#this premise cracked me up sm LOL

[haveyoureadthishorrorbookpoll]

Have you read...

note: If you did not finish but feel you read enough to form an opinion, you may choose a ‘Yes’ option instead of 'Partly' (e.g., Yes, I didn’t like it). Similarly, if you’ve never heard of a book until now but formed an opinion from this post, you may wish to select a “no” option e.g., “No, but I want to.”

When the final four women in competition for an aloof, if somewhat sleazy, bachelor's heart arrive on a mysterious island in the Pacific Northwest, they mentally prepare themselves for another week of extreme sleep deprivation, invasive interviews, and of course, the salacious drama that viewers nationwide tune in to eagerly devour. Each woman came on 'The Catch' for her own reasons—brand sponsorships, followers, and yes, even love—and they've all got their eyes steadfastly trained on their respective prizes. Enter Patricia, a temperamental, but woefully misunderstood local, living alone in the dark, verdant woods and desperate to forge a connection of her own. As the contestants perform for the cameras that surround them, Patricia watches from her place in the shadows, a queer specter haunting the bombastic display of heterosexuality before her. But when the cast and crew at last make her acquaintance atop the island's tallest and most desolate peak, they soon realize that if they're to have any hope of making it to the next Elimination Event, they'll first have to survive the night.

submit a horror book!

[sardonic-sprite]

Hi! Uh... not sure you recognize me, but I basically wrote a fic inspired by your 'Harbor' (which was my first proper fic?)

The reason I'm sending this ask is cuz of... you're writing!

It's just- so brilliant! I mostly stick to fanfics in the batman fandom and I can't believe that in just a year you managed to write up all those fics! The dedication is 10/10.

But really, your ideas are what hooked me in. They're unique in ways and they're also so curiosity-building that I can't help but click onto ur fics on ao3. And then, your writing is what just keeps me going through word by word, chapter by chapter, fic by fic. I especially love your celebrity bat-waynes series. It's so fun and heart-anguishing at the same time! Seriously, my heart was twisting for Jason.

I love the batfam whumptober timeline. And ik I keep repeating this, but the flashbacks Jason had in the last chapter of one of the fics (Cant remember the title, but clearly remember the pain) including the "After a fall like that, I'm gonna have to call you Timber" still makes me squeal and cry at the same time. I also recently read zugzwang (is it called that?) and Ah~ the feels~. The way you wrote that - the writing - was so interesting and incredible that I still clutch my heart in my room and squeak because ohmyGod,poorDick,poorJason,poorTIM,thelittlebabies,noooooo,Dami'stooyoungforthis,IloveSteph,Bruceeeee,goBabs!Myheartttttttt. The brain factor? Incredible✨. Love it when there are fics with thinking involved. A+++

Your writing (is there a better synonym for that? Cuz I think the word's getting too repetitive) is just so amazing that, as a writer, I get so freaking inspired. So much that my second fic was inspired by yours cuz Ijustloveitsomuch! It still continues to inspire that even through my writer's block/burnout, after reading zugzwang, I am yet again inspired to create a work after that (I love thinking, there's going to be so much thinking, I love your character thinking, therefore your thinking too) and... uh, idk I just want u 2 know how inspiring you are.

I know I wrote paragraphs and paragraphs, but I still have sm to say! I could deep-analyze that stuff. Your fics make me so happy, so from one (hopeful and admiring) writer to another (inspiring and amazing) one, (if you are able to) keep it up and soak in the happiness brought from your stories whether it is as much as mine (the happiness) or even more. Because you deserve it, dear sprite. You deserve the happiness of writing and the good thoughts from readers.

(I hope I didn't make this self-centric, I just wanna tell you how good you are 😭)

And since this is an ask, may I ask exactly where the heck you get inspiration for such amazing ideas?

OMG HI!

I can't lie I was tearing up a lil as I read your ask, being told that you're someone's inspiration is like the best feeling I as a writer could ever have! And I do remember that fic! ;)

Eeee *squeals, runs around, flaps hands, dives onto bed giggling* I'm so happy that you like the ideas that I base my fics on! Premise is so crucial as a writer to get right, and I'm glad that other people want to read the stories i want to write.

Ooooh, that fic was Throw Away My Faith ! I remember cackling and sobbing while writing those flashbacks, and DEFINITELY screaming too when I wrote every chapter of zugzwang. Balancing hurt and comfort (and crack! for celeb bats) is very fun and also very tricky. and i usually lean closer to angst lol. oops.

(don't worry, darlin' there is no crime to reusing the right word :) ) And I am SO GLAD that my writing helped you out of writer's block/slump! Like what!? That is so fantastic, bc believe me, i have been there too and it sucks, so it means so much to me to be able to help!

Thank you so much for your paragraphs! I love it, 100% To me rambles are like, the purest form of expression bc they're just so GENUINE and they make me grin so wide. I can assure you I get so much joy from writing, and that joy just increases whenever someone says my writing made them happy. (wasn't self-centric at all!)

