#(you want some of his more 'uh oh' to his compassion)

[fishymedic]

He doesn't handle losing patients/not being able to save or help others very well :)

[moonlit-stay]

Kinktober 2024 ▪ Day 19

▪ Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

▪ Kink: Bulge Kink

▪ Genre: Smut

▪ Word Count: 2.1k

▪ Warnings: Soft!Dom Chan, Sub!Fem Reader, established relationship, big dick Chan, unprotected sex, bulge kink, creampie

▪ Other Warnings: brief mentions of fire, mentions of food and consumption of food, reader both mentions, and interacts with both of her parents

▪ Please let me know if I missed anything

Color(s) Of This Fic: Black, Ash Grey, Burnt Orange, and White Oak <3

If you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with this fic. This fic contains inappropriate content and is strictly 18+

Everything in not only this event, but all of my work in general is consensual. Even if not stated within the work.

Enjoy :)

The cold night air sends chills up your spine as you pull the blanket that's draped over your shoulders tighter around you. You sit in silence, admiring the comforting sound of the crackling logs that burn slowly in the fire pit in front of you.

You take a second to peer across from you at your parents, your mom tucked securely into your dad's side as they too gaze into the fire. A bag of marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate squares sit in a neat pile in one of the vacant chairs, patiently waiting to be savored amongst the three of you.

The way this scene is playing out reminds you of your childhood. The comforting warmth of the fire, the soft glow of the moon, the gentle twinkle of the stars, it brought you peace, and to some extent, made you feel like a little kid again.

You love visiting your parents, enjoying the break from all your responsibilities and otherwise hectic life, but you can't say you don't really miss Chan. It's rare for you and Chan to be separated for any reason other than work, and you two have grown used to the schedule, handling it with ease, but a weeklong trip to visit your parents is not work, and it's not part of the schedule you both have grown familiar with, either.

To say you're both feeling each other's absence is an understatement. As dramatic as it may sound, you feel incomplete and out of place, like a compass that endlessly spins, never quite gaining a sense of direction.

Chan isn't much better off. Tossing and turning in your shared bed that he normally sleeps soundly in, hugging your pillow close in hopes of easing his restless mind. Instinctively making enough food for two, only to realize after the fact that you're not there to enjoy it with him.

As much as you're enjoying spending time with your parents, the days feel like they're dragging on, and you would be lying if you said you weren't counting down the days until you finally go home.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" You hear your mom gently call out, bringing you out of your thoughts as you blink at her a few times.

"Oh, uh...I'm okay." You answer, giving her a nod of reassurance.

"You miss Chan, don't you?" She asks you knowingly, watching you nod in response as you sink further into the chair.

"This is the first time we've been separated in over a year, and...neither of us are taking the distance too well." You explain, feeling yourself choke up a little bit at the simple mention of being away from your boyfriend.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." She hums apologetically, gently squeezing at your dad's arm as she sits up, leaning forward before she speaks. "Next time you come around, bring him with you! He's always welcome, you know."

You smile at her words, nodding in response.

"I think he'd like that."

"I think he'd like anywhere as long as he's with you." She replies, winking at you as she reaches for the smore makings. "Now, who wants smores?"

You spent the next couple of hours sharing stories with your parent's, telling them about some of your favorite memories with Chan, as well as listening to each of your parents favorite memories of their time spent together as a couple. It made you cherish your relationship with Chan even more, hoping to one day have the opportunity to tell stories of your relationship with Chan to kids of your own.

It wasn't long before you all decided to turn in for the night, exhaustion setting in as you go your separate ways. You make your way to your childhood room, quickly showering before you crawl into bed.

You see a text from Chan, asking you to call him when you're free, and you smile at the notification before you call him.

"Hi, gorgeous." The sound of his voice makes your heart drum in your chest, and you beam at him as his face comes into frame.

"Hi, Channie, how was your day?"

He lets out a long sigh, falling back against his pillow before he speaks.

"It was alright, I just wish you were here." He tells you honestly.

"I know, baby," you sigh back, melting into your bed as sleep slowly takes over your form. "Tomorrow, Channie, and I'm all yours."

"You mean that?" He asks you with a smirk, watching a smile pull at your lips before you hum in response.

"Always."

He stays on the line with you until you fall asleep, reluctantly hanging up before he lets sleep embrace him as well.

The next morning you all but leap out of bed, getting ready for the day and hurriedly packing all your things before you part ways with your parents, assuring your mom you'll let her know when you're home safe.

The three-hour drive back to you and Chan's shared home feels like eternity. The remaining time on your GPS seemingly unmoving as your eyes continuously dart back to the estimated arrival time. You feel your heart rate quicken in pure anticipation when the arrival time finally reads five minutes.

You pull into your driveway, almost jumping out of your car as you make a beeline for your front door, letting it swing open to reveal Chan already standing there waiting for you with open arms. You fall into his embrace at record speed, tightly wrapping your arms around him as he carefully walks you backwards towards the front door, kicking it shut as he holds you close.

