#it was difficult to find the right angles for this shoot

[nocturnalazure]

[pucksandpower]

Fixer Upper

Max Verstappen x interior designer!Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen is the most frustrating client you’ve ever dealt with … but maybe he can make it up to you

“How about some pops of color in here?” You suggest brightly, gesturing around the stark white walls of Max Verstappen’s new Monaco penthouse.

The Dutch driver sniffs, glancing up briefly from his phone. “No thanks. I like it plain.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he does. You’ve been working with Max for two weeks now trying to decorate his new home, but so far he’s shot down every single idea you’ve proposed.

As an interior designer based in a principality known for catering to the rich and famous, you’re used to difficult clients, but Max may just take the cake. Still, you’re determined to give him the space he desires … if you can only figure out what that is.

“Alright, plain it is,” you say evenly. “But we should at least add some artwork, don’t you think? Something modern and sleek could look fantastic against these walls.”

Max doesn’t even glance up this time. “No art. Don’t like it.”

You inhale slowly. “Okay, no problem. We’ll keep it artless.” Time to switch gears. You gesture to the expansive bank of windows along one wall. “These floor-to-ceiling windows are incredible, some of the best views in Monaco. We could do some fabulous seating here to take advantage of the natural light. Maybe a chaise lounge or two angled toward the harbor ...”

“Don’t need seating.” Max is focused on his phone, thumbs flying. “I’ll just put my sim rig there.”

Your eye twitches involuntarily. His racing simulator setup — in front of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the most coveted views in the principality? Absolutely not.

“Well,” you begin delicately, “Perhaps we could find another place for your sim, one that doesn’t obstruct the views quite so much. I’m sure we could-”

“No, I want it there,” Max interrupts flatly. “I like seeing the water while I drive.” His attention doesn’t waver from the screen in his hands.

You close your eyes briefly and take a calming breath. Alright. No color, no art, and a sim smack in front of priceless views. So much for design aesthetics. Time for a new tactic.

“You must do a lot of cooking,” you say brightly, turning towards the kitchen. “This is an amazing culinary space. We could do some open shelving with sleek finishes to highlight the quartz countertops.”

Silence. Max just gives a non-committal grunt, still absorbed by his phone.

You soldier on. “Or maybe some nice warm wood cabinetry for contrast? I have some fantastic artisan contacts who could do handmade custom designs.”

“Don’t cook much,” he mutters.

Your smile tightens. “Not to worry, we can keep the kitchen minimal too.” Is there anything, anything at all, you can propose that he won’t immediately shoot down? You’re starting to doubt it.

Switching to the living area, you smooth down your dress and try again. “For the living room, I was thinking we could do built-in bookcases along the back wall there, and maybe expose some of the original brick behind for an industrial chic look ...”

Max glances up from his phone to level an unimpressed look at you. “But we’re inside. Brick would make no sense.”

You close your eyes briefly. Of course not. “My mistake, you’re absolutely right,” you say through gritted teeth. Enough pussyfooting around. Time to be direct.

You plant yourself in front of where Max sits on the couch and place your hands on your hips. “Max, I’m going to be honest. I’m having trouble getting a sense of your style and vision for this space. You’ve rejected all my ideas so far.”

He blinks up at you blandly. “I don’t like any of your ideas. This is my place and I want to do what I want.”

You resist the urge to tear your hair out in frustration. “Of course, and I want you to have exactly what you want. But in order to do that, I need you to communicate with me. Tell me what kind of look and feel you envision for your home. Modern, traditional, minimalist? What colors and textures appeal to you?”

Max just shrugs, his attention already drifting back to his phone. “I don’t know. Just make it nice.”

Oh for god’s sake. You inhale slowly through your nose. “Perhaps you could show me some inspiration photos of interiors you like?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.”

That’s it. You’ve had it with this infuriating man. You know you shouldn’t lose your cool with a client, but you’re at the end of your rope.

“Well, I’m afraid ‘make it nice’ doesn’t give me much to go on,” you snap sarcastically. “I can’t read your mind, Max. So unless you start providing concrete input on what you actually want, I’m resigning from this job.”

You expect anger, or at least surprise at your outburst. But Max just regards you evenly for a moment, then nods. “Okay, fair enough. The truth is ...” He pauses, looking faintly embarrassed. “I just wanted an excuse to spend more time around you.”

You blink, blindsided. “I’m sorry, what?”

A slight flush rises in Max’s cheeks. “I didn’t actually care about the decor that much. I just thought if I kept saying no to all your ideas, you’d have to stay involved with the project longer.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Guess I took the stubborn client thing too far.”

You’re dumbfounded. And, if you’re being honest, a little charmed. “Let me get this straight — you’ve been wasting my time and driving me crazy for two weeks because you … have a crush on me?”

Max winces. “When you put it like that, I sound like an idiot.”

You have to laugh. “A bit, yeah.” But you can’t help but feel a warm flutter in your stomach too. You’ve always thought Max was cute in a boyish way. Knowing he orchestrated this whole thing just to spend time with you is, admittedly, very flattering. And more than a little endearing.

Max rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be difficult on purpose. I just ...” He trails off with a helpless little shrug.

You take pity on him. Yes, leading you on a wild goose chase of rejected designs was unprofessional. But the hesitant smile he’s giving you now tugs at your heartstrings anyway.

“Well, I appreciate you coming clean,” you say gently. “How about we start fresh? I’d love to actually get your real input now on what you want.”

His smile widens, grey eyes lighting up. “Yeah?”

You can’t help but smile back. “On one condition.”

He nods eagerly. “Name it.”

“You take me to dinner.” You arch an eyebrow. “To make up for the stress you caused me over the past two weeks.”

Max lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Deal.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”

“Little bit, yeah.” You grin to soften the reproach. “Next time just ask me out for a drink. It’s a much more straightforward approach.”

“Duly noted.” He smiles sheepishly.

You move to sit next to him on the couch. “So tell me honestly, what kind of look are you picturing for this place?”

Max considers the blank canvas of a space. “Honestly, I’m open to anything you suggest. I trust your taste — I’ve seen your work before and it’s amazing.” His eyes meet yours. “But I do definitely want my sim rig with a view. That part wasn’t a lie.”

You laugh. “We can make that work.” Your gaze travels over the strong lines of his face, the mussed brown hair, the wry curve of his smile that makes your heart beat faster.

As you begin sketching possible layout options, you make a mental note to clear your schedule for dinner soon. Very soon.

***

“Well, this is … quite a space,” you say diplomatically as the hostess leads you and Max to your table.

You’re immediately assaulted by a riot of clashing colors and patterns as your gaze darts around the trendy restaurant he’s brought you to for dinner. Your trained designer’s eye picks out aesthetic atrocities everywhere you look.

An art deco mirror topped by an incongruous ultra-modern light fixture. Fussy rococo chairs paired with sleek metal tables. And dear god, is that shag carpeting?

“Yes, Le Chat Noir is very popular right now,” Max agrees, seemingly oblivious to the decor travesties surrounding you.

You hold your tongue as the hostess seats you. The haphazard decor choices are an assault on your senses, but you don’t want to seem rude on your first date with Max.

A server appears to take your drink orders. You welcome the distraction, busying yourself with the wine list. But as soon as he departs, Max leans forward, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Alright, I know that look. Out with it — what do you really think?”

You bite your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gestures broadly around. “Of all this.”

You hesitate. “The decor is certainly … interesting.”

Max grins. “I can tell you absolutely hate it.”

You wince. Damn, he’s perceptive. And here you were trying so hard to remain poker-faced.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed laugh. “I was attempting to refrain from judgment, but it appears I failed.”

“No need to apologize.” He settles back in his chair. “Please, critique away. I want to hear your professional opinion.” His eyes dance with humor. “Don’t hold back.”

Well, far be it from you to turn down an invitation like that. As your drinks arrive, you take a fortifying sip of wine before launching in.

“Alright, you asked for it.” You set the glass down firmly. “This space is an absolute disaster from a design perspective. It’s like the interior decorator was blindfolded and threw darts at a wall covered in paint swatches and fabric samples. Nothing goes together at all.”

You point above your table. “That light fixture up there? Ultrasmack modern against 19th century crown molding? Make it make sense.”

Max chuckles. “Quite the mashup.”

You lean forward, on a roll now. “And this carpet!” You gesture in horror to the shag beneath your feet. “This trend needs to retire immediately. It looks like an avocado fucked a bear.”

Max nearly chokes on his drink. “A what now?”

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean. Just tragic.”

Sitting back, you take in the rest of the garish space. “The artwork over there is just hideous. And that tufted velvet on the booths makes me want to scream. Who decided olive green was an accent color that pairs well with anything?”

You turn back to Max, on a tirade now. “Honestly, nothing works. The proportions are bad, the color palette is an atrocity, the mixture of styles is absurd. It’s like the designer threw every conceivable element at the wall to see what would stick. I could have done a better job blindfolded after downing a bottle of tequila.” You finally stop for breath, cheeks flushed.

Max has an enormous grin on his face. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling too. “Sorry for the outburst. Like I said, feel free to tell me to zip it.”

“Are you kidding? I could listen to you shred this place all night.” Max shakes his head, looking delighted. “I’ve never seen you so worked up. It’s adorable.”

You blush, smoothing your hair self-consciously. “Oh hush. I just have … strong opinions when it comes to interior design choices.”

“Clearly.” Max’s eyes positively dance with affection. “I love how passionate you are. And your criticisms are spot on. This place really is horrendously designed.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait, you actually agree? You’re not just humoring me?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not. My knowledge doesn’t come remotely close to yours, but even I can tell everything in here clashes hideously.” He gestures at the table. “I mean, a wooden chair back with a metal seat? Just pick one material!”

You grin, happiness blossoming in your chest. It’s such a treat to have him validate your expert opinions instead of just patronizing them like many dates would. You launch eagerly back into listing all the ways the restaurant decor offends you, with Max chiming in occasional agreement or egging you on for more.

By the time your food arrives, you’ve dissected the lighting, furniture, textiles, and color schemes within an inch of their lives. Max watches you intently the whole time, blatantly enraptured by your critiques. Your wine glass is nearly empty from all the gesticulating.

“Well, I think that covers all the ways this interior design should be illegal,” you conclude, taking a bite of your meal. “Thanks for indulging me. I know I can get carried away analyzing spaces.”

“I could listen to you trash talk bad design forever.” Max can’t seem to rip his eyes away from yours. “I love how opinionated you are. And you look so damn sexy getting all fired up about it.”

A pleasurable shiver runs through you at his heated look. Maybe ripping this restaurant to shreds wasn’t the most conventional date conversation, but it clearly impressed Max. Nothing like a shared hatred of garish decor to bring two people together.

“Well, I’m glad one of us enjoys these tirades,” you laugh. You cock your head coyly. “Maybe I could come over sometime outside of work and critique your place again now that it’s shaping up. I’m sure I can find a few more things to complain about.”

Max’s eyes darken. “I’d like that.” He leans forward with a roguish smile. “Maybe we can get out of here and you can tell me all the ways you’d redesign the bedroom in my current apartment. You know, so we can avoid making those mistakes again while you help decorate my bedroom in the penthouse.”

You nearly choke on your wine, heat flooding your face. And lower regions. Goodness, Max’s flirty side really brings out your inner vixen.

You recover and stroke his ankle lightly with your heel under the table. “I’d be happy to provide any hands-on design consultation you require.”

Max sucks in a sharp breath, eyes blazing. The temperature between you two has risen about fifty degrees in the last few seconds. Suddenly you want nothing more than to leave this horribly designed restaurant and get him alone.

Immediately.

***

“A good mattress is crucial for proper sleep and recovery,” Max declares as you walk into the upscale furniture store together. “We need to test them thoroughly.”

You allow him to lead you to the mattress section, hiding a smile. When Max asked you to come mattress shopping with him for his new bedroom, you’d naively thought it would be a quick errand. But knowing Max, you should have guessed he’d take the task of “testing” mattresses very seriously.

An eager salesperson appears. “Welcome! Are we looking for any mattress in particular today?”

“We want to try them all,” Max announces, eyeing the rows of display beds keenly.

The salesperson falters. “Er, all of them?”

“How else will we know which is best?” Max shrugs as if this is obvious.

You squeeze his arm, charmed by his matter-of-fact logic. The salesperson forces a professional smile.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” He gestures expansively at the floor models. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”

“Excellent.” Max wastes no time striding over to the nearest bed. He sits, then lies back experimentally. “Hmm, decent firmness.” He pats the empty space beside him. “Come try it out.”

You curl up next to him, hiding your smile at the salesperson’s raised eyebrows. When you said you’d help Max pick out a mattress, this wasn’t what you pictured. But you have to admit, lying here with him is fun.

Max frowns. “Too much motion transfer when you move.” He sits up abruptly. “Next!”

You have to smother a laugh as you follow him to the next display. This no-nonsense methodism is peak Max. Systematic and entertainingly stubborn.

At the second bed, Max immediately starfishes spread-eagle. “Well? Get over here and test it with me. It’s the only way we’ll know.” He pats the mattress insistently.

You note the salesperson observing this display with thinly veiled disapproval. But Max just looks so irresistibly eager, you can’t help but indulge him.

You crawl onto the bed and cuddle up to him happily. “Mmm, this one’s nice. Great hugability.” You pretend to grab Max in a koala hold.

He laughs. “Agreed, good hugging potential.” Wrapping his arms around you, he shifts experimentally. “But the bounce is all wrong.” He releases you and sits up. “Next!”

And so it goes for the next hour as you enthusiastically demo mattress after mattress with Max. You try them on your backs, sides, fronts, analyzing the firmness levels and motion transfer. At one point you even test out the edge support — whatever that is — with Max insisting you sit together on the very side of the mattress frame.

“Considerable sag here,” Max murmurs against your ear, his arm firmly around your waist. You have to hide your shiver at his warm breath so close. “Could be problematic.”

The salesperson looks like he’s one demo away from throwing you both out. But Max either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He cheerfully drags you from bed to bed, ticking off pros and cons on his fingers.

“Decent lumbar support, but it sleeps too hot.”

“Great responsiveness, but poor motion isolation.”

You’re having the time of your life. Testing mattresses was benign enough, but the excuse to crawl into bed with Max over and over has you both giddy. Each demo seems to involve increasingly creative configurations of your interlocked bodies as you evaluate firmness and ergonomics.

“I’m just not sure this is a good fit,” Max eventually concludes, frowning up at you from where you straddle his hips. His hands rest casually on your thighs, as if finding yourself atop a handsome man in a public place is perfectly routine mattress research.

You smother a laugh and climb off. “Valid analysis. Though some of the testing scenarios still need more data, I’d say.” You shoot him a coy look.

Max grins. “Agreed. Further testing required.”

The salesperson pointedly avoids looking at you both. “Perhaps you’d like to narrow down your top choices? I’m sure you have plenty of notes by now.” There’s a tautness to his professionalism that suggests you’ve stretched his patience to its limit.

But Max seems oblivious. “We’re not done yet! There are still at least half a dozen models we haven’t tried.” He takes your hand, pulling you toward a plush, pillow-topped display. “Now this one looks perfect for spooning. You little spoon first this time ...”

Mattress testing with Max, you’ve learned, is a delightful mix of structured analysis and shameless flirtation. You can’t remember ever having so much fun shopping. And based on Max’s boyish smile and lingering touches, the feeling is mutual.

“Too much dip in the middle,” Max tuts later, rolling you both gently across yet another mattress surface. “Though the close contact isn’t terrible.” His low voice in your ear makes you shiver.

You grin up at him coyly. “We should do an in-depth pressure point analysis next.”

Max smirks. “Crucial data to collect.”

Eventually, however, even Max’s enthusiasm starts to wane. “I think we have sufficient consumer testing results now,” he decides, pulling you up to sit beside him on the edge of a low platform bed.

You laugh. “That poor salesperson was ready to toss us out an hour ago.”

“Hey, we were conducting necessary R&D!” Max’s grey eyes twinkle. “But I am rather tired now ...”

He lies back, resting his head in your lap. You automatically begin stroking his hair and he sighs, eyes slipping closed. You take the opportunity to admire how sweet he looks, lips slightly parted and lashes fanned on his cheeks. Testing mattresses all afternoon seems to have worn him out.

You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Ready to take this mattress research home to really compare notes?”

One grey eye peeks open. “Mmm, home analysis does sound optimal.” His voice is raspy with fatigue in a way that melts you. “Wake me when it’s time to go?”

You brush a soft kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

He nuzzles into your lap with a contented noise. Watching his breath deepen into sleep, you feel your heart overflow. There are a thousand reasons you adore Max, but these unexpectedly tender moments might top them all.

The salesperson reappears, offering you a pained smile. “So were you able to decide on a mattress today?”

You grin, fingers still carding through Max’s hair. “You know, I think we need to sleep on it a little longer.”

***

“Well, what do you think?” Max gestures with pride around his freshly competed penthouse.

You take it all in — the sleek but cozy furniture, the warm lighting, the pops of color — and smile. “It’s perfect. You have an incredible home now.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, gazing around. “I really couldn’t have done it without you. This place was a disaster before you came along.”

You lean into him happily. It’s been months since you first met Max and began working with him on decorating his new space. It was a battle at times, but you’re immensely proud of the final result.

“I’m honored I could help bring your vision to life,” you say sincerely. Though if you’re honest, the best part of this project was getting to know Max himself. The way his smile makes your heart flutter hasn’t diminished one bit.

Max turns you to face him, his expression soft. “I didn’t just get a beautifully designed home out of this. I got you.”

Your breath catches at the open affection in his eyes. Before you can respond, he dips his head and kisses you tenderly. You melt against him, the feel of his lips erasing any coherent thought.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are darker. “You know, there’s still one part of the place we haven’t officially christened yet.” He cocks his head toward the bedroom.

You bite your lip, pulse already quickening. “Is that so? Well, we should definitely perform a final inspection to confirm everything meets our standards.”

Max grins wolfishly, pulling you toward the bedroom. “Thorough testing is required.”

You laugh as he tugs you down onto the plush king mattress you’d finally agreed on after extensive “research.” The two of you bounce slightly from the momentum, causing you both to dissolve into giggles.

“Well, motion transfer still seems acceptable,” you quip. Max chuckles and silences you with another heated kiss.

You hum approvingly as his hands begin to roam your body. “Mmm, responsiveness is excellent too ...”

Clothes are quickly shed as you reacquaint yourselves with each other’s forms. When you’re finally skin-to-skin, Max sighs in satisfaction.

“I’ve been waiting months to get you in this bed.” His voice is low and gravelly in a way that makes you shiver.

“It was the longest mattress testing phase ever,” you breathe as his lips kiss down your neck.

Max laughs against your shoulder. “Worth it though, right?”

In answer, you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. “Absolutely.”

You take your time exploring each other, hands and mouths worshiping every inch. Until late afternoon sun filters through the curtains, bathing the room in an almost ethereal glow.

When Max finally sinks into you, you moan softly at the exquisite fullness. “Oh yes, this mattress has great ergonomics,” you sigh dreamily.

Max huffs a laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. “I’ll be sure to mention that in my product review.”

You grin and shift your hips experimentally, making him groan. “The responsiveness really is top-notch.”

“We should still test a few more positions though,” Max murmurs. “Just to be thorough.”

You happily comply, indulging in acrobatic mattress testing that leaves you both blissfully satisfied and out of breath. As you lay tangled together afterwards, endorphins still flooding your systems, Max presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Well, I’d say the new bed passes inspection with flying colors,” he declares with sleepy satisfaction.

You laugh and stroke his hair. “Agreed. You chose an excellent mattress.” You snuggle closer. “Though the company in it is what I really enjoy.”

Max tightens his arms around you. “Think you can put up with me and my high-maintenance decor demands a while longer?” His voice holds a vulnerable note beneath the teasing.

Your heart swells and you cup his face. “Max Verstappen, I’ll critique mattresses and furniture with you any day. As long as at the end of it, I get to fall asleep next to you.”

His smile outshines the lowering sun. “Deal.”

***

“You know what I love most about how our place looks now?” Max murmurs, his arms wrapped around you on the couch.

You tear your eyes from the awful reality show you’re watching to glance up at him. “Hmm?”

His gaze sweeps over the living room, a small smile on his lips. “All the little touches that are just so you.”

You follow his look around the penthouse that over the past year has transformed from Max’s bachelor pad to your shared home. It’s still sleek and modern overall, but with warm accents reflecting both your styles.

And yes, you realize, your personal influence shows in the decor now that you live here full time. The mugs hung on hooks in the kitchen, the plush blankets tossed artfully on the chairs, the bowls of sea glass collected from beach walks that adorn the tables.

Your heart swells looking at the traces of yourself woven into Max’s space. “It does feel more like home now, doesn’t it?”

Max nods, dropping a kiss to your hair. “It’s perfect. I love coming back after a race and being surrounded by reminders of you.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace, incredibly touched. “Well, I promise to keep leaving my clutter around to make you feel at home.”

He chuckles. “Please do. It’s my favorite kind of clutter.”

Smiling softly, you think back to when you first started dating Max after working on his penthouse makeover. Who could have guessed that would lead to sharing this life together?

Your gaze lands on a shelf displaying photos of the two of you, and your throat grows tight. There’s you and Max laughing on vacation, kissing right after he won his fourth world championship, curled up with hot chocolate on a ski trip. So many beautiful memories.

“It’s hard to remember what this place even looked like before,” you murmur. And not just the decor — it’s hard to recall your life before Max.

He rubs your shoulder idly, eyes faraway. “I know what you mean. It’s like you’ve always been here.” His voice holds a note of wonder.

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Max’s eyes shine. He bends to kiss you, soft and heartfelt. Your lips curve against his.

When you reluctantly draw back, the television screen catches your eye. You cringe at the fake drama unfolding.

“Ugh, this show is terrible,” you groan. “Can we watch something else?”

Max grins and grabs the remote, flipping through channels. He eventually lands on a home renovation program you both enjoy analyzing and critiquing together. Some things never change.

You settle in eagerly as the show starts, scrutinizing the design choices. Max wraps an arm around you, idly playing with your hair as you watch.

Despite the show’s flaws, being curled up with Max like this fills you with utter contentment. You can’t imagine anything better than coming home to his smile and laugh each day.

During commercials, you fetch snacks from the kitchen, navigating the space with ease. Max trails behind to steal bites, ever drawn to food.

You swat his hand away from the chocolate you’re preparing and laugh. “Get your paws off, those are for sharing!”

Max just tugs you close and kisses the protest from your lips. You happily let him devour the sweetness from your mouth instead, the chocolate forgotten.

Finally you collapse back on the couch together, munching and critiquing the show’s poor tile work. Max throws popcorn for you to catch, his aim as impressive as his racing lines.

Your eyes droop as the evening wears on. The cozy penthouse, tasty snacks, and Max’s warmth — it’s the perfect recipe for relaxation.

When your head nods against Max’s shoulder for the third time, he chuckles and clicks the tv off. “Alright sleepyhead, time for bed.”

You make a half-hearted noise of protest but let him pull you up. Max keeps an arm securely around you as he leads the way to the bedroom, knowing you’re prone to stumbling when tired. It makes you feel so cared for.

He even helps you change into your nightgown, his hands impossibly gentle. As you finally crawl under the blankets, you let out a massive yawn.

“Night Maxie,” you mumble, already mostly asleep. He gathers you close and presses a kiss to your hair.

“Sweet dreams, liefje.” His voice is impossibly soft. You float away cradled in his warmth and the knowledge you’re home.

The next morning, you wake slowly to sunlight streaming in the windows and the smell of coffee. Stretching languorously, you take a moment just to soak it in.

Muffled sounds drift in from the kitchen signaling Max is already up and at ‘em. You smile sleepily. The man has the energy of a hyper puppy.

Before you can muster the will to leave bed, Max appears holding two mugs. “Morning schatje,” he greets with a smile. “Thought you might need some caffeine.”

You beam and make grabby hands until he passes you a mug. The rich aroma instantly perks you up.

Max slides in next to you, sipping his own coffee. His hair is adorably mussed and you gently smooth it down before cupping his face and bringing him in for a long, thorough good morning kiss.

When you finally separate, Max looks pleasingly dazed. “Well, that’s certainly one way to wake up.”

You grin cheekily and go back to your coffee. Max wraps an arm around you and you lean into his solid warmth, trading occasional lazy kisses between sips.

Sun streams over your entwined forms as you bask in contented silence. Eventually you stretch and make your way to the bathroom to start the day, dropping a kiss to Max’s hair as you pass.

You smile seeing your hairbrush by the sink, pink toothbrush next to Max’s blue one. Such small signs of your merged lives, but they mean the world.

Refreshed, you return to Max sprawled on the bed with his phone. He immediately opens his arms in clear demand for more cuddles. Laughing, you collapse into them happily.

Nuzzling into his chest, you sigh. “I know I was practically unconscious last night, but just wanted to say again how special it is having pieces of us both around the place now.”

Max’s arms tighten around you. “You being here makes it a home, not just an apartment.” His voice catches slightly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, your own suddenly misty. No words can encapsulate what it means to build a life and home with this incredible man.

So you tell him silently instead, with a kiss overflowing with love and promise: I’ll stay by your side as long as I’m welcome.

Judging by Max’s arm anchoring you fiercely to him, that will be a good long while. You melt into his embrace, spirits soaring.

No fancy penthouse or perfect decor could compare to what you’ve found with Max — a home rooted in love, laughter, and devotion.

One look at his tender smile and you know he feels it too. This is everything.

So you’ll happily leave your mugs around the sink and blankets on the chairs, weaving threads of yourself into his space. With each passing day, it matters less whose belongings lie where.

Because home isn’t things — it’s the man gazing at you like you’re his whole world. And you know as long as you’re together, any place will feel just right.

[misted-dream]

BET YOU WANNA BE MINE ﹒⌗﹒🥀﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 재현 + fem!reader

in which . . . the last person you expected to show up in front of your door at midnight is jaehyun—your ex.

content&warnings | MDNI smut, profanity, mentions of dui, infidelity, angst bc exes, toxic themes (jaehyun is a red flag), oral f receiving, dirty talk, unprotected sex

word count | 3.2k

⋆.˚ . . . heavily inspired by roses by jaehyun of course

12:01AM

a knock sounds at your apartment door.

your tired feet shuffle slowly through the dimness of your living room, with the warm glow of the kitchen light spilling over.

a shadow bleeds through the gap beneath your door, blocking the hallway light in two different spots.

with the chain still attached, you twist the handle, opening the door only slightly.

you tilt your head, angling yourself to get a view of whoever’s standing on the opposite side.

