#your honour he may be taking up all my brain space at the moment

[orange-twilek-guy]

Office Visit

Umm 😊 just a little 900 word quick thingy I wrote for Silvanis. That little guy is 90% of my brain currently

Includes mentions of: Discrimination

Silvanis reclined back into his chair and stared at the paperwork they had yet to complete. Despite dedicating most of his day -and night- to completing the work it continued to tower over their neatly organized desk. His green eyes skimmed the nearest page, preparing to sign it after he finished with his small break. Kage were known for their excellent memory.. or at least that’s what a droid had informed him of after Silvanis had impressed another senator with his ability to recall previous senate matters but the young senator couldn’t remember any point in his life where he hadn’t felt swamped with work. His right hand reached over to massage his dominant hand’s wrist instinctively to prevent cramps but he was stopped by the wrist brace he was wearing.

A light flicked on overhead and he looked up in surprise, his eyes adjusting to seeing in the light rather than the dark. Silvanis had forgotten he had switched it off in hopes to be able to leave the office sooner than later but that was a long gone mission now. His attention settled on a figure in his office doorway- Silvanis recognised the armour as the Coruscant Guard. The young Kage shifted in his chair and sat straighter, his hands coming to rest on the cool metal of their desk.

“Yes?” Silvanis found himself speaking first, he saw the clone straighten up as he addressed him. Exhaustion had crept into the young teen’s voice and carved away some of the formalities that usually decorated his speech. “What has brought you to my office?” Silvanis further prompted from the stranger although he had a sneaking suspicion it most likely had something to do with the clone personhood bill Silvanis had presented to the senate floor just a few rotations ago.

“With all due respect senator, why’d you do it?” The clone asked, nerves bringing him to his point far too swiftly to be considered polite. Silvanis could feel the Guard’s eyes searching his expression from behind the visor. They wondered why the guard was so anxious speaking with him but Silvanis chose to not think on it too much.

“Do what? I have done plenty of things you will have to clarify” Silvanis replied, although he felt as if his suspicion was correct he preferred to have all the clarification he could before he answered.

“Pushing for my brothers’ rights” The clone clarified, clearing his throat. Silvanis had expected this to be what the clone wanted to know but he still found himself unprepared to answer. He wasn’t quite sure what to say and his eyes searched the wall opposite to him as if it would hint towards what to say.

It made sense why the guard was curious to it, Silvanis didn’t fault them for it. The young kage wasn’t as good with people as his job description wanted him to be, he was hard to read with his cold nature and Silvanis didn’t quite understand the emotions of people around him. This didn’t change when he interacted with the guard and so the clones just thought of him as another harsh senator that didn’t want anything to do with them. Silvanis also had not advocated for anything of this nature previously either unlike the other senators he had worked with on this bill so they understood how seemed out of the blue for any outsiders. The reason he did it was quite simple to the senator, Silvanis saw his people in the clone’s position. His people, the kage, had been oppressed by the Belugans for as long as any kage could remember. Silvanis saw some of the discrimination the clones faced and he was reminded of the treatment they had seen his people get his whole life. A part of Silvanis also hoped that if they helped them, it might alleviate some of the guilt he had from the setbacks he knew he was the cause of for the kage warriors. A civil war had raged on Quarzite, his home planet, between the kage and the belugans for centuries and after allying themselves with the republic for trade Lord Otua Blank wanted to keep the republic from involving themselves against his rather tyrannical rule and had chosen to raise a kage to use as a puppet in the senate to try and paint Quarzite more equal than it was. Silvanis had filled that role and played out the Lord’s wishes as he was demanded too. He knew he couldn’t help his people but he could do something to help the clones. Silvanis had justified his advocacy of the clones to Lord Blank by convincing him that the clones may one day remember this and return the favor. “I am not certain myself” Silvanis admitted although the lie didn’t quite fit right in his mouth. He hoped the guard wouldn’t question it. The senator didn’t elaborate any further and an uncomfortable, awkward silence fell between the two of them.

“Thank you for your time senator, I’ll be going” The clone sounded more on edge than he did previously. Silvanis nodded his head forward silently and watched as the guardsman retreated from his office and darkness fell upon the room again. Silvanis blinked a few times to readjust to it. He continued to stare at the wall as a familiar shame burned at him. Shame for what he had done to the kage, shame for the things Silvanis knew would do and the shame he felt at not being able to fit in neatly with anyone around him. One day he was sure it would swallow him alive.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Office Space 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re an assistant to private and corporate investigator, Nick Fowler, and find yourself brought into the fold of his shady professional life. 

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, this reader is known as Elfie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Well, it has been a day, has it not?” Pine frightens you as he emerges. You pop your head up, your vision squiggly with the imprint of a spreadsheet. 

“Sir,” you straighten up to see him past the monitor. 

“Hmm, and when do you let out, darling? Surely Nicolas wouldn’t have you pent up on a Saturday such as this?” He makes a show of checking his watch. You give a sheepish smile and run your thumb along the space bar. 

“Soon.” 

“I’m sure.” His tone is unimpressed. “I did say I owed you for the tea.” 

“Oh, that’s--” 

“I do like to follow through and I must admit, aside from our mutual acquaintance, I am not very familiar with this city. I would not complain for company.” He twists on his heel and struts to Fowler’s office door. The knock has you strangled in the fraught silence that follows. 

Pine sighs and leans on the door frame. He clucks impatiently and raises his hand again. You sink down to hide behind the screen. 

“Jonathan,” Fowler greets. 

“Hello, I was just packing up for the day and I noticed your lovely assistant is still hard at work.” Pine intones 

“How observant,” Fowler snorts. 

“Well, I think she’s due for her release and since I’ve promised her recompense--” 

“Recompense?” 

“Ah, yes, she has been a gracious host. You may learn a thing or two.” Pine’s chuckle sets you on edge. Even behind the shield of the computer you feel your boss’ roiling irritation. 

“I forgot about you sort and your pints.” Fowler spits the last word. 

“If she is so inclined, a pint is in order, but she does seem to be more of a sophisticated type, though perhaps not so much as you and your vintages, eh?” 

Fowler huffs. “I thought you came for work.” 

“What is work without fun? Let the poor thing go. On my honour, I’ll keep it on the up and up,” Pine insists. 

Silence. “Elf, didn’t I promise you a work dinner? For all your hard work, of course?” 

You’re happy neither of them can see the surprise rippled in your forehead. You wipe it away quickly and peek up above the monitor frame. You force a smile. Fowler’s icy blue eyes chill you to the bone as Pine turns with a coy crook of his brow. 

“I think... yes. Um, but, er...” 

“Least I can do,” Fowler smirks. “I’d hate to be rude. You don’t mind if my colleague joins us? He is new in town and all?” He looks at Pine who returns his challenging glint. For a moment, they stare at one another. 

“I should hate to presume...” Pine says. 

“It’s okay,” you say a bit to quickly for your brain to process. You bite down on a cringe and clear your throat, “but if you’d rather catch up, we can do it another time.” 

“Sounds like a plan. My treat.” Fowler insists with a defiant tilt of his chin. 

“Right, okay.” You sit back as he retreats into his office and Pine hums. You click around on your screen as you try to figure out what just happened. You’d rather just go home but it would be rude to say so. 

As you double-check the autosave, Pine’s shadow comes to loom from the other side of the desk. You glance up with a sheepish smile as you sign-out and push your chair back. You bend to grab your purse from under the desk. 

“Your boss has ever been a rather stormy man, hm? Though you’d have laughed to see him on my side of the pond. He mightn’t admit it but he was rather fond of a pint or two. Perhaps a bit too fond. It may just be the reason for his recent aversion.” Pine laughs and you do your best to humour him. 

“I don’t really drink beer. Makes me feel bloated but I have some drinks now and again. Last night, I had some with a few friends. Nothing wild but it was nice.” 

“And he made you come in today?” He tuts. “How cruel. Well, never worry, I shall endeavour to make our own working relationship less than burdensome.” 

“It’s work. Really.”  

You leave him to turn off the printer room lights and as you come back, he leans on your desk. He watches you with his soft blue eyes. “Old friends?” 

“Some of them. We... we work in the same field.” 

“PI work?” He wonders. 

“Oh, no. We—we’re all personal assistants or secretaries or whatever. Couple of us met in college, others at work, a few randomly. Guess we just ended up together.” You come around the desk and seal your lips against a yawn that flutters your lashes. 

“Alright, let’s go.” Fowler snaps his office door behind him as he marches out. “Remember that steakhouse I mentioned, Elf?” 

Nope. You don’t think he’s ever talked about a steakhouse or anything fun with you. If you didn’t bring him most of his meals, you might think he doesn’t eat at all. He is inhuman enough that he might subsist on resent alone. 

“Uh, I think so,” you lie. 

“You’ll like it. Wagyu is their seasonal special.” He surpasses Pine and ushers you to the door. As he opens it ahead of you, you hesitate. It’s strange. He’s being... nice? You step outside and Pine trails, thanking Fowler as he does. 

“Wagyu?” Pine puts his hand to your lower back as he turns you down the sidewalk. “I’m more inclined to a nice filet or beef wellington.” 

“This way,” Fowler catches your arm and pulls you around. Pine scuffs and turns back to follow once more. “It’s close. Don’t even need to drive.” 

“Mm, ever the man with all the secrets, eh?” Pine comes up on your other side.  

Fowler keeps his grip on your arm. He seems to recall himself and unclamps his fingers, only to hook his arm through yours. You let him as you walk stiffly down the street. What the heck is going on? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Fowler tosses back. He is met with another airy chuckle from the taller man. 

“So long as they have good drinks, eh, Elfie? It might be a good place for girls’ night,” Pine brushes your shoulder gently. 

Fowler looks over, a terse slant in his jaw, then sets his sights straight. “I don’t know, the vintage might be a bit too much for an Englishman’s taste.” 

[forhisglry]

My positive birth story

I write my own birth story on International Day of the Midwife, to highlight the incredible value of good midwifery support and continuity of care and how the environment that we birth in has a huge impact on our birth experience. And to reaffirm what all the research says, that birthing at home with midwifery care is safe and empowering and should be available as an option for more women. As a disclaimer, I know that birthing at home is not what all women want and may not be right for some women. I also know that many women come out of their birthing experience traumatised rather than empowered. My hope for the future of midwifery and birth is that every woman would have access to supportive woman-centred midwifery care to birth in an empowering way that is right for them in the space that is right for them- whether that is at home, in a birth centre or at the hospital. Own your birth, your body is powerful and so capable. It was created to do this.

For me, choosing a homebirth was essential. As a midwife, I know the benefits of uninterrupted labour, and wanted to be in a space where this was honoured and I could birth on my terms. I also knew the challenge I would have with switching my midwife brain off in labour and stepping into the primal brain required to labour well. Being at home meant I was away from my workplace and other people’s birth stories, and was safely in my own space to write my own story. Thankfully, Darwin has a publicly funded homebirth program that I fit the low-risk criteria for, so I was quick to book into this early in my pregnancy.

Choosing a homebirth was also a step of faith for me. For a long time, I’ve had a fear that I’d never be able to birth my babies vaginally. A midwife once said to me when I was 19 that my ‘pelvis was too small to birth’, and it’s haunted me ever since. (A reminder that the words you speak over people, even off-hand comments, have power). Birthing Reuben at home, all 4230 grams of him, was a real step of faith in trusting God over my fears. And in that, He reminded me in a very real way that through him all things are possible, and that not only can I birth my babies, I can birth chunky big ones. It broke my fears of untruths spoken to me long ago. I write this birth story to give God the glory.

During my pregnancy, my husband Jonno and I spent 3 months on the road travelling. It was an amazing bonding time together and we grew a lot in our relationship. While on the road, I saw a midwife in Yackandandah, Victoria, several times over the course of our travels. In our short time together, her midwifery approach and philosophy resonated deeply with me, and I felt valued and listened to. I loved getting some continuity of care even as we travelled.

We arrived back in Darwin at 35 weeks pregnant. In the weeks leading up to birth, Jonno and I did a hypnobirthing course and I read through Rhea Dempsey’s books ‘Birth with confidence’ and ‘Beyond the birth plan.’ These both really helped in my mental and emotional preparation for birth. I spent time every day working through thoughts and fears of birth, and taking my birth to God in prayer and letting go of control. The wait is hard and takes a surrendering of your own will. It’s a strange time of anticipation and stillness. I loved and hated it. I desperately wanted my baby to come, but valued those precious moments with just me and Jonno. Five days after my due date, I started to have some mild crampy niggles but nothing particularly painful or regular at all. It was a Sunday, and Jonno and I spent the day together pottering around and went for a long beach walk in the evening, watching a beautiful sunset. That night I woke up at 4am with surges coming every 10 minutes, not too painful but enough to stop me from sleep. I got up so I didn’t wake up Jonno with my tossing and turning and sat on my exercise ball in the living room with a heat pack on my tummy.

He woke up to get ready for work a couple of hours later. With irregular contractions only once every 10 minutes, I told him to still go to work, thinking it might carry on like this for some time, and wanted to maximise the time that he’d have off work after the baby arrived. Before he left for work I got him to put the TENS machine on my back. It was absolute magic. I kept it on all day.

As the morning progressed, the surges began to get a little closer together but were still irregular and I was coping fine. I spent the day trying to distract myself. I played some cards, danced around the living room, rested a little and practiced some good positioning.

By 3 in the afternoon I was struggling to motivate myself and stay distracted. Jonno had been calling me up every couple of hours from work to check on me, but my surges were still only every 5 minutes or so and pretty manageable so I didn’t think he needed to come home early, but I was keen on some company and motivation. At this point I called Jenelle, an amazing midwife and friend who has previously been a part of the homebirth team, and had agreed to be a part of my birth support team. She was just what I needed in that moment. She entered my birth space and helped me to draw in my focus, where I was having a ‘crisis of confidence’ moment. I broke out in tears when she got there, and told her I didn’t think I could do it. She looked me straight in the eye and said ‘well, you don’t like the alternative do you!’, which really helped to kick my head into gear.

Up until this point I had been experiencing all of my surge pain in my pubic bone, so Jenelle felt my baby’s position and we realised he was posterior with a deflexed head. We got hard to work right away with various positions and massage to try and realign bub and release tension from my pelvis. As we moved around, we chatted about all things from magic mushrooms and the golden valley tree park in Balingup, to candles, to my mum and my relationship with Jonno. It was excellent distraction and really helped me to relax. At one point I felt an unusual popping sensation, like my baby just swung into place, and then things were on pretty big from there. This happened right before jonno got home at 5.30pm, and then it was suddenly all systems go.

My lovely housemates set up my birthing space with the birth pool in the living room, while Jonno supported me for a while in the shower, and at some point my support team called my homebirth midwife to attend. The intensity of labour ramped up and there were so many moments where it felt unbearable. Labour truly does take you to the end of yourself, and it was my incredible support circle that really kept me grounded throughout the whole journey. I never once felt like they didn’t think I could do it and never once felt afraid. When I looked around the room I felt believed in and surrounded by love. One of the affirmations I had written on the wall was the Bible verse ‘There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear’, and it was so true in that space. I really felt carried by God throughout the whole journey. What surprised me was how much I needed interaction in labour. In most situations in life when I’m struggling, I tend to internalise and go quiet, but I found that in labour, talking to my team and giving myself little pep talks really helped me to keep going. It never felt like there were surplus people in the room, every person in my circle had an important role. Poor Jonno was well outnumbered by midwives! Besides Jenelle, my housemate Jos was there as another support person, and I had the 2 wonderful homebirth midwives.

Some time after 8pm, I felt like I had exhausted all other coping options, and that I wouldn’t be able to do this much longer. I got into the birth pool and it felt like the most blissful thing in the world. I floated around the water like a mermaid, my body giving me some much needed longer breaks between surges and I rode the endorphins through each rest. As the surges continued, I instinctively moved my body around the pool to make space for my baby. It felt so good to move in a weightless and unrestricted way.

Some time after 9 o’clock, I started feeling that involuntary urge to push and after fighting it for a while, Jenelle reminded me to go into it, not to resist it. So I went with the feeling and it felt good to do something, but I didn’t feel like I was really getting anywhere fast. My midwife suggested that I spend some time sitting on the toilet- aka dilation station. I did this and really felt his head move lower. I got back in the water around 11pm and jonno got in the water behind me, which really grounded me as I continued to push. My support team held up a mirror through my surges, and seeing his head slowly emerge really spurred me on to keep going. His head birthed slowly and smoothly, giving my body a chance to stretch and move as it needed to. He was calm the whole way through and his heart rate was steady. I birthed my baby in the water at 3 past midnight to the sweet joyful sounds of Celtic music (that we had playing in the background throughout labour). His head was born on the 17th and his body on the 18th! It was the most surreal moment. My boy was quiet and calm and he stared at me and Jonno as we sat in the pool. After birth we got out of the pool and waited for the placenta to come naturally, leaving my boy attached to his umbilical cord until well after the placenta had birthed. We had a few hours together at home, breastfed and introduced our dog Tobin to his baby brother, then I had to get transferred to hospital for repair of a tear from birth. We weren’t in hospital long, and came back home and settled in later that morning, riding high on the blissful oxytocin. What a wild and beautiful ride.

Birth looks different for everyone. And what is right for me is not necessarily right for other women. We can’t control a lot of the circumstances we get dealt around our birth. But there are ways we can be empowered and set ourselves up for success no matter what kind of birth we have. My birth of Reuben wasn’t textbook. But what an incredibly empowering and exhilarating experience and witness to God who makes all things possible. I wouldn’t change a thing.

