees the exact size and shape of the trap he is in. The actually dweeby, dungeon master and drug dealer forced to watch the hot, once cool older brother bow to the obligation of Midwestern courtesy now that he's been ambushed with Eddie's existence. Or worse he'll have to stand there and pretend to be unbothered while King Steve shoots both Hendersons hopes and Eddie's dreams in the face with one curled lip.

He never could have imagined the furrow of confusion between his brows. The way lips wrap themselves around his name, tasting it. He hadn't, in his many fantasies, pictured golden brown eyes though he often thought of them snapping up to him like they were now.

A rosy blush blooms across Steve's face. He has the same shy finger wave he did as a freshman. "Depends, Dust, are you gonna give up your shotgun dibs or are you gonna make your troop leader sit in the back with the rest of the Party.” 

He watches as if in slow motion as Henderson lunges for Steve, the elder is laughing as the younger wraps his arms around his neck. There is something very intensely attractive about the lingering jock of it all. How Steve is still upright even as his teenage brother dangles from his neck. “You know it’s Dungeon Master, you get it right with Erica!”

“I have a lot of respect for Erica, the things she does with goblins and kobolds is masterful. You asked me about the lead up to a trap so obvious it felt like an eagle scout showing his little cubbies poison ivy." It's bitchy and nerdy in all the best ways, and then Steve H- Steve looks up at him and winks, "No offense, Munson."

"None taken, Stevie." That seems to catch them both by surprise, the lack of a certain last name to fall back to -- and weeks of imagining what it might be like to interact with the guy who is and isn't right in front of him -- has Eddie overly familiar. "I drove here though." His van stands like a monolith alone in the middle of an empty parking lot.

"Oh."

"But I could meet you there? Are you going to the Dairy Queen by the library or the haunted one?"

"It's not actually haunted," Byers pipes in with frightening sincerity.

"But yeah, the haunted one," Steve says with a boy next door grin.

"Then I will meet you and your charges there Sir Henderson." He bows and only immediately regrets it, now that the once Harrington lord of the school is out of his line of sight. His brain feels like it could short out, faulty wires sparking against memories and daydreams and general hormones.

A sheepie he saved from the slaughter snorts, another - probably Mike - whispers "Gross." There's a grunt that Eddie hopes is the traitor catching an elbow from one of the others. 

But it doesn't. fucking. matter because Steve Whatever laughs, practically giggles at Eddie and his antics.

And Dustin's rocket has come in for a rough landing, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Steve's hand envelopes the top of Dustin's head, he nearly palms it. It's not quite a noogie, more like he shakes his head for him. "Dusty-bun, why would you regret introducing me to your Dork Mother?"

"I'm gonna tell Ma you're being a bitch again."

"She won't believe you, I'm her favorite." He shoots another wink toward Eddie, a joke he's being allowed in on.

Level headed Dustin Henderson, who explained to him, in depth, how getting overly emotional impairs higher level critical thinking, stomps his foot. "You're so full of shit."

"I am. She chose me, she got stuck with you."

"Steve!"

He laughs at the despair he's caused, ruffling cap covered hair again until Dustin stomps out of reaching distance to climb in the Beemer with the other boys. Brown eyes are bright with mischief when he looks to Eddie, and he's struck by a thought. He was right, he hadn't ever met Steve Henderson before today. This is not the same boy who sat in the cafeteria with a closed mouth smile listening to Tommy H. and Carol. "Let me walk you to your car?" He asks.

"It's right there, Stevie, and do you really want to leave that band of miscreants alone with your car?" He's playing with fire, but the fear of getting burned has never stopped him before. He leans in close, whispers, "They might steal it."

Steve pales, a haunted look in his eye. He shakes it off, squeezing his eyes shut tight,  and that soft smile slips across his face again. "Let me watch you leave then." That smile slides into a smirk, as he looks Eddie up and down.

He was right about getting burned, his face feels like it's on fire as he flees the scene. His tail is definitely not tucked between his legs because Steve is absolutely staring at his ass right now. He doesn't remember how walking is supposed to feel, but it's probably not like this. It would be embarrassing, the fact that he probably looks like a baby deer discovering he has knees for the first time, if it weren't more important that he makes sure each foot is planted so he doesn't acquaint himself with the ground below him. Safely encased in the van, he chances a look through the windshield and confirms that Steve is watching him.

He waves, and yeah it is gratifying to see the guy who at one point had half the girls in school fawning over him duck his head like he's embarrassed at getting caught staring. Sinclair leans up from the back seat, Eddie watches him clap Steve on the shoulder and make a comment on… something, probably him. It makes the rest of the car laugh and Steve thunk his head down on the steering wheel. The horn sounds, an echoing burst of noise that cuts off just as quickly as it starts when Steve jumps in his seat. The seat belt stops his jump short, and he sends another flustered wave Eddie's way when he notices him still watching.

Maybe he'll mention this to Little Red, his new neighbor has mentioned stealing young Henderson's brother and making him a Mayfield instead. A joke that makes a little more sense now. Sinclair has been making moon eyes at her and baby Hopper at lunch for the last week. That will be a better punishment than anything Eddie could do to him at the table.

He waves back at Steve, gives him his most winning smile -- the one he practiced in the mirror for charming pretty boys if he ever got out of the armpit of Indiana. Mimes driving like he's in a bad movie. Across twenty feet and two windows, he can't hear Steve laugh, needs to get to somewhere where he can. He can see the smile though, the dorky thumbs up.

He lets the Beemer pull out in front of him, watches it for just a moment as reality sets in. Reality. He's going to meet Steve Henderson for soft serve. It's a dream come true.

Arwen shifts into gear, and he slides out behind Steve and the sheepies. A whole new world of daydreaming unlocked.

Maybe next week Steve Henderson will let Nancy pick the kids up next week. He'll slip in the back doors of the school, unnoticed by everyone. Stealth bonus obscene for a fighter class. Eddie is moving slow as he moves minis and graph paper maps into the tackle box Wayne gave him, back to the door he misses his rogue slip through the door until he's already grappled.

"Was it a good game, Munson? You win?"

"It's not like one of your sports, Henderson, the wins aren't as clear cut."

Hands start to wander, "Isn't any time you pull one over on the Party kind of a victory?"

"In which case I do stand victorious, your sweet baby brother lost his brand new axe to a mimic."

"Hmm, you know what we used to do after a victory in my 'sports?'"

A hand has migrated to an especially interesting place. "What?"

"We'd hit the showers."

Eddie shakes himself out of the daydream, easing just the smallest bit harder onto the accelerator. He needs something to cool himself off with. He also really wants to see Steve again, to make up for lost time.

[midnightsun-if]

How would ROs react to a Mc who is off in their own little world just playing with the ROs' hand before slotting both their hands together and holding it, just looking happy with themselves and not noticing the ROs watching them?

Koda: "I like this."

The soft statement, pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to meet gentle whiskey brown as Koda offers you a broad grin, his large hand encapsulating your own. You hadn't even noticed that he had turned to you and, from the looks of the darkened screen, had shut off his movie in order to give you his attention.

"Like what?" Your mind finally catches up on the sudden conversation, tightening your grip on his hand. "Me zoning out during one of your favorite movies?"

His grin widens further. "No," he replies, the rumbling sound of his laugh reminded you of the bear that lurked within him. "I like that you feel comfortable enough around me to do so. It makes me feel good knowing that I can bring you that much peace."

Surging forward, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek, enjoying the way he takes the opportunity to turn into a hug. "Even if I should be paying attention?" You lay your head against his broad shoulder. "Turn the move back on, Koda. I know how much you enjoy this movie and I promised I'd give it a chance."

"I'd rather watch you any day."

Scarlett: You're startled from your thoughts when a delicate kiss is pressed to the inside of your wrist, you hadn't realized that you had zoned out that much, wherein you hadn't even been able to notice that Scarlett had shifted closer. Though that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Scarlett made you feel more serene than you had ever felt before, a steady rock in the whirling storm, welcoming arms after years at sea, the feeling of home all wrapped up in one person-- all of this ensured that you ended up drifting off to the whims of your mind, surrounded by the presence of the woman you love.

"Penny for your thoughts, my heart?"

The raspy chuckle intertwined with the question, coupled with the sparkling glint within viridescent eyes, causes your face to heat up in slight embarrassment. "Wasn't really thinking," you admit, rubbing the back of your neck ruefully. "Was just off in my own little world, I suppose." You angle your head to get a better look at her, well aware that she hadn't let go of your hand, choosing to rub her thumb across your knuckles soothingly instead, and it causes a warm feeling to settle within your chest. "What were you doing?"

"Staring at mine."

Cyrus/Cyra: It's not one singular thing that pulled you from your thoughts, nor was it anything super apparent, but something had been tugging at your mind in order to get you back into the present, to become aware of your surroundings once more. It's only when you turn your head and meet gentle golden eyes that the reason became apparent, the loving smile curling their lips filled you with warmth and a familiar tug of affection at your heartstrings.

"Were you just going to continue staring at me as I played with your fingers?" You ask, a teasing note in your tone. "Or would you have stopped me at some point?"

They tilt their head, pale blonde hair shimmering in the light. "Why would I do that, my flame? You're quite the bewitching sight to behold. I don't see why I would deprive myself from something so beautiful?"

You roll your eyes, fondness settling within your body like a soothing balm to your soul. "One of these days you're going to get bored of staring at me, Cy."

"I don't think that could ever happen; I was made to look at you like the Sun was meant to look upon the Moon."

Quinn: "Having fun there?"

You shouldn't be as startled as you were, if you're being honest, as Quinn's presence hadn't exactly slipped your mind, but your body still gave a light jolt regardless. Something that elicits a gentle chuckle from the wolf at your side, sapphire blue eyes watching you with utmost affection. It's only now, as their familiar warmth spreads up your arm, that you realize you had intertwined their hand with your own.

"Sorry," you apologize, angling your head to look at them better on the couch. "Didn't realize I zoned out that much."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Quinn soothes. "Do I look like someone that needs one? I'm quite content where I am."

"Are you sure?" It's something you can't help but ask, to make sure that Quinn didn't mind simply sitting back and relaxing on the couch -- not when you knew that they had planned to go for a hike through the forest. "I don't want to keep you from where you wish to be."

"The only way you'd be able to do that is if you left my side."

Caden: "I-I should p-put on some gloves."

It's a statement so out of left field that you're instantly aware of your surroundings, and the panicking phantom that was looking down at your intertwined hands with growing concern.

"W--" You clear your throat. "What? Why would you need to put on gloves?"

Pale silver eyes look almost doe-like in their worry. "I don't wish for you to get cold. I know it can't be the most comfortable thing to be touching me for this long." Caden dips their head, dark curls falling across their forehead haphazardly. "I should put on some gloves."

You flex your fingers around theirs, fully aware at the cool feeling against your own skin, but it wasn't overall unpleasant, especially not when you could feel Caden skin-to-skin. "I don't mind it, Caden," you soothe, a gentle smile on your lips. "But if you'd like to let me go then I won't hold it against you."

"That's the last thing I could ever want."

Sloane: Their hand tightens around your own, pulling you from your thoughts, as you suddenly find yourself tugged into their side, the smell of smoke and something inherently them surrounding you, as they settle back into their own spot; either completely oblivious, or ignoring, your confused stare. However, as you knew they would, Sloane soon broke as they had never enjoyed being stared at.

"Why are you starin' at me?" They huff, finally leveling you with a look. "Do I have something on my face?"

A smile upturns your lips. "No. I'm just curious why you decided to cuddle." You smooth a hand over their abdomen, crinkling the fabric of their old band-tee slightly, as their own arm tightens around your shoulders. "Since we're in the living room, out in the open, don't you have a rep to protect?"

It's an old joke, one borne from finally getting them to watch Grease 2 with you, but Sloane simply peers down at you with an undecipherable expression, before they lean forward to press a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

"The only thing that I have to protect is in my arms right now."