…

without hesitation, you press your palm to the wooden surface, pushing on the door to shut it. hard.

“wait!” a voice calls from outside.

his voice calls from outside.

and you notice the door, in fact, isn’t shut when it should be by now; a shoe wedging in between the frame.

your body stills for a second, despite the alarms ringing in your head.

“is he here?” he asks, meekly.

for whatever reason, you decide to respond, “no.”

the ‘he’ in question is your current boyfriend, whom the ‘he’ outside your apartment right now knows enough about to render that question needlessly rhetorical. and useless.

you push harder on the door, trapping his foot tighter between the wooden board and its frame.

“can i just speak to you? 5 minutes,” he pleads, “5 minutes is all i need.”

you know him well enough that if you were to say ‘no’ to his bidding here, it’d be easy to assume he’d stay the night in the corridor outside—and then you’ll actually be fucked if your boyfriend saw him in that state tomorrow morning.

you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“move your goddamn foot.”

he does what you say; a part of him scared that you’re just gonna shut the door on him, but relief comes in the form of you standing there, the door swung open, and you looking straight at him.

“speak.”

he licks his bottom lip, glossing over it lightly. the bright lights overhead highlights his cheekbones, sculpting his face like a statue.

“yn…”

“jaehyun.”

this is the first time—first time in 7 months that you spoke his name aloud and not cursed him in the same breath.

he staggers a step behind him, and you instinctively reach out. upon realisation, you pull your arm back.

jaehyun clamps his eyes shut, his nose slightly scrunching up as if he’s recalling something particularly difficult to say. “i really—”

“are you drunk?” the sharpness in your voice shoots him awake with his eyes opened.

“no,” he replies firmly and adds a shake with his head, “no.”

you sigh. “how did you get here?”

“i have a car.”

“you fucking drove—are you insane?” despite every conscious effort to not get close to him, you find yourself tugging on his arm with your hand, pulling him inside before he has a chance to collapse on the floor. jaehyun shows absolutely zero signs of resistance to this.

the door slams shut behind you two.

“sit down,” you utter, more like a command than anything. “i’ll get you some water.”

jaehyun is drunk; there’s no denying it. but not drunk enough to not know how to navigate your apartment even in the dark. perhaps, he has your history to thank for that.

he sinks down into your couch with you shortly appearing next to him with a mug in your hands that you cup his fingers over.

“thanks,” he mutters softly, taking a sip of water.

“don’t think your 5 minutes doesn’t still stand,” you watch him pointedly. a sudden impatience ringing in his bones, jolting his posture upright.

jaehyun sets the mug down on the coffee table. eyes looking up at you as you stand over him.

he breathes out deeply.

he drops his gaze to the mug for a moment, looking as though he’s contemplating his words carefully. the slight hum of your fridge being the only thing you can hear, and suddenly it’s a thousand times louder than usual.

meeting your eyes again, he leans forward.

with every beat of silence that comes, a hammering picks up in your chest.

his lips part, and the words that follow fall heavily. "i think about you."

air is knocked out of your lungs momentarily. you feel your shoulders drop.

"i miss you," jaehyun's voice is like a needle. feeble, almost undetectable, and aiming straight for your heart.

the stabbing pain that you felt more than half a year ago when you and jaehyun broke up returns. your heart dropping straight to your stomach, sinking and stirring around in the acid.

you can only scoff.

"stop fucking around," your tone harsh and your voice coarse. you fold your arms across your chest, regarding him with slight contempt in your eyes.

"i'm not," jaehyun counters, "yn—"

"no," you sternly shut him down. "this isn't fair, you know it isn't fair."

you couldn’t stop the next words from coming out, a result of the long suppressed, built up anger and resentment you held towards your ex.

“you were the one who broke up with me, jaehyun.”

jaehyun only looks at your face. his brows softened, knitting together slightly as he studies the expression on it.

“i know,” he offers in the way of a comfort. arms reaching out to you and holding your wrists in his hands.

if it wasn’t for the overtly complex prism of emotions inside of you right now, there’d be more aversion to his touch. but his skin on yours feels so familiar. it feels right. so much so that you allow yourself to be pulled closer to him sitting there.

maybe less allow, and more just letting your body move to whatever stimulus in a catatonic state.

you’re standing in between his knees, looking down at him, and the urge to fall right back into your once favourite habits emerges from the pit of your stomach. but your mind is clear enough to keep to your discipline.

jaehyun picks one of your hands up to his lips. gently, he kisses the back of it; a gesture way too intimate but you can’t bring yourself to stop him.

“i fucked up,” his voice is low and steady as he brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “i know i did, and i shouldn’t have.”

he runs his other hand up your leg, soft like a feather caressing you. and suddenly, it’s like you’re brought back to reality—the fact that this is actually happening and you’re allowing it to.

“stop,” you pull your hand away from his grip, “it’s too late for apologies, jaehyun.”

when you were together, every time his name fell from your lips, it sounded sheepish, like he’s some high school crush that you’re afraid to utter the name of. and this time, it’s none different.

he settles his hand on top of your hips. “i’m sorry,” he voices completely disregarding what you just said.

you shake your head, “that doesn’t mean anything.” there was a time where you would’ve given anything to hear this from him. except now, as bitterness has steadily been building in you, you’d much rather have him beg and plead for your forgiveness instead.

“i miss you,” he says again. his glassy eyes telling of his desperation, which is only amplified by him pulling your waist closer.

you put your hands on his shoulders, holding yourself away as much as you can. “i have a boyfriend,” you throw out weakly, as if even you don’t believe it to be a strong enough argument against the case that is jung jaehyun.

“and i never should’ve let you get that chance. to be with him.”

all the anger and resentment you still felt towards jaehyun just a few moments ago seems to have dissipated. you relax your arms, your body moving in closer to his.

your eyelids flutter over jaehyun’s features. he’s always been handsome, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. under you, shadows casted on his face from your body, eyes dark with anticipation.

you fix your eyes on his, “i can’t do this to him.”

if you had known jaehyun would be coming, you wouldn’t have worn this particular pair of shorts. “i don’t care about him,” he says rubbing the bare back of your thigh with his palm.“this is about you. us.” jaehyun pulls your legs up onto the couch, sitting you on top of his knees.

his eyes glaze over you like honey, and memories of the two of you fill his mind. you have never been more beautiful than right now.

the tip of his thumb grazes the side of your cheeks, pushing your hair back. “tell me you don’t miss me, and i’ll leave.”

you stay in silence, completely enchanted with just a look from him that close to you.

“i thought so,” jaehyun admits lowly, like a whisper.

you can’t pinpoint where in the brief encounter tonight that jaehyun took control over the situation, but the thing is that he is certainly holding the reins.

he presses his lips on yours, gently at first, as if already savouring this moment for reminiscing later. as he feels you kissing him back, he pushes in deeper.

his hands slide your hips further down his lap. lips still interlocked, he kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his last meal.

he hums, mumbling against your lips, “i missed you so fucking much,” the vibrations sending a chill down your spine, “god.”

you catch a faint scent of his cologne, the one you bought for him ages ago.

“i need to taste you,” he pulls away from your mouth shortly, mumbling the words, “will you let me?” into you.

you peel yourself off of him, catching your breath and nodding. and if that wasn’t enough, you breathe out a shaky “yes.”

jaehyun picks your body up in his arms, laying you down on the couch with your head on top of the rest. you watch him hook his fingers into your waistband and pull your shorts down, an eagerness to his pace.

he looks up at your face through your legs, waiting for confirmation of any kind before he similarly pulls your panties down.

you give him a subtle nod, and the next second, your cunt is bare and exposed to him. instinctively, your knees press together, clamming your thighs shut.

“oh, baby,” he tuts, palms spreading your legs open for him again. “fuck,” he bites down on his lip, “i missed this pretty pussy.”

helplessly, you feel the heat underneath your skin bloom in your cheeks.

jaehyun runs the tip of his finger up your slit, letting out hums of satisfaction as he does so. you feel your back arch slightly just at the littlest of movements from him. you swear you catch a smirk from him before he starts sucking on your clit.

his tongue works up and down your cunt, covering it in a mixture of your own wetness and his spit. he moans against you, “i missed how you taste.”

your hands find their way into jaehyun’s hair, gripping tightly and trying to resist the urge to push him deeper into your cunt.

he laps his tongue over and over your clit, a finger dragging up and down your folds. he hums, “do you still like it like this, baby?” he pushes the tip of his finger inside of you, easing his way in from the slickness.

slowly, he drags his finger in and out of your cunt, swirling circles with his tongue on your clit at the same time. gently, he places his other palm over your lower abdomen, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

you can’t help your legs from squirming under him.

“oh, you do, don’t you?” his voice undoubtedly laced with an edge of cockiness. brash from the fact that he's convinced he still knows your body in ways that no one else does, not even your current boyfriend.

but you'd rather die than ever even consider affirming that.

you bite down hard on your bottom lip, keeping the whines you so desperately want to release inside.

jaehyun keeps lapping his tongue over your cunt tirelessly, pumping his finger smoothly into you. then, without warning, adding another digit, and another.

despite your best efforts, a small cry escapes you. nails digging deep into jaehyun’s shoulders as you feel yourself stretched out on his fingers.

“fuck, jae,” you feel him purr at your nickname for him

“yes, baby?”

you feel the tightening in your stomach, your legs threatening to squeeze shut. “i’m close,” you faintly manage in between soft whimpers.

“do it,” jaehyun murmurs, his voice muffled against you, “i need to see you cum again.” his fingers quicken their pace, “please. cum on my face, baby.”

you fight the urge to not give him what he wants, but truly, he’s too good at making you feel good. his palm presses a little harder on your stomach, tipping you that little bit over the edge as the pressure releases on his fingers. a blinding wave of dopamine flashes across your eyes, your walls clenched tightly around his fingers so much so that jaehyun struggles to move his hand.

jaehyun mutters as he watches you; eyes shut tight, back arched, and hands holding his face in place as you ride your orgasm out on him.

“mhm, that’s it baby,” he mumbles as you slowly come down from your high. “good girl,” he smirks before pressing a final kiss on your clit.

he crawls over your body, caging you inside his arms with his hands on either side of your shoulders.

your eyelids feel heavy, drooping low as you watch jaehyun push your hair away from your face. “you’re still the prettiest when you cum,” he smiles cheekily.

you barely manage to breathe out a breathy, “shut up,” causing him to chuckle over you.

“don’t believe me?”

jaehyun takes one of your wrists, pulling your hand down to palm the front of his jeans.

“you don’t even have to do anything—that’s how fucking hard you make me.”

you look down at your hand cupping over his bulge. then, back up into his eyes, fingers unbuttoning the top of his jeans. “what are you gonna do about it then?”

jaehyun laughs an unamused laugh, and you know too well what that means.

“baby, baby,” he gently shakes his head. “you’re going to regret saying that.” he unzips the zipper, pulling his boxers down until his cock springs up free from its confines.

the tip of it swelling red, precum leaking little by little at a time.

you feel your body tremble at the sight of his dick, even after all this time. the first time you had sex with jaehyun, you couldn’t walk straight the next morning.

he wraps his hand around his shaft, pointing its head directly at your cunt. slowly, he spreads his precum all over your slit—still sensitive from your orgasm. he drags his tip over your entrance, teasing you and enjoying every second of it.

your body writhes at this fleeting touch, the need to be filled up with his dick chipping away at your dignity.

“you want this cock, baby?” jaehyun brushes your cheek with his thumb, like he’s wiping away tears. “i’ll give it to you.”

he steadies himself with his palms firmly planted on the armrest.

then, in one swift motion, he thrusts his hips into you, the entirety of his length disappearing inside you. the sudden shock of it making you scream out.

"what the fuck?" you curse him with your head thrown back.

jaehyun only smirks before pounding into you again, harder this time, eliciting a groan of his own. "i missed how good you feel, fuck."

your fingers attempt to grapple onto anything within reach, but come up short. one of your arms swing itself over jaehyun's neck, drawing your bodies closer as he thrusts again.

the sheer size of him inside you makes you feel like you're being split open. you moan out his name, his hips bucking inside of you as a response.

"i forgot how well you take my dick," his arm buckles slightly under his weight, "isn't that right, baby?" jaehyun begins to build a rhythm with his thrusts, pumping deep inside you every time.

he leans down, connecting your lips together softly, "you're made for me."

his thrusts grows harder, ramming himself into you with the tip of his cock hitting the back of your womb every time. you're sure that it will probably bruise by tomorrow.

the filthy noise of his skin slapping onto yours echo in your ears, mixing in with his gravelly moans. "he can't fuck you like this, can he?" jaehyun spits.

your hand goes up to cover your own mouth, not wanting to let the almost pornographic noises out of you. this only causes jaehyun to pull it away, pinning your wrist to the couch.

"oh, i know, baby. he can't fuck you like i do."

it doesn't take much before you can feel yourself nearing another orgasm. so close, it's practically within reach.

"jaehyun..." you moan weakly.

"you're gonna cum again for me, huh?" he hisses, "how long has it been since he's fucked you properly? cumming twice for me first time i see you again?"

all you can focus on is your incoming orgasm. back arching into his chest, your hand struggling to break free from his hold.

"please," you plead, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

"you want me to rub your clit, don't you?" jaehyun mutters in between hitches in his breath.

you nod, your body verging on begging him for it.

a knowing smirk plays on his lips. "tell me you're mine."

you let out a whine, frustrated that you can't free your hand to do it yourself.

"do it," he orders, "you want to cum? say you're mine."

"fuck," you pant, struggling to keep a steady breath. your mind hazy with overwhelming carnal pleasure, "fuck, i'm fucking yours. i'm yours."

"now, how hard was that?" jaehyun grins before snaking a hand down to rub circles on your sensitive nub.

within seconds, you feel your orgasm unravel itself on jaehyun's dick, walls closing in tight around him.

feeling you tightening around his cock, jaehyun buries his face in the crook of your neck. your hand holds onto his back, nails sinking into the muscle across his shoulder blades. you hear his muffled moans into your skin as he cums, releasing his load inside you and filling you up full with his cum.

curses slip past his lips as the two of you catch your breath, jaehyun still stuffed inside you.

the ringing from your orgasm begins to quiet down, and you give jaehyun a couple of taps on the shoulder. gently, he pulls himself out, and the sudden absence leaves your body aching for it again.

his body collapses next to you on the couch.

"fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"that was fucking stupid," you confess out loud, now that your head isn't clouded by pure animal instinct.

to your surprise, jaehyun agrees. "yeah," his chest rising and falling rapidly.

he shifts his weight onto his elbow, propping himself up. "but what are we if not stupid?" jaehyun leans in, pecking your lips quickly and then doing it again. a stupid, stupid grin on his face that you'd be lying if you said you didn't miss.

[blindbeta]

Exploring How Toph Beifong Could Be Played By A Blind Actress and Refuting Reasons Some People Believe She Couldn’t

[Image Description: Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender. She is waving her hand in front of her face after joking that she spotted the great library, tricking the Gaang only to remind them that she is blind. She rides on Appa who is flying above a desert landscape. End I.D.]

The live-action adaptation of season 2 of Avatar: The Last Airbender is underway. This means people are discussing Toph again, much like they did during pre-production of season 1. I have seen and even participated in promoting the idea of Toph being portrayed by a blind actress. Similarly, I have come across push-back against the idea.

Instead of if Toph Should Be Portrayed by a Blind Actress, Let’s Focus on How She Could

(should and could are bolded for emphasis)

This post will address common misconceptions that serve as barriers to the idea of a blind actress portraying Toph.

A Few Notes Before We Start

These points come from posts on online forums, YouTube comments on videos related to the casting of Toph, and tumblr posts. No one will be specifically called out here, as while these points may be attributed to certain individuals online, they represent much wider views that are shared by many, even without malicious intent. These common misconceptions stem from unchecked ableism and general lack of information. Keep in mind that my intention is not to call out any individual person, as ableism is a widespread, collective problem. The reasons I refuted in this post showed up repeatedly and were not isolated opinions of one or two people.

1. No, it would not be too difficult to find an actress who is Asian, blind, and the right age

[Image Description: Toph as The Blind Bandit uses earthbending to create three pillars of rock that shoot at an angle from the ground and smash into her opponent, throwing him against the arena wall. End I.D.]

This point suggests that it is difficult to find candidates fitting Toph’s description. I suspect this is due to racism and ableism, in that a white and abled person is considered default and therefore believed to be more common, especially by Western studio standards. This is not truly the case. People of color and disabled people are auditioning, especially for the comparatively few roles that seek them out specifically, such as Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Blind Asian people exist. Some of these people are also actresses. Some have backgrounds in dance or martial arts, especially because many actors do similar activities to increase endurance and versatility. Finding a pre-teen or teenager to play Toph would not be as challenging as many people believe, especially those who already underestimate the amount of blind people in the world and their abilities.

Those who argue this point may be under the impression that a blind actress would be out of reach due to low numbers and lack of interest in auditioning. Blind people are auditioning. The reason you don’t see them on screen is because most of them are ignored in favor of abled actors. For example, in this video, Molly Burke discusses not being chosen to play a blind character whom she was told was based on her own life. The actress chosen to play the character was not blind. You can watch it here.

Additionally, Netflix has the ability to hold a widespread casting call. They are not a tiny studio doing productions in someone’s backyard. They have access to a wider pool of actresses than the average person might think, particularly if said person is not familiar with the resources big studios often have at their disposal.

In fact, Netflix is doing just that. Below is a link to their casting call, which encourages blind and low vision actresses to audition.

Link to casting call here with alt text.

2. Some people believe Toph isn’t really blind and therefore the actress who plays her needs to be able to see

[Image Description: Toph as The Blind Bandit using bending, with shots showing her hands and feet. As her bare foot slides sideways across the ground, the camera zooms out to show her sensing vibrations. The image turns greyscale, with circles of white vibrations emanating from around Toph’s body, where they expand and flow outward. End I.D.]

The rationale behind this is probably the same as it is for Daredevil, meaning some don’t consider Toph to be blind because of the way she uses her bending.

An argument could be made that Toph’s powers erase her blindness or that her powerful abilities make her less relatable to the average blind person. However, I suspect that many sighted people engaging with these discussions of Toph’s casting are not also concerned with questions of erasure or relatability. In discussions questioning her blindness, the evidence given mostly centers on Toph’s physical abilities rather than relatability to real blind people.

Her bending aside, Toph is certainly blind. She experiences ableism from her parents and general community. Blindness shaped her life in a lot of ways, even with her bending, which is also influenced by her disability.

We see Toph being guided while running on the airship, needing assistance while walking on ice, and struggling to travel in a desert. She uses her other senses, including hearing and tactile senses. She has limitations regarding how she is able to interact with an unaccommodating world, such as inaccessible reading and writing systems.

There are also lifestyle and cultural implications of blindness extending beyond the inability to see. Being blind is not only about what one can and cannot do, which is true of Toph’s experience as well. Blind people may have different values, experiences with family and friends, different senses of humor, or may place higher value on other sensory experiences compared to sighted peers.

Whether or not Toph is good blindness representation can be argued. However, she is still a blind character. Her blindness influences her whole life, even as she is more than her blindness at the same time. Her life as a blind person is about more than limitations and abilities. Reducing her, and any blind person, for that matter, to only these facets of her experience oversimplifies what it is like to be a blind person.

Claiming that she isn’t a blind character because of her ability to do x, y, and z can be incorrect for a lot of reasons.

Blind people are more than what we can do or what we produce. Our experiences are rich and varied. Our lives are inherently meaningful no matter our abilities or limitations. It is both ableist and inaccurate for sighted people to attempt to put us all into boxes.

Additionally, blindness is a spectrum. [Bolded for emphasis.] You can read about it at the following posts on my blog:

here

here

here

and here.

Here is a good list of legally blind YouTubers with various types of visual experiences.

According to various sources on the blindness spectrum, about 85% to 95% of blind people have some remaining vision:

93% according to RNIB

This Perkins School For the Blind fact sheet estimates about 90 to 95% of blind have some remaining vision

American Foundation for the Blind estimates about 15% of blind people are totally blind and discusses the spectrum of blindness here

The spectrum of blindness is important because our experiences become even more diverse when the spectrum is considered. This means that assumptions about what we can and cannot do become even harder for sighted folks to guess accurately.

This accuracy is important if sighted people are going to try to put limitations on blind people, which they have no business doing anyway. They are not the authority on what blind people can do, what we cannot do, or what is good for us. Only blind people can answer that for themselves.

Lastly, blind people are already used to navigating and interacting with their surroundings. They have had anywhere from months to a lifetime of experience, which would translate better to Toph’s ease with her blindness and confidence in her bending.

While an actor wearing contacts to obscure their vision might stumble around and have difficulty on set, someone who is actually blind could lend Toph’s character a much more relaxed, confident attitude in addition to possessing experience navigating in a way that works for her. She is used to being blind. Therefore, an actress who is also used to being blind brings a lot to the performance in terms of physicality, attitude, and the ability to focus on portraying the character, rather than simulating blindness.

Which leads me into the next point.

3. The idea that Toph doesn’t move like a blind person relies on stereotypes of blind people

[Image Description: A GIF from the episode “The Runaway”. Toph, Sokka, and Aang all con some con artists and cheer after their victory, Toph raising her arms high before snatching the prizes. They all run away. End I.D.]

There is no specific way of moving like a blind person. Like sighted people, the way blind people move may be influenced by many factors, such as level of vision, how long they have been blind, their mobility aid, navigation techniques, familiarity with their environment, level of confidence, feelings of safety, other disabilities, energy levels, cultural factors, and more.

While there are mannerisms that are recognizable to blind communities, there is no one way to move like a blind person. Just as there is no one way to look blind.

The ideas of “not moving like a blind person” or “not looking blind” come from stereotypes of blindness. In fact, these ideas can be so pervasive that blind people who don’t fit stereotypes may be accused of faking. I explore this subject here.

In this video, Sam from The Blind Life discusses the experience of performing blindness or being pressured to act more blind than he is. Link here. He explains while he has some vision, he uses his cane to indicate to others that he is blind. This is one of the main functions of a cane. Sam explains feeling pressure to adhere to certain stereotypes about blindness or risk being accused of faking.

Similarly, in this video linked here, Molly Burke discusses the stereotype that blind people’s eyes look noticeably different from sighted eyes. This includes the inaccurate belief that all blind people have cloudy eyes, blank eyes, eyes that are always closed, or eyes that simply must be covered in dark sunglasses to protect the sensibilities of sighted people. Molly explains that while blind people can certainly have these attributes, not all of us do. Molly laments that the phrase, “You don’t look blind,” is either used to invalidate her or to praise her for passing as a sighted person, which is ableist.

Just as blind people don’t look the same way, we don’t move the exact same ways either. That applies to Toph as well. For example, she prefers to keep her feet on solid ground for bending purposes, orientation, and possibly due to cultural factors valuing stability and connection to the earth.

4. The idea that accommodations would be impossible to provide is rooted in ableism

[Image description: A GIF of Toph and Zuko sitting beside each other on the floor at the Ember Island theatre episode. Toph punches Zuko’s arm. Metaphorically for the purposes of this post, she is punching ableist ideas that have nothing to do with Zuko. End I.D]

Here is a thread I shared in the early days of this blog, wherein the topics of blind actors and accommodations are discussed. The entire thread might also be helpful for this post, as I explore the same points, which shows how common these misconceptions are. While this may seem to be an isolated online disagreement, none of these arguments are new. That is why I believe this topic is important— these arguments about accommodations being too difficult or a burden on others also pop up in conversations about other workforces and other disabilities.

A blind character not being played by a blind actor is one thing. A blind person not being hired for a job they are qualified for due to resistance to providing accommodations is not so easy to ignore, not so seemingly isolated a concern. These barriers don’t only apply to blind actors looking for work. They apply to all blind people looking for work.

That means most of this isn’t really about Toph, nor the opinions of random people online. Instead, I hope to highlight common patterns in ableist thinking and dispel these ideas using a character people care about. This is, of course, in addition to my own desire to have a blind actress play Toph.

With that said, let’s explore what work accommodations might look like using examples of blind actors.

Dionne Quan is a blind actress who has an extensive filmography for voiceover work, including popular characters such as Kimi from Rugrats. In this article from when the character was first introduced, she discusses how she performs. Link.

Quote from the article: “Most of the recording was done in a studio with just a mike and a stand for the script. I had the lines in braille, and I would read them on the way over to get into character. You have to have your bag of tricks ready to go.”

Most of the work Quan discusses involves typical acting stuff. The accommodations given to her are similar to adaptations that might be made in an office setting. Additionally, with all the technology available now, it is easy to make a script accessible through large print, VoiceOver and memorization, Word document instead of a PDF, a Braille display, etc.

And as of August 2024, Quan can add adult Toph Beifong to her list of characters. Which is super exciting and, I thought, an appropriate fact to include in this post. You can read more here.

To continue the discussion of accommodations for actors, I would like to discuss Ellie Wallwork. Wallwork is a blind actress who has performed on Doctor Who.

She describes her experiences on set, such as blocking scenes and using tactile accommodations in this short video from the SeeSaw podcast. Link here.

Transcript:

Elie Wallwork speaking:

“Obviously, markers are just normally flat bits of tape on the floor. I had to have some sort of tactile ones so I knew where I was stepping onto. And it takes longer. It definitely takes a bit longer. I guess the thing that frustrates me about the industry is that sometimes casting directors will think, ‘Well, how could a blind person possibly do this, do that? How could they do stunts? How could they even navigate around set?’ But it’s perfectly possible if you— for example, with the crew that I had on all the productions I’ve been on, they’ve all been really kind, really patient with me and able to understand that, yeah, okay, it might take me five minutes longer to block a scene, but that’s fine because it means it’s authentic.”

End transcript.

You can listen to the full episode here.

Lastly, I find that many sighted people are not generally knowledgeable when it pertains to what blind people can or cannot do. Examples of this lack of knowledge include frequent questions about how blind people read, exist in online spaces, cook, etc—and these are simply from posts on my own blog.