"God, I missed you so much." He breathes into your neck, pressing a kiss to the soft skin right after.

"I missed you, too." You respond, your breathing slowly becoming ragged as Chan trails open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

"Channie-" you breathe out, melting into his touch as his hands sneak under your shirt to feel your bare skin. "I still have to get my stuff out of the car."

"That can wait, baby." He softly explains, walking you towards your kitchen table. "I'll even bring it all in for you, but only after we make up for lost time."

You almost chuckle at his words, but the sound dies in your throat when he hoists you up onto the kitchen table. He takes a step away from you to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it out of his way before he does the same with your own. Your hands are quick to lay flat against his chest, letting your fingertips trace along the muscles in his chest and torso as his hands find purchase on your waist.

He tugs you closer until you're sitting at the very edge of the table before he helps you lay flat against the surface. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and panties, tugging them down your legs in one swift motion before they join your previously discarded clothes. He lets out a moan at the sight of your bare core on full display in front him, his knees feeling weak at the thought of finally pushing inside you.

His shorts and briefs are the last articles of clothing to join the discard pile, carelessly kicking them to the side as he parts your thighs to stand between them. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his shaft presses between your folds.

He hurriedly slides his tip through your slit, gathering as much of your arousal as he can before he presses his tip to your hole.

"Missed you so much." He mumbles out, slowly pushing past your entrance as he speaks.

"Missed you, too." You answer, the sound of your voice already coming out broken and desperate as your back arches off the table.

Chan holds your waist securely in his hands, keeping you in place as he buries himself inside you to the hilt.

"Fuck, you're so big-" you mewl out, your hands gripping at his forearms.

"Did you forget that during the week you were away, baby?" He asks you breathlessly, still smirking down at you, nonetheless.

"M'not sure, jus' feels so good." You whine out, squirming in place as he slowly pulls out until just his tip is inside you.

"Let me remind you how much you love how big I am, hm?" His hips slam into yours right after the words leave his mouth, making your body jolt against the table as a choked scream tears from your throat.

He sets his pace, slow and rough as he watches your mouth fall open at the pleasure. Your grip on his forearms tightens with every thrust of his hips, your nails leaving crescents in his warm skin. Each of your pretty noises leaves your mouth in syllables, broken somewhere in the middle by the sheer force of Chan's thrusts.

You involuntarily clench around Chan's length when he lets out a low moan of your name, causing his pace to pick up in speed only slightly as he gets closer to his high. He rests one of his palms flat against your clit, watching you immediately grind against his palm as the need to cum clouds your brain and guides your movements.

You let out a choked sob when he brings his hips to a complete stop, his length still buried inside you as he pulls his hand away from your clit right after.

"Channie, no, please-" you whimper, bucking your hips for some sort of friction.

"Fuck, hold on, baby." You feel his hand press against your tummy, lightly at first before he increases the pressure. A loud, involuntary moan tears past your lips as your body trembles at the feeling. "You feel me here, baby? Feel how deep I am inside you?"

You can only nod as moans and whines spill past your lips, your thighs shaking against Chan's hips. You feel Chan gently grab your hand, placing it on your tummy before he presses down again, another loud moan slips past your lips and Chan bucks his hips involuntarily at the way your body reacts to his actions.

"Look, baby." He gently calls out, directing your attention to where both you and Chan's palms are pressed against your tummy. "Taking me so well, aren't you, pretty girl?"

You glance down, seeing the way your tummy bulges where Chan's length is buried inside you, and you let out another moan at the sight.

"Watch me fill you up, pretty." He breathes out, each of his breaths short and labored as he fights to restrain himself.

He draws his hips back, both of you watching the bulge disappear before he thrusts back into you, the bulge in your tummy reappearing when he bottoms out again. Your head falls back against the table with a thud, your eyes screw shut as your mouth falls agape, the knot in your stomach tightening again with every desperate thrust of Chan's hips.

Chan can't take his eyes off the bulge in your tummy, his head cloudy as he drowns in the pleasure, chasing his high as his hips speed up. Both of you are so close, desperate to reach your highs after a week of not seeing each other, and not having any kind of release. The table creaks with every thrust of Chan's hips, the noise falling on two pairs of deaf ears as you both come dangerously close to reaching your orgasms.

Chan presses his hand between your thighs again, rubbing the heel of his palm against your bundle of nerves as you jolt in his hold.

"Cum with me, baby, please." He moans out, feeling your walls throb around his cock.

His hips connect with yours a few more times before he stills inside you, his mouth falling open and his moans mixing with the sound of yours as he cums deep inside your cunt. Your entire body tenses before you tremble in his hold, your vision going white as you desperately cling to whatever part of him you can reach. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as you cream around his cock, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks as you moan out his name like a mantra.

The sound of moans and skin connecting repeatedly dies down, sounds of heavy panting and gasps filling the space instead. Eventually, your breathing evens out and you look up at Chan like he just gave you the world. He returns your gaze, looking at you like you just hung every star in the sky for him before he helps you sit up, pulling you into his chest a moment later. You hear his heartbeat, now calm and stable beneath your ear, smiling to yourself as you wrap your arms around his torso.

