#sporadically been adding to this all week

[eggslamwich]

she hasnt washed her hands since she was born

[walks-the-ages]

OP deactivated, and some of the links were broken/marked unsafe by Firefox, so here's a new compilation post of Leslie Feinburg's (She/her, ze/hir) novels and essays on being transgender:

Stone Butch Blues official free source directly from Author's website:

Stone Butch Blues, backup on the webarchive:

Transgender Liberation: A movement whose time has come, on the web archive:

Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to Dennis Rodman, on the web archive:

Lavender and Red, PDF essay collection:

Drag King Dreams, on the web archive:

(Also, if anyone ever tells you that the protagonist of Stone Butch Blues ""ends up with a man""........ they're transmisogynistic jackass TERFs who are straight up lying)

Please also check out your local public libraries for these books and see if they carry them, to help support public libraries! If you have a library card already you can checkout Libby and Overdrive to see if your public library carries it as an ebook that you can checkout :)

EDIT: another not included on the orignal masterpost-- Trans Liberation: Beyond Pink or blue !

annnnnd in light of the web archive losing it's court case, here's a backup of both PDFs and generated epubs a friend made:

5/26/2023: hello! I am adding on yet another book of queer history, this time the autobiography of Karl Baer, a Jewish, intersex trans man who was born in 1884! Please signal boost this version, and remember to check the notes whenever this crosses your dash for any new updates :)

6/24/2023: Two links to share!

Someone made an Epub version of Memoirs of a Man's Maiden Years, which you can find Here , as a more accessible version than a pdf of a scanned book if you're like me and need larger text size for reading--

And from another post I reblogged earlier today, I discovered the existence of "TransSisters: the Journal of Transsexual Feminism", which has 10 issues from 1993-1995, and includes multiple interviews with Leslie Feinburg and other queer feminists / activists of the 90s!

Here's a link to all 10 issues of TransSisters, plus a 1996 "look back at" by one of the writers after the journal ended, you can find all 10 issues on the Internet Archive Here !

------

8/28/2023:

"Bi Any Other Name: Bisexual People Speak Out", can be found on the web archive Here, for the 25th Anniversary Edition from 2015,

and also Here, for the original 1991 version.

Each of the above can be borrowed for one hour at a time as long as a copy is available :D

This is a living post that receives sporadic updates on the original, if you are seeing this on your dash, click Here to see the latest version of the post to make sure you're reblogging the most up to date one :)

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

October, 25th 2023:

"I began to dawdle over breakfast during shift changes, asking both waitresses questions. After weeks of inquiries, they invited me to a demonstration, outside Kleinhan's Music Hall, protesting the Israeli war against Egypt and Syria. I was particularly interested in that protest. The state of Israel had been declared shortly before my birth. In Hebrew school I was taught "Palestine was a land without peo-ple, for a people without a land." That phrase haunted me as a child. I pictured ears with no one in them, and movies projected on screens in empty theaters. When I checked a map of that region of the Middle East in my school geography textbook, it was labeled Palestine, not Israel. Yet when I asked my grandmother who the Palestinians were, she told me there were no such people. The puzzle had been solved for me in my adolescence. I developed a strong friendship with a Lebanese teenager, who explained to me that the Palestinian people had been driven off their land by Zionist settlers, like the Native peoples in the United States. I studied and thought a great deal about all she told me. From that point on I staunchly opposed Zionist ideology and the occupation of Palestine. So I wanted to go to the protest. However, I feared the demonstration, no matter how justified, would be tainted by anti-Semitism. But I was so angered by the actions of the Israeli government and military, that I went to the event to check it out for myself. That evening, I arrived at Kleinhan's before the protest began. Cops in uniforms and plainclothes surrounded the music hall. I waited impatiently for the protesters to arrive. Suddenly, all the media swarmed down the street. I ran after them. Coming over the hill was a long column of people moving toward Kleinhan's. The woman who led the march and spoke to reporters proudly told them she was Jewish! Others held signs and banners aloft that read: "Arab Land for Arab People!" and "Smash Anti-Semitism!" Now those were two slogans I could get behind! I wanted to know who these people were and where they had been all my life! Hours later I followed the group back to their headquarters. Orange banners tacked up on the walls expressed solidarity with the Attica prisoners and the Vietnamese. One banner particularly haunted me. It read: Stop the War Against Black America, which made me realize that it wasn't just distant wars that needed opposing. Yet although I worked with two members of this organization, I felt nervous that night. These people were communists, Marxists! Yet I found it easy to get into discussions with them. I met waitresses, factory workers, secretaries, and truck drivers. And I decided they were some of the most principled people I had ever met. For example, I was impressed that many of the men I spoke with talked to me about the importance of fighting the oppression of gays and lesbians, and of all women. Yet I knew they thought they were talking to a straight man" Transgender Warriors (1996) Leslie Feinberg

[jasmines-library]

Anonymous said:

Live for your writing <3 I’ve read the batfam and I am quite literally obsessed

Could I ask for a piece about the batboys comforting batsis reader because she had/is having a panic attack? thank you so much!!! :D

Fight or Flight

Note: Hello lovely anon! I'm so glad you like my writing. You absolutely can, I hope you enjoy. Also I’m so sorry but I lost the original ask as my tumblr was acting up and I forgot to add tags the first time.

Warnings: Panic attacks, hurt/comfort kinda.

Word Count: 1k (short but sweet)

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

You had been feeling off all week. Not only was it Gotham’s busiest time of the year, which meant that you were constantly on your feet, but you also had a bunch of unfinished assignments to catch up on that were wearing you out. You had stupidly agreed to help Cass finish her assignments on top of your own and the load was becoming overbearing. On top of that, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you couldn’t do them, which completely added to your stress level as it now meant you had to find the time to finish all of the paperwork.

You were still feeling overwhelmed as you suited up for patrol. You were out with your four brothers and you knew that the night would be busy. Gotham always was this time of year. The five of you had already stopped a few petty crimes and were making your way through the city. The silence that fell over the five of you allowed your mind to wander and you quickly became worked up over your increasingly large to-do-list and you began to hyperventilate. You just wanted to leave, but you knew you couldn’t. Conflicted, your heart began to beat faster and faster and your breathing got shallow and shallower like someone was cutting off your supply and-

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest was rising and falling in quick, sharp breaths as you tried to take in air that refused to come. Ridden with panic your body was completely tense as you fell behind your brothers, stopping in your tracks to clutch as your constricting chest. Trying to blink away the flood of tears that just fell heavier, you leaned against the wall. This only made you panic more as you knew that you needed to keep going with the patrol.

Dick had noticed that you had fallen behind. His trained ears noticed the absence of your light and smaller paced steps that contrasted against his and his brothers. He slowed his pace as he glanced behind him to try and spot you. The vigilantes eyes widened when he saw you clutching your chest and leaning desperately against the wall and for a heart-wrenching moment he thought that you had been injured. Turning on his heel he sprinted back toward you alerting your brothers who all followed quickly after seeing the cause of Dick’s sudden change in demeanour.

When they reached you, after what felt like too long but was actually only a matter of seconds covered by long strides, Tim was quick to search you for injury only to come back looking confused with his eyebrows turned down when he found you seemingly unscathed.

“What’s the matter, kid?” He asked frantically “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head and tried to give him an answer but all that came out was a ragged sob as you continued to clutch at your chest. Your heart pounded in your chest as you shook, surrounded by your brothers, and suddenly Damian clocked what was happening.

“She’s having a panic attack.”

You nodded somewhat recognisably as your brother's high alert switched off somewhat. Jason took your hands gently, moving them away from your suit that you were clutching and held them gently in his. He then eased you to the floor and crouched in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N/N. Look at me. You’re okay.”

The sound of his gentle voice and the feeling of his leather gloves in your hand grounded you somewhat and you managed to get your eyes to stop looking around sporadically and to focus on him.

“Good. Now deep breaths.” He moved your hand so that it rested over his chest to allow you to feel his steady rhythm.

“In and out, Little Wing. Follow Hood.” Dick added. He was still hovering over you anxiously as Jason tried to calm you down.

As you followed your brother's breathing, you found yours gradually slowing until it somewhat was back to normal.

Damian made his way over and sat down beside you to offer you some comfort. You were feeling slightly dizzy, and noticing he signalled for Dick to grab you some water from his pack. Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re okay, sis.”

You sniffled, wiping away the last of your onslaught of tears. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Little Wing.” Tim told you. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Dick added. “I’ve totally freaked out during a mission before. We all have. In fact, just last week Damian-”

“Tt. We don’t need to talk about that.” Damian chided, rolling his eyes.

There was a moment of tender silence as you regained your composure before Jason asked:

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged at them, bringing your knees to your chest. “I don’t really know what happened… I guess I’ve just had a bad feeling about tonight and I’ve been so stressed about all of my assignments I still need to write up. I guess it just all caught up to me at the wrong time.”

“Oh kid. I’m sorry none of us have been around to help. We’ve been so caught up in our own stuff that we’ve failed to notice that you might need help too.” Dick told you.

“How about we get you home so you can relax? Hm?”

“But…what about patrol?” You asked, voice raising an octave as you began to panic a little again “We can’t just miss it!”

“Bruce will understand.” Tim reassured you.

“And we’ll help you finish your assignments.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You protested.

“We’re your brothers, kiddo. It’s what we’re here for.”

[eyesthatroll]

my love, mine all mine | quinn hughes

pairing: qh43 x fem!reader

warning(s): kissing, established relationship, nothing else i think. barely edited

summary: a lil somethin’ i wrote while listening to my love mine all mine by mitski

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: i am the most tired i have ever been right now and i have to get up in an hour or two for a ten hour shift 😔 but i hope you enjoy this lil number, it’s my first time writing for quinn n i hope i did alright. as usual, sending my love. go canucks! —mari

Yawning softly, you nestled yourself deeper into Quinn's warm embrace, allowing your eyelids to gently shut as you turned your back to the crackling fire. The animated conversation among the boys continued, the sound providing a soothing backdrop to the peaceful moment. Quinn's right hand moved in soothing circles on your back, while his other hand held onto a half-finished beer, the cool glass a stark contrast to the warmth you found in his arms.

During the sporadic lulls in the conversation, the mellowness of country music, Jack's choice, enveloped the space. The soulful chords of "Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton, dominating the atmosphere. As you rested against Quinn's comforting presence, he quietly hummed along with the song, his voice adding a subtle layer to the music just low enough for only you to hear. Your fingers aimlessly toyed with the drawstring of his gray sweatpants, a futile effort to battle the creeping fatigue that had been amplified by the day's events. You were determined not to squander the night by retiring early, as the impending end of summer loomed overhead, casting a bittersweet shadow as it heralded the departure of everyone you loved, including your boyfriend of nine months.

Lowering his head, Quinn tenderly places a kiss on your forehead, his affectionate gesture infused with fondness and adoration. His hushed voice carries a gentle suggestion as he speaks to you, "Why don't you go up to bed, Baby-Doll?"

In response, you lightly shake your head, brushing aside his words. "I'm okay."

He doesn't press further, recognizing that your decision to head to bed will likely come only when he joins you. Nevertheless, he doesn't mind this compromise. Every moment in your embrace is precious to him, particularly with the imminent knowledge that in a week, he'll be heading back to Vancouver while you remain here. He keeps his inner turmoil hidden, unwilling to burden you with his feelings, but the strain of a long-distance relationship is slowly taking a toll. With your final year of university on the horizon, he hopes that you might consider moving to Vancouver with him, yet he's well aware of the magnitude of that request and the challenge it poses to both of you, so he's yet to bring it up.

Quinn spends the next twenty minutes or so caught in his head, his thoughts consumed by you and the possible future you might share. He absentmindedly nods at whatever topics the boys are discussing, their voices blending into a background hum as he drifts through his contemplations. In his mind, he envisions the two of you sharing a home, the two of you building a family together, and he can't help but smile at the idea, even if it remains unsaid in the midst of the casual banter.

"What do you think, Q?" Trevor asks, raising a beer to Quinn from across the flickering fire pit, where the warm glow dances in the darkness.

Quinn blinks, momentarily drawn from his reverie. "Huh?"

The group shares a collective chuckle, their laughter adding to the background melody of the evening. "Another beer, you want one?" Josh offers, extending a cold bottle towards Quinn.

A sudden hush fell over the group as they waited for his answer, emphasizing the gentle, rhythmic snores that escaped your lips. You looked utterly enchanting, cocooned in an old, oversized Michigan sweater of his, your delicate features half-hidden beneath your tousled curls. The dancing firelight painted your silhouette with warm, flickering hues, casting a soft, otherworldly glow around you.

In that poignant moment, as he looked down at you, all Quinn yearned for was to steal you away to your shared room. Just the two of you, wrapped in the comforting embrace of the warm duvet. He offered a tired smile. "No, actually, gonna call it for the night." The murmured words sounded like a gentle promise to both himself and the alluring vision before him.

You had always been a notoriously light sleeper, a trait Quinn found endearing. It was, therefore, a genuine surprise to him that you didn't stir the moment he scooped you into his arms and began carrying you into the house. However, as he carefully closed the screen door behind him, its echo resonated through the stillness of the house, and you stirred to consciousness. Blinking your eyes open, an expression of confusion graced your features as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your voice, soft and laden with sleep, slipped through your lips. "Quinn?"

"Goin' to bed, Baby-Doll," Quinn replies simply, his gaze momentarily fixated on you before he turns his attention to the path ahead, ensuring a safe ascent up the stairs with you in his arms.

He gently sets you down on the bed, and you flop back dramatically, savoring the comforting embrace of the sheets against your back, releasing a contented moan. Quinn chuckles at your playful display, beginning to shed his day clothes. And as much as you admired his physique, you spring out of bed, heading towards the en-suite bathroom, your intention to quickly wash your face and brush your teeth.

Soft footsteps echo through the bathroom as Quinn follows you inside, his tall and muscular frame comfortably settled in nothing but his boxers. The intimate setting feels soothing, and he joins you at the sink, standing side by side as you begin to brush your teeth.

You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, and a playful glint in your eyes prompts you to initiate a playful toothpaste battle. Quinn's eyes widen as you start flicking tiny drops of toothpaste toward him, and he quickly retaliates, with laughter filling the room. Soon, both of you are playfully dueling with your toothbrushes, smirking and giggling like teenagers.

After the impromptu skirmish, Quinn doesn't put up any resistance when you give him your best puppy-dog eyes and plead for the privilege of conducting your nighttime skincare routine on him.

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the bathroom's soft lighting casting a warm, intimate glow. Perched on the bathroom counter, you have Quinn standing between your legs, your feet just barely wrapped around him. With gentle motions, you apply moisturizer to his flushed skin, your fingers caressing his cheeks with care.

Quinn's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that doesn't go unnoticed. As you work the moisturizer into his skin, you can't help but sense a subtle tension in his furrowed brows, a hint that something might be bothering him. You break the tranquil silence, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip, a nervous habit surfacing. "Are you okay?" You ask, your voice tender with concern, your eyes searching his for answers.

His response comes swiftly, as if he's been waiting for the right moment to share his thoughts. "You graduate this year," Quinn replies, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and a touch of uncertainty.

Your smile beams at him, and you gently place your hands on his strong shoulders, a gesture of reassurance. "I do," you affirm with a nod.

Quinn lets out a deep, contemplative breath, his hand instinctively moving up to run through his unruly, dark brown hair. His lips part and close a couple of times, as if he's grappling with the words he wants to convey, caught in a moment of indecision.

Your sudden, sweet kiss catches him off guard, his initial surprise giving way to a warm, affectionate response. Before he can fully process the gesture, you've already withdrawn, leaving a subtle, bashful grin dancing on your lips. "What's on your mind, My Love?"

He exhales another sigh, his tongue moistening his lower lip in contemplation before he voices his admittance. "I can't stand this long-distance thing."

Your lips contort into a pained frown, and an instinctive retreat pushes you further away from him, your back connecting with the mirror's cool surface. "Are you breaking up with me?" Your voice quivers at the fear of Quinn ending things so suddenly.

His eyes widen in alarm, a rapid motion closing the gap between you as he firmly grasps your waist, pulling you back into his comforting proximity. "No, no, baby, I'm not saying that at all." He emphasizes with a reassuring tone.

Relief floods your entire being, a soothing balm to your anxieties as the erratic thud of your heart settles back into its regular rhythm.

"What would you think about moving in with me, in Vancouver after you graduate?" His head tilts to the side, a distressed look on his face as tries to gage your reaction.

You crush your lips against his once more, the fervor of your kiss matching the intensity of your emotions. A delighted grin creeps across his face as your hands weave their way into his hair. Your mouths mold together in a harmonious dance, each movement executed in perfect synchronization. A subtle exploration ensues as you lightly trace your tongue across his bottom lip, coaxing it between your teeth, which elicits a throaty moan from him. With his defenses down, he grants you access, and your tongues engage in a sensual tango, his fingers pressing into your side involuntarily.

Breathlessly, you break apart from him. "I thought you'd never ask."

[capybaracorn]

Columbia suspends students after deadline to end Gaza camp passes

The number of arrests has crossed 1,100 since New York police detained first demonstrators at Columbia on April 18.

(April 30th 2024)

Pro-Palestinian demonstrators hold a protest outside Columbia University in New York City. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Columbia University has begun suspending student demonstrators after they defied an ultimatum to disperse.

The New York University, the epicentre of pro-Palestinian protests that have upended college campuses across the United States, made the call on Monday.

The move follows almost two weeks of protests against Israel’s war in Gaza, which have swept through higher education institutions from coast to coast, and spread into Europe. The demonstrators have demanded that the universities cease all investment in Israel or companies that are seen as supporting its war effort.

The response of the authorities has been tough, with critics of the protests referring to sporadic instances of anti-Semitism. About 100 protesters were arrested at Columbia on April 18.

In the latest crackdown, authorities at the prestigious university in New York had demanded that the protest encampment be cleared by 2pm (18:00 GMT) or students would face disciplinary action.

“These repulsive scare tactics mean nothing compared to the deaths of over 34,000 Palestinians,” said a statement, read out by a student at a news conference after the deadline passed, referring to the death toll in Gaza.

“We will not move until Columbia meets our demands or … [we] are moved by force,” said the student.

A few hours later, Columbia vice president of communications, Ben Chang, said the university had “begun suspending students as part of this next phase of our efforts to ensure safety on our campus”.

He said students had been warned they would be “placed on suspension, ineligible to complete the semester or graduate, and will be restricted from all academic, residential, and recreational spaces”.

Meanwhile, at the University of Texas in Austin, police used pepper spray as they clashed with protesters on Monday. Arrests were made as they dismantled an encampment, adding to the more than 350 people detained nationwide over the weekend.

“No encampments will be allowed,” Texas Governor Greg Abbott said on social media. “Instead, arrests are being made.”

Protests against the Gaza war, with its high Palestinian civilian death toll, have posed a challenge to university administrators trying to balance free speech rights with complaints that the rallies have veered into anti-Semitism and hate.

Footage of police in riot gear summoned at various colleges to break up rallies has been viewed around the world, recalling the protest movement that erupted during the Vietnam War.

Columbia University president, Minouche Shafik, in a statement on Monday announcing talks had broken down, said, “Many of our Jewish students, and other students as well, have found the atmosphere intolerable in recent weeks.

“Many have left campus, and that is a tragedy,” she continued. “Anti-Semitic language and actions are unacceptable and calls for violence are simply abhorrent.”

Protest organisers deny accusations of anti-Semitism, arguing their actions are aimed at Israel’s government and its prosecution of the conflict in Gaza.

They also insist there have been incidents engineered by non-student agitators.

A protester wears the university's disciplinary warning covered over by support for Palestinians in Gaza at Columbia University in New York City. [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

The protests have upended university campuses across the US, with the number of arrests crossing 1,100. [Caitlin Ochs/Reuters]

A faculty member holds up a sign as faculty members seek to protect students in the Pro-Palestinian "Gaza Solidarity Encampment" at Columbia University. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Protesters at Columbia defied a deadline to disband the event with chants, clapping and drumming. [Stefan Jeremiah/AP Photo]

Columbia University issued a notice to the protesters asking them to disband their encampment after negotiations failed to come to a resolution. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

Demonstrators gathered outside an entrance to Columbia University as the 2pm deadline to disband or face suspension approached. [David Dee Delgado/Reuters]

Students condemned the university’s attempts to silence the protesters and said they were determined to continue. “What trumps our fear is our love for Palestine, and our love for liberation, and our refusal to accept subjugation and censorship from an oppressive institution,” one said. [Nuri Vallbona/Reuters]

Pro-Palestinian supporters continue to demonstrate on the campus of Columbia University. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

One graduate student protester said: "It's finals week. But at the end of the day, school is temporary." [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

[thecameronchronicles]

Baby Daddy

TW: Smut. DOM!Rafe. Smut. Language. Manipulative and toxic behaviors. Degrading language. Read with discretion. 

SUMMARY: Rafe manipulated his way to your bed once again...