Where do I get my inspiration? Lord. zugzwang (since you mentioned it earlier) came from a pinterest prompt about a generic hero and villain playing chess for the hero's loved ones. I'd say a lot of my inspiration does come from prompts, especially events and such. But usually its too broad, so I have to combine things and set limits on myself, kind of. Sometimes real life will inspire something, although I exaggerate the hell out of it bc fiction (adopt a rescue is the best example there). other times i'll be writing, then veer way left on a tangent and ultimately decide to make it two fics. other times i'll ponder canon and say "lets explore a what if here" and then, like ona post below, sometimes there's just a tiny moment or dialogue line that i want to write, and so i have to work a plot around it.

idk i rambled there quite a bit, but the honest answer is i can't pinpoint where my general inspiration came from. If you name a fic, i'd probably be able to say "oh, yeah, that was this prompt," or smt, but i get inspired in so many different ways. and inspiration has context for me. the prompt "tearful goodbye" for example or the concept "bats take buzzfeed quizzes" will give me wildly different ideas if you catch me at a different mood, day, or after/before some event.

last, i'd be remiss without mentioning the many prompts/requests readers have given me. i love doing those, bc they're usually things i'd never have come up with.

Thank you so much for the ask, it really made my scribbly writer heart so happy! <3

[kittimau]

Two things: 1. Can you share some of the wips and fic ideas you’ve got squirreled away on your laptop with us? 🥺 2. I wish you loved your writing as much as I love your writing and self doubt or overthinking stuff didn’t hold you back from posting. You are so talented!! Don’t let your brain tell you otherwise!!!

Thank you sm 😭🥺

Sure, I can share some stuff! I have a doc I fling ideas into whenever they hit me, no matter how detailed or small or stupid. PWPs, crack, AUs, slow burns, fix-its, etc. They're usually little more than stream of consciousness rambling, and sometimes just a link, or song lyrics, a reddit thread, meme, or fanart - whatever inspired me in the moment and made me think, "I should revisit this later."

To give you an idea what the former looks like (though I'll be honest, this is tidier than most lol):

Psychologist/Client Modern AU

Premise: Obi-Wan realizes he’s becoming attracted to his beautiful young client and tries to refer him to another doctor. Little does he know, Anakin has been harboring a crush for years.

Anakin comes in one day for a session and Obi-Wan seems off somehow, nervous almost. It's unlike him. Immediately, Anakin is wary. Before he has a chance to say anything, Obi-Wan gets right to the point and tells him he's referring him to another doctor. Anakin demands to know why and he won't give him a straight answer, or at least not one Anakin believes. He's heartbroken, but the more Obi-Wan dodges his questions, the more frustrated he becomes. Obi-Wan opens the door and tells him he should probably go.

As Anakin is passing by, he gets a little too close, and that's when he notices it. A hitch in Obi-Wan's breath, dilated pupils. And he knows. There's no way he's letting it go now. So he tests his theory. Boxes Obi-Wan in. Obi-Wan is becoming increasingly agitated, holy shit he's actually stammering - that never happens - not to him, the man who's always so smooth and professional and careful with his words.

“If you're referring me,” Anakin says, leaning closer, “I guess I'm not your patient anymore then, am I?" 

Obi-Wan blinks, eyes falling briefly to Anakin’s lips. “No,” he breathes, “I suppose you aren't.”

Anakin grins. "Good.”

And then they kiss! Blah blah blah cue the hot desk sex.

Okay, the rest of this got pretty long so I'm dropping the WIPs under the cut.

First, there's Troubled Water. I have bits of multiple chapters written already but most of my focus is of course on chapter 4. Idk why but I've been struggling with it. 😅 It takes place on a different point in the timeline than originally intended (it was actually ch3 but what was supposed to be a flashback ended up turning into an entire scene of its own and thus the whole club disaster lol). It's, again, so long that it will probably end up split into two chapters but as of right now I'm kinda wingin' it.

And am I being entirely self-indulgent by using my own OCs (and some friends')? Yes.

I'm a writer, I can do anything.

Also I just thought it'd be cool to introduce a new species or two lol. The GFFA is vast okay, there's always room for more. Anyway, here's an excerpt:

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Da’riel of Clan Sarel. You have already met my Captain. The big guy behind you is my personal bodyguard. Don’t mind him, he only looks terrifying.” His grin takes on a mischievous edge as Bull huffs what might be a grunt or a laugh and he gestures toward the room he just emerged from. “And last but certainly not least—”

Another Dua’vian materializes in the doorway as though summoned, leaning her shoulder against the architrave. Her hair catches Anakin’s attention first; red as Queen’s Heart blossoms, it cascades in thick waves around shoulders draped in the black silk of a shirt several times too large to be hers, its hem halting mid-thigh. Her legs are bare beneath it.

Cheeks flaming, Anakin turns his gaze resolutely away.

“—this absolute vision is Liv Viventoly. If Preia is my right hand, Liv is my left.”

“What does that mean,” Anakin blurts, and everyone looks at him. Though Obi-Wan never rolls his eyes, the expression on his face is about as close as he gets to it. It’s a very particular brand of fatigue and mild annoyance entirely unique to his master, translated via a blank stare and slightly raised brows. He doesn’t even have to hear the “Honestly, Anakin,” aloud to know that’s exactly what he’s thinking.

“It means”—Liv straightens, smirking—“that I work in the shadows.” Anakin flinches back as she saunters past him and slides smoothly onto one of the tall stools at the well-stocked bar.

Like that answers anything. Why is everyone so cryptic all the time?

“What’s important is that while you’re here, know that you can trust them as I do,” Dua’primia Sarel says.