As with most labours, it was intense and filled with moments where I lost confidence or couldn’t bear it any longer, but I was surrounded by 4 incredible midwives and my husband who had complete confidence in me and the capacity of my body to birth this baby. And that helped me carry on. They gave me space and time for my body to move and open in the way it needed to to let my baby through and they trusted that process, not trying to control it. I was at home, where I was safe, where I did not feel observed or put on a time-line or made to conform with the way we’re taught labour is meant to go. My contractions were not a regular pattern- they blended from long to short and spaced out to allow my son to move the way he needed to move. I was not ‘assessed’ on progress, and slowly pushed his whopper head and body out gently and slowly in the way it needed to be; I was not rushed. There were minutes between his head and body, but he was calm and his heartbeat was normal, because the process was undisturbed. He needed time for his big body to navigate through. I was listened to and felt safe to speak out my fears of birth, knowing that my support circle had my back to speak truth and courage and power back over me again. It wasn’t perfect, I felt my tailbone pop during labour, which is still giving me some grief when I sit, and I had a decent tear, but it was my body powerfully shifting and making space in the way it needed to for my baby to be born. It wasn’t perfect, but I loved it. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. What I am so thankful for, is that knowing what I know as a midwife, my labour and birth in another setting could have had a very different outcome. If I had been assessed on progress and been monitored as to the expected pathway of labour, I would have likely ended up with an oxytocin infusion, probably a forceps delivery with a shoulder dystocia and an episiotomy, all of which would have been deemed necessary, but weren’t really. But instead, I was privileged to be in a space where I was trusted and supported, where I could move how I needed to move, where my body was afforded the opportunity to birth in its own way: a privilege I wish more women had. It’s not to say that those interventions aren’t necessary in some cases, but how many more women would birth their babies without them if we watched and waited more and held space for women.

I’ve been a midwife for years but experiencing birth for myself has given me a whole new appreciation for the incredible role, support and wisdom of midwifery care and gently and confidently holding the space for birth.

I’m so grateful for Gods hand in my birth. I’ve learnt more of what it is to trust his perfect design and wait patiently on him. He is good.

[goldenlilium-ocs]

May 3rd, 1996.

“Did you just kiss me?”

Mattheo’s eyes were wide. His own heartbeat seemed to drown out the music drifting in from the common room. He tried to rewind the events of the evening in his head. The party had gotten too loud, so Mattheo had led his friend to a smaller room, utilised as a study area. He hadn’t let her drink too much, but she had proven to be a bit of a lightweight. The conversation had escalated from Mattheo’s oddly refined taste in wines to his unwilling softness around the Ravenclaw. A fact he couldn’t deny when the proof lay in their friendship. And then he was sure that she’d kissed him.

Glancing down at the girl, Juliette’s eyes were no wider than his, but her cheeks flushed pink. “Um, no?”

Mattheo leaned in closer. He could smell her perfume now. She always smelled sweet. “Yes, you did. You just kissed me, Bishop.”

There. The twitch in her jaw as she swallowed the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about because I didn’t kiss you.” She stepped back to put distance between them, attempting a laugh that came out strangled. “You’re drunk.”

Mattheo took a step closer, his lips curling upwards into a smirk. She could easily push him back and take control of the situation, but he liked when she didn’t. “I think I know when someone shoves their tongue down my throat.”

The shorter brunette scoffed. Her blush still burned as her arms crossed her chest. “I did not shove my tongue down your throat. That was hardly even a peck.”

Mattheo had sat through various classes on nifflers and kneezles, but this was by far the cutest sight he’d ever seen. She had all the height and fury of a pixie. “So you confess you kissed me?”

He could see the flash of surprise at being caught out in Juliette’s eyes before they narrowed once more with a scowl and she threw her hands up. “Godric, fine! I kissed you. It doesn’t have to happen again.”

His thumb brushed her lower lip, easing it out from beneath her teeth. “Well it wasn’t a bad kiss, as far as my experience goes. I don’t know why you were being so careful about it.” 

Juliette shuddered beneath him, but then she moved away, leaving him empty-handed. “Oh merlin, I’m not having this conversation with you. You’re loathsome.”

Mattheo chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head down at her. “Does that make me your beloathed?” At the lack of a reply, Mattheo leaned in once again. This time, his hands settled on the desk behind Juliette, caging her in his arms. “Let’s try that again. Did you kiss me, Bishop?”

He could see the switch in Juliette like a wand casting Lumos. Her flush didn’t fade, but her shoulders straightened as she leaned in closer. “So what if I did?”

He faltered for a moment. The rational part of his brain knew this was wrong. Guys like him didn’t get the girl. Girls like her didn’t go for people like him, especially when they’d already had someone perfect before. He was a flawed man, but his biggest flaw was her.

“You’re playing with fire, Bishop.” Mattheo breathed, his eyes searching hers.

“Okay? So burn with me.” A corner of her lips quirked up, and she tightened her arms around him. 

It took everything in him to resist, holding her at arms’ length. “I’m the last thing you need right now.”

“Would you rather I find someone else?”

His jaw clenched, eyes boring into hers. “No.”

“Then engulf me, Mattheo.”

So he did. 

Though it felt as though they were engulfing each other. Juliette’s hands flew to his hair as their lips met. The surrounding space became a burst of colour. All he could feel was warmth. Juliette’s warmth. Her lips pressed against his and her hand stroking his hair. One taste of Juliette and Mattheo realised he had been starved his entire life. Her lithe body pressed into his while he cradled her, shielding her from the blast radius. The way she surrendered to him almost made him jump back in surprise. She trusted him with so much more than her life, but with her heart. It was the greatest honour he’d ever beheld. He kissed her as if he had searched his way through time, space and reality just to reach her. He set his hands on her thighs to steady her, then moved them up to her waist. She wasn’t something to own; she was something to treasure. Merlin, if she kept holding him like that he wasn’t sure he could ever let her go. She had some maddening ability to addict and satisfy all at once.

It was the unfortunate need for oxygen that eventually tore the two apart. Now the two both wore an identical flush, panting through wide grins. She was the starlight to his darkness.

“I don’t deserve this. You.” He sighed.

Juliette’s smile slipped away with the humourless laugh that left her lips as she stepped away. “No. We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He tried to reach for her, not wanting to let go of the contact.

“The whole holding back thing. You don’t get to tell me I deserve better, okay? That’s for me to decide. That’s my choice. Just because I’ve been grieving doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

“But you do deserve better.” Mattheo said quietly. “We don’t make sense together.”

“Who said we need to make sense? If we’re wrong for each other in the long game, then at least we’ve enjoyed it. Life’s too short to worry about whether we’re making a mistake.”

Mattheo swiped his tongue along his lower lip, refraining from arguing back. She deserved to be heard. “You’re not going to stop fighting this until you’ve worn me down, are you?”

She huffed, turning her gaze to the window, but stood her ground. “I’m not that stubborn.”

“Yes, you are.” Mattheo’s lips quirked upward. “I like that about you.”

Juliette’s smile was just barely visible, but it was a beacon to Mattheo. “I just know what I want. And if you want that too, then why should we bother with the excuses?.”

Her words softened Mattheo enough to push his thoughts away. His eyes fell on the pendant around Julie’s neck. Maybe this was it, the moment Cedric repaid the favour he owed to Mattheo. Maybe now it was up to him not to screw it up.

“Want to try not being so careful about it this time?”

Juliette’s grin returned. Mattheo had little time to think about how it made his heart thaw as he lifted her back onto the desk and made sure the witch knew how much he wanted this too. Kissing her felt like kissing the stars. She was the horizon, and nothing else existed beyond. Maybe Mattheo deserved a little light in his life too.

[sukirichi]

— falling out of love with gojo satoru

warnings: angst, mentions of sexual content, cursing

masterlist !

when you fell in love with gojo satoru, your heart exploded like a firework.

you still remember that moment very vividly at the back of your head. it was new year’s, and you two were drunk on both liquor and the feeling of having the other by your side. it was a tough year – as the norm was for jujutsu sorcerers – but you both made it out alive.

alive couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt that day.

satoru has always been the person who stuck by your side through thick and thin like how you were the one who always went against the higher-ups when they tried to limit his capabilities. you should’ve known then, that the higher ups were just the beginning. that when once you thought their oppression for satoru’s plans were nothing but microscopical compared to the barrier his family had placed between the both of you.

they didn’t like you.

he was a gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, while you were...well, you.

you weren’t really anyone special or better than anyone. your technique was decent and had a lot more drawbacks than advantages that you had to improve your physical abilities instead to not be deemed a total useless tool.

satoru never saw you that way. to him, he admired you almost as equally as he cherished his best friend, suguru, so much so that the three of you become the best of friends in the blink of an eye. the more time you spent together, whether alone or with others, it felt like your world just hyper focused or snapped into tunnel vision, zeroing on no one else but the white-haired man whose smile was brighter than any other in the sky.

when he told you he loved you, you couldn’t distinguish which ones were the exploding new year fireworks or the drumming of your heart. you stared up at him then, lips falling open as you released a tiny breath of air, and satoru laughed. he actually laughed.

you wanted to tease him, to punch him even though you couldn’t really ever touch him just to get over the fact he had you losing your composure with eyes glossing over. “well,” he taunted then, one shoulder lifting up lazily. “aren’t you gonna say anything? if you feel the same way, now’s the best time to tell me. we can end the year as friends and start another one as-”

satoru never got to finish his sentence. you had jumped into his arms faster than the speed of light, hands yanking down his yukata to pull him towards you, your lips slamming on his almost greedily.

he didn’t mind. he never did.

for once, it felt as if his infinity never existed. you had both spent the night tangled under the sheets, your name rasped from his lips like a prayer. the way you kneeled for him just moments later with your eyes fervently closed made him feel like he’s the one being worshipped instead, and in a way, it was. you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt the day after when he never gave you a break and kept you pulled closer to him.

you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt if ever the time came that you no longer felt the same.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly. your shared apartment would still be filled with his annoying mannerism of dragging his feet over the floor as he walked, always groaning and complaining that he was hungry but never really bothered to cook anything for himself.

it felt a lot like living with a child where you were his mother, but in that sense, satoru hated it whenever you worried for him.

“you’re not my mother, stop telling me what to do!”

“stop being so arrogant, satoru!” you pointed to the barely conscious child in his arms, the first year student still barely breathing because satoru had gone out of his way again and brought yuuji while he fought a special grade curse. “you may be strong, but not everyone around you is capable of handling what you can! stop dragging people into your mess and start using your goddamn brain for once!”

“you don’t know anything, so shut the hell up.”

you scoffed, hands placed on your hip while you blinked back the angry tears that threatened to fell. you worried for yuuji, you really did, but in reality, you just couldn’t handle seeing gojo pushing himself to his limits and coming back home more wounded than the night before.

“i’m just worried for you, satoru. i don’t want you getting hurt.”

“i’m the strongest,” was all he said – was what he always kept saying. “i’m not going to get hurt.”

“you may not,” you reply stiffly, “but what about me? don’t you think about me? don’t you think about how much it hurts me to see you this way?”

you told yourself you hated him. you hated how arrogant he got. it was good he was confident of his abilities and prided himself of such an honourable title, but satoru was human. he was bound to fall at some point.

eventually, you got too tired.

it was too tiring to keep waiting for him to come home unscathed. you were assigned different missions all the time. satoru would always be working overseas while you mostly helped train the kids and exorcised curses from time to time; no missions that were as dangerous as his.

in the dead of the night, when you were turned away from him in your bed that had already gotten so cold from his usual absence, satoru would slip beside you as silently as he could. the morning afterwards would always be the same: good morning, did you sleep well? he knew the answer. he knew you never slept well without him, but he’d ask just to be nice, and it wouldn’t take too long before you’re both late to work because he missed you too much from being away all the time that he wanted to feel you clamp around him one more time.

it was tiring. too tiring.

that heavy weight never left your shoulders. you cried yourself to sleep far too much that you’d lost count – until you reached a point you just felt nothing. the bed no longer felt cold – just empty. his side always remained untouched, his chair in the dining table barely used, and you’ve gotten so used of washing only your plate and utensils that you wondered if satoru had ever been there.

you wondered if it was a coping mechanism; that maybe you could just no longer handle the pain of having to worry about him every damn night and he’d never care enough to at least be a little more careful, and this was why you just stopped missing him, which was why you just started enjoying the silence in your apartment a little bit more than you should.

but if it was a coping mechanism...why did you feel a lot freer and happier in his absence? instead of it feeling like you were supposed to be distracted, you felt awakened. alive.

alive in the same way he told you he loved you while the skies painted different hues of red, blue, green, and yellow in the darkness that bore witness to your souls connecting that night – the same sky that was now patiently watching as your souls split in half and formed itself whole all over again.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly.

there was no longer someone singing made up songs in the shower. there would no longer be that sound of an annoying loud kiss down the bride of your neck or the smacking of his palm on your ass when he wanted to piss you off.

you fell out of love him so silently that when he crawled next to you that night, you didn’t even hear him. and for the first time in a long time, you slept well the moment he left before the sun stretched its wings across the horizon. when you were greeted by nothing but your own pair of slippers outside your bedroom and not even a post it note to tell you he’d already left for work, a smile tugged on your face.

you made your breakfast in peace. satoru no longer dared to come back home if he was injured because he knew you wouldn’t care enough to fix him up.

although of course you would, but nothing ever beats in your heart for him anymore when you dab the disinfectant across his cut lips. satoru would catch your wrist then to tug you to him slowly, empty eyes staring back at his sky blue ones.

“thank you. for patching me up.”

“you’re welcome,” you’d smile, climbing off his lap while closing the first aid-kit. “go get changed. i’ll cook something up for you.”

it was a silent, empty routine. satoru would thank you for fixing him up because he was never every sorry for worrying you. he’d keep being reckless again and again until he reached a point you no longer cared for him enough to say goodbye to him with a kiss and the slow, tender promise of be safe – i’ll wait for you to come home.

you still kiss him – more out of habit than anything – but you’ve changed.

i’ll see you tonight.

it was empty, silent, completely different from the fireworks he’d ignited within you when he told you he loved you. satoru wasn’t dumb, and he didn’t need his six eyes to see that you’ve grown too comfortable over the large space between you and him between the sofa, almost as if him being away was what felt home for you.

he was never a confrontational man; he hated each waking moment that lead to this, but he had to do it. he needed to do it – to set you both free.

when the commercials started playing, satoru lowered the volume down, voice low and serious as he turned to you. you easily picked up on the sudden tension in the room – the first thing you’ve felt ever since you’ve fallen out of love with him – yet nothing changed. when satoru sighed, your heart didn’t ache.

“well,” he chuckled nervously as he leant back to his side, “things have changed, don’t you think?”

“yes.” there was no point denying it. you knew it – he felt it.

“what do we do now?”

you had no answer to his question. despite the fact you no longer looked at him the same way, not once had it crossed your mind to leave your apartment. not because you wanted to hold on as much as possible to whatever memories you shared under this roof, but simply because you didn’t know where else to go.

it wasn’t like it made a difference anyway. satoru barely came home, and when he did, he made his presence as scarce as possible that you could no longer tell what difference it would make if he was here or not.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, knees hugged to your chest. “what do you want to do?”

his answer came in the form of opened doors. you leant against the doorframe, watching as nanami and even yuuji came to help satoru move his stuff out of the apartment. he found a better place somewhere in the upstate, somewhere much closer to bars and clubs – which you know he thoroughly enjoyed it prior to meeting you – and your mind immediately went back to the time you and satoru first moved in.

it proved to be a difficult task. you both wanted to move in and finish unpacking as soon as possible, but satoru was too eager to christen each part and corner of the house that you both ended up making more mess.

nights spent tucked into each other because the heater was broken and you were both too tired to sleep anywhere except the uncomfortable mattress played like a broken record in your mind. satoru’s laughter echoed when nanami complained that he should stop spending money on souvenirs so he could’ve hired professionals to help him move out instead, your head snapping up at the source of that carefree, sweet laugher that always had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

as if feeling your gaze on him, satoru’s eyes flitted to where you stood. when he smiled, you could tell each genuine apology rang behind it – all the words he never got to say staying like a broken glass that kept cutting him over and over again.

he loved you. he still loves you.

and maybe, tucked away in the deepest parts of your heart that no longer felt fond of him the same way it did before, still held a little compassion enough for this man you once wanted to spend your life with.

you weren’t unkind. you didn’t need to love someone to know when to forgive them, but just for this moment, just for him, you could pretend to for one last time.

smiling up at him with your eyes crinkled and the last bits of adoration for everything about him gleamed through your lashes just before it slipped away into nothingness. it was enough. it was enough for satoru to know he’d been forgiven, and it was enough for him to finally set you free.

the next time you saw him at school, there were no longer fireworks.

your heart was at peace.

[bowandcurtsey]

Hi! May I request the Black clover captains Yami, Nozel, William, and Fuegoleon find out their s/o having a purging disorder. Imagine this: the captains picking up on their s/o’s behavior after a while and finding out the symptoms match their s/o’s behavior. Like their hair falling out more than usual, going to the bathroom after eating, walking in on them purging, fasting/not eating for the day, them not feeling hungry. Hard core angst at first then fluff at the end. I’ve been suffering from it for a while now. I’m a few minutes clean now which is sad because I was a few weeks clean. I’m sorry if you don’t feel comfortable writing this you don’t have to write it if you don’t feel comfortable but if you do write it take as much time as you need! Don’t forget to eat or drink anything and get plenty of sleep!

TW: disorders, purging, vomitting

Honey, first of all, lemme give you a hug.

(ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

Secondly, I'm really sorry that you had to wait so long for this.. I am honoured that you sent in this request and I really hope I could help comfort you a little. ♡ Please know that you're not alone and let me tell you that it is okay and it will be okay. I used to suffer from bulimia. Also, if you're comfortable enough, please talk to someone. Anyone. You could talk to me too ♡

Yami | Nozel | William x f! reader

TW: angst at the start. (sorry couldn't really do hardcore angst dearie! Just couldn't see my boys being so angry at their s/o for having disorders)

Yami Sukehiro

When Yami is really mad, he's all quiet. You both sat in your room in silence for awhile.

Yami's had his suspicions that something was up with you, but his brain just couldn't wrap around what it was. Your ki was off, you were hiding something from him and some days it made him panic.

When he walked in on you towering over the toilet, everything just clicked. He gave you some tissues and went out to wait for you.

You didn't even dare look him in the eye. You didn't need to know how to read ki to know he was livid. All kind of crazy thoughts flashed in your mind, wondering if he was going to give you a lash out of worst, leave this relationship.

"How long have you been doing this?" he finally asked.

"For sometime now.. I tried to stop and I've been a few weeks clean but.."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he cut you off.

So he was actually upset that you didn't tell him what you were going through. Your mind was whirling, so you didn't know what to say at the moment.

"Geez y/n. You belittle me too much. What did you think? I couldn't handle it?"

So your man actually pull you into his lap like you were nothing and there you were pouring your heart out to him about your problems and disorder. He quietly stroked your back while he listened silently.

This man wasn't really good with cheesey or romantic words, so he'll always ask you if you want to go on walks with him, or head out with him so you could keep your mind off overthinking.

He'll also help watch what you eat, and sometimes if you're really craving for desserts or junk food, he'll share them with you.

He'll be a little cheeky sometimes and says that you both could exercise together if you feel insecure about your body figure. But he totally finds a way to make you feel assured that he does not mind and loves you whatever.

Nozel Silva

He was really irritated because you were obviously hiding something from him. But he just couldn't find out what it was. You were excusing yourself early after dinner, you were constantly rejecting him for meals together. Sometimes you'd just go for really long toilet runs saying you had a bad tummy.

One day he really had enough. He followed you into the toilet and opened the door. "What are you hiding from me y/n?"

Nozel was a smart man, he put 2 and 2 together and realised what was going on. You both stood there in silence for awhile as you hung your head low, unable to face him. After awhile he walked out of the toilet, giving you some space.

You took a long time inside. You were panicking because he sounded so angry. You didn't even know if he was still outside or if he still wanted to be with you.

You didn't know how much time passed but suddenly his voice came form the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry, y/n." his voice was gentle and soft. After you came out, you apologised to him as well. Then you both sat in silence again.

"Could you tell me about it?" he asked you.

The moment you both locked eyes, you will never forget the image of his face. It was filled with worry, anxiety, sadness, frustration with himself. It broke your heart then and there. You eventually opened up and talked to him about your disorder.

He asked how he could help you and make you feel better. But you told him that only you could help yourself.

Nozel Silva was determined to help you get better. He studied about disorders, visited doctors and counsellors, everything just so he could help you recover. Of course he had a nutritionist prepare healthy snacks for you whenever you had cravings.

Nozel is not very good with his words, but his actions will definitely show you that he cares. As much as he can, he's with you and by your side.

Behind closed doors, he's more affectionate. He'll gently stroke your hair and asked you how you were feeling each day. If it was good, he'll tell you that you did a great job. If it wasn't that great, he'll tell you it's okay and he loves you nevertheless.

William Vangeance

You didn’t even notice your hair was dropping a lot more than usual. William was the one who did. He also noticed your disappearance after meals and also your “lack of appetite”

He just didn't know how to do it. How to approach you about it. Will you be mad at him for 'calling you out'? Would you be upset at him and want to leave this relationship?

He was afraid of what might happen if he exposed you and he couldn't afford to lose you. He just wanted you to be okay.

The opportunity for him came when he accidentally walked in on you in the toilet.

His heart almost broke at the sight of you kneeling in front of the toilet, but he told himself he had to be strong at a time like this.

He gently held your hair away from your face for you and gave you some paper towel for when you were done.

He gently stroked your hair while you washed your face in the sink before telling you to take a nice warm shower.

When you were out, he prepared a nice tea for you. You have no idea what it was, but it soothed your tummy and your throat. It calmed your nerves as you sat down on your bed.

"are you okay?" he asked quietly, "you know you can tell me anything, y/n."

He wouldn't force you to tell him, if you wanted to, you would. If not, it's okay. He would just protect you in his own ways.

From then onwards, William would make special efforts to have meals together with you. Sometimes, even if you said you weren't hungry, he'd cook a healthy soup for you. Sometimes, he'd bring a salad or make a sandwich.

He may be busy with his captain duties, but you were just as important. He was determined to help you recover so eventually he gave you a little diary for you to write your emotions and feelings everyday.

Be prepared for random kisses and him telling you that "you're doing just fine". He's just such a sweetheart.

-end-

[hes-writer]

Confessions: A ‘Favourite’ Extra

Summary: beatrice graduates and dad!harry is not invited

Warnings: angst!

Word Count: 3305 words

A/N: this is part of the ‘Favourite’ universe :D this scene takes place sometime between the first and second part! please read them before reading this.

Part One | Part Two

_____

Graduation.

Through Beatrice’s 18-years of living, she did not think that the celebration of liberation would be so sour. The day started off like any normal day. That is, except, she did not have to deliberately avoid the areas of the house that her dad, Harry, was in. It was strange that she had to feel uncomfortable in her own home.

For this special event, Beatrice had initially bought only three tickets for Ruby, Caleb and her mum, Y/N. Her dad had a packed schedule of promoting his newest album anyway so Beatrice thought that it wouldn’t even matter. She didn’t think he would want to come anyway. If Beatrice knew anything about her father is that he never really cared much about what went on in her life.

Beatrice supposes that it was okay. She had a whole lifetime to get used to it. A full lifestyle living on the edge because she didn’t know when her dad would clap-back with an insult for no reason. However, it didn’t mean that the spike in pain hurt any less. Don’t get her wrong; she was grateful for Y/N being around and involved. But Beatrice sometimes wondered how it would feel like to be wrapped in a fatherly embrace or be guided with wisdom and courage.

She really couldn’t remember the last time Harry did anything that made Beatrice feel like his daughter. Aside from the family photos they took on during the holidays or when celebrating whatever work achievement he managed to snag--that was the only time where Beatrice would feel Harry’s hand resting on her shoulder.

___

“Can I get one?” Ruby asked, tugging on the coloured strings of Beatrice’s cap. Her small body was being held by her older sister while Y/N took photos of the three siblings.

“Caleb, put your phone away please,” Y/N requested, shaking her head at the way the young boy groaned. Nonetheless, he followed the instruction.

"You’re lucky I love you or I would not have shown up,” Caleb grumbled, offering a sweet smile afterwards to suggest that he was joking. The three siblings posed for the camera, Beatrice trying hard not to let Ruby tilt her square cap.

Between a plastered smile, Beatrice replied, “Probably why dad isn’t here,”

Caleb widened his eyes significantly. Though, it seemed conspicuous to Y/N who was busy figuring out how to brighten the screen.

“That’s not true, sissy. He’s just busy,”

Beatrice chuckled, shrugging off the comforting hand of her younger brother, “Always busy but never when one of you have something going on,”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“Yeah, sure,”

Caleb frowned at her response, focusing her attention on Ruby’s babbles. He almost spilled the surprise that their dad was going to watch Beatrice cross the stage. Caleb knew how his sisters felt about Harry and he hoped that his appearance would help patch things up between them.

Caleb walked over to Y/N, “Are you sure that Dad’s coming?”

Y/N nodded, “Yes, he said he’s looking for parking now,”

Caleb bit his lip nervously, “Do you think she’ll be surprised?”

——

“Graduate with honours, Beatrice Y/LN,”

Applause filled the venue as Beatrice walked up the steep steps of the stage. A shy smile was placed on her lips when she caught sight of the projector screen showcasing her achievements for her senior year.

In the audience, both Harry and Y/N were confused as to why Beatrice used her mother's name to be announced. The cinch in Y/N’s brow smoothed out when the principal continued speaking. Harry, however, couldn’t help the questioning frown.

“Top Chemistry. Top Biology. Overall Best Science Student. Gold Volunteer Badge. Level 4 Music Theory. Beatrice has been excelling both academically and musically while serving the community,”

Beatrice squinted at the bright lights, placing her diploma and speech on the podium. She had never been good at public speaking. However, her announced name gave Beatrice newfound confidence. It’s just her. All her achievements wouldn’t be credited to her father just because he was Harry Styles.

“Hi, uh,” She cleared her throat, “I’m Beatrice Y/LN and I’m very honoured to be standing in front of you today,”

Her speech was short and to the point; thanking her fellow classmates even though there were very few to thank personally. There were a few jokes in between and some nostalgic memories about various school events throughout the year. Beatrice mentioned remarks to her teachers who helped her achieve high grades. Lastly, she thanked her family for supporting  her

“I’d like to thank my family. My brother, Caleb. My sister, Ruby and my Mum. You guys have been so wonderful to me and I hope that I made you proud,”

Y/N was tearing up with a hand clasped over her mouth. She could not believe that her oldest daughter was off to university in a few weeks. Beatrice’s work ethic was unmatched and it showed in her getting the recognition that she deserved.

There was a pregnant pause before applause filled the space again. Despite switching her name last minute, everyone in her school knew that Beatrice was a Styles kid. They were probably waiting for her to mention him in her speech. But Beatrice felt no need to mention the man that had done nothing for her. He wasn’t even here.

“Thank you and congratulations, everyone!”

Harry slumped lower in his seat. He could feel Y/N’s worried eyes and Caleb’s observant gaze inspecting his face.

____

Beatrice stood beside her family, watching Harry a few metres away who was currently busy attending to the fans that recognized him. Even with his graying hair, many parents greeted him with a reminiscing statement about how they ‘saw him in concert back in the day’, to which he would chuckle at and proceed to converse for a few minutes until their child--Beatrice’s age--tugged them away.

All that Beatrice wanted to do was to get home and interact with her online friends. She had mentioned that she was graduating today and they were all very proud of her. Beatrice would rather take the peace and quiet of her own room than a bustling party.

“You’re invited,” Emma, a popular girl, stated while handing her a piece of paper with all the details of the party. Beatrice mumbled a hushed ‘thanks’, despite knowing that she wouldn’t even attend it in the first place.

“Are you going, Tris?” Y/N asked, holding Ruby’s hand so the youngest child would not get lost in the crowd.

Beatrice shook her head ‘no’, explaining that there was no point.

“I don’t know anyone there anyway,”

She was kind of a loner, but Beatrice was happier by herself anyways. “Besides, I don’t think dad will agree. It’s way past curfew,”

Y/N nodded in understanding. The curfew set for their eldest child was at nine in the evening. Y/N was sure that Harry would be lenient to let Beatrice go; it was her graduation after all. Sooner or later, Beatrice would be leaving for university.

____

Beatrice should be grateful. She should be happy, yet somehow those emotions were non-existent to her brain right now. She should be smiling, eyes brimming with tears because her dad actually cared to throw a party for her. But all she could feel right now was a pure disappointment and agonizing anger because Beatrice knows that he was trying to make up for years of mistreatment.

At this moment, the rowdiness of the party only proved that Harry really did not know anything about Beatrice. She did not know over half the people here, aside from the few relatives they see during the holidays; her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. The rest were recognizable from Harry’s industry. Beatrice swore she saw Lizzo sipping a cup of liquor in their kitchen.

Aside from the initial greeting of ‘congratulations’, paired with the large banister taped on the foyer of the house, this party wasn’t much of a celebration based on Beatrice’s milestone in life. If anything, it looked like a regular get together for celebrities and industry people. Frankly, she had no interest in interacting with them. As rude as it may sound, the swirling turmoil of emotions beginning from her stomach made Beatrice push past the packed crowd with a tight-lipped smile in order to get to her room.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, especially knowing that these people in her house absolutely adored Harry. They saw him as a family man, loved and appreciated by his kids. It wasn’t a complete lie, per se. Beatrice just didn’t have much experience to confirm that he was, in fact, a lovable and caring person.

If she had to put a finger on it, Beatrice was feeling utter disgust. She was disgusted because Harry was the perfect person in their eyes when everything he had shown her was that she was someone that didn’t deserve any of his attention. It felt like this was a celebration of her dad’s façade--he was not actually proud of her. He was just making it seem like he is so he wouldn’t be perceived as the dead-beat dad.

A knock at her door sounded. It was almost as if Beatrice could sense her dad’s presence without turning around to look at who just entered the privacy of her room.

“Tris?” Harry whispered, hesitating on mumbling the nickname. He had never done it willingly before, much less not as bitter as the previous times.

Beatrice swore that she could practically see the venom slithering on his tongue every time he said her name. But maybe that was just her skewed perception.

The chair that she was sitting on creaked as she shifted her weight, leaning her elbows on her desk.

“Why did you even throw a party, dad?”

It was merely a genuine question that held so many underlying meanings. Why now? Why not earlier when there was still hope to fix whatever sort of broken and fucked up relationship they had with each other?

Harry fully stepped into the room, observing the walls decorated with art and artists whom he recognized were his friends. He didn’t realize that she was a fan of Florence Pugh.

He cleared his throat with a fist to his mouth, “I wanted to celebrate your graduation,”

Beatrice internally rolled her eyes, “Did you really? Because you haven’t been there when I needed your help with my homework or assignments or anything. Now,  suddenly you want to act like you were a big part of how I achieved my accomplishments?”

It was a sour realization. It was accurate that Harry refused to help her with schoolwork. He swore that he was busy looking over new options for his upcoming projects. Retrospectively, he might have subconsciously spewed out excuses so that he wouldn’t be able to help his dear daughter.

Beatrice sighed, flattening the balls of her palms against the edge of the sleek wood, pushing the rolling wheels of the chair back. She stood up.

“Just admit it. You threw the party because you felt guilty and you think that somehow, everything will magically be okay between us?” Beatrice shot him a questioning look, chest-puffing when Harry’s lack of words confirmed her theory.

Beatrice propped her feet in the middle of her room, twisting her body so that her back was facing away from the closed-door; from him. She breathed heavily through her nose, lungs rising up and down as she gathered her thoughts.

Unbelievable.

Harry stood with his arms by his sides, staring at his daughter with curious compassion. He did not know what to say, nor did he know how to act because he didn’t take the time to get to know her. He didn’t spend time with Beatrice; nurturing, caring, calming or comforting her because he simply couldn't get over the fact that she was once a person that caused calamity in his life.

“Tris,” Her dad spoke, earning a pinch of her facial expression from the familiarity of the nickname. Yet, it was unfamiliar because Harry used it mundanely.

Beatrice cut him off, “I’ll be leaving for university in a few weeks. You can quit pretending like you care. You say this graduation party is for me but I don’t even know most of the people here!”

The volume of her voice reached a threshold that should warn both of them to keep quiet. However, Beatrice knew that with the hustle and bustle of the celebration going on downstairs—no one would hear her honesty except for her and Harry.

Harry blinked twice, mouth dropping slightly agape. Why did he throw this party? He knew his intentions; he was proud of his daughter. He wanted to show her off to everyone he knew about how intelligent and well-rounded Beatrice was.

The girl continued speaking as if reading Harry’s train of thought.

“This is for you,” She spoke bitterly as if her tongue was left with an odd taste in her mouth. “Showing off a ‘trophy’ daughter who graduated with honours but that doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing I ever do will match what you’ve done.”

The accompanying laugh—albeit, sarcastic— left Harry confused.

“What? No, this is for you. I’m proud of you,” Harry quickly disagreed with Beatrice, gesturing his large hands in a wave to emphasize his words.

She turned around with gentle disbelief; her features were hardened yet Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with hope. She wanted so badly to believe her dad, but his lack of attentiveness to her led Beatrice to roll her eyes at him instead.

“Cut the crap, Dad,”

“Language,” Harry added, pursing his lips when Beatrice scoffed.

“I can’t believe this,” Beatrice muttered, she stared at the ground as if picking out the words to say.

As bad as it sounded, she wanted to hurt her dad the way he did to her. Years of being treated like an unwanted child slowly built up inside of her and Beatrice wanted the pain to end.

“You wanted to be everything so bad that you forgot to be my Dad,”

“I am your dad, Tris,” Harry watched as she walked over to her desk. Fingers cascading the glass picture frame which held a still of their family.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Beatrice turned around, throwing the edged frame on her bed in a fit of anger.

Harry’s brows shot up to his forehead, watching his daughter’s eyes well up with tears.

“You are my dad but you’ve never been one to me! Why is that? Huh?” Beatrice pressed, crossing her arms and digging her fingernails on the skin of her bicep.

“I’m sorry that I took those opportunities away from you. You got movie deals, You had an album coming out. Tours, shows, money—you had everything and I ruined it, didn’t I? As you said, it would’ve been better if I wasn’t born,”

Harry was no stranger to not interrupting someone when they spoke. However, he couldn’t let Beatrice believe the words she spoke.

“Don’t say that! That’s not true,” He stuttered over his words, heart-shattering under the weight of Beatrice’s truthfulness. Sure, he had everything, but it didn’t mean that he was satisfied.

“But you thought about it right? You wondered how different it would be if I wasn’t born at the wrong time. Maybe you would’ve loved me more—like you do Caleb and Ruby,” Beatrice smiled sadly.

She was glad that at least her siblings would not have to experience the searing pain of being unappreciated. They did not deserve to be seen through like a ghost.

“Maybe you would’ve paid more attention to me. Maybe you would have cared that I was hurting every time you showed me nothing but disdain,”

Beatrice used her forearm to wipe away the tears beginning to soak her reddened cheeks. She sighed, plopping down at the foot of her bed, watching Harry look at her with an unreadable emotion on his face.