WORD COUNT: 2900

REQUESTED

onclouds999 asked:

Can you do a toxic baby daddy smut with rafe. Yn decide to just co parent one evening and rafe wants a lil more than just family time

*ADDED A BIT OF AN ELEMENT HERE, HOPE YOU STILL ENJOY! XO

Baby Daddy

Late as usual. Your mind had already begun to conjure the poor excuse he would have when finally arriving to pick up your son. Would it be traffic like it was last week or work the Friday night prior to that? It didn't matter. All you could think of was how at ease you would feel for tomorrow morning when you could wake up without the alarm coming in the form of your child knocking on your bedroom door. You loved being a mom, even if the role came unexpectedly. But you were still human. You still wanted to sleep in every so often. You wanted that small break you were warranted after a week's worth of responsibility for a life you hadn't created on your own. 

The thoughts of that night in question managed to sneak their way into your thoughts as you sat in wait against the kitchen counter, only to be interrupted by that eventual knock of certainty. 

"Your dad's here..." The title still foreign in regards to someone like Rafe, who still believed responsibility was set to everyone else. But you couldn't deny how it warmed your heart to see your son's excitement for his father. Those small moments visualized are what made you regret not being able to make it work. And if life with Rafe could be composed solely of those moments than it could have. But he was too manipulative. Too dark. Too toxic. 

"My car just broke down."

"What?!" You peeked your head out of the door of your apartment. 

"And the storm is coming in pretty quick...guess I'll be staying in tonight." You clenched your jaw. 

"Can't you have Ward or Topper-" Before you could offer an alternative, his jacket was removed and he was moving in the direction of your son. 

"Looks like we're staying with mommy tonight.". You clenched your jaw. 

"All of us?" Your toddler asked, eyes of wonder matching Rafe's that looked to you in mischief. He made a habit of using your son to make you acquiesce. Christmases spent at Tannyhill when you wanted to go back home to your own family. The choice of preschool as a Cameron child wouldn't be caught dead in a public school setting when "higher education was within reach". You could hear Ward speak the words as you thought them. But even down to the design of your son's room in YOUR apartment. Rafe got the final say. 

Luckily, the night was nearly over. Sun had already been exchanged for the moon and the stars sat as sporadic diamonds across a clear sky covered in a dying storm as you set your son to sleep. After sharing dinner with pleasant conversation, you overheard Rafe read your son to sleep as you finished the dishes to wake up to a clean kitchen. But as he emerged, you recognized that glimmer in his slate cobalt irises. The same that convinced you to keep from using protection that night four years ago. The same look that made you a mom with the accompaniment of that devilish smirk and those hands tracing up your body...

"I have the couch made up-' 

"Can I take a shower? I didn't have the chance since getting off. I came straight here. To see you...both." He asked the question already knowing you had no reason to deny him of this. But as he slipped away, not even to the bedroom before being shirtless, you rolled your eyes at his attempts. 

Although you weren't proud of it, it wasn't the first time in which you'd fallen back into your old patterns. Rafe was familiar. Toxic. But familiar. He was that old sweater in the back of your closet that you found comfort in no matter your weight or motivation for the day. He was that song you thought you'd forgotten on the day you needed it most. But along with the ease came more of a bittersweet underdone of the chaos he left behind. Which was why tonight was so special for you. It was the first night in which you intended to move on. 

The bath was the first step to what was preparation for a date with someone else. Someone new. Someone you never would have paid attention to before now. But with a string of broken relationships having collected pieces of your heart, you didn't think it would hurt. Which was why you shouldn't have been surprised that Rafe happened to break down tonight. If he even had. You had half of a mind to run out into the blizzard and investigate. But before you could, he emerged in only a towel. 

"Forget your clothes?" You asked, turning around in annoyance. 

"I remember a time you used to lick down my stomach and leave scratch marks on my abs and now you can't even look?" He scoffed as you glared. Your anger was enough to ignore the way his abdomen was accentuated beneath the droplets of water seemingly left intentionally. 

"Would you please just get dressed?!" You groaned as your phone rang on the counter. 

Shit. 

"Hey!" Your cadence lifted. 

"You can't make it?" The kind voice of your date asked, soothing understanding set over his disappointment. 

"No, of course I understand." You would leave out the overnight guest you had acquired at the last minute before wishing him a good night and turning back to find Rafe leaning against the door to your bedroom. 

"Who is he?" You clenched your jaw, slightly relieved that Rafe didn't know as it meant the guy was safe. To keep him this way, you evaded his question. 

"I checked the weather and it says the storm will only last until about two and so I'll make him breakfast and then you can go-"

"So you can go on your date?" He asked, almost teasing the idea. 

"It's not a...yeah..." You corrected. "Yeah...Rafe."

"Is he a good guy?" He asked while folding his arms, flexing his muscles with the intent to steal your focus. 

"I don't know. It'll be our first date."

"Then let me tell you how it would go .." he began to walk closer to you every few seconds as he spoke. You rolled your eyes to his 'man-splaining'. 

"He is going to compliment you all night all to get you naked. Once he has, he'll get dirtier about it. Ask what you like and maybe even smack your ass." 

Your eyes narrowed sharper towards him. 

"And he'll leave. He won't call. You'll feel like shit."

"Oh really?" He nodded, now standing only a foot or so away from you, his arms coming across himself once again. 

"Now let me tell you what you'll do ..." Your brows arched in intrigue. 

"You'll be nice and sweet...compliment his sense of humor although you'll have to force yourself to laugh all night. You'll let him fuck you because you'll be trying to convince yourself it's a way to move on..." He now hovered over you. 

"But when he leaves ..you'll slide your hand to that bedside drawer and take out that vibrator you use and think of me like you always do. Because that's the only way you ever come. Because of me-" 

"Believe it or not, Rafe...I don't need you for that." You spat, even if it had been a lie. No matter how close to that precipice you came, you couldn't find relief unless imagining his touch or his lips. His kiss. His cock...

"What were you going to wear for him?" He teased the shirt already draping halfway off of your shoulder. As you corrected him, he scoffed. 

"You should wear the powdered blue set. Easier to take off. It will be over faster-"

"Go to hell ..." You muttered before trying to move past him. But in the attempts to try, you felt him capture your wrist. 

"I am." Your eyes nearly closed to his words. 

"Everyday I'm not with you."

"You were with me. You dictated my every move. What I wore. What I ate. What I said...that isn't being with me...that's prison...I have a right to be happy Rafe..."

"All those times you screamed for me, you were miserable?"

"It was always sex. It was how you tried to fix how fucked up you are. But nothing can. Not therapy. Not your dad's money. Not me. I tried. Every time you just got high. Every time you screwed up...but not now. Not again." Your words were cause enough to be released. 

You moved into your bedroom, closing the door as softly as possible to keep from waking your son connected by only a thin wall. The ambition to bathe in ease and seclusion remained as you began to run the water and sat on the rim of the tub. Wearing only remnants of the day's outfit, you traced your fingers through the water before adding your bathing additions. Bubbles coated the top in a thin layer as Epsom salt was set for your aching muscles. But they would do nothing to soothe the ache between your thighs. 

"You belong to me." His voice wasn't as surprising as the grasp made at the back of your hair and neck. 

"I don't-" You were forced before the bathroom mirror. 

"Let me remind you." Before you could object, your panties were infiltrated by his fingers. 

"Nice to know I can still make you this wet without doing much..."

"It's not because of you-" You attempted to derail his confidence, but he was quick to correct you. 

"You said you hadn't even dated the guy yet. And I know for a fact nobody can touch you or fuck you like me." He pulled harder at your hair, but not enough to make it impossible to see your reflection. All because he wanted you to witness your body's response to him. 

"I'll give you one last chance to be honest for me." 

But you paused. Validating him meant lengthening this tormenting toxicity. Even if the release he allowed was incomporable it was also detrimental to your existence. Small doses were a near overdose in his presence, which left any interaction dangerous. Especially alone. Especially those confined like this. 

"That's okay baby...Your pussy is telling me everything I need to know. Everything I already did..." He was cruel with the first finger set inside of you. The familiar thick digit was directed on a mission solely to tease you as you arched back against him. 

"Rafe..." His second hand came over your mouth, turning your jaw to face him. 

"You don't say anything until I say...if we wake him up it's going to be because his mom's too big of a whore for my cock to be quiet. But because she's too desperate for just my fingers." He pulled you back to face the mirror before tracing your neck with his tongue. 

"You remember my tongue, don'tcha baby? You've come on it enough times...I can still taste the last time...mmm..." He groaned as your eyes rolled. That masterful tongue that has been the means behind so many undeserved apologies prior to now. 

"And my cock...you want that don't you baby? Reminding you how deep," His finger projected this as you gasped. Your lips remained open to the pressure of his finger as a second brought a sensation only he could. 

"How hard it makes you come? How it was meant to wear your cum? Just like you were meant to drip with mine?" Your attempts to speak only came out in broken breaths and unsteady whimpers. 

"You think anyone, especially a fucking pogue, can do better?" You turned to face him. 

"I never told you he was-" 

"You think I don't know? You think I'd let anyone like that around my son? Around you?" He cocked his jaw, blowing out a breath as his fingers increased in speed. 

"Rafe..."

"You'll always be mine. And even if it takes knocking you up on purpose again, I'll fucking do it-" Your eyes widened in horror. 

"What...you- He withdrew his fingers as he dropped that towel and pulled down your panties, all while you remained in shock. 

"It was the only way to keep you. And until I can stop "fucking up", this is how it will be. When I need it. And you need to be reminded. There is no one else. For me. Or you." He bent you over he sink just enough to align himself to your sex. 

"Stop pretending you'll ever need more." He thrust into you, your fingers at a tight grip around the edge of the sink. He began as violent as possible. Deep and quick as you cried for him, only his name intelligible beneath your pleas. 

"Tell me...tell me how many times this week you came thinking of me...just a number." He demanded in breathless strides mads into your gluttonous sex. Swallowing and savoring him only long enough to promote his pleasure while leaving you more desperate. He accommodated this by the tease made at your nipples as he twisted and pulled the sensitive nerves. 

"Twice? No, I know you need it more than that...maybe twice a day...bet you were about to do that in that bath...right? Knowing I was just beyond that door but you wouldn't dare ask ..but I know you fucking need it...so take it." He clenched his hand tighter in your hair. 

"Maybe if I remind you another way..." You were taken out of the bathroom and into the bed, forced into your stomach. The sound of your bedside table coming open made your stomach twist as you knew what he had been in search of. Exactly what he'd found. 

"Still smells like you...I'd say you used it last night, if not this morning. Dirty girl...." He set the vibration at its highest setting. 

"You deny this and I finish here..." He explained switching a slap to your ass. 

"You come before I say and you will be left so fucking overstimulated that that pogue all the way to The Cut will hear you scream for me...So listen and be good so I can fuck you how we both need. And maybe I'll even let you make me breakfast tomorrow." He winked as he connected the vibrator to your clit. 

Everything was too much. His cock set as the pressure inside of you, the vibrations at war with your urge to obey him as he was a man of his word, and the way he smirked against your shoulder as he felt you counter such desperations. 

"God, you need it...Oh fuck, you're still that desperate little whore..."

"Please...please Rafe..."

"Oh and you still sound so fucking pretty when you beg. But I think..." He guided you to face him, pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

"I've earned a little something...for my patience." You were forced to take him before you could speak. Eyes set to tear as you gagged violently over him. Quick to acclimate, your cheeks pulled into a hollow and your throat opened to him, before you were taken off of the rhythm achieved. 

"And you still take my cock so fucking well...now you're gonna ride it to make us both come. Get on top of me." He didn't force or guide you, he wanted you to do this yourself. And just as you had done in every instance, you showed such enthusiasm by positioning him inside of you. 

"Please..." You pleaded as he pulled the vibrator to view. 

"Tell me what I want to hear and you can come nicely then." When your expression contorted into confusion he would pity you and elaborate. 

"Tell me you know I'm it. You don't need anyone else. Mean it."

"Its you rafe. I hate it. But it is ...I need you..." You shuttered at the words were only a verbalization of your body's response and reaction to him. 

"Good girl...My girl...ride me like you wanna be mine again and maybe tomorrow you can be." You drove him into you as your nails came down harshly onto his shoulders. The chill that developed down your spine as he smirked to such pain had been ignored by the pleasure his cock left as you sunk yourself down onto him. 

A smack to your ass pulled you from your near euphoria as he slowed, "This can be everyday. Just say it." You groaned. 

"Say you want me back and I'm yours." You moaned in length over him. 

"Tell me and you get to come." You fought this as you knew he would take any mention of possession to heart. But you needed it. The way he clung tightly to your chest by the latch made of his lip around your breasts to the grip made at your ass as he guided himself deeply over you had been enough to take you to that joint high. 

"Yours!"

"Good girl..." He smirked. "Now come." The vibrator at your clit sent you to shatter over him. Your orgasm unlocking his own as he pounded into you by burying you into the bed beneath you.

"Rafe-"

"That was for you..." He explained by turning you onto your stomach until your ass was level with his waist. 

"This is for me." He announced before taking you this way as well. The same enthusiasm as if you weren't dripping with him. All while he once again got what he wanted. 

He always did...

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlostt @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

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[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 7 — Trouble in Paradise

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

A/N: MFW the silly little smut drabble series I started over winter break starts developing a plot :o

Lmaooo I should have seen this coming. Be patient with me, I'm in a creative writing MFA program so fanfic isn't my priority rn but this series is begging to be written so I'm going to follow those vibes as far as they take me, just bear with me if updates are sporadic.

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Angst, some smut

Of course, there’s a learning curve that comes with a Triad Bond. Sex is the easy part—being in a relationship with two bullheaded Illyrian males is more complicated.

Rhys tried his best not to send any of you on solo missions but, inevitably, something came up and Azriel had to go undercover in the Court of Nightmares. It’s a top-secret mission and he has to block you and Cassian out the entire time he’s there, lest someone learn the true reason for his visit.

And… it was a lot easier to be a spy without two mates waiting for him back home. His mental shields are ironclad, trapping all the frustration and sadness behind closed doors, but it seeps out in other ways. His shadows are way more vicious than they normally are and, after long days spent playing nice with Keir and his cronies, as soon as his bedroom door locks behind him, he fists his cock in quick strokes. It takes a matter of minutes for him to spill himself into the mattress with how pent-up he is.

Things aren’t much better in Velaris. Sure, you and Cas have each other, but the bond hates the dark hole where Az should be and no matter how hard you try to soothe the ache, it never goes away.

Cassian throws himself into training; on days he doesn’t have other work to do, he flies out to Windhaven and spends the day beating the shit out of anyone who dares challenge him. When he comes home late at night, you patch him up with soft, delicate touches and hold him until his tears dry up.

Sex isn’t the same without Azriel there, either. You try to hold out; it feels wrong without him, but everything boils over a week into his absence.

Cassian spent the day in Windhaven, again, and you wait up with a book and a cup of tea but it’s morning when he slams through the door drenched in blood and reeking like the mixed-together contents of a liquor cabinet.

“Cas?” You mumble, lifting your head off the couch cushion and rubbing your eyes as you push yourself into a sitting position. He stomps past you into the bedroom and you hear the water running as he fills the bath. Stifling a yawn, you push through the nausea swirling in your gut and follow him on your tiptoes.

When you push the washroom door open, you see his broad shoulders bent over the edge of the half-filled tub, bloodied and shaking with the force of his sobs.

You surge forward and fall to your knees next to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you whisper, rubbing his back. His head drops to your chest and you feel his rumbling anger in your soul.

Y/N? It’s Rhys’ voice in your head, tentative and sheepish. Is he okay?

No, you snarl back, immediately feeling guilt for the harshness of your words. But Ariel is gone, Cassian is broken, and your heart is torn in two. You force yourself to be gentler as you ask: Is there something I should know?

Rhys hesitates. Devlon called me in to fetch him this morning and… it wasn’t pretty. I’ll send word to Madja and tell her you’re going to be out for a few days.

Before you can protest, he continues. I know you’ve been working overtime. You’re running yourself ragged, Y/N. You need a break just as much as he does.

Rhysand cuts off the mental connection in the middle of your indignant huff, but the gears in your mind are turning. Instead of turning to each other in Az’s absence, you’ve been burying yourselves in solitude and work. Clearly, something has to change.

You loosen the strip of leather holding Cas’s hair up and sprinkle deep purple healing magic into it as you run your fingers through his thick locks. It’s just enough to calm him down, sobs tapering off into shuddering breaths.

“Cas?” You ask when he finally stills, slumping boneless against you. “Whose blood is this?”

He tilts his head back, guilt filling in every line on his face, and your heart clenches. No wonder Rhys offered to talk to Madja for you; he probably needed her to fix whatever damage Cassian’s misplaced anger had caused.

“‘M sorry,” Cas whispers, burying his face in your neck again. “I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“Shhh,” you shushed him, curling one arm to cradle his head. “I know you didn’t, baby. Rhys does too. This is new territory for all of us, and there were bound to be some kinks to work out.” Cas nods against you and you squeeze him as tight as you can, channeling love and healing magic through the bond. Behind you, the tub is full of steamy hot water, so you wave your hand to get rid of Cas’s clothes and help him into the bath.

When he’s settled, you shed your nightgown and get in with him. He rests his head against the side of the tub and lets you run a bar of soap over the planes of his muscles, healing bruises and scrapes as you find them.

"Thank you," he whispers once you’ve finished. He reaches one hand out and pulls you against his chest without opening his eyes.

The bond settles as much as it can without a third anchor to tether itself to. You lay there, basking in the soft glow of your mingling magic, until suddenly Cassian stands up, pushing you off him.

“Sorry,” he grunts when you fall forward, splashing into the water. “I just…” You follow his gesturing hand down the V of his hips and the problem stares out at you—long, thick, and hard. “I dunno, it feels wrong without Az.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, torn between the mouth-watering sight of him on display, just inches from your face, and the guilt bubbling up inside you. In the end, the bond makes the decision for you, practically shoving you forward to pull Cas’s cock in between your lips.

His protests are dead on arrival; you don’t even hear them, too focused on pouring all your pent-up sexual frustration out onto him.

After just a few minutes, his hips are bucking wildly and he forces himself to pull back. You look up at him with wide eyes and saliva dripping down your chin, and he growls, tugging you out of the tub so he can shove you against the wall. He drops to his knees and drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, devouring you like a man starved.

With no patience left for teasing, he fucks you with his tongue, plunging deep into your core until you’re writhing against him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, tumbles out of your head and into his as the pleasure builds and builds.

That's it, baby, he sends back down the bond, digging into your sweet spot with one of his fingers. Let go for me.

Your body follows his command, the tightly wound coil inside of you snapping as soon as you have permission. He grins against you as you fuck his face, riding out your high.

As soon as he pulls away, he’s got his hands under your ass, hauling you up into his arms as he presses his cock into your slick folds. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your head drops back against the wall.

It’s quick and dirty. Without Azriel there to force you to slow down and savor each other, you’re teetering on the edge of a second orgasm before you’ve fully recovered from the first. Cassian’s thrusts grow sloppier and you feel through the bond that his release is looming.

When he ducks his head to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, both of you lose the last of your self-control. Cas drives his hips into you and fills you up, tipping you over the cliff. You clench your walls around him as your release comes gushing out.

Meanwhile, in one of the training rooms under the mountain, a wave of something washes over Az as he’s running through drills against a training dummy with Truth Teller. At first, he thinks it’s nausea and regrets not stopping by the kitchens to grab a bite earlier, but the ache is too low to be coming from his stomach.

When he reaches one gloved hand to palm himself through his leathers, he’s shocked to find his cock solid and straining against the fabric. He thanks the Mother that he’s training alone today and makes quick work of it.

Three weeks into Az’s mission, Mor heads under the mountain to check on him under the guise of visiting her father. She enters the dining room and immediately realizes that something is wrong. There’s a woman sitting to Kier’s right, and Az is on her other side. His shadows nip at Mor’s toes like she’s the enemy as she takes her seat on her father’s left.

He refuses to speak to her, but when they make eye contact during dessert, his eyes are dark and stormy, filled with shadows of their own.

When she retires to her room later that night, she reports back to Rhys who orders her to pull Az out as soon as she can.

Despite the fact that they haven’t slept together in decades, it’s easy to slip back into old habits. The next morning at breakfast, she lays it on thick. By dinner time, her father merely waves them off when she requests the Shadowsinger for her own personal reasons.

“Go on then,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll let the High Lord know when I require your presence next.”

As soon as they’ve both gathered their belongings, Mor winnows them away. When his feet touch solid ground, Az shoves her away with a snarl. His shadows surge forward to cushion her back and prevent her from falling; even blinded by his anger, he doesn't want to hurt her.

“What the fuck,” he growls. “I wasn’t done!”

“I have orders to pull you out of there. Rhys thinks you’ve gone in too deep.” Az growls like a feral animal being forced into a cage.

“Rhysand needs me in there now more than ever. Something’s happening, Mor. Something big, and I was working my way in, I—“

Mor cuts him off, holding a hand up to silence him.

“You think I don’t know that? Whether I like it or not, that’s my father. I know something’s up, but Rhys needs you in there, Azriel. And you’re not you right now. You’re cold and ruthless, not thinking clearly after too much time away from your mates.”

Az deflates and drops onto the sofa behind him. It’s the worn old leather one in Rhys’s mother’s cottage, in Windhaven. Mor sits down next to him, rubbing a hand across his shoulders, careful to avoid brushing against his wings which are rigid and full of tension.