Maybe you'll get around to letting your mom know you made it home safe.

Maybe your stuff will eventually make it inside, too.

Right now, those are the least of your worries as your heartbeat settles, softly drumming in sync with Chan's as the comforting smell of his cologne invades your senses.

There's truly no place like home.

Main Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

▪ Author's Note

I am very fond of this day, it feels very comforting to me for some reason.

Might be because it's about Chan and that man is quite literally comfort personified, dunno

▪ Taglist

@kpophubb @whatudowhennooneseesyou @skzgallll @ka0ila

Send me a DM or ask to be added to the taglist

▪ Extras

©2021 - 2024 all rights are reserved to Moonlit-Stay. Stealing, reposting, copying, translating, plagiarizing, and modifying any and all of my work is strictly prohibited.

Released: October 19th, 2024

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !

[reareaotaku]

Menace to Society

Summary: You met the infamous Damian Wayne and neither of you are impressed. Content: Jon Kent mentioned, kinda derailed... I'm sorry, Could also be kind of read as Jon Kent x Reader too, but it's meant to be Damian Wayne x Reader..., Fem! Reader Taglist: N/a

[Pt II?]

[--- : Three Dashes is flashback] [---: 2nd Three Dashes is back to the present] [--: Two Dashes is Time Skip]

You had heard the rumors about the Wayne boy, but you didn't pay it much mind. You never thought you encounter him, so it didn't seem productive to think about him. Besides you had bigger problems; Like the fact you lived in fucking Gotham City, the most dangerous city in America. Oh, to have been born to a family in Metropolis is a dream you wish for every night, hoping to wake from this damn nightmare.

The rumors varied, depending on who was telling them. Some say he was incredibly handsome, just like his father- Others said he was a rotten guy who knew no empathy or compassion for another human being. You were leaning towards the latter, because he was a rich boy, who had never known a day of poverty, of course he'd be a stuck up bastard. Though, you didn't blame him, you were sure he was enabled.

You found it weird when you'd defend the boy's actions. It could have just been because you didn't know him and felt less biased. That was until you met the asshole.

He was worse than anyone had ever described. He was literally the child of hell. He was entitled, selfish, egotistical and narcissistic. He was your worse nightmare.

He didn't like you either. You were such an annoyance to him. Granted, most people annoyed him, but you were different. It's like you were a chigger [What are Chiggers?] digging into his skin and chewing on his flesh. Not to mention it seemed you were a pest on his life. He just couldn't get rid of you no matter how hard he tried.

The crazy thing is you were rarely around ech other, but when you are it feels like eternity. You felt like you were constantly competing with a spoiled brat and he felt like you were an annoying pest trying to push him to the side.

The thing is you were too similar to each other. At least that's what Jon thought. You remembered the first time you met Jon and he made the comparison.

---

You pushed through the crowds, before getting off the train. You sighed when looking around of the city of Metropolis. It was just a small trip, because your father needed some things from the city, that weren't in Gotham, but he was to busy, so he asked you to do it. You weren't going to get distracted.

--

You looked through the multiple vinyls. There were dozens of books on the shelves around you that you had already scoured. Your eyes were lead up to the top shelf of one of the bookcase, before your eyes caught a big black clock. It said 5:45- Your father wanted you home at 6...

You were never going to be allowed out again.

You rushed through the store, trying to catch your barings, but just your luck, you run into a man. You quickly apologize before standing u, brushing yourself off and picking up your things. You look down at him- He... looked different than guys in Gotham.

You wondered if it was something in the water, because the boys in Metropolis looked more... alive? They looked like the type that haven't had evil wrap it's nasty smoke around them since the day they were born. They were carefree and happy. How nice.

He looked up at you with baby blue eyes, before a light pink dusted his cheeks. He had a school-boyish charm. He looks at your hand that you had out for him, before he takes it.

"I'm Jon," He grips your tightly as he looks down at you. He was incredibly tall and you didn't realize it until he stood up.

"Y/n..." You say, trying to take your hand back but he has a tight grip on you. "Um.. Can I have my hand back?"

He blushes a darker red, before letting go of your hand and apologizing. He rubs the back of his neck, looking away from you. "So, are you new to Metropolis?"

"Uh... No- I mean I guess, but I don't like here. I'm just getting stuff for my dad."

"Oh, uh-"

Before he can finish his statement, the shop keeper comes out and starts yelling at you about having to pay. You looked at him confused before realizing that you still had the vinyl in your hands. You blushed darkly, realizing this guy probably thought you were a thief and you wanted to shoot yourself.

You apologized to the man, before handing him the vinyl, telling him you didn't mean to take it, your mind just went blank when realizing the time. Thankfully, the store keeper was understanding and took the vinyl before going back inside.

There were a few minutes of silence, before the guy- Jon- starts laughing. "Gosh, he was so mad, his face looked like a tomato."