Here is a link to a discussion thread that explores ableist assumptions people often make what blind people are or are not able to do. It particularly relevant for this topic. Link can be found here. Please remember that while I did respond to some folks who expressed opinions colored by ableist assumptions, that post is not about them. Just as this post is about addressing ableism in general rather than from a specific source.

The point is: consider why abled people are so comfortable stating what blind people can and cannot do, when one of the most common questions about blindness is still “how do you use a phone or the internet?”

People who aren’t blind often fail to grasp what our limitations actually are. Many people are still surprised to learn that technology or accommodations exist for us, despite having access to various forms of technology themselves. They struggle to understand that we can live our daily lives, possibly because they personally cannot imagine themselves without the vision they rely on, such as that time a professor asked blind content creator Stephanie Renburg [quote] “How do you live?” when the conversation was supposed to be about school accommodations [Link here].

This brings me to an assertion that is often made when sighted actors obscure their vision in order to play blind characters. It is often noted that it was too hard for them emotionally, mentally, and physically. Because of this reaction, the assumption is made that a blind person cannot possibly perform the role.

For example, in the article linked here, this is stated about Jamie Foxx in his role as Ray Charles. “Some actors, including Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles in “Ray” (2004, best actor) and Blake Lively in “All I See Is You” (2017), have chosen to wear ocular prosthetics, rendering them literally blind during their performances. But this creates a new problem: Unlike real blind people, who can spend years honing their orientation and mobility skills, the blindfolded sighted person becomes lost, confused and frightened with the sudden loss of sight — Foxx told interviewers he began hyperventilating as soon as his eyes were glued shut with the custom prosthetic eyelids that the filmmakers affixed over his eyes.”

Being blind is different from a sighted person temporarily obscuring their vision. Blind people have a better handle on being blind because we’ve been doing it longer. Blindness is part of our lives. Of course blind people are going to have an easier time portraying blind characters. This means most of the concerns people bring up when discussing sighted actors struggling with being unable to see won’t actually apply to blind people who have been at this for far longer.

I also wanted to address the idea that hiring blind actors would cost more, according to the assertion made in that thread about hiring blind actors, which you can read here if you haven’t already. While I can understand why someone might believe hiring a blind actor would cost more, I believe it would actually cost less.

Blind actors can use their own canes or other assistive devices used by the character, which saves money on expensive materials

Blind actors likely already have experience with O&M training, saving money and time that would otherwise be spent training a sighted actor, such as described here

Blind actors don’t need contacts or prosthetics, which may otherwise be used help an actor simulate blindness

And blind actors would have an easier time navigating sets, dancing, or doing required physical activities while blind, which reduces the learning curve that sighted actors with obscured vision need

A few Disclaimers:

1) Blind people learn from our communities and through life experience. While we naturally have more experience being blind, our knowledge is enhanced through learning from other blind people and participating in training designed to improve our life skills. I maintain that a sighted person obscuring their vision for a few hours will not have the same level of experience.

2) Reminder that blindness is a spectrum that a blindfold cannot replicate.

and 3) This post is not to say that sighted actors cannot do well or cannot put effort into their performance. According to the article above, Charlie Cox won an award from the AFB for his commitment to portraying Daredevil. However, just because there are sighted actors willing to put in the work does not mean blind actors can’t. I wanted to include this disclaimer in case someone sees the AFB article I shared and worried I’m trying to disparage actors who have already portrayed blind characters and happened to do a good job. After all, I love the original performance we received from Michaela Murphy, who originally voiced Toph. That doesn’t mean studios should not make an effort to cast more blind actors moving forward, nor does it justify any of the silly or explicitly ableist reasons people give for why sighted actors must be chosen over blind ones.

Let us return to refuting those excuses with the last thing I wanted to address.

5. Some people are concerned that a blind person might get hurt doing martial arts, but so can literally anyone else

[Image description: GIF of Toph dressed in Fire Nation attire. She punches through a rock.]

Kids can get hurt in any kind of sport, yet society doesn’t try to keep children from these activities for their own safety. However, disabled kids—and adults for that matter—are often reminded that we are being kept out of spaces for our own protection. Which we didn’t need, nor ask for.

This need to protect disabled people can be not only infantilizing, but hypocritical as well. For example, a blind person might be discouraged from playing recreational sports in a misguided attempt to protect them. Conversely, structures that keep blind people at risk are allowed to stay firmly in place, such as discrimination around transportation, inaccessible infrastructure, and poverty.

Blind people play sports anyway. Often, these sports carry their own risks of injury, as most sports do. Blind people have the agency to understand this and consent to it. Examples include blind football [link] and goalball [link].

Here is a video of Sadi the Blind Lady discussing goalball with Eliana Mason, a Paralympic athlete who plays goalball professionally.

Transcript: “Goalball is sport for blind and visually impaired athletes. It was created after World War II for blinded veterans and is now a Paralympic sport. The coolest thing about it is that everyone wears eyeshades so no matter what your level of vision loss is—because blindness is a spectrum— it equalizes it. The ball has bells in it and the court is straight with tape over it. It’s on a volleyball sized court. It’s three on three. And basically in offense, we are throwing the ball as hard as we can with a lot of technique involved, about 30 to 45 miles an hour to have it hit the ground and roll and hit the other players on their bodies. And on defense, you are throwing your body out and diving in front of this 3 pound ball and blocking it. So essentially you want to get hit with the ball.”

End transcript.

Getting hit with a ball, especially in the face or stomach area, is going to hurt. That is okay, because as long as safety precautions are taken, pain might be part of the experience depending on the rules and anticipated possibility of injury.

Martial arts and dance, which are backgrounds sought specifically in the Netflix Toph casting call, can also lead to accepted forms of pain or discomfort. While one could argue that sports injuries could and should be preventable, this post is more concerned with the expectation of pain, injuries, and what steps are taken to prevent them, such as protective gear or an experienced coach / teacher.

A blind person auditioning for Toph knows that martial arts will be involved. She will spend time learning choreography, building trust with co-actors, and figuring out works best for her. This structure is similar for blind people playing football or goalball or tennis or fencing or whatever else they want to do.

Lastly, people who aren’t blind also experience pain or injury during sports. Same with martial arts or dance.

The actress who plays Toph might get hurt. She might not. Some pain might even be an expected part of training. That is no reason to exclude a blind person from participating. That is no reason to say Toph couldn’t be played by a blind actress. [Bolded for emphasis]

Lastly, anyone training actors on fight choreography already knows how to do so safely. That fact that this is choreography is also helpful, allowing for memorization of actions and reactions. Conversely, the sports and physical activities I listed above are not choreographed, with the exception of dance, and are therefore less predictable. Therefore, if blind people can get head injuries playing on a recreational blind football team, a blind actress can handle fight choreography.

Closing

Thank you for reading all of this. My points still stand whether or not a blind person is actually cast for Toph.

Too Long, Didn’t Read:

Unchecked ableism can lead to oppression even if it is unintentional

Blind actors exist

A blind actor would better capture Toph’s ease and confidence with her blindness

Blind people can do a lot more than sighted people usually think they can

Blind people also face discrimination and limitations that sighted people may not have considered

Blindness is a spectrum and most blind people can still see something

There is no one way to look or move like a blind person

Accommodations are not that difficult to provide

Hiring a blind person would actually cost less money

Most of the popular reasons people believe Toph cannot be played by a blind actress are rooted in ableism

This post is not only about Toph or actors, but an example of how unchecked ableism can be harmful

For example, low employment rates for blind people, inaccessible online resources, or Toph-related posts shared without image descriptions

Toph Beifong could totally be played by a blind actress

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Thirteen

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy/Ben.

Warnings: Female masturbation, female fantasy, language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, cheesy euphemisms.

W/C: 1,596

A/N: I can only apologise for how long it took me to get this chapter out. I don't really have any excuses, except for the fact that I had a bit of a break, wrote some other ideas knocking around, and then had another break. I wish I could keep a schedule, but they don't work for me. I struggled with this chapter, struggled to push the story forward to get to where it needed to be.

A/N 2: I can't believe it's only day three! As a writer, I, too, forget the concept of time within the story. And it's not until I read past chapters that I realised how slowly time goes by.

The hot water splashed down, and you leaned your head back, getting a face full of the spray.

Was Ben right? Was Dean jealous? Or perhaps he had just been mad. He slept in the next room. A wall was shared, after all. He had to have heard everything. But Dean had no reason to be jealous. He hadn’t shown any inkling that he wanted anything more than platonicness.

Ben knew how you felt about Dean. About Beau. He’d seen all your interactions with the hunter and nearly bitten your head off in Walmart when he found them ‘impersonating’ him. Ben was an enigma. One moment he was flirty and casual, bantering with you, and the next, he was aggressive and damn near violent, threatening anyone that gets on the wrong side of him. And it was him you had fooled around with first. Not Dean. Not that you initially intended to mess around with any of them.

Water ran down your body in rivulets, and your hands followed the flow. Again, Dean, in complete ecstasy, slipped into your mind. Would he grip the shaft tightly? Would he squeeze to feel the intensity of pleasure? Would he stroke his thumb across the slit, rubbing pre-cum across the mushroomy head of his cock?

Below, you throbbed, and again, your mind turned to comparisons. Would Dean be as wide? Would the head of his cock feel so pillowy against your entrance? Would it pulse as strongly? Would he feel as heavy and as thick as Ben?

You shuddered, arousal burning through your body as you tried to wipe those thoughts from your mind. It didn’t feel fair. Dean was his own person. But…Jensen…Jensen was the man who played them all.

Your hand reached for the shower head. It unhooked from the wall attachment, and you changed the head settings. The water sprayed out powerfully in a more concentrated manner.

You gripped the shower head and the shower bar with your other hand. And before you could think yourself out of it, you turned the shower head upside down.

You gasped. A sharp inhale of air. Your hand tightened, gripping the shower bar. The jet of water shooting up from the shower head pelted your clit with intensity.

You bowed your head, hair dripping into the shower floor, pulse spiking as Dean masturbating occupied your mind.

You changed the angle of the shower head, and your knees almost buckled. Your toes curled, and you shook as you fought to contain yourself.

Your pussy clenched.

Your eyes squeezed shut. Dean, touching himself, left your mind, and Ben replaced him. You shook your head, trying to get Dean back. But Ben stayed. And he stood in all his glory, shameless, hand wrapped around his cock and giving lazy strokes, wearing that damn smirk.

Then, his words from yesterday came to mind.

“Would you suck me off as prettily as you suck my fingers?”

And in your mind’s eye, you were on your knees, pleasing Ben, wrapping your lips around his cock. You saw yourself sucking, could feel the weight of him on your tongue, could taste the saltiness of him.

In your mind, you watched as the rapture completely took over Ben. His head leant back, eyes closed, and his fingers fisting your hair. He cursed under his breath as you slowly dragged the man’s soul from him.

Would Dean react the same way? Or would he watch?

Heat swamped your gut at the thought of Dean watching you suck him off. Your body shook, edging closer to that inevitable brink.

You’d please him. Who? All of them.

Ben.

Dean.

Beau.

Beau. With his cheeks tinted pink, and looking at you hungrily sent you hurtling over the edge and crying out, your legs almost buckling from the strength of your orgasm.

The shower head clattered to the floor, continuing to spray upwards. You leant against the steamed-up shower wall.

You hadn’t done that in a while. Not with a showerhead.

*

The TV played in the background. Some football game Ben had put on that Beau was absorbed in. With three men living with you, sports were perpetually on.

After breakfast, Dean excused himself and headed upstairs with a coffee, claiming he needed to decipher the language on the frame’s box, reinforcing the idea that maybe he was mad at you. He’d asked to use your laptop to aid him in his research, and you were compliant, handing him the device and the cable. You had written the password on his hand, desperately trying to ignore the sparks rushing up your arm.

Trying to read with Ben glancing at you occasionally was nigh-on impossible. All you wanted was to relax with a steamy romance between a Rugby player and a sassy fan. At least this one wouldn’t come to life.

Ben nudged you from where he was sitting beside you. You glared at him as he rudely pulled you out of the world where fans have hot instances with insanely built Rugby men.

“What?”

He leaned his head closer.

“If you needed help installing a pipe in your bathroom, you could have come to me.”

What the shit?

You tilted your head in confusion. What the Hell was he going on about?

“You know….”

He kept his voice low so as not to capture Beau’s attention. This was something he wanted to keep between you both.

“I’m just saying you could have come to me.”

You shook your head.

I shake my head and try to get back into my book.

“You need installations in your bathroom? Y’know I’m a dab hand at DIY.” Beau asked, finally turning away from the TV.

“What, no.”

Ben snorted and shook his head.

“Ya hear that, Y/N? Beau is a dab hand at installing pipes in a bathroom.”

Ben’s tone was a little sarcastic for your liking. And whatever he was alluding to, you just weren’t getting. Ben wasn’t one to mince his words, so why was he being so elusive? It didn’t make sense.

You sighed, closing the book you’d barely read anything of.  You placed it down and stood up.

“Ben, could I see you in the kitchen, please?”

You saw Beau’s quirk of his eyebrows in your peripheral vision as you started walking out of the living room.

 Ben followed you into the kitchen. He closed the door behind him, a smirk on his face. You stood there, leaning on one hip, arms folded against your chest.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s gotta stop.”

Ben’s smirk grew wider as he stepped closer.

“Aw, c’mon. I’m only messing. Besides, maybe next time you have a solo flick fest in the bathroom, you should remember that some ears are far more acute than others.”

You stood stock still. Shit. He’d heard everything. That’s why he was teasing the Hell outta you.

“So, c’mon, what prompted this solo session?”

Your cheeks burned. Could you tell him? Probably should. He was only gonna bug you otherwise.

“It was what you said about Dean…”

He grinned wickedly.

“Doll, if a man beating his meat has you wetter than the Pacific Ocean, then baby, I don’t mind doing a little corn shucking just for you.”

You blushed. You actually blushed. Maybe it was the cheesy euphemisms, but Hell, they made you redder than a tomato.

“You gunna listen to him?”

You scratched the back of your neck, unsure. Honestly, you didn’t know what you were gonna do. The thing was, Dean wasn’t the only one concerned. Beau was, too. That meant that Beau thought the same as Dean. Or similar. Beau had mentioned intentions, and it was such a dad thing to say.

“Because, if you did, it’d be real shitty of you.”

Fuck. This was all you needed. Ben would hold a grudge. You knew that. But Dean. Dean had your heart. It was stupid. And yeah, you wanted to make him happy. But the real question was: what would make you happy? And that you didn’t know.

Sighing and easing yourself in a seat, you rested your head in your hands. Your phone buzzed. You slipped the gadget from your pocket. Your brow furrowed upon seeing a message. It was from your mother. Wondering what she wanted, you clicked it open.

Mom: Dear Y/N, Mark mentioned to your father and me that he saw you in Walmart with a man. He thinks it's your boyfriend. Is he? Why haven’t you said anything to me? I’m your mother. Your father and I insist on your presence at dinner tonight, 7:30 PM. Don’t be late. Dinner will be at 8. Your father said texting you was more likely to get your attention. He also said to bring your man. Sincerely, Mom.

Fuuuuuuuuck. You didn’t need this right now. You groaned, letting the phone clatter to the table.

Fucking Hell.

“She can fuck off.” You muttered.

Ben snorted, taking a seat beside you.

“Problem?”

Yeah. At this moment in time, you had too many problems. You were not bringing Ben around your mother and her partner. However, it made you smile at the thought of her clutching her pearls when Ben cussed like a sailor as he spoke with his mouth full. Then it faltered. Ben, behaving as he does, would double down her efforts to get you with Cole. No. It would be best to pick someone else. But who? And would Ben understand? Probably not.

You faced him.

“Yeah. My mother’s invited me to dinner and wants to bring my so-called boyfriend.”

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @ladysparkles78, @nescavaneck, @winharry, @stellasfictionalworld, @mishkatelwarriorgoddess, @freefallthoughts, @realityshifter111, @slvtforhotchner, @hobby27, @grxyveins, @emily-roberts, @jamerlynn, @mimaria420, @kr804573, @just-levyy, @leigh70, @eexphoria

If for some reason you aren't tagged, or I've missed you as I went through to update my tags, lemme know. And A, we'll grumble about Tumblr together, or B, I'll chide myself and update the tagsheet.

[miss-musings]

Crosshair's 10 Most Impressive Shots in "Star Wars: The Bad Batch"

We're now officially three weeks removed from the series finale, so I thought it'd be a fun time to look back at our favorite sniper and review some of his most impressive shots.

Note, I'll be ranking items from "The Bad Batch" TV show only, so there won't be any entries from "The Clone Wars" S7.

I did get a lot of input from folks here and on Twitter, and a lot of people ended up saying the same ones. I put them on here along with a few of my own.

As for how I determined the order, I judged based on a combination of: the distance of the shot, the size of the target, the speed of the target (if applicable), other external factors like light conditions and weather, and "internal" factors like Crosshair's physical and mental state.

You're free to disagree with which ones I picked and how I ordered them. It's all subjective.

Also, I don't proclaim to be an expert in marksmanship nor am I a military sniper. But, I do have a general baseline for how difficult Crosshair's shots would be IRL. I used to go shooting with my dad a lot at both indoor and outdoor ranges, and I was pretty decent at both pistol- and rifle-shooting. So, that's what I'm using to judge Crosshair's shots.

With that out of the way, let's dive in with #10:

10. Killing Lt. Nolan in 2.12 "The Outpost"

I probably wouldn't have put this one on the list for myself, but I had multiple people suggest it should make the cut.

While this shot is very important narratively, it's not very impressive from a purely technical perspective.

I mean, hitting a relatively stationary human-sized target from a few meters away... It's definitely not the most impressive shot on Crosshair's resume.

However, I did feel it was worth adding to the list for the simple fact that Crosshair is physically exhausted and mentally broken in this scene. He basically uses the last of his strength to kill Lt. Nolan, because he immediately collapses right afterward.

Also, Crosshair might be right-handed, but he's pretty good at shooting his pistol leftie. We don't really see the shot hit Nolan, but if you zoom in after his body hits the ground, you can see that Crosshair shot him straight through the heart. He wasn't leaving that bastard alive after everything he and Mayday went through.

9. Lunch tray ricochet in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Even though this isn't a shot in the traditional sense -- considering there aren't any firearms involved -- I had to put this on the list for two reasons.

One, I had multiple people suggest it; and two, because I've watched this scene dozens of times and only recently found out that Crosshair actually hits two clones with his lunch tray.

He initially throws it at the clone Tech was fighting, presumably knocking him down. But then it ricochets so hard that it basically clotheslines another clone who's just standing there, minding his own business. Dude was hit so hard, he was like floating in midair for a split second.

Also, this plays into my headcanon that Crosshair would be excellent at any sports that require excellent aim and coordination. If he was on a basketball team, he'd be a three-point specialist for sure!!

8. Plan 55 ricochet in 3.12 "Juggernaut"

This is the closest thing we get to a trickshot in S3, so I had to include it on the list.

Here, we see Crosshair's quick-thinking and perfect aim take out several troopers at once by purposely ricocheting his shot off the magnetically sealed doors.

As we know from “A New Hope,” magnetically sealed doors/surfaces are no joke. You really have to know what you're doing or someone's gonna get hurt. Thankfully, Crosshair is a freakin' pro at this!

It honestly reminds me of all those crazy pool shots where you have to plan out four or five bounces/angles ahead to get the angle you really want.

7. Downing a spaceship on Ryloth in 1.11 "Devil's Deal"

NOTE: This is the only clip I couldn't readily find on YT. So I included the clip of Crosshair killing Orn Free Taa from the same episode to maintain symmetry in this Top 10 list.

Don't let the clip fool you. The shot I'm actually talking about takes place before this, when Crosshair -- from like 300 meters away, mind you -- takes down a fast-moving ship by shooting one of the engines.

Look, I love S3 Crosshair with all my heart, but his shooting abilities were severely diminished after his time on Tantiss. When I was doing my S1 rewatch and got to this scene in 1.11, I was like "Oh yeah, I forgot Crosshair used to be able pull off crazy shit like this."

It's actually sad how many of his made shots in 1.11 are like an inverse of his missed shots in 3.11. Here, Crosshair easily shoots a tracker onto Hera & company's ship, and later shoots the engine with no problem, despite the speed and distance.

In 3.11, though, he misses CX-2's ship and fails to track Omega back to Tantiss. 😭

6. Shooting Wrecker's knife in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Now we're getting into the really impressive shit! Most of these remaining entries have Crosshair shooting small targets and/or fast-moving ones.

In this instance, it's both. Wrecker throws the knife like this is skeet-shooting or something, and Crosshair just very casually shoots it into a droid.

Have you ever seen someone who was so good at their job/hobby that they make it look effortless? Like they're not even trying? This happens to me sometimes when I watch the Olympics. I'm like, "That's not so hard. I could probably do that." And then I try it for like half a second, and I'm like, "Oh no, those people are insane."

That's how good S1-2 Crosshair is. He makes shooting a fast-moving knife look effortless.

5. His four-kill trickshot in 1.15 "Return to Kamino"

These next three are all no-brainer entries. I think the biggest question will be why I went with the order I did.

Here, we have Crosshair displaying two very important elements of marksmanship/sniping: patience and careful aim.

Crosshair evidently set up at least four mirrors (I counted the ricochets in the shot) well in advance in the exact spots he needed to take down his Imperial squad, if need be. That's some serious foresight and preparation -- to know exactly where everyone would be standing, and have all the mirrors ready to go ahead of time.

He must've set them up even before he brought Hunter into the training room, or Hunter would've seen them and probably signaled his teammates.

He's also hitting a target that seems to be somewhere between the size of a golf ball and baseball from like 10-20 meters. And with his sidearm.

I know everyone loves the hallway mirror ricochet to kill the squadron of battle droids in TCW Season 7, but it didn't qualify. But, honestly, I think this one is more impressive anyway. He hit the first 1.15 mirror from farther away than he does in TCW S7, and he's using his pistol in 1.15 rather than his rifle and scope.

Talk about accuracy!

4. Sniping the tank in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

Oh man! I think we all love this one, right? It's just one of my favorite sequences in the entire show -- the framing, the colors, the effects of the dirt flying up behind him.

I love how Crosshair baits the droids to get the exact angle he needs, and the dude clearly has nerves of steel for staring down the barrel of a tank without flinching. I wonder how many times he's done it, considering he seemed to know exactly how to beat them. I'm guessing at least a dozen.

This is another example of "expert making their expertise look effortless," when in reality, we'd all shit ourselves if we attempted to do the same.

Honestly, sometimes I wish we could've had this version of Crosshair face off against Hemlock in 3.15 -- the dude who stared down the barrel of a tank and didn't flinch at the most literal version of "kill or be killed."

3. Stairwell trickshot in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

While I love the tank sequence more for the aesthetics, I have to rank the 2.03 stairwell trickshot above it.

That's partly because Crosshair's still physically and mentally recovering from nearly getting choked to death. But, it's also partly because -- just like with Wrecker's knife -- Crosshair is shooting a target that someone else is throwing.

That means he has to adjust to whatever trajectory and speed they throw it at and compensate accordingly, which can understandably be very hard to do in a split-second.

And, in this situation, Crosshair can't even see the puck directly. He's looking at it through at least one or two layers of reflective mirrors. Dude's reaction time is insane!

He also manages to take down at least four or five droids with a single shot, including the tactical droid, which is several meters up the stairwell and into the next room.

I'm not sure if the clones learned any advanced mathematics during their training on Kamino. But if they did, I think Crosshair would've loved geometry and maybe trigonometry too! He would also absolutely kill in a game of pool. I wanna see him go to the SW equivalent of a pool hall, and show Omega that he can hustle people too! He just needed to find a game that would better suit his strengths. LOL

Anyway, as insane as this shot is, Crosshair has two others on his resume that are even more impressive:

2. Saving Omega & AZI in 1.16 "Kamino Lost"

This is one of three entries on this list that *no one* mentioned when I asked for suggestions, but I had to include it. That's because it is -- without a doubt -- the most bafflingly impressive shot Crosshair makes in the entire show.

I have watched this scene dozens of times, and I still have no idea how he knows where Omega and AZI are.

Initially, I thought -- as others did -- that he's using an infrared scope to see their body heat in the water. But, that doesn't appear to be the case.

The only times I can recall Crosshair activating an infrared capability is when he has his rangefinder, which is attached to his helmet. As we see in episodes like 1.01 "Aftermath" and in 3.07 "Extraction," he specifically has to put the rangefinder down in front of his eye to use the infrared option.

No, his scope is just that -- a regular scope. The infrared capability is only attached to his helmet's rangefinder, which he doesn't have in this scene.

Thus, I have no idea how Crosshair is using a regular-ass scope to find Omega and AZI in the dark ocean. The point of a scope is to see better, and I don't know what he might see beside more darkness. AZI's eyes aren't active and, even if Crosshair spots Omega's flashlight, Omega dropped it when she went after AZI, so it's not exactly on her.

I'm willing to believe that Crosshair has better eyesight than the average human in the Star Wars universe or IRL, but his eyesight must be insane if he can see them in the water, even with a scope.

But, whether it's eyesight, some other enhanced sense or just plain luck, Crosshair knows where in the vast, dark ocean they are — not just the angle but the depth too!

It's really hard to tell how far down they are, but I'd say at least 20 meters. And if he is able to see them somehow, he might have to adjust the shot for refraction in the water too.

Plus, unlike the other entries on this list, Crosshair isn't shooting a blaster bolt. He's shooting a cable, meaning he'd have to adjust his shot to accommodate its weight and trajectory once it hits the water. Additionally, with how Omega and AZI are situated, he needs to have the cable hit and latch onto AZI, without hitting Omega in the process, and get the exact angle needed to drag both of them to the surface.

Like I said: I have absolutely no idea how he made this shot. It's definitely the most impressive one he makes in the entire show based solely on external technical factors.

But of course, there is a parallel shot later in the series that's his most impressive one of all...

1. Freeing Omega in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

I will never shut up about this scene. It's been living in my head rent-free for three weeks already, and will continue to for several months.

This is undoubtedly the most important shot in Crosshair's life: the shot to save his kid and free his family from Hemlock once and for all.