Blake: You almost jump out of your skin when Blake settles firmly into your side, their arm wrapped snugly around your waist, head firmly planted on your shoulder. "You're too cute, angel." They poke your cheek, violet eyes peering up at you through thick lashes. "Don't you know that I can't keep my hands off of you when you act like that?"

Having known Blake for as long as you have, although getting used to the romantic aspect of your relationship was still new, you were well versed in the confusion they could cause, but even this took that cake. Something that must have shown clearly on your face as Blake's smirk only broadens further.

"What are you on about, Herrera?" You shake your head, careful not to dislodge them all the same. "Act like what?"

"Like I'm someone worth holding onto."

Reginald/Regina: "Do you want to watch something else?"

A gentle tug to your hand brings you from your thoughts, the sounds of fighting becoming more apparent as the movie played on, but gentle blue-green eyes held you captive: the easy way they hadn't let go of your hand, simply interweaving your fingers together more firmly, or the depth of the affection within the turbulent waves of their gaze, causes your breath to catch.

"If this isn't your cup of tea, I'll be more than happy to watch something else." They incline their head towards the television, a wry smile on their lips. "Cause if you're not enjoying this movie, I don't think you'll enjoy it when we get to the prequels."

You shake your head. "No, I want to keep watching." Even if it was only to see the passionate gleam in your favorite pair of eyes as they watched the screen. "Just got caught up in my own head for a bit, but I'm good." Attempting to lighten the mood, you tease. "I'm surprised you were able to notice, I know how involved you get with these movies."

"Never to the point where I wouldn't notice you."

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette was an extremely simple person, or at least that was how Juleka saw it. It wasn't a bad thing, but she was an open book in every aspect of life. If she was feeling an emotion, you knew, and if she was crushing on someone, you knew. She couldn't keep a secret to save her life and every thought burst forth from her chest like it was a—

...well, like something Juleka saw in a horror movie once but wouldn't repeat to Marinette, lest the girl get nauseous at the imagery. The point was that Marinette was simply Marinette and anyone who knew her for more than a few days knew exactly who she was.

That was why Juleka didn't think anything when she caught Luka and Marinette together. It'd been another day at the Liberty and she was heading below deck when she caught sight of them.

Luka was lounging at the edge of the couch, one hand behind his head and the other tapping a melody on the couch. That was normal when he wanted to relax rather than play, but Marinette had her sketchbook on his chest and was lounging on his stomach. Her elbows were on the couch at his sides, keeping herself propped up while she sketched.

Maybe they didn't feel like sitting but still wanted to talk face-to-face, or Luka was just a better table than the one they did have? Juleka couldn't imagine it was comfortable, and Marinette even occasionally rolled over to put her back to Luka's stomach, raising the sketchbook up to talk to him about whatever she'd drawn. He looked on, nodding along and saying things Juleka couldn't hear.

She got what she came down for, somehow without being noticed, and decided that there wasn't any need to think about the relationship the two had. If there was anything between Marinette and Luka, Marinette wouldn't have been able to stop talking about it to her and the girls later. She had one, singular reaction to dealing with a crush - or dealing with anything, really - which was flustered panic.

The thought didn't stop her from regretting that she'd yet to try the position with Rose.

——

From what Juleka had understood, Marinette's guitar lessons with Luka had gone well. She came over every now and then for a lesson, then left an hour or so later. Juleka herself had never seen any of their lessons before, but Luka was on deck with her one day when Marinette arrived. It was a gorgeous, sunny day that made Juleka want to flee below deck, but she was still waiting for Rose to arrive.

She also wasn't paying much attention to what Luka and Marinette were saying until partway through.

"What if we did it without the guitar this time?" Marinette asked, gesturing to the instrument in question.

Luka glanced down at his guitar, then at her. Smiling, he set it off to the side, welcoming her right into his lap like she belonged there.

She stretched an arm out, seeming to imitate the guitar's neck. "Is this how it feels to be your guitar?"

"I don't know." He hummed, amusement in his voice. His left hand settled somewhere between her chest and stomach while his other went up to grip her outstretched hand. "How would I play you?"

She leaned her back against him, genuinely thinking that over. Squinting in displeasure, she wondered, "Do I have to sing? I didn't practice."

Their idle banter(?) continued from there while Juleka stared unblinkingly at them. Of course, she'd seen Marinette sandwiched between Luka and his guitar before, but never on his lap and having forgone the guitar entirely. It was also just occurring to Juleka that Luka had never interacted with a girl like this, nor had Marinette with a boy. Marinette had girl friends and then a handful of guys who were technically friends despite her not really hanging out with them.

But maybe that was it. Juleka simply wasn't used to seeing Luka have one-on-one time with a girl who was a friend, same as seeing Marinette have one-on-one time with a boy who was a friend. It was a simple answer to a simple question, and besides that, Luka would've told her had something been going on.

Then, Rose finally strolled onto the Liberty, ignoring Luka and Marinette entirely to plop down onto Juleka's lap. She opened her scrapbook excitedly, drawing Juleka's attention with a point of her finger as she started showing off her recent additions to it. "Look! I found this one when we were little and it was so cute that I just had to put it here!"

Hm.

——

It wasn't long before Juleka caught them again, though "caught" was perhaps a strong word when they didn't seem to be trying to hide anything. She'd just been going below deck to retrieve some of her make-up from her side of the room, but she already heard their voices before she entered.

"No way!" Marinette burst out, sounding a mixture of surprised and entertained. "They just—broke it? In front of everyone?"

"Mhm~" Luka chuckled, an exaggeratedly sad melody following. "It wasn't the kind they wanted."

"Ugh." She scoffed. "Creative people are so dramatic."

They laughed just as Juleka peeked into the room to look at them. Marinette was sitting up on Luka's bed, back facing the flower-patterned curtain, whereas Luka was laying down the length of the bed, head resting on Marinette's lap and his guitar on his stomach. A bowl of chips was nearby, Marinette picking one up to offer to Luka.

"You don't need to feed me," he told her, even though he opened his mouth anyway to accept.

Her fingers brushed his lips as she dropped the chip inside. "Then you wouldn't be able to touch your guitar."

He played a happy note in response, too busy chewing to thank her verbally.

"Well?" she prompted eagerly, her bouncing in place limited only by him on her lap. "Tell me the rest! What happened next?"

Juleka turned away, having already forgotten what she'd gone there for. Had she wanted to join in, she could've chimed in to finish the story herself or walked by and casually added the next part.

Though, that would've required her to know the rest of the story. Luka hadn't told her anything about it and, in retrospect, he never really talked about what went on with him at all. It wasn't that Juleka was never curious, she'd just never asked.

Luka was her brother and the older twin between the two of them. They were two sides of the same quiet coin, Juleka rarely speaking out because she was afraid to and Luka because he only talked when he felt he needed to. He never asked for anything, always helped the moment it was requested of him, and was more of a listener than a talker.

There was only one exception for Juleka where she really felt like she could open up without fear.

"Hey, you're back!" Rose sat up with a start on the two-seater, gaze diverted away from her phone as Juleka came back into her view. She waved rapidly, phone pressed against her chest and beckoning Juleka closer with her mere presence.

"Mm, I'm back," Juleka confirmed, sitting down next to her. "What were you looking at?"

"You're gonna love it!" Rose squealed, squishing herself against Juleka's side as she presented the phone to her. She tapped on the screen, showing that she was on a local jewelry store's website. The site had been opened to a particular page, showing off a bracelet, and Rose was ecstatic to explain, "We could get matching bracelets! See? It's got little roses and jewels!" Facing Juleka, Rose pointed to herself to say, "rose," then pointed at Juleka and enunciated, "and jewel-eka! Isn't it perfect?!"

"Rad." Juleka beamed at her, thoroughly charmed. It was still hard to show affection in public, but whenever it was just her and Rose, she felt all of her walls drop like they were in their own little world. Chloe always referred to her as the "creepy, quiet girl" as an insult, and while part of her kind of liked the title, it still hurt, and couldn't blame other people for seeing her as such. Her brother would probably describe it as something like, "It's hard to get your audience to hear the song in your heart over everyone else's, but if you're playing to someone who wants to listen, they'll hear every beat of it."

Juleka froze, a lightbulb going off in her head. ...Oh.

"Juuuuleka?" Rose frowned, waving her hand in front of Juleka's face. Once she had her attention back, she added apologetically, "I know the jewels aren't black. M-maybe we can paint them!" Then, she deflated, realizing, "I guess they wouldn't be sparkly anymore, but... glitter!" She perked back up. "We can use glitter!"

Juleka hummed, wrapping her arms around Rose and pulling her into a cuddle without prompting. "Sounds cool."

Rose gasped, kicking her legs out in excitement. "I told you you'd like it!"

She turned to squeeze Juleka back, blatantly unaware of the thoughts in her head. Juleka was content with that, knowing that Rose would be there whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

Maybe Marinette wasn't as simple as she thought after all.

Maybe Luka had more to say, but hadn't found the right person to listen to him until now.

And maybe their relationship wasn't anyone's business except their own.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with People (2023)

Jonathan Bailey could have gone in any direction after his runaway success as the male romantic lead in Bridgerton'ssecond season.

But choosing to play a gay man opposite Matt Bomer in Showtime's Fellow Travelers, another romantic period drama — this one spanning the 1950s Joseph McCarthy communist trials to the 1980s AIDS crisis — was a "no-brainer" for the British actor.

"I had looked for these gay stories, a sweeping gay love story, and I hadn't really seen them," Bailey, 35, tells PEOPLE in this week's issue. "This ticked every single box, and it's something I know I'll be proud of for the rest of my career."

Bailey first grabbed the attention of TV viewers with his breakthrough performance as Anthony Bridgerton, the proud, surly viscount on Shonda Rhimes's sudsy Regency-era drama Bridgerton.

Starring in one of Netflix's most popular shows has been transformative for Bailey, who previously had mostly divided his time between British TV and theater roles.

"Having always waited for auditions and projects to come, I just have that footing now to have choices, which is incredible and so special, because it's not a very common thing," he says. "I have a responsibility therefore not to waste that."

Raised in Benson, England by his father Stuart, a managing director at a honey supplier, and his mother Carole, who worked several jobs to help make ends meet and pay for dance and music lessons for her son and his three older sisters, Bailey found school intimidating.

The actor was 11 when he realized he might be gay, and he sought refuge in his family, the theater and his best friend.

"It's a pretty common story that school is terrifying, especially in a world where people don't understand or the teachers and children don't understand LGBTQ+ identities and experiences," he shares. "But the superpower of being on the outside looking in means that when you're older, you are drawn to storytelling and creatives who are singular and exciting. And I think queer people have a real strength to them, which could be celebrated."

Fellow Travelers certainly celebrates the LGBTQ+ community through its ambitious, decades-long narrative and queer stars. The biggest, most exciting draw for Bailey was his character Tim Laughlin's "expansive arc," evolving from a closeted political staffer in the 1950s to an out-and-proud activist in the 1980s.

"It's explored more, his journey and the expanse of it, more than any other character," Bailey says. "But I think, with Tim, he's constantly searching within himself. He's constantly torn between his identity, the truth about his identity and the stories that he's been told, whether it be by religion, by the government, by his parents or society. So it's thrilling to be able to constantly be torn between two places."

Working alongside Bomer, 46, helped Bailey bring Fellow Travelers to life.

Bomer, who also served as an executive producer on Fellow Travelers, was "a total joy" to work with, recalls Bailey, who meshed well with the White Collar actor right from the start — from their Zoom screen test to their "pregame coffee" five days before they began shooting.

"We both had quite a lot of experience in our careers of intimacy and portraying intimacy, but there's also just so much we've experienced as gay men, as well. So naturally, we had a lot to explore," he says, adding, "To honor the canon of gay storytelling is totally what I set out to do. So if it [Fellow Travelers] is 'up there,' then I'm really happy."

Source

[thecoffeelorian]

Chapter Title:  The Challenge

Word Count:  1,550 words

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest)

Synopsis:  When your father declares there will be no marriages for your younger sister until you yourself are wedded first, you assume that’s his way of keeping her single forever.  Little do you know, you just might be about to go on the first real adventure of your life…and, more curiously, you might not be going alone.  (Slightly inspired by W. Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew” with just a hint of "10 Things I Hate About You" for extra funsies.)