Obi-Wan nods, though Anakin senses apprehension through their bond. “We appreciate your hospitality, Dua’primia. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is—”

Anakin jolts forward. “Anakin Skywalker. We are at your service, my Lord.”

Sarel looks at his proffered hand with something like amusement and glides past Obi-Wan to clasp it with his. This close, he realizes the Dua’vian is an inch or two taller than himself—being somewhat tall for a human, it’s not an experience Anakin has often—and his eyes are a vibrant peridot green, accentuated by the black markings curving elegantly around the angles of his face that remind Anakin a bit of a Zabrak’s. A vicious scar bisects one eye from brow to cheek, long healed but still pink against his fair complexion, and Anakin spares a second to wonder if he got it during the war.

“Please,” he says, and is it just Anakin’s imagination, or did his voice lower in timbre? “Let us do away with such formalities. Call me Da’riel.” 

Anakin swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Oh—okay. Da’riel,” he repeats stiffly, hoping he isn’t completely butchering the pronunciation. By the way the man beams, he thinks he did alright. Da’riel releases his hand slowly, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist before Anakin withdraws it behind his poncho. He glances sidelong at Obi-Wan, but his master’s expression is as inscrutable as ever.

“Well then,” Da’riel declares with a brisk clap, making his way to the bar, “drinks?”

“Can we get down to business, please?” Preia says, rolling her eyes. 

“Such a spoilsport. Would it surprise you to know she isn’t always this uptight?” Chuckling, Da’riel uncaps a sapphire-blue crystal decanter and waves it beneath his nose. “Normally my dear Captain is the one pouring the liquor.”

“And I’ll drink you under the table like always once this threat is dealt with.”

“I shall hold you to that, my friend. And you, Jedi?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replies, a little too quick to be casual. “Thank you.” Anakin shoots him an inquisitive glance. 

“Ah.” Da’riel nods sagely. “So the rumors are true.”

“Da’riel—” Preia hisses.

“What?” Da’riel looks around at everyone, not contrite in the least. 

And his master was concerned that Anakin would be the one to say or do something culturally insensitive. He hides a quiet snicker behind his hand, pretending to rub his nose, and Obi-Wan gives him an unamused look before schooling his expression back to its artificial serenity. 

“Please excuse him,” Preia says, hip cocked, a finger rubbing against her temple. “He’s very—”

Liv butts in, “Reckless, blunt, uncouth?” 

Da’riel merely laughs, and Anakin can feel that it’s genuine. This is not at all the fearsome war General, leader of a revolution, and ruler of an entire planet that Anakin imagined. He seems close to these people, treats them more as equals and friends than subordinates or subjects, yet there’s still an aura about him that commands attention and respect as power or royalty would. 

Preia smirks. “Too honest for his own good.”

Whatever it is, Anakin doesn’t sense cruel intent coming from the Dua’primia, just honest curiosity. Despite the glare his master is drilling into the side of his head like he knows what Anakin is going to do, he can’t help asking, “What rumors?” 

“That you’re, er, monks,” Preia says, chuckling to mask embarrassment on behalf of her comrade and her own curiosity. 

“You know.” Liv sips at the drink Da’riel just poured her, not looking at them as she speaks, and Anakin leaks a pulse of unease into the Force. There’s something about her he simply can’t put his finger on. “No drinking, no fu—”

“Fun!” Preia hastily interjects, staring daggers at the other redhead. 

The corners of Anakin’s mouth twitch into a partial frown. They aren’t entirely wrong. He has his own… issues with the Order, with following rules that often either don’t make sense to him or directly conflict with his own ingrained beliefs. But it rankles for some reason, like he’s being judged, like they’re being judged. Mocked, even, though he doesn’t quite discern their meaning. Jedi are guardians of peace and justice within the galaxy. Maybe he doesn’t agree with the way the Order does things sometimes, but without them, without Anakin and Obi-Wan, the world would fall to disorder. To the dark side. People should be grateful—

“We are simply tired from our journey,” Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, sidling close enough that their shoulders graze, and Anakin exhales.

“My apologies, Jedi,” Da’riel says sincerely. “I am merely intrigued by your culture, as I’m sure you are of ours.” Obi-Wan bows his head in acceptance. “The hour is late. Preia?”

She hands Obi-Wan a datapad. “This contains an updated blueprint of the palace and map of the city, including the hidden exits and underground tunnels. I’ve marked the positions of my officers for each shift rotation as well as their schedules.”

Obi-Wan hums, stroking his beard as his eyes flit over the information on the screen. “And the evening of the festival?” 

“We’re tripling security, pulling from both the palace guard and local law enforcement.”

“How many of them know we’re here?” Anakin says.

There’s a knock at the door before she can answer, and Bull moves to open it, standing back to allow someone entry. It's a man Anakin recognizes. Tall and broad, with neatly-combed dark hair, deep-set brown eyes, and a kind yet serious face. His attire perfectly matches the regal demeanor flowing off him in waves, fine tailored robes of pewter-blue that swish around matching trousers as he walks. When his eyes land on Obi-Wan, a fond grin meets Obi-Wan’s public, Jedi-persona equivalent; a small, polite smile, though his eyes twinkle with equally affectionate mirth as Senator Bail Organa bends to his height to trade light kisses upon each cheek. 