And everything is working against him: It's dark. It's raining. Omega and Hemlock are like ~40 meters away. The target is the binders between their hands, which is like 3-5 centimeters wide, and won't exactly be stationary. Oh, he's using CX-2's stolen blaster, which doesn't even have a scope on it!!!

We the audience get a POV of what Crosshair sees from over his shoulder, and I can barely see Omega's face, let alone her hands!! I said in the previous entry that Crosshair's eyesight has to be better than the average person's because, holy hell, how can he see that?!?

And, even worse, Crosshair is physically and mentally spent in this scene. He had to return to his own personal hell -- the place where he was tortured and traumatized for months -- then got beaten in a fight and had his dominant hand chopped off.

He and Hunter are running on pure adrenaline at this point. They are absolutely hellbent on getting their kid back, even if they die or collapse in the process. They were practically hobbling out of the CX lab together, and when they crouch down on the bridge, Crosshair has to steady himself against Hunter because he doesn't have his other hand.

And, as the final cherry on top of this proverbially shitty sundae, Crosshair absolutely terrified of missing.

A few episodes ago, the guy couldn't hit stationary fruit from like ~15 meters away with a scope in daylight and in a controlled environment. He even tells Omega: "Close doesn't count. It's either a hit or a miss." Because in a high-stakes situation like this, missing your shot could mean death for you or someone else.

Crosshair already feels like he failed Omega because he missed the shot on Pabu. And now, he has to make an even tougher one with every disadvantage stacked against him and her life literally in his hand.

I don't blame the guy for doubting himself.

Thankfully, Hunter and Omega have complete faith in him, and despite everything he's been through in S3, he has faith in himself.

And so, in the shot to end all shots in "The Bad Batch," Crosshair hits his target and frees Omega.

He and Hunter then subsequently turn Hemlock into Swiss cheese before Omega gives Crosshair a much-needed hug, causing me to cry for the 100th time.

I'll admit: as much as I would've loved seeing another mirror trickshot or some other crazy ricochet in the finale (or just S3 in general), this scene is basically perfect.

It also makes for a nice little parallel to the S1 finale, where Crosshair saved Omega's life after she saved his. Here, as he says himself, he goes back to Tantiss to free her because she freed him first.

As someone said on Twitter when I asked for ideas about this list:

"(Crosshair) put his whole heart and soul in this shot, and he didn't miss. He couldn't afford to."

Like I said: this was the shot that freed the entire Bad Batch family from Hemlock forever. So, I think by default, it had to be No. 1 on this list.

*******

Anyway, thanks for reading! It'd be fun to put together another TBB list like this. I guess I'll have to pick a subject first, though, because I don't have any ideas. If you have any, send them my way!

(EDIT: For anyone who’s also on Twitter, give me a follow. @CatchingClassic )

[actual-changeling]

some early fluffy msr featuring once again a very tired scully and a worried mulder. if i end up writing more vignettes like these i might start posting them on ao3. this is set a few days after the first pfaster incident.

—

Mulder should really wake her up.

Not only is sleeping on the desk incredibly uncomfortable—speaking from a lot of experience—but he also knows that her first reaction to realising she fell asleep at work will be shame. She is slumped over in her usual chair, angled towards him and with her back to the door; every now and then she makes a little noise and buries her face deeper into the cradle of her arms.

Her blazer has ridden up her back and her blouse with it, revealing not soft skin but a deep-blue, slowly healing bruise. There are several more littering her entire body, and Mulder has caught her wincing or hissing in pain more times than he can count, swallowing the needle of guilt that comes with it. The memory of her sobbing into his chest is at the forefront of his mind, impermeable and achingly bright, and he regrets not shooting Pfaster dead right where he stood.

Scully had insisted on going back to work and shrugged off any and all attempts at getting her medical attention, eventually telling him to 'leave her alone or so help me god'. Not wanting to push, he had, and yet, seeing the shadows under her eyes match her bruises more and more, he wishes he had said something—anything—if just to make sure she is not hurting more than can be avoided.

It is not difficult to guess what exactly is keeping her up at night, and this is not the first or the last time a harrowing experience haunted them all the way home. Nightmares are as much part of the job as paperwork, and he would carry it all for her if he could.

Mulder watches her lips part for a sigh, a week's worth of fatigue finally catching up with her, and his indecision disappears entirely. He quietly pushes back his chair and tiptoes around their office, first taking the phones off the hook, then switching off their cellphones too. If anyone wanted something from them (and 'anyone' was almost exclusively Skinner), they were going to have to wait.

After locking the door, he turns off the ceiling light, picks up his coat, and gently drapes it over her shoulders; the heavy fabric wraps around her like a cocoon, making her appear even smaller than she already was. Shifting for a few seconds, Scully seems to adjust to the new weight and influx of warmth, but she quickly settles again with sleep softening her features. Hesitantly, Mulder reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, disproportionately endeared by the content noise he gets in response.

In the late afternoon twilight, her red hair is littered with specks of gold, and he cannot resist the urge to run a palm over the back of her head to smooth it down further. Leaning in, he presses a tender kiss on her temple, murmuring "_sweet dreams"_ before he can second-guess himself.

Mulder knows he cannot change what happened or the lingering trauma she is inevitably struggling with, but he can allow her to get the rest she needs, if just for a little while, his gaze never straying far from her. No uninvited visitors disturb her peace, and he busies himself with expense reports and filing while she naps. 

The sun sets, the moon rises, and a handful of hours later, he catches her lashes fluttering and fingers twitching as she finds her way back to consciousness.

Contrary to his initial assumption, Scully doesn't seem to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, but rather leans back and pulls his coat tighter around herself. Her eyes are clear, and he can spot the beginning of a smile tugging on her lips. He breathes against the sudden wave of anxiety washing over him, worried that he somehow overstepped.

"Better?"

Scully nods, letting out a puff of air and looking away as a blush rises to her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispers, extending her arm to take his hand, which was starting to make a mess of the files without him noticing. Mulder squeezes it in return, his thumb unconsciously drawing circles along her knuckles. Unsure of how to deal with the emotions surging between them, he bites back the joke on his tongue and settles for honesty instead.

"If you ever—you can call. Anytime. Odds are I'm probably up anyway, and if-" he stumbles, mentally preparing himself to see her walls slot back into place, but she is meeting his gaze with steady, familiar affection. 

"If that's something I can do, please. Let me."

Scully squeezes his hand one more time before pulling back, carefully pushing herself upright. His coat is swallowing her, merging her with the creeping shadows on the wall, and her hair is a flame, drawing him in like a moth to the light. His light. 

"Dinner? Your choice."

Mulder smiles, recognising the offer for what it is: gratitude and affirmation wrapped in one.

"Let's go."

(When Scully calls him later in the early morning hours, they end up falling asleep together, and seeing her lively and infinitely less tired at work is worth the phone bills he continues to amass over the next few weeks.)

[moonchildstyles]

l'amoureux

weddings are beautiful, especially in Paris, but as the bride's personal assistant, y/n didn't expect to lose herself in the magic.

wordcount: 11k

—————

"(Y/N), I think I'm going to lose it." 

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) tried to center herself before turning on her heel to face Priscilla. Finding her boss with the perfectly creamy and embellished bridal veil in hand, she could only imagine what kind of imperfections Priscilla believed she found in the accessory. 

"What happened?" (Y/N) chirped, the feigned pleasantry coming as second nature at this point with how hellish these last nine months have been.

Holding up the veil with the sparkling adornments facing her, Priscilla's hands were shaking. (Y/N) couldn't tell if it was the three cups of coffee she made herself before they'd even left the villa for breakfast or if Priscilla was three seconds away from a legendary tantrum. 

"I think they gave me honey pewter, and not the lavender pewter I asked for when I ordered," Priscilla rushed out, shaking the veil in (Y/N)'s face as if she could see the sparkles better if they were less focused, "Do you see that? That's going to throw off everything I had picked out for my bouquet!" 

"Hold on, let me see," (Y/N) indulged her, grabbing for the delicate veil before her boss could have a chance to rip it to shreds. Angling the crystals to the light, (Y/N) could see some warmth in the jewels, but she remembers specifically making the order for Priscilla and emphasizing how important it was that the crystals lean on the cool tone (it was easier for both (Y/N) and the bridal shop to just do it this way, no matter if Priscilla was difficult during the entire process). There was no way this could have slipped by, especially with the amount of email updates (Y/N) requested for Priscilla throughout the entire making of her veil. 

Pulling out her phone and swiping into her professional email, (Y/N) found the initial conversation with the bridal boutique owner, all the details of the order spelled out plainly before being verified by the owner. Inside the same thread, photos had been sent with very clearly lavender hued jewels stitched to the tulle inbetween the romantic pearls. Examining the photos further, (Y/N) couldn't help but notice that, aside from the crystals and pearls, this veil looked nothing like the photos she had received. 

Priscilla's veil was supposed to have a subtle sheen to the fabric, chosen for the express purpose of emulating the way the Eiffel Tower sparkled at night which was exactly where she wanted to have her bridal shoot the day before the actual wedding. Minimal lace detailing was meant to border the entire hem, matching the delicate bodice of the gown Priscilla planned to wear during the ceremony. The veil in her hand had none of that, something she was surprised her boss hadn't picked up on, but was grateful for nonetheless. 

Peeking over her shoulder, Priscilla was busy with her daughter, Lenore, as the toddler walked her around the room, pointing at every tiara and ivory gown the tiny boutique offered. At least she could count on baby Nora babysitting her mother when (Y/N) couldn't. With her boss distracted, (Y/N) went on her mission to find the salesgirl she'd just had a choppy, half-French, half-English conversation with. 

"Ex-Excuse me?" (Y/N) muttered as quiet as possible before the girl could disappear behind a curtain taking her to the back. 

"Oui?" she chirped, petite blonde brows raised. 

Holding up both the veil and her phone, (Y/N) did her best to remember the two semesters of French she took in high school. "Le... Le voile? It's not... It's non, not right," she struggled through, pulling up the string of photographs of the correct veil on her phone in her other hand, "We need this one." 

She watched as the salesgirl looked back and forth between the photos and the veil in her hand. "Comment tu t'appelles?" 

"Um—its for Priscilla King?" Despite the fact she knew she couldn't butcher Priscilla's name like the French she didn't know, (Y/N) didn't feel confident saying much of anything right now. 

"May I?" the girl asked in accented English, gesturing to the veil in (Y/N)'s hand. 

After offering it up, (Y/N) watched as the salesgirl's eyes immediately dropped to the ticket looped around the comb attached to the veil. It only took a moment for the girl to turn the ticket around, displaying a completely different name on the tag.

They gave her the wrong veil. 

"Je suis vraiment désolé," the girl bubbled off, muttering out something about bringing the right one before holding up one finger and disappearing passed the curtain.

(Y/N) let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 

Priscilla had been a nightmare as soon as the real wedding planning started a year ago when she found out it was more than just looking at wedding magazines and telling her wedding planner what her budget was (there wasn't one). But, in the last few months especially, she had escalated into a territory that made even her fiancé cower when she was in one of her moods, and Nate was one of the most firm and level-headed guys (Y/N)'d ever met (he really had to be if he was going to be with Priscilla at all). And, unfortunately for (Y/N), since she was Priscilla's full-time personal assistant and part-time nanny, she got the brunt of it all. 

At least with this, she wasn't going to get her head ripped off, unliked when they found out the venue had accidentally ordered one case less of the very specific champagne Priscilla insisted on serving. That had been one that even had Nora asking why her mom's face was turning so red over some bubbly water. 

Stepping towards the case of the something blue's the bridal shop offered, (Y/N) caught Nora's attention first before her mom shot her a panicked glance when she noticed there was no veil in sight. 

"Everything's okay," (Y/N) shot off before her boss could say a thing, "They brought us the wrong veil on accident, but I showed her the pictures and emails, and she's getting yours right now." 

"So, no honey pewter?"

"Nope. And, there's going to be lace trimming." 

"Oh, thank god," Priscilla exasperated, looking much too relieved over this simple of an inconvenience. "(Y/N), I don't know what I would do without you; I'd probably lose my mind." 

(Y/N) refrained from telling her she most likely already did long before (Y/N) entered the picture. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and hoped they would make it back to the villa in time to take a nap before she would be on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate had a final meeting with their wedding planner before guests started pouring in tomorrow for the start of the three day long celebration leading up to the actual wedding on Friday. 

"You know I'm always happy to help." 

————— (Y/N) sighed as she stood outside of the banquet hall's bathroom. As soon as the guests started pouring into Paris this morning, she had been on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate ran around with the wedding planner, leaving her to entertain the toddler for hours. Now, she was left exhausted as she lent against the elaborately carved wall of the hall, watching as the bride and groom welcomed their guests in before a dinner and cocktail hour would be served to kick off the next couple days worth of celebration. 

"Nora, sweetie," (Y/N) called, turning to face the heavy wooden door to the restroom, "do you need help?" It'd been longer than five minutes, which was cause for concern for the easily distracted Nora. 

"No, I'm just wiping!" Nora chirped through the door, much too loud given the echo provided by the looming hallway of the banquet hall. (Honestly, the space was basically a cathedral, as far as (Y/N) was concerned. Stained glass windows were placed high on the intricate walls, tinting the vaulted ceilings in shattered hues. This place was much more than a banquet hall, especially if the deposit for one night was anything to go by). 

The sound of a huffed chuckle came from behind (Y/N), the laugh getting her to instinctively turn on her heel. She had an apology poised on her lips, a reciprocating smile that said "kids, right?", but as soon as she caught who was behind her, she stopped a breath short with her lungs stunted. 

Dressed in a raspberry blazer, gold accents stitched through the seams with curling brown hair held back only by a pair of large sunglasses, was Harry Styles. 

Harry actual Styles. In real life. 

(Y/N) didn't have a chance as soon as she caught sight of that curving smile, dimples and all, as he advanced down the hall to the men's bathroom just to the side of her. She was sure she looked like a guppy with the way she gaped her mouth open as if to say something before snapping it closed. 

Sucking in a deep breath, the air coming in prickles through her throat, she did her best to form a coherent thought. "Sorry, she's just..." (Y/N) breathed out, an absent smile plucking at the corners of her lips as he came closer. He really did have the smallest group of freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. 

"'S alright, it was funny," he told her, voice deep and rich. It was familiar to her—at least as familiar as a voice could be when only previously heard through a pair of headphones or a speaker. 

With that, he slipped around her. A polite, lopsided smile was on his lips, as he disappeared into the restroom. 

(Y/N) stood in shock, watching at the bathroom door closed heavily behind him, only a flash of the blazer and the flare of his pants seen before he was gone. 

That was Harry Styles. 

What was Harry Styles doing in Paris? What was he doing at this venue in Paris? Priscilla and Nate had rented out the whole space for the entire night, so no one outside of previously RSVP'd wedding guests should be here. 

There was no way he had been invited to the wedding, though, right? Priscilla surely would have mentioned if she knew Harry Styles at all, let alone well enough to invite him to her one-hundred dollar per plate, per course, per person wedding. Right?

(Y/N) even helped her mail out invites and had passed along the final seating chart to the wedding planner, she couldn't have missed a name like his, right? 

Just then, Nora popped out of the bathroom, tiny fingers grabbing for (Y/N)'s hand before (Y/N) had even noticed she was there. 

"I'm ready now," Nora chirped, already tugging (Y/N) back to where the bride and groom were shaking hands and hugging guests, welcoming them into the space. 

Though her brain was still a bit rattled (she had literally been listening to his music just this morning as she got ready and now she was sharing the same air as him), (Y/N) escorted Nora through the fray of guests until they had reached her mom and dad by the entrance. 

"There you are!" Priscilla beamed as soon as she saw her daughter, reaching her arms out to pick Nora up and sit her on her hip. "Got everything taken care of, Nori?" 

"Yeah, now I have room for dinner," Nora smiled, nothing short of proud of her accomplishments in the bathroom. 

Priscilla only laughed along with the guests that were slowly shuffling through the entrance that had caught the exchange, bouncing her daughter on her hip before turning to (Y/N). As soon as she caught sight of her assistant's face, the dark arches of her brows came together in a pinch. 

"Is everything okay, (Y/N)?" she asked, stepping out of line and letting Nate field all of their relatives and friends for a moment. 

(Y/N) floundered as she tried to find her voice, her mouth suddenly dry as the memory of him was brought to the forefront of her mind. "I think... I just saw Harry Styles by the bathrooms." 

"Oh, is he here already? I don't remember saying hi." With Nora hooked over her hip, Priscilla stood on the toes of her heels, eyes scanning over the hall in search of the head of brown curls (Y/N) could probably point out from memory.

"You know him? He's really here for the wedding?" (Y/N) questioned, trying to keep her jaw from dropping. 

"Kind of," she shrugged, dropping her search to match (Y/N)'s wide gaze, "Nate knows him better than I do, but yeah. His firm reps Harry, but they don't see each other too often. It's mostly through his manager, but Harry's always friendly and super kind when he comes in; he's so good at remembering the weirdest things Nate mentions in passing. We decided to invite both of them." 

(Y/N) didn't want to admit that she knew exactly who Harry's manager was and was excited at the thought of Jeff also being in attendance of the wedding. 

"I can't believe you've never told me," (Y/N) gaped, "You've heard me listening to his stuff all the time, and you never said anything. I helped with the seating chart and I didn't even notice his name!" 

A soft smile worked its way onto Priscilla's lips. "I know, I thought that was weird, but I figured you'd find out soon enough. You should talk to him more; he's really nice, (Y/N)." 

"I can't talk to him," (Y/N) immediately shut her down, remembered the way she looked at him like a guppy during the whole two second interaction by the restrooms. A wonderful first impression. 

"Why not?" Priscilla pressed, painting a bright smile over her face when one of her relatives skated passed their conversation.

"He's Harry Styles, I can't talk to him," she reasoned though it sounded silly out loud. That thought was only reaffirmed when Priscilla gave her an arched brow and a quirked smile. 

"Whatever, (Y/N)," Priscilla sighed with affection for her assistant, "We'll be here for a few days, so I doubt you'll be able to avoid him much, but I'm excited to see you try." 

Shaking her head, a short smile tugged on (Y/N)'s lips. "You want to see me suffer." 

"No, I would never," Priscilla waved off, "Nora likes you too much for me to torture you. But I enjoy seeing you torture yourself over silly things like this." 

Before (Y/N) could give any kind of smart remark back, Nate beckoned Priscilla back to the fray, where an elderly couple (Y/N) remembers as Nate's great-aunt and uncle was waiting to greet the bride. Priscilla gave them a wave before turning to (Y/N) one last time, something wicked turning the very corner of her mouth. 

"Have fun." 

With that, she walked back to join her groom, Nora on her hip waving to (Y/N) over her mom's shoulder. 

—————

"This way, this way, s'il vous plaît!" 

Tearing her eyes from the Degas painting hung up high on the gallery wall, (Y/N) followed the guide that was touring their group through the Louvre. With Priscilla, Nate, and Nora spending the day with their families before the craziness of the pre-wedding shoot tomorrow and the big day on Friday, (Y/N) was given somewhat of a day off of all her duties. After forwarding Priscilla everything she might need while filling out some of the marriage paperwork that went along with having an abroad wedding, she was left to either go on the wine tasting at one of the beautiful vineyards outside of Paris, or on a guided tour of the Louvre—both booked and paid for by the bride and groom so their guests can enjoy a taste of Paris as a thank you for spending their special day with them. As much as (Y/N) would have loved to get a little day drunk at a French vineyard, she didn't trust that she wouldn't be on Nora duty later in the evening. Instead, she packed herself onto the shuttles with some of Nate and Pricilla's family and friends that would take them to the art museum. 

Now, almost an hour into the tour, (Y/N) wished there wasn't a guide telling her when to move on from each room and where to go next. Of course each room was teeming with people just as excited to see the classics as she was, but that didn't diminish any of the magic she felt staring at the pieces, a tiny plaque next to them detailing out the title and materials used with a famous artist's name attached. She was currently entranced with the Degas paintings of all the tutu clad ballerinas—dramatic in the value but tender in each stroke—and didn't want to go before she had a chance to get a look at each and pretend she was there in the opera house watching those girls perform. 

But, as she had found during the beginning of the tour, the guide wasn't going to leave without all members of the group with them. He would stand at the threshold of the next room, mega-watt smile on his face as he waved his little orange flag above his head, beckoning the group to come this way, this way! It was easier on everyone if she said her quiet goodbyes to her favorite pieces with a lingering glance and a photo on her phone before joining her group. 

Before she could pout any at the loss of the Degas paintings, the guide directed everyone with a bright smile into the next long hallway. In here, marble statues and sculptures were dotted around the space, standing proud and glimmering in the sunlight filtering through the open windows. The space was otherwise sparse, leaving all attention onto the legendary figures planted across the room. Though she heard the tour guide spouting off facts and details about how important these statues were, how they came to be in the Louvre's possession, and some of the techniques that helped them come to be, (Y/N) didn't hear anything coherent. She was too busy trying to keep her jaw from dropping. 

How could anyone manage—especially with tools that weren't anywhere near as advanced as what was at an artist's disposal now—to make stone appear soft and pliable, full of curves and gentle give? Nothing was as breathtaking as seeing the hand of a sculpted man holding his lover by the thigh, his fingertips denting deep against her flesh, only to be reminded from the glimmer from the sunlight, that this was nothing more than stone manipulated to mimic human skin. 

As soon as she heard the guide announce in his accented English that the group was free to roam around the hall, take photos and explore the pieces, she all but bound away from the group. She made a beeline towards the statue that caught her eye the second they slipped into the room. 

Large, sprawling wings sprouting from Cupid's back almost looked large enough they could graze the ceiling as the marble swooped down in the shape of a muscled arm as he cradled his lover. Pysche was wrapped in nothing more than a sheet, the marble somehow looking thin and delicate like the silk that was meant to be draped over her waist in a cradling hold. Cupid held her gently as he craned his neck, trying to reach her lips and revive her with a kiss as the title of the piece suggested. They were trapped in that one moment, not close enough to share their kiss, but just near enough (Y/N) could see and feel the anticipation shared between the two mythological figures. 

"'S crazy, isn't it?" 

The same deep voice that made her breath catch not more than twenty-four hours prior brought (Y/N) back to the real world in the middle of the museum. Whipping her head to the side, she saw Harry Styles once again sharing the hall with her. 

He wore wide legged jeans with holes over the knees and a faded, vintage looking t-shirt with bunnies graphically printed along the bottom hem. A brown tortoise clip disrupted the flow of the line of rabbits as it was pinned to the bottom as well, bunching the fabric enough to reveal the waistline of his Gucci branded pants. The same large sunglasses she had seen him with last were perched on the top of his head, holding back the iconic brown curls he was known for. 

"What?" she asked, the sound of her blood pumping past her ears having drowned out everything he had to say the second she realized who he was. 

"The sculpture," he smiled, nodding ahead to the marble gods, "'S crazy people can look so real when they're made out of stone like that. Even the blanket she's wearing looks like 's about to float away, even though 'm sure 's easily over a hundred pounds." 

"Oh," she chirped, clearing her gaze with a blink before she turned back to face the sculpture that had captured his attention. Neurons fired in her brain, pushing her to find something to say that wasn't about how much she loved him or oh my god, you're Harry Styles, what are you doing out of my phone screen?! "Y-Yeah, definitely. I've always thought it was interesting the way these people were able to make rocks look so soft. I don't understand how, but I like looking at it." 

A dimple dented his cheek, that much (Y/N) could see from the corner of her eye. His arms crossed over his chest made him appear even broader than photos granted, even as he shifted his weight on long legs that toed at the ground with a hip pushed outwards. "I know what y'mean. I've tried painting something like this a few times, and I can't even get something that's actually soft to look the way this marble does. I don't think 's real; we're not supposed to touch, only because if we do, we'll find out 's all actually made out of sponges or something." 

A smile quirked (Y/N)'s own lips at his joking, a stifled laugh exhaling from her nose so as to not disrupt the quiet that filled the hall. "I think you might be on to something," she told him, exaggeratedly looking around the hall as if trying to spot eavesdroppers, "I'd be careful with that information, if I were you." 

A peek of his white teeth appeared from between his raspberry lips as he nodded to her joke, leaning into the secrecy they were creating over the subject. A short silence fell between them as they resumed looking at the sculpture, (Y/N) peeking at the plaque beside the statue though she couldn't comprehend anything knowing who was standing beside her. 

"You're friends with Nathan and Priscilla, right?" Harry asked, side-stepping into her space though he crooked his head, making it apparent he was looking over her shoulder at the plaque. 

"Yeah, I guess" she mused, impressing herself by how normal she was appearing through this conversation despite the rattling of her heart in her ribcage. "I'm Priscilla's personal assistant, and sometimes nanny for Nora. We're basically family at this point." 

"Oh, so you're (Y/N), then." Harry pulled his attention from the sculpture, looking to her with a bright smile and something like recognition going through his gaze as he trailed his eyes over her face, placing her for the first time. 

"I am, yeah," she smiled back, feeling her skin warm at the fact Harry Styles knew her name and had some idea of her existence. 

"Nathan's mentioned you a few times. Supposedly, y'keep Priscilla's head attached to the rest of her, and keep her from biting off Nate's when she's had a day." She couldn't help but think he sounded almost impressed. If only he knew what it was like to work with Priscilla day in and out, then he really would be impressed. 

"I wouldn't say that...," she trailed off, feeling a little too proud to completely deny the hard work that went into her job. "Nate's very good at calming her down, too. So is Nora. I'm just the first one she goes to with her problems." 

"See? That says it all," he pressed, dimples denting his tanned cheeks, "If y'weren't so good to her, she wouldn't go to you before finding Nathan." 

She liked when he said it like that. It made her feel important, even if she was nothing more than a little speck in Priscilla's grand life. 

"I guess so," she whispered.

Flicking his gaze from the statue back to where she stood beside him, he offered his name in a low voice: "'M Harry, by the way. Realized I never introduced myself even after I creepily guessed your name." 

The loud laugh that bubbled out of her chest had little to do with the joke he tacked on the edge of his introduction, and more to do with the fact Harry Styles had just offered out his name as if she was one of the point-two percent of people in the world who wouldn't already know who he was. He was just as polite as all the twitter threads and articles suggested. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she reciprocated, trying her best to keep her face from warming the longer she looked at him. His nose really was just as perfect in person as she'd seen in photos. 