AO3: Link Here

Additional Notes: ...Yes, I'm reposting this because I got so far behind the first time around, I decided to just plain start over so that I could look at this story with fresh eyes. Hope it's not too late for me. Also, my profound thanks for helping me get to 200 followers as of this morning. :D

The No-Pressure Tag List: @trixie2023 @nerfpuncher @burningfieldof-clover @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main and anybody else still reading my stuff.

They’re at it again. The same two young men who have been coming here for the past three rotations, and all because they want nothing more than a moment alone with your baby sister, if not she also with one of them.  That’s the vibe you get as you slip past them and their entreaties, through the long corridor, and up the somewhat longer staircase leading to the upper floor of your home for some much-needed privacy.  Thankfully, they’ve decided to ignore your presence so far, because otherwise, you would be stuck down there having to deal with their whining and their begging about Briana.

Not that they’re really all that interested in “Brainy Bri” in the first place, but of course, that’s the last thing on your mind now. You’ve got bigger plans to deal with, or so you keep telling yourself before you get spotted by someone else within.  In fact, at twenty years of age, you thought you might have finally found your way off of a planet that holds no more warmth for you.  

Your mother had finally left this world after three months in an end-of-life facility, but only close behind five years of dealing with the terminal illness that came with creating and testing ion cannons. Sometimes you can still see her face in your memory from time to time, provided you close your eyes and concentrate first.  Sometimes you also fear becoming just like her if you end up staying on this planet rather than leaving.  In any case, though, if you were to suddenly disappear, she wouldn’t be around to try and convince you to return.

Your father, subsequently, had ceased to be able to look you in the face, no doubt because you reminded him of the woman he had so recently lost, as well as the responsibilities that came with being a widower.  The least of which, seemingly, had been paying off a few key debts in order to guarantee none of you would have to beg for your next meal…or so he told you.  He would probably not pay your disappearance much attention, either, all thanks to his current…‘projects’.

And as for your younger sister, she certainly could have cared less about you even if a Sarlacc swallowed you tomorrow.  Thanks to the usual tenets of your shared Chalindran culture, Briana’s upbringing and quiet demeanor has all but handed her a gleaming marriage proposal on a silver serving tray.  Your mother’s funeral was the very first place you had spotted her future suitors, the first being the only son of an Admiral; the second, the firstborn son of a Senator from the Mid Rim.  Either one would be more than acceptable in the girl’s eyes as well as Father’s, for not only had she grown past the minimum age of fifteen cycles, she was also just so eager to please whatever young fellow crossed her path.

(How disgusting.)

She was quite the opposite of you, perhaps, considering you had begun turning away from your lone surviving parent and eligible bachelors in general at almost the exact same time, as well as letting them know exactly what was on your mind the moment they began pushing for a 'meeting’. Maybe even a little too strongly at times, like…the time a few of your old crystal figurines had just happened to be let loose against your bedroom wall after that young doctor from Coruscant tried to offer you a drink at lunch.

(At least one Chandrilan doctor had thought themselves smart enough to eradicate your mother’s cancer.  Turns out, the cancer begged to differ.)

The second time, the silk collector from Naboo had found himself introduced to your carved wooden bench the moment he had offered to buy your late mother’s gowns at half the price she had originally paid for them.  Needless to say, he ended up with nothing in either sense.

(Probably a good thing, considering she had promised some of them to you before she’d gone.)

The third time, however, had been the one that got every Chandrilan within hearing range looking at you sideways from that rotation forward, if not also leaving you a wide berth whenever you left the safety of your house and surrounding green.  That had been the same day your father let it slip that he’d applied you to the University of Coruscant without your knowledge or, for that matter, your consent.  That had also been the same day that your grief and resentment of the past few months finally bubbled out of you, leading you to reveal not only your own applications to the universities of Naboo, Alderaan, and Pantora in that precise order, but also the long-awaited acceptance letter from Naboo with the Queen’s own stamp of approval attached.  

And so, after that great argument in which you accused your father of keeping you on too tight a leash, you yourself were accused of the worst ingratitude ever befitting a daughter, and half of your best crystal service ended up shattered upon the ground…you had spent the following three weeks planning your escape.

This will be the same escape where, as long as you gather up all the credits left over from your weekly allowances and sneak out unnoticed, you’ll eventually make it out of Chandrila’s space ports and get yourself on your way to Theed.

Lucky for you, you’ve already made a skill out of sneaking off the grounds, so one more trip beyond your father’s fences should be the easiest thing ever.

This is what brings you tiptoeing back down the stairs just as the boys are arguing with Father himself, no doubt ready to interrogate him on just why he’s decided to keep Briana on the same short leash as you are.  Heh.  The poor little lost puppies, begging for a treat from their master. Their sad eyes certainly match those of hungry baby mastiffs, all right,  or so you think as you draw nearer to the gate.

It’s here that Father decides to liven up the competition between these two, or so it sounds to you as you slip past the three of them.

“…Yes, gentlemen, I do insist.  There will be no meetings, betrothals, or anything of the sort with Briana until a husband is found for Y/N!”

A husband.  Ha. Small chance of that happening, if not at all, you think, barely registering the groans and protests of the younger boys in the distance.  You’ve managed to scare most of your prospects off with your brilliant disposition alone, give or take a few damaged articles of furniture.  Not that you’re complaining, of course.  If anything, it just makes leaving home a lot easier.

“So, since both of you can’t get engaged to Briana, perhaps one of you would be willing to introduce yourself to Y/N instead…?”

That’s not going to happen any time soon, either, if the blatant denials you hear right before you slip outside tell you anything.  

Apparently, at least one of them has already claimed that you’re far too dangerous to even say hello to, let alone attempt to flirt with or even court.  That’s perfectly fine with you, though, because neither one of them ever showed enough kriffing intellect to pique your interest, let alone any noticeable kindness, or courage, or willingness to try and deal with the social ills evident in your part of the galaxy.  And even if they did, it would take a lot more than a pretty face, a large bank account, and just the right amount of moral teachings to convince you to give any of them a second look.  

So, as you lift the hood of your poncho into place and throw the strap of your traveling bag over one shoulder, you can’t help but observe that any quick fix your father hoped to arrange today will evaporate the moment he, Briana, or either one of those suitors end up finding you missing…but only if they catch you first.

Which, of course, you don’t plan on allowing to happen.  

No, you’ve planned everything down to the last detail, beginning with your silent ascent into your room to gather up your supplies and then ending the moment you make use of the nearest garren tree to climb successfully over the fence, finally landing quietly upon the ground outside. Neither your family nor any of your household staff have suspected a thing, and even if one of them managed to catch a glimpse of you, you’ve already sworn them to secrecy from your father and sister alike.

This brings a smug grin to your face as you begin your walk down to the space port, your credits and passport safe inside your bag as you go along.  He’s not going to decide your future any more, and she can flirt with her suitors as much as she wants without flaunting it in your face.  

You, on the other hand, will be enjoying your first breath of Naboo air long before they ever manage to locate you, and probably enjoying the grand tour of the university campus besides.

Or, at least…that’s the last thought on your mind, right before a pair of dark, probing eyes suddenly find their way to yours.

[dnangelic]

Does Daisuke have a preference in sports or physical activity beyond his usual phantom thief shenanigans? Does Dark enjoy anything similar?

@remunporium

hmmm! i can give a few different forms of answers to this so let me start by saying in any sort of school / public setting daisuke usually tries to hide his physical capabilities as a phantom thief. there are things like his grades in PE being poor or himself landing really nasty falls when he could easily save himself because he's always trying so hard to not look conspicuous, but he also gets caught up in things like being picked for active roles in school stageplays/performances that requires stunts anyways, so he "flubs" up practice nonstop then does perfectly fine during the real thing.

these are just examples of him sucking on purpose though (and sometimes he really does suck on clumsy accident, like not paying attention and falling flat on his face, or falling flat on his face because he's stealing someone's wallet back from a pickpocket,) obviously he's got stellar acrobatic capabilities overall and has a surprising amount of strength for someone with his build, (this post covers it well, really, nobody's allowed to forget daisuke climbed an entire ferris wheel with his bare hands lmao) but if it's an actual sport you want to see him enjoying, then he's probably going to pick swimming.

group oriented activities generally stress him out, and frankly he'd probably stress out any group he was with too - he's got that sad, awkward 'last kid picked for PE' energy and always does all his heists alone!! this rules out 99% of sports for him. swimming does away with all of that group necessity, and he's canonically a good swimmer too- has to be since his parents trained him for anything. (even though thanks to transforming and wiz trying to cover for him, everybody at his school thinks he almost drowned one time.)

most of daisuke's physical 'skills' he feels only should apply to his 'work,' so on top of the social anxiety ruling out, the range of things he enjoys doing alone is left extremely small - and really, if he actually has that much freetime and is feeling restless, (daisuke is almost always sleep deprived, he should be asleep, just like me fr) then he's probably going to be flying, which is also dark's preference outside of pulling a heist.

dark needs the thrill of pursuit on occasion, but on others he and/or daisuke just want to cruise. azumano is beautiful, and it's even more beautiful from above, so as the freaks(singular) with wings they'll just go for a nighttime flight in the sky, sometimes heading over to tokyo since that's where a lot of daisuke's friends (as in, my muts' muses,) are, and it's supposed to be close by. (azumano is a fictional province, but it's imagined around east japan, not too north or south.) otherwise, dark has even less interest than daisuke in actively participating in sports or anything; he's never gotten to try anything in the past and he doesn't expect himself to ever be able to anytime soon, so it's a moot point for him.

he's still, of course, very flashy and plainly skillful anytime he does manage to get his hands on something to mess around with - for example, hand him a basketball and he can keep it spinning on a single finger without any trouble, he can juggle quite literally anything, and he had no issue twirling a glass shoe around on his finger for fun while he chat with someone else in one of the light novels or catching arrows with his bare hands or dodging piano strings laced up in some woods purely by ear. dancing, forms of it like ballroom, waltz and tango would be something he could deeply enjoy --- but those require a partner, and that loops back to him not usually having the freedom to pursue any of that.

that's about it, i think. dark n daisuke's jock alignments are very very low LOL but that's because their heists nearly kill them all the time and push their physical capabilities to the extreme! if it's not the usual phantom thief shenanigans then this boy should be in bed, but sometimes you'll see him in the sky anyways because what's the point of bearing the burden of black wings if you can't indulge in the occasional gift and itch of flight. 🦅

[yanban-san]

I had a dream about the Demon Submas brothers seeing their Darling with bruises or even a split lip or something, from one of the few times they were too distracted by something else to be actively watching her- like perhaps a "problem" they had to deal with, like Elesa saw that one time.

They're freaking out, furious that something had DARED to harm their Darling, she seems so tired too! When she speaks her voice cracks and is hoarse, like she'd been screaming her lungs out! What an ordeal she must have gone through! Ingo is the one who can keep it together well enough to be able to ask her what happened...

And this is how they find out Darling is a closet metalhead who can and will go ballistic in a good mosh pit and thinks a great time consists of getting absolutely bodied in one of those things where two walls of people charge at each other and collide in the middle. Where being picked up and put on a stranger's shoulders to fist-fight someone else in the middle of the mosh is a Good Time.

Like, there's Darling just sitting there with a cup of tea and dressed modestly like you'd expect her wild nights to be visiting the library or getting a cup of coffee, and she's just casually saying "Oh, yeah, I had tickets to a death metal concert. Sodomy Lobotomy's gigs are always crazy, I think I broke a few ribs at one I went to last year. Good times!"

The brothers were so, so confused, relieved and concerned all at once.

This is hilarious to me Anon; I don't personally listen to heavy metal or anything (Metal gives me the anxiety) But like...

It's moshin' time

adsjf good stuff

Tags: Demon/Monster AU, Fluff

CW: Slight hypnosis/Demon mind-bending stuff , no NSFW though

------

They were distraught.