Anakin knows from experience that it’s just a traditional Alderaanian greeting; it doesn’t mean anything. The Senator is a happily married man. And he’s pretty sure Obi-Wan hasn’t been involved with anyone in years, if ever. Whatever illicit affair he’d thought his master had with Vos was obviously just fueled by his own overactive imagination. He knows this because Obi-Wan never did meet the Kiffar before he shipped out for his next mission, and he hasn’t been alone with Vos since. Obi-Wan even stopped going to bars and clubs; stopped going out much at all, in fact, aside from diplomatic dinners and stuff they do on missions. Otherwise, he mostly stays with Anakin, and that’s exactly how Anakin likes it. 

None of that prevents the irritation boiling within his veins or the tormenting memory of a kiss that’s burrowed its way into his very soul, a kiss that should have never been, and the hollow, bitter pang that always follows in its wake.

Goosebumps prickling the flesh at his nape, he glances around and finds Da’riel leaning back lazily against the front of the bar on one elbow, sipping his drink and watching Anakin intently. Face flushing with heat, he plops into one of the plush chairs and out of the Dua’primia's view.

“Obi-Wan. As always, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“And you as well, Bail.”

“Now that everyone is here,” Preia says, “shall we get started?”

This is Da'riel btw:

"But there are no elves in Star Wars," one might say. Well guess what: there are now. 😌

Preia and Liv belong to @jacklyn-flynn & @charlatron respectively.

As for other WIPs; there's one I started before Troubled Water, though my focus was drawn to TW instead so it's been put on the backburner for now. The original idea was some kind of canon-divergent time-travel fix-it, but in the sense that Vaderkin's consciousness from the end of RoTJ returns to his body around the end of the Mortis arc in The Clone Wars. Can't say why that inspired me but it did lol, it felt like a pivotal moment (one of the shatterpoints I like to theorize about, change one thing and they're all altered via butterfly effect etc).

Like, what if he lived the future shown to him in that vision that the Father erased, and how would he react differently afterward, how would he talk to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka about what they went through on Mortis and the implications if he actually, finally understood and believed that he was indeed the Chosen One, how would they approach the Sith situation and the war from that point on... yeah I just have a lot of thoughts idk. I know that arc isn't a fan favorite but I personally loved the metaphor and the entire Prophetic Greek Tragedy vibe.

Excerpt:

“General Skywalker, come in.”

He feels… strange. Heavy yet impossibly lighter. Awareness presses down around him, suffocating, and a sharp pain lances through his skull as he draws the first shuddering breath in what feels simultaneously like mere minutes and several millennia. His mouth is dry, his throat sore, and his eyes burn as he slowly blinks into wakefulness. The crust of sleep clings to his long lashes, the salt-stained skin upon his cheeks pulling uncomfortably as he moves. He rubs them with a gloved hand and groans at the bright flashing lights of a console as they sharpen into focus. 

Wait—

He has a body. 

Moments ago he was formless and adrift, yet he is once again whole. And before that, he was… he was…

Kriff, he has hands. Hands he sees unfiltered, rather than through a tinted transparisteel visor protecting damaged retinas. And he’s breathing. Unassisted by a mechanical apparatus, by endless tubes and wires, no longer submerged under the ceaselessly distracting harsh rasp of a ventilator. Fingers flexing inches before his face, he blinks again, stunned. Not only does he have a body, but it’s his body. His limbs—well, with the exception of one. His gaze drifts slowly down to his long legs, toes curling experimentally in his boots. The sheer relief of it sends him reeling. 

Red light glints off his leather tabards and he looks up, expecting that any moment now, this will all prove another dream, a nightmare; a life free of that shell dangled temptingly before him only to be snatched away again. But the scene does not change. Dazed, he assesses his surroundings. A ship. He's on a ship? Familiar, Republic make. And there is a presence in the Force, a presence he has not felt in—

Hours. Years. An eternity.

Breath held, he turns. Only his head; as though any attempt to move this foreign yet thrillingly familiar youthful body will snap him out of this vision, send him back to that… that hell. And as he does, he sees him, a shining beacon of pure light, warm and bright and soothing. A man in beige robes, slumped in the co-pilot’s chair beside him, just beyond arm’s reach. Legs akimbo, elbows perched upon the armrests, hands dangling limply over his lap. His bearded chin is tucked to his chest which rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of unconsciousness. Auburn hair spills across his forehead, obscuring his eyes. But he would know this man anywhere.

Obi-Wan.

The desperate beat of his heart and rough, relieved exhale that escapes his lips seems thunderously loud in the otherwise silent cockpit. Fresh tears springing to his eyes, he attempts to stand—to go to him, to sweep Obi-Wan into his arms and feel his warmth, to surround himself with his scent and know for certain that he’s here, he's real, he’s alive—only to wobble and collapse back into the seat like a fawn testing new legs for the first time. 

How is this happening?

He feels himself, and not himself. As though he took a nap and awoke with another lifetime sliced into his brain, a vision he can't shake, an overwrite of his programming, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between it and the reality he's presented with the more he struggles to process it—

A flicker of blue dances in his periphery, repeating a question, and it is only with great reluctance that he tears his eyes away from his former Master. The holo-projection of another man stands at attention in the center console, brow furrowed with worry. Fondness and guilt and confusion flood him with equal measure as he takes in his Captain’s, his friend’s, appearance. 

“General Skywalker, do you read me?”