If she looked at him long enough, pretty features on a broad body hidden under soft tufts of clothing, (Y/N) could see him blending in with the perfect statues around them. Fluffed spikes of marble would emulate the curls on the top of his head, hard corners carved from the stone would be the only thing could could accurately display the quiet strength in his form. Even the length of his pink shoelaces wound through his worn Vans could be perfectly carved from small strips of marble. He would blend right in with Cupid himself, only missing a pair of fair wings drawing from his back. 

Before their conversation could go any further, (Y/N) was broken out of her stupor at the sound of the accented English of their gallery guide calling for everyone to reconvene at the other end of the hall. She swore Harry's gaze lingered over her for just one extra moment before he followed her eye towards where that same little flag that was being waved over their guide's head as their group was directed "this way! this way, s'il vous plaît!".

It was an unspoken moment as they fell into step with one another going towards the threshold to whatever was next on the agenda, (Y/N)'s strides much slower as to match Harry's that was lingering despite the length of his legs. 

"Bummer, right?" he offered in a quiet tone as they were still steps behind the last stragglers of their group. 

"Hm?" 

"I was hoping he'd let us stay in here a little while longer. I was having fun," he told her, the curl on his lips just as secret as his muted tone. 

"Maybe he'll let us roam around on our own at the end, and you can come back," she told him, trying to rein in her hammering pulse from the way he seemed to be sharing something secret with her. 

"And, you'll come with me, right?" 

(Y/N) didn't have a hope in the world to stop her rattling heart and stunted lungs at his request. 

"Of course," she said in a pitched tone, heart racing too fast to listen to anything their guide was saying as their group was directed towards the next room, "I wasn't done looking at them, anyway." 

Harry ignored the hooked thumb she threw over her shoulder in the direction of the couple of myths suspended in marble they had spend their time in front of. Instead he had his gaze pinned on hers, seemingly ignoring everything else.

 "Me neither." 

—————

(Y/N) was relieved as she stood behind the line of the camera, watching as Priscilla posed and primped in front of the lens. The Eiffel Tower stood in the background, large and just as romantic as Priscilla had gushed over the second she pitched the idea of a bridal shoot in front of the landmark. With the right editing, the phots were going to look dreamy and worthy of being splayed across bridal magazines for the next decade, at least. 

Plus, when she was busy being pampered over, Priscilla didn't have time to continue the inquisition she had started the second (Y/N) climbed into the taxi that morning. 

Somehow, word had gotten back to Priscilla that Harry Styles and her assistant had spent almost all of the tour of the Louvre together, giggling and whispering over quiet jokes and fonding over the same art pieces. And according to Priscilla, that meant they were in love and had been keeping the secret from her. 

That's why (Y/N) treasured this reprieve behind the scenes, stepping back whenever a makeup artist came by to touch up the powder under her boss's eyes or a hairstylist perfected the waves that rippled her dark hair. She didn't need Priscilla feeding into the crush that was beginning to take ahold of (Y/N)'s heartstrings every time she thought of how she spent her time the day before. 

That is until her name was shouted across the set. A flash of Priscilla's dark hair was all could be scene as she disappeared into the impromptu changing stall that had been set up by the team hired to perfect the shoot. 

(Y/N) sighed before resigning herself to standing outside the stall while Priscilla shouted to her through the sheet, asking for more details of the 'date' she had been on the day before.

"Yes?" she called to her boss once she was on the other side of the familiar stall while Priscilla was helped into her second wedding dress (she had three looks all together that would be shown during the big day, and she wanted to make sure she had wonderful pictures of each of her gowns). 

"Tell me what happened in the sculpture room again," Pricilla demanded, "I want to know exactly what he said. And how he said it. And where he was looking when he said it." 

Remembering the way Harry had stood beside her, admiring Cupid and his love (which she later found ironic considering he had a role acting as his own version of the god) brought a shiver to her heart. The sound of his voice dropping next to her ear was vivid enough in her memory that she couldn't believe Priscilla hadn't already heard it with the way it echoed in her head. 

Still, even with her hammering heart and uneven filling of her lungs, (Y/N) shrugged. "I've already told you everything he said. We talked about the sculpture and then how I knew you and Nate." 

"And that was what had him following you through the rest of the museum?" Her tone was incredulous, (Y/N) not needing to see Priscilla's face to know how scrunched and petulant her features probably were. The spitting image of Nora when she was having a tantrum. 

"I guess so." 

A loud groan could be heard alongside the sound of a zipper lacing together. "C'mon, (Y/N)! Give me something fun!" she called, "It's my wedding week, and this is how you treat me? Not giving me even a little crumb of what it was like flirting with him in the middle of Paris?" 

"That's because we didn't flirt, Pris. We talked about paintings." 

Drawing the curtain aside in a harsh pull, Priscilla was unveiled in her second dress of the day, this one large and tulle filled with sheer panels on the bodice. Despite being dressed like an angel, the grump on her face was the perfect juxtaposition that described her boss. 

"Then why did Nate tell me his cousin saw you two huddled away while everyone else was looking at the Mona Lisa?" 

(Y/N) tried to recall when they had even visited the Mona Lisa, but every memory after the sculpture hall was more focused on Harry than anything else. She couldn't help but see him in every billowing piece of art, abstract or realistic. 

"Oh my god," her boss chirped, features lighting up at something (Y/N) must have missed. 

"What?" (Y/N) asked, about to look over her shoulder. Maybe the Tower had sparkled to life early? 

"You made a face!" Priscilla bubbled, reaching for (Y/N)'s shoulders before giving her a little shake, "That's what I was looking for! You don't even remember seeing the Mona Lisa, do you? You were too distracted by your new boyfriend." 

"He's not my boyfriend—I don't even have his number, or anything." 

"But you were distracted with him, weren't you?" The silence (Y/N) offered was enough to have Priscilla rocketing with glee. "I knew it!" she beamed, clasping her hands together with her manicured nails gleaming in the French sunset, "Are you going to dance with him tomorrow? I can change the seating chart with Adelina and make it so you're seated together for dinner if you want. Oh my god, I cannot wait to tell Nate 'I told him so' when he finds out you're seeing Harry." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at the miles and miles ahead of herself Priscilla was getting. "I don't think you can tell Nate anything considering the only place I'm 'seeing' Harry is at your wedding tomorrow." 

"Exactly," she cemented, trailing over to where the photographer was calling to his muse to resume her posing, "You should be thanking me for getting you a date to the wedding. So last minute, too." 

Before (Y/N) could offer any kind of retort, Priscilla slipped into the same thing that had earned her her fortune in the first place—modeling. (Y/N) could only stand behind the photographer and the line of lighting equipment, stewing in the heat that reached her cheeks at the idea Pricilla put in her head of dancing with Harry tomorrow at the reception. 

Sure, maybe he would say hi at the ceremony tomorrow, but she couldn't see herself as being more than someone to spend the tour of the Louvre with, to him. Even if the idea of knocking elbows with him on accident while they ate dinner got her heart bubbling with a rush of blood through her body. 

Paris was perfect for dreams, lovely romantic ones especially, but there was no reason to think Harry Styles was going to be anything more than a perfect addition to those dreams. 

—————

"Why aren't you in your white dress?" 

(Y/N) tucked Nora in front of her as staff from the venue rushed passed them through the hall, arms laden with bouquets of flowers Priscilla was sure to through a fit over if she saw they still weren't set up. In front of her, Nora almost tripped over herself as she looked over her shoulder at (Y/N), a fluffy lavender dress on her toddling form.

 "Your mom is the only one who gets to wear white today, remember?" (Y/N) prompted, pulling Nora to walk again at her side with her hand outstretched for the little girl to wrap her palm around her fingers, "She's the one getting married, so she gets the special dress." 

"Oh," Nora sounded, bright blue eyes shuttered by an owlish blink. "When are you getting married, then? Are you going to wear white, too?"

Despite having started coming around just when Nora was getting into her curious phase, non-stop questions flooding from her mouth with little filter, (Y/N) never tired of her prodding. Drawing her into one of the many private rooms attached to the venue where Nate's and Priscilla's families were gathering before joining the main hall before the ceremony, (Y/N) tried to figure out how to explain to the toddler there wasn't a wedding of hers that needed to be worried about.

"I'd have to trick someone into marrying me first before I have those answers for you, sweetie," (Y/N) joked with a soft laugh, a tease that went right over Nora's head as she looked up at her with her Bambi eyes. 

"Why would you trick someone like that?" 

(Y/N) stammered, mouth dropping into a guppy gape as she tried to talk her way out of a bad joke to tell to a toddler. "I—It was..... You're right, Nori," she relented, walking to where the little girl's maternal grandmother was waiting with a bright smile on her face at the sight of her granddaughter, "That would be mean of me." 

"Yeah. My mommy told me you have a boyfriend too, so it would be mean to trick someone else into marrying you when I'm sure he would want to marry you." 

Priscilla was lucky she wasn't here, otherwise she could be getting a glare full of daggers for telling Lenore something as silly as that, especially knowing who Priscilla was telling the toddler was the boyfriend in question. 

Before (Y/N) could say anything to dispute the case, she passed Nora off to her grandma. As she fielded questions about Priscilla's state the morning of the big day, (Y/N) decided she would have to wait on gently scolding her boss until after the ceremony at the very least. 

—————

(Y/N) did her best to keep her tears at bay as she watched Priscilla and Nate exchange vows, Nora sat in her lap with her eyes pinned to her mom and dad finally marrying after hearing about this impending wedding for two years (though (Y/N) was sure she could only really recall the last year's worth of memories with Priscilla running around frantic and Nate following in an apologetic wake). Vials of sand that represented each family member were now swirled together in a jar beside the officiant, symbolizing the union of their entire family through this marriage, one that couldn't be separated. The weather was perfect out in the vineyard Priscilla snagged a year and a half in advance of the date, just warm enough so she could blame the heat covering her skin on the sun and not the lump forming in her throat. 

As hard of a time as she gave Priscilla and the chaos that had filled her work for the last year, her boss was one of the closest people in her life. Seeing Priscilla so happy with someone like Nate—her perfect counterpart—, being married in the most beautiful place, her dream wedding come to life, was enough to have (Y/N)'s eyes sopping with unshed tears. 

Watching them be announced husband and wife, Nora joining them on their descent back down the flower petal studded aisle, (Y/N) finally allowed her tears to fall. Her eyes followed them along with the rest of the guests as the little family disappeared inside the winery. Gentle instrumental music struck up before ushers made their appearance and began herding the guests to the east side of the rustically French building, ivy and lavender sprigs clinging to the siding that would be the backdrop for the cocktail hour that would commence while Priscilla and Nate reveled in the newly married bliss and took a few photos before the reception started. 

These moments were the hardest part about going to family events with Priscilla: the mingling. As familiar as she became with certain figures in her boss's life, it wasn't like these were her family and friends. Her closest friends in this whole ordeal were tucked away in the bridal suite while (Y/N) was left to snack on cucumber sandwiches and tiny flutes of wine, lingering by the side of the winery while pretending to clack away on her phone. Here and there, familiar faces greeted her, chatting about the beautiful ceremony and how cute it was for her to keep ahold of Nora while her parents were busy otherwise. (Y/N) of course thanked everyone, reiterating that the ceremony was very beautiful, yes, Priscilla's dress was gorgeous, wasn't it?, and the menu for dinner sounded better and better the longer they stood out in the Parisian countryside. As soon as the dead air appeared, they would share goodbyes and chat with you later! before heading off to another group of people to share the time with. 

Of course, this was the one hour during the entire week that Priscilla wasn't in dire need of her, leaving her to her own devices as she read the same three emails over and over to busy herself. 

Until, of course, her name was called from one of the small cocktail tables a few feet over, a head of brown curls popping up over the crowd as she searched for her caller. A ringed hand waved to her just as one of Pricilla's college roommates moved out of the way, a giggling whisper shared with whoever it was that was at her side when the woman caught sight of who she was blocking. 

Harry, clad in a creamy white suit (he was very lucky Priscilla hadn't caught him, otherwise that ensemble would have been stained red with wine or something even harder to get out of the fabric) with a bright smile on his face, dimples deep in his cheeks, as he called to her. At his side was Jeffery Azoff, who (Y/N) was almost as excited to see in person as she was when she met Harry himself. He beckoned her to him with a wave of his hand, green nails sparkling in the golden hour sunlight. 

"Hey, you," he greeted her, a grin with his two front bunny-like teeth on display, "Been waiting for m'turn to talk to you since the ceremony ended." 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that spread over her lips at his words, his eyes pinned to her with the full of his attention, the same way everyone always described when meeting Harry Styles. No distraction could pull his attention from someone he deemed worthy of it. "Really?" she asked, hoping he didn't pick up on the dreamy quality of her tone. 

"Yeah, was jus' telling Jeff all about all the fun we had with Jean-Pierre the other day," he teased, the green of his eyes glimmering with inside jokes they had tittered over in the marble halls. 

"He hasn't shut up about it for the past forty-eight hours, actually," Jeff chuffed, mirth in his eyes as he glanced at his friend, sipping from his wine, "I was hoping you could take him off my hands. At least you'd get all the jokes he's telling." 

"I don't know," (Y/N) shrugged, tension releasing from her muscles as she folded her arms over the surface of the table, "I don't get half the jokes he tells, either." 

Feigned offense piqued on Harry's features as he looked between them, mouth dropping open though he couldn't quite erase the slight curl on the corner of his mouth. With the single strand of hair that fell over his forehead, he looked entirely too dreamy in the middle of the French countryside. Once again, (Y/N) found herself grateful over the fact Priscilla hadn't caught him in his ivory ensemble—having a deep red wine stain on his suit would surely ruin the effect.

"Heyyy," he whined, a pouting crease forming between his pinched brows, "That's mean." 

"You've told the same jokes for the entire time I've known you, H," Jeff pressed, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at his friend though he didn't stop his teasing, "and every time you tell them, I still don't get it." 

Before Harry could interject any more pouting, (Y/N) chirped up with a matching quirk to her lips. "Yeah, he did tell the same joke twice at the museum. A little bit of a repeater, he is." 

"Oh, not you, too," Harry whined, dropping his head to be right in her line of sight. His smile was a little too bright, dimples a little too deep, eyes a little too clear to be convincingly offended. "You're supposed to be on m'side, (Y/N)." 

The sound of her name wrapped in his voice was something that echoed in her head for the last forty-eight hours since she'd seen him. "I am, he just has some good points. Sorry, Harry," she told him, speaking low enough as if she was sharing a secret with only Harry. 

Over the swirls of curls on the top of his head, (Y/N) could see the way Jeff was eyeing the interaction before adverting his eyes with a smirk on his lips before they were hidden by a cup of wine. 

"Y'could make it up to me, you know," he murmured to her, his folded hands coming up to smush against his tanned cheek, altering the layout of the soft smattering of freckles on the center of his face. 

"How?" 

"Save a dance for me." 

(Y/N) felt her lashes tickle her brow bone with the way her eyes widened, rounding and softening as she processed his request. She was sure that if someone showed her a recap of this moment, she would look like a moony teenager setting eyes on her crush for the first time. 

Swallowing around her suddenly dry throat, (Y/N) nodded her head. "I-I can do that." 

The way his grin stretched across his lips and the smallest dusting of pink coloring touched at the tip of his nose, could have had (Y/N) on a stretcher if not for the interruption that came in the form of one of the venue's staff tapping on her shoulder. 

"Ms. (Y/N)," the staff member greeted her with a tight smile that did little to sully her accented English, "The new Mrs. Davies is requesting your presence very urgently up in the bridal suite. If you wouldn't mind excusing yourself, I can escort you up right away." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, deflating some at the fact she was going to have to leave Harry so quickly, "Okay, yeah. Give me just a second." 

The staff member gave her a strained smile, but nonetheless took a step back. She felt for the girl, really; Priscilla was a piece of work when she wanted to be and (Y/N) had a feeling she was walking into something gruesome in that bridal suite. 

Turning back to Harry, (Y/N) jerked a half-hearted thumb over her shoulder. "It sounds like I'm needed, so..." 

She trailed off, not wanting to be the one to say bye. Harry seemed to feel the same as he ducked his head, obscuring her view of him with the cover of his hair. "I'll see you later, though, right?" he prompted her once he matched her gaze again, the blushing green peeking through the length of his lashes. 

"Definitely," she cemented, taking the first reluctant step away from the table. Though her eyes lingered on Harry, she made a point to divert her gaze to her new friend of the day. "It was nice to meet you, Jeff." 

"Nice to meet you, too, (Y/N)," he offered politely, a sly smile stitched to his features she had a feeling wasn't going to dissipate. 

With one final wave, (Y/N) was beckoned by the staffmember back to the winery, hasty steps having (Y/N) all but tripping over herself to keep up. Just before slipping through the doorway, she couldn't help but toss a glance over her shoulder, finding Harry with his arms crossed over the cocktail table, grapeleaf-green eyes pinned to her. It took a matching of his gaze and a punch to his shoulder from Jeff before Harry came to his senses. In the waning light, his already golden skin was amplified, but (Y/N) could still see the tint of pink that dotted his cheeks and touched at the tip of his nose.

—————

"Thank you," (Y/N) muttered as she left the kitchen with a lukewarm plate that held her dinner she should have eaten hours ago. 

Trudging through the reception hall, music drifting through the room with the raucous laughter of both tipsy and sober guests clashing against the melody, (Y/N) couldn't decide if her head was going to pop first or if her feet would give out before then. She knew that wearing these heels gifted by Priscilla for her last birthday, red-bottom and all, wasn't going to be the most comfortable and arch-supporting idea, but that had been before she knew she was going to be more of a planner than a guest to this event. 

While Priscilla was spending treasured moments with her husband, both behind the bridal suite doors prior to the reception and in the guest-filled banquet hall, (Y/N) was filling every role she could to help. Fussing over Priscilla was a given, so carting glasses of wine back and forth and directing the photographer on what shots her boss had specially requested be taken was something she had prepared to do. But, it was when Nora was passed off to her during Priscilla and Nate's first dance, and never quite passed back once the toddler started having too much fun at a grown-up's table, that (Y/N) knew she wasn't to have a moment to herself for the rest of the night. Just when she thought she was in for a slight reprieve when dinner was served, something she could enjoy while also taking care of Lenore, Adelina, the wedding planner, had pulled her to the side. (Apparently, there was something awry with the wedding cake, but Priscilla didn't need to know about it if everyone wanted to keep their heads). That was how she ended up passing Nora off to her grandparents and her first course back to the kitchen staff, asking them to keep it warm for her so she could have it later, after she dealt with the tiered spongecake that had melting buttercream and slouching fondant decorations. 

It seemed that one favor she did, signed her up to be Adelina's assistant for the rest of the evening—or at least until everything settled down with only drinks and snacks being enjoyed among the guests. She was kept busy with every minute detail that began to run off the rails, things that didn't need to be shared with Priscilla but were much too important to leave alone. Even the photographer, the ever careful Frenchman who had the fear of God in his eyes every time he looked at Priscilla, had asked for her opinion more than once with (Y/N) practically directing the day's photos by the time ten-thirty rolled around. 

That was something else that tugged her muscles down by the root and threatened to drop her through the floorboards if her exhaustion grew any heavier. One of the perks of this venue—and the hefty deposit Priscilla made on the space—was the lack of clear out time. Wine and food were just the things to persuade guests into lingering on the property, which is exactly what they did, especially when additional courses of finger foods and desserts were brought from the kitchen and the bottles of wine and champagne were endlessly supplied by the vineyard. Looking out onto the dance floor and the semi-full tables surrounding the space, (Y/N) didn't see an end in sight.

But, Nora had been taken back to the hotel and tucked into bed by Nate's parents, leaving at least one responsibility off her plate. The photographer seemed to find his footing the more he realized Priscilla preferred her left-side and would enjoy any photograph of she and Nate kissing. Adelina had calmed down the second most of the traditions of the wedding were filed through—the garter-toss was one of the most nerve-wracking moments for some reason—as guests began reclining and holding separate courts at all the tables and others dotted the dancefloor to indulge in wine-induced dance moves. Priscilla had even settled well as she slow-danced with Nate, especially after changing into her third and final dress for the event, the fringed hem dropping to the mid of her thigh and sparkling under the romantic lighting draped across the rafters. (Y/N) lingered, on-edge, for an extra half-an-hour before finally treating herself with the task of picking up her food from the kitchen and settling in one of the back tables that had been vacated as children's bedtime had approached. 

With a barely filled glass of red wine and a lukewarm plate of pasta in front of her, (Y/N) dared to slip her shoes off under the table before folding her legs underneath herself. 

She didn't even know how long she had been menially scooping up her food, not even tasting the fine ingredients and expensive spices or how well they paired with her given wine, too exhausted to really process much other than finally having some subsistence in her body. That was why she barely noticed the knock of someone's knees against the underside of the table as they slipped into the spot beside her, the gentle voice having to call her name twice before she perked up. 

"Sorry, what did you need he—Oh, Harry," she smiled, pleased to see him when she had been expecting another person that needed her help. 

"Hi," he greeted her, the word coming out breathy and merlot-tinted. That would explain his messy hair and glassy eyes. The flush that tinted his skin looked perfect with his suit.

"Hi," she reciprocated with a small smile, "Have you been enjoying the reception?" She had a feeling she knew the answer to that one.

Nonetheless, the floppy nod Harry gave her, curls skimming his forehead, still made her heart bounce. "A lot," he told her on a breathy laugh, before his expression turned sour with a downturn to his lips, "But, y'said y'would dance with me, and I've barely seen you. Had to dance with Nathan's great-aunt five different times just to feel something." 

(Y/N) choked on the sip of wine she had tossed back while he spoke, clapping her hand over her mouth as she fought to keep from spitting it out. Once she recovered, a choked bunch of air filling her lungs, she shook her head at him. "I'm sure you did feel something," she teased, twirling a meaningless bite of pasta around her fork, "she's practically in love with you. I heard her talking to Priscilla's cousin all about you and how she was somehow going to fit you in her pocket and take you back to the hotel with her." 

"I wouldn't put it past her," Harry started grimly, fully believing Aunt Rosie's besotted threat. 

"And, I wouldn't blame her," (Y/N) muttered, the words falling out before she had any clarity of mind to stop them. 

A brilliant smile woke up Harry's grapejuice softened features. "Really? Want to take me home in your pocket, too, then?" 

Caught, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to pull her eyes from her plate of food though she shrugged in response. "I don't have any pockets, so I'll have to fit you in my tote if that's alright." 

"I can work with that," Harry shot back immediately, sitting up in his chair before scooting closer to (Y/N), folded arms settling on the table. "Do y'have extra room at your hotel, or will I have to sleep on the floor?" 

Her face felt hot as she couldn't help but take his intoxicated flirting right to her heart. "I don't have lots of space, but I'm sure I could figure something out for you." 

He seemed all too pleased with her response, bunny-teeth trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. Unable to draw her gaze away from his mouth, the very middle of the pillows tinted plum from the wine, (Y/N) draped her eyes over the faint freckles dotting the pink skin. Cute. 

"If you're not too busy still, maybe I could redeem m'promised dance once things slow down again?" Harry's voice was only a whisper that hung in the air between them, almost drowned out by the loud laugh that originated somewhere on the dance floor. 

"Yeah, yeah," she rushed out on a breath, hoping Harry wouldn't notice how eager she was to agree incase it was just as embarrassing as it sounded, "I would really like that." 

She would think she would be used to the look of his bright smile by now, with the amount of times she'd been granted the sight throughout this week, but it still threaten to knock the breath out of her to have it directed at her. 

"I'll keep an ear out, then," Harry told her, leaning back in his chair with his gaze going to the dance floor, staying true to his word of keeping watch, "Y'finish eating, though, before someone has a chance to steal y'away again, saying they need help with the music again or something. Barely had a chance to eat tonight." 

A pinch collected between her brows as she canted her head to the side. "How did you know I had to help with the music?" 

Another heart-stopping smile worked its way on Harry's lips though he kept his gaze attached to the dance floor. "I've been paying attention to you all night, (Y/N)."

—————

(Y/N) perked up at the change in tempo that sounded from the front of the banquet hall, a handful of couples still occupying the space while others were retiring to tables as the night drew on. Priscilla and Nate seemed to be in their own world wrapped in each others arms with no sense of time. But, for the first time in the last twenty minutes, their slowdancing finally matched the song that filtered through the speakers. 

Dropping her fourth glass of wine onto the table, the alcohol sloshing dangerously close to the rim as she clumsily stood up. "Harry, Harry, hurry," she bubbled off as she fumbled to put her shoes back on her feet, "We can't miss this one." 

"Miss what?" he asked lamely from where he sat, mouth dropping to a gape as he looked up at her. 

"The song—listen! We missed the last, like, three slow songs I think. We can't leave until I make it up to you for teasing you earlier." 

Harry's memory seemed to come back together at the mention of the song, his ears all but physically perking up for the time since he dropped the ball on his job of keeping an ear out for a suitable song to pull (Y/N) to the floor with. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, standing up with his knees knocking the table in his haste, "Get your shoes on. Hurry."

"I am, I am," (Y/N) badgered him, squishing her toes into the silk covered shoes. 

As soon as she was upright on the stilts of her heels, she grabbed for Harry's hand and tugged him to the dance floor. The other couples made a small space for them to join, even if they were clunky on their feet while others had sobered some through the night. (Y/N) tried to recall everything she remembered about slow dancing with a boy as best she could, middle-school rules coming to mind first as she placed her hands on the broad of his shoulders. A breathy laugh fell from her partner's lips as he tugged her closer, setting a gentle grip on her waist. 

"This alright?" he asked her, looking down at her with glassy eyes though that didn't fog the crystal green of his iris. 

"Yeah, thank you," she peeped, enjoying the press of his rings through her dress. "I should probably tell you I don't know how to do this, so I'm going to step on your feet at least twice." 

Harry didn't seem at all bothered by the shortcomings of his partner, instead dropping his head with a brush of his forehead against hers as he laughed. "I don't even think I'll notice." 