“You know, It’s not my responsibility to ask why,” Beatrice whispered. Though, she wondered what would have happened if she did question her dad why he looked at her as if she was a burden in his life.

Beatrice’s monologue crescendoed as utter pain cracked her voice every now and then. Her figure slouching as she truly experienced what it was like to let go of the turmoiled affliction soaring through her body.

“I’m your child! You’re the one who’s supposed to be looking out for me. You’re the one who’s supposed to show me what love is supposed to feel like. I’ve always wondered how you’d react if I came home with a boyfriend like all the movies and books talk about. But, all you’ve shown and made me feel was my first heartbreak when you’re supposed to be the one nursing me from it,”

At that point, Harry could not remain the eye contact he shared with his daughter, gazing down at the floorboard in shame.

“You were supposed to scare guys off because I’m your eldest daughter. You’re supposed to protect me from everything that could hurt me, even when it’s irrational because that is what Dads do,”

That same bitter laugh that pierced Harry’s ears earlier echoed again.

“But I guess you never really wanted to become one to begin with. Or maybe just not with me.”

Harry took a few steps back. Her words figuratively churned and twisted his gut. He caught his balance on the doorknob that moved feverishly under his weight. Sure, he didn’t want to be her dad at first. And he had many chances to fix a strained relationship, but he never took them. So really, he had no shield at denying the truth. He was simply a father who failed to be the dad to Beatrice.

“I-I do! I want to be--if you'd let me,” He hated the way his voice became weary.

Despite their differences, Beatrice and Harry both mutually hated the way his tone pinched. The way he had to plead and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness when it seemed to be too late. This could have been avoided if Harry took the chance to become the dad that Beatrice deserved to have. The dad that her siblings--Caleb and Ruby--saw and spent time with while Beatrice watched behind, wondering why she was never treated the way they did.

“For years, I wondered what was wrong with me. I listened to the music that you liked. I asked mum what you enjoyed doing because you never talk to me. I wanted you to see me as a daughter instead of this--this invisible speck that you shrug off your shoulder every time I needed you!” Beatrice cried out, hugging herself for comfort.

The worst part was that she could see Harry’s legs buckle in hesitation to come closer to her or not. He shouldn’t even have to think to comfort his daughter, but he did.

“I wanted you to like me as if I even have to do that in the first place! You’re my dad, don’t you get it? Because I didn’t. I spent so much time being the perfect child in hopes of you giving me an ounce of your attention aside from the face you put on when I walked into the room. Why did you have to treat me this way, huh?”

Tears spilled from her forest-green eyes, identical to Harry’s glazed ones. His mouth parted in retaliation. As if he was plopped in quicksand, Harry had no idea how to defend himself.

“I know that you didn’t want me in the first place but--,” Beatrice sniffled, wiping the salty liquid to her damp temples, “I just wished you treated me like I wasn’t a burden to you,”

_____

[magnetic-rose]

Why Spones is a top-tier ship

AKA “the inherent homoeroticism of annoying the shit out of your co-worker.”

Spock and McCoy have a complicated relationship. A lot of their bickering and ideological differences lead fans to believe that they hate each other, but that’s an over-simplification of the truth. The reality is that Spock and McCoy are extremely close friends who care about each other deeply. Though sometimes their bickering turns serious during stressful situations, for the most time they seem to enjoy the banter. A common mischaracterization of their relationship seems to put McCoy as the bully and Spock as the victim. In truth, there are many times where Spock will say something specifically to get a rise out of McCoy. They fight. That’s how they show affection, not disdain. In fact, one could argue that some of their bantering have a flirtatious tone to it.

Kirk: Mister Spock, regaining eyesight would be an emotional experience for most. You, I assume, felt nothing.

Spock: On the contrary Captain. I had a very strong reaction. My first sight was the face of Doctor McCoy bending over me.

McCoy: ‘Tis a pity brief blindness didn’t increase your appreciation for beauty, Spock. (Operation -- Annihilate!)

Spock is a half-Vulcan, half-Human who has mostly chosen to follow his Vulcan heritage. As such, he is a being of almost pure logic. The truth about Vulcans are that they are secretly beings who feel things very deeply and intensely, and they feel the need to keep a tight lid on their emotions as to not succumb to them. McCoy, on the other hand, is a regular human. He’s a deeply emotional man who cares about others. One could argue that McCoy is almost too empathetic, as he lets his emotions rule him. Spock and McCoy are polar opposites; the brain and the heart, the logic and the emotion, the super-ego and the id.

Despite these differences, the two men are similar in a lot of ways. They’re both men of science, men of peace, and they both care very deeply for their Captain. They’re both self-sacrificing morons, to the chagrin of the other. Spock will prioritize McCoy’s life even when both of them know it’s not the logical choice to do so. Likewise, McCoy will take a hit for Spock even when they both know the Vulcan is stronger and better equipped to deal with pain than the doctor.

Spock: (In the middle of a blizzard) In this severe cold, we cannot survive much longer.

McCoy: Leave me here, Spock.

Spock: We go together or not at all.

McCoy: Don’t be a fool. My hands and face are frostbitten. I can’t feel my feet. Alone, you have a chance. Now do what I say. Go try to find Jim.

Spock: We go together! (All of Yesterdays)

In the episode, “The Empath,” Kirk, Spock and McCoy have to choose someone to be offered as sacrifice to be tortured by a group of aliens. Kirk obviously volunteers, but gets put to sleep by McCoy with a tranquilizer. Spock then states that he’ll offer himself up, as he has the higher chance of surviving the torture. McCoy then proceeds to sedate Spock as well, and sacrifices himself to be tortured by the aliens.

Spock: While the captain is asleep, I am in command. When the Vians return, I shall go with them.

McCoy: You mean, if I hadn't given him that shot

Spock: Precisely. The choice would have been the captain's. Now it is mine.

(McCoy turns away. Spock sits to carry on working. Gem puts her hand on Spock's shoulder, and smiles. McCoy comes up behind him and gives him an injection.)

Spock: Your action is highly unethical. My decision stands. (Spock falls asleep next to Kirk.)

McCoy: Not this time, Spock.

Underneath all the fighting and disagreements, there is a deep caring between Spock and McCoy that manifests itself into protectiveness towards each other. In “All of Yesterdays,” Spock is constantly showing concern for McCoy after he almost died of hypothermia. In aftermath of McCoy’s torture in “The Empath,” Spock is seen hovering over his body and caressing his face, worry written into his features. On the other hand, while McCoy constantly makes fun of Spock for his lack of emotions, he’s also highly aware of the Vulcan’s mental state and protective of it when others threaten to shatter his resilience.

McCoy: He's a Vulcan. You can't force emotion out of him.

Philana: You must be joking, Doctor.

McCoy: You'll destroy him.

Parmen: We can't let him die laughing, can we?

McCoy: (Watching as Spock starts to cry) I beg you! (Plato’s Stepchildren)

The episode “Amok Time” also demonstrates McCoy’s perceptiveness of Spock and Spock’s true feelings of friendship towards McCoy. McCoy is in fact the first person to notice that something is wrong with Spock:

McCoy: Oh, captain. Got a minute? It's Spock. Have you noticed anything strange about him?

Kirk: No, nothing in particular. Why ?

McCoy: Well, it's nothing I can pinpoint without an examination, but he's become increasingly restive. If he were not a Vulcan, I'd almost say nervous. And for another thing, he's avoiding food. I checked and he hasn't eaten at all in three days.

Kirk: That just sounds like Mister Spock in one of his contemplative phases.

Kirk doesn’t notice anything wrong with Spock, and initially dismisses McCoy’s concern, but McCoy immediately picked up on Spock’s mental turmoil. Despite his cantankerousness, McCoy not only cares about Spock but goes out of his way to look out for his mental state. Part of it might be because he’s his doctor, but how many doctors go so far as to monitor someone’s eating habits because they notice that person’s suddenly being fidgety? On Spock’s end, when it comes time for him to beam down to Vulcan to complete his marriage ceremony, he specifically asks for McCoy to be there:

Spock: By tradition, the male is accompanied by his closest friends.

Kirk: Thank you, Mister Spock.

Spock: I also request McCoy accompany me.

McCoy: I shall be honoured, sir.

One episode I find extremely fascinating in terms of McCoy/Spock moments is “Mirror, Mirror.” In this famous episode, half of the Enterprise crew get transported into an alternate universe dubbed The Mirror Verse, in which evil versions of the characters exist and terrorize space as a fearsome military force. McCoy is part of the team that gets transported in the Mirror Verse, while Spock stays in their regular universe. Mirror Spock immediately realizes that half of the crew, including Kirk and McCoy, are acting strangely. When he corners Kirk to question him, he does so by threatening McCoy: “I shall not waste time with you. You’re too inflexible, too disciplined, once you’ve made up your mind. But Doctor McCoy has a plenitude of human weaknesses, sentimental, soft. You may not tell me what I want to know, but he will.” This Spock seems to have a intimate knowledge of McCoy’s mind.  When the party decides to attack Mirror Spock, he fights all of them except for Uhura and McCoy, who he simply pushes out of harm’s way.

When Mirror Spock gets hurt as the crew is trying to escape back to their own universe, McCoy is suddenly unable to leave his side. Kirk allows him to stay to nurse Spock back to health, and McCoy risks almost staying in the Mirror Verse forever for him. When Mirror Spock awakes, he backs McCoy into a wall and initiates a forced mind meld onto the doctor. The next scene has Mirror Spock holding a disoriented McCoy up and bringing him back to his crew; he now understands what is happening and he wants his regular crew back, and thus he allows Kirk and company to make the switch back to their own universe.

Other Star Trek properties have gone more in depth on how a forced mind meld can be extremely traumatizing on the person receiving it. Star Trek: Enterprise has an entire story arc dedicated to the Vulcan T’Pol trying to heal from a forced mind meld. Unfortunately, because the nature of TOS episodes were episodic, we never got the chance to explore the emotional fallout of McCoy’s forced mind meld and how that might have affected his relationship with Spock. The franchise also never went in depth on Mirror McCoy outside of what Mirror Spock speaks of him, since Mirror McCoy died of xenopolycythemia in 2269.

Closing the list of evidence of Spock and McCoy’s affections towards each other are the Star Trek movies “The Wrath of Khan” and “The Search for Spock.” Towards the end of Wrath of Khan, Spock sacrifices himself to save The Enterprise in one of the franchises most heart-wrenching scenes. Moments before his sacrifice, he knocks McCoy unconscious, touches his face and whispers “remember.” What happened in this scene was that Spock, knowing he was about to die, transferred his Katra to McCoy. The katra being the Vulcan equivalent of a soul. This speaks to the amount of trust that Spock has in McCoy. For someone who keeps most of his emotions under a tight lid, it’s a huge gesture to entrust another with the essence of their entire being. The next movie, The Search for Spock, is a journey as the Enterprise crew fight to return to Vulcan so they can reunite Spock with his body. When they finally arrive, the Vulcans warn McCoy that the process is extremely dangerous and could even result in his death. McCoy calmly replies that he “chooses the danger.” He cannot fathom living his life without Spock.

McCoy: (Speaking to Spock) I'm going to tell you something that I... I never thought I'd hear myself say...But it seems I've missed you. I don't know if I could stand to lose you again.

So in conclusion, Spock and McCoy have a rich and complex relationship that is much more than simply just “they dislike each other because they bicker a lot.” Their bickering is more akin to that of an old married couple. There are plenty of examples not even included in this post of how deeply they care for each other. Despite their ideological differences, they balance each other out quite nicely. McCoy is finely attuned to Spock’s emotions, arguably better than anyone else on the ship. Spock in turn is protective and gentle with McCoy. Once you stop looking at their interactions solely on the surface level, you’ll be able to see the tenderness and years of love and friendship between them. This is why I think Spock/McCoy is one of the most underrated and misunderstood relationships of TOS. Don’t let the constant arguing fool you into believing these two dummies don’t adore each other.

Shout-out to Tempest for their extremely lengthy ship manifesto on Spones called “Spiced Peaches,” which goes even more in depth on why Spones is a great couple. Using their manifesto as a reference was key to remembering Spock/McCoy moments. Also shout-out to the site chakoteya for having full transcripts of TOS episodes, so I could easily find quotes for this. If you’ve come this far, thanks for reading!

[lvlyhao]

『127′s ideal type』

headcanons, NCT 127

A/N: je suis back~ in these headcanons i talk about the type of person i imagine each member with, along with some of the traits i think they wouldn’t be too fond of. i did NOT include physical traits (ex: “would like a short/tall/blonde s/o”) because i really don’t know them??? lmao also that kind of thing could be a bit damaging to someone’s self esteem, and i want yall to know ur perfect & beautiful so

mark and hyuck will be included in dream’s version of this, and sicheng will be in wayv’s :)

today’s gif theme is just random gifs i like bc idc, there’s no aesthetic

as always, this is gender-neutral

IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG IT AS WELL AS LIKING IT T^T

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: fluff (♡) and if you squint really hard angst (❆) bc of some REALLY small things that for me are not actual angst but oh well

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: i think none?? if you read this and find something you think should be here let me know please!!!

word count: 1.5K

pairing: nct 127 members x reader (includes taeil, taeyong, johnny, yuta, doyoung, jaehyun, jungwoo)

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Taeil

I see Taeil getting with someone who’s not only mature (personality-wise, actual age doesn’t matter) but also very determined and decisive. He’d like a person that doesn’t change their mind about things too often, learns well from their mistakes and is just all-around balanced. Other traits that I think he’d look for: politeness, a MUST; grounded; good at giving advice. Pretty much a twin-flame of his.

I think he’d find it cute if they think in a detail-oriented way and appreciate the small things in life. A positive, grateful mentality would be SO attractive to him, I swear. 

One of his deal breakers would most likely be excessive jealousy and possessiveness. He trusts you and your love for him, and I think he’d feel distraught if you were constantly questioning the relationships he has with other people (friends, co-workers, fans, etc.)

Last important thing: needs a person that can take a hit. He’s probably looking for someone he can spend the rest of his days with, so a quitter just isn’t good for that. There will be difficult moments in the future and he needs to know they won’t give up on him and on the life he chose.

Taeyong

I think Taeyong would like a calm person that knows how to take control of the relationship. He probably feels tired sometimes from leading a group of 23 people, so I can imagine he’d be thrilled if he was able to not worry at all when he’s around his partner. He trusts they’re capable of dealing with any problems that may arise and keep their feet on the ground. Bonus points if they have a good relationship with themselves.

By that I mean: you know how people say you can’t truly love others until you love yourself? Yeah, that. He’s a person like any other, and there are times when he struggles with self-love, but he needs someone that doesn’t hate themselves, or he’ll simply go crazy. With his career come so many rumours and moments that tear at his confidence… he just doesn’t need a person that has to be convinced every single day that they’re worthy of the good things in life. 

I’d say, in general, all he asks for is someone that can watch out for themselves. He’d take care of them too, but he’d like it SO much if just for once in his life he’s the one being cared for. Would just melt on the spot if you have that caring, almost parental instinct in you. Gods, yes. That’s all I can say.

Johnny

I can see him being with a very bright, smart person. He’d like someone that comes from a different background so he could learn more about their life—whether that means the country they were born in or their field of work. I think he would appreciate a very laid back person that doesn’t get stressed too often and won’t make fun of him for his bad jokes. Also, doesn’t like people that try to play him. Honesty above all.

He’d like it if they are super curious and creative, too. Picking up new hobbies and interests is something he’d be up to anytime, and it doesn’t matter what it is either. He’d give anything a try—from knitting to marine biology, no questions asked.

Something he’d dislike is if the person is too materialistic. It’s not like he’s a completely spiritual being and lives with 0 detachments to objects but he’s a firm believer in what Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said: what is essential is invisible to the eye. And, you know, what you truly find essential is up to you; it can mean family, friends, love, hope, all of that… he just wants you to love life itself as much as he does.

Yuta

He’d probably like one of the two drastic variants: a very gentle, sweet person or someone who’s on his level of flirtatiousness and boldness. Wouldn’t mind any, but he needs a strong personality, either way, you know? No blandness here. 

Something very attractive to him is being involved in social issues and caring for the world around you. Very sexc, yes, and also likes people that make others smile.

Something that would make him quite literally give up on someone is the excessive fear of change, or just the will to remain in their comfort zone at all costs. He earns for a person that wants to live life to its fullest. If not they’re not ride-or-die to that level, then he hopes they at least accompany and support him in all of the things he wants to do. 

One thing that is very tied to that is his dislike for know-it-alls. He lives in such a diverse scenario that it’s just dumb for him to think someone would ever be capable of knowing every piece of information on everything that’s out there. He’s fine with people making mistakes, but if they can’t admit to that or admit they don’t know something he just gets pissed off. So, yeah, he’d avoid stuck-ups.

Doyoung

He’d like someone very loyal and fair, who treats people with respect but calls them out if they ever have to. I think he’d prefer a person that is naturally a deep thinker and wouldn’t lose their mind over small disagreements. 

Much like Johnny, he likes that intellectual side of yours, and when I say that I don’t mean like “ah, he’d want to date a math genius” or something. No, no. I’m referring to all types of intellectuality and intelligence. The thing for him is simply using your brain and being proud of it. He would just dislike a person that kind of lives life on autopilot, you know?

He’d like it if they’re interested or professionally involved with music somehow and would consider their opinions in his career. He wouldn’t mind if their taste is hugely different from his, though. It’s alright if pop music is not your favourite or if you have no idea who EXO is (lol). All he wants is to see the world through your eyes too, in all aspects of life including this one.