Skywalker.

The voice of the last person to call him by that name, in that other life, echoes in his mind. It is the name of your true self, you have only forgotten. The son he tried to kill, to corrupt, to save. The son who saved him, and in the end, returned him to the light. Luke.

Clearing his parched throat, he responds, “I—we read you, Rex,” and marvels at the sound of his own voice, so crisp and clear and young, without the distortion of that burdensome helmet. “You—you’re a sight for sore eyes. Can you hear me?”

Fabric rustles behind him and he instinctively reaches for the lightsaber at his hip before the sleepy, curious brush of another Force signature meets his own. Gasping, he whips around in the flight chair.

“Ahsoka!”

She winces, rubbing her tired eyes. “Not so loud, Skyguy,” she says on the back end of a yawn, glancing around the cockpit. “What happened? We were—-mmphh!” Her surprised grunt is muffled against his shoulder as he all but falls out of his seat to the floor at her feet and drags her into his arms, then his lap, cradling her like a child. 

Face buried in her soft lekku, he squeezes her close to his chest, body wracked with silent sobs. All he’d wanted was to protect Ahsoka. To mentor her, as his master before him, and give her the tools she needed to protect herself and innocents across the galaxy. Brilliant, kind, stubborn and strong, and so, so wise beyond her time, she became one of the most talented Jedi he had ever met. Though they’d gotten off to a rocky start, she made him proud, made him feel honored to be her master. Watching her leave the Order tore his heart in two. Watching her leave him destroyed him. Already he’d been questioning the Council, questioning the Order as a whole and their damn inflexible code. But more than that, he questioned himself. He’d failed as her master, failed as a Jedi. 

The memories haunt him. For months he examined the shatterpoints of their lives together, in hindsight—every lesson taught, every battle fought, wondering where he went wrong, what he could have done differently, how he could have fixed things, helped her, kept her close—spiraling down, down into the depths of his own torment and self-loathing. Without Ahsoka, Obi-Wan had been his only remaining tether to the Jedi. To the light. A tether broken, in the end, by his selfishness. By jealousy and hatred and greed, by the fear of abandonment, loss, and… deep, shameful, unrequited feelings. 

But here she is, right here in the secure circle of his arms. His beloved young padawan, the girl he’s come to cherish like a friend, a sister, who he’d met lightsaber for lightsaber in that dark future but even then, corrupted as he was, could not bring himself to kill because he loved her so. Loves her still.

“Master?” Ahsoka murmurs, hands hanging limp at her sides for several seconds before hesitantly returning his embrace with equal strength. Too often preoccupied with and separated by the war, the opportunities to shown her such open affection were far and few between, usually coming after particularly difficult missions, brief brushes with death, and how kriffed up is that? Filled with regret, he promises himself here and now that will change. 

“Are you…” Trailing off, she reaches up to slowly pet his hair and he releases a quiet sigh, finally pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are wide and worried and so very, terrifically, blue. “Master, what’s wrong?”

Letting out a soft chuckle, he shakes his head. “Nothing, Snips.” The old nickname rolls off his tongue without even thinking and his heart clenches, this time with both pain and joy. “Nothing at all. Everything is perfect.”

There’s a crackle of static behind them, then, “Ah, General Kenobi. It’s good to see you, sir. Are you three alright? General Skywalker seems—”

He lifts his gaze to the co-pilot’s chair. Obi-Wan is awake and perched upright in front of the holo, staring silently at them with a frown so achingly familiar a tangled web of affection, longing, pain, betrayal swells within his chest. It hurts, it hurts so much to look at Obi-Wan like this, yet now that those eyes are open and trained so intently on him, he can’t tear his own away. And Obi-Wan’s just as beautiful as ever, just as heart-wrenchingly perfect and good. 

Too late, he remembers that their bond, while not as strong as it had once been, remains. Unlike most master and padawan pairs after the apprentice reaches knighthood, neither he nor Obi-Wan could bring themselves to sever it. They were at war, their connection was vital. It made them a better team. Until— 

His mental shields slam into place but not before Obi-Wan arches a single brow, lips parting as if to repeat Rex’s inquiry. 

“I’m fine,�� he rushes to cut Obi-Wan off, “we’re all fine. Just, uh—where are you?” 

He can only beg the Force that his former master and current padawan did not feel too much, did not see the torment buried within him. By the way they appear to be communicating with one another like whispers behind closed doors, however, he’s sure they will have questions. Questions he doesn’t know how to answer. Letting go of Ahsoka, he clambers to his feet, limbs still trembling, and drops heavily back into the pilot’s chair.

“Standing by, sir. We were worried. You were,” Rex hesitates, “off the scopes there for a moment.”

Memories hit him in a rush. Chaotic, lacking order. He's in a dark room with his dead mother whispering poison in his ear. On a balcony overlooking a pristine lake, flowers scenting the air, one hand rising to touch soft skin. In a junkyard, fingers covered in mech oil, the ever-present grit of sand between his molars. At an opera listening to the viper beside him spit lies, lies, lies. The sky above shifts rapidly from day to night, and he's lost in a spinning whirlpool of stars and the obscene rush of power he feels as he brings gods to their knees. Then he's watching the silhouette of a robed man against the backdrop of sunset thinking look at me, look at me, please look at me, I need you—

Sifting through them is a struggle. Everything blurs together, and he can't control what comes or when, skull throbbing from the effort. His thoughts, his feelings, are an amalgamation of eras he can't quite reconcile; the slave boy, the padawan learner, the Jedi Knight, the General, the Sith Lord. It's too much, it's too much and he doesn't know who or what he is anymore and the panic is rising— 

A comforting hand settles upon his shoulder and he opens his eyes. Ahsoka.