It was with that, Harry started swaying her off-beat, going against the grain of the rhythm the couples around them had curated. Neither of them paid it any mind, (Y/N) honestly not even noticing until she caught sight of Priscilla and Nate twirling out in a completely different flourish than what Harry had her doing.

"I think we're going the wrong way," (Y/N) whispered with a giggle, using her grip on Harry's shoulders to tug him down to her level. 

"Are we?" he beamed at her, not even daring to look around the floor, his eyes pinned her with no sign of removal. 

"Mhm," she hummed, biting back her smile despite the way it still stretched across her cheeks. 

The only movement of his eyes came as they dropped down the planes of her face, charting every dip and curve before settling on her lips for a lingering moment. "Should we change that?" 

"Maybe."

Just like the placing of her feet (though she'd only stepped on his toes once so far, that she knew of), (Y/N) wasn't even aware as she tugged him down with her grip on his shoulders, making his face level with her's for a breath. A skim of the tip of her nose against his was the final touch before she was pressing her lips to his. The wine they had shared from her glass was now sipped from each other's kiss, plummy and warm. (Y/N) drank from his lips as she sealed a kiss against his lips, tipping her head just right to get a little more of him without getting too ahead of herself in the middle of her boss's wedding. 

Harry's hands on her waist was the anchoring touch as they resorted to just soft sways out-of-time with the song picked by the DJ. Warm breaths that were exhaled out of his nose fanned across her skin, with every matching tilt of his head. He didn't want to pull away, that much she knew from the way he clung to her form and the shallowness of his breaths the longer they kissed. 

If not for their location, (Y/N) would have tried to figure out what the wine tasted like from his tongue. Instead, she forced herself to draw back, Harry following after her though he only managed to touch his forehead to hers. 

"My boss is over there, otherwise..." (Y/N) trailed off, her lashes threatening to tangle with his from the proximity. 

Something a little too smug curled at his lips. "Otherwise? I can work with otherwise." 

Just in time, the set changed, turning into something much more uptempo that had Harry dragging her from the dance floor. (Y/N) swore as they passed Priscilla and Nate that her boss gave her a raise of her brow and practically-staged glimmer in her eye. 

The privacy of their little table in the back washed over them as Harry made a point to drag her original seat to sit right beside his, the legs getting crossed over one another. That made it all too easy for him to drape her leg over his knee, just where he settled the warm palm of his hand. Now that the wall was broken, the flirting having opened a gateway with the kiss being the perfect key to get through, Harry didn't hesitate to touch over her skin. 

'When are you leaving Paris?" he asked her, his filter gone along with the boundary they had burned on the dancefloor.

Reorienting herself as she reached for her glass of wine, (Y/N) tried to remember what day it was. "I think I'll be here for another week or something. Pris and Nate want to have some of their honeymoon with Nora before I need to take her home and they can be newlyweds." 

He hummed as he took in her words, his tongue peeking out as he swiped the tip of it along the plush of his now swollen bottom lip. "Then, I'll leave in a week or something, too." 

(Y/N) blanched at his proposition, not quite following where he was going. "What?" 

"Y'won't have Lenore all the time, right?" (Y/N) shook her head. "Maybe those days, I can keep y'company instead. There's a lot of Paris I haven't seen yet, and 'm sure you've been too busy to explore either." 

Though she doubted that Harry Styles—world-touring recording artist who was known to slip away to foreign countries for weeks at a time without being spotted—had anywhere left in Paris to explore with her, the idea appealed to her nonetheless. It wasn't like the Louvre was the only art gallery and this winery the only vineyard. 

"Really?" 

Harry nodded his head with a set in his jaw. He was determined when he was tipsy. "'M sure we'd still see each other back home, but I don't think 'm ready to leave Paris if you're not going as well." 

The implication that he would still reach out to her once they stepped back on home soil, that he was sure they would see each other then no matter what, was enough to have a warmth hitting her features that the wine could only dream of inducing from her. 

"Ye-Yeah," she nodded, her heart bubbling in her chest, "I can let you know when Nora is with her parents and we can meet up. Maybe not tomorrow morning because I think I'm going to be a little hungover and exhausted, but everyday after that. If it's alright." 

The way he leaned across her draped legs, hand cradling the hinge of her jaw, an intoxicating kiss to her lips was enough of an answer. (Y/N) didn't bother to ask again even after he pulled away. 

Priscilla was going to have a field day with this. 

—————

ive had so many feelings and ideas about weddingrry for so long so im super happy I got to get some of them out w this one! thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any requests or ideas of your own please send them in!

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Late Night

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~700

Summary: Your routine for sleepless nights. 

A/N: Random fluff piece. Y’all it’s 107 today and if I never post again, it’s because I melted. 

Warnings: Fluff

You had it down to science at this point. Every night before going to sleep, you would put your Bluetooth earbuds and phone right at the edge of the bedside table just in case you need them. Usually before going to bed, you’ll know if it will be a night of restlessness. Depending on what was going on in your life, stress would keep you up and if you don’t find a way to distract yourself, you’ll be up all night.

The first few times it happened you’d just stare at the ceiling in stiff silence. You didn’t want to wake Wanda up by moving too much, and since she was more often than not cuddled into your side or sleeping on top of you, moving at all was enough to cause her to stir. For this reason, at first you started keeping your phone as close as possible to you in case sleep evaded you. You’d scroll through your two social media apps before trying to find things to read. Eventually you started to watch things, but you couldn’t have the sound on which limited your choices.

Tonight, you fell asleep with your phone by your head, and when you woke up at 1am and couldn’t fall back to sleep, you carefully grab your phone and start scrolling. You glance to your wife who’s sleeping with her head on your shoulder and an arm around your waist. You lower the brightness of your phone and angle it so it’s not pointed near your wife’s face. You put in your earbuds one by one before picking a movie that you’d been meaning to watch for a while. You feel your eyes growing heavy as you get about an hour in, and you’re thinking about trying to fall back asleep when Wanda shifts against you. You wait until you’re sure she’s not awake before you take out your earbuds and set your phone down on the table beside you.

You’re able to fall asleep a few minutes later, and the next morning, you don’t think that Wanda noticed you hadn’t slept well.

One month later you’re watching a horror movie that you’ve seen a hundred times. You’re just listening to it as background noise as you shift slightly to get more comfortable. Wanda’s clinging to you like usual, and you just lie still and listen to the familiar movie as you close your eyes and try to relax. You know this movie so well that you can picture every scene as easily if you were watching it.

“You know, maybe it’s the horrifying movies you watch that keep you awake at night, detka.”

You hear her voice easily over the quiet movie, and you quickly pause it before turning to her with a sheepish look. This is the first time that Wanda’s woken up during your sleepless nights. At least that’s what you’d thought, but looking at Wanda now, she doesn’t seem surprised that you’re awake. She’s shooting you a curious look, and you put your things away quickly before trying to get resituated to sleep.

“Maybe, but I’ve seen this so many times, it’s just background noise at this point.”

Wanda can’t help but smile regardless of how ridiculous that sounds, and she squeezes you tightly before kissing your cheek. She’d picked up on your late-night restlessness fairly quickly. It was difficult for her not to notice how her wife became tense or moved beside her. She was a very light sleeper which she blamed on her occupation, so she was usually aware of when you weren’t able to sleep.

This is the first time that she’s said something about it because she honestly was hoping that this wouldn’t be a habit of yours. She was hoping for a one off so she didn’t have to admit that you might have trouble sleeping. She wanted to figure out what was bothering you, but maybe she could wait until a more appropriate time.

“We’ll talk about your sleep habits when it’s light out, okay?”

You nod in agreement before yawning again and deciding that you should try to go back to sleep now. Hopefully you won’t have nightmares.

Masterlist

[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Exclude

@jegulus-microfic January 6 Word count 636

James wasn’t one to exclude anyone. He went out of his way to include anyone who wanted to be in whatever he was doing. 

James was down at the Quidditch pitch on a sunny Saturday afternoon, trying to perfect a new manoeuvre. The Wollongong Shimmy. Was a high-speed zigzagging manoeuvre that had been designed by the Australian team to throw off the opposing Chasers. It was a particularly difficult manoeuvre. The zigzagging movements would be hard enough without the high speeds threatening to fling you off. James had found himself hanging onto his broom by his fingertips a few times. While he was fighting to get his seat back, he noticed a lone figure waiting by the stands. At first, he thought it was Sirius, so he waved him over. It was only when he was finally back on his broom that he saw the scowl.

He lazily dropped to hover in front of Regulus. 

He could have told Regulus to go away as he’d booked the pitch for himself to use privately. But as previously stated, James struggled to exclude anyone, and he knew how much Regulus loved flying from Sirius. He chose to try and include him.

“You going up then?” He asked, a smile naturally forming on his face. 

“I had hoped I’d be alone.” Regulus was still scowling at James, clearly irritated by finding him there. 

“Ah, well, I booked the pitch so I could practice a new technique.” 

“You need to practice more. You’re terrible.” Regulus was smirking now.

“Well, you’re still welcome to practice with me.” James grinned as Regulus swung a leg over his broom and kicked off from the ground.

 He circled James a few times before shooting off to the other end of the pitch. James watched him hold up his hand and release a tiny golden snitch.

James tried the Wollongong Shimmy a few more times, but it always ended with him having to haul himself back onto his broom in mid-air. 

He hadn’t realised how close he’d flown to Regulus until he heard him call out. 

“You’re leaning into it too much.”

“What?” James called back. Regulus flew over, hovering close to James. 

“You’re leaning into each zag too much, which is causing your centre of gravity to shift, so you’re falling off,” Regulus said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

James tried again but still got the same result. Regulus huffed at him. “You’re still not doing it right. Look, watch me.” He took off, performing the manoeuvre flawlessly. When he looped back around, James was staring at him in awe. “See, it’s not that hard.” Regulus’s eyes flicked to the gold glinting at the side of James’s head and was only mildly surprised when James didn’t flinch as he shot his hand out to grab the snitch.

“That was amazing, Reg,” James was still staring at him. “Can you show me again?” Regulus only protested slightly but showed him again and then allowed James to follow him closely, leaning at the same angle. 

Slowly, they built up speed until they were both zigzagging blurs on the pitch. 

Eventually, they had to stop. The Hufflepuff team was due to use the pitch next, so they both headed to the changing rooms. 

“That was fun, Reg,” James told him as he towelled his hair. “We should do it again sometime.” He looked over at Regulus when he didn’t get an answer. 

“Don’t hold your breath, Potter.” He said, collecting his bag and walking to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and shot James a crooked smile. 

See, James, thought, not excluding people got you help perfecting Quidditch manoeuvres and one of the most enchanting smiles he’d ever seen. He hoped Regulus would fly with him again.   

[mcrdvcks]

Down Bad - Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: Amina finds herself meeting The Bad Batch as she accompanies Rex to Ord Mantell. After deciding to watch the group for any adverse effects after removing their chips, circumstances cause her to overstay her welcome.

Word Count: 9.0k+

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Jedi Original Character

Notes: hello! so this is my first time using tumblr (at least, posting on tumblr), but i decided i wanted to try my hand at posting on here instead of just ao3. i have a few other series that haven't been transferred from ao3 yet, but if you would like to check it out, you can find the link on my masterlist! <3

Series Masterlist → Chapter 2

AO3 Link For Chapter

Times were tough, tougher than they had been in the last 3 years. With the empire taking over, and the Jedi being hunted down, now was certainly not the best time to be alive.

Amina got out of the ship, making sure it was properly locked and secured before making her way to where Rex was, at Cid’s place.

She was finishing up a few mechanical issues and damages they sustained, and it was a relaxing activity. But it also made her think about Anakin and Tatooine. Life was easier when they were slave children, and while she’s glad to have made it off of that planet all those years ago, maybe life wouldn’t be so difficult now.

Or so depressing.

She pulled the hood over her head, her dark brown hair now dyed an auburn color to try to hide who she was.

Amina Skywalker, a Jedi- formal Jedi.

She walked into the small rundown shop, watching as Rex kneeled down in front of a small girl. “I’ve met many clones in my time, but never one like you.”

The girl stepped forward, moving closer to Rex. “You’re a generation one.”

“Now how’d you know that?”

“From the lines on your face.” The girl stated.

Rex chuckled, and looked back to the other 4 clones, “yeah, I guess I’ve been around.”

“You got that right.” the larger clone said, before groaning and holding the right side of his head. “Tech, I need one of those med patches.

Tech responded, “you used the last one.”

Rex stood up as Amina walked further into the room, “what’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing. It’s just a headache.”

“Which are becoming more frequent.” One of the 4 other clones said.

Amina tilted her head, realizing that it was Echo, one of the 501’s clones, who Anakin, Rex, and some other clones had rescued.

“Is that so?” Rex said slowly, his hand slowly reaching down to his holster.

“If you’re concerned about the so-called inhibitor chips, don’t be. Our deviant nature appears to have impeded their functionality. Except in Crosshair.

Amina reached for her gun underneath her poncho, as Rex became more cautious, “you’re telling me you haven’t removed your chips?”

“No, not yet.”

Rex moved his poncho away from his holster, his hand hovering over his blaster.

The clone in the bandana stood up from the stool, “Rex?”

“Those chips make you a threat to everyone around you. Even her. You’re all ticking time bombs.” Rex said, angling himself into an attack position.

“Take it easy, Captain.” Bandana said, holding his hand out.

“What’s in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I’ve seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don’t want to bury any more of our brothers. Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn’t. It’s a risk you do not want to take.”

Bandana’s eyes widened, before looking down at the young girl. “How do you suggest we get them out?”

Rex moved his hand away from his holster, “good question. I’ll be in touch.” He walked out of the place while Amina followed silently. Better to not say anything now to those clones, just in case they recognize her and try to shoot her down.

---

Amina tapped her foot on the ground as they waited for the Bad Batch to arrive. She didn’t like this, didn’t want to risk getting shot again by clones who want to kill her.

But Rex said he trusted them, and that only helped relieve her tension slightly.

Soon, the Bad Batch’s ship landed as Rex and Amina walked over, with Rex wearing his armor and holding his helmet underneath his left arm, and Amina still wearing her black poncho.

Bandana, or Hunter as Rex told her, walked up to Rex first, shaking his hand.

“Right on time.” Rex said.

“How’s a junk planet gonna help us?” Wrecker asked.

The young girl came up to Amina and looked up at her. Amina kneeled down to the girl’s height. “Are you a friend of Rex?” She asked.

Amina nodded, and slowly pulled her hood off her head, revealing her face to the young girl. "I am," she confirmed, offering a warm smile.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and she took a step back. "You're... Amina Skywalker?" she whispered, awe evident in her voice.

Amina’s eyes widened, “Yes. And you are Omega.”

Omega nodded slowly, still processing the revelation. "I've heard stories about you. About your brother, too." Her gaze flickered between Amina and Rex, curiosity and uncertainty mingling in her expression.

Amina offered Omega a reassuring smile. "Well, not all stories are true, but I'm here now. And it's nice to finally meet you, Omega."

Omega returned the smile tentatively before glancing at Rex. "Why didn't you tell us she was coming?" she asked, her voice a mixture of confusion and accusation.

Rex sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It was... complicated," he admitted. "But she's here to help."

Hunter, the leader of the Bad Batch, approached the group, his sharp gaze assessing Amina with caution. "I hope you know what you're doing, Rex," he said gruffly.

Rex nodded solemnly. "I do. And I trust her."

Amina crossed her arms, “I should be asking you all that question. Because as far as I’m concerned you might just shoot me at any time.”

Rex looked over at her, “well, that’s what we’re here to take care of.”

Amina slowly brought her gaze away from the 4 clones and over to Rex, stiffly nodding. Rex nodded back, “follow me.” he said, putting on his helmet.

They walked on an abandoned starship as Rex spoke up as they got to the edge of it, “Bracca may not be much to look at, but it has exactly what we need. I had my inhibitor chip taken out on a Jedi cruiser just like that. That’s where we’re heading.”

Wrecker spoke up loudly, “then why’d we land all the way over here?”

Hunter motioned quickly, “everyone down.”

Everyone got down, watching a small ship in the distance, “that’s why.” Rex said.

“It’s the Scrapper Guild.” Tech said.

“They control this entire planet. We need to keep out of sight from their patrols.” Rex gestured with two fingers, “let’s move.”

The group made their way into the destroyed cruiser, with Amina staying in the back of the group, and Rex and Echo at the front.

They made their way through the wreckage and jumped up onto one of the intact starship’s ledges.

“Whoa.” Omega whispered. “It’s much bigger up close.”

They started walking over a piece of metal that acted as a bridge over a small pool of water. “This is an original Venator-class ship from the first batch off the line.” Rex told Omega.

“First off the line, huh? Just like you, Rex.” Wrecker added.

Amina followed behind Hunter and Tech as the two of them stopped. Hunter looked at the water.

“What is it?” Tech asked.

Hunter looked at the water for a few moments more before continuing on, “stay above the waterline.”

The group walked over a small bar of metal before finally entering the damaged starship.

“The last time I was aboard one of these it didn’t end so well.” Rex said, shining his flashlight as they walked through the crowded hallway, filled with damaged pieces of the ship.

“If the inhibitor chip isn’t something you can control, how’d you get yours out?” Echo asked.

“I… had help.” Rex replied.

Amina nodded to herself, Rex told her how Ahsoka was the one who practically saved Rex, taking out his inhibitor chip after Order 66 went through.

She shuddered to herself, telling herself to stop thinking about it otherwise she’d go down a rabbit hole of emotions and memories.

Rex suddenly stopped as a splashing sound was heard. “The medical bay’s at the other end. Wrecker, grab that cable.”

Wrecker kneeled down and held part of the cable, “this? W-why? W-w-what are you gonna do with it?”

They set up the cable as Rex, Echo, Tech, Hunter, and now Omega climbed the line. “Nicely done.” Rex told Omega, as she landed on her feet.

“You’re up, Wrecker.” Hunter said into the comms.

“Uh… yeah, my head doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m fine. You guys go without me.” Wrecker said, backing up slowly from the ledge.

“You can do it. Just keep your eyes on the cable.” Omega called out.

Wrecker groaned, before finally grabbing onto the cable and crawling underneath it. The line clicked, as it dipped down. The line clicked again. “That was close.” Wrecker said, before the line broke off, and fell straight down.

“Wrecker!” Rex yelled.

Everyone looked down, as Wrecker hung from the line, only because his foot got tangled.

“Are you all right?” Rex called.

“No! Smells awful down here!” Wrecker yelled back.

The light Omega was shining helped them see a large moving figure in the green water. “What’s that?” Omega asked.

“Wrecker, start climbing.” Hunter said.

“Why?” Wrecker nervously asked.

“Hurry!” Omega yelled.

A tentacle grabbed Wrecker’s body, bringing the line further down, until Wrecker was quickly brought into the water.

“Wrecker!” Omega yelled once again.

“Grab the cable. Get him up.” Hunter said.

Wrecker got pulled out of the water slightly as he cut the tentacle that held him. Wrecker slowly started to climb as Rex, Hunter, and Tech started to pull the line. “Faster! Pull faster!” Wrecker yelled.

The creature got ahold of Wrecker once more, with one tentacle on each of his legs. “Whoa, whoa!” Wrecker yelled.

Wrecker was pulled underneath the water as the three fell to the ground, since Wrecker wasn’t holding onto the cable anymore.

“Wrecker!” Rex called out, as they looked at the water, searching for bubbles or any sign of life. The water slowly bubbled as Wrecker grabbed onto the cable.

“Pull!” Omega yelled.

They started to pull up as Echo started to shoot the creature. Soon, the creature went back into the water and Wrecker was pulled up, with Rex helping him onto the ledge.

“Makes you miss battling clankers, doesn’t it?” Rex asked.

Wrecker groaned, “yeah.” He slowly got up as the group made their way down the hall and Amina finally jumped across the water and caught up.

Rex and Tech lifted the door as everyone entered and looked around the med bay. “This will do nicely.” Rex said.

“I would no longer call this medical bay a sterile environment.” Tech stated.

“Do you prefer to use the facility on Kamino?” Rex asked.

“This will do nicely.” Tech said.

Echo set down his helmet, “I’ll calibrate the surgical pod.” The power turned on, the pod lighting up.

“Time to get scanned, Wrecker.” Tech said.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Tech placed the metal piece on Wrecker’s head as he looked at his datapad. Hunter and Omega walked to the other side of the room as Hunter put some of their things on the ground.

Amina stood next to Echo as he worked with the surgical pod. He shortly glanced up at her and then back down, “how are you doing? With… everything?”

She sighed, “fine, I guess.”

“Do you know what happened to your brother?”

Amina quickly turned her head to face him before trying to put on a neutral face. “As far as I know, he died on Coruscant.”

The memories of the burning Jedi temple, along with the 501st attacking her, leading up to her and Padmé going to Mustafar as she watched Anakin burn on the shore with Obi-Wan standing over him. She lost her brother that day, even if he’s still alive, wreaking havoc on the galaxy.

Amina only knows he’s alive due to a few of her sources and a gut feeling. He’s out there somewhere, a pawn in Palpatine’s game.

Echo nodded, sensing she didn’t want to talk about her brother before moving on, “what about Blu?”

She looked down, “I don’t know.” Blu was her clone commando, and since she worked frequently with Anakin and Obi-Wan during the Clone War, most of their clones knew each other. “I was on Coruscant when Order 66 went through. I think Blu was on Pluvekk.”

Amina softly nudged him, “I’m sorry that you had to go through what you did. I never saw you after what happened at the Citadel.”

Echo looked down for a moment, his expression somber. "It was a difficult time for all of us," he admitted quietly. "After the Citadel, I... well, I wasn't the same. It took a lot to come to terms with everything that happened."

Amina nodded, understanding all too well the weight of the past. "It changed us all," she said softly. "But we're still here, aren't we? Trying to make sense of it all."

Echo glanced up at her, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "Yeah, we are," he agreed. "And we're lucky to have each other."

Before Amina could respond, Tech’s data pad beeped, “I think I found something. Ninety degrees from his right orbital floor, below the parietal and temporal intersection- ”

Wrecker growled, as he took off the metal piece from his head, shoving it into Tech’s chest, “get that away from me.”

Omega leaned in closer to Wrecker before looking back towards everyone else, “something’s not right.”

“We need to speed this up.” Rex said.

Echo tapped a few more buttons on the control panel as it turned on.

“You boys got lucky. Very few clones were immune to the effects of Order 66. It’s… rare.”

Hunter looked over at Rex, “when the regs attacked the Jedi on Kaller, we didn’t understand why.” Hunter, Rex, Omega, and Amina walked to the back of the room, “we couldn’t save the general, but at least we helped the Padawan escape.”

Amina felt the energy in the room shift as Wrecker started to pick Tech off the ground, “you’re in direct violation of Order 66.” He threw Tech into a wall and picked up a blaster.

“Wrecker?” Omega cautiously asked.

Rex quickly took his blaster out of his holster, shooting a stun blast. But Wrecker hit the gun out of Rex’s hand before it hit him.

Rex, Amina, Hunter, and Omega ducked behind a crate as Echo grabbed a sheet of metal and ducked with them.

“He’ll destroy the equipment if we don’t get him out of here.” Echo said.

“You’re all traitors.” Wrecker yelled, still shooting his blaster in their direction.

“We’ll draw him out. Omega, stay with Tech.” Hunter said. He quickly stood up and threw a large container at Wrecker.

Hunter, Echo, Rex, and Amina ran out of the med bay. Her and Rex hid behind a piece of metal sticking out of the walls of the corridor. They waited for Wrecker to come out when Rex turned to her, “you need to get out of here.”

Amina whispered, “are you insane?”

“Go, general. I’ll contact you on comms when he’s subdued.” Amina glared at him as he continued, “do you even have your lightsaber.”

“No. I left it on the ship. It’s a hazard to have it on me.”

“More than enough reason for you to go.”

Amina looked at Rex before sighing, “fine. But you owe me Captain.” she said, quietly walking off and finding a place to hide. She knows Rex means well, so for now she’ll stay hidden.

From her vantage point, she could hear the echoes of blaster fire and the distant shouts of her comrades. Rex had insisted she leave, but every fiber of her being screamed at her to stay, to fight alongside him. But she knew he was right. Her presence would only complicate things further. So, she gritted her teeth and waited, her hand trembling as she clutched her blaster tightly.

Minutes felt like hours as she strained to pick up any sound that might indicate the outcome of the confrontation. She felt a wave of fear come over her, the source of it close by. Amina rounded the corner hearing distant talking.

“But, Wrecker, I’m your friend.”

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

Amina lifted her blaster and shot a stun bolt at Wrecker as he fell to the ground. Rex quickly came to Amina’s side.

She shrugged in response, “when have I ever followed orders, Captain?” Rex shook his head as she walked into the room and kneeled down next to Omega, “hey, are you alright?”

Omega nodded slowly, “I… think so.”

Amina helped Omega to her feet, offering her a reassuring smile. "Let's get you out of here," she said gently.

Omega nodded, her eyes still wide with fear. "Thank you," she whispered, clinging to Amina's hand as they walked towards the med bay.

---

Wrecker was placed in the pod as Tech worked on the control pad to take out his inhibitor chip.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Echo asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been on this end of it.” Rex replied.

A few seconds later Tech announced that the procedure was complete. The bed was moved out of the pod as Omega walked over and lightly pushed Wrecker. “Wrecker.” She moved him again, “Wrecker! He should be awake by now.” Omega looked over at Tech.

“He is alive, but his vitals have not stabilized. We won’t know more until he regains consciousness.”

Everyone glanced at each other as Rex and Hunter walked to the back of the room. “This could be a while. Why don’t you take Omega topside and get some air?” Rex asked Hunter.

“No.” Omega said firmly, as the two turned towards her, “I’m staying until he wakes up.”

Amina raised an eyebrow at Omega, impressed by her firm stance as Omega pulled a chair closer to the pod and sat down.

Everyone found a place to sit as they waited for Wrecker to wake up. Amina sat outside in the hall, force levitating a small metal ball she kept with her.

It was something Padmé had gifted to her, saying it would help with her anxiety and boredom. She remembered scoffing at Padmé telling her about anxiety, she was a Jedi, and a Jedi cannot have emotions clouding their judgement.

But, she and Anakin never followed along with the rules and customs of the Jedi.