You smile, nodding, "Yeah, he was, wasn't he?"

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but then your phone starts ringing and you freeze up. You pull your phone out of your pocket and sigh when seeing your father's number.

"Sorry, I have to take this-" You take a few steps way from him, before answering the phone.

"Y/n were are you?"

"I'm still in Metropolis-"

"What? Why are you still there?"

"I got... distracted?"

You hear a sigh and groan, causing you to frown.

"Get home as soon as you can."

"Okay," You hang up the phone, before sighing. You were just happy he didn't yell at you through the screen.

"Are you in trouble?"

You jumped a little before looking back at Jon. You forgot that he was there.

"Uh... No, not really... But I do have to get back home."

"I can take you! I mean, I can walk with you... You know," He gestures to you, not knowing what to say. "I mean," He quickly shakes his head and hands, "Not that you can't take care of yourself, but it'd be really shitty if I let you walk alone."

You smirk, looking the boy up and down. He would never last a second in Gotham. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Besides, I don't think you want to go where I'm going."

"Well where are you going?"

--

Jon is starting to regret his offer. Not because of you, but because of the people who were squished against him. The subway smelled awful, like death and piss, and made him scrunch his nose. You were pressed against his chest, hoping the next stop was your stop.

"You know, I have a friend in Gotham. He's a lot like you-"

"I'm like a guy?" You joke, causing him to blush and quickly back track.

"No- No. I mean, you're like him in the way you act. But, you're nicer."

"Yeah? What's his name?"

"Damian Wayne."

---

You groaned, trying to ignore the laughter of the gangs that you had to pass. You could feel their stares go through you as you try and walk away as fast as possible. Your fear rose when hearing footsteps behind you.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.

You hear a flop and a groan and stupidily look back. On top of the man who was following you was The Robin- Well, not 'THE' Robin, but one of them... The new one.

Robin's eyes go up to you, before they widen for a second.

"Y/n?"

"Do I know you?"

Before he could back track, you hear some fabric flap[?] and look back to see THE Batman. He was tall and incredibly intimidating.

"You should probably go home, kid."

"Yeah." You look back at Robin, before back at Batman. "Yeah, I will."

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Miles Morales’ sibling (Earth-42)

Earth-42!Miles Morales x sibling!reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Miles42 as y/n’s older brother???”

miles and you were pretty close growing up

you two did everything together

art was your passion and you guys used to love pretending tp be critics

“this needs more color” -you, age 6

“you have no idea what you’re talking about!” -miles, also age 6ish

you’d trade pictures and “help” each other, which really helped you guys find your styles

and all was well and good for a long time. you guys had love from your parents and your uncle and they guided you well through life

uncle aaron helped you guys grow your creativity

your mom taught you compassion and empathy

your dad taught you responsibility and bravery

and after some time, miles and aaron started getting closer, more secretive

“are you hiding something from me?” -you

“no.” -miles

“yes you are”

“no im not”

“so then why am i not invited to aarons anymore? we aren’t making music or murals or whatever else, that’s weird. it’s abrupt”

“yeah, aaron’s busy”

“so then where are you going without me?”

“i can go out without you, y/n”

“you just aren’t yourself anymore”

and soon after that, your dad was killed in action and you weren’t acting yourself either

“hey, maybe its time we bring your sibling into this” -aaron

“trust me, they aren’t ready” -miles

for some time, miles had begun acting as the prowler, using his anger and grief of jefferson’s death to fuel his antics

“miles, y/n needs you. we pulled away, we have to help them” -aaron

“they should stay with mom, we have work to do” -miles

you guys began to shut each other out, you supported your mom since she lost her husband, and you two lived in blissful ignorance of what miles and aaron were working on

“hey kid, brought you some supplies” -aaron

“oh—well, uh, thanks unc” -you

“anytime” -aaron

“i’m glad miles is spending time with aaron, mijo/a. its good for him. for both of them” -rio

“just be nice if they ever spent time with me” -you

“give it time, love. everything will be alright” -rio

you grew more frustrated that miles shut you out and decided to take a look for yourself what they were doing without you

“what the hell?!” -you, walking into aarons apartment and seeing the prowler setup

“get out! no one told you to come here!” -miles

“miles, chill out. that’s your sibling. we wanted to tell you about this. we just wanted to wait until you were ready” -aaron

“ready? you two are sneaking around behind my back, doing god knows what? does mami know?!” -you

“don’t you dare tell her!” -miles

“miles, this is your chance to fix your problems with y/n. lower your voice, talk to them” -aaron

miles and you talked for hours over this, and you were heartbroken that he didn’t tell you sooner and thought he couldn’t

but you suspected he may not have wanted to because he wanted to try this alone

you really did want to be included though, it looked like an incredibly exciting gig

and who knows what kind of trouble you guys could get into together?

it was hard to keep it a secret from rio, but everyone was working out their grief in their own ways

and miles was still in one piece so far, so no harm done?

and one day you got a call from aaron to come to his place. immediately

so imagine your surprise when you saw miles strung up to the punching bag

“what are you doing?! let him down! why did you take out his braids?!” -you

“we didn’t” -miles

you looked SO confused

“who the hell is this?” -you

“that’s what we’re trying to figure out” -aaron

“hey..im miles…” -miles, from another universe

taglist: @summersimmerus // @milkiane // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Rook!Blackwall

Harding: You know, for a moment back there, I thought you might actually get through to Solas.