“It’s not your sole responsibility to save the world, Az. You’re an excellent spy, but you’re more than that, too. Don’t let the tunnel vision take over.”

Az drops his head into his hands, letting out all of the air in his lungs with one deep sigh. He knows she’s right, that the bond should be a strength and not a weakness, but he’s terrified that something will happen to his mates. He couldn’t risk it, not when he was down there.

But that wasn’t his decision to make alone. The more he fought against the bond, the more it fought back, rattling his brain and tugging at every one of his senses. The effort to keep it bottled up drained his energy until all he could see was the mission, his purpose. Gathering information about the woman, Amarantha, became the most important thing in his life.

So he feels like a bit of an asshole when he turns up on your doorstep with his rucksack slung over one shoulder and only a faint shimmer of the bond left flickering inside his chest. It’s not enough to keep him tethered to the two of you, so he has no idea how you're feeling, but he forces himself to knock on the door, anyway.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting your arm drop from the doorknob to your side. On your end, the bond bursts into bright golden flames that shoot down, making a beeline for Azriel.

It tugs at Cas’s side, too, and then his head pops up behind your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, flashing the dopiest grin that Azriel has ever seen.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @hnyclover

[gavisuntiedboot]

Soft glow (Gavi x reader)

28 day writing prompt challenge - prompts are here

Day 1: Taking off your makeup for you

"Amor you'll never believed what happened on the flight back!"

You groaned from where you laid on the couch. Gavi had gone to England to play a league match against Manchester United. You were by no means a clingy person. You valued your space, and tried to develop a relationship with Pablo where you were comfortable not being attached at the hip. But this time you missed him. Everything in your life felt different for the week he was gone. Coffee tasted a little too bitter. The weather was always a little too cold. The sun always set a little too early. You felt weirdly lonely despite constantly being around people. For the first time, you started to count the hours until Gavi came home.

You wanted it to be special. You wanted to greet him with all the love and adoration that made his absence painful. You washed yourself with his favorite scents, taking extra time to enjoy the feeling of the hot water on your skin. You did you hair and makeup, making you more confident, and inviting you to check yourself out in every reflective surface in the house. You slipped into a long black dress and decided to lounge around just being your gorgeous self until he got home.

But nothing good goes unpunished - the world could not let you feel beautiful without consequence, and half an hour before he got home, you started feeling a splitting headache. The pain was in your temples and behind your eyes, sending a wave of nausea through your body. You turned the lights off and laid across the couch, praying that you wouldn't throw up.

Gavi was never one to do anything softly or quietly. Passion and fire were injected into everything he did: from the way he called your name, the way he embraced you after a long day, to his entrance into your shared home after his week away. He could not wait to have you in his arms and bed lol after seeing you only through sporadic facetime calls. But as he entered the dark living room and saw you splayed across the couch, a chill went through his body. Throwing his bags to the ground, he kneeled by your body and shook your shoulder.

"Are you okay? What happened? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

You groaned and rolled over. It still felt like you were being stabbed in the skull, and you were still ready to throw up the dinner you had not eaten. "I'm ok Pablito. I have a really terrible headache right now, so I'm pretty sensitive to light... and loud noises." You added. He quickly removed his arm from your shoulder. All of his features softened, and his honey eyes widened.

“Ay, perdón bébé. I had no idea.”

His voice was now just above a whisper. He looked over your form, taking in how you looked draped over the couch. The dress you wore hugged every curve of your body. The one lamp still on draped you in an ethereal light.

“You look gorgeous. You got dressed up for me?”

You lifted your head, nodding slowly with sleepy eyes.

“Come with me bébé. Let’s go to bed.”

You groaned, not wanting to move and make your headache worse. You felt Gavi slip his hand under your back and legs, and suddenly you were off the couch. He lifted you bridal style and carried you to your chafed bedroom, placing you softly on the bed. He caresses your back softly, reaching for the zipper of your dress.

“What’re you doing Pablo?”

“Helping you get ready for bed.”

“It’s ok, I’ll do it in a second. I have to take my makeup off anyways.”

“I can do that for you.”

Before you could reply, you heard Pablo’s footsteps rush off to the bathroom. He emerged once again with micellar water and cotton.

“How did you-“

“We’ve been living together for 7 months. I noticed what you use to take your makeup off.”

You let out a breathy laugh as he soaked the cotton and began gently wiping your face, starting with your eyes and then moving around. Once he had gotten all the makeup off, he helped you slip out of your dress. He rummaged through the drawers before finding a large band t-shirt you often wore to bed, helping you slip it on.

You opened your eye slightly to watch Pablo as he walked to the other side of the room to get changed. He peeled off the shirt and sweats he wore on the plane.

“You’re so sweet Pablo. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Bébé, if I’m not going to take care of you, then who on the world am I going to care for? I love you.”

He joined you in bed, a pair of pajama pants hanging low on his waist and his chest bare. Gavi kissed your forehead and brought you close to his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart lulling you to sleep.

“Get some sleep so you feel better.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: basing this off of my own headache today. Thanks for reading day 1 of @hayleysprompts ‘s 30 day writing prompts!! (Post linked at the top). Hope y’all enjoy and can’t wait to write tomorrow’s as well.

Edit: I forgot to put a title on it the first time 😭 who let me write smh

[002yb]

Something about Dick kissing Jason for the first time, Jason's childhood crush just kissed him and his brain stop working

Convenience is the only reason why Jason stays over at Dick's apartment sometimes. It has nothing to do with how comfortable Jason finds it - homey and lived in with all of its clutter: knickknacks from travels, framed photos of friends, and hardy plants that can withstand Dick's hectic schedule and sporadically remembered watering.

There are quilts. Pillows. Added comforts for the sake of comfort and beyond necessity. It feels like a hodgepodge of decor - an atmosphere that reads of a lifetime in the circus and another in the manor; humble and extravagant and surprising no matter how often Jason has seen it at this point.

Back when Jason had first barreled through Dick's window, he thought he had the wrong place. It felt too nice for any bat-raised brat, though maybe Jason is the outlier (a compact studio that's all function over form; no valuables, no warmth; hard to trace and easily disposed of - hardly a home, but 'home' was always something foreign to him anyway). Drapes billowed around Jason from the breeze of the open window behind him and Dick stood in his kitchen, leaned against a counter while watching Jason curiously because Jason is positive he looked as lost as he felt.

He remembers the rug under his boot. Stepping back onto hardwood so he wouldn't dirty it. It's weird to him how that same rug is beneath his bare feet now, toes curling into plush softness before he brings them up onto the couch to sit cross legged. Stranger still is how some weeks ago when Jason fumbled through a demand turned request turned question: help me with a case? Dick smiled and invited him into his space and hasn't made Jason leave since: Yeah. Of course, little wing.

Not that Jason hasn't left. He only stays on an as-needed basis. For the case. Because Jason's continued presence here has nothing to do with Dick's cozy apartment or the comfortable couch Jason dozes off on multiple days of the week now. It also has nothing to do with a persistent and undying crush that has followed Jason through lifetimes.

This arrangement is strictly case-related. It's more convenient to stay. Their schedules - Dick's schedule, in particular - are hard to work around. To maximize their productivity, it makes sense that Jason be here. That aside, it's his case. Begrudging as he was to let Dick in on it, Dick has skill sets that have been invaluable towards finding a resolution (ie. Dick is a shamelessly cunning and manipulative bastard - he puts on a show well; he wears dangerous and dark well, a second skin); he's capable and lessens Jason's burden, speeding everything along by helping Jason be in multiple places at once.

It's a good partnership.

They're still in the thick of it; will be for a while, by Jason's estimate. A commitment Dick has been comfortable making because cases are less pressure than a relationship - leave him alone, damn.

Maybe it's the new single life Dick is back to that has him receptive to Jason's continued company. If whatever girlfriend was around, Jason wonders if Dick would ask him to leave - if he would leave, himself. An added bonus that Dick's company has been, at least Jason would have the apartment still.

Not that Jason is here for the apartment. Or Dick. It's a strategic base of operations, is all.

It's neither here nor there why Dick is agreeable to Jason crowding his space and cramping his style. They work, they eat, they sleep if time permits and then they do it all again. Working around Dick's day job is a pain if only because it's police work, but what's worse is that immediately after the day job comes the night job, followed by the added workload of Jason's tasks and after living staying with Dick sometimes for days at a time, well.

It stresses Jason the fuck out. He doesn't understand when Dick rests; he doesn't get how the hell Dick hasn't run himself into the ground already. Dangers of all the work Dick does aside, the pace isn't sustainable. Forget joining the ranks of the dirty thirties, Dick will find his way to an early death if he doesn't slow down. Jason has been there, done that; he can’t recommend it.

"Take the day off." Jason calls from the living room. He sits on Dick's couch, pouring over all the information and materials Dick gathered a few hours prior while Dick goes about getting ready for another day at the precinct.

He thinks he might hear a tired grunt, followed by a yawn and the sound of Dick bumping into a wall.

"Your work schedules are unreasonable." Jason complains. It's not the first time that he's done so. Unfortunately Dick is as stubborn as the rest of them - more so, arguably. And yeah, Jason can help out by cooking sometimes and having coffee ready to go, but domestic-adjacent help isn't a long term fix even if Jason did get to be domestic long term.

Dick needs to find some work-life balance.

"It's fine." Dick says, brushing off Jason's concern in a way that leaves Jason bristling. "I'll wake up in a bit."

Hardly convincing when Dick yawns for the umpteenth time in a matter of minutes.

"You'll pass out on patrol one of these days." Jason scoffs. "Just because I can carry your dead weight doesn't mean I want to."

Dick snorts from the other room. "GCPD is too high-risk to leave unchecked."

That Jason can't disagree pisses him off. Even still, he taps irritably at the laptop and glares at the screen as he grumbles, "You're overworking yourself. That's all I'm saying."

Grouchy as Jason tries to sound, Dick sees right through it to the earnestness beneath. When he walks out of his room dressed in his blues, he even looks refreshed - endeared. Oh, no.

"You're sweet, little wing."

Fuck. Jason ducks his head, lips pursed and cheeks warm. Dick shuffles about his apartment for a few minutes, drinking the coffee Jason set out before straying back to his room. Lest Jason give himself away more, he can't say anything further. He stays petulantly quiet, refocusing his attention on something that might be more productive than arguing with the wall that is Dick Grayson.

"I'll be back in the evening." Dick tells him. "We'll work more then?"

Jason grunts, sulking as he stares fixedly on the screen and the details of their case. For as strained as Dick is, the research that he's gathered for his side of things is good. Well, not good. It's terrible news, but it's insightful and damning and they can use it to their advantage.

"You might consider taking a break, too." Dick says. It does little more than earn him a withering glare, a weak snarl because the hypocrisy is truly staggering. Dick knows it, too. He snickers, hands raised in a show of placation as he relents, "Alright, alright."

"See you in a few," Dick says, checking the time on his phone before distractedly striding over to where Jason sits on the couch. If only because it's uncharacteristic and not how this routine usually goes, Jason furrows his brows, tilting his head to look at Dick and promptly going still because Dick leans down, brushing Jason's fringe back to kiss Jason's forehead before ducking out to get to work with nothing more than a 'thanks for the coffee!' tossed over his shoulder.

Jason stares after him - at the closed front door - eyes wide and thoughts so overwhelmed that his mind is blank.

What just happened?

Jason raises his hand to hold against his forehead. A blush stains his cheeks a pretty pink, then a flustered red from the tips of his ears to down his chest.

Another moment passes. Jason breaks over himself, closing the laptop and setting his work aside because fuck, that just happened. It's something easily explained away: Dick is exhausted and not thinking straight, or he got caught up in the domesticity of it all and fell back into what might have been a habit from the past. There's nothing to it, but even still Jason's heart hammers in his chest. Stuttering and skipping in time with all the butterflies in his stomach.

Stupid crushes.

The door opens again and Jason jolts to sit upright, still flushed and looking like a deer in the headlights. Dick stares after him, equally wide eyed - cheeks flushed in a way that Jason has never seen because Dick has done the impossible and managed to fluster himself.

There's no denying they're both wide awake now.

And Jason - he can play this any number of ways. A happy accident that he can shrug off to play it cool, a mistake that Jason can hold over Dick's head and torment him for, or it can be a chance. An opportunity no matter how long of a shot it is. Just the thought of it has Jason's heart skipping a beat, his breath caught in his chest; he had planned to take his undying crush with him to the grave (again), but what if...

Flirting is all plausible deniability until its not anyway, right?

"This is why you should stay home."

To kiss Jason again. To kiss Jason right.

Dick's lips quirk into something boyish and charming before he laughs, a quiet chuckle. He leans against the door frame, looking over Jason's expression, "Might kiss you again."

And - nope. It was a valiant effort but Jason is playing out of his league. Get him out. S.O.S. Abort.

Plausible deniability goes both ways and he thinks Dick might have done it better, the fucker. For the life of him Jason can't tell if Dick was making a self-deprecating joke or flirting back. It’s a critical hit either way just for the implication and Jason's heart can't handle it.

Something about Jason's expression must give him away because Dick huffs a laugh, a soft and endeared breath followed by a smile so devastating that Jason feels disarmed.

"Might let you if you do something to deserve it." Jason quips, cheeks flushed, all challenge when he says, "Like rest."

He doesn't expect Dick to call off of work, but his heart might stop when Dick does.

======

And then they sit together and work on their case until Dick passes out, head pillowed on Jason's shoulder and Jason is the blushiest of boys.

[therealdisneyfan2319]

The Spider and The Witch Chapter 4: The Mission and The Mistake

Summary: As Y/N's time with the Avengers comes to a close, Tony wants him to get some firsthand experience by joining the team on a mission.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Mild language

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: Sorry for the sporadic posting. I've been dealing with a lot of personal stuff that hasn't given me the mental capacity to write or do anything really. The urge to write has been extremely low and I don't really want to anymore. I'm hoping it's just a phase and that I'll be able to power through and keep writing. In the meantime, enjoy chapter 4 :)

“No.  Absolutely not.  He’s not ready, Tony.  He’s not coming.”

“He’ll be fine.  We’ll make him our water boy.”

“Who’s going to watch him?  Are we supposed to get a babysitter?”

“He’s got Karen, she’ll keep him out of trouble.”

The back and forth between Steve and Tony drolled on as you zoned out.  You were due back in Manhattan at the end of the week and you were more than excited to get back to late night study sessions and chemical equations.  The past month at the Compound was a transformative experience in so many ways, but you didn’t particularly enjoy it all too much.  It was difficult making friends with the rest of the team.  Bucky was the closest thing you could consider a friend seeing as you spent every morning in the weight room with him, Natasha coming in at a close yet still distant second.  Most evenings you spent alone in your room, frozen vegetables strategically spread over your battered body and the faintest image of your corpse being magically driven by the Scarlet Witch in the corners of your mind. 

Being an Avenger wasn’t what you wanted.  If anything this experience further solidified your decision to pursue medicine.  But Tony didn’t want you to leave without getting some real-life experience.  There was a mission planned for the end of the week.  Rogue A.I.M. agents had been tracked to a secure facility in Washington, D.C. where they were planning on stealing the last remaining samples of the Extremis virus.  The mission was simple: get in, get out, ensure the sample’s safety.  It was going to require all hands on deck.  A month of training had given you rudimentary Spider-Man skills.  You didn’t think that you would be useful, but Tony obviously thought otherwise.

“Tony, Steve’s got a point.  He’s only been here a month,” Natasha added.  “What if he gets caught up in a mess?  We can’t have eyes everywhere all at once.”

“There’s going to be more than enough of us to make sure that he’s got backup if he needs it,” Tony explained, rubbing his temples.  

“Look, I don’t have to go.  That’s more than okay with me,” you interrupted.  A dozen heads abruptly turned in your direction.  It felt like everyone forgot you were actually in the room.

“You’re going and that’s final, young man,” Tony snapped.  “I’ll keep him under my watch.  He won’t cause any problems.”

“And what if someone gets hurt?  Then what, Tony?” Steve asked. 

“He won’t get anyone hurt.  Well, except maybe some bad guys, but that’s okay.  You won’t hurt anyone, Y/N.  Right?”  You quickly nodded.  “See, look, he just promised he won’t.  Case closed, he’s coming, see you all tomorrow.”

Great.

******

Spandex clung to you a little too tight as you sat in the very back of the Quinjet.  Maybe it was the anticipation of your first mission, but everything felt a little too tight, a little too warm, and a little too loud as you flew towards D.C.  You nestled up into the back corner, cool metal radiating through your suit and feebly working at cooling your skin.  The apprehension about your first mission was one you’d never felt before: it was like the anticipation of a final exam dialed up to an eleven.  While you could always retake a course if you failed, there were no do-overs if you messed up on the mission.  A sense of dread looming over you, you failed miserably at relaxing into your seat.

“So,” You looked up as Tony plopped down next to you, “how are you feeling?”  You shrugged.  “Nervous?”  You shrugged again. “Everyone’s first time is a little nerve wracking.  Performance anxiety’s a killer.  Hey, did you know that one out of every-”

“Where exactly are you going with this, Mr. Stark?”

“Here’s the deal: we’ll drop in, you hang back.  We’ll call you when we need you.  Water cooler’s over there.” He motioned to the orange cooler resting in the opposite corner.  

“So that’s it?  Just swing in with the water and swing out?”  

“Pretty much,” Tony nodded.  “I just want you to get a smidge of experience before you get out of here.  Nothing too crazy, maybe have you shoot a web at a building or a tied-up bad guy.”  He clapped you on the shoulder rather awkwardly.

“Thanks,” you replied.

“Look alive, kid.  We’ll be heading in soon.”

While Tony turned to address the group, you found yourself deep in your own world.  Logically you understood that the likelihood of being in danger was extremely low.  Even so, images of Peter’s final fight flashed through your mind.  The last thing you wanted was to end up like him.  You also felt incredibly unprepared.  These were literal superheroes fighting literal bad guys.  It wasn’t your wrestling room, faux-city training sessions with Tony’s drones: this was the real deal.  Things could go very wrong and people could get hurt.  While Tony asserted his confidence in you, you doubted your own instincts.  Your “spidey sense” was still faulty in the sense that it was difficult to tell what was a true threat and what was a false alarm.  If you couldn’t trust your own superpowers, how could anyone rely on you to get the job done?

“You get all that, kid?” Tony’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh?” you answered, jerking your head towards him.  “Uhh, yeah.  Yeah.  Let’s do this.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she tossed Clint some more trick arrows.  “This is gonna go well,” she muttered.  

******

“Rogers to base, we are over the drop zone,” Steve called over the radio.

“This is base.  Area secured, you are all clear,” the agent’s voice crackled over the other end of the radio.  “I repeat, you are a go.”

Steve stood up, placing his headset on the dashboard before turning to address the group.  “You all know your parts, let’s get the job done.”  Bucky snapped off an exaggerated salute as Steve rolled his eyes.  

“Once we land, you’ll-”

“Stay on the ship, I got it,” you interrupted as Tony tried to remind you yet again of your inaction on the mission.

“Call if something catches fire,” he instructed, his nanosuit deftly encapsulating his body.  

As the ship landed, you hugged the back wall as everyone departed.  Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint took off toward the main bunker where the virus was being held.  Wanda and Pietro would secure the perimeter while Tony, Sam, and Rhodey took to the sky to keep an overhead watch.  Sighing, you slumped down, clutching the silky mask in your hands and watched the mission unfold in real-time over the holographic display.  Steve’s crew expertly navigated the maze of buildings and security measures as they trekked toward the holding facility.  Wanda hovered overhead, observing Pietro dash wildly around the entire complex.  He was a mere blur against the grainy screen, barely visible to the naked eye.  Even higher were the three flyers: stationary yet constantly scanning for threats.  

So far, so good, you thought.  No enemy agents had been spotted, making this retrieval of Extremis easy.  Standing up and stretching your arms overhead, something caught your attention on the bottom of the screen.  A small shadow flickered near one of the other buildings.  It was difficult to make out what it was at first.  As you studied it further, your eyes straining against the low video quality, your heart started to race: a group of A.I.M. agents had somehow made it through all of the Avengers’ defenses.  Regardless, they were slinking their way towards Steve and his crew were retrieving the virus.

“Karen, I need to talk to Mr. Stark,” you shouted as you pulled the mask down over your face.

“Hold on, I’ll connect you,” Karen’s quasi-robotic voice politely responded. 

“Fire extinguisher’s right under the-”

“There’s a bunch of bad guys heading toward the south entrance of the building where Cap is, Mr. Stark!” you exclaimed somewhat aggressively.

“What?  You sure?”

“I just saw them on the video feed.  There’s, I don’t know, maybe half a dozen of them?”

“Armed?”

“Yeah-?  At least I think so.”

“Well, you spotted them.  Finders, keepers, so why don’t you swing on in?”  Your heart lurched, as did your stomach.  You were being called into action.  

“Karen, I guess we’re going in,” you sighed, tugging at your mask.

“Would you like to activate instant kill?” she asked.

“No.  No, I’m good.  Let’s…let’s just see what happens, I guess-?”  Taking a deep breath, you jogged off the ship toward the commotion.  Your jog quickly morphed into a sprint as you eyed the nearest tall object.  An oversized gate post became your target as you flicked your wrist, a silky white web launching out and attaching itself to the concrete structure while you used your momentum to propel yourself into the air.  