“He’s awake!” Omega yelled.

Amina walked into the med bay as did Rex who was leaning against the door frame. “Oh. You made it.” Tech said.

“Welcome back.” Hunter told Wrecker, his hand on his shoulder.

“One chip down. Three to go. Who’s next?” Rex held the metal headpiece as he looked at the rest of the guys.

---

Amina and Rex decided it was best for her to stay with the Bad Batch for a little while longer, only until they are alright from the procedure. But, in the time they conducted it, Amina quietly made her way back to Rex’s ship and retrieved her lightsaber.

She held it in her hand, its weight familiar. She let out a sigh, before hooking it to her belt and making her way back.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“Funny. I was gonna say the same to you.”

Amina hopped on the cruiser ledge, both Hunter and Rex glancing over at her. “Where did you go?” Rex asked.

She shrugged, “getting my lightsaber. Don’t worry about me Captain, I’ve made it this far.”

Rex rolled his eyes before putting his helmet on, “yeah, that’s a surprise.”

Amina shook her head and patted Rex’s shoulder before going back into the cruiser and to the med bay.

---

"It's going to be alright, Padme," Amina said, her voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them. She shared a glance with Obi-Wan, their eyes communicating a mixture of concern and determination as Padme let out another agonized scream.

Obi-Wan placed a reassuring hand on Padme's forehead, his expression focused. "Just a little longer, Padme. You're doing great," he encouraged.

Padme's grip on Amina's hand tightened, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought through the pain. "I can't do this," she whispered, her voice laced with exhaustion and fear.

Amina squeezed Padme's hand gently, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, you can," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "You're the strongest person I know, Padme. You can do anything."

Padme smiled at her, barely recognizable because she started to scream once again. Soon, a baby started to cry as the medical droid briefly showed the baby to Padme.

“Luke.” Padme said, as the medical droid handed the baby to Obi-Wan and he held the young boy closer to Padme. She brushed a finger on his cheek, “oh, Luke.”

The labor continued, and a few moments later, the droid held another baby.

“It’s a girl.” Obi-Wan said.

“Leia.” Padme said, almost sadly.

Amina grabbed the baby from the medical droid, holding the girl and moving to Padme’s left side.

Padme glanced at Amina, and then back at Obi-Wan, “there’s good in him.” She took multiple deep breaths, “I know. I know there’s… still- ” Padme took one last breath before her head tilted to the side. Luke started to cry louder, as if sensing his mother died right in front of him.

Amina took a shaky breath, willing the tears to stay back as she looked down at Leia. She knew, deep down, that she may never see them again. The twins were her only connection to Anakin, and she just knew that they would be taken away from her for their safety.

And she was right.

---

Her comm beeped, taking Amina out of her mediation, “Hunter, we’ve got company.” Tech said.

“Is it more scrappers?” Hunter replied.

“No, it’s the Empire.”

Amina made her way to the deck, where Tech, Hunter, and Omega were. Hunter looked out the window with a pair of binoculars and sighed, “it’s Crosshair, all right.”

“He won’t be able to detect us. I’m blocking their scanners.” Tech replied, waving his data pad.

“That won’t stop him. Come on.” They ran out of the deck and to Echo and Wrecker, who had old bombs and weapons.

“How many troopers we talking about?” Echo asked.

“Three attack shuttles’ worth.” Tech replied quickly.

“We already got what we came for. Let’s get to the Marauder.” Wrecker said, holding two large items on his back.

“They’re already on board the cruiser. We need a covert way out.” Hunter said.

“They’ll do a forward-to-aft sweep. We can alternate corridors. Come on.” Echo replied.

They made their way through the corridors, with Hunter and Echo at the head of the group. “Talk to me, Tech.” Hunter said.

“I’m trying to tap into the regs’ comms so we can monitor their movements.” They heard faint banging as Hunter closed his fist, turning to the left.

“Someone’s coming.” Hunter said quickly, as they walked backwards to hide behind the wall. They waited as the troopers passed right in front of them, walking away without noticing the group.

Tech’s data pad beeped, “I’m in.”

“All squads.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Push the targets towards the hangar. We’ll pin them down.”

“Roger that.”

Omega stepped forward, “aren’t we headed to the hangar?”

“Not anymore.” Hunter responded, “we’ll cut through the artillery deck.”

They made their way to the artillery deck, void of any life. Tech and Wrecker looked out of the open spot in the wall. Outside where they were was only a large pit filled with the wreckage of other ships.

“Uh… Okay, I’m not going out that way.” Wrecker said.

The door banged open, “there they are.”

Hunter was at the ready quickly, pointing his blaster at the troopers as everyone else followed along. Amina quickly pulled her hood over her head and pointed her blaster as well.

“Stand down.” A trooper in grey gear said, holding a large automatic blaster.

Another door opened from the other side of them, showing more troopers in grey gear. “Tapping our comms to track our movements? So predictable.” Crosshair said.

Wrecker scoffed, “nice to see you too, Crosshair.”

Tech spoke quietly to Echo, “Echo, scomp in and reroute reserve power to the cannons.”

“If these cannons fire, this whole deck will collapse.”

“Exactly.” Tech responded.

“Look at you all, scavenging like rats. How pathetic.” Crosshair hissed.

“Why come after us?” Hunter inquired.

“You’re traitors.” Crosshair motioned for a few troopers to move into position.

Hunter, Omega, and Amina took a quick glance behind them as Amina gently placed a hand on Omega’s shoulder, guiding her to behind her on her left side.

“Done.” Echo said.

“Crosshair, wake up. You’re being controlled by an inhibitor chip.” Hunter said.

Omega moved in front of Amina and spoke loudly, “he’s telling the truth. The Kaminoans put chips in all the clones. Remember what I told you in the brig? You can’t help it.”

Crosshair took a small step in response, as Hunter moved in front of Omega. “Aim for the kid.” Crosshair ordered.

Hunter pushed Omega into Amina as Amina guided Omega back behind her. “Your issue’s with me, not her.”

“Hurry up.” Wrecker whispered.

“Systems online in three, two, one.” Tech said.

“I suggest you drop your weapon.” Crosshair spoke, at the same time as Tech.

A cannon fired causing troopers to fall backwards. Hunter shot at the troopers behind them, “go!”

Metal started to fall from the ceiling as Amina and Hunter shot at as many as they could, with Omega joining in with her energy crossbow.

“Look out!” Hunter yelled, as he grabbed Omega and brought them to the ground.

Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and Amina ran out of the way before metal fell on top of them. They all got up and started to run to the door, when a trooper with a flamethrower stood in front of them. The group pointed their blasters as the trooper turned on the flamethrower.

“Whoa!” Wrecker said, before grunting and throwing one of the large bombs at the trooper, knocking them out. “Direct hit. Yeah!”

They made their way out of the artillery deck and to the ion engine chamber, getting onto the small ledges on the wall.

Hunter went out first, followed by Echo, Tech, Omega, Amina, and then Wrecker, who stood in the doorway. “The ion engine chamber? Why’d you bring us here?” Wrecker asked Tech.

“Because this is our alternate egress off the cruiser.”

Wrecker groaned, “I don’t even know what that means.”

They all kept their backs to the wall, in order to not fall down into the chamber as Omega turned to Amina. “Why don’t you use your lightsaber?”

Amina glanced over at Tech, who was a bit further ahead of the two of them, and Wrecker, who was a little bit behind since he was carrying the carton of explosives. "Because it makes me and everyone else a risk," she replied to Omega's question, her voice calm but firm.

Omega nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. "But you're a Jedi. Shouldn't you use it to protect us?"

Amina sighed, her gaze drifting to the floor briefly before returning to Omega's earnest expression. "Being a Jedi isn't just about using a lightsaber. It's about knowing when not to use it, too. Sometimes, the best way to protect others is by not drawing attention to yourself."

Omega nodded slowly, absorbing Amina's words. "So, it's like being invisible, but still being there to help when needed?"

Amina smiled, impressed by Omega's insight. "Exactly. It's about finding the balance between action and restraint. And since I’m skilled in other areas, using my lightsaber is the last resort.”

They made it to a part of the engine chamber where they had to slide down a circular path. Hunter went down first, followed by Echo, and Tech.

“We’re almost there. A little further.” Hunter said, as Omega and then Amina slid down.

“I didn’t think you meant we’d be escaping through the engine.” Echo looked over at Tech.

“I could not have been clearer.” Tech retorted.

“Whoa, I’ve never been inside an ion engine before.” Omega said, looking around the engine shining her flashlight around.

“It’d be weirder if you had.” Wrecker panted out, still carrying the crate of explosives.

“These chambers are quite the engineering marvel.” Tech said, as they climbed up part of the engine, “this blast primer coating is capable of withstand- ”

Wrecker shoved Tech off the ledge, “no one cares! Keep movin’.”

The group had made it to the end of the engine, the darkness of the outside shrouding them.

“Well? Now what?” Wrecker asked.

Tech climbed onto the ledge Hunter was on to get a better look outside when a blaster shot hit right next to him.

“Try again, Hunter.” Crosshair yelled. “I told you before, you’re surrounded.”

“Double back.” Hunter ordered, as they made their way down the engine. Then, a loud rumbling was heard all around them, making them stop.

“What is that?” Omega asked.

“Sounds like the engine’s coming online.” Hunter replied from above. “But that’s not possible, right?”

Tech took out his data pad, “technically, it is. I restored the ship’s main power core when I accessed the central system, which means the engines can be activated.

Another loud rumble was heard the engine starting to shake, “Crosshair wouldn’t do that, would he?” Omega asked.

Echo placed his hand on one of the pieces of metal, “how much time do we have?”

“I estimate less than two minutes.” Tech answered.

A blue light started to emerge from the ion engine as Omega looked around, “what do we do?”

Wrecker turned around excitedly, “uh, what about Plan 7?”

Echo shared a look with Hunter, “Plan 7 has nothing to do with this situation whatsoever.”

“Well- well you think of something?” Wrecker said, taking the crate of explosives off of his back.

“Can we use the explosives from the armory to disable the engine?” Hunter asked.

“It won’t cause a large enough reaction to affect the thermal chamber. But if we place a series of charges around this cone, we may be able to break away from the cylinder while destabilizing the core.” Tech responded.

“Break away? You mean fall? All the way down?” Omega asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

“It’s that or be incinerated.” Echo looked over at Omega.

“Everyone take an explosive. Tech, Omega, we’ll do the middle, Amina can do the top.”

She nodded, as everyone grabbed one explosive and Amina grabbed two, force jumping to the top to place each one.

The engine came on, “everybody, get down!” Wrecker said, before pressing the detonator.

As the explosive charges detonated, sending shockwaves reverberating through the engine, the Bad Batch braced themselves for the impending chaos. Metal groaned and screeched as the cylinder housing the ion engine began to break away from the rest of the ship.

Everyone fell down, as Tech yelled out, “hold on!” Then, once they had separated from the engine, they began to fall, as everyone grabbed onto something. The part of the engine hit the ground, before tipping and falling again, breaking in half.

“Hunter, we landed on the port side. What’s your status?” Echo asked Hunter through comms.

“We’re by the engine, and we’ve got company. Meet back at the Marauder.”

Echo nodded, as he looked around. Wrecker and Tech were next to him, but Amina was nowhere to be seen.

“Amina!?” Echo called out.

“Over here!” She yelled out. Somehow, whether luck or karma, a piece of metal landed through her right ankle, leaving her trapped on the ground.

It didn't feel bad right now, but it could just be the adrenaline. Or, the fact that she's had much worse injuries. Amina gritted her teeth, trying to push past the initial shock of having a piece of metal pinning her ankle to the ground. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The wreckage of the engine was strewn all around her, metal debris and sparks filling the air.

"Echo, I'm pinned down!" Amina called out, her voice strained with pain.

Echo hurried over, followed closely by Wrecker and Tech. They skidded to a stop beside her, their eyes widening at the sight of the metal impaling her ankle.

"We need to get her out of there," Echo said, his voice urgent.

Wrecker moved forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over Amina. "Hold still, kid. This is gonna hurt."

Amina nodded, bracing herself as Wrecker reached down and gripped the piece of metal. With a grunt of effort, he pulled it free. Echo and Tech quickly moved in to support her as Wrecker tossed the metal aside.

“Ouch.” She responded, as the two helped her stand up. Amina looked up at Tech and Wrecker who stood by each other, as she leaned on Echo. “It’s honestly not that bad.”

"You sure you're okay?" Echo asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Amina replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She didn't want to worry Echo or anyone else unnecessarily. "Just a scratch."

Echo didn't look convinced, but he nodded, choosing not to push the issue for now. Instead, he turned his attention to their surroundings.

"We need to find a way back to the Marauder," he said, scanning the wreckage of the engine. "Tech, any idea how far we are from it?"

Tech pulled out his datapad and began analyzing their location. "It's about a kilometer to the west," he reported after a moment. "We'll have to navigate through the wreckage to get there."

Wrecker cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face. "Sounds like fun."

Amina couldn't help but roll her eyes at Wrecker's enthusiasm for danger. "Let's just get moving before Crosshair and his goons show up again."

With Tech leading the way, they started picking their way through the twisted metal and debris of the engine wreckage. Amina winced as she put weight on her injured ankle, but she pushed through the pain, determined not to slow them down.

As they made their way through the wreckage, Amina found herself falling into step beside Echo. He glanced down at her, his expression still worried.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, his voice low.

Amina nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. "I told you, I'm fine. Just a little sore." She shook her head, reminiscing. “One time, me and Blu were flying to Hecaya and Separatists shot us down. I ended up with two pieces of metal to the gut.” She let out a small laugh, “Anakin wasn’t happy.”

She trailed off, gulping. The smell of burning skin, Anakin’s cries of pain, and his yellow eyes burned into her mind.

Amina wanted to remember the good parts, how whenever she and Anakin had a rotation off, they would go flying around Coruscant. Then, they would go to Padme’s apartment and eat dinner together, finishing the night with tea.

She would end up going back to her room in the Temple, but usually Anakin would stay with Padme.

She wanted, more than anything, to remember those good times, and not Anakin looking at her with thinly veiled anger. He was her older brother, they grew up together, were slaves together, then brought to the Jedi together.

But she couldn’t get his last day out of her head, no matter how hard she tried.

And it’s not like she could talk to anyone, the only people who know are Padme, Obi-Wan, Yoda, and herself.

Padme’s dead, and Obi-Wan and Yoda are in hiding, leaving her with brewing emotions she doesn’t not what to do with. She was trained to bury them inside of her because that’s the Jedi way.

But the Jedi were flawed, so how can she still abide by their rules and teachings?

Now, as she walked beside Echo, she couldn't help but wonder if she was destined to follow in Anakin's footsteps. Was she doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, to let her emotions consume her until there was nothing left but darkness?

She knew Master Windu and even Master Yoda were as wary of her as they were of Anakin. She was reckless, headstrong, and had too many emotions. At least, that’s what they said.

But yet, out of all of the Jedi out there, she was one of the few survivors. At least she had that on Master Windu.

They made their way up the ledge, the Marauder right in front of them when they saw Hunter laying on the ground.

Amina made her way on the ship as Echo leaned down over Hunter, “Hunter. Wake up.”

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker asked, holding his own blaster and Omega’s crossbow.

“He was shot in the chest plate.” Echo added.

“We have to get him on board.” Tech said, looking through Hunter’s visor.

“Incoming!” Wrecker announced, shooting at the troopers.

“Got him. Let’s get out of here!” Echo said.

“Go, go, go!” Wrecker kept shooting at the troopers as Echo helped Hunter onto the ship.

Amina powered up the ship and once the doors closed, flew up and away. Tech glanced over at Amina, who sat in the pilot’s chair. She gestured for Tech to sit in the co-pilot’s chair as blasts flew nearby.

One similarity between her and her brother was that they were both great pilots. Or, as Obi-Wan said, reckless pilots who might give him a heart attack one day.

As she maneuvered the Marauder through the chaos of the battle, Amina couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Flying was where she felt most alive, where she could forget about her troubles and just focus on the moment.

Tech glanced over at Amina from the co-pilot's chair, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure you're up for this? Your ankle- "

“I don’t need my feet to fly.” She said, as Hunter and Echo came into the cockpit.

“Any sign of that bounty hunter?” Hunter asked.

“The only vessel in our scanner is Crosshair’s and he is right on top of us.” Tech responded.

“It’s getting hot back here!” Wrecker yelled from the back as he manned the guns.

“Prepping to jump.” Amina said.

“Not without Omega.” Hunter said, turning to face her and Tech.

“The bounty hunter who took her is long gone. We’ll have no chance of finding them if Crosshair shoots us down.” Echo responded.

“Rear deflector shields are failing.” Tech said, as Amina continued to fly the ship.

Hunter let out a sigh before giving in. “Make the jump.”

Amina pressed a few buttons before pushing the lever up, as the Marauder went into hyperspace. After a few moments, she let Tech take over as she went to find a med kit on the ship.

Her patch work wouldn’t be great, but she had to stop the bleeding somehow. This is the one time she wishes it was a blaster shot or a lightsaber injury since it cauterizes the wound, but she’s found herself to be unlucky since everything went down.

Echo went through the computer they had on the ship, “your description of the bounty hunter is a match to one from the Republic’s files.”

“That’s him.” Hunter said, coming up behind the chair Echo was seated at.

“Cad Bane.”

Amina’s head snapped up, as she shakily stood up and walked over to the computer where Hunter, Echo, and Wrecker were.

She looked at his picture, “we had a lot of run-ins with him during the war.”

Echo continued, “he was responsible for attempting to abduct Chancellor Palpatine.”

Amina felt her blood run cold. She never wanted to hear his name again, but that was impossible since he was the Emperor and a Sith lord.

“First the bounty hunter on Pantora and now this guy? Why are they after the kid?” Wrecker asked.

“Because she is more valuable than we realized.” Tech announced, coming out of the cockpit.

“What do you mean?” Hunter looked over at Tech, who was looking at his data pad.

“I further analyzed Omega’s genetic profile and discovered she has pure, first-generation DNA.”

“Whoa!” Wrecker said, as Echo stood up. “Wait. W-w-what does that mean?”

“All clones were created from a host named Jango Fett. While our genetic structure was modified for growth acceleration and obedience, Omega is a pure genetic replication.”

“How many clones like that exist?” Hunter asked.

“To my knowledge there’s only one other. A male clone code-named Alpha, later referred to as Boba. Since he disappeared at the start of the war, that makes Omega the sole living source of Fett’s raw genetic material.”

“If she’s vital to the Kaminoans’ cloning operation, they must have put the bounty on her.” Echo added, looking over at Hunter.

“So how do we find this bounty hunter?” Wrecker asked.

“Tech, check with Cid. See if her contacts know anything. We’ll keep monitoring comms.” Hunter said.

---

Amina took off the bandages she put on not too long ago and grabbed new ones. She didn’t want to waste the bacta patches the group had, so settled for bandages around her ankle, hoping that eventually, the bleeding would stop.

Echo walked through the hall and into the cockpit, “yeah. Cid knows all about Bane but not how to find him. She said we’re on our own.”

Hunter pressed a few more buttons when a faint voice sounded out.

“Come in. Come in.”

Hunter and Echo turned their chairs to face each other, “Anyone?” Omega’s voice asked again.

Wrecker got up quickly, “Omega!”

“Omega, are you there? Omega!” Hunter asked quickly.

“It’s long-range. I’ll try to boost the signal.” Echo answered.

“Is anyone there?”

“Omega, do you copy?” Hunter asked.

“Hunter? I’m here. I got away, but you have to hurry.”

“Where are you?”

“I… I-I don’t know where I am.”

“Hang on, kid. We’re coming for ya!” Wrecker yelled out.

Echo sighed, “the signal’s too weak to establish a direct connection trace.”

Tech stepped closer to Echo, “Omega, we need a relay of your position. Try to create a power surge. Can you find a panel nearby?”

“There’s one by a door. It looks like the ones on Tipoca City.”

“That’s good. First, see if you can activate it.”

“It worked. Now what should I do?”

“Next you will need to reroute the circuits to overload the main grid.” After a few seconds of no response, Tech called Omega’s name, “Omega? Do you copy?”

“Let me go!”

“I still can’t get a good read.”

“Hunter, I need you!”

Hunter pushed Tech as he stepped closer to Echo, “Omega! Omega!”

They looked around, suspecting that something happened to Omega’s comms. A few moments later, Echo looked behind him, “I think I’ve got her. She’s in the Lido system.”

“Where in the Lido system?” Wrecker asked.

“I’m pinpointing the exact coordinates. Hang on!” They flew downwards until going back into hyperspace.

Quickly, they flew onto the planet and searched the skies until finding an escape pod flying. Tech and Echo quickly connected the pod to the Marauder. Wrecker opened the hatch, “Omega! Are you in there?”

“Wrecker!” Omega climbed up the ladder with her handcuffed hands until Wrecker pulled her up.

“Aw! Good to have you back, kid.” Wrecker said, holding her up in the air before setting her down and hugging her.

After Wrecker let her go, she took a quick glance at Hunter before leaning into him. Hunter hissed quietly, his chest bandaged from the shot, before kneeling down and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay, Omega? Are you hurt?”

Omega sniffled, “why is this happening? Why are the Kaminoans after me?”

Echo rubbed the side of his neck, “Hunter, you have to tell her.”

Omega glanced back at Echo before turning back to Hunter. “You’re valuable to them. More than all the other clones. Even more than us. You’re different.”

“Different? How?”

---

She held her lightsaber up, her blue contrasting with the red of Vader’s. She grunted, “An- Anakin!”

Vader's mechanical breathing filled the air, a haunting reminder of the man he once was. Amina's heart pounded in her chest as she faced him, the weight of their shared past hanging heavy between them.

“Anakin is dead.” Vader said, swinging his lightsaber as Amina blocked it with hers.

“I know you’re in there, Ani. I know there’s still good in you.”

He swung his lightsaber again, as Amina blocked up, turning around and backing up.

"You were a Jedi, Anakin. You wer- are my brother," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "And I refuse to believe that you're lost to me forever."

An intense energy crackled in the air as Vader raised his lightsaber, the crimson blade humming with malevolence. Amina held her own lightsaber steady, the familiar weight of it grounding her in the midst of her turmoil.

"I am no longer Anakin Skywalker," Vader replied, his voice cold and detached. "That name holds no meaning for me now."

Amina's heart sank at his words, but she refused to back down. She knew there was still goodness buried deep within him, waiting to be reignited.

"Anakin, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you're still in there. I can feel it."

Vader's masked visage betrayed no emotion as he advanced towards her, his every step echoing with the weight of their shared history.

"You cling to false hope, sister," he said, his voice dripping with scorn. "The Jedi are gone, and so is the man you once knew."

Amina's grip tightened on her lightsaber, her resolve steeling against the onslaught of doubt and despair. She refused to believe that her brother was lost to her forever, no matter how dire the circumstances seemed.

“And soon, you will be gone too.”

As Vader swung his blade towards her, Amina met it with her own, before he pushed her to the ground, her lightsaber rolling away from her and his at her neck.

He raised his hand as she closed her eyes and heard the swing of a mechanical arm-

Amina rose up from the floor of the Marauder, wincing at the pressure she put on her ankle. She tried to calm her breathing and her racing heart as she leaned against the wall.

Was Anakin really Darth Vader? Were her assumptions right?

She ran a hand down her face and clutched her right wrist where a bracelet sat. Her and Anakin made matching ones when they were first brought to the Temple. It was a simple rope bracelet with a small japor snippet.

As she pondered the implications of her dream, a soft voice broke through the silence, pulling her back to the present moment. Hunter and Omega stood before her, concern etched into their features as Hunter watched her with gentle eyes.

"General, are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, though her voice held a hint of uncertainty. "Just... had a bad dream, is all." Amina toyed with her bracelet, holding the japor snippet.

Hunter's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he nodded. "Nightmares can be rough," he said softly, his tone understanding. "If you need to talk about it, I'm here."

Amina's smile softened at his offer of support. Despite only knowing him for a short time, she found herself appreciating his kindness and empathy. "Thanks, Sergeant," she murmured, grateful for his presence.

Omega, standing beside Hunter, looked between the two of them, a curious expression on her face. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

Amina gave her a small smile, “yeah, why?”

“You have… red on your ankle.”

Amina leaned over her legs, looking at her ankle, the bandages seeped with blood once again. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just need to put more bandages on it.”

She took off the bandages as Omega hissed quietly, since the rest of the group was asleep, “that doesn’t look okay.”

Amina shrugged, “it’ll be fine, a piece of metal with through it. Looks worse than what it is.”

Omega looked up at Hunter, “can you look at it?”

Amina opened her mouth when Omega looked back at her with big wide eyes. She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine,” she relented, her voice resigned.

Hunter nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Of course, Omega. Let’s take a look at it.”

Omega’s face lit up with relief as she stepped aside to give Hunter space to examine Amina’s ankle. She sat down next to Amina as Hunter quickly went away to get the med kit.

Amina sighed, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. She wasn't used to letting others take care of her, especially not someone she had only just met like Hunter. But her ankle was throbbing, and she knew she needed help if she wanted to be able to walk properly again.

Hunter returned with the med kit, kneeling down beside Amina and Omega. He opened the kit and began to clean the wound gently, his movements careful and precise. Amina tried to suppress a flinch as he touched the tender skin around her ankle, but Hunter noticed her discomfort.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice low. "I'll try to be more gentle."

Amina shook her head, offering him a small smile. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

Omega looked over at Amina, lightly tugging her arm. “Are you going to be staying with us now? Or are you going to go back with Rex?”

Omega's question hung in the air, drawing Amina out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the young girl, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered her response.

"I... I'm not sure yet," Amina admitted, her voice quiet. "I haven't really thought about it."

Omega's eyes widened in surprise, her expression hopeful. "But you could stay with us, right?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Amina's heart clenched at the earnestness in Omega's voice. She wasn’t quite sure where she belonged anymore. Before it was with Anakin and Shmi on Tatooine, then the Jedi and her master Be Pa'dor, and now no one.

"I... I'll think about it," Amina said finally, offering Omega a small smile. "But for now, I'll stick around. At least until I figure out what to do next."