Thom: Regret’s something we have in common. I thought… if I reached out to him, told him I understood what guilt drives you to do…

Harding: But no. ‘Do not compare your regrets with mine, Thom Rainier!’

Thom: He’s right, though. He can at least say he did his crimes trying to stop tyrants. I did mine for coin.

Harding: Uh, yeah, and then you faced up to it and decided no one else was going to get hurt for it except you. Solas is right. He’s nothing like you.

—

Lucanis: Do we have a problem, Warden Rainier?

Thom: You kill people. For gold.

Lucanis: I do. Venatori. Blood mages. The political rivals of those who hired me.

Thom: And that’s enough for you? Someone flashes a purse, and you’re ready to murder over some nobles’ spat over which of them gets the bigger fancy house?

Lucanis: Depends on the size of the purse.

—

Bellara: Um, so, about the mayor of D'Meta's Crossing? I just… do you really want someone like that? In the Wardens, I mean.

Thom: I won’t defend him. But he wouldn’t be the first Warden who let innocent people die for gold, and got another chance from the Order.

Bellara: He doesn’t deserve it. Like, really, really doesn’t deserve it.

Thom: No. Neither did I.

—

Thom: Do you ever get people trying to bribe you? To look the other way, or drop a case, or...

Neve: It's Minrathous. If I took even half the bribes I've been offered, I could buy an estate in Hightown.

Thom: It takes a special kind of strength to resist that.

—

Thom: I got a letter from Sera the other day. Don’t ask me how she got it to the Lighthouse.

Harding: ‘Friends’, I bet. And hey - she dealt with the Fade for you! So what'd she say?

Thom: Well, there was a lot of calling Solas a shite-faced arseknuckle. And then she told me not to get killed, or she’d yank my beard ‘til my head came off.

Harding: Aw.

—

Lucanis: Rainier, I do not knife civilians. Everyone I have killed has been embedded in politics. Their hands are never clean.

Thom: And you're sure you’ve never made a mistake? Never got a passer-by or a child caught in all the blades and arrows? Never gone in without knowing everything, and got someone hurt?

Lucanis: Of course not. I’m a professional.

Thom: You’re a mercenary with a cape.

—

Thom: You could’ve left Dock Town. A mage. Talented. You could’ve gone anywhere, chased a better life.

Neve: If I left, I’d be abandoning people who never got that choice. I’m good where I’m at.

Thom: I hope you know how admirable that makes you.

Neve: Not that admirable. If I got that estate in Hightown? Too far to walk to Hal’s fish stand.

Thom: (laughs) Good priorities.

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Heard a lot of rumours about how you joined the Wardens.

Thom: (uneasy noise) You know, Warden Blackwall told me your past gets forgotten after the Joining.

Davrin: A nice ideal, but it never stands up to the gossip. But you’ve shown your worth.

Thom: Enough for me to have one of those griffons when we rescue them, d’you reckon?

Davrin: (laughs) We’ll see.

—

Thom: I knew someone like Manfred once. He was a spirit, but he sort of… grew his own body.

Emmrich: Oh! A spontaneous incarnation! Do you happen to know what kind of spirit he was?

Thom: Uh… the kind that looks like a young man, but reads minds and flits about trying to make everyone feel better about themselves?

Emmrich: Ah, Compassion! A rather more advanced emotion than Curiosity, and therefore capable of manifesting a physical body, rather than needing to adopt a vacant one.

Thom: More advanced? Right. That explains why Cole used to talk to me about living with the weight of regret, and Manfred spent ten minutes yesterday poking my face to see if my beard came off.

—

Neve: So, you know Dorian?

Thom: Does anyone who’s been in the same room as him for thirty seconds get a choice about knowing Dorian?

Neve: And didn’t always get along, I take it.

Thom: He’s… he’s not so bad. We might’ve judged each other by first impressions back when we met.

Neve: And what’s your impression now?

Blackwall: Still too fancy for his own good. But it says exactly who he is that he’s fighting against slavers and blood mages. I think I got the better deal with the darkspawn.

—

Taash: I heard the Inquisitor turned into a dragon.

Thom: No, she… didn’t. But she did get one to fight with us once.

Taash: She did? What kind? How’d she do it?

Thom: Sort of… gold? And she drank from this pool of elven magic, and… that somehow let her ask it to help us. I think.

Taash: Did she ride it into battle?

Thom: Uh… No.

Taash: Oh. I would’ve ridden it into battle.

—

Thom: Emmrich, do you know what those demons were the other day? The ones that wouldn’t leave me alone?