“A moment?” Obi-Wan says, still staring at him. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under that all-too perceptive gaze. At length, his master turns to the holo. “We’ve been gone far longer than a moment.”

Rex’s eyes flit between them. “Sir, I don’t understand. You’ll need to explain.”

Ahsoka snorts. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Still have a lot of mental fleshing out to do before it goes anywhere but there ya have it.

May the Force be with you, always!

As for the first part of your comment, really, thank you. It's not that I don't love my writing so much as the process can be difficult at times. 😅 I'm a perfectionist, and not by choice so much as my brain simply won't let things go until they feel right. Even after publishing something I have a very bad habit of going back in and editing it a dozen more times. It's very annoying! 😂

Sometimes that single-minded focus gets me stuck in a huge rut because I'm too zoned in on trivialities to navigate back to the big picture. Basically writer's block is the worst feeling ever and sometimes I get down about not being as productive as I should be. But I do love writing, and making people happy with my work gives me a lot of joy and motivation to keep at it. Well, I should probably get back to work on TW but I hope you enjoyed the excerpts! All your kind words made me smile and I'm gonna try to carry that positivity with me. 🥰

[hunnyuwu]

Sucker For You || NCT Jaemin

Premise: Jaemin typically has strong feelings once he catches the love bug, and you are definitely not an exception to that.