Will also love you forever if you side with him when he’s being teased by the others, because, c’mon, it’s always 22 people against poor, defenceless Doyoung. Please don’t join them, he’s begging you—

Jaehyun

This is very, very clear to me but he needs to be with an independent person. He’s quite sentimental and he has his more romantic moments, sure, but he wants someone that can give him the space he needs when he needs it. A person that’s constantly begging him for attention would be way more of a burden than anything else.

Also, he’s 100% alright with someone that has a very explicit and loud love language (like saying “I love you” 300 times a day) but he’s not like that, and he needs them to see that. Jaehyun could NOT be with a person that doesn’t appreciate the love he shows in the little things, like making coffee in the morning, and if they ever question the way he feels… yeah, not good. He’d feel misunderstood and that’s a big no-no.

He’d find it cute if they’re bubbly or just very youthful but is also capable of falling for an old soul that shares his interests in things like classical music and vinyls. I don’t think he’d ever get with someone that's kind of a tech addict, though, idk why but that’s quite clear to me. Always being on your phone or caring too much about social media would probably make him feel like you’re not grateful for the things you have around you, in real life. So, yeah, not attractive, bestie.

Jungwoo

Jungwoo is a very, very, very sweet person and he needs someone who’s also like that. He wouldn’t care if that’s there for everyone to see, in the sense that they’re not shy about it, or if it’s a part of them that only a couple of close people know. As long as it’s there, he’s happy.

Aside from that, I think he’s fully capable of falling in love with quite literally anyone. He can see the beauty in all types of people, from all places, backgrounds, races, and just—anyone. He’s just so full of love for people, ah I can’t even. He’s too good for this world.

Some things that could, however, push him away from getting to know someone: a negative way of thinking, being too traditionalistic, and too much scepticism. He’s fine with people that like to honour the past and their roots but like, you’ve gotta keep up with the world you live in and accept that things change. I think that’s very tied to how much he likes defying masculine standards, too. 

The scepticism thing is quite simple: he can handle teasing just fine but if they’re constantly making fun of him for wearing his heart on his sleeve or being a bit goofy, he’d feel kind of betrayed.

---

final notes: this is the 3rd nct work i’m posting here and i’m already writing more, so i think it’s time i set up a masterlist, a fic rec blog and a tag list. if you want to be tagged in my future fics, let me know (dm, comments, anything) :)

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.13

Chapter Thirteen: Happiness is a butterfly: An impromptu “bachelorette” leads to more than you expected. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: swearing, brief talk of heartbreak & breakup/s, alcohol consumption, intoxication, angst, and finally a bit of fluff !!

series masterlist

A/N: i can’t believe after this chapter, there is only two left!! from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone that’s been reading / liking / commenting / reblogging - it genuinely means the world to me!

-

Loud chatter mixed with drunken laughter carried through the bar, creating the perfect Saturday night atmosphere. The various raucous discussions were accompanied by old jukebox melodies, fighting a battle of who can make more noise - man or machine.

The space carried a stench of sweat, cigarette smoke and spilled drink. While listening to Penelope’s incoherent ramblings, you took a mental note of needing to throw the clothes you were currently wearing into the wash the second you got home. If you were sober enough to do so, that is.

“Okay, okay-” Emily began, still laughing at whatever it was Penelope had just said. “Personally, I think a more important question is who wants another drink?” She glanced between the group of girls who all lifted their empty glasses into the air, cheering loudly.

It was a pretty unanimous decision to still throw you a bachelorette party. The BAU ladies wanted a night out and you were happy to provide them with an excuse - primarily because the months have quickly passed into May and you figured it was finally time to stop wallowing in self-pity.

Penelope invested in a fake engagement ring; “No-one will know the difference and this way we can get free drinks.”. She also arrived with a bag of typical bachelorette knickknacks from the dollar store, plastic tiaras, and bright pink sashays - a ‘BRIDE’ one for you, ‘MAID OF HONOUR’ for herself, and ‘BRIDESMAID’ for the remaining ladies.

When the night started you honestly felt quite silly celebrating something that was no longer happening. You felt like a fraud. Fooling all of these people into thinking you were happy and about to embark on the best journey of your life, when the reality couldn't have been more different.

You were utterly alone and pathetically in love with someone who, you were convinced, didn't love you back.

Penelope volunteered to help Emily with getting the drinks while Tara took the time to go and freshen up in the bathroom.

“Sooo... are you still thinking about leaving the bureau?” JJ asked, sliding into the now empty spot beside you. She placed an elbow on the table to prop her head up as she waited for you to answer.

Her question caught you off guard. Taking the last sip of your current margarita, you furrowed your brows together. “What? I don’t even... what?” 

JJ didn't answer. Instead, she let out a relieved laugh. “I knew Spence was playing with me. And I told him, I told him there was no way, absolutely no wayyy you would ever leave, or even consider leaving.”

“Spencer?” You probed, hopping to make some sense of what she ways saying.

JJ nodded her head, her hand clearly struggling to hold it up. “He came by, gosh... this was shortly after your breakup with Ethan? And he let lit slip that the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...” Her voice faded out when she noticed the perplexed look on your face. Even in her inebriated state she could tell you had no idea Ethan and Spencer ever spoke alone. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?”

“No, I-I... I don't think so? I’m just... confused.” And as the words escaped your lips, a sudden urge overcame you. If it wasn't for the alcohol cursing through your veins right now, perhaps you would have left it alone. Perhaps the feeling would have passed. Instead, however, you sprung up on your feet and hastily grabbed your handbag.

“I have to go.”

JJ immediately sat up. “Go? Go where?”

But you didn’t want to get into it now. No, you had much more pressing matters at hand - at least your drunken mind thought so. You decided to leave the explaining to Penelope and Tara, who reappeared at the table with Emily and a new set of cocktails. You shot them both a knowing look, and before either of them got a chance to protest, you hurried in the direction of the exit.

The ride to your destination was a blur - partially due to your heavy intoxication, and partially due to the adrenaline you were now experiencing. You weren't even sure how you managed to hail a taxi or how the driver understood the address through your muddled breaths. You were simply glad they did.

Your whole body was shaking. You still weren't entirely sure whether what you were doing was a good idea, but it seemed like there was no other option as JJ’s words rang in your ears - “... the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...”. What did she mean by that? When did this conversation even happen? You had so many questions circling your brain, you could only hope they'd get answered once you arrived where you were heading.

Once the car stopped and you paid your fair, you managed to exit the vehicle in one piece and stumble, fairly elegantly, to the front door of the apartment block. The stairs proved to be the real enemy of the night as your legs failed to coordinate with the wooden steps. But once you reached your goal, the struggle of getting here didn't seem as important anymore.

With your hand formed into a lousy fist, you knocked and knocked and knocked until the door swung open.

“When was Ethan here?” You asked, not willing to waste any more time.

Spencer stared at you completely dumbfounded. He blinked, unsure at first whether you were really here or if his mind was playing tricks. Truthfully, he’s imagined this happening many times in the last few months - you finding out the truth behind that night. Especially with the context of your voicemail still lingering in the air every time he saw you.

“Fuck.” You breathed, one hand rockily landing on Spencer’s chest. He instantly reached to grab you and hold safely you up in position. Completely unfazed by your sudden closeness, with your free hand, you brought your knee to your back and you loosened the strap of your heel.

Spencer watched you silently, the overpowering whiff of your perfume mixed with alcohol hitting him like a brick. He quickly took note of the plastic tiara in your hair and the sash wrapped around your rather loose outfit. All that went through his head in that moment was how happy he was you got here safe and sound.

“Do you need me to drive you home? Or, ehm, or call you a cab?” Spencer raised a brow as you regained your wobbly stance, your hand still clinging to his sweatshirt as if it was your only lifeline. Which judging by your... condition, it surely was.

You scoffed, unintentionally blowing your loose strands of your hair away from your face. “Don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi.”

The handsome doctor smirked. “A jerk?”

You nodded. “And do not think for a ss-second, you’re getting away with answering my question.”

“I had a feeling you would say that.”

Spencer carefully led you inside the confide of his apartment. With one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he closed the door behind and guided you toward the couch. You plopped down with a gentle bounce and he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Let me get you some water.” He offered, but you grabbed his arm and using all of the strength you could muster, you pulled him down next to you.

“Answer my question first.” You mumbled while placing your hands on his cheeks and gaping into his hazel eyes. Gosh, he had such pretty eyes.

Spencer swallowed before licking his lips. Your proximity should be making him nervous, but he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he found himself shuffling in closer.

“Please, Spencer... I need to know.” The plea was gratuitous because deep down you already knew the answer. You just needed him to confirm your suspicions.

As the tears started to form in your eyes, the brunette doctor sighed deeply. Now was his only chance to set the record straight. He might not get another one, in fact he knew if he let you leave tonight without telling you what really happened he'd lose you permanently. Even as a friend.

Now or never, he thought, then proceed to explain.

And you listened. You listened patiently and attentively, letting the waterfall of tears escape and trail mascara down your face. His words were slowly sobering you up. Everything was starting to become clear once again.

Spencer always loved you. He never stopped loving you. He never wanted to end things, he simply did what he thought was the right thing to do. The right thing for you because your happiness was more important to him than his own. He still loved you. He loved you.

By the time Spencer was finished, the alcohol had completely faded from your system. Your arms instantly draped around his neck, and you fell into his comforting embrace. Attaching yourself like a magnet. His hand landed at the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Basking in your warmth. He whispered apologies into your ear, repeating over and over again that he will never let you go again.

You believed him.

When you finally pulled away, the tears had stopped falling. Using his thumb, Spencer gently wiped the lone droplets that remained on your face. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, so many things he wanted to do with you, but at least now he knew he didn't have to rush. The chase was over.

His fingertips traced along your jawline before settling on your chin. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, because in this moment you were the only people to exist. The only people to matter.

“Can I kiss you?”

A smile circled your features. “As if you have to ask.”

His mouth brushed against yours with tenderness and care. You melted into him completely, glad he was taking his time because the first touch of his lips on your sent a jolt down your spine. One hand slid from your chin up your cheek, cupping your face, while his other hand graciously moved up and down your arm.

Your lips parted from shocking overwhelming sensation in your body. You hadn't realised just how much you missed his touch, not until his hand traveled from your arm to your neck. His fingertips brushing across, not quite landing in any particular place, as his tongue eagerly slid into your mouth.

Conveyed in his kiss were over a million loving thoughts and conversations previously left unspoken. The pent up tension, built up over the occurrences of these last few months, suddenly exploded. In the moment, in this kiss, you were both your pure selves.

He was yours, and you were his.

Forever.

Do you want me or do you not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

-

A/N: as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway, @chipot-lol​

tags not working: @radtwinkie

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Naimhde

This is also part of Pósadh Eagraithe :The Series and I hope you like it! It’s from Han Solo’s POV when he first realises that 1. Boba’s alive and 2. Boba is married to Din meaning that 3. He can’t shoot Boba :(

Ao3 Link

Naimhde= Enemies

Look, Han Solo was having a good day. Emphasis on was. Ben had slept through the night again so Han got his full recommended hours of rest. Then Leia had had the morning off from the Senate so they had all gone to the park together. Luke was on planet for once with the green frog child so Ben was able to play with him. Leia had told him days ago that they were required to attend a ball that was being hosted to celebrate the Republic getting a treaty with Mandalore so he’d already gone through the seven stages of grief about that.

Now, he’s at said ball and across the room from him, Boba fucking Fett is smirking at him. Han snarls at the look the bastard has on his (apparently very scarred?) face but Leia puts a warning hand on his shoulder. “I know that’s Fett but he’s the leader of the Tatooine crime syndicate now, and rumour has it he’s taken over a couple more of the Hutt Space planets. He’s powerful, Han, and he probably hates us enough. No fighting.” She hisses into his ear.

Of course Boba Fett came out of a fucking sarlacc pit to become a godsdamned crime lord. He shouldn’t have been surprised. And he clearly has some sort of power in Mandalore because Mandalorians aren’t naturally deferential but they seem to treat Fett with an extra bit of respect.

A silver Mandalorian comes over to Fett and says something lowly to him. Fett nods and saunters over to Han and Leia with the other Mando striding ahead of him. “That’s the Mand’alor, their king. No one knows his name or species and he never takes his helmet off in front of non-Mandalorians. He signed the treaty as ‘Mand’alor the Reclaimer’ and his people adore him. He’s rumoured to be absolutely deadly, so once again, Han, I don’t care if he’s coming over with Boba Fett, behave.” Leia whispers and Han suppresses his urge to punt Fett into the nearest star.

Contrary to popular belief, Han is smart enough not to piss off the ruler of a warrior culture that are supposedly the greatest fighters in the galaxy. He got lucky with Fett the first time, he’s not making the man’s whole planet mad at him by fucking with their king.

Their pretty intimidating king, he’s not gonna lie. There’s a veritable armoury on the Mand’alor’s person and Han can see the familiar shape of a lightsaber hilt at his waist. Leia had mentioned something about a ‘Darksaber’ and Han does not want to find out the difference between a Darksaber and a lightsaber firsthand.

The Mand’alor inclines his head in a regal greeting as he halts in front of Leia. “Senator Organa, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Luke mentions you often.” He says in a low, smooth voice. Huh. Han is absolutely loyal to Leia but if the Mando king ever offers a threesome…..

Wait, how does Mando know Luke? Leia seems confused too but she hides it well. “The honour is all mine, Your Majesty. I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with my brother though?” She says politely, voicing the question in a much more eloquent manner than Han would’ve.

Mando chuckles and answers her with a smile in his voice. “Cuun ad, Grogu, is one of Luke’s students. He’s the small green one with an affinity for frogs.” He explains and Han raises an eyebrow. Luke had said that Grogu would never grow to be taller than maybe hip height but Mando is of fairly average height for a humanoid species. 5’10 or ’11 maybe.

Leia smiles brightly. “Yes, I do know Grogu. Luke mentioned his father was a Mandalorian. That would be you, then?” She says, relaxing slightly. Talking about children is a safe topic, even when Boba Fett is part of the conversation, and no, Han is not letting that go, he’s a Senator’s trophy husband, he’s mastered the art of polite glaring.

Fett speaks up then, still smirking. “Both of his fathers are Mandalorians. I adopted Grogu when the two of us said the riduurok.” He says, looking directly at Han as his brain freezes in its tracks.

Boba Fett is married? Boba Fett is married to the king of Mandalore? Boba Fett is a father?

None of that computes. Han Solo and Boba Fett are not supposed to have anything in common and Boba Fett is most certainly not supposed to be a regular human being with a spouse and kids and apparently a job, if being a crime lord counts as one. But clearly he is and Han is mad about it. It may be irrational but the bastard froze him in carbonite for three years and he’s gotten away with it. Whenever Han imagined Fett it was as a corpse being digested by a plant monster, not as a successful husband and father. Oh, Han is so mad.

Leia squeezes his hand a little tighter than necessary and Han grits his teeth. No fighting. He can do this. He really doesn’t want to do this. Chandrila’s sun is actually quite hot, he knows Beskar has a high melting point but he reckons it wouldn’t hold up against a star. He could just get in the Falcon, with Fett, and then space him beside the star. Boom, problem solved.

Leia is congratulating Fett and the Mand’alor on their marriage and subsequent child. To be completely honest with himself, Han may or not be considering telling Luke to get Grogu into therapy. Having Boba Fett as a father would definitely fuck a kid up.

He tunes back into the conversation as the Mand’alor answers Leia and immediately wishes he hadn’t. “Yes, children are the most important part of our culture. I adopted Grogu before we got together and I actually only met Boba a little while before Luke began teaching him. Boba always knew Grogu was part of the picture and honestly, the kid loves him. His second vow after the riddurok was a gai bal manda for Grogu.” Mando says, helmet tilted towards Fett. It’s probably the armoured equivalent of a sappy look and Han resists the urge to scowl.

He doesn’t know what a riderock or a gabblemanda is but it’s clearly important to Mandalorians and Fett is smiling broadly at his husband. Ugh.

“Oh, that’s incredibly sweet. How did you two meet?” Leia asks and Han screams internally. “When I first Found Grogu, my tribe took on the Hunter’s Guild so we could escape. I was trying to find more Mandalorians and I came across an areuttise on Tatooine who had Boba’s armour. I helped him take down a krayt dragon that was attacking his village and in exchange, he returned the armour to a mando’ad. Boba tracked me to Tython and said he would help me protect Grogu if I gave him back his armour. We were attacked by Dark Troopers and they took Grogu for Moff Gideon. Boba helped me get Grogu back and once he’d taken over Tatooine, he joined our efforts to reclaim Mandalore.” Mando explains and Leia smiles.

“That sounds romantic. The first time I met Han I threatened him.” Leia says anecdotally and Han shoots her a betrayed look. Fett is so going to use that against him somehow, Han just knows it. Instead, Fett just shakes his head and explains further. “Both of us are sol’karta, ‘aromantic’ in Basic. The Mand’alor’s council were concerned about finding a Rid’alor and I was suggested. I accepted, as the Mand’alor is one of my closest friends. I love him dearly but we’re not in love with each other. We’re best friends raising an adorably mischievous ad’ika.” He says and the Mand’alor nods.

Huh. Han can’t say he’s ever heard of an arranged marriage where both parties are friends from the start. He’s sure that some spouses end up as friends but politically arranged marriages in the Core tend to be loveless affairs. He almost finds himself congratulating them on finding a good balance but then he remembers he would be congratulating Fett. Nope, he’s not doing that.

“Oh really? Luke did mention that Grogu has a habit of disappearing on him.” Leia says and Fett laughs. “Yeah, his Force osik enables him a lot. I never realised how much of parenting was going to be coaxing a grumpy toddler off of a ceiling.” He jokes and ugh, Han can relate to that and he’s mad about it. Leia says something in response but Han is too busy glaring at Fett to hear her. The bastard is still smirking, plus he’s not even paying attention to Han, like Han is beneath his notice.