Emmrich: Ah. Those were manifestations of Shame. A variant of the Despair spirit.

Thom: Right. Don’t know what I expected.

Emmrich: If it’s any consolation, I find that one can tell much more about a person from the more benign spirits that gather around them. I catch glimpses of them about you often. Valour. Fortitude. Honour.

Thom: I hope to be worthy of them.

—

Thom: Lucanis, have you ever regretted any of your kills?

Lucanis: Not so far.

Thom: So this is what you’re fine with being? A man who takes nobles’ money and lives in luxury with your bloodied hands? That's the life you chose?

Lucanis: Not ‘chose’, exactly. It is what I was trained to be since my childhood.

Thom: Wait. You were – who trains a child to be an assassin?

Lucanis: You met my grandmother.

—

Davrin: You held up pretty well in the last fight, Rainier. For an old man.

Thom: Whelp like you’d better watch what he says around a senior Warden.

Davrin: Why? You’ll tell me to do the fifty press-ups that your creaky bones can’t handle?

Thom (laughs) I’ll stop letting you borrow my best chisel.

—

Bellara: Hey, um, Thom? You know that little rocking griffon you made? Could you make, I don’t know, a bigger one? Like… adult… person-sized?

Thom: (chuckles) You never have a rocking griffon growing up?

Bellara: No! They’re not a Dalish thing! Because you can’t really rock. When the aravel’s moving, I mean. So… no, it’s a dumb idea. Forget I said anything.

Thom: You want me to make it a rocking halla?

Bellara: Yes please thank you.

—

Emmrich: How far you must have travelled, with both the Inquisition and the Wardens!

Thom: I like being on the road. Keeps a man honest.

Emmrich: I rather envy your fearlessness of the wider world. It’s so recent that the end of the Circles allowed me to travel freely outside the Necropolis.

Thom: Must have been freeing. Having the whole world suddenly open to you.

Emmrich: And rather overwhelming, I must admit. When I compare myself to you – a brave Warden, combatting the Blight across all of Thedas…

Thom: Trust me: compare the two of us, and that’s the only way I’ll come out better from it.

—

Thom: We fought quite a few dragons in the Inquisition. Almost got eaten once by some pissed-off beast in the Hinterlands. Kept throwing its dragonlings at us.

Taash: Fereldan Frostbacks are crappy mothers. First sign of trouble, and it’s ‘here! Take my children!’

Thom: (laughs) The worst was the lightning-spitter off the Storm Coast. Spent twenty minutes hacking away at its scales, rest of my team unconscious on the ground.

Taash: Wait - you what? That's not how you fight dragons. You can't just stand there and hit them. That's stupid. And boring.

—

Lucanis: It’s how the Crow Houses work. Children of the House lineage are trained from our infancy.

Thom: Andraste’s fucking tits.

Lucanis: It’s necessary. If Illario and I had been coddled… Caterina pushed us hard and young, because she wanted us to survive.

Thom: I don’t… (sighs) The things people do to children.

—

Harding: I never thought to ask - how come Varric changed your nickname?

Thom: I asked him to go with something else. 'Hero'... that was a name he gave to Blackwall.

Harding: Well, he chose the right name. You know, 'cause Rooks move in straight lines. And you charge right in there, don't mess around with fancy words, just hit things til they drop. You could say you're -

Thom: Don't do it, Lace.

Harding: Straightforward.

Thom: (chuckles) You're as bad as Sera.

—

Emmrich: Master Rainier, I wanted to say – I hope you know that you’re the only person here who looks at you with any harshness.

Thom: I – (sighs) You don’t know everything about me.

Emmrich: I would never claim to. But I know that you place yourself before your allies and the defenceless without hesitation and with utter selflessness. I know you understand your Warden oath better than many of your superiors. I know that you are a good man.

Thom: … I wish I knew what it was like to be you. Seeing the good in everyone, living or dead.

Emmrich: Then I hope you’ll permit me continue to see the good in you – until you can see yourself as I do.

[igotanidea]

The truth: Dick Grayson x reader

Imagine being scared, depressed, broken to little pieces after Jason's death. You loved him so much it's only natural to mourn and show middle finger to the world that took your boyfriend away form you.

Only that you're not the only one mourning him.

Dick does too.

And sometimes, sometimes, joint pain can bring people together.

It's been so long since you've felt man's touch on your body, the love, the affection, the body talk.

And Dick....

Oh, Dick...

With his smile and wit and attitude and compassion and his strong arms and his very trained lips and his --

It had to happen at some point.

What wasn't bound to happen was the most intimate and sensual night of passion interrupted by world breaking news.

Dick woke up first in the morning, with you snuggled into his side, still with the taste of your skin on his lips, feel of your body under his fingertips and your moans in his ears.

Wanting more and knowing that this was the begging of something beautiful and with joy and love in his heart.

And with his phone buzzing with messages and unanswered calls.

Groaning and squirming eyes from the harsh morning light he read the first message on top.

Jason's alive.