The weightless feeling of web-slinging wasn’t one you particularly cared for.  You hated roller coasters and anything of the like.  The inevitable lurch and stomach drop were two sensations that were extremely unnerving.  At least while swinging you could control whenever the weightless sensation occurred.  

As you crested in mid-air, no webs to tether you to solid ground, you shot another web to the side of a building, pulling yourself closer and closer to your foe.  The rhythmic thwip and release of your webs and the wind whooshing past your ears was unusually calming: it calmed your overactive senses and focused you on your objective.  

“Karen, can we get a location on the bad guys?” you asked as you landed somewhat awkwardly on the side of one of the robust brick buildings.  

“Targets are in the building directly to the southeast.  They’re heading north toward the building where Captain Rogers is.”

“How many are there?”

“Eight, but there could be more.  I’m not able to scan inside the buildings.  That building’s walls are lead-lined.”

“Okay, umm, guess I’ll just follow them-?”

“Would you like to activate instant kill before you start moving?”

“What is it with you and that goddamn instant kill, Karen?” you gritted.  As you stuck to the wall, postulating what your next move was, you felt something whoosh by you: it was the flyers.  Rhodey and Sam were nosediving directly toward the agents, Redwing following closely behind them.  Tony fell back and drifted over toward you.

“Nice job,” he complimented as his helmet flipped up. “We can take care of it from here, but if you wanna hop down and shoot a web at them just to kick a little extra sand in their face, be my guest.”

“Sounds good,” you responded.

“Great!  I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you.”  He flipped his helmet back down, his hand propulsers firing him toward the fight on the ground.  Steve and his team had joined in, fighting and easily overpowering the A.I.M agents.  You smirked underneath your mask.  As much as you didn’t like being part of the Avengers, it was pretty cool to see them kicking butt.  Clint was shooting off trick arrows that were exploding and dropping nets.  Steve had one of them cornered, using his shield to keep another one at bay while Natasha roundhouse kicked him.  Bucky was shooting in every which way.  It was reminiscent of a Fourth of July celebration.  The colorful fireworks and booming explosions were replaced with the hazy smoke and echoing pops of gunfire.  The sulfuric scent of the powder overpowered your scent even though you were stories in the air.  Yet as the scene wore on, your spidey sense told you something was off.  

“Hey Karen, can you scan the area again?”  The eyes of your mask narrowed as you slowly circled your head around the perimeter.  “Wait, hold on, what’s that?” you asked, the hair on the back of your neck standing up as something spooked your senses.

“Three more agents, heading up the southwest corridor.”

“Shit!”  The rest of the team was directing all their attention to the primary group of agents.  There was no way they’d be able to see these other three.  But there were only three.  The odds were in your favor and you could probably deal with them long enough for Tony to fly over and give you a hand.  “Karen, if they get into that building they’re gonna take the samples…shit.”  Time you spent contemplating what to do was time wasted in the grand scheme of stopping anything bad from happening.  Taking a deep breath, you lept from the building, aiming your webs as close to the targeted building as possible: it stuck.  You swung forward with all your might.  

Your field of view narrowed and sharpened as the three assailants drew closer to you.  Hoping they didn’t sense your incoming presence behind them, you shot a web at the one furthest from you.  It snared his legs and he hit the ground with a loud yelp.  The other two whipped around, their guns pointed straight at you.

“You know, I’d like to get home in one piece,” you quipped as you trapped the next one to the wall of the building just as you landed on it yourself.  He stuck to the wall just as you landed against it.  The man yelled in protest, so you webbed his mouth shut.  The third assailant sprinted on, firing sporadically at you as he ran past the building.  The bullets pinged off the building, chunks of brick popping off in every which way.  Somehow you could tell where the bullets would land before they did: chalk one up for Spidey sense.  

“Nope,” you shouted.  The assailant dodged and weaved as you shot burst after burst at him.  His luck quickly ran out.  You awkwardly trapped him on the yellow bollard set alongside the sidewalk.  The angle of your webs caught him on the butt.  It left him wriggling like a worm.  

The sight of three rogue agents caught in your trap unexpectedly filled you with a sense of smug satisfaction.  Maybe you weren’t as helpless as you and everyone else thought.

“Hey Karen, can you let Mr. Stark know about these guys?” you asked.  Just then a wild dust cloud tore towards you: it was Pietro.  The dust settled around him as he stopped, his hair whipping wildly in the remnants of his self-contained cyclone.  His blue shirt, drenched with sweat and dirt, clung to his heaving chest as he caught his breath.

“Did you do…this?” Pietro asked, motioning to the three captives with his finger.

“Yeah,” you yelled, jumping down from the wall.  “Karen’s gonna let Mr. Stark know about them.”

“Nice,” Pietro grinned as he pushed a strand of hair from his face.  “I’ll go back in and double check on everything.  Make sure it’s all safe, you know?”  He turned on the spot and jogged toward the door.  You were a fair distance back from the building watching Pietro head inside when you saw it: the thug you strapped to the wall managed to wiggle his hand to his utility belt, get his hands on a grenade, and, much to your horror, pull the pin as Pietro opened the door to the pressurized building.

[gaslightgallows]

Please imagine a pithy title about fresh starts here.

(crossposted from Patreon)

Coming into 2024, I had big plans for how I was going to get back on track and get back to posting once a week and yeah, obviously, that hasn’t happened.

But what I have been doing is looking at my Patreon and at my own projects and figuring out some things I need to do differently. Last April, I changed my nom de plume because I wanted a fresh start. Now it’s time to give this entire Patreon project a refresh.

Here’s what’s happened so far:

Deleted my old A.F. Linley website and gave up the domain; the cost for hosting has risen by $200/year and I wasn’t using it as much as I thought I would back in 2018. Also I kept getting spam emails through the contact page.

Took down my Smashwords account; the single title I had managed to self-publish, a short story collection called Creeps, Ghouls and Jewels, had some serious formatting issues that it was not going to be worth the time/money to correct. Plus, I’m not happy with the changes that have come since Smashwords merged with Draft2Digital. (I’m considering moving to Payhip for future self-pubbed titles but that’s a discussion for a different post.)

I’m starting the process of taking down my Redbubble shop and....Okay, actually, I might have done that already? I just went to grab a link to the site in case anyone wanted to order a Moonicorns t-shirt before I deactivated but uh, it looks like it might’ve deactivated itself? Anyway, merch isn’t the right direction for me at this time, but I’ve still got all the actual designs and I really do like the “Finishing Things is Hard” logo, so I’m definitely going to hang onto that and slap that onto some stuff at a different print-on-demand site in the future.

Here’s what’s happening next:

New posting schedule: Starting in April, patrons will receive one short non-fiction post every week (500-1k words) and a piece of fiction every month (2-2.5k words). Oddments posts will continue to be free to read, but these take a decent amount of research and will be sporadic, basically happening around patron-only posts.

Revised patron tier perks: Getting rid of physical rewards and adding more digital ones. More details to come.

Current and long-time patrons: Thank you for sticking around while I get my shit together. I say that frequently. I mean it every single time.

Potential new patrons: Hello. I have just met you, and I love you. My name is Ethan, I live in a 200-year-old house and I’m writing a novel called The Lion’s Paw. It’s set in 1925 and is about an immortal queer disaster woman and what happens when 400+ years of terrible decisions catches up with her.

(I will neither confirm nor deny that she was inspired by H.G. Wells from Warehouse 13.) (Yes I will confirm it, she totally was.)

There are séances and ghostly possession and psychics, there is historical romance, and psychological horror, there are haunted houses and artists behaving badly and a lot of ladies making out.

I post about my writing process and all the weird little historical niches that pop up during my research. Frequent topics include: 

Spiritualism

Cryptids

Historical curiosities

Medical quackery

Weird tech

General oddball occurrences and serendipitous intersections of history, folklore, and culture

And sometimes when I’m really bored I write short fiction via random prompts.

If any of that appeals to you, please consider subscribing! I’d love to have you along for this journey and my caffeine habit needs all the support it can get.

=====

Banner photo by Ryan Snaadt on Unsplash.

[neontoad]

“Chuuya.”

As always, Chuuya was working hard to earn the Employee Of The Month award. Paying no mind to Dazai, he didn't take his eyes off the door of the office building they were assigned to watch. 

“Chibi.”

No answer came and Dazai sighed. 

It was all P-O-I-N-T-L-E-S-S. 

No one was going to get in or come out of the building on a fucking Sunday. Even criminals take weekends off once in a while. Except for them, it seems. 

“Chuuya, I’m bored.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue and shot Dazai a look of steel. 

“Do your fucking job, Dazai,” Chuuya spat. “And shut up.”

Dazai chose to ignore Chuuya’s thoughtful advice. “Such a workaholic! You are going to get a heart attack before you’re 20.” 

For a moment Dazai pondered if he should mention that Chuuya will probably be no taller than a barstool when he’s 20, but decided against it. Chuuya probably expects this jab, anyway. This just takes all the fun out of making a joke.

Dazai sighed again and fell into the pile of leaves.

The criminal organisation based in the building was so minor, so insignificant, that Dazai wondered if there was another reason they, out of all people, were assigned to this torturous, mundane mission. 

Double Black’s forte was offensive action, not surveillance. Beat somebody up? Sure. Destroy an enemy’s headquarters? Easy. Get the information out of particularly uncooperative people? Say no more. 

This shit? Give it to some low-ranking goon. 

At least the location was somewhat pleasant. The building was situated across from a small park, and that was where he and Chuuya had been waiting for hours, the bright early morning turning into a sunny afternoon. 

Late October had been showering Yokohama with sporadic rains attacking its citizens at the least convenient moment, its lead sky hanging low as an omen of the upcoming winter, piercing winds getting colder with each passing day.

Today was the complete opposite. 

As if trying to make up for the weeks of gloom and greyness, the clouds decided to open like a curtain and let the sun grace the city with its presence one more time. 

Dazai slid his bandage off his eye and looked at the blue sky through the intricate weaving of the maple trees. The sun on his face, the flicker of sunlight through the leaves, the faint humming of people talking in the background…  

He had to admit - it felt really good.

No one had to know, though. 

With another tragic sigh, loud enough for Chuuya to hear (of course chibi pretended not to), he sat down and started rummaging through the fallen leaves. Chuuya gave him a side-eye. Of course, Dazai pretended not to see. 

Collecting leaves and arranging them by colour felt way more useful and exciting than watching an empty office building for hours on end. The shades of yellow, red and orange danced in front of Dazai like fireworks in his hands as he was getting lost in painting a picture of autumn in front of him, the last farewell to the colourful season before the cloud curtains closed again and drowned the city in gloomy chill. 

Chuuya sighed and sat on the grass. He was still looking at the door, but his eyes kept darting to the vivid gradient patchwork blanket Dazai was creating in front of him.

“Grow the fuck up,” Chuuya mumbled and took a leaf from the ground. “The fuck are you doing?” His eyes quickly scanned the gradient carpet, and after a moment of consideration, he put the leaf between two others. 

It fit perfectly. 

The dance of colourful foliage got even more energetic now that two pairs of hands started arranging the leaves in a perfect pattern, the tribute to the most colourful season growing by the minute.

“It’s mine!” Dazai shouted when he saw Chuuya reaching for a large orange maple leaf, its bright colour calling to be added to the collection.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was his.

He slapped Chuuya’s hand and grabbed the leaf, giggling triumphantly. 

His eyes met Chuuya’s. 

The azure blue matched the bright sky, the shine in Chuuya’s irises sparkling brighter than the sun, this dazzling view momentarily making Dazai forget what he was doing in the first place. 

Dazai had always known Chuuya’s personality was bright like fire, but he had never realised how vivid and spellbinding Chuuya was on the outside, too. 

He looked at the leaf shaking slightly in his hand. 

As if carefully picked from a palette of a million colours with an eyedropper tool, the colour of the leaf perfectly matched Chuuya’s fiery hair, the whole world suddenly tinted with a bright shade of red, the colour making the sunny day even warmer. 

“What are you waiting for?” The feigned annoyance in Chuuya’s voice was debunked by the faint lines in the corners of his eyes, and Dazai’s eyes lingered on them, slowly travelling to the strand of hair tucked behind Chuuya’s ear and the ponytail he used to make fun of.

What was so funny about it?

“Oi, shitty Dazai. You awake?”

“Gorgeous,” Dazai whispered out. “Simply gorgeous.”

Was the mission useless? Sure. 

But… Was it a complete waste of time?

No. Definitely not a waste of time at all, Dazai thought and put the leaf behind Chuuya’s ear, his heart squeezing at the sight of the rosy blush blossoming on Chuuya’s cheeks, another stunning colour making the autumn day just a little bit brighter. 

Thank you for reading! Make sure to check out this wonderful artwork by Nezu on twt <3

[stayandot8]

Notice

Genre: Smut

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend

Important Contents: Based off the Little Mix song with the same name. Enjoy :) 18+ content. Minor, do no engage.

WC: 1.6k

masterlist

I hate tour. 

Not just because he’s away from me but also the residual effects of it. The only thing I can do to keep close to him is wear his clothes. Watching the videos his fans post online is torture. The photos I see of my Chan shining so brightly make me the most conflicted; feeling so proud that the man I love is doing what he loves for people that love him, but I can’t help but be struck with envy that they are near him when I can not be. But it also makes him concentrate on his work more  often than before he leaves. It’s like he gets tunnel vision because he is reminded of how much needs to be done. And when he concentrates on his work, our relationship tends to take the backburner. As well as our sex life. 

Every time I would try to initiate something Chan would be so caught up in what he was doing that he wouldn’t even lay his eyes on me. I would sit on his lap and he still wouldn’t do much, just give me a peck here and there. Sometimes I felt like I could show up butt-ass naked and he still wouldn’t even take off his headphones. I decided to test just how far I could take that theory. 

I was scrolling on my phone in my own apartment, trying to find a piece of lingerie that caught my attention. If it caught my attention, it certainly would catch his, right? I stopped at a very thin, black lace contraption that didn’t leave much to the imagination. I added it to the cart, along with a matching blindfold, hoping that I wouldn’t need it but knowing it would be good to have in my tool belt. It came shortly after, wrapped in red tissue paper and promises that it would solve the problem I was having. 

The day came when I knew Chan was working when he shouldn’t be. He’d been answering my texts sporadically and with short replies. This time would be different, I was sure of it. I would make it so. Being the good girlfriend I am,I texted Han to make sure he wasn’t working on anything too important. 

Han: No, what he’s working on can definitely wait until tomorrow. Or next week if he’s a good boy ;)

Me: You’re gross lol. Thank you. Whoever’s in the apartment, I suggest you take off. You’ve got 10 minutes. 

Han: Copy that. 

With all but one household member gone, the apartment was silent. I was glad for it because the  breeze of the air conditioned did nothing good for the piece I was wearing underneath my coat, barely covering my not-so-clothed ass underneath. The blindfold in my bag was burning a hole in it, itching to be used along with the other toys and things with it. When I cracked the bedroom door open, Chan was facing away from me, intent on the screen of his laptop. I cocked my eyebrow and smirked, internally cackling at what I knew was about to happen and his innocence at this very moment. I shut the door just hard enough to get his attention, still covered up. His head flips back just long enough to see that it was me then turns back to his screen. 

“Hey baby.” He says, completely unaware as he continues typing. He takes off his headphones on one ear, just enough to hear me. 

“Hey. I’m bored, is it alright if I just hang out here?” I was counting on him not turning around as usual as I took off my coat, wearing just the lingerie and putting my bag on his bed. 

“Yeah sure. I’ve just got some work to do, okay?” He put his headphones back on both ears. Great.

“Yeah that’s fine.” I would give him five minutes. Five minutes to turn around and see what I was wearing and then pull out the big guns…

Those five minutes lasted about 30 seconds. 

I settled into the pillow I was resting on, set in my resolve to make him pay attention. When staring at the back of his head, all I could do was silently plead with him to turn around. And when that obviously didn’t work, I went to Plan B. Stirring in my bag of tricks, I took out my vibrator and opened my phone to photos and videos of him. I flipped it on and got to work, finally not caring if he was seeing me or not. The sudden vibrations on my clit were a shock to my system, making me hum in satisfaction. I kept my bullet going in gente rolls around my pussy, still watching and scrolling through my selected photos of the stupid boy that was two feet me and still wouldn't turn-

Chan’s head turned to the side and he paused, as if listening for something. I smirked to myself and moaned particularly loud. He whipped his headphones off and sharply turned to finally rest his beautiful eyes on me, the lovely show waiting for him. His face went blank, the color draining for just a second. 

“Wait a minute. Were you wearing that this whole time?!” I had to laugh in exasperation. 

“How nice of you to notice.” I turned the dial on the vibrator so it turned off as I looked back to him and bit my bottom lip. My clit ached with the sudden lack of attention. 

“How did you get in here like that?! Did they see you in that?” I rolled my eyes. Clearly he was missing the point. I turned my vibrator back on and placed it back on its intended target, ignoring him. I made sure to make eye contact with him as before his eyes flitted down to the scene in front of him, his jaw going slack. He bit his lip, his eyes becoming glued to it. I spotted the physical evidence of my plan growing in his sweatpants, begging to be let out. It took all my focus to get my next words out, my writhing only growing the longer the vibrator stayed roaming my lower region. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I ruining your work day?” He slowly shook his head as he closed his laptop and climbed over to me and the show just for him. I could hear his gulp as he finally looked back up my body, his gaze raking through my outfit and pausing at my breasts, my nipples peaked. He didn’t move, just staring at anything his eyes could roam on. 

“Good.” I said to myself, moving to rid myself of the lace panties before I felt some other hands bat my own away and grab hold of them. He eased them down my own legs before flinging them somewhere I couldn’t see because all I could keep my eyes on were his. His groan was heaven to my ears as he spread my legs apart to show him just how wet I was just for him. He nested between my legs, laying down on his stomach on his bed. I couldn’t help my moans as he held my lips open to licked a wide strip from my entrance to my clit, my vibrator completely forgotten as it was tossed to the side. His lips wrapped around it and just started to suck, forcing my thighs to be held down in fear of suffocating him. My hips moved of their own accord, rolling into his mouth for more friction. He continued to lick and suck as if it were his last meal, every apology he could say through his actions becoming clear. 

I’m sorry I’ve been so busy

A long lick.

I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention

A harsh suck.

I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

I felt his fingers push in and curl, hitting the fleshy spot inside. My hands had fistfuls of the sheets below me, but I couldn’t do anything but focus on the electricity coming from between my legs. My eyes shut tight as he hit that spot again. It didn’t take much since it had been so long since we had done anything of that sort. The coil in my gut had exploded, his hand on my thighs the only anchor that I could hold on to keep from getting too lost. The sound of my heavy breathing filled the room as I came down, Chan till in between my legs. The sight of him still there was a sight I could watch forever. I smile-sighed as he kissed his way up to my face, cradling me as he wrapped around me like a koala. 

“I missed you.” He kissed me again and again, soft pecks on my lips, my cheeks, my forehead. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… I don’t know. But I promise it won’t be like that anymore. How about we spend all day tomorrow together huh? They owe me a day off anyways.”

“Oh, I’m not sure you’ll feel like doing anything tomorrow.” I felt an evil grin creep up on my lips as I swung my weight around to pin him beneath my naked form. His shocked expression was quickly replaced by his sly smile as he glanced at me with hooded eyes. 

“I think you’re right. I’ve got a lot to make up for, don’t I?” His grin matched mine, my suspicion growing as he hooked his arms around my thighs one more and forced me forward so my wetness was forced in front of him for the second time that night. 

“Oh, I was thinking you might get a turn at some point tonight. I’ve got some stuff for you in that- oh.” He didn’t give me the chance to finish my thought before he dove in again, shaking his head in answer. 

I guess my plan worked.

[tbmunson]

Little Harrington; Natural Birth - Steve Harrington x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Reader has been having contractions all day and when her water breaks, they barely make it to the hospital in time.

Warning: Pregnancy, Giving birth, Sass.

WC: 3.2k

Check out the Little Harrington Masterlist for more from this series!

Check out my Masterlist for more from me!

Sunday night was family movie night with your chosen family. You were working on preparing for it, making sure there were sodas in the refrigerator to get cold and clean bowls for the popcorn and chips. The contractions started early that morning while you were gathering blankets to wash for tonight. They were sporadic, lasting only a few seconds at first. As the day went on and morning turned to afternoon and then to evening the contractions came closer together, more intense, and lasted longer.

You reached up to grab one of the big bowls to pour a bag of chips into when one hit fairly strong, causing you to grunt and grip the counter top.

"You okay baby?" Steve asked, grabbing the bowl for you.

You nodded and sighed as the pain subsided. "Yeah. The doctor said I was only two centimeters Thursday so it's probably going to happen for a little while before it's any concern." You smiled, pushing up to press a kiss to his lips. "I just wasn't expecting that one." You added, taking the bowl to the kitchen island.

"If you say so. We probably need to head to the hospital when they start getting closer." He said as his hands rested on your hips from his position behind you. He rested his head on your shoulder and sighed. "She's gonna be here soon." He smiled, moving his hand around to lift your belly a bit.