For one night- For one, singular night-

They had had to take their eyes off of you. Another Eldritch Demon was getting a little too close for their comfort, evidently snooping around as to why the great Kudari and Nobori had suddenly decided to abandon their abode and dwell among mere mortal humans-

It needed to be dealt with, of course- Aaand it may've taken a fair bit more time and effort than they'd originally intended to take- But no matter! Gear Station was safe, as were you- And no one was any wiser. They returned to their abode, ensuring you were okay; And you were. It was the early morning hours and you'd be getting up soon, so they prepared for your arrival at Gear Station instead! Happy to greet their beloved little soulmate, to talk to you, to hear you speak to them...!

Ingo was particularly happy- It was, after all, him who finally managed to kill their bastard nosy neighbor before it would manage to tear apart the fabric of time and space in this reality. If you'd known, you'd be hugging him tightly and thanking him, wouldn't you? He closed his eyes as his mind drifted to fluffy daydreams- Humans could be very cute worrying over little things. Would you fret and fawn over him and Emmet if you'd known they'd been in a life or death battle just a few hours ago? Kissing his face, asking if he was wounded, asking if he wanted to hold you, anything to make him feel better- Maybe you'd bring in some sweet or something for the Depot Agents that he could steal a taste of.

Yes, you'd be very sweet for him- Emmet was thinking similar thoughts, though he intended to act a little on them- You wouldn't mind if he hugged you a little more than usual today, would you? Of course not, of course not! And if he told you of how he'd nearly gotten electrocuted on the train tracks, maybe you'd fret over him- You were so cute when you worried over him, paying attention to him-!

Until you did arrive at Gear Station.

Agent Ramses was your supervising agent today, which... would be interesting. Ramses was not one for liking to supervise anyone or anything; He was much more an engineer than a baby sitter, and you were... quite a baby to him, the way his bosses coddled you. It didn't matter to him that you were their precious soul-whatever, just that you could do your work well! He'd be shoving you off onto Jackie, or maybe even making you do inspection work with the Bosses themselves- Yeah, that could work- As quickly as possible. Just anything to get you out of his hair for the day-

"M-morning, sir." You remarked weakly, raising your hand in a salute.

Ramses looked over you, feeling his blood turn cold and his stomach drop.

Your face-

You had tried to cover it with makeup, but there was a strange cut on your cheek- Not to mention your busted up lip. And your voice. He was used to hearing it much louder- and much more chipper. Your arm quivered as you held it up, and you dropped it much quicker than normally; Evidently hurting to raise it even as much as you had to for the salute.

"Good morning, Miss- You feeling alright this morning?"

"Eh, a little tired- But otherwise- g-good!" You smiled weakly. "A-Am I to report to the Bosses this morning?"

"Of course, But-"

"Alright, I'll be right, b-back!" You waved and walked away fast- Faster than Ramses could stop you.

"What's the matter, Ramses? You look as pale as Lord Emmet's coat."

Ramses turned to Jackie, who'd just walked up- Evidently expecting that he'd want to get you off his back as soon as possible. Though Jackie did not like the expression written on his coworker's face-

"Their- The Bosses'- uh, that- that girl-" He stuttered out, evidently at a loss for words-

"Slow down there, Ramses- What's wrong with the Lady?"

"She's-She's been injured, Jack."

And Jackie adopted the same horrified expression that Ramses' face portrayed.

Oh no.

Well, the Depot Agents would certainly pity- Or well, probably not- the fool who'd touched you.

Emmet and Ingo were blissfully unaware of any problem- They were simply eagerly awaiting your arrival. Emmet reacted first when he heard the door swing open, practically jumping up from his desk to greet you; His cute, sweet little love-!

Until he got a better look at your face.

The smile Emmet wore faltered, and his eyes went wide as he looked at you closely.

"G-good morning-! Er, Sir?" You remarked, cursing yourself silently- Your voice was still so strained and hoarse... Noticing how Emmet's face fell- He looked like he'd seen a ghost, for goodness' sake. Surely you didn't look that bad, right?

...What had happened to you, Emmet thought? Your precious, beautiful face- a cut there, your lip red and swollen slightly- And your voice sounding like-

Who had done such a thing to you? Who would dare touch you-

Emmet felt his blood boil- Or at least, what could be considered his blood. The scum that had touched you- The absolute filth- He would raze Unova if he had to to find the bastard- The thoughts running through his mind turning to darker and darker violence- Whom would he have to kill- No no, killing was too light a punishment-

You weren't exactly sure what Emmet was suddenly thinking- the way his expression went from shocked to sad to- something dark. It was difficult to place it, but suddenly you felt rather scared.

Ingo wasn't much better off, but luckily, he'd moved behind you- The shadow cast on his face from his cap darkened impossibly so, shadowing his face- His eyes glaring out with a silver light, leering at you painfully. Who- Who had dared to hurt you-?

He needed to find out immediately.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" He asked, trying to maintain his calm-

"O-Oh, I'm f- fine, S-sir..." You tried to speak, but your voice was still hoarse and you were evidently trying to hide something from them- Why were you having so much difficulty speaking? You sounded like you'd been screaming your lungs out...

Had your attacker driven you to such terror, Emmet wondered?

It nearly broke Ingo's heart- His shadows coiled under your shirt, around your arms and legs- Feeling your injuries- Was that a broken rib?! And not only that, you were trying to hide it from them- Why? Why? Did you not trust them? Did you think they'd be angry at you? No, no, no no no!

All thoughts of your comfort were out of their mind- You evidently needed comforting, far more than they did, fragile little human that you were- Who had nearly killed you? Who'd hurt you? Who must they obliterate for you?

Emmet felt something strange pricking at his eyes- His vision growing bleary with tears. Of course he would cry- His beloved little Darling Soulmate, precious and sweet and wonderful and innocent and cute and everything else-

Had nearly died while they had been trying to protect you.

What sort of eldritch-whatever-they-are were they if they had failed in their one, sworn duty? To protect you? What would be left if they returned to Nimbasa, only to be greeted by you in an emergency room or worse, already dead? They'd spent so long seeking you out- They'd have to return to the void, waiting for any glimmer into where your soul had ended up next, or even worse, another Eldritch Demon could've gotten to you-

No, absolutely not.

They would simply have to increase their security around you. More protection, they'd have their servitors tail you even outside the station- Why had they not assigned them to guard you while they were gone? They'd assumed the protective charms around Gear Station and around your apartment would be more than enough!

How stupid of them.

Never again.

"D-Dear," Ingo began as he turned to face you, his voice notably darker- Low toned and intensely serious, as he looked you over. "Who- How did you get that injury on your face?"

You smiled sheepishly- Was that what they were worried about? Granted, you'd tried to cover up your bruises- But you couldn't exactly hide all of your injuries. They'd probably reprimand you for putting yourself in danger- But it's not like it'd impede your work! Well actually, what you'd been doing last night would have impeded your work- But Jackie had refused your request for time off today, and so in you came; Though you were in a lot of pain, it was your own darn fault.

"Well, Sir... It's nothing much, I was just, uh-" You adjusted the cap on your head, a blush of embarrassment spreading across your face as your two bosses leaned ever closer to you. "I was at a... uh, rock concert."

"A- A concert?"

Emmet closed his eyes for a second.

"There were no rock concerts happening last night." He suddenly said- You flinched. Could he not just- accept the little white lie? You were at a concert, but- You weren't going to admit just what band you'd actually gone to see!

"No, no- I- did go to see a concert last night, it was a music concert! It uh, the band wasn't actually rock though, it was uh, something else."

"What something else?" Emmet asked- His smile bright- His eyes seeming to almost sparkle in the light of the office. You stared back at him.

Maybe, you thought- You can tell them the truth.

Yes. That sounded like a good idea, suddenly.

You reached in your pocket and handed Ingo a small piece of paper- For a... rock concert?

Ingo stared at it in confusion, a new look of concern dawning on his face.

"S-Sodomy... Lobotomy?" He remarked, his voice dripping with anxious bewilderment. He knew what those words meant- What they meant in combination he couldn't even begin to imagine, and the imagery in the background of the ticket reminded him of several Eldritch demons he'd seen before- Weaker ones, of course, but- Why on Earth did you have... whatever this was?

"Well, Sir... I... actually really like their music, and they were performing last night, so I decided to splurge and go out to hear 'em! It's uh-"

"How did going to a music concert result in you being hurt? Did someone attack you at the concert?"

You couldn't help it- Even with your bruised stomach and back, you started laughing. "Yeah Sir, someone did attack me at the concert- The entire crowd!"

Now it was Emmet's turn to be concerned. "You- You mean, the entire crowd at a music concert tried to fight you, and you managed to get away with only those injuries? Why did they try to fight you?"

"I mean I was in the mosh pit, Sir!" You looked at him curiously- Had your bosses never heard of a mosh pit...?

Both of them tilted their heads at your words. Evidently not.

"Oh, it was craaaazy last night. Some guy picked me up and I got thrown head first into this crazy lady and we started punching each other. But yea, she ended up cutting my lip before her... girlfriend? I dunno, this like- six and a half foot tall woman who- lemme tell you, she was built like a machamp, grabbed me and threw me back into someone else's arms and then-"

And the two sat horrified, enraptured, and disturbed by your stories of the "mosh pit" you'd willingly entered last night to duke it out with strangers while listening to... "music"? You'd even managed to break bones at previous concerts! How terrible- And you'd attended these events multiple times??

They demanded to hear what the "music" sounded like- And you sheepishly pulled up a song on your X-transceiver to play, expecting your bosses' opinion of you to immediately tank into the drain. But Emmet and Ingo didn't seem to dislike it, or even really- flinch at the songs? The content of what lyrics they could discern sounded horrific- but otherwise, it just sounded like the noises their neighbor was making while they stomped them into the primordial void of non-existence- Set to some sick drum riffs. No wonder it incited such violence in humans.

You lit up the moment your bosses began remarking that it didn't sound bad- But they were still so very concerned about your injuries! You did not need to be working today- You needed to be resting! Bruised and battered- Gear Station had no need for you collapsing or worse during your work day!

And not only that, but you liked going to such things...?

That wouldn't suffice. If you enjoyed them, sure- But they could not tolerate you being injured the way you were! The two would simply have to accompany you the next time you attended such a concert- Protecting you and watching over you! And beating the crap out of anyone who might try to hurt you-

"If you two want to go to one, you can- But I'll have to teach you some etiquette for it- It'd be a shame if you two got injured or something worse." Emmet bit his lip- It didn't matter if it was a mosh pit of two people or the entirety of Unova, no amount of people in the pit of moshing would be able to injure him! Though- The idea of you fretting over him was sweet... Trapped in his arms as he valiantly protected you from any idiots who would think they'd have the right to deck you!

"So we may accompany you the next time you attend such an event?" Ingo asked, offering you some tea. The two had forced you to sit down on the sofa they had in their office, and were practically refusing to let you up again. It was silly, you thought- Treating you like a fragile little Swaddle!

But either way- That sounded strangely- Nice. Your bosses were usually so reserved, refusing any invitations to go out, and you almost never saw them outside of Gear Station doing anything for themselves- Enigmatic, mysterious- It might be nice to get to know them outside of work a bit more! And if they liked moshing, if they liked death metal- Well, having friends in the pit was always a good thing! "Of course! I'll let you guys know the next time I go to a concert, if you can make it."

"Of course. But for now- You need to rest. I would prefer if you stayed until someone was able to accompany you back home..." Ingo remarked, suddenly lost in thought. You scoffed at his worry- You were more than capable of handling yourself-!

And you tried to get back up, stumbling as you stood up- The room reeled around you, and you collapsed back down on the couch- Looking up at Ingo, who- Looked odd, though you could not place why- He bent down to you, His eyes meeting yours intently. His silver, shining, eyes.

"Since you're injured... and not feeling well, stay here. We'll escort you to your destination once our work is complete." Ingo stated as he grabbed you gently, laying you back down on the couch- The last half of his statement... was more a fact? Than a suggestion or an offer... Your eyes closed heavily, suddenly overcome by a terrible urge to sleep.