Uh-huh. Okay. Jason's alive.

At first his hazy brain still filled with memories from last night does not register the meaning of the message.

Soon enough though, all the alarm bells ring in his ears

JASON'S ALIVE.

The repercussion of this two-word sentence couldn't be clearer if someone wrote them in his brain in red.

Dick instinctively pulled you closer to him, not ready for the implications of the iceberg that suddenly appeared on the horizon. He was not losing you. Not when he finally got you after all this time.

"hmmm... Dick?" You stir in your sleep opening your eyes and looking at him with so much love and devotion. Finally happy after years of mourning. Happy with him.

And in that moment he makes an impossible choice.

He won't tell you about Jason's resurrection.

Even if he has to threaten, beg and call on old favours, hell make sure no one tells you either.

And he'll keep Jason away from your freshly healed heart.

"morning baby... Breakfast? We've got an amazing day ahead of us" he leaned to kiss you.

You were his and that was the only truth you needed.

A/N: (oh, the angst potential of that IF I continue...)

Edit: A/N2: for part 2: Prevaricate

[adesqueen]

“About knowledges and feelings”

Pairing: Sebastian x F!Reader

Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic, and also my first time writing something in English, as it’s not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it! _________

“I should’ve known this was a chance. I’m so sorry.” “It was my choice to stay and help pick up. You hosted us, after all. And it’s not like you can control the weather, can you?”

Sebastian reassured you with his calm voice. The heavy snow seemed endless in its fall, a white hug to the quiet town, a cold reminder that winter wasn’t over.

“I know. But now you’re trapped here. Maybe you should’ve gone when Abby and Sam decided to leave.” “Am I… like, bothering you or something?” “Oh, no, I… I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean to say something like that,” you stuttered a little. The only thing uncomfortable was that insane speed your heart seemed to activate every time you dared to look at the ivory-skinned guy in front of you, especially when those dark, infinite pits he called eyes stopped on you. “I just want to be sure… I just want you to… be comfortable, I mean.”

The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face while he poked your cheek, saying he was fine. Damn, that was weird. Everything was since that Solarion Chronicles game, when you shyly healed his character to defeat the dark wizard. Your blushed cheeks, his hard swallow (was it? Was it just your mind? It could’ve been your mind. The world knows it hasn’t functioned properly since you first saw Sebastian), Sam’s face, Abigail’s gasps, the way time seemed to slow for you. And everything felt even weirder when you headed to the saloon after the game to clear your head a little.

“What’s the matter, (reader)? You seem… worried?” “Oh, just a little… introspective, I guess.” “Do you need to talk about something? You know you can count on me, right?” “I do. Thanks. Uh, actually, I… Can I ask you something?” “Sure thing!” “Let’s say you’re doing something with friends, you know? Like bonding. And it’s funny and chill. But one time, you look at one of your friends and it feels… different from the others. Like time’s flow and goosebumps different. What would you do?” “I think I would be honest with myself,” Emily started with a soft voice, her eyes full of compassion and affection. “And admit that this friend is something… more intimate to me. Or at least that something inside me is craving that.” “You think I’m in lo… You think you'd be in love with said friend?” “Love is such a strong, powerful word! Don’t you think?” “May I say something?” Gus asked. “Sure,” you said. “Bring your insight. God knows I need it.” “I believe you should think about all the moments with, let’s call this friend Said. How long have you known Said? How much time do you spend together? How exactly do you feel? And how do they see you? Not in endearment or social relationship terms. What do their eyes say?” “I don’t know,” you sighed, defeated. “He’s so reserved.” “Oh, so, it’s a he,” Emily smiled. Gus smiled too, but the door of the saloon interrupted him. The first clients of the night had arrived. Better leave the talk for another day.

But their words got stuck in your mind.

“… to do.” Sebastian’s voice brings you back from the flashback. “What? Sorry.” “I said I was good, and in the meantime, we can find something to do.” “Um, sure. I don’t really have much to do around here, but I’m sure we’ll find something. Errr… want some coffee?” “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“His smile could really enlighten an entire room,” you think, while walking to the kitchen.

“You know, I was about to bring the game, but since we ended on a cliffhanger last time, I thought a one-shot or something might get confusing, so I opted not to. It’d be better if we finish the current adventure first.” “Oh, yeah,” you smiled. Cool, this was neutral talk. You’d survive. "Do you think Abby’s character will confess her love to Sam’s?” “I’d gladly pay to see it,” he laughed, “only to see Sam’s reaction. Especially now that he’s getting into something with Penny. We should invite Maru next time. Then Abby would confess, you know, properly.” “Then I’ll be the one paying, for sure! And speaking of Sam and Penny, I caught them hiding at the top of the tree near Sam’s house. Like teenagers, you know? Must be funny to feel like that again.” “How were you as a teenager?” he asked suddenly. “Boring,” you simply smiled. “I was kind of lonely, and since my father left, I put the weight of the house on my shoulders so my mom could work to feed my siblings and me.” “I didn’t know you had a bigger family.” “I kind of don’t. We… went no contact some time ago. I received some letters from my dad… stepdad when I just moved. But that’s it.” “I… I’m sorry, (reader). I didn’t mean to make you remember something hurtful. I know how it feels to be an outsider in your own family.” “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Now you do. And I’m not hurt. Things… just work as they should, I guess. And it felt nice to be able to tell you.” “I’m glad you feel that way.” Why were his eyes so bright? Why did his expression seem to… soften? “You… you’ve been there for me in hard moments, and I’m here for you too. You’ve been a great friend.”