You sighed in relief as the pressure was removed from your hips and lower back. Your body relaxed into his. "I love you all the time, but I love you the most when you do that." You chuckled, turning to press a kiss to his cheek.

He turned his head to meet your lips again. "It's Max's turn tonight so expect something scary. She thinks it'll send you into labor." He chuckled as he followed your movements so he didn't have to let go of your belly. He knew the pain it caused you to move around too much this far along.

"I never expect anything less." You laughed, grabbing the chip bag and pouring them into the bowl.

Not long after, the familiar rumble of Eddie's van poured through your open windows, signaling his arrival. The multiple voices told you he'd picked up the kids as well.

You were headed to the door to greet them when you were taken over by another contraction. You grabbed into the wall and groaned a bit.

"Another one?" Steve asked, coming up behind you.

"Yeah. About thirty seconds." You answered, regaining your balance and stepped towards the door.

"That was seven minutes from the last one." He stated, following you.

You nodded, a small knot of worry growing deep inside of you. The doctor said it would more than likely be sometime this week, but you were not expecting it to be this soon. 

Dustin flung the door open and sent a toothy smile your way. "Didn't wanna make you move more than you needed to." He said, stepping in with Max and El behind him.

"I told him to knock." Max stated, pushing herself around the boy to come hug you.

El followed, copying her actions. "What did the doctor say on Thursday?" She asked, looking up at you.

"Soon. I think she's gonna be here real soon." You replied, leaving out the fact that you were having contractions already.

Max pulled out a copy of Halloween and smirked at you. "I'm trying to make it sooner." She chuckled as the rest of the group filed in.

The kids and Eddie made their way through the house, settling down to wait for Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan, who arrived soon after. The six of you stood in the kitchen, while the kids hung out in the living room.

"Steve said you were two centimeters yesterday. It's getting close. How are you feeling?" Nancy asked as she popped an M&M into her mouth.

You glanced at Steve and shrugged. "Nervous. I, uh, I've been having some intense contractions so we think she'll be here sooner than the doctor thought." You answered, resting against Steve.

"That's exciting." Robin offered, trying to help with the anxiety you were feeling.

"You guys were made for this." Jonathan said, reaching over to pat you hand a couple times.

"Yeah. I mean you're basically parents already." Eddie added, nodding his head towards the living room where, as if on cue, Mike walked in from.

"Are we actually going to watch the movie, or?" His head shook from side to side for emphasis.

You couldn't help but laugh. Dealing with the six kids in your living room would prepare you for anything. "Yeah, let's get it started." You said, moving to walk towards the living room.

A few contractions later and you were settled on the couch between Steve and Eddie, cuddled closely to the first, while Nancy and Jonathan took the love seat and Robin claimed the armchair. The kids were scattered across the floor on various bean bag chairs and blankets.

The previews soon ended and the movie began, but didn't hold your attention like it used to. You were more focused on the contractions and keeping your discomfort as quiet as possible.

"Are you okay, baby?" Steve whispered, rubbing his hand up and down your arm gently as you bit back a groan.

"Yeah, just, not sure how much more pain I can take. They're getting way more intense." You replied, draping and arm over his waist as you cuddled closer, searching for comfort.

Steve kissed the top of your head. "You been timing them? Do you need to go to the hospital?" He tucked a few stray pieces of hair behind your ear.

You shook your head, then shrugged. "I don't know. My water hasn't broken yet. I'll see how I feel after the movie, okay?" You pressed a small kiss to the side of his neck as he nodded back at you.

The movie was now mostly over, a little under half an hour left, but you couldn't take anymore. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You whispered to Steve.

He nodded and brought his lips to yours. "Yell if you need me." He smiled lightly, tapping the tip of your nose before letting you walk away.

You'd only made it a couple of steps down the hallway when a warmth flooded between your thighs and down your legs. You eyes widened and you turned, peeking out from behind the wall. "Um, Steve, I need you."

As soon as you said everyone's eyes turned to look at you.

Steve jumped up and ran over to you, nearly falling over a couple of times as his socks slipped across the hardwood floor. "What happened?" He asked as he grabbed your hands.

You looked down at your legs, the sweatpants darker in color due to the wetness, then back up at him. "My water broke."

"Right now? In the middle of the movie?" Mike grumbled, shaking his head slightly.

"As if she can help it." Max snarked back, pushing his shoulder roughly.

"You're an idiot, Mike." Nancy rolled her eyes at her brother as Robin stood and stepped towards you.

You let out a nervous chuckle and nodded. "Oh, yeah, if it was up to me I'd stay and watch movies all night. Labor is the scary part, and honestly, I'd love to skip it." You said as Steve rubbed your back gently.

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of your head. "Let's go get you changed. Robin, can you load the car, please. Eddie, take the kids home-"

"Home?" Dustin asked, outraged.

"I want to go to the hospital!" Max interjected, standing.

"Yes. I would also like to go to the hospital." El added, standing behind Max.

"Okay, fine. Whatever. But you're staying in the waiting room and it's probably going to be a long time." Steve stated, pulling you gently towards the stairs. The kids were the least of his worries right now.

You couldn't help but laugh, imagining him giving into your child so easily. The laughter didn't last long as a fairly strong contraction hit, causing you to groan instead. You clutched the hand rail and held your stomach.

"That looks like it fucking sucks." Eddie mumbled, looking up at you.

You turned to face him, a glare settled on your features. "Yeah, it fucking does, Eds."

He winced slightly at your sharp tone, realizing he should have kept his comment to himself as Steve helped you up the stairs.

"Can you get me a nightgown? I'll also need a towel so I won't leak in the car. Oh, and we need to clean the hallway before we leave. Make sure, too, when we go out to the car that Robin grabbed everything-"

"Baby, we'll get it. Relax. Breathe, okay?" Steve tried his best to keep his voice calm but he couldn't stop his hand from shaking as he reached to pull out one of the nightgowns for you.

"The car seat needs to be put in-"

"I said we will get it. You, relax. Seriously baby. Let me worry about everything else." His tone was firm, just enough to grab your attention and stop you from spiraling. "Now let's get you changed, okay?"

You nodded at him and let him help you out of the wet sweatpants and baggy t shirt before pulling the gown over your head. "I love you." You looked up at him, taking in the worry on his face for the first time.

He flashed you a smile and reached out to you. "I love you too." He mumbled into the side of your head as he hugged you. "I can't wait to be able to squeeze you again." He added with a soft chuckle.

"There's a lot of thing I can't wait to do to you." You smirked, though it was short lived. Killed by a contraction.

Steve faught the laugh and held you through it. "You can tell me all about that later, Mama. Let's go before you have the baby here."

You nodded and made your way back down stairs to see everyone still standing in the living room, though it was mostly cleaned up now.

"Jonathan and I are going stay and make sure everything is good for when you guys get back. We don't want you to have to do anything." Nancy smiled, walking over and hugging you gently.

You returned the hug and smile. "Thank you, honestly."

"Car seat is in. All three of your bags are in. If you need anything else, someone will bring it." Robin said, walking back through the door, Eddie nodding over her shoulder.

"Well, let's go have a baby."

Though the car ride to the hospital was only half an hour, your pain had increased and you felt like you were about to give birth in the car.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asked, leaning up from the back seat as Steve went to grab a wheelchair.

"Kinda like I'm dying." You panted as you gripped the car door, squeezing it and screaming as another contraction hit. "This baby is about to come out of me." You looked over at Steve, who had finally returned with the wheelchair.

"Let's get you inside before that happens, okay?" He helped you into the chair and wheeled you quickly inside the nearly empty lobby.

"Labor and Delivery, please. Like quickly." Robin requested as you choked down another scream, trying your best to be courteous of the few people scattered around.

The nurse nodded and quickly lead the three of you back, asking Steve a few questions you couldn't be bothered to focus on.

You heard your address and your birthday before you were hit with another painful squeeze. "I feel like I gotta push."

"Not yet, honey. Let's get you a room first." The nurse said calmly as she lead you around a corner. She picked up her walkie. "We need the doctor in Labor and Delivery."

The last set of double doors opened and you were wheeled into the first available room.

"We're gonna get you in a hospital gown and I'm going to check you." 

You nodded and let Steve help you onto the bed. "Just make it fast." You sighed as he pulled the current gown over your head before tying the other around the back of your neck.

"Alright, mom, legs up. I'm going to see how dilated you are." Her fingers felt around for a moment before she pulled back. "You weren't kidding when you said time to push, were you?"

You shook your head, squeezing Steve and Robins hands. "Not the time for jokes." You gritted out as a few other nurses and the doctor came in.

"It's go time, like right now. I felt the baby's head when I checked her." The original nurse stated to the doctor.

Steve, flooded with adrenaline turned to look at you. "You're doing great, baby. It's almost over."

"She just came in." The doctor stated, quirking a brow like he didn't believe her.

"Yeah, and the baby's coming out." The nurse replied, which usually would have made you laugh if you weren't busy already groaning out in pain.

"I like her." Ronin whispered into your ear as she brushed some hair out of your face, trying to lighten your mood to no avail.

"Not the time, Buckley." Steve stated, standing. "What are we waiting for? The nurse says she's ready. My wife said five minutes ago she needs to push. Do you need an invitation?" He asked, putting a hand on his hip and looking expectantly at the doctor. Sass is something you could always count on Steve for, especially if it was for your sake.

The doctor was obviously not used to that. He gave Steve a dumbfounded look, which prompted Robin to speak next.

"You heard 'em, Doc. Go time."

Steve was annoyed to say the least as the doctor finally settled in place.

"Push on the next contraction." He instructed as the nurses huddled behind him with blankets and various medical instruments.

"Figured that one out on my own, Sherlock." You snarked, feeling the build up. You pushed hard, squeezing the hands that were intertwined with yours and nearly screaming as the contraction hit. You didn't see the nurses chuckle lowly behind their masks as you smarted off at the doctor.

"You're doing great, baby." Steve cooed, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

You nodded and pushed again on the next contraction, feeling the pressure build.

"There's the head. Just a few more pushes." The doctor said, before glancing around to make sure the nurses were in position.

Two hard pushes later you finally hard the scream from your daughter, and a time called out "9:19 p.m."

"You did it, baby. She's here." Steve pressed a kiss to your timple, then your nose and finally a quick one to your lips before the nurse walked over.

"She's here. Got all her fingers and toes and a beautiful set of lungs." She chuckled, laying the newborn on your chest.

"She's perfect." You said, letting go of the two hands that held yours. You laid yours gently on her back and looked at Steve. "She's so pretty, even covered in gunk." You pouted, watching his own tears fall.

"Yeah? she looks like you. Those lips. That nose."

"Thank God she got her nose." Robin joked, bending down to look at the baby.

You giggled, which made her open her eyes. "Maybe, but those eyes are all yours." You smiled brightly.

"What's her name?" One of the nurses asked, standing next to the whiteboard with a marker in her hand.

"Robin Eloise Harrington." You answered, looking from the nurse to your best friend who was now crying like you and Steve.

"Really?" She asked, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

You nodded and reached a hand up to hug her. "Yeah."

"Alright, do you want us to go get little Robin cleaned up?" The nurse asked, stepping over to you.

"We're going to call her Eloise, but yeah. Just bring her back soon." It had only been five minutes since you'd been holding her, but it felt like a piece of you was missing when they took her.

Half an hour later you were all cleaned up and hooked up to and IV. The fast pace that everything happened didn't allow time for that before. You were resting when there was a knock at the door. "Come in!"

"We've got a rather large group asking for you." The nurse said, peeking into the room.

"Six kids and a cult leader?" You joked, looking down at your baby.

"Yes, actually."

"Yeah, those are my other kids, even the cult leader. Can they come back?"

She laughed, catching onto the joke and nodded. "Yeah, I'll send them in."

"You're gonna meet your other aunts and your uncles." Steve cooed, looking down at the baby as well.

A few moments later the door flung open to reveal Dustin in front of the others.

You didn't even have to look up to know. "Quiet Henderson." You warned, watching her face twitch slightly as the loud noise.

"You don't even know if it was me." He defended, walking in with the rest of the group save for Nancy and Jonathan behind him.

"You're the only one that opens doors like that, kid." Steve chuckled, glancing up as Eloise wrapped her tiny fist around his fingers.

"Told you, Henderson." Eddie teased, closing the door behind the seven of them.

"How is she?" El asked, not daring to take a step closer without invitation. Not because she thought she would be overstepping, but because she wanted to be respectful.

You looked up and smiled, taking in seven curious faces, because let's face it, Eddie was just as unsure as the kids. "She's perfect."

"What did you name her?" Will asked, trying to get a peek at her face.

You glanced at Robin, who was smiling wide.

"They named her after the coolest aunt ever." She stated, pointing to the dry erase board where the name was splayed out in purple ink.

All of their heads whipped around to see. "That's really pretty." Max commented, turning back first.

"We're going to call her Eloise." Steve said, and Eddie smirked.

"You can. I'm calling her Wheezy." He stated proudly, hands on his hips.

"You know, to give her a nickname you actually have to be willing to hold her." You said, quirking a brow at the metalhead.

"I will. Just not right now. She's too... new, and fragile." He said, then jumped. "Oh, and I got her this." He pulled a stuffed pink elephant from his backpack full of who knows what else. "It's her first birthday present, ever." He said happily, stepping over to hand it to you.

"Awe, Eddie." Your eyes welled again and you opened your free arm for a hug. "Thank you."

"Does the give me nickname rights without holding her?" He asked, looking down at the newborn who was smaller than the stuffie next to her.

"Yeah, I'll give it to you. Plus it's cute." You rolled your eyes and glanced at Steve who was laughing.

"I can't believe you beat me to giving her a gift, honestly." Steve said, patting his friend on the shoulder as he stood back up.

"Oh, you know. I'm just thoughtful. Remember that when you have a boy, 'kay?" Eddie winked before walking back to the kids. "Alright, I gotta get you little shi- kids" He looked back, flicking his gaze between you and Steve before turning back to the group. "home. School does start at 8 in the morning." He said, shooing the kids out.

"I wanted to hold her." Max groaned, looking back at you.

"We'll be home in a few days. You can hold her first. I promise." You smiled, which seemed to please her enough to go.

That night Robin took the first picture of Eloise in the small bassinet with the pink elephant beside her. Robin Eloise "Wheezy" Harrington. 03.27.89 First B-day gift from Uncle Eddie was written out on the bottom of the polaroid.

[munsonownsmyass]

Sweet Mornings

Matthias Helvar x reader

Summary: Making waffles with Matthias on a Saturday morning.

Notes: Ericca made this moodboard for me for her 300 follower celebration and I loved it so much I had to make a little something. Hope it's okay I used it for this, @e-dubbc11 ? ❤️

Also, this one is part of the Seasons may change universe, between part 2 and 3.

Warnings: pure fluff. Some allusions to spice, but nothing explicit.

Normally Matthias was up before you, always starting his day early. While you loved to sleep in, snuggling with Röed and Trassel, Matthias was up at the crack of dawn. Getting the fire started, drinking his coffee in silence while looking out over the woods. But not today.

You had set your alarm and were already out of bed and in the kitchen, when you hear Matthias groggily call for you from the bed.

“In the kitchen!” You sing, setting up the rest of the supplies. You had been craving waffles for weeks and Matthias had even offered to make some for you. But you didn’t just want to eat them, you wanted to make them. You used to make waffles with your grandmother as a kid all the time, but as you grew up and she got sick, you stopped making them. It was simply not the same.

Lately though, after you met Matthias, you’ve been feeling happy again. He could always make you smile, make you feel at home. So you wanted to surprise him with waffles, having found your grandmothers old recipe.

“You’re up early.” He muses, planting a soft kiss on your neck, before wrapping his arms around your waist. He leans down, resting his head on your shoulder, looking at your setup on the counter.

“I’m making waffles.” You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kiss him good morning, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I bought everything yesterday. Wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

Matthias chuckles, his beautiful blue eyes shining as he looks at you. “Let me just get dressed and get a fire going, then I’ll help.”

“Feel free to start the fire, but don’t you dare put clothes on.” You bite your bottom lip, giving him a mischievous grin as you shamelessly let your eyes roam over his exposed muscular body. After another quick kiss, he walks to the fireplace and gets the fire going as you start mixing the dry ingredients.

“What can I do?” He asks, leaning against the counter. Pointing out all the different condiments, Matthias gets to work on prepping and setting the table. As he cuts the different foods, he feeds you blueberries and plants soft kisses on your lips and cheeks. If you hadn’t just burned yourself on the waffle iron, you could have sworn that it was all just a dream.

The smell of the waffles fills the kitchen as you remove another perfectly baked waffle, preparing to pour another cup of batter into the waffle machine. Matthias tries to take one to taste, but you gently smack his hand with yours. “Patience, my love.”

“Unfair to ask me to be patient when everything in front of me is so delicious.” He purrs in your ear, kissing your neck before going back to his cutting board. You take a moment to look at him, just observing him. Mornings like this is precious to you. Matthias’ walls were hard to tear down, but you did and now you got to see a side of him that people rarely saw. The playful, loving and passionate man you’ve come to love like no other.

Before long, you have an impressive stack of waffles. You bring to the table, where Matthias has already set everything up. You sit down and put a few waffles on your plates, both of you adding berries, whipped cream or one of the many other condiments. You might have made a mess in the kitchen, but this was certainly worth it.

You take a bite into one waffle, the sweetness and fluffiness of it filling your mouth. Together, you eat in silence, only sporadic moans filling the air as you devour the first waffle. Matthias looks to you with a wide smile before closing the gab between you to place a sticky kiss on your lips. You can taste the syrup on him and hum at the sweet taste.

“Let’s make waffles every weekend, min hajefetla.” He says with a satisfied sigh, the waffles in front of you all consumed.

“Deal.” You grin, looking forward to this new tradition, already imagining your future Saturday mornings with Matthias. You hoped there would be many and maybe… in time… It wouldn’t just be the two of you. That’s a dream you keep to yourself, though. For now, you just enjoy this. Picking another strawberry, you look at Matthias.

“A shame we have so many left over strawberries and whipped cream. Can we save it for something?”

“I know what we could do with it.” Matthias says seductively, getting up from his chair. Picking you up from yours, you wrap your legs around his waist as his lips claim yours in a deep, passionate kiss. He gestures for you to take the strawberries and cream, before he makes his way to the bedroom, and you already look forward to a day in bed with your Fjerdan.

Tagging: @mindidjarin @realfernmayo @itwasthereaminuteago @thisishellfire @mattmurdocksscars @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 10: Troubled Water

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Banter, fluff, ANGST, references to war/drowning/migraines, descriptions of pain/violence/slight injury, near-death experiences, super worried/concerned Obi, Reader really going through it 👀

Summary: A week following your and Obi-Wan's dalliance with The Muntuur, you decide to spend the day meditating on the famed Temple contemplation balcony. But after an unexpected visitor disrupts your concentration, you find yourself trapped within a new, wildly dangerous situation. Good thing Obi-Wan is nearby to share in the risk.

Song Inspo: Bridge Over Troubled Water — Simon & Garfunkel

Words: 13.4k (please take breaks I beg you)

A/n: Soooo splitting up this chapter wouldn't have made sense so y'all getting a two-for-one deal for the Part I finale, which hopefully makes up for the big delay lol. This will be the longest chapter I ever post I promise you. I’ve been so excited to write this one. It's a bit intense. Song inspo for this chapter is supes important. Like, it’s literally Obi singing to the reader, I CANNOT (there’s a line talking about his “silver girl” 😭)— ALSO updates will be slightly less frequent for the following chapters because we ‘bout to be officially entering tcw plot lines and imma need more time to review them lol. Also, will be using the next week or so to respond to requests 😋 As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments, and be sure to tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Anyways, enjoy 😈

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Series Masterlist

Oh, when darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

— Paul Simon

The glittering, golden rays of Coruscant’s sun submerged your resting eyelids in its warmth, only to be abated by the partial shade of plump bushes whose orange-red gradients reigned proudly around the meditative stance you now held. That, and the occasional gust of cooling breeze, which brushed across your cheeks in its periodic hold on swaying shrubbery, trembling at its mercy. Still, despite this wind tunnel encircling the Temple’s primary spire, it was not enough to limit the sporadic vegetation’s effectiveness in secluding your crisscrossed posture from the rest of the rather exposed contemplation balcony that skirted the tower’s median.

You had discovered this bronze-floored platform of rest and meditation during that first week at the Temple, surmising its intended purpose from the few Jedi you’d spied engaging in those familiar, solitary explorations against a backdrop of the wider District. It was one of the primary reasons you’d decided to return to this spot when you had the chance— to engage in such like-minded behavior with fellow Jedi for the first time in many years.

For the first time since Qui-Gon wished the Force to be with you for the very last time.

However, despite earmarking the serene terrace’s smooth architecture and scattered plant life as a sensible spot for meditation, you’d only really had a chance to visit it this afternoon— three weeks since your arrival on Coruscant.

It was hard to forget that, in the days following your first Temple appearance, perplexing headaches had severely limited any propensity for introspective freedom. Initially, by coercing you to find the next best thing in terms of a quiet place to meditate by the suddenness with which they arrived. Frustrating the immersion necessary to delve deeply into your inner being.