Maybe you'd been more tired than you'd thought, after the night at a concert... And you immediately closed your eyes, deep asleep again. Ingo sighed heavily, moving to position you comfortably on the couch.

They were far too nervous to allow you to wander about on your own right now. Their own senses heightened in fear and possessiveness as Ingo sat down and rested your head on his lap, bringing his hand down onto your shoulder and stroking mindlessly as his shadows coiled around you tightly. Emmet whined in annoyance, wanting to do the same. A feathery-tendril emerged from the sleeve of his coat, whisking over your face- and making the painful cut on your lip heal over.

Their little soulmate; Precious, small, and most importantly, safe. In their arms. Also apparently insane, and, enjoys becoming battered and bruised. Not good, they noted- But they would just have to keep you safe. Their little soulmate. Theirs. All theirs. Ingo squeezed your shoulder harder than he'd been doing, and Emmet grabbed at your hand, a soft light coming from him- Healing your injuries.

You could attend such events for now; But to allow yourself to be hurt? No. Absolutely not. You wouldn't even notice anymore that your body wasn't sore, or your voice didn't hurt. They could muddle your memory that much as they healed you. And kept you safe, secure, and by their sides.

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 5]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and stress, i wrote this without my adhd meds so, good luck you lot :S Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You officially start your career as a musician, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be; thankfully Viktor is kind, and does what he can to care for you, even though you feel like you don’t really deserve it.

On Monday, you finally find the energy to send an email back to the studio; apologizing for the delay and explaining that you’re a full time student. You thank them for the opportunity, and agree to set up a time to meet - whenever they’re available, of course, and you’ll do your best to work your schedule around it.

The professionalism and anxiety pretty much destroys your mood afterwards. You’re barely able to pay attention in class that day, too full of nervous energy to absorb the lecture.

Thankfully, Viktor texts you later and offers to send you a recording of the lesson.

—

On Tuesday, you’re able to recover a little bit. The only class you have that day is in the afternoon, and you’re thrilled to be able to sleep in for once; not as late as you’d like to, but waking at ten was still better than waking at seven.

You run into Viktor after your class, and the two of you end up grabbing coffee while he’s on his break. You talk for a little while, telling him about the meeting you had coming up on thursday and expressing your worries about everything.

He, as usual, encourages your skill and capability.

But the mood shifts when a couple of your classmates walk into the small cafe, and find seats not far from you. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice them - or if he does, he pays them no mind - and continues telling you about one of the most recent papers he’s read.

You, however, are unable to ignore the dirty looks being shot your way.

—

On Wednesday, you take the first test of the semester. There are seven of them in total - according to the syllabus you’d been given at the start of the course - worth twenty percent of your grade, and not including your final exam. 

Part of you is grateful that most of your grade relies on your ability to absorb information; as opposed to having to write, source, and properly format a multitude of academic papers. Sitting for hours while scouring through books and internet pages wasn’t your favourite way of learning, and more often than not it had you getting sucked down wikipedia rabbit holes that had nothing to do with the subject you were supposed to be researching.

Though you also kind of miss being able to add things to your bank of useless knowledge.

In any case, the test goes well, and you’re pleased with your performance. It had been challenging enough that you really had to think and apply what you’d learned in class, but still straightforward in its wording, and not purposefully convoluted as a means of confusing you.

—

On Thursday, you have your meeting at the studio.

You get lunch with Viktor beforehand, going over the prior days’ test and talking about which concepts you fully understood, and which ones you maybe had a little more difficulty with. He seemed to be fairly confident in your grasp of the course so far, going as far as revealing that you were among the top three students in the class.

“I would not be surprised if you get an invite to one of the winter galas,” Viktor had admitted, much to your surprise.

“I thought those were only for the faculty and university sponsors?”

“Typically, they are,” he’d explained, going on to tell you about the singular event at the end of the year where certain students could be invited to attend and talk about their experiences with the school.

“So it’s basically to get more funding?” you’d asked, and Viktor had nodded with a smile.

You were thankful that he’d been able to take the time to sit with you for a little while before your meeting, his presence temporarily mitigating your ever-present anxiety. You didn’t tell him that, but you weren’t sure you needed to; his hand on your shoulder and a gentle encouragement as you departed suggested he already knew how stressed you were.

Now, you’re waiting in a small lobby. Waiting to be called back into an office to discuss the next five years of your life. You poke idly at your phone, playing some silly, repetitive game that didn’t require any skill or thought, but it had cute cartoon cats in it, so it automatically held your interest.

Kind of.

It keeps you entertained for all of thirty seconds, before your thoughts start wandering. What would it be like to work with an actual studio? Would you have to write your own music, or would you have help? Thus far in your life, you’d gotten on by mostly playing covers - some with lyrics, some not; you’d only ever written a couple pieces, and none of them had words. God, how were you going to do this? You didn’t know how to write! You were a physicist in training, not a songwriter-

You ball your hands into fists, so tightly that your knuckles turn white and your nails bite into your palms, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Wait a couple seconds, breathe out, says Viktor’s voice, in your mind. Again. That’s it, good girl.

You try not to think about how much the sound of his voice flusters you, instead focusing on the little encouragements and praises he’d give you: kind words, a pat on the shoulder. Maybe even his hand wrapped around yours, thumb smoothing over your skin, like he had done the weekend prior.

Your anxiety eventually recedes, though the fluttering in your chest remains. At least the palpitations aren’t from fear, you think, and slouch back in your chair.

—

Four hours later, you meander through the doorway of your home, dragging your feet and overwhelmed with exhaustion. The toe of your boot catches on the lip of the entrance, causing you to topple forwards. You barely manage to catch yourself on the way down, twisting so most of your weight lands on your knee instead of your face; and you still end up sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose books, but at least you don’t have a broken nose.

You lay there in the front hallway for a few minutes, unmoving and unmotivated to get up. Even when the cold air starts coming in through the screen door, you remain frozen.

Disappearing into the woods sounded like a really good option.

You know that you’re just being dramatic, and that nothing particularly terrible had happened, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you know you’re going to be stressed in the coming weeks, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You’d gotten through your appointment without much issue - you’d talked through the contract with your new boss, and been honest with him about the fact that you were a full time student. You’d met your mentor, a couple of other people you’d be working with at some point, and gone over what would be expected of you should you sign with the studio.

Everything had been thorough and friendly, and it had been written into your terms that your schedule would be modified to fit your student lifestyle.

In theory, there was no reason to be anxious.

Yet here you were.

On the floor.

Seriously considering running into the woods to become a mushroom.

It would be easier than writing an entire album in six months, you think, finally gaining the willpower to push yourself up into a sitting position. You gather up the books strewn around you, carefully sorting them into little piles before sliding them back into the bags you’d carried them in. 

While the meeting had gone well, and everyone you’d been introduced to had been kind and understanding, you’d still been…criticized, to some extent. Or rather, you’d been told that at least two thirds of your first album needed pieces with lyrics.

“Your instrumentals are fantastic,” your new boss had said, pairing a couple more praises as you went through the CD you’d sent in weeks ago. Then, he skips ahead to one of your more impressive covers. “Your voice, though? That’s a gift not many people have.”

He’d been somewhat disappointed when you’d admitted that you’d never actually written lyrics before, and even moreso when you and your mentor had tried to come up with something on the spot.

It was obvious that they were looking for well-rounded musicians - not necessarily traditionally educated, but with at least some kind of natural talent that could be built upon. And you were certainly what they were looking for in most areas: you just…didn’t have a way with words. You couldn’t take your feelings and turn them into sung poetry.

Which was apparently a detriment only to you.

You’d left the studio with a modified contract - instead of five years, you were cut down to six months. If you could produce a worthwhile album in that amount of time, then the longer deal would be reextended and you’d officially become one of their artists.

And if not?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Your mentor had been kind enough to catch you on the way out of the studio, offering you a list of resources that you could look into to start learning how to write lyrics, as well as a few words of encouragement. You had thanked him, and exchanged numbers in case you had any questions, and he’d disappeared back into the building.

You’d stopped at a couple of bookstores on the way home, picking up as many of the recommended books as you could afford, and…well, now you were on the floor in your front hallway.

One of your cats chirps at your side, pressing up against you and knocking her head on your arm.

“You have no idea what kind of nonsense the world is,” you tell her, trailing your hand over her fur. She - as expected - says nothing, and begins to purr.

—

Your life gets a hell of a lot more hectic after that.

Every moment you’re not studying for class, you’re studying what it takes to write a decent song. Beats and syllables, word shapes and styles that are pleasing to the ear, how to breathe properly, what to avoid; it’s maddening, and not in a good way.

You knew that it would take longer than a week to grasp concepts that were entirely new to you - it had been years since you’d studied a subject that you didn’t already have some base knowledge of - but that didn’t do much to lessen the frustration you feel each time you try to write something, only to scribble it out minutes later because it sounded wrong.

You’d hardly had enough time to keep up with your classes before, but now?

Now you can hardly pay attention.

You’re tired, your sleep schedule is a mess, you’re stressed. Each time you walk into the lecture hall, you feel like the entire room is staring at you with malice, and yet you can’t find the ability to care, because all of your energy is being put towards spongeing up information.

You feel like you’re learning so little about music, that you even start bringing your books to class: you figure you know enough about physics to get by for a couple of days, a fact which proves true when you’re called upon to participate in some discussion taking place around you.

You can tell that Heimerdinger doesn’t quite believe you when you say that you’re ‘just distracted by writing everything down’, but he doesn’t press you on the matter, which you’re grateful for.

Viktor, on the other hand, is less gracious.

He wanders up to your seat once the lecture is finished, and finds a spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything while you pack up your things, but you can feel his gaze boring into you - you worry you’ll find disappointment if you look at him.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, keeping your tone lighthearted. Viktor sighs.

“Are you alright?” he wonders quietly, making guilt well up in your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but you know your resolve is slipping: and Viktor’s hand on your shoulder is the last straw.

“You’ve just started a very demanding job, and you’re still in class full-time,” he says, and then taps a finger against the cover of the book you’d been reading out of. “That, and I don’t think poetry is part of the curriculum.”

You cease gathering your things up, and slouch back in defeat. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mumble, “I’m in way over my head. I thought I knew so much about music, but now I- I’m learning entirely new concepts, and I have no idea how to apply them!”

Viktor quietly slides the thin textbook towards himself, glancing over the cover and opening it to take a look at the table of contents.

“I’m sure you didn’t always understand physics, either. Learning takes time, Y/N.”

“I know that,” you cry, “but I don’t have time! I have to make an entire album in six months! Less than that, really, because I’m spending so much time studying and not enough time actually writing, and a good chunk of the time I have is going to be spent recording so the writing needs to be done by then, and-”

A pair of warm hands cupping your jaw draws you out of your anxiety spiral.

“Darling, breathe.”

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks, giving you something to focus on while he helps you monitor your air intake: you’re amazed you don’t start crying, with how tenderly he cares for you.

It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, you sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Viktor’s hands drop from your face, to your shoulders.

“We are going to head to the library, to go over what you missed in class today.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to go over the entire curriculum, and we’re going to see which parts you need to study, and which parts you already understand. Then, we’re going to make a schedule around that.”

You cast your gaze away from him, anxiety beginning to claw its way back into your thoughts. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, with every ounce of warmth and kindness he possesses. “But I could perhaps be convinced to stop for a snack on the way there, should you desire one.”

You perk up slightly. “But the library doesn’t allow food.”

Viktor smiles then, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We can sit elsewhere while we eat,” he promises. “And maybe you can tell me more about ah…poetry and songwriting, is it? We could work it into your study schedule.”

[codename-mom]

Headcanons (NSFW)

Hello, everyone! o/

So, here are my NSFW headcanons about Hotch (well, it’s more minors DNI headcanons than NSFW ones).

___

·         Aaron slept with a woman for the first time when he was 14, when he was in pension. The girl was two years older; she was part of the students over there and she was some kind of nymphomaniac (Aaron was not her first and he was not the only one). He had slept with her multiple times without any protection before the adults around realized what’s going on and gave the boys what’s necessary.