“I know you two have a son, right? If you’re ever on Manda’yaim for diplomacy, perhaps they can hang out together. I know when I was a child, I hated being in boring meetings and Grogu would definitely appreciate a friend.” Fett suggests and Han nearly explodes. Boba Fett’s hellspawn child is not going to corrupt Ben!

“Oh, Ben and Grogu met earlier today actually! Luke is on-planet at the moment and he brought Grogu with him when he heard that your people would be here.” Leia says and Mando’s helmet tilts. It probably means something in Mando Armour Language but Han has no clue what. “Is Luke still on Chandrila?” He asks, seeming curious. “Grogu is due to come home to Manda’yaim next week but if Luke is here, then I might ask if we can bring him home now to save Luke the trip.”

Leia smiles and tells Mando where to find Luke. Mando says his goodbyes and leaves, but Fett stays. They seem to have some form of communicating that Han can’t understand because Fett doesn’t seem confused at all by his husband’s departure without him.

Fett rocks back on his heels before levelling Han with a smug grin. “If you ever feel like going into Fett Space, drop by my palace on Tatooine. I love getting visits from old friends.” He says before bowing to Leia and leaving to follow Mando before Han can splutter a rebuttal. Fett Space! Is he serious?

Apparently he is, as the New Republic receives a missive a few days later, announcing Mandalore’s official recognition of the former Hutt territories as under Boba Fett, their Consort’s, unequivocal rule. It means that if the Republic ever aggravates Mandalore, they would essentially be going to war with the majority of the Outer Rim between Fett’s planets, Mandalore’s vassal planets and the seemingly endless planets that have allied themselves with Mandalore instead of the Republic.

Han isn’t too concerned about the political ramifications, seeing as that’s Leia’s remit and he’s mostly retired, but fuck, he’s mad that he can’t even think about dropkicking Fett into a star without inciting a galaxy-wide conflict. And the bastard knows it. Every time he comes to Republic events as either the Mand’alor’s spouse or as the leader of Fett Space, he acts like the perfect model of decorum so Han can’t even argue that he was provoked.

Han is forty-three, he shouldn’t be having aneurysms but every time he sees Fett his brain stops getting the message. The worst part is that Leia has become friends with the Mandalorian king and Ben is fond of the green child, so Han is forced to interact with Fett on a far too regular basis. Forget Fett, Han is considering launching himself into a star.

Sadly, Leia won’t let him. So Han has to put up with Fett for just a while longer. Speaking of, how old is Fett? Can Han get away with measuring coffins yet? Please say the bastard is at least ninety, he was around during the Clone Wars, there can’t be much left in him. Please, Han is going to lose his mind if he has to play nice with Boba Fett again. And again. And again.

(systems away, Boba’s ears go hot and he knows that Solo is plotting his death once more. Grogu coos and Boba looks down to see the womprat chewing on his pendant again. He chuckles and grabs something softer for Grogu to gnaw at. He has more important things to think about than Solo.)

[satingrove]

there is no maker

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: you secretly watch obi-wan teach a group of younglings. one senses his feelings of love, prompting you to leave. he seeks you out.

wc: 2.258k

warnings: some angst, sad and lonely obi-wan, fluff, RAIN

“There is no emotion, there is…?” Obi-Wan Kenobi sits before a half-circle of younglings, waiting patiently for a signal and the completing word of the sentence. “Yes, go ahead Gungi.” He smiles warmly.

“There is peace?” Gungi watches the Jedi Master timidly, though he knows his answer is correct.

“Very good, little one.” Obi-Wan affirms the tentative reply from the Wookie, offering a second cozy grin in his direction. He recalls the repetition of the Code from his own youth, the endless chanting of the same words that deny the existence of emotion, ignorance, passion, chaos, and even the wicked hands of death. But it doesn’t hurt him to revisit it in the lesson he teaches now, with the bright and shining younglings of the next generation of Jedi.

Gungi’s sigh of relief does not go unnoticed, the sound of air pushing out of lungs prominent in the quiet Temple room. Continuing through the mantra, Obi-Wan recites the poetic form of the Jedi Code, leaving out words for the younglings to add in themselves, a symbol of their understanding.

They reach the final lines, There is no chaos, there is harmony, and he feels his chest swell with honour.

“Can I do the last line, Master Kenobi?” An enthusiastic Tholothian, Katooni, chimes in. Obi-Wan agrees, calmly but showing encouragement for her.

“There is no death, there is the Force.” She flutters her eyes closed as she delivers the line, a level voice and a sense of dignity.

As Katooni mentions the Force, an additional pair of robes sweep into the clear room, unrecognized by any of the members within. You watch, arms crossed against your chest, leaning against a large marble pillar.

It’s his fault, you think, watching Obi-Wan with the children. It’s his fault that they love him so dearly, that he looks much too fatherly with them not to be a father. It pulls at your heart so deeply, the patience he holds for those prone-to-trouble juniors.

“Lovely words, yes Katooni?” Obi-Wan questions with a raised eyebrow, making the little girl giggle and cover her mouth. His fault that they love him so dearly.

“Now, I’d like you all to try and reach out with your feelings. Tell me what you sense in my direction.” Obi-Wan instructs the younglings who sit cross legged with straight backs. All is still, no shifting or fidgeting. Their eyes are closed in profound concentration.

“Master?”

“Yes, concentrate and tell me what you feel.” His eyes flick to the source of the voice, and then land on what he knows are your robes, poking out from behind a pillar. Tilting his head in dazed fondness, the corner of his lips turning upwards, he lets his shields down.

“Well… it’s changed.” A puzzled Rodian speaks. “Before, it was just serenity, but now I sense…” Love? No, surely Master Kenobi wouldn’t feel such a passion as love. 

“Go on, Ganodi. There is no judgment here with your friends.” Obi-Wan assures, vaguely gesturing to the rest of the group, and turns his stare to the fabric looming behind the pillar next to the archway, chastising himself for his wavering focus.

“Love, Master. Passion…”

You take a step outwards. Love… for what? For who? It’s something you’d rather not know, and while the domestic sight of Obi-Wan with the children is exceptionally pleasant, you’d still prefer not to know.

The Master becomes frigid, only on the inside; his exterior shows poise. He’s aware of your quick exit, the speedy flash of a cloak whisking through the archway, and he’s not without cherry blossom blush upon his cheeks.

It’s morally wrong to deny the Rodian, who guessed truthfully. He knows that. It would merely cause confusion for the poor thing, but he also knows better than to let it be known, his love and passion aren’t information which can be relayed to anyone, save for himself. And so he does save himself, by doing neither.

A soft “aww” sound, the disappointed kind, echoes when the lesson is cut short. Gungi tugs on Obi-Wan’s sleeve.

“Please, Master Kenobi? I was finally getting the hang of it!” His pleading, furry face splashes a hint of guilt into Obi-Wan’s.

“Another time, Gungi. Another time.” Looking like a tired grandpa for a split-second, he manages a forced chuckle.

-

What? and who? sit aboard your clouded train of thought. The tracks are a circle and it rides full speed, fuming and steaming. Smoke rises in your head. The vast hallways of the Jedi Temple turn into the wide exit path, and then to the winding streets of Coruscant, where it rains angrily from the skies. You suppose it’s how you feel inside. Downcast. Sodden. But rain doesn’t feel confusion. In your frenzied state, you’re smart enough to remember that. The rest of common sense is drowned with the plummeting rainfall and you don’t know where you’re headed. You don’t know why you feel jealous. For who? For what?! The wet and cold stick your robes tightly to your skin. 

Passing through a small market sector, there’s the smell of blumfruit and something even sweeter. It’s soon forgotten as you weave through groups of species you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before. A few looks are tossed your way. Jedi. You’re no stranger to the apprehensive attitudes that some hold. 

As the looks are tossed, you pay no mind to throw them back. Your emotion makes for a brisk stride. There’s little manner down in the streets of this planet, only one or two polite people making way for your trek. It’s dirty and grey and exactly the colour of your useless longing. The Maker above is thanked in a whisper when you find a private spot, covered from the rain and up a fair amount of stairs.

At this moment, you don’t feel like a Jedi. At this moment, there is passion and chaos and a generous slab of envy. The kind that has long green vines that grow and encase your heart and shield it from the sun. It takes all the golden light for itself. And for now, so do the clouds in the atmosphere, that overlook a second Jedi roaming through the streets, following the traces of a Force Signature.

-

Obi-Wan’s hood is drawn over his head, his arms tightly wound across his chest. The rain does the same to him as it did to you, making his robes cling to his body. It’s not something he has the time to care for, but whether or not he could care, did not matter. Obi-Wan is one for stormy weather, lifting his face upwards to feel raindrops trickle upon his cheeks into his light-coloured beard. The chagrin of letting the younglings down in their excitement bites at him. His hood slips off from his tilted head. 

Your Force Signature is apparent; Obi-Wan knows your sign, the sensations and presence you leave behind to other Force users to pick up on. He figures he knows it the best of all. He hopes he does.

Tracing the loops through the same market, he becomes almost grumpy with the crowded spaces that are too dense to let him keep up the pace of his urgent march. The foot of the staircase, its metallic steps gleaming with the rain, shows itself to Obi-Wan by degrees, the lethargic gaggle of strangers finally dwindling away. The passion surges.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like a Jedi.

-

You sense him long before he appears in front of you, soaked through all layers. It’s at your bewilderment that he remembers - you didn’t know he caught you hiding behind the pillar, so to find him at the edge of the steps, despondent, tells you something about the “who?” question that crippled your thinking patterns remarkably. The realization paints across his face and makes him turn sheepish. A revelation that, in his own desperate madness, could have been kept under the wraps of his cloak had he not suffered a lack of wit to follow you.

The cloth sticks to his body in a way that is so modestly handsome, yet simple enough for Obi-Wan’s own looks to work their charm and make it appear ethereal.

He closes his lips tightly, nodding to you as a greeting, choosing to stay in the fall of rain. Rising, you walk to meet him from a foot apart. 

“Your younglings give you away, Obi-Wan.” You offer the start of conversation with the shyness that Obi-Wan found himself yearning to be met with.

“What were you doing in there?” He replies, an air of calm leaving with his words. His tone is quizzical, and it affirms all that you love about the Jedi.

The behaviour he administers standing there, displaying the utmost respect with which he regards all things, the softest touches of compassion and fortitude looming behind his barriers. His courage is in the face of adversity, your face, and he doesn’t know how to respond to it. Adversity, its misfortune, staring him in the face through the colour of your eyes and the curve of your lips. It smiles at him and he wants to kiss it.

The war he fights, to the far reaches of the outer rim, was enough for him before, yet he’s here now, damp and cold in the maze of Coruscant, with another war inside of himself. A heart duels with a brain.

“I like to watch you teach.” Your lips are wet.

“Is that so?” He answers fast enough, as if he already knew. There is a comfortable pause with the pitter-patter sounds of water. “What made you leave?” Obi-Wan asks this and he, in fact, did know the answer to that question.

Love. Passion. Before, it was serenity.

The present was serene, wasn’t it? Obi-Wan could think so.

“Felt like intrusion.”

“The younglings handled it well.” His lips work the sentence out, but the rest of his face says and you couldn’t? 

Except, it’s pained.

Except, it’s despairing and hopeless and all things that Obi-Wan refused to show to the world. And you wonder why. As grim as it may sound, he is beautiful. In his pain, he is beautiful. To you, to anyone who might see the way his hair is unkempt and falling into his face, the blue eyes looking fixedly, expectantly at their focus, his hands at his sides and his laboured breathing bringing his chest up and down, rhythmically. The only way he comes to that appearance is because he doesn’t care to fix it, because he’s too worried about fixing everything else. 

Then, you think of how much you hate seeing him like this, intimate and secret as it is. You figure you’re among a mere two or three who have seen him sad. He’s more beautiful when the sunshine peeks from his grin. That much is true. 

“Because you’ve taught them well.” Your compliment soothes him briefly, but he adopts that unhappy look that makes you think there’s no Maker above, although you’ve just thanked it, because no Maker would have let Obi-Wan Kenobi feel the way he does right now. Forlorn. Not like himself.

And, not like himself, he loses some of his reserve.

He makes the distance minuscule. A cautious hand reaches his face and brushes over his beard, your thumb brushing kindly back and forth across his cheek. Obi-Wan absent-mindedly leans into it and he thinks of how healing it feels when you touch him. How he longs for you to keep touching him. 

You catch the sun peeking through the crack of his lips as they smile.

All he knows is that it’s been lonely. The way you speak to him, touch him, feel him, tells him that the rough edges of life and war can be softened. They can be buffered. That he can love freely, and that he’s glad it’s you.

It’s impossible for either of you to get any more wet, and the thought of shelter, even now, is abandoned along with his fear of unrequited feelings.

Obi-Wan raises his hand through the misty air, letting it fall upon and envelope yours. He brings it close to his heart, and closes his other around it. Gentleness is about the only thing you can register -  his soft movements as he becomes himself are profound and calculated. The remnants of his loneliness that had come out of hiding are already disappearing, as if he breathes it out into the air to be lost, as he himself is found.

Your hand remains clasped by both of his when his lips touch your forehead, a pillowy kiss that says what he cannot. The sun shines within him, as if kissing the moon or the stars, his perfect counterpart.

The sun softly lights the moon, and what a comparison it is, because you know that Obi-Wan is golden as he takes you in his arms and you press against each other in a burst of rays. The kind that keep you warm through all the layers of drenched robes. His nose is pressed into your shoulder, your arms wind tight around his neck. A thought of his presses into your mind, spoken in his voice, be my comfort, I seek you everyday.

Passion is in the gestures and love is in the feelings shared, one Jedi to another. 

There is no passion, there is serenity.

It’s left up to the rain to convey the serene qualities in this exchange of two fond people, who look at each other the way that lovers do.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Worthy (pt6)

A/N: once again - just keep poking me until I start tagging you if you want tagged. @rampant-salamander​, @bolontiku​

...

I looked from Tony to Thor and back to Tony.

“I don’t understand your question,” I responded, and threw back the drink. To hell with being moderate. I was pretty sure I was about to lose my dream job on my second day, I may as well go out with a bang.

“Ella, there has to be something special about you to allow you to lift that hammer,” Tony spoke slowly. That was probably a bad thing. I suspected slow speech meant a really active brain. I was now a mystery that needed to be solved.

“There is nothing special about me at all,” I argued.

“You can lift Mjolnir. That is special.” Thor was like a sage who spoke in riddles.

“But being able to lift Mjolnir isn’t what makes me special enough to lift it. That’s a redundancy.” I, like Tony, was slipping into scientific method in order to try to sort things out.

“Do you have Aesir blood, Ella?” Thor asked.

“My family is from Washington. By way of Wisconsin,” I replied. Tony snorted and Thor shot him a dirty look.

“Before this Wisconsin?” He pressed. The way he said Wisconsin made it sound unfamiliar and strange.

“Norway and England.”

“Norway. That is where the Northmen resided.” Thor looked thoughtful. “In the time of the Vikings, the Aesir traveled on Midgard much more frequently than they do now.”

“Are you suggesting that some ancestor of mine got knocked up by a god?” I could feel my eyebrow rising. Tony smothered a smirk behind his hand. My tone was lost on Thor.

“We are not gods, Ella,” Thor corrected. “And I am unfamiliar with knocked up. What I suggest is that your ancestor was impregnated by an Aesir.”

“But in order to lift your hammer, wouldn’t it have to be you that got this mystery ancestor pregnant? I’d have to be your descendent?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. It would be just my luck that the hottest guy I’d ever seen would be related to me. Thor’s smile was mischievous.

“Not necessarily. I would have discovered offspring of mine on Midgard by now, and I know left none. But I think it reasonable to consider you may have Aesir blood in your veins,” he explained. “Which makes you very special indeed.”

“Can everyone in Asgard lift your hammer?” I asked. Thor shook his head.

“None but I.”

“Then I don’t buy it. I keep telling people, I’m nothing special.” I was getting frustrated with the scrutiny. I never thought I would be desperate for a cute guy to stop paying attention to me, but in that moment, I would have given anything to be able to just go hide in obscurity in the lab, building my washing machine.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Ella,” Tony interrupted. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, Thor had such powerful bearing. I didn’t think it was possible to lose track of Tony Stark, but I guess in the presence of not-actually-gods… “You are something special. That’s why Pepper and I lept on your application like we did. How did you make it through university with such a bad self image?”

“I don’t have a bad self image. I know I’m a fucking amazing engineer. I just fail to see a correlation between my ability to understand math and build things and my purported mystical ability to lift a magic hammer,” I snapped. I turned back to Thor. “You’re sure no one else can lift it?” Thor glanced at Tony, almost as though he was looking for approval. Tony gave a slight nod.

“I believe that Captain Rogers would be able to lift it, should he have the opportunity. But that remains untested,” Thor admitted. I sighed.

“Of course. He’s a legit hero. Full of righteousness and honour and nobility.” My tone was more sarcastic than I’d intended.

“Yes, intangible and arbitrary measures of worthiness. Who is to say you don’t meet the parameters in some way?” Thor shot back. I looked into my empty glass, wishing it were still full.

“Did you not see me level that d-bag in the elevator?”

“Tis nothing I would not have done myself, and yet I am still worthy,” Thor shrugged. Pepper had walked in at some point during the conversation, and Tony turned to her expectantly. She sighed and blinked slowly.

“We’ve had a discussion about appropriate professional behaviour. He is aware that if there are any further incidents he will lose his internship.” Pepper reached out for the glass of wine Tony was offering her.

“It’s a bit of a PR nightmare if we lose a second intern in as many days, Pep,” Tony commented.