But that was nothing compared to the searing pain which radiated throughout your body in each cognitive session following a certain, fateful hour—

In which you bestowed a name upon the affliction’s sensation in hopes of understanding it better.

Black Water.

You shook your head haphazardly, eyes still sealed shut while your subconscious attempted to dispel that particular thought without disrupting your current, and long sought after, communion with the Force.

With a lift of each wrist to protruding knees, you relaxed your palms open, as if to better catch the swirling energies like falling snowflakes that absorbed into chilled fingers. A gliding stream that energized your veins and stood unparalleled when weighed against the prior weeks you were desperately trying to put behind you.

In a way, finally tasting the Force’s unfathomably profound vibrancy with such renewed vigor was enough to comfortably remind yourself that you could dive as cavernously as you pleased, since the listlessness of penetrating headaches was now a time of the past.

And you really did have Obi-Wan to thank for that.

In an afternoon with The Muntuur, you’d unexpectedly uncovered that mindless sprints down seedy tunnels, hours with your nose stuck in a holobook’s blue glow, and playing copilot with Anakin were not your only options to dampen those sharp stabs into dull throbs. With a suddenness akin to explosive laughter, those moments that followed ignited an inner epiphany—

That the power you siphoned from the Force by focusing your mind on others acted as some sort of natural medicine, as a booster that couldn’t be equated.

Whether that was training beings in the intricacies of a long-lost Jedi device or finding the humor in the attempts that followed, your mind gradually discovered the strength that wafted from these seemingly trivial interactions like sparks off a campfire.

In hindsight, you kicked yourself for not recognizing the presence of this strange ability earlier. Though, having previously held the revered title of ‘Sole Planetary Being,’ it hadn’t given you much in terms of options for discovering it on your own. But even then, when finally faced with an endless sea of individuals following your daring escape from Hoth, it still all took much longer than you would have liked.

Mostly because, during those few heart-to-hearts with Anakin, you had appreciated that the baring of souls— for an instant even so fleeting it could be compared to the flick of a lightsaber— was enough to reconnect you to the Force’s lifeline like a falling anchor. It was something that helped you read the young Jedi just as well as it saved you from being launched into space by a certain garbage pit acceleration shield. Yet still, you hadn’t read it as anything more besides some possible understanding that a long-foretold prophecy drew between The Guardian and The Chosen.

You just never really put two and two together.

Until it stared you right in the migraine-dulled face with blue eyes, curled auburn hair, and a well-kept beard.

And, obviously, once this particular realization clicked, you were sure to lean into these revitalizing energies with every repeat opportunity that presented itself.

In the week that followed, you and Obi-Wan excitedly wrung out a few more collective hours with The Muntuur. In which he steadily absorbed the programming basics while you conditioned yourself to hold any semblance of composure during the Jedi’s subsequent twirls around invisible foes.

A skill you had yet to fully master.

And then, in the next few, rousing days, as the communications system was re-secured, and ramping up Council meetings dragged Kenobi away to organize and assign new deployments, you soon faced the inescapable reality of extending this perspective to other day-to-day moments that excluded the Jedi Master.

And you certainly did your best.

You’d draw on the vigor of swapping taunts with Anakin’s passionate personality in afternoon spars. And focus your senses on welcoming Master Windu’s signature into your thoughts— though still with little success. Even those periodic study sessions with Ahsoka became just as much a chance to learn more about the confident Padawan’s perspectives and person as a way to strengthen your mind against the piercing throbs that weakened like a dying candle following each of these interactions.

Consequently, it was during these same last four or five days that you’d finally found yourself beginning to open up to the beings who’d rescued you from Hoth. Because it wasn’t until you were forced to gather up fortitude from the rejuvenating effect of drawing on your connection’s ability to swirl in others— like plucking flower petals from a field of solidarity— did you realize your mistake since arriving on Hoth.

That, in an effort to come to terms with Qui-Gon’s death, you’d closed yourself off to the impact of other’s around you. Giving all of yourself to every prophetic instant with an emphasis on Anakin’s well-being without truly finding a moment for yourself to allow this new connection with the Order to take hold. Without permitting yourself the chance to absorb all the strengths such unity imbued.

Nonetheless, the more you unlocked your rigid chest to the beings surrounding you, the less frequent and tender those shooting pangs became, as they slunk away like the migration of a long winter season. All the way up until the last few days, in which, for a lovely change, the familiar, hammering pressure at your sinuses never came.

Still, no matter how well this unique manipulation of the Force aided you in your affliction, it still left you quite unsettled, weighing down your sternum like a misaligned rib.

You’d never heard of a Force Ability that drew upon a Jedi’s connection to other beings. Nor a power so unique that its strength was determined by the wielder’s level of familiarity with the associations they extracted from. A concept that immeasurably wise Jedi like Master Yoda and Master Windu would be quite uncertain of, you confidently ascertained. Because, in a way, this talent seemed to teeter on the edge of what was accepted by the Jedi Code by their strict standards.

It was moments like these that you’d wished Qui-Gon was here.

He always understood exactly what to say, and precisely what to do.

But your late Master was gone, and you could only make the best decision you could at this moment.

So, deciding to take a page out of his book, you determined it necessary to hold off on sharing this new tidbit with anyone, especially the Council, until you knew more.

Another chilly gust of wind whipped at your hair, snapping off a few clusters of brittle leaves that quivered past closed eyes, sparkling in the Force like bustling dots for your senses to discern. It deepened your concentration, imploring you to consider the sweeping impact of such an odd development. How it rippled into your past of isolation and everlasting hardship, and how it newly affected your approach of the Order. Mostly, you chewed over the possibility that finding strength in connecting with the Order and the beings it housed was all a wider symptom of your purpose.

You were The Guardian, after all. An individual whose entire existence premised on the notion of putting others before themselves. It was only rational that a creature of prophecy such as that would gather strength from those they were tasked with protecting.

Anakin, the Order, and, in a way, the Galaxy itself.

And, now that you’d finally reoriented your bearings, you were finally planning to put that new solidity to use.

Once more, you stretched your lungs with a rapturous inhale, taking in the contemplation balcony’s encompassing, earthy scents that barely cut the surrounding district’s gaseous fumes as they crawled over the fringe of your senses.

It was easy to see why Ahsoka complained about the lingering smells of speeder exhausts or freshly welded metal any time she considered meditating outdoors. Citing it as the primary example for her difficulty concentrating in such a space.

Yet, you found the opposite to be true.

After years of traversing anosmic ice sheets atop Meetra’s pungent fur coat, you relished in the cold’s ability to naturally numb your olfactory. And it turned out to be another one of the many factors on Hoth that disconnected you from other worlds. So, when finally given the chance to absorb the kaleidoscope of essences Coruscant had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel as if it tied you with a sturdier knot to the wider Galaxy’s intertwinement with the Force.

Maybe that’s why you’d finally found a yawing peace in this little alcove. Guarded by a half-circle of vermillion bushes that stood in staunch defiance against the acrid aromas climbing over and onto the platform’s edge. A nook so ethereally stilled that it nearly cleared your mind of the bustling city below. In an afternoon which snugged exposed arms and a poised neck in toasty rays that capered in equilibrium with the occasional gusts encircling the Temple’s main spire. A quiet locale that released clasped breaths, with each exhale further lightening your mind into the Force’s eternal flow.

“Hi.”

Creasing one eye open, you peeked out in search of the youthful voice, following its eager jump at your senses once drenched in tranquil quietude.

A young, human boy, maybe six or seven years, was leaning into the alcove’s overgrown doorway, small hand clutching a nearby bush as he idled. Jet black hair accented against the warm tints encircling you both, making room for strikingly green orbs to splash another vivid shade into your line of sight while his head curiosity tilted to observe you.

“Hi there,” you responded cordially, shutting your peering eye without a second thought.

“Who are you?” He asked, with a rapidity that implied you’d never dignified him with a response in the first place.

Quite blunt, you noted behind the soothing shadows of resting eyelids. But it was hard not to appreciate that quality. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you were certainly like that at his age.

Stifling an endeared smile, you answered.

“My name is Silvey.”

“Nice to meet you, Master Silvey,” the youngling greeted brightly.

“Just Silvey is fine,” you gently countered. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you as well—“

“Petro,” he announced quickly, while you sensed his feet meandering toward your form. “Jedi Initiate.”

Returning to centering breaths in the cursory stillness, you could already feel how your words finally registered with the youngling, his meek boot passing by your attuned senses as he nudged a nearby, pattering pebble.

“Are you not a Jedi?” He bemused, pausing a meter away.

You confirmed. “I am.”

“Well, you seem too old to be a Padawan.”

You chuckled lightly at that, wrenching your eyes open to stare at the unfazed youngling with a feigned dare in your gradual stray from the interconnectivity of a previously solidified, meditative state.

“You’re right, Petro. I’m a knight. I just prefer the name. Without the title.”

Forehead furrowing in uncertainty, he squatted down, joining you with his own meditative stance that sacrificed elements of tranquility in its desperate attempt to mirror yours.

But you, instead, followed by resting your hands on either side. Using them as pillars to support your weight that leaned back in an attempt to encourage relaxation in the young boy.

And also, because, it looked like your session was reaching beyond the point of no return.

“Why?”

A good question, you admitted. You didn’t really have an answer for Ahsoka either when you asked her to avoid that particular designation. Though when she did pose a similar inquiry, you somewhat knew in the back of your mind that the personal values that’d emerged from your unusual upbringing were certainly a factor.

The reasoning you presented then should do, you presumed

“I suppose having a rank divides me from those who do not share it. And, as a Jedi, connecting with the Force through all living beings is a part of who I am. It’s harder to do that if I’m placed on a pedestal above them.”

The boy’s nose crinkled, almost as if he’d just registered the District’s sickly fumes that billowed into a drifting fog from below.

“I always thought you were supposed to call Masters that to be respectful. Because they know so much, and they can do those big flips in the air with their lightsabers. And I’m still stuck on Form One.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t wrong, you mused. In fact, his astute analysis was detailed enough to bring you back to threading memories of that rainy afternoon. When Obi-Wan found you at the outer edge of the Senate District, and the burden of piercing stabs dissipated in the hours that followed. Attributable to what was aptly described as invariably sound advice, or, ‘knowing so much.’

You hummed contentedly at the memory.

“They are quite wise, aren’t they?”

But it was clear that such a jettisoned comment did not swing the pendulum of Petro’s mind in any particular direction regarding your previous statement.

Time to take a new approach, you decided.

“Do you believe in the value of all living beings?”

“I guess,” he mumbled indecisively.

Your brows skeptically raised as you probed his response.

“You guess?”

Petro’s voice gave way to an embittered tone. “I don’t like those Separatists we’re fighting. Especially General Grievous. When I get my lightsaber, I’m gonna challenge him to a duel and destroy him for the Republic.”

You took pause at the vexation which plumed into the Force and prodded at your senses. Swelling into cascading clouds throughout the proximate ambiance from a being who, if stood on the tips of their toes, would barely reach four feet.

“It was not long ago that those worlds were once part of the Republic. Would it surprise you to know that even the beings on the side of the Separatists are just as important to the Jedi?”

Scratching his knee, Petro unshackled his gaze to wander upwards, green eyes unfixed as he spoke simply.

“I don’t understand. The Separatists aren’t our friends anymore because the Jedi are fighting them in a war. How can we hurt them and care about them at the same time?”

Your eyes crinkled in serenity.

“Because all life is sacred, young Petro. No matter what side any being is on. No matter what rank they hold.”

You exhaled, gaze standing firm as candor seeped from your pores.

“Though I must admit, I’m also quite confused about our place as peacekeepers in this war. But as long as you preserve that belief in your heart, I’m sure it will take you far in your journey as a Jedi.”

He nodded, that ever so slightly ripening mind absorbing your words. But, like with most maturing Jedi, it didn’t take long for a satisfied grin to peak through the abating wonder that had once lined his features.

“Thanks, Mas—“

Petro cut himself off, inhaling as his teeth caught up with his brain.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You offered a soft smile.

“Is it easier to mediate here?” He continued, topic shifting just as abruptly as he spoke. “This is my first time visiting the contemplation balcony. I know it’s usually meant for Padawans and Knights, but I’ve been having trouble meditating on my own.”

You considered the youngling’s words, panning your gaze by the swaying orange-red bushes and toward the distant cityscape infested by disparate skylanes.

“Yes, it’s quite nice here.”

You faced the black-haired Initiate.

“And usually very quiet.”

But Petro simply stared at you blankly as that thinly veiled joke vaulted over his head.

“You can meditate here with me if you’d like,” you offered, hoping to bide some silence without discouraging the young fellow.

But the boy was way ahead of you, shutting his eyes with a beaming expression before you even had a chance to finish your sentence.

And, for a moment, it was calm.

The sway of rustling shrubbery and distant whirs of dashing speeders reentered your senses. You found yourself relaxing your shoulders back into the swirling stream, resting your wrists on each knee once more to deepen your connection. Quicker than the weeks before, you could feel its tingling energies crawl up your forearms and widen your perception of the swarming, broad region. The many Jedi circulating through local walkways, training, or even meditating nearby as well as the thousands of beings going about their daily lives only within a few blocks of the Temple.

Their distant mutterings. Their footsteps. The way with which their signatures contributed to Coruscant’s hive. Even young Petro, his squirming facial muscles and bouncing knee tugging at your senses as he attempted his own communion with the Force.

But, of course, it never did last for long.

“How old are you?”

You kept your vision obscured, hoping not to lose your progress in intensifying your concentration as you swiftly responded.

“That’s a secret.”

“Why are your eyes silver?”

“Family trait.”

“What color is your lightsaber? I bet it’s green.”

“Gray.”

“Gray!? That’s so cool! I’ve never heard of a gray Kyber crystal! Did you find it like that or—“

A sharp spasm speared through your mind, stunning your eyes wide open as your posture collapsed forward. Arms flinging out toward the ground to catch yourself.

With every extractable effort, you tried to absorb the debilitating sensation, hoping that if you just let it flow through you, it would pass as quickly as it came. A pain that, for an instant, felt as if it dwarfed all the headaches of the last several weeks.

“Are you ok, Silvey? I’m sorry if I said something wrong—“

“No,” you heaved, catching your breath as the feeling slowly dulled into the background.

Glancing up at the nervous boy, you offered a tired smile, reaching out into the Force’s eternal connectivity to focus on the beings around you.

“You did nothing wrong, Petro. I’m just—“

Another flash of white-hot agony, searing into your mind a sustained hammering that yanked from feebly quivering lips a distressed groan. Your fingernails dug into the squeaking bronzed platform, almost as if to distract your head from its steadily swelling excruciation with the torment of scraping skin against metal.

Yet, it only produced a mere fraction of the pain.

You couldn’t help it. It was the only way to avoid screaming out at the blinding sensation. That, and the anesthetic of grinding your teeth— an operation which made it equally impossible to speak.

“Get….”

Another penetrating stab ripped open your jaw, unshackling a jarring yell as your heartbeat began to quicken against a heaving chest.

“Get what?!” Petro implored, panicked, as he sprung to his feet.

“Is there something I should get?! What do I get?!”

“…help” you croaked.

“Help?” He sounded, tasting the consonants in his mouth.

Then, his alarmed gaze exploded in recognition.

“Oh, help!” The black-haired boy exclaimed, waving his arms while the cogs of his mind zipped into overdrive.

“Get help! I can do that! I can do that.”

Petro froze, dropping into a lower hush as he calmly addressed himself.

“I can do that.”

Bright green eyes snapped back up at your writhing, keeled-over form.

“I’ll be right back, Silvey! Don’t move!”

And with that, the energized youngling hopped into a sprint, barreling through the doorway out of your meditation alcove. Skidding to the left in an attempt to avoid one of the larger vermillion shrubs before disappearing around its lush corner.

But that still left you, reaching up to rigidly clutch your head out of instinct. Fingernails furrowing into disheveled hair and scrapping against the irritated scalp below just as ravenously as the floor.

Because, to you, superficial discomfort stood as the sole avenue to divert your attention from your paling face and shaking hands. As a means to grasp onto escaping tendrils of concentration amidst spiraling torment. You knew that intense focus was your best chance at ejecting these perforating splashes of acid from your mind. That intertwining with the Force’s undying strength would be the only pillar maintaining your teetering consciousness.

So, you plunged into it. Enveloping yourself deeper into the circulating stream’s linking medium with the aim of drawing stability from the beings who resided within and beyond the Temple.

From the Order itself.

Hoping that your brief theater to their energies would prove potent enough to pave you a path out of this torture.

Until it wasn’t.

Black spots began to cloud your vision, bobbing in from your peripheral, swelling to obscure the still swinging bushes and greater District’s landscape. Smothering you into a sea of darkness as if the Maker themself reached up into the sky and darkened the Coruscanti sun with a flick.

It was then when you prepared yourself for what you assumed was coming.

Snapping your eyes shut, you braced for the sudden dizziness that you were sure would take hold. A weightlessness in your stomach destined to shoot up your esophagus. A heated copper platform soon to meet your pained skull with an unceremonious slam.

But none of that ever happened.

Instead, the darkness began to dissipate. Clearing like a temporary fog that was simply passing through.

But this was no ordinary haze, it seemed.

Because in its place, with the continued volatile pangs slowing your eyes in their attempt to refocus, emerged a realm you had no words to fully describe.

And no idea for how you got there.

Your neck was angled downwards when your orbs first began to blink away the daze as the headache of before dissipated into a faraway hum. A position that encouraged you to confoundedly rub those same, silver eyes the instant you realized you were suddenly standing.

And on a ground quite unfamiliar to you, no less.

Beneath your feet ran an overlayed pile of black rocks, smooth yet jagged as they hugged your brown boots with slippery bodies.

You lurched back, disorientation from the drastically altered sight driving your feet as unknown, overcast skies darkened your movements. A freezing ache from the shock attacking your hands while you moved.

Until you quickly realized that each brisk heel rapidly digging away brought your legs deeper into the pile’s mass like a quicksand.

You went rigid, taking swift note of the sharp stones that now slithered around your ankles with a consistency akin to having been dipped in oil.

Quickening heartbeats shot up your gaze as you tried to reorient yourself within these new surroundings. Secretly hoping that perhaps you’d accidentally stumbled into some strange rock exhibit on the contemplation balcony.

But it didn’t take long to surmise that belief’s impossibility. Because to your left and right and as far as the human eye could see, was an endless accumulation of overlapping rock mounds. Rolling like black sand dunes on a lifeless island on which you now stood.

And solidifying your credence that, wherever you were, you definitely weren’t in the Temple anymore.

Still, that wasn’t the only new terrain that infiltrated your senses. By a flickering gleam a few meters ahead, you abruptly spotted a body of water that skirted the rock formations. A strange moat that seemed to stand still atop a bottomless pit of murky shadows with an eery calmness that made it nearly invisible to the naked eye, despite it being located just under your nose.

Then, still raising your head, you spied another structure just beyond the channel. A jagged rock face of stacked boulders that bore a towering plateau reaching twenty meters into the gray sky, measuring at least the same distance from which its foundation stood beyond the trench. You assumed from the few, fluttering wisps of green grass oscillating over its edge, that the sky-scraping crag’s inviolability clearly rivaled the unstable land on which you now stood. One that collectively squirmed from the same occasional gusts of cold, damp breeze, which left the calm waters unaffected.

Decidedly, you needed to find a way over there.

With considerably more caution, you stepped toward the standing water, trusting in your ability to inch close enough in order to gauge its depth without sinking too dangerously below the slick rocks as they continued to wriggle up your legs. Still, each lumbered stride became increasingly difficult while the hill’s pressurized grip tightened around each calf before squeezing at your knees.

But, in spite of that noticeable roadblock, and following several strained, jerking steps, you were finally able to near the bank. Drawing close enough to gaze into the river’s spine-chilling, shadowy underbelly.

Angling downward, you reached out a hand with the hope of splashing some dulled skylight into its depths for a better view. Perhaps it was more shallow than you initially surmised, which would certainly make your journey across its waters much easier.

But as your fingers graced its surface, you were completely unprepared for the jolting fiery shock that surged up your arm, triggering you to yank it away as if you’d just been splashed by pure, volcanic ash.

You hissed from the sting, cradling your arm while staring deeper into the river’s shadowy depths that rippled from the sudden distortion.

Within seconds of the minute cascading wavelet stretching and dissipating into the river’s outer rims, a handful of bubbles trickled toward the surface from inside its murkiest blotches. The first set effervescing skyward only to, one after another, snap and crackle like watery fireworks whose speckled flakes stung your arms stuck in the crossfire at the river’s bank.

Soon, though, the last gurgle fizzed into a silent pause. A deafening calmness purveying the unknown land to which you’d somehow been transported. Providing an opportunity to formulate some new strategy of escape.

An instant immediately stolen.

In a snap, the waters became overwhelmed by a swarming array of roiling bubbles. A rapidly expanding feat that began to overtake the stream. Transforming the once-still liquid into a gurgling mess as if a thousand lightsabers ignited its expanse from below to tip the already blistering lake over into a chain reaction of pure, uncontrollable entropy.

Your lips formed a thin line as you hummed to yourself.

“This is gonna be a problem.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi continued his steady jog down the main Spire’s winding staircase. Nut brown robe fluttering by each pearly step while the bearded Jedi considered just how long he’d been waiting for this pertinent moment.