·         Back to his house at 15, Aaron was pretty active and had multiple partners amongst his comrades always without any protection because he feared the reaction of his mother. Indeed, his father left them a huge number of debts and even after the sale of the house, they still must deal with money issues. Then, Ada found a small job, not very well paid, and Aaron did many odd jobs here and there before and after school to help her. A generosity she didn’t appreciate for multiple reasons she didn’t necessarily say to her son. As so, he thought that one of them could be that she was afraid his son went too far to find money (like selling his own body). And as she was the one who tide up his bedroom, she would have been able to find the condoms and start a major argument with her son, not letting him explain himself (because that’s the way she’s working). The second reason was just that the few money they had was used to pay bills and food, nothing more. However, he was lucky enough to not get any STI and to not give any.

·         When he met Haley, Aaron focused on her only and ignored the other girls. But he was so deeply in love with her, so impressed by her and so eager to do the things right, that the first night they spent together (at her place), he couldn’t get hard. Nevertheless, he used his experience in oral sex to give her pleasure and won a second date. They slept together for the first time the week after (still at her place). He was not the first for her.

·         Nothing happened between Kate Joyner and him because he was already involved with Haley, and he didn’t want to be unfaithful to her. But in other circumstances, he would have pushed his luck as he found her attractive, and he appreciated her temper (and she was clearly interested).

·         Aaron is a sharp profiler, but he’s part of those guys who never notice when someone has a thing for them (moreover during an investigation because he’s so focus on it that he didn’t pay attention to anything else). Except Reid, all the other members of the BAU team had noticed this singularity and they reassured the poor rejected/ignored people on their attractiveness (it’s not them, it’s him).  

·         After Haley’s death, Aaron was so deeply depressed and so focused on Jack’s well-being that he lost every interest in sex. Same thing happened after Beth departure for Hong-Kong. He was not especially depressed, but he was so involved in his father and BAU’s director life that he didn’t even feel the need to date someone (even just for one night). When he was under witness protection with Jack, the latter made him notice that a girl was interested, but he didn’t try anything (because he was not interested and mostly because he feared to expose Jack and himself to a trap from Mr. Scratch).

·         During his first official date with Beth, he must reveal to her that he has lost his wife (without the circumstances) two years before and that he has seen no one else since his divorce before her as a matter of warning. Beth was nice with him and didn’t blame him when he screwed up times after (especially that he used his tongue again to compensate his weakness). They were both highly active when their schedule let them some free times.

·         After he was stabbed 9 times by Foyet in the chest, Aaron stopped to appear topless in front of anyone. He agreed to participate to the FBI triathlon only because swilm suit were accepted for the swimming task. When he was with Beth, he refused to withdraw his t-shirt unless they were in the dark (and when he finally explained why to her, she didn’t dare see his scars). After the internal bleeding event, it even got worse as this add a huge, crossed scar on his torso. Jack saw his scars once and he was highly impressed.

·         Actually, it asked him years to get used to them. When he met Beth, he wasn’t able to watch him in a mirror as those wounds were a constant reminder of his mistake and his responsibility in Haley’s death. He was about to accept his body when he lost consciousness in Quantico and woke up with a new, big scar. When he definitely left the BAU, if he was able to look at his reflection in the mirror, he was still not able to go swimming or expose himself for any reason. As so, Jack learnt to swim with Jessica and went to the swimming pool and the beach only with other members of his family.        

[lukedanger]

Ashley Williams Appreciation - Background Theme

Let’s kick this Appreciation Week by @cannot-rest off with something spicy… How about Ashley being religious?

Or more specifically, we should ask what we mean when we say Ashley is religious. The way it is usually bandied about, Ashley is portrayed as your standard issue (Christian) fundamentalist evangelical or a Sister of Battle born thirty-eight millennia too soon. However, this doesn’t actually line up with her characterization. If anything, I would posit that while Ashley is a believer, she is more of a ‘Sunday churchgoer’, and even that term gives off the wrong vibe. For her, it is a personal thing rather than a belonging in a community as the Abrahamic religions usually emphasize.

Ashley’s belief is not that of someone who is performing to identify her tribal group, that must be loudly professed and those willing to join evangelized. Ashley will even explicitly refute the idea that she would want to preach in the CiC if Shepard gets in her grill about it. So, that right there tells us that she is not an evangelical who thinks that everyone needs to worship the same way… yet it also does not mean that Ashley is not religious. After all, not every faith sends out missionaries to convert the other, even among the Abrahamic religions.

So, does she overtly practice any common rites that we might identify? Well, no. In fact, if not for Ashley explicitly confirming that she believes, would we from her dialogue even be able to ascertain it? I would say “yes” because of scenes such as mentioning her belief that Kaidan has to be in Heaven and the discussion about her father being dead, but those are singular scenes. Does this invalidate her being religious? Not at all - consider people you know who are religious but you do not interact with much outside of work. Would you say they are not religious because you don’t see them doing certain actions? Or, for that matter, do you even know what those practices are?

In fact, let’s compare her to Samara as I think this makes the difference telling. Samara’s idle animation on the SR-2 is practicing mediation, she explicitly discusses the Justicar Code as it applies to her and the mission. She is unquestionably a religious squadmate, and we don’t even know if she follows the Athame Doctrine or is a siarist - or maybe believes in both?

Ashley? She does none of this, and again we don’t even know if Ashley is Christian - we only assume it because that’s our ‘default’ for vaguely monotheistic IRL religions in the Anglosphere. Here, we hit the core of where religion factors into Ashley’s character. Namely, it is a facet of her but it is not and never was her defining feature. If anything, it is a part of herself that Ashley suppresses to fit in better given that she explicitly mentions that people considered her weird for it. 

So, does this make Ashley a “bad” religious character? To that I ask what defines a “good” religious character? What must a character do to be a “good” religious character? And, perhaps, we should ask how religious a character needs to be. Look at Dragon Age, specifically the Andrastian companions. How many of them like Sera, Varric, Aveline, Alistair, or Wynne would you consider to be “bad religious characters” because it is not as important to their identity than it is for Cassandra, Sebastian, or Leliana? All those named DA characters are firmly Andrastian, yet only the latter three have it as critical to their identity as a character. And the last three don’t praise Andraste every time Henry Hawke comes to see them.

If you have been paying attention to the comparisons, you might notice that the ones that are hardcore about making their religion a part of their identity are those who are explicitly of religious vocation. Ashley is not. Given this and how rarely it comes up, how can we in good faith* say that Ashley being faithful means it has to be core to her the way it is for a Paladin in Dungeons and Dragons? *pun unintended

Does this mean that being religious is entirely unimportant to Ashley’s character and should have been left off? No, absolutely not. It actually tells us quite a bit about her - it tells us that Ashley believes in there being some order to the world, some rightness to it even if we cannot see it. “Everything happens for a reason, Shepard.” A way for Ashley to rationalize the undue hate she gets for events that happened before she was even conceived. A way to view an unfair world, to give her some element of certainty even if it cannot give her a direct hand in bettering herself. And in that, she is also humble: she explicitly denies the idea of humanity having any sort of divine destiny.

And Shepard recognizes what this points to - that for all the armor of cynicism she wears to protect herself, Ashley ultimately wants the galaxy to be a better place. So what does he do with that? He uses it to present to Ashley a different way of thinking: if the galaxy is meant to be a survival of the fittest where everyone looks out for number one, why even bother with this kind of diversity? And with that, Ashley is able to refocus the lenses she views the galaxy with and begins to comprehend that humanity can save itself by saving everyone - and to consider that the Council may also be viewing things in the same light.

It is an utterly beautiful sequence because in the end Ashley’s core motives all remain the same, but the difference it causes is profound. And even if Shepard does not romance* her and so does not put her on that path, Ashley still shifts her opinions to be more big picture rather than a narrow focus on what the Systems Alliance needed. Would it not make sense that after the experiences she finally gained in the first game, Ashley considered it herself and found a similar conclusion? Shepard can just kickstart it so it’s seen earlier, but in the end Ashely makes that leap of faith herself. *Why, Bioware, why would you lock this behind a romance?

TL;DR - Ashley is not an evangelical character, but she is a religious one. It’s just that to Ashley, religion is a very personal matter rather than one she needs to parade about to show as her tribal signifier or to win brownie points with the big G. Assuming that she has to is to reduce Ashley to a stereotype.

[saralifygermanlanguage]

3 Must-Know Aspects About German Language Vocabulary

 In the acquisition of any language, learning the vocabulary plays a crucial role. More often than not, every language comes with its own set of nuances. In learning German language vocabulary, there are three particular aspects that you are required to recognize from the onset. This article shall help you with those accordingly.

The Uniqueness:

German vocabulary has some fundamental characteristics. For instance, the use of articles depends largely on the nouns. So while 'the' is commonly used in English to describe singular/plural nouns, it's not the same with German. In German, in accordance to the noun form, you'll have to use 'der', 'das', or 'die'.

The usage of verbs is fairly uncomplicated. As with English, you just have to understand a few basic verb conjugation patterns. For instance, "I sit" or "He sits" would change to "Ich sitze" or "Er sitzt". Since most languages across the world see some changes to verb forms when used in different scenarios, verb conjugations in German aren't very hard to decipher.

The use of adjectives in German, on the other hand, can be quite a challenge. This is because German adjectives generally require specific endings in accordance to the nouns in question. Additionally, the case used in the sentence also plays an important role in these endings. Realize that these adjective endings can take some time to understand and master. A good thing is that often-times, these adjective endings are omitted or slurred in spoken German.

The Differences Between English and German:

While both these languages are predominantly different, you will notice certain similarities in their vocabulary. After all, a number of English words are quite similar sounding to their German counterparts. However, this does not mean you can necessarily use this knowledge to speak or understand German.

Will you be able to translate this to German? "Weißt du, was das bedeutet?"

How many of these words made any sense to you? In English, this translates to - "Do you know what that means?"

The point being, without prior knowledge of German, your knowledge of English will do little to help. When you cannot understand a significant part of a sentence, hoping to understand the entire sentence is a little farfetched.

The Words you Need to Learn:

Start by getting a good understanding of how to use articles correctly. This relates to using them in accordance to nouns as well as direct/indirect objects (which comes later in the learning process). Also familiarize yourself with the different forms of verbs, and with their usage in the past tense. Doing this becomes particularly important as you make progress.

In case you've already spent a year or more in learning German, also pay attention to the usage of prepositions. Learning an assortment of combinations will only help further your language learning foundation.

Bear in mind that these aforementioned aspects depend on an individual's learning requirements. In case you hope to master the language quickly, quickening your pace and learning more within a given time-frame is the only logical method. In case you're in no particular hurry, you can give each aspect as much time as you desire.

Learn German Language in jaipur

Goethe Institute in jaipur

A1 Level German Institute in jaipur

A2 Level German Class in jaipur

[sprakdesigns]

Here Are Some Quick Tips About Branding Agency

We're here to help with the list of branding advice from Branding Agency California since we know that branding your business may be a difficult and time-consuming process. We don't just purchase goods from a company; we do it because they provide a singular experience that no other brand can replicate. The majority of people consider logos and colors when discussing branding. However, branding encompasses more than simply familiarity. It has to do with the effect you have on a consumer and the message you convey. A company's ideals and work may all be inferred from the initial impression. The unexpected consequences of branding should be considered by business owners.

Define the fundamentals

Simply said, the first and most important need for creating and maintaining a strong brand image is defining what you want. This requirement can seem overly clear, yet occasionally businesses need to pay more attention to it. The project will fail badly if you have no idea whatsoever about the type of brand identity you want to create. You should have a basic knowledge of your core beliefs, your brand's goal, and the direction you want your image to go in. Naturally, the branding firm will help you communicate all the difficult things. 