Pairing: Staff! reader x Idol! Jaemin

Genre: Fluff, romance

WC: 2.7 K

Warnings: A lil steamy by the end ;) [but still PG13 lol]

~~~

Jaemin descended from the black, silver laced stairs that led to the hidden area beneath the stadium stage. He slicked the sweat off his forehead as he noticed that it was way too hot in there.

“Jaemin, over here!”

The boy looked up, his foot finally hitting the solid floor of the area swarmed with SM staff. He smiled bashfully as the only thing he saw was a Polaroid camera being lifted up before the blaring white light of said item set off, momentarily blinding him. He felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks as he looked down, his pectorals and abdomen on full display for the world to see. And he knew exactly why he was being bombarded with cameras and long glances.

While the boy was confident in his body, especially since he had started working out as of late, he was still flustered when people intentionally stared a little too long. He peered over to Jeno, the boy who Jaemin thought had the body of a god.

Who was he to show off his body to millions of thirsty fans all over the world, when Jeno had a lot more to offer?

“One more, Jaemin!”

Jaemin snapped out of his internal thoughts as he redirected his attention back to the camera, this time tugging the bottom of his jean jacket to half-heartedly cover his abdomen and nips. An act he would soon regret as the shoulders of the jacket fell down to his elbows right as the camera set off, showing off his defined collarbones and shoulders like he was posing for the cover of Vogue.

“Thank you, Jaemin!”

The girl taking photos of him ran off to do god knows what, leaving Jaemin flattered yet embarrassed all at the same time.

“Hyung, I know you have been working out, but I didn’t know you were hiding all of that!”

Jaemin chuckled as the youngest, who spectated the entire scene, walked over with a look of pure amazement. Jaemin discarded his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder, fully exposing his torso as the camera was finally out of view.

He brought a hand up to Jisung’s fluffy black hair, “Ah, thank you my cute little baby!”

“Hyung...” Jisung whined cutely, actively leaning away from Jaemin’s encroaching touch.

The two of them, along with a fleet of staff, headed back towards the makeup and changing rooms to get ready for the post-concert Vlive event which was to be held an hour after.

“I’m going to get changed. What about you, Hyung?” Jisung said, ready to depart to a different section of the room.

Jaemin sighed, a smile lighting up his lips. He peered over to the makeup area where a few girls were huddled around, whispering about something he couldn’t even begin to guess.

Jaemin trained his vision back to Jisung, who started laughing, to see what had the boy suddenly so jolly.

“You should really ask her out, Hyung.”

Jaemin blushed, sucking in air harshly through his nostrils as he gave the youngest a puzzled look.

“What?”

“C’mon, it’s obvious. You like Y/N.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, scoffing with the best of his acting abilities.

“I definitely do not like Y/N.”

“Hm, okay Hyung. Your loss.”

Jaemin tilted his head, an eyebrow arching up to the sky.

“And why is that?”

“Because I see Jeno Hyung talking to her right now.”

Without another thought, Jaemin, almost snapping his neck, whipped his head to see if that was true.

Which was definitely the case.

Jaemin’s vision became clouded with green as he witnessed you giggling at something Jeno said, accompanied with that famous eye smile of his. His jaw clenched tightly as he watched Jeno rest his bulky arms over your shoulders, an action the blonde male only did to those he was extremely comfortable around.

You were a recent addition to the NCT Dream Team, a makeup artist and aspiring stylist intern that was striving to eventually make it within the fashion industry. Ever since your arrival, the members of Dream recruited you as a close friend as you were right within their age range, being an ‘00 liner about to go into Junior year of university. Jaemin had taken a liking to you ever since the day you set foot into their practice room to introduce yourself. Unfortunately, he also noticed that Jeno had also been encroaching on you as of late, going out on late night grocery store visits with you, or even sticking around you a little longer after recordings and shows. Jeno and you had become extremely comfortable lately, and that was a big problem for Jaemin.

The bubblegum haired male bit his inner cheek, a deep frown forming over his features as fast as the spread of the bubonic plague.

“You should do something about it, Hyung.”

With that last remark, Jisung ran off to join up with Chenle, who was on his way to get changed.

Jaemin sucked in the heavy air surrounding him, before releasing it all at once, finally making up his mind. He stomped over to the makeup area, surprising some of the makeup Noona’s at his rash movements through the cluttered space.

He stopped abruptly, causing two individuals to also quickly end their discussion.

You looked up curiously, a small smile forming over your lips as the two of you made eye contact. On the other hand, Jeno shot the pink haired boy an unamused look.

“Can you touch up my makeup?”

Jaemin said, a fake smile pushing his lips upward as he was fully aware of the penetrating glare he was receiving from the stark blonde male beside you.

You nodded like an obedient puppy, ready to get to work, “Of course!” You chirped, patting Jeno’s shoulder to indicate his departure.

“Off you go, Jeno. We can talk more later, but duty calls!”

You ran off, collecting your personal materials at your station.

With one last glance at Jaemin, Jeno walked off to the other side of the room, but that was the least of Jaemin’s concerns. As he walked over to the makeup chair, he noticed the way his heart harshly beated with every step he took.

‘So beautiful...’

He muttered small praises of your form before finally settling into the cloth material of the seat.

“Do you just want a touch up of your current makeup?”

“Yes, please.” Jaemin breathed out quickly, drawing a cute giggle out of you. He noticed the way your eyes disappeared as you gave a whole-hearted laugh, making his heart squeeze with the harshness of a python attack.

“It’s been too long, Jaemin-ssi. How have you been lately?” You said calmly, starting your work on his face. You neared his features, alarming Jaemin to the point that he thought that you may have literally taken his breath away.

“I’ve been good. Did you watch the concert?”

“Yeah! I watched a little bit of it. I can’t believe you pulled off a stunt like that!”

Jaemin pursed his lips, concentrating his eyes to your focused features. He grazed his pupils all over your face like you were applying makeup to his.

“What stunt?”

“Showing your body off like that? You have a lot of courage, Jaemin-ssi.”

Jaemin choked on his spit, but subdued his reaction before he ended up spitting on you. Something that would surely make you hate him forever.

“I didn’t think of it like that, b-but thank you. Did you... did you like it?”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes shook a little as your hand stuttered on his face. You quickly resumed your movements, but your impulsive response sparked a flame of confidence within him.

“You see me shirtless all the time, Y/N. What’s the difference between the stage and now?”

He questioned, using his free hands to gesture down to his completely bare torso. You shook your head with a little lip bite, looking like you were having an entire battle within yourself.

“Oh hush, Jaemin-ssi. I just thought you were cool, but nothing more.”

Jaemin felt a little defeated, but he came too far to back down now.

“Call me Jaemin, no honorifics.”

“Huh?”

You were startled to say the least, shifting backwards with widened, doe-like eyes. Jaemin smirked a little, masking over the quaking anxiety bubbling within him.

“You call ‘Jeno’ casually, why not me?”

Your face contorted, diving back into his face to complete your work. Jaemin silently waited for your answer, his eyebrows drawn together as he focused on your every movement.

‘Why are you so perfect?’ Jaemin let his mind roam to a random place, imagining you and him in your shared apartment, about to do things-