Or, at least, for the assignments finally allocated at the Council meeting this morning. One that he was just now departing.

It had been six, prolonged days brimming with Jedi deployments following the communications system’s final clearance for secure use during sensitive operations. One after another, fellow Masters and Knights, accompanied by the occasional Padawan, circled through the Council’s chambers like an endless revolving door of diverse faces. Accepting each new mission with complete decorum before bowing to the seated assembly to make their exit. Ensuring space for the next General to enter the yellow rotunda of decorative inscriptions and curtain walls before encircling chairs and the distant panorama of Coruscant’s tallest structures.

All to receive critical orders.

That included Anakin and Ahsoka, who, by request of Master Windu, had departed from the Temple just the other day for the Bith System.

All and all, it had been nearly a week of Kenobi’s colleagues rejoining their clone forces to tackle the Separatist threat. After almost a month of virtually twiddling his thumbs while the men in his battalion laid down their lives without him. A scenario that weighed on the Master Jedi.

Thank the Maker that was no longer the case.

The first set of Council members— Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon, and Shaak Ti— had finally received their first returning assignments since the full communications lockdown. But while those other Masters were expected to lead their respective battalions alone or be the sole Jedi representative on other worlds, for the first time since Anakin was his Padawan, Kenobi would have a companion.

A being, by Master Yoda, he was tasked with integrating into the Order. And, as a high-ranking Council member, one whose true identity Kenobi needed to protect. An individual who had mentioned to him earlier their plans of meditating on the contemplation balcony before his morning meeting. And because of that, a Jedi he knew exactly where to find to inform them about their mutual deployment scheduled for tomorrow morning.

You.

The auburn-haired man paused mid-step, brown boot hovering over the next, grayed stair for an instant before gently touching down as his senses attuned to their surroundings. His ears perked while a subtle distortion washed by stilled feet, like the elusive splash of a puddle that just happened to knick the edge of his shoe.

With a hand on the thick, wooden guardrail, The General’s curious head smoothly tilted over the staircase, as if to spy the source of the atmosphere’s twitch that he found so strangely difficult to describe by simply peering at the level below.

His brows twisted in slight confusion. Mostly because, after conducting a quick analysis of his environment, the Master Jedi found the subtle sensation’s presence to be quite foreign to him. It wasn’t anything he believed to be particularly concerning. Though he couldn’t admit to having encountered it before. No matter his countless meditation sessions or travels to other worlds.

Perhaps that too was why, despite its innocuous nature, the sudden shift in the encompassing hum of the Force still gave him pause.

Resting his eyelids, Obi-Wan focused his mind on the strange discrepancy, reaching out with the tendrils of his senses to ascertain its truth.

It was as if, within the Force’s steadily taught string, a subtle dip pried down one insignificant section of its intrinsic flow. As if in its everlasting stream that moved throughout every being and world, a fly became caught, with wings too soaked to free itself.

Overall, it was a feeling that wasn’t quite… right. Something that shouldn’t necessarily be there, he gleaned.

An otherwise benign inconsistency Kenobi was confident you wouldn’t mind him investigating. Even if it meant a delay in hearing the details of your upcoming, joint mission.

The blue-eyed Jedi resumed his trek down the spiraling staircase, spry footsteps leading his loosened form. This time with his aim shifted toward the curious ridge that etched into the Force and canopied his senses.

With ample time to reach the variability and a wandering mind, Obi-Wan took the empty moment to consider the Grand Master’s decisions regarding his delayed assignment.

Of course, The General understood the logic behind Master Yoda’s insistence that non-Council members be deployed first while those left behind delegated such commissions. If the Republic expected to recoup its battlefield losses, it was wisest to finalize those strategies with the senior decision-makers still in one place. All while those uninvolved in the planning process took those first, few important strides toward implementing the Grand Army’s ever-evolving designs.

Still, the wait became arduous. The bearded Jedi was usually more patient when it came to such matters as these. And, to be sure, he wasn’t particularly enthused about the encroaching sleepless nights or measureless tasks that were destined to cut into his meditation time.

But now that most of the overarching battalion strategies tailored for the Jedi’s return had been finalized, General Kenobi could not wait any longer to dig his heels back into every effort the Republic put forward to preserve peace in a Galaxy threatened by shadowy forces. Agents of the Dark Side like Count Dooku who, week-by-week, further convinced Master Yoda of his Sith identity.

One of two beings Obi-Wan could never risk permitting either of which to entertain the idea of your existence.

“Master Kenobi!”

Traversing the last few stairs onto the Spire’s median platform, Obi-Wan promptly raised his head toward the adolescent voice. Taking note of its high-strung manner as a dash of jet-black locks jounced into the lower creases of his vision, followed by a flash of green orbs ablaze with panic.

He tilted his head inquisitively.

“Yes, youngling? Is there something wrong?”

But the winded, wide-eyed boy couldn’t answer, mouth agape like a Bluefish thrust from the ocean. Instead, he flung out one distressed arm, grasping Kenobi’s own to tug it frantically toward the platforms behind while breathless words tumbled from trembling teeth.

“We… we need help! Silvey needs someone… someone to help them!”

A raw chill surged up Obi-Wan’s spine, spreading across his cheeks like icy roots that temporarily sucked the color from his lips. Providing enough of a momentary shock at the boy’s words to nudge Kenobi’s heels forward as the youngling dragged him along.

The Guardian, in need of help…

Considering how stubbornly independent you’d always been, this notion certainly worried the Jed Master. It would’ve taken a great deal for you to request any sort of assistance. And from a youngling, no less…

Something must’ve been seriously wrong.

And, as the Jedi whose only indefinite assignment to himself was to ensure your protection, the idea of you being seriously injured or worse fleetingly triggered Obi-Wan’s anxieties about the future in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Not since his experiences as Qui-Gon’s Padawan, at least.

“Slow down. Tell me what happened to Silvey. Are they alright?”

Both Kenobi and the youngling fell in step, the former walking briskly with the semi-jogging boy across the rotunda’s cobalt blue carpet while he continued to tug at the Jedi Master’s sleeve.

“I don’t know!” He huffed, slightly sniffling as he gazed up at the elder Jedi with teary eyes. “We were just talking and they fell and they looked like they were in a lot of pain! They told me to get help, so I did.”

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his mind from the initial surprise.

He had an idea of what could have caused this, yet it didn’t make any sense. The bearded man thought that these stress-induced headaches had resolved. At least, that’s what you had told him. He’d become convinced that your efforts to focus that bright mind on differing matters had finally compelled them to fade into the background.

But, if that was the case, what could have possibly changed all that in the matter of a day? Of an hour, since last he saw you?

“Where are they right now?” Kenobi coolly spoke as agile Jedi and youngling stepped onto the contemplation balcony, the gleaming rays of Coruscant’s blazing, yellow sun beating down on the pensive man’s searching face.

“I told them to wait in the Redweeds Circle where they were meditating.”

Obi-Wan halted, forcing the glassy-eyed yet somewhat more sedated boy to skid to a stop, fingers still tightly clasped to his brown sleeve as he frighteningly gazed up at the bearded man.

“I will go and check on Silvey, youngling. But I have one very important task for you while I do that.”

The boy emphatically nodded, lifting up a pair of knuckles to swipe away a dribble of snot leaking down his lips. Still, he listened, green eyes glistening.

Kenobi exhaled, kneeling down to address the boy at his level. “What is your name?”

“Petro,” the youngling sniffled.

“Young Petro, I want you to run up to the High Council Chambers and find Master Windu. Tell him what you told me and where to find us.”

A slight twinkle flickered in the boy’s eye. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” Obi-Wan graciously smiled while resting a hand on his knee to stand once more. “Now go. I will see to it that Silvey is alright. Have no fear. You did well.”

The black hair boy nodded.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Petro vocalized, a modest upturn gracing the corners of his mouth.

With a pivot of his foot, the youngling trotted back toward the inner spire, beginning his lengthy journey to the tower’s highest point where the Council chambers lay. Still, despite his frazzled signature and hurried pace, Petro still found a moment to call back to Master Jedi who’d just resumed his trek toward your being.

“I hope Silvey will be ok!”

And Obi-Wan certainly agreed with him.

Trailing the copper-tinted curvature of the Spire’s outdoor platform, Kenobi quickly sped toward the Redweeds Circle, passing the occasional Jedi and botanical display in his tempered jog to reach you. He paid no mind to the blue lekku that hung smoothly from either side of Master Aayla Secura’s head as he glided by her deep, meditative trance at the terrace’s outer border without a second thought. He brushed off the District streets’ eddying fumes, accompanied by an unbroken chain of droning speeders and stirring winds that echoed down the path toward the secluded divisions of the balcony.

But the instant his bounding steps brought him within reach of those familiar fiery shrubs, Obi-Wan suddenly found, with his legs uneasily immobilized just before the alcove’s parted entrance, that a familiar distortion had weaved its way back into his senses. And in a fashion that couldn’t simply be ignored.

Because it was the same bend in the Force that he’d sensed on the main Spire’s stairway just moments ago.

A discrepancy, Master Kenobi realized, as he was once again driven to spin through the verdant corner and onto the meditative alcove, was coming from you.

Drinking in your slumped-over spine and cradled head in a blink, Obi-Wan’s unexpectedly spurring heartbeat bolted him toward your figure, stirred to quicken his pace as another pained groan escaped your lips.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan called out, concern tugging at his sternum while he slowed to kneel beside you.

Eyeing your obscured countenance, Obi-Wan tried to slightly lean in, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face to help gauge the severity of your condition.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that Kenobi had never seen such a strong, physical reaction like this from you before. Especially with regard to the migraines of the last week.

“What is happening? Is it the headaches? Have they come back?”

“Obi-Wan?” You croaked, flicking your head out of cupped palms in startled search of him.

But what Obi-Wan saw nearly made him stumble out of your line of vision altogether.

In place of your brilliant, silver eyes had emerged a thin, gray film, wrapped around the delicate orbs like a taught bedsheet. Seemingly acting as a buffer in your vision during your aimless search for Obi-Wan, despite him being knelt directly in front of your wandering gaze.

“Where are you?” You intensely inquired, vision oscillating from side to side.

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. “I’m right next to you.”

Puzzlement jerked at your brows. “I- uh. I don’t see you.”

“You’re sitting on the contemplation balcony with me.”

Lifting a hand, he reached out for you, placing his palm on your sun-kissed shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze as a freezing tinge enveloped his fingertips.

“Do you feel my hand?”

“No, I can only feel this damned headache!” You groaned. “And I’m gonna have to disagree with you, Obi-Wan. Wherever I am, it’s definitely not the balcony, and it’s pretty hard to move.” The Master Jedi spied as your hand shot back up to massage your temple. “It doesn’t help that this ache is weighing me down.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth devolved into a thin line, worry etched across his features as he absorbed your troubling words.

“I’m not sure I quite understand. Are you saying you’re seeing some other… place?”

“If you can call it that, yeah.”

The bearded Jedi’s blue eyes narrowed, unsettlement bubbling like a steeping tea at the uncertainty of your condition.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I’m…”

Kenobi dropped his hand while your head swiveled, scanning the encircling vermillion bushes and bronzed terrace below as if you could truly see those landmarks through swathed orbs.

“I’m on some sort of… island. But it’s made up of these strange rocks. They’re oily, covered in soot, and… seem to act like quicksand around my feet. Uh, there’s a lake? It’s surrounding the island. But, Obi-Wan?”

Your neck swiveled like a droid urgently conducting a scan as you again searched for him, uncertainty contorting your features.

“I’m here, Silvey,” Kenobi reassured, scooting his knees against the smoothed floor to resettle directly in front of you as your cloudy eyes stilled straight ahead.

“What is it?” He implored, attentive stare unmoving. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“The water… it’s… black. It’s so black it’s like a shadow in my hand.”

The Jedi Master did not like the sound of that at all.

Kenobi steadily exhaled, a swirling array of thoughts fighting for dominance while he attempted to ascertain what could cause such a condition. And, more importantly, what he could do to stave off its symptoms to ensure your stability, even if temporary.

“What worries me is…,” his eyes refocused on your shifting gaze as words trickled past his ears. “…Is that’s what I called my headaches. The name Master Windu told me to assign to it. Black Water. And now that’s what I see. But when I touched it, it started to boil.”

Your brows contorted in realization, jaw tightening while you spoke.

“I think it’s gonna flood the island…”

Instantly, Kenobi felt his forehead will toward yours. Slowing just inches before your nose as if proximity would make his voice clearer to you. As if it would bring your mind back from being trapped inside this bizarre realm.

“Can you get out?” He implored, a serious quickness charging his tone. “Is there somewhere you can go?”

“There’s another tall island on the opposite side, but I can’t reach—“

An audible gasp ladened with visceral pain tumbled from your tongue, followed by a stiff exhale from flaring nostrils. It was enough to draw Obi-Wan to launch his hands out to clutch your upper arms, holding them so staunchly like it was the only thing keeping you talking. Like it was the only way to keep your body from disappearing too.

He was supposed to be protecting The Guardian, and, by the unnerving sight before him, it looked like he was already failing at that task. A notion that only drove him to accelerate his spoken tempo in an attempt to seek the answers he needed to help you.

“What was that?” He worried, eyes softening at pain transparently emanating from your features. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happening.”

“The waves,” you swallowed with stitched brows, rubbing the back of your hand while you spoke. “It splashed my hand. They’re moving closer. And every time I step back to get away, I sink deeper into the island. I don’t think I can walk any further. And I can’t use the Force here to pull myself out.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze sunk, allowing his arms to fall to his side as he settled into folded legs in an effort to parse out this rapidly developing situation.

Master Windu still hadn’t arrived, and there was no way Kenobi was leaving you by yourself to deal with this unpredictable vision only to fetch a distant Healer. If he could call it a vision. The General had certainly never heard of a Jedi becoming fully imprisoned within their own mind by one.

Though, despite being trapped by his own expeditious attempts to decipher the imminent disturbance, the uneasy man still noticed out of the crest of his vision a splash of reddened skin with peeling flakes as your soothing fingers uncovered the striking development.

And it was a sight perplexing enough to compel Kenobi to grab your wrist, just when you began to pull it away.

“Silvey…” he spoke lowly. “You hand.”

“What?”

“It’s red.”

“What? You can see the burn?” You asked, confusion dripping from your cheeks. “How? You’re not in my mind.”

“It’s here. It’s on your hand here. On the balcony.”

“Oh,” you vocalized, scrunching your nose as you continued.

“That’s really not good.”

Kenobi’s already galvanized chest hammered deeper, threatening to fracture a rib.

If, much like The Muntuur, this strange affliction within your mind had a devastating effect in the real world, it was quite possible that were this dubious river to flood your mind’s island before you had the chance to escape, your body would likely go down with it.

And, given your tightening jaw and sucking, painful breaths in your continued purveyance of invisible surroundings, Obi-Wan at least knew this:

That he had to do something.

It was his duty, after all. Even if that meant putting his mind, or life, on the line for The Guardian.

Not just for you. Or Anakin. Or the Order.

But for the Galaxy itself.

For Qui-Gon.

Positioning his hands on each knee, Kenobi rested his posture into a taught line, hoping to focus his racing thoughts on reaching out to the swirling energies that glided throughout him. Paying careful attention to narrowly avoid that dip in the stream that characterized your being and infected the flow.

“Hold on,” he murmured, releasing his mind into the Force. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Obi-Wan, no,” you rejected, vehemently shaking your head. “We still don’t know what this is. This is my mind we’re talking about. You know, the one Master Yoda had trouble analyzing? The one Master Windu hasn’t broken through? It’s too dangerous for you to even try exploring it in this state.”

“You forget,” he jested, pressing against the severely weakened barriers to your signature while his eyelids swung shut. “Facing danger in service of others is a Jedi specialty.”

But despite the confidence leaking from the bearded Jedi’s whimsical words, it was still not enough to prepare him for the astonishing sight that beclouded his bright blue orbs as Master Kenobi shouldered through the thin, protective layer that gave way to your inner mind.

—

You knew the uphill battle of hiking away from steadily rising waters lapping at a disappearing shore would inevitably sink you far enough into the mound’s squirming pebbles to trap you indefinitely. Thwarting away any hope of putting another inch between you and the frothing black liquid whose gurgling waves rolled over each other as thickly as a bubbling oil field.

You just didn’t realize that waist-deep would be the cutoff.

The deadly river roiled just a few meters away, unleashing its intensifying rage with sporadic splashes scattering far enough to swipe searing lines across the sides of your neck and forearms.

Yet, even then, the distance still appeared skewed, mostly by steaming rocks transferring the stream’s burning heat against the protective layer your robe provided. Its slender fabric barely cut their progressing fever while they buzzed with an intensity akin to the campfire rocks you remember scavenging during those late-night cave explorations on Hoth. And, with memories of prematurely dispersing those pebbles with the help of a sleeve, it didn’t take long for you to realize, eyes fixed on the unfortunate sight, that your ash cloak’s thickness wouldn’t be enough to stave off the shards’ uniformly climbing heat for long.

“It appears you could use a hand!”

Your gaze flung upwards, eyes narrowing pryingly at the rough skirt of the grassy precipice from which a carrying voice resounded down the crag and bounced across the humming buzz of scalding waters, all the way to you. Vision sharpening through rising smoke plumes, a hazy emergence snagged your focus while a brown robe flapping around similarly tinted boots crystallized in the fog.

You crossed your arms, elbows gracing the wriggling, sizzling pebbles as an incredulous smirk charmed your expression.

“Last time I checked, that was my line.”

Your brows furrowed in bewilderment.

“Wait—“ you exclaimed, having fully registered Kenobi’s presence within the inner facets of your troubled mind while your arms released to gesticulate your point.

“—How are you here?! Master Windu and I have been working for weeks to even access my thoughts!”

“Whatever this is, it has severely weakened your barriers!” He called out, a swelling wind swishing auburn curls and a shadow of unease clouding his countenance.

Soon, Obi-Wan’s lost stare raised to absorb your mutual surroundings in his scan of the endless, inky mounds whose rolling bodies far surpassed your being into the outstanding, elusive expanse. And, inside those few, short seconds, it became clear that whatever he saw germinated an element of disfavor that stitched like a spasm deep into his blue orbs.

“I sense a great darkness there!”

“Fantastic,” you huffed lowly, sarcasm nurturing its steady drip while you returned toward the preoccupied Jedi with a pointed stare and wry chuckle.

“Still think it’s just stress, Master Kenobi?” You poked, raising a brow.

And you could tell from the Jedi’s mixed expression that he realized he definitely deserved that.

A searing slap at your cheek drew out an uncontrollable hiss, snapping your gaze back toward the sizzling rapids. During the progression of your exchange, the raging waters had crept close enough to now densely crackle less than a meter away from your confined frame.

“Uh, any ideas?” You vocalized, nervously eyeing the encroaching, greasy waters.

“You’re going to be alright!” Obi-Wan shouted, arms extending over the cliff side with fingers pointed toward your figure below about thirty meters away. “I believe I can access the Force here! Don’t move!”

“Thanks for the advice!” You deadpanned, feeling a slight pressure begin to tighten under your armpits, and bow your elbows. “I was originally planning to practice Form Four while stuck in these quicksand rocks, but now I know not to do that.”

With the rise of his palms, your torso harshly tugged upwards, bringing the borderline of writhing pebbles roughly below your rear while the belligerent waters licked at the unstable land mere feet from your anchored form.

“You know what I meant!” He objected tensely, forearms straining in his continual heave skywards.

Another squeezed yank, and most of your heated legs were finally freed. Loose, burning shales tumbled back into the cavity hatched by limbs kicking out to freedom during your hasty retreat to elbow onto flatter land.

And just in the nick of time too.

Boiling liquid instantly engulfed the mound that once had you ensnared. Only seconds after you’d finally, gratingly freed a boot momentary wedged among interlocked shales.

Still, despite your newfound freedom, you couldn’t help but refocus your mind back on the black river’s looming essence as you were promptly reminded by the mounting deluge that your temporary haven would be just that.

Temporary.

“Obi-Wan…” you uneasily droned, sights locked on the molasses-like liquid traveling intelligently across the last few inches that divided its scorching heat from your fidgeting, sweaty feet.

“I don’t understand!” He nervously exclaimed, drawing your stare while he viciously grappled with thin air before his arms fell with a grunt. “I can’t move the rocks! Can you see anything that could be used to block the overflow?! Or to help you move away?!”

“No!” you shouted, fruitlessly surveying the endless mounds of black shards to your rear before facing the quite visually unsettled Jedi. “And if I move back any more I’ll get stuck again!”

Tensely biting your lip, you stretched your neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of any way across the crashing waterway— a loose path of stepping stones perhaps— when your vision once again spied the rocky cliff towering fiercely in support of Obi-Wan’s faraway figure. And while you scrutinized the plateau’s craggy outer foundation that fabricated a makeshift shoreline, you did happen to spot amidst its rugged construction two round, graphite boulders of particular interest balancing against each other toward the divide.

They stood at about half your size and appeared sturdy to move, you assessed. Making them maybe, just maybe, durable enough to get you off this death trap of an island.

So, extending your mind through elongated fingers, you attempted to clasp onto one of the shapes.