Proficiency across channels

While you're looking over their portfolios, you should focus on one more little detail. In particular, branding is a comprehensive process that combines several PR, marketing, and advertising strategies. As a result, a top-notch branding firm needs to be able to manage branding and advertising initiatives across a variety of media. Effective branding requires versatility, and an agency needs to be aware of the unique characteristics of each channel they want to use. Behind these acts across several channels, there has to be a solid and consistent brand. If an agency has been successful in delivering this to past customers, it speaks to a deliberate, strategic, and comprehensive strategy. They benefit from it.

Think about what your customers will say

We've been involved in many new logo ideas, and I'm consistently amazed when the client is not taken into account. Usually, the business owner comes up with the name, tagline, and logo before they have even served one client. There will be a mismatch if you want a high-tech appearance and feel and are marketing to an earthy, wholesome audience. Your target market won't recognize your brand or logo. Prior to developing your brand to appeal to them, identify your target market.

Also read: Why Should You Hire a Brand Designer For Your Business

Build a powerful web presence as a goal

Having a website is the first step in developing a strong online presence. Any company, regardless of its size or sector, has to have a well-designed website. A website is also a vital part of your marketing plan since it demonstrates the legitimacy of your brand. After that, you may start utilizing powerful lead-generating solutions to increase brand recognition and website traffic.

Check out their branding

Along with looking at their portfolio, you should also visit the agencies' websites, social media accounts, and other self-promotional platforms. The characteristics of high work ethics and devotion include a quick and well-constructed website, consistent and well-written material, and an appealing visual identity across numerous platforms. Additionally, if they have a corporate blog, it may attest to their knowledge and proficiency. Furthermore, this frequently indicates that they are more than merely informed. But also willing to share this information with others, which may show their zeal and excitement.

Selecting the Branding Agency California is a crucial choice for your company. As a result, you must exercise caution, take your time, and do your research. Many factors need to be taken into account. So, make an effort to strike the ideal equilibrium between each of them. High-quality branding may make all the difference between a firm being somewhat successful and becoming well-known. Don't pass up the chance to profit from this truth.

In conclusion, when choosing a branding agency, it is important to consider your goals, budget, and the agency's process. A good agency will be able to provide you with a detailed plan and a portfolio of their previous work. Contact Sprak Design if you need assistance with your next project from a branding agency.

[romanoffsdarling]

I Can’t Make You Love Me || Part Two

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader // Scarlet Witch x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You awaken in a place that you don’t recognize, with a woman that you do but couldn’t be any more alien to you, but you try to make the best of your situation. For now. Meanwhile, your disappearance has been noticed by the people you’ve left behind. 

Word Count: 3,015

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping (sort of), slight angst, Wanda losing control. 

Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy the second part of ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’!!

Part One || Series Masterlist

The gentle stream of light is what ultimately awakens you from your deep slumber. Your eyes fluttering open as your mind was roused-- dregs of sleep still causing it to be a little slow-- as you push yourself up into a seated position. A small groan escapes your mouth as you rub the last bits of sleep from your eyes. 

It was only then that your bodied instinctively stiffened; something wasn’t right. 

You glance up-- this time taking your time to actually pay attention to the room you were in-- as your heartbeat spikes at what you see. This wasn’t the room you had been sleeping in; hell, by the view you can just make out from your angle to the window, this wasn’t even Tony’s cabin. 

“Where the hell am I?” You murmur to yourself-- well aware how crazy it could make you sound-- as you slowly stand from the bed and make your way to the window. The sight you find, as you had previously suspected, being one that wasn’t familiar to you at all. Instead of acres of trees, as far as the eye could see, there was a meadow-- dotted with various wildflowers and a singular tree on a small incline-- with, what looked like, a forest acting as a barrier between the small oasis and whatever was beyond. 

Shaking your head, you take a small step back from the window. This couldn’t be happening. How the hell was this happening? You place a hand on your head as you try to recall what exactly it was that happened yesterday; flashes of spending the day alone, feeling the loneliness suffocate you, fill your mind but none send a chill through your heart like the memory of that night. Green eyes that you’d remember anywhere seeming so foreign, a husky voice laced with a level of darkness you’ve never heard, even the way Wanda had carried herself seemed different. 

No, your mind hisses. This isn’t your Wanda. You know nothing about the woman that’s taken you. Hell, you don’t even know if she’s going to hurt you or not. If this is all some sort of sick game to her. 

“Don’t think such thoughts, detka.” An all too familiar voice cajoles behind you. Your back stiffens as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end; how the hell hadn’t you noticed her enter the room?

There were many things you had been expecting upon turning around-- her pointing a gun at your head, a knife casually twirling in her grasp, or even magic crackling at her fingertips-- but you weren’t expecting to see her holding a tray laden with food. Amused green eyes observing you with the smallest hint of a smile beginning to curl her lips. 

“I brought you breakfast.” She unnecessarily points out, as she gently places the tray onto the bed; her movements were calm, if a little slow, as if she wanted to show you that she meant no harm. “I thought you might be a little hungry with how long you’ve been asleep.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? I haven’t been asleep for that long.” 

While nothing obvious shows on her face, you’ve known Wanda-- at least the version of your Wanda-- long enough to know her telltale signs; you could tell that she wasn’t pleased, if a little concerned, by the subtle thinning of her lips and the brief flash of red within her gaze. Who she was angry at? You wouldn’t even be able to guess, but you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to find out. 

“I suppose that would be my fault,” she murmurs, seemingly more to herself than you. Her eyes grew distant for a brief moment before they snapped back to you as if nothing had happened. “I’m afraid I’m not quite used to using my magic in such a delicate manner anymore. It seems that when I--” She waves her hand in the air, as if saying that she had knocked you out was too much for her. “I used a bit too much of my magic and ended up causing you to sleep for four days.”

Four days? The thought alone was almost inconceivable. You had been in this place, wherever that may be, for four days? 

Almost without thinking about it, your eyes slip back to the bed you had awaken in. The simple thought of you being completely defenseless for four days brings a wave of nausea crashing through you. How could you have been unconscious for that long? You rarely slept in as it was but somehow you had been asleep for days. A fact that brings with that unwelcome thought that anything could have happened to you while you were in that state. That you could have potentially been harmed without any ability to defend yourself. 

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.” You turn your attention back to Wanda at that. It was yet another thing you had to get used to; it had been a well-established fact that your Wanda didn’t read your mind. Even if you knew she was more than capable of doing so it was a little disconcerting for it to happen right before your eyes again. This version of Wanda didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, as her narrowed gaze never wavered from your own. “You need to understand, Y/N. I will never let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

Your lips curl into a sardonic smile. “And what happens if the bad thing you’re supposedly protecting me from is you?”

Wanda stiffens at that, her eyes flash red before she’s able to control herself with a deep breath, as a clearly strained smile appears. “I will leave you alone to eat.” She inclines her head towards the food. “I tried to make things I can recall you favoring, I hope that they’re all right. It’s been a while since I cooked for anyone other than myself.”

With that, and without waiting for a proper response, she disappears through the bedroom door. Leaving you alone with your thoughts, the enticing aroma of the food, and a twisted feeling in your gut. 

Oh, this was going to be a grand time. 

A little while later, you venture out of the room you had awakened in. Having finished all the food, you could stomach at the moment-- though there was a brief moment of hesitation as you wondered if it could be poisoned, but you ultimately decided that it was idiotic-- your hands clench nervously around the still half-full tray. It wasn’t like you didn’t know where Wanda was, you could hear in puttering around towards the front of the house, and it wasn’t even the unfamiliarity of your surroundings that set you on edge. It was the simple fact that you could see yourself living within this house, with this version of Wanda, as you take note of various touches you would have definitely placed. 

You press your lips into a line as you shake out the intrusive thoughts; this wasn’t your home, and it never would be. It was only a matter of time before your team figured out you were missing, before your Wanda realized it, and then you’d be able to go home. Be able to return to a version of normalcy that you didn’t realize you’d miss so much. 

Upon turning another corner, you’re met with a sight that causes your steps to falter while your breath hitches in your throat. The open den area was connected to the kitchen, which gave you the perfect view of Wanda’s back as she washes dishes-- auburn hair now up in a messy bun-- as she hummed a Sokovian lullaby under her breath. The sight of her doing something so domestic launches you back to a time when your own Wanda would do such tasks with you... Before everything had changed so much between you both. 

“Are you going to keep staring at me, detka? Or are you going to come in here?” The teasing quip causes embarrassment to run through you-- the amused glance from over her shoulder only adds to it-- as a gentle chuckle escapes her. “Not that I mind you staring. In fact, I find it quite endearing.”

Knowing that she was expecting you to return the tray, you do as her unspoken command suggests and place it on the counter closest to her once you’re near it. 

“Thank you,” Wanda chirps, seemingly in a great mood. Though it turns slightly sour as a small frown furrows her brow as she takes note of how much you hadn’t eaten. “You need to eat more, detka, it’s not healthy to go so long without food.” She peers up at you through her lashes-- the deep green of eyes darkened with her concern-- as she worries her bottom lip for the briefest of moments. “Was the food not to your liking?”

“It was wonderful.” The speed in which you denied the statement should have alarmed you, but you knew-- deep within your heart-- that you never wanted to upset Wanda; any version of Wanda it seems. “I’m just not that hungry right now. That’s all.”

She gives an unconvinced hum as her magic makes quick work of the plates-- showing you that she had just been doing the dishes before to have something to pass the time-- as she rounds the counter to stand in front of you. One of her hands grips your chin, in a hold you know you wouldn’t be able to break out of, as Wanda makes sure that you maintain eye contact with her. 

“You’re much too precious to not take care of yourself, detka,” she murmurs, the earlier softness back on her face. “I need you to understand that. Will you at least try to?”

You nod dumbly at the request, but the red that flashes in her gaze tells you she wants a verbal response. “Yes, I promise that I will try.”

A satisfied look etches itself across her face at your response. The shadow, that you hadn’t even noticed surrounding her, disappears as she breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that, detka, I hope you keep to that promise.” Her eyes flash red, this time for a longer period of time, as her voice drops briefly. “It wouldn’t be wise to not do so.”

Seemingly lost in her thoughts, Wanda takes a small step away from you-- finally releasing your chin from her grasp-- before she gestures towards the den. “You can make yourself at home, I just have some things I need to do in here.”

Before you’re able to respond, something that seems to be becoming a pattern, Wanda turns from you and begins working within the kitchen once more. Leaving you with nothing to do except follow her wishes-- another thing that seemed to be becoming a pattern-- as you make your way towards the inviting couch. Although you briefly weigh your chances of being able to make a run for it as you catch sight of the front door. 

The sharp look that you can feel digging into your back halts that plan, however. As you know you’d never make it far with Wanda so close. 

Maybe it’s a plan that can be delved into later when you’re alone. 

Who knows? Maybe the team has already discovered you’re missing and are already devising a rescue mission. 

For now, you just had to go with the flow. All the while hoping that nothing got too out of hand.

“Wanda, you need to calm down.” Clint tried, once again in the last five minutes, to calm down the irate Sokovian. His eyes going to the rest of the team in hopes that someone would help him. However, no one-- not even Natasha-- seemed to want to cross paths with her; leaving him with the unfortunate task of wrangling her in. 

Something he wasn’t doing too good of a job at; if the furious gaze she was now leveling him with was anything to go by. 

“Calm down?” Wanda snarls, her eyes glowing a deep red as her magic pulsates around her fingertips. “How the fuck am I supposed to calm down!? The woman that I love most in this world, who I also managed to alienate, is missing and you want me to calm down?”

Clint winces at the shrill quality of her voice as it reached the end of her statement. Of course, he understood why Wanda was upset-- he wasn’t too happy knowing that you were gone-- but he knew how dangerous Wanda could get if she wasn’t reigned in. How much damage could be inflicted-- not only on the Compound itself but the Avengers standing within it-- if things weren’t brought to a low simmer soon. 

“I’m sure that Y/N is fine, Wands,” Natasha finally speaks up-- her voice revealing nothing-- as she settles beside Clint; something he would forever be grateful for. “She just needs time to herself. We all have been there at one point or the other.”