“J-Jeno and I are just friendly is all! I can call you Jaemin if you want.” You nodded affirmatively, resolving that internal battle within yourself. You shot him a bright smile, conveying your true feelings.

In actuality, you had nothing but the hots for Jaemin ever since you laid eyes on him. He truly was that sweet neighborhood boy that all the girls on the block would fall in love with. He was charming, charismatic, adorable, caring, thoughtful... Basically everything that your mother would want you to bring home. But he also had this mysterious, sinister side that you had wanted to crack open ever since you once witnessed that devilish smirk flit over his pink lips after teasing a girl on set.

While by no means were you into men who displayed a sweet side to only be the devil once you got to know them, but you didn’t mind getting into the mystery that Jaemin was to you. He had a playful, bad boy charm that made you grasp onto his every movement like he was the opposite side to your magnetic charge.

And that’s why you had kept your distance from him, because you simply loved observing him.

"Are you sure you two are only friends?”

You gasped, feeling slim, cold fingers wrap around your wrist gently. Going numb, you clumsily let the makeup brush between your fingers slip from your grasp. The clattering sound of wood meeting tile rang around the two of you, but it went unnoticed by you as you merely held Jaemin’s burning eye contact with concerned fragility.

Were you the next subject of his flirting tendencies?

Your eyebrows scrunched together, confused by his serious gleam.

“What are you implying, Jaemin?” You whispered, not physically grasping the close proximity between your faces.

“You like Jeno, don’t you?”

Your frown deepened as you drew away, your body responding for you immediately.

“No... it’s bold of you to assume something like that.” You let out cooly, bending down to scoop up the makeup brush that you dropped.

Jaemin felt guilt eat away at his gut as he watched your back, currently switching out the dirty makeup brush for a fresh one.

“Well, would you ever like me then?”

He saw the way your back muscles stiffened up, unconsciously drawing a little smirk to form over his pink, plush lips that were freshly redone. He let out a fake pout, noticing that you were staring at him through the reflection of the makeup mirror.

“Well?”

“What’s with you today, Jaemin?” You chuckled out nervously, trying to diffuse the rising tension around the both of you. Your laughter never reached your eyes as you winced from the way your heart rung within your mind. It was beating at an abnormal pace, and you knew it only meant one thing.

“Oh, nothing.” He chirped.

You sighed, horribly confused from his bipolar behavior. Yeah, you witnessed his behavior around others, but you never knew how much it would give you whiplash personally. You turned back around to touch up his eyeshadow, praying to God that your hand wouldn’t shake from the effects of your rattling heart.

You dove back into your craft, using all your effort to ignore the drilling eyes that were piercing into your soul through his spindly eyelashes.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You scoffed, attempting to throw him off your embarrassed shock.

“My, you’re really in a flirty mood tonight, aren't you!” You exclaimed, finishing the last few details of his light brown eyeshadow that made his eyes stand out beautifully.

“I mean it, Y/N.”

You gulped harshly, your brain didn’t allow you to even process his words. To avoid any further confrontation, you spun around so that you were looking down at your makeup supplies on the white surface table by the mirror.

You ignored him, wading through your materials to act like you were busy looking for the next product you wanted to use on him.

After a few moments of sheer silence, a high pitched yelp escaped your lips as you felt heat hovering over your back and hands land on both sides of you, effectively trapping you against the solid surface.

You whipped your head upwards to look at your reflection within the mirror, your jaw unhinging upon the unholy sight.

Jaemin was caging you with his body... his bare torso moments away from colliding with your form. All you could see was the flexed definition of his arms and one feral eye peak out from behind your head, mimicking the prowl of a predator upon their prey.

“J-Jaemin?” You called out, not missing the animalistic glint shining within his chocolate brown irises.

“Not so bold now, are we?” He muttered with that beautiful smirk that he showed to the cameras, but this time, a sadistic edge played along the ends of his lips and eyes, sending your body into raging, hormonal mess. Your spine tingled as your felt goosebumps rise along your arms and neck.

He leaned down, pressing his nose into your nape, eliciting a striking gasp from you.

You whipped your head side to side, wondering how the hell no one was reacting to what the boy was doing to you at this very moment.

“Jaemin, what are you doing?!” You hissed, finally regaining some of your senses back.

“What do you think?” He growled, sending your mind into a muddled pool of incoherent warnings and signals.

He pressed his newly done lips into your arched neck, drawing out another confused gasp out of you. You finally turned yourself around within his muscly entrapment, only to cower once you came face to face with the beast.

“Tell me, Y/N. What do you think I’m doing?” He said lowly. A dim fire danced within your body and soul as you watched his eyes easily devour you from his superior stance. You backed away a little, your butt pressing up into the cold surface behind you. Jaemin followed along, allowing his torso to come centimeters away from yours.

“Being a flirty jerk.” You muttered with distaste, but you were anything but distasteful toward him right now. In fact,

You were rather excited.

“Am I catching your eyes, at least?”

You rolled your eyes, glaring up into his jestingly, “Whatever floats your boat, Love.”

“Hmm,” Jaemin purred, letting his eyes draw closed, “I like the way that you call me that.”

“What?” You barked, astonished by his sheer audacity.

With one swift movement, you shoved him off you, thankfully landing in the makeup chair with a plop, or you would have been in big trouble.

He slouched back, shooting you a lazy smirk, “You don’t have to shove me to touch me, Y/N. You can just ask to feel me up, I’m not as shy as I may seem.” He drawled, his hooded eyes practically setting you on fire like a witch on the stake.

“I have no idea what you’re on about today, Jaemin.” You hissed with your arms crossing over your body, but you knew the scarlet red tinting your cheeks would give you away like a children’s book.

“Is that so? Well, I’ll tell you plainly if you go out with me this weekend.”

“Huh?”

“Saturday evening at our dorms. I’ll take you out on a date.”

“A date?!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jaemin shot up from the chair, shooting you a wink before walking away.

“What if I say no?!” You called out, making the bubblegum haired boy to slowly turn around to face you.

“I won’t take ‘no’ as an answer, because I know you want me just as much as I want you.” He said plainly, before finally exiting the room.

You huffed with no particular emotion, because you were basically feeling every single emotion at once.

“So that’s what it’s like to survive a tornado, huh?” You muttered, not able to tear your eyes away from the door Jaemin just seconds ago slipped past.

But he was right.

You really wanted him, too.

~~~

“Sooo, did she say yes?” Jisung cheerfully chirped, nudging Jaemin as the group of them were getting ready for the Vlive event.

“I’ll tell you that after this weekend.” Jaemin chuckled weakly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

He put on one hell of an act for you, praying to the heavens that it worked. While he did it to rile you up, it was partially fueled by a hidden fuel that he never knew he had.

Jaemin sighed tiredly, using the thought of you to keep him awake for the Vlive event.

“I always knew you liked her, Hyung!”

“I-”

Jaemin gave up his useless protests.

It was just fact at this point... 

Jaemin was one hell of a sucker for you, and he knew that wouldn’t be changing any time soon.