That was before learning the hard way that on that faraway shore too, you could still not manipulate the Force.

“What is it?!” Obi-Wan called out, having seemingly noticed your distant focus and budding frustration.

“Those boulders below you!” You replied, motioning for his probing peer to traverse back over the river’s murky depths. “Can you move them?!”

“I can certainly try!” He exclaimed.

An echoing grunt reverberated down the cliffside while Kenobi struggled to negotiate the boulders’ dense builds. Even from your remote spot through clouds of smoky fog and under overcast, gray skies, you could almost glimpse the blossoming of thick veins that tirelessly pulsed throughout both of the Jedi’s tautened arms.

But it wasn’t before the obvious strain brought Obi-Wan’s two, forcibly planted feet teetering just at the cliff’s edge that you felt compelled to somehow strategize a new plan. Because no matter how dangerously close those bubbling waves came, you were far more driven by the heightened danger Kenobi inched toward with each onerous yank at the structures below, effectively stiffening every muscle in your body.

Until the tiniest twitch in the right boulder stifled your breath.

Within the span of a blink of an eye, Kenobi had, by all accounts, unearthed the brawn demanded to barely lift the grayed boulder, prying it from the delicately balanced pile that slumped noisily from its removal.

He hovered it through the splintering waters, securing the object against crashing waves that threatened its journey. Holding it steady enough to shakily maneuver its shape before finally allowing it to clatter inches before your feet.

“I’d like to know why you can access the Force in my mind when I can’t!” You complained, grappling onto the giant stone with grayed sleeves clutched between your fingers as you rose atop its structure, two rapid heartbeats before the dark waters encircled the drifting, black rocks below.

“Never mind that now!” He remarked. “I’m going to build you a bridge!”

“You can’t!” You called out, boulder quivering up your legs from the rushing stream. “It took nearly all your energy to move just one of them!”

His eyes dilated with apprehension at the truth behind your words. Until that was all washed away by an element of reluctant resolve.

“When you have another suggestion I’d be happy to take it under advisement! But, for now, this is the plan!”

With rounded lips, you sighed, whispering lowly to yourself as you considered this rapidly developing predicament that you somehow now roped Obi-Wan into.

“This is not gonna end well…”

So, for those next several, tense minutes, once you acquiesced to Kenobi’s plan, it became a desperate race between you and the troubled waters persistently frothing its deadly torrent always just below. Obi-Wan constructed you a path to deliverance brick by brick, with a cacophony of strained grunts and shouts to watch the slippery corners that, following one misstep, were sure to lead to a scalding demise. It certainly didn’t help that the river had once again proved its near sentience, with the blubbering, hot liquid countering your bid for freedom by striving to surge and crack against the ascending bridge, passion like an Alessian Terror Moth to a Glowlamp.

Though, despite the restless undercurrents of anxiety breaking against your own subconscious from the absolute instantly that was this situation, a small part of you eased at the ongoing effectiveness of this thrown-together strategy Kenobi had arranged. With every available effort, the auburn-haired Jedi briskly lugged each shiftable boulder ahead of the flooding river and rising steam. And, you had to admit, his perseverance had certainly helped alleviate any general unease surrounding the plan’s ill-advised nature, calming nerves that you didn’t even realize had heightened before the adrenaline began to shake out of your system.

That was, until his complete exhaustion started to manifest through heavy perspires, drenching his face and tunic and stiffening his increasingly stuttering movements. Especially once you passed the waterway’s halfway point, those sluggish maneuverings of trembling boulders barely lifting off the ground soon became a new cause for concern.

“You need to take a break,” you advised with a comforting gaze and more standard projection, now able to make out the bearded Jedi’s entirely drained complexion from just twelve meters away. “The water will still be safely low enough for a few minutes at least.”

All Master Kenobi could do was nod while labored breaths struggled in and out of his lungs, hands reaching for rigid knees as he subsumed the brief instant greedily, fatigue dripping down every inch of his hunched body.

It was really difficult to see him like this, you absorbed, eyes glued to the troubling sight. Obi-Wan was by far one of the most intelligent and capable Jedi you’d met during your time at the Temple. So much so, that had Qui-Gon seen this day, you knew he would’ve been immeasurably proud.

Then, to watch him crumble within the confines of your strangely infected mind? Putting every piece of himself as he was known to do in service of others? Toward some crisis you could’ve escaped on your own had you held out for just a little bit longer?

You felt awfully guilty.

You sighed, attention so strongly levied on the recovering man just above and beyond that you almost missed the nearly imperceptible, detached rattlings that ostensibly reflected from the torrent below.

Ears perked, you glanced around the set of stacked boulders that precariously buttressed your balancing, skyward frame. Allowing your severely debilitated senses to lead you into a turn as you tracked the clatter toward the flooded land from which you just barely escaped. Still, despite being initially met with the broad flood of shadows, you encouraged your vision to center.

It was a decision that empowered you to quickly spy a thread of black specks emerge from the dark waters, swelling quickly in their rapid, squirming approach up the bridge with movements so coordinated you assumed they had to have been connected by some invisible thread.

“What in the Wampa…” you whispered to yourself while trying to discern this strange sight with squinting eyes.

Neck craning to take a closer look, you soon recognized the flecks’ familiar snaggy shape and greasy complexion as they melted into a pebbled form.

With nowhere else to go, and a healthy bought of curiosity driving your gaze, you observed as the black rocks slithered up the last few boulders, wondering if some strange wind trap created by the manmade bridge had somehow twisted these shards up and out of their sodden cradle.

But you were swiftly proven wrong when, madly wrapping around your leg like an unshakable boa constrictor, the reactive pebbles seized you into a downward tumble, preventing you a chance to even react. Still, your eyes grew wide at the twist while a startled Kenobi called out after your disappearing figure.

Your back slammed roughly against the bridge with each jolt, forcing you to twist and wrestle for an imperfection to grip. All the while blistering rocks jabbed into your leg with a wildness that made you gasp.

With fingernails continuing their descending scratches against a flux of smooth surfaces, you finally felt your arm give as it locked onto an indent in one of the jutting boulders. Eliciting another groan while the gravely serpent continued to tug at your commandeered limb just before the simmering heat that now suddenly reigned a centimeter below.

With a heartbeat exploding so hotly it felt as if the organ itself would stop altogether, you floundered to face the earthy creature. Spine twisting and arms tightly hugging the boulder beneath while you attempted to somehow come face-to-face with its pants-shredding clutch, hopefully without plummeting off either edge of the narrowed bridge.

Soon, however, by the swing of your other limb flipping your body, you were finally able to secure a newfound position of dominance. With the resulting urgency that rushed through your veins playing a pivotal role in raising your uncaged leg to rally a string of unfettered stomps across the organism’s linked skeleton.

One by one, you snapped off each wedge of the unwelcome parasite, feeling each incisive, prodding sting until you watched the last pebble fall with a hiss and whine back into the deluge. One that, any second, threatened to nip at your ankles.

“Nevermind!” You yelled, leaping to your feet in a desperate race back up those few, squeaky boulders you’d collapsed down.

“No time!” You continued, finally reaching the bridge’s incomplete brink and nearly stumbling over it altogether before halting just in time to spot an aura of relief wash over Obi-Wan’s features the instant you emerged.

“The rocks are alive and they’re trying to kill me!”

Kenobi’s head retracted in befuddlement from registering your words.

“What?”

Another clamor of pattering clicks rang out from the rear, soon overwhelmed by a racket of grating cracks and splashing plunges that whipped your head so quick it took a full second for your hair to catch up.

Alert eyes stilling on the alarming sight, you quickly registered that, in place of the bridge segment once fastened to the tumultuous waters below, now stood a fractured crater. In fact, the structure’s first disappeared steps into ascendancy had overflowed with squirming oily shards and rushing black liquid. The same conscious elements that began twirling like waterspouts with the intention of shimmying up to the next set of boulders, only to girdle the masses with a tight squeeze that sent another section of the bridge bursting into useless fragments.

Staunchly pointing at the rear development, you addressed the perplexed Jedi once again.

“Now they’re eating the bridge!”

“What?!”

But it didn’t take long for Master Kenobi to understand what you meant, as the last few levels of the hazardously erected configuration began to buckle under readily collapsing supports, drawing you into a falter while you tried to steady yourself atop the highest-reaching boulder.

Clearly, this situation was becoming far more dangerous than you could have ever predicted. And with that came a very real realization—

That the longer Obi-Wan remained here in his futile attempts to save you, the more jeopardy he’d be entrenching himself in.

You’d had your fair share of tight circumstances before. And, no matter how dire this one seemed, you knew by your track record that you could probably figure some way out. But, each time you faced down another bloodthirsty Wampa with a broken arm and fractured clavicle, or defended against greedy pirates who’d temporarily stolen your lightsaber, or even traversed icy plains after becoming lost in the dead of night, you still felt comfortable taking such risks.

Because you had faced them alone.

There was no one else you really had to look out for that prevented you from subjecting yourself to the perils necessary to survive.

Until now.

With this danger unlike any other.

One that you could barely predict. And one that had tangible consequences transferable to the physical realm.

One that siphoned the security you usually experienced in attempting such perilous schemes into unruly disquietude. At least since an unpredictable element by the name Obi-Wan Kenobi illuminated the fact that you’d now be endangering a life other than your own.

The land he stood upon was much safer than the vanishing oily mounds below. You understood that. But such a belief would only hold true for so long. It was just a matter of time before the troubled waters threatened to swell and engulf the bearded Jedi whose features contorted in uncertainty as he stared down at you.

Even if he waited until the absolute last second to escape— at the instant when your dreadful doom was sealed— you didn’t believe that the Master Jedi could pry himself from your mind fast enough. At least, not before it was wholly consumed by slippery shadows.

And, most importantly, if you knew one thing, you knew this, and with the confidence of a simple math equation no less:

That if Kenobi got hurt because of you, you would never forgive yourself.

In the short time he’d known you, he had already done so much. Acted as an incendiary to healing discoveries about yourself that you had no previous notion of exploring. Stayed at your side during those inner battles of painful migraines despite your initial attempts to push him away for his own protection. Truly, you couldn’t allow a man as kind and affecting as that to put his life on the line for you. Not when the Galaxy needed Jedi like him.

Not when his death would feel like losing a piece of Qui-Gon all over again.

Besides, being The Guardian of The Chosen One didn’t just mean protecting Anakin, but anyone who you believed to be a part of his destiny.

And you were quite confident that his former Master certainly qualified.

With the prospect of an untimely and horribly painful end slapping you in the face, your sheet-white face finally gravitated toward the unsettled blue-eyed man above you. For the first time since you were both thrown into this bizarre mess, the two of you exchanged a lingering gaze, silently arguing about the best next step as you gradually came to terms with the prospect that your insatiable luck may have finally run its course.

But while your features drowned in realism and pursed lips, Obi-Wan’s seemed to harden with sharpened brows and a newly robust determination, one that threatened to cut down your soberness with a mighty slash.

Because, if you remembered correctly, Obi-Wan Kenobi never believed in any such thing as luck.

“You need to jump—“

“—You need to go.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“The water is rising too quickly, Obi-Wan. You took so many rocks from the cliff side that it will probably collapse once it nears my position—“

Another quake in the tottering bridge jumbled your feet onto a slippery edge, nearly toppling you off the bridge altogether before a strong yank tugged you back by the hood of your robe.

Quickly, you replanted your boots, releasing a shuddery exhale as you spotted Obi-Wan’s outstretched fist lunged toward your figure, an agitated sigh falling past his evenly firm lips.

“There is no choice, Silvey!” He sternly repeated, heavily lowering his outstretched arm. “You must jump!”

“It’s a death sentence either way!” You yelled before dropping into a pragmatic tone.

“It’s too far for me without my abilities. I’ll fall.”

“Then we’ll work together,” he suggested, closing his eyes and releasing his spine as he spoke.

“Focus on my connection to the Force—“

With literally not a second to lose, you did as the wise Jedi advised, pressingly reflecting his posture amid roaring waves and collapsing boulders that you did your best to drown out with eyelids that fluttered closed.

“—And repel the shadows.”

But it was hard to sense his meaning.

The instant you tried to reach out to Kenobi’s figure with every branching fiber of your being, all that you were met with was a brick wall. As if the rising steam had congealed into some sort of smoky barrier that reigned all around you and deepened the blur of your senses. Suffocating your connection to these strange surroundings in a way you didn’t think was possible. And in a way that you couldn’t control.

“It will feel like a bright flicker in the darkness.”

Darkness? Could that be what this was? A pure, unadulterated aura of the Dark Side? And encompassing a portion of your grievously debilitated mind, no less.

You’d never had the occasion to sense the Dark Side of the Force, having only known one light side Jedi during your isolation on Hoth. You didn’t even know what it felt like. Master Kenobi had mentioned he could sense it here. Perhaps that was why your connection to the Force felt indefinitely cut off.

And, if that was the case, then maybe you were going about this all wrong.

Rather than force the shadows away in their immovable form, rather than controlling forces quite unknown to you, perhaps you could glide through them.

And the instant you endeavored through this tactic, you soon realized that Kenobi was right.

As you reached out again, this time wading past the confusing blockades that bloated into mist as you tapped them away like drifting bubbles in search of anything familiar, you finally tasted it.

A gentle orb of glaring light that, despite its size, radiated with the strength of a thousand suns.

An energy so sweet, tangible, and linking within these ubiquitous, observational shadows, that you felt lured with shaky fingers to touch it.

“Find your connection, Silvey. Whatever you must do, find your way back to the light.”

An aura so intoxicating, that you took a bite.

An unparalleled sensation of light surged through your veins. Radiating up your arms and throughout your body with an intensity that wrenched your eyes open with a sharp inhale as you felt the tingling buzz of the Force reactivate through standing hairs across your frame.

After a moment to settle into this stream’s bright yet anomalously quivering touch, with prickling cheeks gradually subsiding, you finally felt able to breathe into the remarkable feeling. First encouraging your nerves to cool while electrified eyes refocused on the auburn-haired man above, who appeared similarly disoriented and breathless.

You couldn’t blame him, though. With a quick glance at the deluge below and the rapidly ascending shards bouncing behind, you both registered that you had mere seconds to make a decision. Still, despite perceiving a reconnection to at least some piece of the Force through Obi-Wan’s dependable guidance— no matter how strong that initial connection felt— you couldn’t help but sense it to be much weaker than you’d ever experienced in the real world.

If you were being completely honest, as you readied yourself with heels digging into the slate boulder, you didn’t think this was going to work.

But waiting any longer meant giving more time for the troubled waters to reach Obi-Wan.

And that was unacceptable.

You needed to move.

With a hand boldly cast down, he yelled for a final time, imperious, blue stare burrowing into yours.

“Jump!”

And, so, you did.

With this newfound connection to the Force, the faith it partially imbued, and the man you needed to protect in dire need of saving—

You jumped.

Your feet soared above the lapping waves of piping liquid as the bridge’s final pillar shattered, toppling the structure’s remains into gurgling oblivion. You felt the blistering swipes of the ensuing, loose droplets at your ankles, catapulted by the boulders’ untimely descent while you neared the overhanging, verdant ridge from which Kenobi’s hand remained firmly extended with eyes locked tensely on your gliding frame.

However, what you had judiciously feared, and what the Master Jedi hadn’t seemingly predicted, was that, despite the helpful boost in mending a fraction of your Light Side connection, the degree to which you became entwined with the distant Force appeared to fall short of your immediate needs.

With ash-like steam thrusting against your face, you began to lose propulsion too soon, leading to the drastic turn that sent you hurdling toward a lower portion of the cliff face with no discernible crevices to grab ahold of.

Subconsciously, your legs began to kick, arms outstretched to brace yourself as if that would cushion the inevitable crash that was sure to bounce you back into the boiling, black river rumbling just below.

But that darkness never came.

In an instant, Obi-Wan had vaulted over the precipice, using one hand to grab the crag’s lip while he swung in between your collision course. Tirelessly flexing arm outstretched, he slid a loose, sweaty palm into yours, clutching it tightly before ripping you out of your momentum and into a brief twirl, leaving you both to dangerously dangle feet above the boiling stream that steamed your swaying boots.

“Maker…Are you insane?!” You screamed, a crimson outrage blooming on your face at the sheer recklessness with which he acted. “Why did you do that?!”

“I seem to have learned…a thing or two…from our mutual friend,” he grunted, attention focused on your upward escape while his knuckles whitened on either end.

You didn’t want to believe it, but you were confident in its truth.

If you stayed like this, you both were going to fall.

“Obi-Wan,” you gulped, a chill running up your spine against the smoldering background as you tried to calm your voice.

“You need to let me go.”

His bewildered gaze snapped toward yours.

“Absolutely not!”

“You’re just going to get yourself killed…” you explained, ogling him sensitively.

His eyes softened.

“Then save us both,” he hushed. “The Galaxy needs you just as much as Anakin.”

Kenobi’s eyes warily flickered past your figure as his voice intensified.

“Now, whatever you may have done earlier, I suggest you try it again before we both become another ingredient in this ghastly stew!”

You followed his stare, catching sight of the same encroaching waves that churned inches from your toes, thickly crashing and gurgling up black spouts over the array of sporadic boulders.

Wait.

“I have an idea!” You exclaimed, digits extending toward the smoky, gray body of a nearby boulder. “Cover any exposed skin!”

Tapping into that tiny spark of light blooming in your chest, and in cahoots with any and all available facets of energy remaining in your wearied body, you heaved the giant rock, clenching every possible muscle in an effort to nudge it upwards.

With a guttural cry you had no idea was your own bouncing off the cliff side and across the rumbling river, the rounded mass finally broke free, following a sedated, wobbly climb up the crag toward both of your hanging bodies.

Only a third of the way up, you became numb, extremities tingling while you focused your entire consciousness on ensuring this last-ditch plan’s success. So much so, that as your eyelids drooped in and out of blurred vision, you didn’t even realize that your clasped palm had begun to slip.

Until Kenobi let out a pained gasp, taking on the brunt of the collective weight by clamping onto the remaining loose fingers so tightly that you would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t broken one or two.

But that extra two or three seconds was all you needed. Within that frame, you’d raised the dense boulder to hover just beside Obi-Wan’s swaying form, providing a stepping stone of sorts to the ledge just above.

“Climb,” you arduously breathed, skin itching as your muscles threatened to give out.

And you certainly didn’t need to tell him twice.

Using his robe to protect himself from the rock’s blistering heat, Master Kenobi swung one leg and then the other onto its rounded body, heaving himself up with every procurable limb that wasn’t attached to you. All the while you desperately held the boulder in place as black dots began to dance at the creases of your vision.

Swiftly, he found his bearings, using the newfound surface to lunge onto the grassy knoll that characterized the plateau’s surface before immediately swiveling to drag you up with him.

“Let go of the boulder!” He exclaimed while his other arm reached down in urgent search of your Force-wielding fingers.

But the moment he told you to release it, those digits fell limp, collapsing just as quickly against your side as the giant rock plummeted back down to the dark, troubled waters below.

Yet, crouched over the cliffside, Obi-Wan refused to give up.

Tracing the outline of your slumped limb with the back of his hand, you felt the warm thread eventually reach your frozen palm, grasping it eagerly before the Jedi Master tugged you upwards by both arms.

Slowly, but surely, you felt your body lift while rising steam dissipated into a cold sweat, eventually permitting weak feet to mindlessly carry you over the partition and onto solid, green ground that pushed up against your soles.

You blinked.

“Silvey?”

The familiar sway of red-orange bushes and distant commotion of cityscape bustlings suffused your senses. In time, you spotted Obi-Wan, crouched directly in front of you with a particularly troubled tint lining his features and a warm palm resting gently atop a shoulder that you barely distinguished as your own.

You were back.

But something felt…

Off.

You shot up, legs buckling slightly as if you were trying to walk for the very first time in years. Brushing off Obi-Wan’s touch with the back of your hand in an attempt to continue your driving stumble forward.

“Wait a moment,” Obi-Wan insisted while bolting upwards, propelling opened palms to hover by your sides as you momentarily stilled in between them. “Take it slow—“

“What is going on here?”

Squinting, you spied the familiar figure of Master Windu, brows crossed in stoic reprimand as he whisked toward you both, brown cloak whipping behind him. With a wandering gaze, you narrowly spotted out of the far corner of your eye a familiar set of black locks. Peaking out from an inconspicuous hiding place behind one of the far vermillion shrubs that betrayed their location in its periodic swerves against the breeze.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi called out, waving him over. “We require your assistance.”

But with a body that, for some reason, felt uncannily like your own, it became hard to focus.

Master Windu eyed you critically. “What happened?”

A dizziness overtook the distant migraine of before, black splotches from your mind returning with a vengefully accelerating frequency. It blurred your vision into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that soon mutated the eyes, and noses, and lips of the men before you into an unnatural, dripping putty.

Your mouth opened disjointedly, yet no words came out.

“Master Kenobi, what’s going on?”

You reached for your head.

“I’m… unsure. Silvey? Is it still the headache?”

Weightlessness.

“Woah woah.”

Warmth.

“Youngling, fetch us a Healer—“

“Silvey, can you hear me?”

“—And then see if Master Yoda is available.”

“Silvey?”

End Part I: Rescue of the Fates

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