Omega's eyes brightened with relief at Amina's words, a grateful smile spreading across her face. "That's great!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "I'm glad you're staying with us." Omega wrapped her arms around Amina’s waist as she hugged the young girl back.

“Looks like that metal rod went completely through the ankle.” Hunter spoke up.

Amina winced as she glanced down at her injured ankle, the throbbing pain intensifying with Hunter's observation. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside the discomfort as she focused on the task at hand.

Hunter rummaged through the med kit, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for the necessary supplies. "We'll need to clean the wound thoroughly and apply some bacta patches to promote healing," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

“You don’t have to use the bacta patches. I know they’re hard to come by now and I don’t want to waste them on this.”

Hunter paused, considering Amina's words. He glanced down at the med kit in his hands, the bacta patches glinting in the dim light of the Marauder. Amina's concern for conserving their limited medical supplies touched something within him, a reminder of the harsh realities they faced in their line of work.

"Are you sure?" Hunter asked, his voice gentle as he looked up at Amina. "Your ankle looks pretty bad. We don't want it to get infected."

Amina nodded, her expression resolute despite the pain etched on her features. "I'm sure. We need to save those bacta patches for emergencies. This... this isn't an emergency."

Hunter studied her for a moment, his gaze searching her face for any sign of hesitation. But Amina met his eyes steadily, her determination unwavering.

"Alright," Hunter said finally, his tone conceding to Amina's wishes. "We'll clean the wound as best we can and bandage it up. But if it starts to get worse, you let me know, understood?"

Amina nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Got it, Sergeant."

With that settled, Hunter set to work, carefully cleaning and bandaging Amina's injured ankle. Amina gritted her teeth against the pain, her jaw clenched as she fought to keep still. But Hunter's touch was gentle, his movements precise as he tended to her injury.

Once he had finished bandaging her ankle, Hunter sat back on his heels, a satisfied expression on his face. "There," he said, his voice soft. "All done."

Amina flexed her ankle experimentally, testing the range of motion. The pain had dulled to a throbbing ache, but she could tell that Hunter's ministrations had helped.

"Thank you, Hunter," she said, meeting his eyes with a grateful smile. "I appreciate it."

Hunter returned her smile, “anytime," he replied, his voice quiet. "Just... take it easy on that ankle, alright? We don't want you making it worse."

Amina nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, Sergeant. I'll try not to do any more acrobatics for a while."

Hunter chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. "Good. We wouldn't want to have to carry you around everywhere."

As they shared a laugh, Amina felt a sense of camaraderie settle between them, a bond forged in the midst of danger and uncertainty.

She looked over at Omega, who had fallen asleep leaning against her, her head resting on her shoulder. It reminded her of when she would lean against Anakin when they were younger, or even when her and Ahsoka would sleep with their heads on each other’s shoulders during battles.

As Hunter put the medical supplies back into the box and into the compartment on the ship, he came back to Omega still sleeping on Amina’s shoulder and Amina’s head on the young girl’s.

[oddlittlestories]

So one of the things about TUA that I find so interesting is how each of the characters reacts to the abuse of Hargreeves in a different way. It’s very close to an exploration of the full spectrum of reactions. (Season 1 in particular is a kind of study of this but I’m not going to go into Leonard here. I’m also not going to go into Lila or the abusive relationship employment of the Commission, but I have thought about those things as well.)

Edit: Kind of long so more under the cut. Slipped and marked it mature by accident >.<

Luther

Luther isn’t the leader, like he thinks. He’s the enforcer. And he’s the enforcer because he is so convinced that the failure is with him, with them, and not their father. When he can no longer follow his father’s will in s2, he finds a new powerful man to enforce for—in a very literal way.

Luther, especially in s1-2, is a difficult character to like. He’s an ass, he’s always convinced he’s right, and he’s always wheedling to be heard, to be obeyed, to be listened to. And he is the cause of much of his siblings’ suffering.

It’s quite sad from another angle, though. He seeks out another powerful man in s2 because he very much does not have any internalized framework of his own—of right and wrong, or even really of likes and dislikes.

Once he sets that need for control down, he’s mostly just this goofy, slouchy guy. He doesn’t know what’s happening, going to happen, or what’s right. He just takes things as they come.

As a comparison to a character many of us find much more appealing, Dean Winchester is also an enforcer. The difference is, one of John’s directives is to protect Sammy, and his own reaction is in that same direction, like many abused kids. Protect your sibling. Which creates this deeply codependent dynamic that we see throughout the show. (They also have a bit of golden child / scapegoat going on, which we’ll come back around to.)

Ben

The one who dies. I’m not going to say too much about this beyond sometimes that, too, is a consequence of abuse.

Allison

The one who perpetuates the cycle. I really like this because I don’t fully like the adage ‘hurt people hurt people.’ Hargreeves is an abuser because he feels justified in his abuse.

Allison does it because she didn’t grow up with any other skills, and because it feels safe. Her first acts of abuse are with her daughter, because she is a frustrated and overwhelmed parent with no other skills to manage her own emotions. But she does well in therapy, and we see her leveraging those skills to push back against ingrained family dynamics.

But whenever she is lost and afraid in the world, she resorts to abuse to get what she wants. And more and more through the story, we see her abandoning compassion and emotional regulation in favor of taking her feelings out on others. Because she decides it’s justified.

Five

The runaway. Five rebels to escape the abuse, and gets re-traumatized out in the world. But he also steals his autonomy back and crafts his own completely-formed identity. Look. That’s not to say that the dude doesn’t have issues in spades. But he can talk to Hargreeves, interact with him at any stage in the game, and not have it shake his identity to the core. Both the trauma that he chooses and his own choice for responsibility and autonomy determines who Five becomes.

Diego

There’s a sequence from House, MD that I feel like sums up Diego’s reaction to the abuse quite nicely. House is late to his dad’s funeral and he explains to Wilson how punishing his (abusive) father was about punctuality. He explains that he is deliberately careless around time because he didn’t want to make his father’s issues HIS issues. And Wilson, incredulous, shoots back with, “Thereby MAKING it your issue!”

Yeah. That’s Diego. He defines himself in opposition to Hargreeves. And he even says so explicitly. He’s all about fighting crime, “the right way.” But he defines himself so in opposition to authority (and to people in general) that he gets kicked out of the police force and burns his first romantic relationship to ashes. He just can’t stop fighting.

Klaus

The addict. Addiction is a common response to abuse. And Klaus is a full-blown addict. A thief, willing to do anything and everything for his next score. He’ll injure himself, terrorize others, go dumpster diving, steal, defraud. Really there are no limits to what he’ll do. And yet we always feel he’s a sunshiney sweetheart right from the start. Even so, the “anything to score to escape my demons” is a keen literalization of the addiction response to abuse.

Viktor

The scapegoat

“Everything is always your fault.” This is the one who gets blamed for the family’s problems, who gets punished and punished and ignored. This is the one who is always in the wrong. And Viktor is such a great character in season 1 & 2 for this because he’s both reactions to that. He is the explosive anger, the rage and indignity. And he’s the one broken by any means necessary, heaped with family blame, with no sense of what he wants or who he is. And also, in s1, exceptionally vulnerable to an abuser masquerading as everything he ever wanted.

I just. It’s so multifaceted. It’s such a good exploration of abuse and this is only one sliver of that. TUA has its flaws, and I thought s3 was such a mixed bag, but this is one piece they just NAILED.

[ghosty-writer]

𝒞𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹’𝓈 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ

PROLOGUE

STATUS: ??

Navigation 

Notes: Just another story that I have in mind but also planning on writing soon while Tinted Heart is on pause as I figure it out. And I’m also writing two other fandoms {One Piece and dragon Ball}

Cupid isn't some little kid with tiny wings that carry a bow and arrow. well not anymore but Cupid knew that she was not like others' angles because she the only angle that had to grow from a child to an adult.

But Cupid takes her job seriously and to her no mistake can be made. and you must be wondering what her job?.

well, she actually has two jobs one as a messenger to help others go on the right path in their journey of life also she takes orders from the divine when they need her. But her main job is to help living beings find their match or the rarest soulmate.

And that the work of Aphrodite, she can go as many names but she was mostly known as Cupid, the angle that carries a bow and arrow to shoot arrows at two souls to make a match.

she was not the oldest or is she the not youngest but she was just there. and she is only one of the few who can do their jobs on their own even if she handles two jobs by herself.

to her, she believes that she is the only one who can perfectly match a soul with one another.

she knew that she was also important because elders angles said that she had a gift that only she could see and use. She can see a red string connecting souls to each other

which made her job a little easier for her.

when she was younger and started her work as Cupid she used to connect animal souls helping animal find their mate

one thing she never allowed herself is to go in between the romantic lives of angels and higher beings as she saw it was no use to her as they don't need assistance in finding their other half.

At the end of the day, she know that someone out there has a partner.

but does she have a match a soul mate? its kind of hard to say because her string was there but faded which she never understood why.

But when she met Lucifer Morningstar things started to change and other feelings because new to her at the time she met him she was 16 years old like a human age while he was decades older than her. but that didn't matter because they had grown closer.

some others will tease her saying that little Cupid found her match but she would avoid those comments but deep down inside her she felt Butterflies and she didn't understand

But something changed when she turned 17

God created humans.

and when she saw them she knew that these souls were more difficult t as their souls could be fated to multiple different people at the same time so they get different outcomes where a soul would have to choose between the two others they were fated with or they can try figure it out.

Aphrodite has never seen a soul agree to one big relationship.

but one day she looked closely at Lucifer finger and she saw two strings one faded and one that was fully red she frowned and for some reason, her heart stopped.

she had so many feelings that she never felt as her eyes remained looking at Lucifer's ring finger. he didn't really notice her looking at his finger as he continued to talk about the new female human that he had just and her name was Lilith.

sometimes the universe is harsh and we can't do anything to prevent for what is about to happen.

[hotcat37]

13 for BoJere, AU or canon, your pick :) 💘

no dialogue in this one :0

13: discreetly

Keeping their relationship a secret from the public isn't too difficult. Before getting together they were doing some questionable things anyways, so Bojan knows the fans wouldn't bat an eye if Jere spontaneously hugs him from behind or if he pecks the Finn on his cheek. Kissing on the lips however is a line they haven't crossed on stage.

Bojan fears that if he were to get lost in the moment, in the adrenaline and music, he'd kiss Jere passionately in front of the whole crowd.

It's not that he's embarrassed of being with Jere, not at all. And Bojan knows that most people in their respective fanbases would be totally fine with it. It's bound to get out at some point that they've finally gotten together. But Bojan would like to enjoy the secrecy and privacy of their already well documented relationship for just a little longer. The often absurdly long analysis posts based on 5 second clips of them together are also too funny for the Slovene to let go of so soon.

But in the rainbow lights of the staging, Jere looks as gorgeous as he did the first time Bojan saw him. Like a moth drawn to a flame. He's a helpless victim to Jere's beauty and undeniable charm. And who is Bojan to deny both him and his lover the contact they crave?

Jere's eyes find his as he sings the song that brought them together. They spark something playful and loving and Bojan just can't keep his hands and his lips to himself anymore.

So he subtly elbows Kris until the guitarist turns to him with raised eyebrows. Cover for me, he mouthes to his friend. Kris rolls his eyes but does nod. It's both hysterical and kind of sweet how his bandmate immediately seems to understand what Bojan wants even with the vagueness of the request. The brunette moves steadily towards Jere, returning the smirk the Finn offers when he notices him approaching.

The second Jere has sung his last line before the crowd chants Cha Cha Cha, Bojan is on him immediately. Kris discreetly jumps around to the music in front of the couple, making it extra hard to tell what they're doing under the flashing lights.

Bojan puts a hand on Jere's shoulder and leans in to kiss him, his lover already meeting him halfway, a gentle pressure against his lips. The Slovene kisses his darling just long enough for Jere to almost miss the rest of the song. But he manages to belt out the lines just in time, getting back into the music as if nothing happened. But the private smile the Finn shoots him in the midst of all the jumping and chaos lets Bojan know just how much the older man appreciated the kiss.

Now to hope that no one filmed the right angle to see their discreet act.

[acesandocs]

A short story about the morning after Åse was born. Content Warning: pregnancy discussion, unwanted pregnancy mention, physical altercation and religion mention

The cramping came between short pauses. She’d helped with enough births to know it would be painful. Postpartum cramps weren't unusual either though it wasn't a guarantee, Suppose I’m just lucky Solveig thought. ¹ And despite the hectic night, birdsong sounded through the window just like it did every morning. Usually it would annoy her, keeping her from getting those extra precious minutes of sleep. But right now it was calming. It made her feel less alone; she wasn't alone though. Another wave of pain passed through as her breath quickened. Everything was fine, she was fine and the baby was fine. She anxiously avoided looking towards the crib in the corner of the room. She struggled to relax, her nerves were fried and she was exhausted.

A curt knock sounded from the door but Solveig didn't get the opportunity to answer before her sister-in-law nudged the door open with her shoulder. She didn't have the energy to lean her head toward Marie before she came into view a wooden tray in her hands. Setting it down on a chair next to the bed Solveig could see a tea kettle with a few spruce shoots peeking out from the top, a cup and a ceramic heating bottle wrapped in a cloth. ²

‘’Keep this on your abdomen, it should help with the pain.’’ She said and handed over the heating bottle.

Solveig did as she was told and Marie rewarded her with a steamy cup of tea that smelled like forest. She closed her eyes as she tried to enjoy her beverage.

‘’Shes’ quiet now, isn't she?’’

‘’I suppose’’ answered Solveig.

She didn't remember much despite it happening just an hour ago. But she did remember the kid had quite the set of lungs on her when she came out, it’s a good sign. She looked to where Marie stood only to find her missing, Solveig almost dropped her cup in surprise at the discomforted baby sounds emanating from the corner. Marie was standing with her back to her cooing at a swaddle of blankets in her arms.

‘’Oh don’t worry lamb, I’m here…’’

Solveig froze for a moment as something settled in the pit of her stomach.

‘’you'll grow up into a fine young woman, I can tell.’’

‘’I’m sure she will, if you don’t mind putting her back, I’d like to rest now.’’

Marie seemed befuddled for a moment

‘’Oh well… Uhm-well I assumed… since the father isn't… I-I thought that you…’’ Marie possessively clutched the newborn to her chest

‘’Put her down. Now.’’ Solveig was tired, uncomfortable and the damn cramps were still as painful as ever.

Marie stood up straight and looked down her nose at Solveig

‘’Sometimes our lord tests us, to keep us devoted to him. And it’s been difficult since my…’’ she shook her head ‘’But I have never faltered I have walked that church road every Sunday and I’ve said my prayers every night. Don’t you see this is a reward, I have been rewarded for my devotion. This child needs a father and good mother to-‘’

‘’So, because you couldn't keep your daughter alive you think you can just take mine?’’

If it weren't for the birds still chirping outside the window you could almost be convinced time had stopped.

‘’How DARE you be so selfish!’’

‘’Me?! Selfish? You're the one trying to steal another womans’ child.’’

‘’I’m giving you a way out of this mess you’ve gotten yourself into.’’

The more she prattled on the more pissed Solveig became. She wasn't going to sit here and be lectured to like she was a child. Her nails dug into the wood of the bed frame and she forced herself to stand. The painful cramps only fueled her anger.

Marie angled herself away. ‘’ Sit back down or you'll hurt yourself!’’

‘’I’ll maul you; you bitch!’’

She flung herself forward reaching for her daughter

‘’Give me MY BABY now!’’

They struggled for what seemed like ages both pulling and scratching at each other, Marie eventually relented and let Solveig fall to the floor with the crying baby in her arms. She was holding it close to her chest like it was her lifeline.

‘’YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE BRAT! You will change your mind mark my words!’’

It was said more like a command, but she only got a guttural growl in response. She slammed the door on her way out, which did nothing to soothe the baby’s crying. Almost all at once Solveig’s anger was replaced by distress.

‘’Oh no nononono, please don’t cry.’’

She dragged herself back to her bed and held her baby close as she nuzzled her forehead.

‘’Don’t worry I’m here, mamas here no one is going take you, you're safe.’’

She tried her best to stifle her own sniffles as she cooed at her baby.

‘’Oh low the moon hangs tonight The day is waning one more time Oh sun has found its peace And Miriam is sleeping in her crib’’

It’s the only thing she could think of. Her father sang to her on nights when she cried. When she was scared of this. Of having this child. She didn't want it, not so soon. She wasn't even married.

‘’But now you must not forget Your Mother, father and warm bed Smile for your older brother For we all need a brother in this world’’

Her brothers were both married with families. She knew it wouldn't be too long before she’d have to do the same. She was scared of that too. Of being trapped with one person forever. She just wanted to enjoy her freedom.

‘’Days filled with smiles and frowns Lullabies and fiddle songs East of the moon it seems Awaits another morning.’’

She had tried picking up her fiddle once after finding out. She felt sick. She wondered if he ever thought about her. About why she quit so suddenly. Maybe she should have told him. But now he was gone, moved back home to continue important his life. He’d never know about it; he’d never know about her…

Her baby was still again, only grunting as her small hands reached out for something to hold and cheeks still wet from the crying. She dried them of with the hem of her nightgown and held out her hands for her to hold. Solveig’s voice quivered.

‘’You’re my baby, and no one else’s’’

¹ Post partum cramps happens when the uterus is shrinking back to its original size. I dont know how common it is but I felt its probably something Solveig would know about since shes helped out with a most of the births in her family. (Source)

² shoots from the Norway spruce can be made into several edible things like oil, vinegar, salt and tea. You can also just eat them raw, they taste kind of sweet and acidic. (Source)

³ Ceramic and metall water bottles existed pretty far back, though they were mostly used to keep the bed warm during winter. (Source)(source)

⁴ The lullaby at the end is Mirams voggelåt (Miriams lullaby) I translated it as best I could. I tired to make it sound sing-able in English but also stay true to the original lyrics. Heres is a more direct translation for anyone interested.

Authors note: I made a title card. I do a lot of research on items to see what would have been in use during the time period, but don’t get to use the screen shots I gathered for much else. Now I can include them in the title card. Also good item drawing practice. If I missed any triggers just tell me and ill include them in the content warning. Anyway this might be a little melodramatic but arent personal conflicts allways that.

[skaruresonic]

Hey! I just read your post about creating visual novels (this one: https://www.tumblr.com/tartrazeen/759072677603524608?source=share)

I'm trying to make one right now. I'm not too sure which tool I should use - I was thinking RPG Maker so I could use the little sprites - but I figured I could do stick people or something as placeholders for actual artwork.

No matter what tools I use, how exactly did you go about "writing" it? Did you script your story out first and then learn how to program it after, or did you need to know how the program worked to tailor your story to that?

I learned to code in tandem with writing the story. It's moreso the case that the writing evolved in the process of learning how to code, began to mold itself to the medium, if that makes sense. Personally, if I had to do it over again, I would take the time to acquaint myself with RenPy's particular scripting language, as it might have made the process a lot faster and less... growing pains-y. I would recommend learning to code first, but again, it doesn't make much sense to make a test VN without a story to support it, so maybe make something small for your first test project where you get to grind for XP commit mistakes in a space where your art isn't riding on it. People make silly test VNs that never see the light of day for the specific purpose of teaching themselves coding, so don't feel afraid to do that. Writing VNs differs from writing other stories in a way that's difficult for me to explain. You have extra tools in which to deliver the story, and it takes time to learn those tools - telling stories not just with words, but with timing, animation, audio, and images as well. You'll find that it isn't enough to simply have images pop up onscreen; you'll want to make them appear with a flourish, and those flourishes also tell a story. The UI tells a story. How you make elements appear and disappear contribute to the overall story. When you think of everything as a potential contributor to the story, that opens up a lot of possibilities and gets you thinking with portals creatively. In that vein, I'd say depending on your angle (because some VNs are just straight-up text, which is valid too), VNs can function somewhat more like movies. They can benefit greatly from an understanding of cinematography.

This might sound weird, given how we naturally tend to think of writing as the most important element - and it is important, just maybe not the only important element - but I think one of the most important things you need to establish right away, even before setting down any words, is a strong aesthetic. As one half of the medium, the visual part of a visual novel cannot be neglected.

What angle are you shooting for? Romance anime? Comic book? Gritty film noir? What are your visual motifs? In addition to helping you decide how to market your VN, the aesthetics will inform your storytelling, give you some concrete image or symbol to latch on, and can serve to subtly reinforce both theme and narrative. For Doki Doki Literature Club, it was the heart and a pen. You'll notice its motif of writing is reflected in the way in which the title resembles a scrapbook:

You and Me and Her has a cell phone as its main McGuffin and so technology becomes one of its motifs. Its textbox resembles a cloud; the text also moves rather slowly, to make you stop and soak in its story. The dreamlike interface later changes into something that resembles an old-school computer UI when a character decides to manipulate your route, reflecting the artifice of the game:

Worldend Syndrome had the pinwheel as a recurring symbol for narrative purposes and is color-coded to represent each of its characters. In addition, it bears a feel-good early summer vibe that I absolutely adore.

The novel I've been reading sporadically on and off over the past year, Hashihime of the Old Book Town, reflects a 1930s Japanese aesthetic, blending traditional Japanese art and literature with Western influences. Note the juxtaposition of traditional and modern elements, like the film reel beside an ink drawing of a koi fish:

It's also brilliant imagery because the game's plot centers around the MC's frequent breaks from reality; the film reel represents exaggerated realities, while the fish reflects how he "jumps" through various parallel worlds through puddles of water.

Everything sort of "trickles down" from there. It doesn't make sense to have a UI befitting a Resident Evil game if you're writing a cutesy otome game, for instance, unless you're aiming for cognitive dissonance.

For OaS I decided early on that, because it was going to be a slapstick comedy in places, the sprites should be more cutesy and cartoonish than the subdued way Sonic characters are usually drawn:

The goofy exaggeration only served to heighten the story's comedy. A "bounce" animation I found and later tweaked served as the basis for a running gag where Sonic gets hurt and "boings" like a rubber ball.

I also liked the Advance series' checkered tiles and wanted to go for a watercolor manga-cover-esque flavor... which, in turn, fed the ridiculousness of the story:

That's a far cry from this current project's aesthetic, which is slower, moodier, more somber, and more, I guess, "erudite," as it's based on Welsh literature and a little on history. So the aesthetic has to match.

Not to say aesthetics should be the only thing going for your story, of course, but because this is a visual medium, it is significant enough to warrant my huge wall of text about it lol. If you're just starting out, I'd recommend grabbing placeholder sprites and backgrounds until you can procure ones of your own. It's perfectly fine to use stick figures, although eventually you will have to start working with finalized pieces since the individual dimensions of your pieces will impact how your code functions.

If it wasn't clear already lol, I work with RenPy. Despite my frequent moaning and complaining, it's probably the easiest program to learn for coding, as it uses its own framework built atop Python. Once you go through the process of learning the syntax, you can pretty much do anything you want with it, as it's infinitely customizable.

Some auxiliary programs I use are FireAlpaca (a free art program that works just as well as MediBang or Photoshop, and even supports animation), Audacity (free audio mixing; can also convert mp3 files to OGG, which is a must since RenPy only recognizes OGG file format) and Notepad for coding.

Btw, all of this stuff you can do for free. Anybody who tells you that you need to pay for fancy programs is trying to sell you something. Don't fall for it lol. As for actually making the thing... My creative process is messy and probably shouldn't be emulated. For lack of a better term, I call it the "dumping everything out on the table" method. First (and note that this step isn't always "completed", it's an ongoing process) I gather all the "raw materials," and then sift through them and play with them until the final product becomes something coherent. The material-gathering includes art, music, and sound effects, which will take some time. I count writing as a "raw material" as well since it can be edited.

From there, the writing and the coding sort of feed into each other. I have to be able to experience the story as the player will experience it, as it's a different experience than when you're staring at a word processor. What will the player feel at this juncture? Does it Hit Different(tm) when I use different wording, or change the song that's playing in the background, or employ a different sprite, or tweak the timing, or use a different animation?

The general rule I try to abide by in this regard is that if it isn't working for me, it probably won't work for the player, either. Put yourself in their shoes, because they're the ones going to be playing it.

Even something as simple as the way you present choices to the player conveys information. Should I offer a choice during this particular scene, or let the moment play out linearly? How many choices should I offer? Do I stick them in a false choice? An infinite loop? Do I hide choices, making the player feel clever for finding them or powerless to stop the narrative? Do I assign variables to choices? Do I disable rollback for choices so the player has to stick with their decisions? If I do have rollback enabled, will I do something with that? What are the consequences of making choice A first, then choice B, if at all? Many things to consider. Sometimes the sheer volume of work can overwhelm you as a solo dev and make it difficult to maintain motivation. Especially since you can't really show off a buggy game the way you would a story excerpt or a rough sketch. Making to-do lists, especially towards the end of the development process when it seems like a million things are screaming for attention, helped me stay on task and break them down into smaller, more manageable chunks. I might not be able to bang out a 20,000-word route in a week, but I can certainly fix a bug that duplicates a character sprite. This is a medium where you have a lot to keep track of, and small details do add up in the end. Crossing tasks off your to-do list provides small wins that add up over time. That's why I decide that certain days are dedicated to specific kinds of work. Some days are for writing, others coding, etc. (Also, RenPy comes built in with its own list function called TODO, although I haven't personally played around with it yet.)

Although OaS technically features choices, thus making it not a kinetic novel in the strictest sense, it's still a very linear novel with only one branching path. There weren't any persistent variables other than the flag which determined your route placement, and it functioned much like an on/off switch. Which is why I have no idea how Random managed to bypass it. xP

This new project, on the other hand, is much less binary in its structure. It tracks seven variables for three different characters and calculates ending eligibility based on the accumulation of those variables. Which, just in terms of sheer coding, is A Lot(tm) to keep track of. I struggle to scale back the scope creep out of fears that a more standard visual novel experience will bore the player. It's likely that if you're playing a visual novel, you're not expecting a hack-and-slash, but ofc that won't prevent the monkey brain from clapping its hands at you like "Your game NEEDS more interactivity or you're gonna lose them!" That's the devil talking. Ignore him.

So then you're gonna be weeks into implementing a QTE, only to realize that the version of RenPy you downloaded bears a glitch that forces repeat interactions at inconvenient times and you might have to scrap that and do something else entirely.

Based on a true story. xP