“It’s a worse nightmare if, right as we’re rolling out a gender equality program and girl’s STEM mentorship program, the media gets ahold of information about how we’re allowing someone guilty of sexual harassment to remain in a prestigious and competitive internship,” she retorted. He pursed his lips and paused. After a moment he nodded in agreement.

“What do I know? You’re the boss.” His acquiescence was met with laughter from Pepper.

“What do you know, Tony? How many times did you attend the SHIELD seminar again?” She choked on her wine. “Trust me. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a smart guy, and I’d like to think he’ll be respectful from now on.” Tony responded with some other comment and I slumped back into my seat, watching the show. If you didn’t know they were stupidly in love with one another, you might assume they were on the verge of war. But I think Tony liked to goad Pepper, and she rose to the bait. Not because she was gullible though. At least, I didn’t think it was because she was easily duped. I think she rose to the bait because it was how they clicked together. I looked away from them and over to Thor, who was sitting back on the couch, completely relaxed. The hammer was propped up beside him, handle leaning against the bolster. It was uncanny how powerful he looked, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I relaxed a little and just enjoyed looking at him, taking in the contours of his biceps, and the definition of the veins in his hands. There was a lot of him to look at, and it was all very pleasing to the eye. At least, everything I’d seen thus far.

I didn’t realize how overt I was being until he smirked. He turned to look at me, and nodded.

“Is it not considered poor manners on Midgard to stare at others?” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but I blinked and looked away, feeling my cheeks colour.

There was really no way for me to deny that I was staring at him. The only blank wall in the entire place was right behind him. I couldn’t even beg being distracted by some of the weird art that seemed to be all over the building. 

“I, uh, well,” I stammered. “I was looking at the hammer?” It sounded like bullshit, even to me. I heard a stifled laugh from Tony and shot him a filthy look. I pushed myself to my feet and glanced at Pepper. “If you don’t need me, Pepper, I’m going to try to catch up with Angela. I have some things I need to pick up for my suite.”

“You can order anything you need from distribution,” Tony offered.

“Except, apparently, towels bigger than a postage stamp,” I retorted. My ears were burning and I was having a really hard time not looking over to see if Thor was following the conversation. He probably was as there was no one else for him to pay attention to.

“You are aware there’s varying sizes of towel?” Tony’s tone was sarcastic. I rolled my eyes.

“Not that this is really a conversation I feel I want to have with my boss, but I grabbed the biggest one. It still barely covered me.” I was ready to pray for a hole to open in the floor and swallow me.

“Well, you’re not exactly supposed to be lounging around in your tow –“

“I wasn’t!” I interrupted. “I was just getting out of the shower when Thor showed up and I didn’t have time to be getting fully dressed before I answered the door, and then the towel slipped and oh my god I cannot believe I’m telling you all this.” I took a deep breath and looked back to Pepper. “Can I go? Please?”

“Let me walk you to the elevator,” she offered and led the way. As we walked away, I heard Tony clear his throat.

“You’ve seen her naked already, you sly dog?”

“That is enough, Stark. How you have lived so many years on this realm and not noticed how modest some of your women are, I have no idea. But you embarrassed her. Like many Midgardians, she lacks comfort with the physical form.” Thor’s words were a chastisement, and I somehow felt even more embarrassed about him having seen me naked. Because now, not only was I naked in front of the freaking Norse god of thunder, but also he took more notice of what a prude I am than that I was naked. I leaned against the wall and banged my head against it.

“That’s not how you call the elevator,” Pepper teased. “I know we all collectively keep telling you to relax, but, yeah. Relax. If Tony is already giving you a hard time, he’s assimilating you into his world as a permanent fixture. This will be something you laugh about in future years.” Her eyes were warm with empathy and it was so reassuring.

“You seriously need to do something about the towel situation, Pepper.” I stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. Once the doors shut, I texted Angela to see how far she’d got without me. I didn’t have to wait long. I was swiping my passcard to get into my room when she stepped off the elevator.

“So, towels? Maybe a beer?” She followed me into my apartment.

“Yes. To both.”

XXX

For whatever reason, I expected getting beer with Angela would be more Sex-in-the-City than it was. She pulled me into a quiet bar after we’d found appropriate towels, and we ordered wings from the kitchen and beer.

“So I did some research today while you were meeting with Markus,” she volunteered over a heap of wing bones. I made a noise that was easily interpretable as curiosity and she continued. “I might have hacked some of Tony’s files about that hammer. Thor wasn’t kidding around when he said you shouldn’t be able to lift it. It was apparently forged in the heart of a dying star, of some crazy space-metal. And the Odin enchanted it so only Thor could lift it. Which is clearly a broken enchantment because apparently you can lift it too.”

“It says right on it that if you’re worthy, you can lift it,” I corrected her with my mouth full.

“Obviously it doesn’t take table manners into consideration!” She laughed. I hung my head in mock-shame, but made sure my mouth was clear before I spoke again.

“I don’t know how it determines worthiness. Honestly, isn’t that a little creepy? Is the hammer sentient? Does it consider the merits of each individual that touches it in that split second between grabbing it and trying to lift it? Or does Odin have some sort of approval system for worthiness, and he gets interrupted from whatever it is he’s doing to approve people in that same fraction of an instant?” I pondered.

“Way to ruin magic with science,” she groaned.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. That’s Clarke’s Third Law. The other two are pretty good too,” I shrugged.

“Oh, that was a kill shot! Come on, let me have some sort of fantasy about the mystical powers of the damn hammer, Ella!” Angela threw her hands up in frustration. I smiled and nodded.

“Of course. The hammer is mystical and powerful and absolutely should not be questioned,” I acceded. Angela swatted at me and flagged the waitress over for another round. I felt myself relaxing and forgetting about the overwhelming stress of the past couple of days as we decompressed over a second beer. When Angela dropped me back at the tower, I realized she may very well live on-site as well, but I was tired and had a bit of a beer buzz and forgot to ask before stumbling through my door and crashing on the sofa.

[sisterofleatherfrog]

Star Wars Kinktober day- 1

Prompt: Symbolic jewelry

Sub! Tup x Female (AFAB) OC

Hello! Willkommen to the grand opening of me doing Kinktober (even if this post is a few hours late for the actual 1st 😅)! Here is my prompt list derived from Kinktober lists by @ink-and-flame. Their prompt lists are phenomenal, but for the sake of my ADHD I had to whittle it down into a more finite list of interests that I am comfortable writing and know at least a little about it, or else I’ll just get lost in the sauce of prompts! But seriously, go check out their lists, they’re incredibly varied and have something for everyone! 

And now without further ado:

Tags: some drinking, sub male, femdom, nudity, almost pussy eating (working up to it in part 2!), pussy worship, praise kink, worship kink (is that a thing?),  there’s no sex in this fic it’s just the lead up (she is spoicy tho)

Words: 1609

🍑🍑🍑

Under his shirt, the chain and pendant Tup wore brushed cooly against his chest. As unpleasant as the gooseflesh it raised was, the reminder it gave him was anything but. 

From the moment he’d awoke that morning, wrapped in arms as pale as the thin sunlight at that hour, he knew what he wanted and began to get ready. A few kisses pecked around his groggy girlfriend, Aurelie’s, face placated her awakening at his rising and he moved to her dressing table to grab the aforementioned necklace. If she wasn’t interested in playing, it would have been put away the night before in it’s felt case, but this morning he plucked it from it’s customary open place before the mirror. 

Catching the morning bus he felt it leap and jump with the rhythm of the air vehicle as the pilot navigated Coruscant air-traffic. After the war ended and the clones were given their freedom, sentient rights, and a hell of a lot of backpay, there were questions of what was to be done with them. As it turned out, there wasn’t such a mass exodus from the GAR as previously thought there would be, though many opted to retire from combat positions. Tup chose to oversee the supply requisition and organization for the newly formed Search & Rescue Ops, a subsidiary of the Disaster Relief Squadron, helping places around the galaxy affected by natural disasters. It felt meaningful and good, and he could honestly say he didn’t miss having to carry a gun and constantly keep an eye out for clankers.

After a day of approving supply drops, running reports, and the pendant lightly caressing his chest with every slight sway, he was back on the bus home. A man scowled at him from among the crowd; some people would never see the clones as anything more than meat-droids undeserving of even the life they were given, but the pendant mocked that man’s ideas from behind Tup’s shirt. It was a gift of love freely given to him and he was worthy,

When he returned to his apartment Aurelie was still at work, not getting off until late. As he waited for water to boil he straightened up around the place, clearing dust from the nooks it always returned to settle and gathered laundry. When he came to the bed in their room he came to a spot by the bed and stopped, considered, and opened a drawer to reveal a medium sized case which he deposited neatly on Aurelie’s side of the bed. He already had the necklace, it never hurt to be proactive in terms of their play. 

Half an hour later dinner was had and a portion of it was squared away in the fridge with a reminder to reheat it and enjoy and Tup was ready to meet a few of the boys at 79’s. As he changed from his work wear into something light blue and more casual, the afternoon sun caught the silver pendant resting on the tan skin of his breast bone, dying it almost the same shade of pink- before he could finish that thought a beep from his comm sounded informing him that his taxi had arrived outside.

20 minutes, a few levels down, and a familiar neon sign later, Tup was walking into a familiar bar. Nothing had changed about the place, only now armour and dress greys were a rare sight to be seen as the open opportunity for individuality to flourish among the clones led to some, interesting, experiments in style. ‘Speaking of which,’ thought Tup as a discordant but jovial chorus of his name called him over to a table in the corner. Fives, Jesse, Kix, Rex, Waxer, Boil, Cody, and even Wolffe, to his surprise, sat there having already gotten a small headstart on happy hour. It wasn’t a full reunion, others still at work or spread across the galaxy exploring life, but it was always nice to see familiar faces.

They took their time and paced themselves drinking, it was still early and they didn’t have to run off in an hour to prepare for a campaign and weren’t shotgunning a train of shots to try and forget one. Some of them had to be able to operate tomorrow morning though and they parted as the night lowered it’s curtain over day; Jesse and Kix remained however to scope out some of the ladies coming in with the party crowds.

As good as the times spent together were, Tup silently willed the air-taxi to carry him away faster through the legendary Coruscant traffic and back home. He’d worn the necklace, the empty place it would otherwise occupy obvious, if she hadn’t noticed then she would certainly see the familiar box he’d left resting by her pillow. Stars he was ready, the anticipation had built all day, the secret only he kept feeding his need. He was thrumming for whatever Aurelie had to give him.

The taxi stopped and he cursed the second it took for the payment to transfer, the minute in the elevator, the short march down the hall, and the door code he had to spend time punching in-

The entry was dark with the exception of a string of pink fairy lights strung along the wall and leading around the corner to their room. He grinned and, remembering to turn back and lock the door when he was already halfway across the room, soon came to the closed panel that marked their space. He knocked, “May I come in mistress?”

“Enter, darling.” A high, breathy voice answered.

As the door opened Tup entered the threshold and lowered himself to his knees, his hands finding their place on his lap as he gazed upon the shining woman perched on the edge of their bed (somehow, someway, his girlfriend, a part of his brain never ceased obsessing). She regarded him warmly, “Have you been a good boy today Tup? You took your necklace and I really hope it didn’t make you do anything naughty.”

“I was very good, mistress, just for you.” His voice was breathy and quiet, he had been good, and he anticipated his reward. His eyes drank in the milky skin that clothed the leopardess in repose before him, partially obscured by the long, wavy strands of pearly blonde hair.

“Oh I know Tup, you’re such a good boy. You wake me up with kisses, make sure I have food to eat when I work late, and you were so considerate to get our box of toys out for me. I don’t know where to begin, but good boys deserve to be rewarded, isn’t that right my beautiful boy?” 

Aurelie’s voice caressed his every synapse as he breathed in air that still held the trace of a burn from a heavy incense and he was already in a state. Her words of praise had passed straight down from his ears to his cock, bringing him to a full erection from the half mast he’d been sailing at since walking through the front door. “Yes, please mistress, yes.” If it sounded like he was begging, Tup didn’t care. Her soft thighs were resting atop one another, hiding from him what he’d been craving all day. Just one simple shift was all it would take to reveal to him where she was no doubt already soft, sweet, and wet.

Her legs uncrossed, but she stood instead of spreading wider and came to stand before him, her curl-crowned mound a tease before him that turned his need to a desperate clamour within him. He held still, eyes glued to hers as she leaned down to him and brought her pillowy lips to kiss him, one hand coming up to cradle his cheek and the other fiddles with his collar for the necklace she’d gifted him. His hands were curled hard on his lap, restraining himself from the urge to reach out and touch; being so, so good and waiting.

Drawing the pendant along the chain away from Tup’s racing heart, Aurelie held it between them and teased: “Is this what you want Tup? Do you want to eat my pussy until you’re begging for me to fuck you, until you cum in me? Or maybe I’ll ride that handsome face of yours all night and let you cum in my mouth while you’re hard at work.” Tup could only manage a tortured moan, the pictures being painted in his head making him dizzy. She lightly laughed and graciously accepted that as her answer, gently leading him across the floor as she walked backwards with the chain still in her hand, him crawling on all fours after her. When she returned to the bed she sat as he looked up at her with lust and adoration.

Still holding the pendant, she slowly drew her legs apart, raising one to rest on the bed so her pussy and the glorious pink of her vulva were wide open on display for Tup in his current position. Aurelie considered the pendant again for a moment. “I’m glad I found that artist, it’s a wonderful likeness, isn’t it darling?” From the petal-like folds of her labia minora to the majora that protected them and the unique hood that shadowed her marvelous clit, it couldn’t belong to anyone else. The highest honour Tup felt was being lucky enough to be the one person allowed to worship it. 

“Stars yes, mistress!” He agreed emphatically and Aurelie laughed lightly again and let the necklace fall back into its place from her fingers. 

“Well, come and get your reward Tup.” He gladly obliged. 

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So yeah, Tup as a Sub wears a necklace of his girlfriend’s vulva when he really wants to be her good boy (; It also helps that it’s really pretty ✨👀✨

Also sorry if this is a little off, this wasn’t even alpha read, let alone beta read.

Aurelie is one of a few OC’s I’ve used in my daydreams, she may make another appearance in another story if I think she’ll fit! I may try and do some art too…

As for the boys at the bar, I came up with ideas for what they’re up to now and may either write other Kinktober stuff in this AU, or do some drabbles later (though I could include the Kinktober stuff in an AU drabble, right?). I didn’t include it in the story though because I felt like it would disturb the flow too much. I’ll probably detail the AU in another post if I do end up doing that.

Kinktober works so far

Masterlist

[ptolomeia]

Will Every Day Be the Same

Rating: T

Ship: Roman/Janus

Word count: 2964

Link on AO3

Summary: Roman is stuck as Janus's best man at Janus's wedding to another man. Has, in fact, been stuck at Janus's wedding to another man for the past 380 days. Maybe confessing his unrequited feelings, letting Janus knowingly break his heart and accept the pain he deserves for not being a good enough friend is what Roman needs to do to be able to move on.

Fortunately for him, the universe has other plans.

Or, in which the universe decided these two idiots are going to get together is it has to reorder space and time 380 times to make it happen.

Roman leaned against the stone railing of the balcony that stretched across the west side of the venue Janus had chosen for his wedding and watched the sun set. The sky was aflame in pinks and purples as the sun made it’s way slowly beneath the horizon. It was the perfect sunset, just has it had been the perfect sunset the last 380 times he’d watched it.

The perfect sunset, the perfect venue, the perfect decorations—yes, everything about this wedding was perfect—except the man Janus had agreed to marry. Oh, the Asshole might be excellent on paper—good salary, doing well in his field, high grades, objectively (no matter how little Roman wanted to be objective about that Ass) good looking, but Janus didn’t love him. In all the time they’d dated, been engaged, any of the 381 times Roman had lived out this day, Roman had never seen the Asshole make Janus laugh his real laugh, or show any sign that he knew that underneath Janus’s sharp and witty exterior was an actual person—

Roman cut off that train of thought. It never ended well. Mostly, in fact, it ended with Roman punching the Asshole in his smug face. Or egging Virgil to do it instead, as he had the first time, because he’d promised when Janus had asked Roman to be his best man—‘you I can trust not to deck my fiance’—and Roman was honour bound to not give into his baser, if extremely tempting, instincts. Or slipping some very powerful laxatives—and why Remus had brought those to a wedding, he really didn't want to know—into the Asshole's drink. Or—

There were at least another 200 'or’s on that list, and none of them had made the slightest difference. Even on the days when he had been good. When he’d honoured his promise to Janus to not start anything in both letter and spirit, someone (mostly Virgil) did something that made the whole thing end in tears anyway and Roman woke up this morning again, to have to attend Janus’s wedding to that Asshole.

The sun slipped further below the horizon and the sky above him drifted darker.

Roman didn’t think he’d ever be able to think of the man by his name instead of the nickname Virgil and he had decided on after Janus had introduced them to his boyfriend for the first time.

His boyfriend.

That’s what it came down to, wasn���t it? Even if there weren’t all of his entirely valid critiques of the man Janus had chosen, the heart of the problem was that it wasn’t Roman Janus chose.

Roman was in love with his best friend, and the universe was punishing him for it. Either punishing him for loving Janus at all, or for not loving him enough. Not enough to step back and respect Janus’s choice. Not enough to actually do the job Janus had asked him to on his big day. It should have been an honour, to be given such a task. But Roman had failed it and now he was paying the price.

His throat burned and he wished he had some alcohol to wash the pain away, but he hadn’t ruined this iteration yet, and he wasn’t about to shoot himself in the foot now.

And who knew? Maybe accepting he deserved this pain was what he needed to do to move on. Maybe if he stopped fighting it, just let his heart shatter into a hundred thousand pieces and did the work anyway, maybe then he would be allowed to move on. Or maybe he had to accept moving on wasn’t in the cards for him and that he would go through this day—through watching the man he loved marry someone who didn’t love him—would be all he’d ever know for the rest of time.