Wanda shakes her head, so fast that everyone was worried she’d get whiplash, as a low growl bubbles up from her throat. “No,” she hisses. “I know her. I know that she wouldn’t just disappear without telling someone what she was doing. She’d never want to make us worried like this.”

“We know that Wands,” Clint murmurs, not wanting to spook the Sokovian. “Which is why Tony went out there to check up on her. I’m sure that everything is fine and she’s just been doing her own thing. You know how Y/N/N can be whenever she gets distracted by something.”

“It should have been me,” Wanda mutters, clearly not to any of the other occupants in the room. Her eyes shift from the deep red from before to a lighter shade-- something that Clint would count his blessings for-- as a frown furrows her brow. “I should have been the one that went out there to check up on her. I should have been the one that made her come back. Instead, I left her out there all alone and now she’s gone.”

Bruce shakes his head-- taking his position on Clint’s left-- as he tries to put his own two cents in. “We don’t know that she’s gone, Wanda.” A compassionate look softens his dark brown eyes. “All we do know is that you did exactly as she wished. By leaving her at the cabin you were doing what made her the happiest at that moment.”

A pained look etches itself across Wanda’s face at that. “Don’t you understand?” She cries out, agony laced within her words as tears begin to form in her eyes. “She shouldn’t have had to feel like that. Where she felt like the place that made her the happiest was away from the Compound. Away from all of you!” Wanda lowers her head; her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as a deep sigh escapes her. “Away from me.”

No one had anything to say to that. They all knew the rift that had been steadily increasing between the two of you. Knew that it would inevitably end with heartbreak and despair, but none of them knew a way to stop it. They all knew that Wanda cared for her girlfriend, cared for Y/N so much it caused a physical ache in her chest, but they also saw how she was with Vision. How she’d sacrifice her time, her attention, for him as everything else-- including Y/N-- was pushed into the background. It was a mistake that was costing the young Sokovian everything she loved, and it seemed like now she was fully registering that fact. 

It was at that very moment-- when Wanda was teetering just over the precipice of her control-- that Tony returned with an ashen look on his face. His gaze flitting from person-to-person within the room but never truly settling. 

“Tony,” Bruce says, happy that his best friend had returned. “Did you find Y/N?”

“Yeah, Stark, everything is good, right?” Clint chances a worried glance in Wanda’s direction; noting that she was staring at Tony like a hawk would its prey. “Did you tell Y/N/N that ghosting isn’t that nice to d--”

“She wasn’t there.” Tony interrupts, his eyes filled concern. The words cause a hush to fall over the room. Everyone keenly aware of how Wanda had stiffened at the news. 

Natasha steps forward. “What do you mean she wasn’t there, Tony?” The spy tilts her head to the side. “Do you know where she went?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I didn’t find anything at all except for one thing.”

“Which was?”

The occupants of the room at large wince at the sharp quality to Wanda’s voice, that was also accompanied by the growing flashes of red that lit up the room. 

“All I found was her cellphone on the floor underneath the coffee table.” Tony holds up the aforementioned object; a grave quality to his tone that few had ever heard before. “Everything else was completely untouched. Like Y/N hasn’t been there for a few days at least. She’s gone.”

As Tony’s words echo through the room, and they register within the team, it was like the moment right before glass breaks; you knew what was about to happen but not how bad it was going to be. Knew that there was going to be a mess, that it was a disaster in itself, but you hoped that it wouldn’t be too bad. 

But, as Wanda’s scream pierced through the air seconds later-- her magic rippling through the air as she fell to her knees-- Clint knew that everything had just shattered. That there would be no way to put anything back together again until they found the woman that held Wanda’s heart. 

If not?

Then Y/N wouldn’t be the only Avenger that would be lost.

Taglist: @sayah13 || @xxxtwilightaxelxxx || @celluloiddreaming || @lissaaaa145 || @nightimemommy || @mymommawanda

[thecoffeelorian]

Kiss Me, Captain (1)

Title:  Kiss Me, Captain

Chapter Title:  The Challenge

Word Count:  1,550 words

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest)

Synopsis:  When your father declares there will be no marriages for your younger sister until you yourself are wedded first, you assume that’s his way of keeping her single forever.  Little do you know, you just might be about to go on the first real adventure of your life...and, more curiously, you might not be going alone.  (Slightly inspired by W. Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew”.)

AO3:  Click Here

Tags:  @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main @afuckinnerfpuncher​ @anxiouspineapple99 @burningfieldof-clover @freesia-writes 

They're at it again. The same two young men who have been coming here for the past three rotations, and all because they want nothing more than a moment alone with your baby sister, if not she also with one of them.  That's the vibe you get as you slip past them and their entreaties, through the long corridor, and up the somewhat longer staircase leading to the upper floor of your home for some much-needed privacy.  Thankfully, they've decided to ignore your presence so far, because otherwise, you would be stuck down there having to deal with their whining and their begging about Briana.

Not that they're really all that interested in "Brainy Bri" in the first place, but of course, that's the last thing on your mind now. You've got bigger plans to deal with, or so you keep telling yourself before you get spotted by someone else within.  In fact, at twenty years of age, you thought you might have finally found your way off of a planet that holds no more warmth for you.  

Your mother had finally left this world after three months in an end-of-life facility, but only close behind five years of dealing with the terminal illness that came with creating and testing ion cannons. Sometimes you can still see her face in your memory from time to time, provided you close your eyes and concentrate first.  Sometimes you also fear becoming just like her if you end up staying on this planet rather than leaving.  In any case, though, if you were to suddenly disappear, she wouldn't be around to try and convince you to return.

Your father, subsequently, had ceased to be able to look you in the face, no doubt because you reminded him of the woman he had so recently lost, as well as the responsibilities that came with being a widower.  The least of which, seemingly, had been paying off a few key debts in order to guarantee none of you would have to beg for your next meal...or so he told you.  He would probably not pay your disappearance much attention, either, all thanks to his current...'projects'.

And as for your younger sister, she certainly could have cared less about you even if a Sarlacc swallowed you tomorrow.  Thanks to the usual tenets of your shared Chalindran culture, Briana's upbringing and quiet demeanor has all but handed her a gleaming marriage proposal on a silver serving tray.  Your mother's funeral was the very first place you had spotted her future suitors, the first being the only son of an Admiral; the second, the firstborn son of a Senator from the Mid Rim.  Either one would be more than acceptable in the girl's eyes as well as Father's, for not only had she grown past the minimum age of fifteen cycles, she was also just so eager to please whatever young fellow crossed her path.

(How disgusting.)

She was quite the opposite of you, perhaps, considering you had begun turning away from your lone surviving parent and eligible bachelors in general at almost the exact same time, as well as letting them know exactly what was on your mind the moment they began pushing for a 'meeting'. Maybe even a little too strongly at times, like...the time a few of your old crystal figurines had just happened to be let loose against your bedroom wall after that young doctor from Coruscant tried to offer you a drink at lunch.

(At least one Chandrilan doctor had thought themselves smart enough to eradicate your mother's cancer.  Turns out, the cancer begged to differ.)

The second time, the silk collector from Naboo had found himself introduced to your carved wooden bench the moment he had offered to buy your late mother's gowns at half the price she had originally paid for them.  Needless to say, he ended up with nothing in either sense.

(Probably a good thing, considering she had promised some of them to you before she'd gone.)

The third time, however, had been the one that got every Chandrilan within hearing range looking at you sideways from that rotation forward, if not also leaving you a wide berth whenever you left the safety of your house and surrounding green.  That had been the same day your father let it slip that he'd applied you to the University of Coruscant without your knowledge or, for that matter, your consent.  That had also been the same day that your grief and resentment of the past few months finally bubbled out of you, leading you to reveal not only your own applications to the universities of Naboo, Alderaan, and Pantora in that precise order, but also the long-awaited acceptance letter from Naboo with the Queen's own stamp of approval attached.  

And so, after that great argument in which you accused your father of keeping you on too tight a leash, you yourself were accused of the worst ingratitude ever befitting a daughter, and half of your best crystal service ended up shattered upon the ground...you had spent the following three weeks planning your escape.

This will be the same escape where, as long as you gather up all the credits left over from your weekly allowances and sneak out unnoticed, you'll eventually make it out of Chandrila's space ports and get yourself on your way to Theed.

Lucky for you, you've already made a skill out of sneaking off the grounds, so one more trip beyond your father's fences should be the easiest thing ever.

This is what brings you tiptoeing back down the stairs just as the boys are arguing with Father himself, no doubt ready to interrogate him on just why he's decided to keep Briana on the same short leash as you are.  Heh.  The poor little lost puppies, begging for a treat from their master. Their sad eyes certainly match those of hungry baby mastiffs, all right,  or so you think as you draw nearer to the gate.

It's here that Father decides to liven up the competition between these two, or so it sounds to you as you slip past the three of them.

"...Yes, gentlemen, I do insist.  There will be no meetings, betrothals, or anything of the sort with Briana until a husband is found for Y/N!"

A husband.  Ha. Small chance of that happening, if not at all, you think, barely registering the groans and protests of the younger boys in the distance.  You've managed to scare most of your prospects off with your brilliant disposition alone, give or take a few damaged articles of furniture.  Not that you're complaining, of course.  If anything, it just makes leaving home a lot easier.

"So, since both of you can't get engaged to Briana, perhaps one of you would be willing to introduce yourself to Y/N instead...?"

That's not going to happen any time soon, either, if the blatant denials you hear right before you slip outside tell you anything.  

Apparently, at least one of them has already claimed that you're far too dangerous to even say hello to, let alone attempt to flirt with or even court.  That's perfectly fine with you, though, because neither one of them ever showed enough kriffing intellect to pique your interest, let alone any noticeable kindness, or courage, or willingness to try and deal with the social ills evident in your part of the galaxy.  And even if they did, it would take a lot more than a pretty face, a large bank account, and just the right amount of moral teachings to convince you to give any of them a second look.  

So, as you lift the hood of your poncho into place and throw the strap of your traveling bag over one shoulder, you can't help but observe that any quick fix your father hoped to arrange today will evaporate the moment he, Briana, or either one of those suitors end up finding you missing...but only if they catch you first.

Which, of course, you don't plan on allowing to happen.  

No, you've planned everything down to the last detail, beginning with your silent ascent into your room to gather up your supplies and then ending the moment you make use of the nearest garren tree to climb successfully over the fence, finally landing quietly upon the ground outside. Neither your family nor any of your household staff have suspected a thing, and even if one of them managed to catch a glimpse of you, you've already sworn them to secrecy from your father and sister alike.

This brings a smug grin to your face as you begin your walk down to the space port, your credits and passport safe inside your bag as you go along.  He's not going to decide your future any more, and she can flirt with her suitors as much as she wants without flaunting it in your face.  

You, on the other hand, will be enjoying your first breath of Naboo air long before they ever manage to locate you, and probably enjoying the grand tour of the university campus besides.

Or, at least...that's the last thought on your mind, right before a pair of dark, probing eyes suddenly find their way to yours.

[jangofctts]

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?  

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish​ FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA 

It's curious. 

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is. 

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.  

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.        

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos. 

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.     

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought  it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.     

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.     

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

 And yes, you tried to slip by for this one. 

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.    

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye. 

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?" 

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but— 

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut. 

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit." 

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?" 

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information. 

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.” 

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.” 

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.” 

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting. 

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.” 

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height. 

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces. 

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed." 

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder. 

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well. 

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.  

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.  

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me." 

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts. 

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this? 

This is too good. 

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.  

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions." 

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…  

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.  

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that." 

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.  

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride. 

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest. 

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.   

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you." 

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.” 

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left. 

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.  

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet. 

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.  

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss. 

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this. 

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.   

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything. 

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.     

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin. 

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.      

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this? 

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.   

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.  

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—” 

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name. 

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.” 

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it. 

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.” 

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones. 

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate. 

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part. 

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.   

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.” 

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.” 

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away. 

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit. 

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly— 

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands. 

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here. 

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.” 

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him. 

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.” 

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages. 

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin. 

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you. 

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.   

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever. 

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?