Could he accept that? Could anyone make peace with that kind of pain? Did he even have a choice in this at all. He’d already gone through this day for over a year, how many more could he take before he broke down completely?

“There you are!” called out a voice from behind him. The corners of Roman’s lips turned up. From the day Roman had first heard it, it had never failed to stir butterflies in his stomach or set his heart racing, even if now it raced to the breaking point.

“Is it time for the ceremony already?” Roman asked, as if he didn’t know exactly how much of the sun disappeared before it was time. He still had half an hour or so left, before he had to smile as Janus smiled his Public Smile at the Asshole, and they exchanged vows full of beauty and empty of sincerity.

“Roman?” Janus asked, and Roman heard more genuine emotion in his name than Janus would have for the rest of the evening—at least until the Yelling at Roman for Ruining His Wedding started. That portion of the evening was always full of genuine emotions. “Roman… is something wrong?”

Roman let out a soft laugh. He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong this time, but it seemed he’d manage to mess up iteration 381 as well, if Janus was worried instead of enjoying himself. No point in fighting again until the next this morning then.

“Yes,” He admitted, keeping his eyes on the Sunset and refusing to turn to see Janus dressed so perfectly—every piece of his outfit carefully selected and perfectly in place; so beautiful it could break Roman’s heart even without everything else.

“What is it?” Janus asked, a strange gentleness in his voice despite the stress from the wedding. Or was it strange? After all, they hadn’t reached the part where Janus hated him yet.

And anyway, how was Roman supposed to answer that question? I’m stuck in an infinite time loop and in the past 380 versions of this day, I’ve been arrested, beaten, disgustingly drunk, and worst, worse than all of those combined, watched you marry someone not worthy of polishing your shoes three hundred and eighty times?

Fuck it. He’d already ruined this iteration, he might as well say it. Just once. Once when it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Maybe that was what he needed to be able to move on.

“What’s wrong,” he said, feeling the strange lightness honesty brought, “is that I’m in love with you, and I can’t stand to watch you marry that man—a man who’s never once made your eyes sparkle the way they do when even you can’t hide how happy or amused you are—again. You deserve so much better than him, Janus. You deserve someone who understands and appreciates your brilliance and wit, yes, but also someone who loves the soft parts of you you try so hard to hide with that facade of yours any time something hits too close to home. You deserve someone who wants to see you happy more than anything else in this world, which means you also deserve better than me. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stand back and respect the choice you made. I’m too self involved. Why else would I be out here, confessing my feelings when I should be in there, helping soothe your nerves and practicing my best man speech. I’m sorry for telling you this—I know you hate me for it—I’m sorry I’m not a better man, but just this once, when it won’t matter in the morning, I needed to tell you I love you. More than anyone I’ve ever loved on this earth. And I’m sorry it’s not good enough.”

“Roman,” Janus said, and Roman refused to look at him, refused to see the anger that he new would be blooming across Janus’s face. “Roman, look at me.”

He’d just confessed his feelings to his best friend 25 minutes before that friend’s wedding. He deserved what was about to come. He forced himself to turn to face Janus’s unreadable, searching expression.

“You’re in love with me?” Janus asked, voice full of what emotions Roman couldn’t discern.

“Yes,” Roman said, closing his eyes—unable to handle the pain he knew he deserved. “I’m sor—“

“Good,” Janus said, before grabbing Roman’s collar and yanking him forward.

Roman’s eyes flew open as Janus’s lips met his.

His brain simply froze and desperately tried to process for exactly one second before his body went ‘fuck it’, wrapped Janus in his arms and pulled him close. Even—no, especially if this would all disappear in the morning, he was going to hold onto it for all it was worth. Eventually—Far too soon—Janus pulled back just enough to speak.

“Ahh,” he breathed, “I have wanted to do that for a very, very long time.”

Roman blinked once. Twice. And then his brain finally caught up with the words Janus had just said.

“Then why didn’t you?!” he demanded, thinking of all the pain that could have been avoided if Janus had. For example, Roman wouldn’t be stuck in a repeating loop of Janus marrying someone else for the rest of eternity.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “When we first met, you were head over heels in love with some other man—Jake? Jonathan?—Whatever his name was, it was clear you had eyes for no one else. I try not to pick fights I know I can’t win, Roman, and you were in love with him.” In hindsight, Roman thought, perhaps pretending to be madly in love with a man who, if he kept things vague enough, he could hide was actually his 42 year old, happily married co-worker, was not the best way to handle wanting to hide his crush on Janus. A crush that had grown into so much more. “Alex… well, he may not have been my first choice, but you do have to admit, he’s very good on paper.”

“He’s an asshole and you don’t love him.”

“I didn’t think I could have the man I did,” Janus replied. “And you? Why did you wait until half an hour before my wedding to tell me this?”

For the sake of not ruining this precious, fragile, unbelievable moment, Roman did not explain that he’d actually waited more than 9000 hours after the first time Janus had gotten married.

“Because the man I love was with someone else, and I am a man of honour.”

“What, and that doesn’t apply now?” Janus asked, eyebrow raised.

No, of course it did, but after 380 times—

“Sometimes, the truth is more important.”

A look passed across Janus’s face too fast for Roman to identify before his expression firmed, and he took a step back.

“Alright, that’s it,” Janus said, grabbing Roman’s arm, turning on his heel and marching off toward the parking lot.

“Janus?” Roman asked, not quite believing his luck.

“You have your keys on you? Good, give them to me. All my things are still inside—Text Logan to gather them and we’ll tell him where to bring them tomorrow. Oh, that reminds me. Text Virgil the wedding’s off and I’m delegating him to deal with it. He’s only been badgering me to do it since I first mentioned Alex brought up marriage. This can be how he pays me back for finally doing what he wanted me to.”

“Where to bring them— The wedding’s off—Janus, where are we going?”

“A hotel, probably. The masses know where the two of us live and I’m not wasting tonight answering questions now that I finally have you.”

If the loop weren’t hours from restarting, if this wasn’t the only chance Roman might ever have to be with Janus, he’d want to slow down, want Janus to end things properly with the Assho—with Alex. Want to start things right. But none of those were true, and if this was the only time in all eternity that Roman got to be with the man he loved, he was going to treasure every second of it.

Smiling, Roman reached into his pocket, pulled out his car keys, and handed them over.

Janus took them, stole one more kiss, before they both slipped into Roman’s car and drove away from Janus’s wedding without another word.

Janus found them a hotel as Roman sent the texts and turned off his phone. After all, it wasn’t like there would be any fall out from this in the morning.

They checked in, found their room, found each other, talked like they’d used to, before Janus’s life had been taken over with planning the wedding. They made love, grabbed cheap Thai take out, and ate it in their expensive suits as they talked even more, before making love again.

Finally, the early hours of the morning found them lying in bed together, Janus curled up into Roman’s chest, dozing off as Roman played with his hair. Roman tried to fight off the sleep he knew was coming—tried to treasure every last ounce of happiness he could take from this beautiful, impossible, perfect moment. He knew when he woke up, it would be today again, and who knew if he’d ever find his way back here, with Janus again. Even if he tried to do everything the same, he was the one thing that couldn’t help but changing how the day played out, even if, until today, he hadn’t been able to change the ending. All he knew was that this was the only time he knew he’d get to have Janus, because right now, he did. He’d never have thought that being caught in a time loop would make him aware of just how little time he had, but when all you have is hours in the face of eternity, you value each second for everything it’s worth.

Maybe every day for the rest of time would be the same, but this one day had been different. It would have to be enough.

“I love you,” Roman whispered one more time, while he still could.

“Mmmm,” was all Janus managed to reply.

Smiling softly, Roman tucked this moment away with all the others, and let himself drift off to sleep, finally ready to face today again.

So he was understandably surprised when he woke up at 7:16 the next morning, still in a hotel room, still with the man he loved curled up close. Roman blinked, incapable of processing the first new thing he’d seen upon waking for 381 days. His brain simply refused to work.

Until all of a sudden it did and his hand was scrambling for his phone, desperately turning it back on. He ignored the hundreds of missed messages and calls and stared desperately, unbelievingly, at the date. April 14th. It was tomorrow.

It was TOMORROW!

His eyes flicked down to the missed messages—including a few from Remus with increasingly imaginatively explicit use of emojis—and calls and—

Oh God.

If today was tomorrow then yesterday was real.

Roman and Janus had just walked away from Janus’s wedding with nothing but two text messages and now they were going to have to deal with it.

Oh, this was more than bad. He needed to pace, to move, to try to process the enormity of what they’d done.

Carefully, making sure not to wake Janus, Roman slipped from the bed so he could pace. Yet once he was upright, he couldn’t find it in himself to do so.

He should be panicked. He knew he should be panicked. There was no way this was going to be anything close to easy or simple but… but at least in theory, they’d only have to do it once. And for the first time in 381 days, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

He looked down at Janus, still curled up in the bed. His hair was tousled and drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. Roman couldn’t help smiling. He wanted to get back into bed and hold Janus for all he was worth until Janus woke up and they could then eat breakfast as they talked about how they wanted to handle the mess they’d left behind, but first—

Roman had spent 381 days watching the same day pass him by, had watched the same perfect sunset 381 times. Before he went back to Janus, there was something he needed to see. He padded silently over to the window and, angling himself so that no light would fall across Janus and wake him, pulled open the curtains just enough to see outside.

It was a lucky chance, that their hotel had east facing windows.

Outside, the sun was struggling to fight through heavy cloud cover that promised curtains of rain later. There was nothing particularly note worthy about this sunrise—there weren’t really even any colours to speak of.

It was the most beautiful thing Roman had ever seen.

“Roman?” asked a sleep roughened voice behind him. Roman let the curtain fall closed and turned to see Janus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes despite Romans’ best efforts. “Roman, what are you doing? It isn’t even 8 AM and we definitely need more sleep before we tackle whatever’s waiting for us there.” He gestured to Roman’s phone and, thinking of some of the more inventive threats he’d see in the notifications from Virgil, Roman couldn’t help but agree. “Come back to bed, love.”

Love.

“Of course,” Roman said, walking back over and sliding under the covers to hold Janus close again.

At Janus’s smug, happy, sleepy smile up at him, Roman had to correct his earlier thought.

The first new sunrise in 381 days was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but one.

[nico-twix]

the prisoner of my enemy is my prisoner

Hey guys, sorry if this ain't your thing, but in honour of star wars day, I decided to post a little blurb of a fanfic I've been writing!

Kylo Ren x Reader

Words: 1.5K

Tags: second-person "You", no (y/n), force choking, mind invasion, blasters, mechanic reader, a poor attempt at humour, slow burn

When the First Order raid a Resistance Base, the last thing they expect is to imprison their prisoners, but as will become common, Commander Ren makes an exception for you.

May the Fourth be with You!

“Wake up, prisoner.” Cool blaster metal digs into your arm as you are gracefully awoken.

You would be lying if you said this was the first time you have been captured, but this has been by far the worst treatment.

You’re not quite sitting or standing, and as far as you can feel—because you certainly can’t move your head to look down— you are bolted to this “seat” of kings. What you can see: grey wall, white trooper, and emo creep in the corner.

They excuse the trooper and stand in front of you. Their black helmet softly reflects a red light that is outside your vision.

“You were a prisoner of the Resistance.” Their, his, voice is modulated, but you can still pick up his annoyance. Short. Clipped.

“I’m well aware of that, bud.”

His mask diffuses what you could only guess to be a growl into static. Scary man did not like that answer. “You are now a prisoner of the First Order.”

Ah fuck. If it were possible, you would have stiffened in your binds. You have heard of the First Order—everyone has. But you knew them as the largest arms purchaser in the galaxy and had no clue who, what, or why they are how they are.

He steps even closer to you; his helmet is obscuring all of the grey walls in your vision. “The resistance wanted you enough to keep you alive. Why?”

Barely alive. Their prisoner for 100 days and all I got as food were some dry-ass crackers. “Look, bud, if I knew I would tell you.” You attempt to shrug your shoulders, but all it does is bring a dull ache.

“No, not bud.” This close, the helmet voice sounds scarier, deeper, more alive. The hairs on your arm start to tingle like they are static.

“Not bud, read you loud and clear, pal.” As soon as the word leaves your mouth, he’s got his hand around your neck.

“If I didn’t need you alive to invade your mind, I would have killed you by now.” He places a finger on your forehead as he tightens his hold further and your eyes roll back into your head. Your brain feels like it’s getting pushed out of your nose and chopped open like a Koja nut simultaneously. Your lungs burn and you are powerless to stop him. If only I had a choking kink to make this somewhat enjoyable.

Images of your life flash past, leaving you little time to process what’s going on. Finally, you see your time with the Resistance. All 100 days, although each was the same. Your guard telling you to build it. You don’t know how. You don’t even know what it’s for. The visions stop. He seems to find what he is looking for at that moment as he lets you go. You’re inhaling air faster than a vacuum cleaner as blood rushes throughout your body, black dots dancing in your vision, pounding headache wrecking your brain.

He calls the stormtrooper back in. “You can move her to a lower security cell,” he turns to look at you, “she really does know nothing. Resistance Scum.” Even against the modulation, you can hear his leering sneer. What an ass.

The trooper releases your head bindings and you can only see your interro(r)gator’s backside. What an ass.

The new cell is much better in that you have full motor control, but the good things stop there. They sure went over budget on decorating. The whole thing is painted in the same soul-sucking grey colour as before and there wasn’t even a window. I thought I booked a room with a view. All that was in there with you was a mat for sleeping and an air vent on the floor that was pumping in only what you could assume was unfiltered space vacuum it was so cold. Maker, I know I complained about the Resistance prison, but this is bad.

If you had to stay in this cell for another day, you were going to commit homicide. This leaves two options: either one, escape, or two, hope that the next trooper that walks in here has a nicely written will. One seems easier. How hard could escaping be?

Apparently very hard. You have been going at this for hours. But try as you may, your arms will never magically extend far enough through the cell bars to grab the keys off of the guard. Which leaves the vent. Vents are nice, but not the safest thing in the world. For all you know, this could lead you out into space or through fan blades or to the trash receptacle. But fuck it, Maker damn you if ever saw your “pal” again.

The vent luckily had no screws, and with just a light tug, the door flipped open unveiling a straight shot down. How far down? Who knows, not you! So, with one last look at the guard, you slid to your freedom.

You couldn’t have been sliding for more than twenty feet when you collided with more metal venting. You landed as lightly as an elephant and your ankles burned with shooting pain. You got to down to your hands and knees to falter through the next set of passageways, eclipsed in darkness and dust. Every so often, you would come across another vent opening and you would peak to observe where you were. You have passed by three trooper quarters and figured you were in their wing of the ship. Meaning that their armoury should be nearby. The plan from here on out should be simple.

Step 1: Get to the armoury

It took what seemed to be two hours to finally find the armoury and it certainly didn’t help that you got lost. Twice. You wondered how long you still have before your “pal” realizes you’ve escaped. Based on prior experience, prisoners generally get checked on every six hours, so you should still be safe. You pop open the vent door below you and fall on your ass into the armoury.

Step 2: Steal some of that zesty trooper armour.

The armoury in the dark was creepy. Every couple of steps, you would feel a solid limb of their armour smack against your legs or shoulders. Your hair even got caught in one of their belts. None of them seemed to be in your size. What am I, in the Men’s section? You duck behind a container of spare helmets as you hear the familiar schwoop of blast doors.

“Poor bastard didn’t deserve that though.” Various clicks and hisses went through the air as two troopers stripped off their armour.

“None of us do. He’s lucky he only broke his leg, gets a free trip to the med bay.” The light streaming in from the open door allowed you to see them discard their armour pieces under a “repairs” sign.

“He better not take the last blue lollipop; I’ve been eyeing it.” They both chuckled at that, grabbed new armour, and left.

You let out the breath you were holding in. You weren’t spotted, everything will be okay. You try to remember the layout from earlier and make your way over to where the broken armour was dumped. One of the troopers looked your size, so you borrow it and hope they won’t miss it terribly.

Step 3: Find their weapons stash. Walk around like a headless chicken looking for their weapons stash.

Every good escape needs good weapons. And this will be a damn good escape. It would be if you could find the weapons. I feel like I’ve seen that door before. You probably have. You’re just following the gaggle of troopers in front of you, hoping this won’t look suspicious. It definitely did. If the clocks on the walls were anything to go by, it has been around 4 hours since you escaped, meaning that you have been lost on this ship for at least an hour and a half. 1000 rooms on the Starkiller base, 1000 rooms on Starkiller. Enter one, I am so done, 999 rooms on the Starkiller base. Your slightly too large armour makes awful clicks and you pray to Maker that your hell would end soon. And then, almost as if Maker heard your pleas, you found the room you were looking for.

Step 4: Escape!

The weapons room was more like a weapons sanctuary. All along the walls, beautiful blasters polished to perfection, and yet they had some of the worst specs you’ve ever seen. This is outrageous! They expect me to escape with a blaster pistol? It’s not even modded.

What used to look divine, now just looks pathetic. You huff, having taken offence at their poor supply, and “borrow” a couple of weapons from the shelves, a repeater here, a stun baton there, and a trusty set of standard-issue repair tools. With precision unmatched by even the finest droids, you get to work, soldering and welding, stripping and joining, and hoping and praying that what you have only tested out in dreams would work.

And you might have been able to test it, had the blast doors stayed shut.

Step 4b: do not get caught. It’s a little late for that

“Trooper, report.”

Please let me know what you think and if there are any mistakes! This blurb is available on AO3 if you want to subscribe for more updates!