“Friend.” Why did that hurt? Was Emily right? When his smile cheered you up so many times, when the wind brought you the forest scent and you smiled thinking about him, when he tried to teach you to play pool and your skin seemed to burn under his touch while he aligned your shot… You gave him a quick glance. Emily was right.

“Yeah, that… thanks. So… how’s work anyway?” “Oh, it’s fine, actually. I just finished this big project, you know. It was a lot of work, but the payment was worth it.” “Good for your savings. You’ll need it in the city.” “I guess…”

His eyes seemed to elude you abruptly. He started fidgeting with the cord of his hoodie.

“Is everything okay? Did I say something?” “I… I’ve been thinking, and I’m doubting myself about moving to the city.” “What do you mean?” you asked, while pouring the coffee. You always gave him your favorite cup. “Well, I’ve been thinking about what you said, the city being so noisy, crowded, smelly, and… gray.” He seemed ashamed with that last part. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle it.” “I didn’t mean to crush your dreams.” “Don’t be silly.” “Seriously. I didn’t…” “It’s nothing like that. I… maybe I wasn’t, like, really dreaming about moving to the city, but just… leaving.Being here last night, with our friends, in the silence of your farm… I don’t know. It felt… right. I doubt I’ll be able to replicate that feeling in Zuzu. Or anywhere.” “Well, Sam won’t be there. Neither Abby. So, yeah, it makes sense.” “Neither will you.” “Oh, God, no.” “You really hate the city, don’t you?” “I mean…” “I’m starting to understand, anyway. It feels better. I mean, here. But you were lucky enough to get this, your place. Although, I’d never call someone in your very first place lucky. You really left your soul working here. And… it shows.”

His smile as he recognized your hard work was something you thought you could only dream about. Your heart drank every word, dumb with love for the man in front of you.

“Thank you, Sebastian. I was lucky, though. The land is good and generous, people have been nothing but kind, maybe a little hard at first, but I don’t blame them. I kind of felt for this place.” “It’s a shame you can’t put a mermaid pendant on the foundational documents that Gunther has.” “I mean, I can try.”

You both laughed. Maybe you were in love, maybe he wasn’t, but moments like this were worth the effort to hold your feelings.

“What about you? How were you as a teenager?” “I’d love to say I was different.”  and you both laughed again. “They dance,” Sebastian thought. “When she laughs, in the light of the fire, her eyes dance. How can she be so beautiful? My heart is killing me. What am I gonna do? And, why does it feel so good?”

“I guess Pelican Town doesn’t give that many options.”

You both got back to the couch in front of the fireplace and talked. And talked. The hours passed, and every word was easier than the last; your lives before you met each other, frogs, the farm, life itself, even the people of the town. You were quite shocked at how invested was in gossiping someone who wasn’t particularly a fan of people, as he was.

“You know, (reader)? This has been one of the funniest nights of my life. I didn’t know I needed to talk about all of this.” “You needed to talk about the lovely middle-aged woman who lives on the ranch’s love life?” “I still think she should give Marlon a chance. But, besides that, I really felt comfortable tonight. And I appreciate that.” “I’m glad you did. I was afraid that being trapped here would make you feel bad.” “You… Look, this is… awkward.” He was fidgeting with the blanket on your lap. “I mean, yeah, maybe when we just met, but now, I feel… I feel good here. I’m sorry, this is your house, I shouldn’t make myself so comfortable around you.” “I hope you do, actually. I like when you’re around.”

Something in his stutter, in the flush of his cheeks, in the soft sigh of his eyes, in the candid smile. Maybe it was something in Sebastian’s voice. But it felt right. It was more than that. Both heart and brain were on the same page. You knew it was right. You felt it too. Then, it happened. A force above you, maybe fate, maybe God, maybe simply being honest with yourself. Maybe all of that? Whatever it was, your hand, on its own, reached his, rubbing Sebastian’s hand with your thumb. It was just a second, but it felt like an eternity. The soft skin, the warmth, the wind howling outside, the melody of the fire, the soft snore of your pet. You were suddenly conscious of all of this, your memory trying to etch this moment forever. It was like a slice of the cake of time being served just for you. Sebastian smiled, and his fingers laced with yours.

“Do you understand what you’re asking for?” “Do you know,” you smiled back, “when people talk about a home? About how it feels, what makes one?”The eternal weight on Sebastian’s shoulders seemed to disappear. All the anxiety, all the fears, all doubts leaving his body. It was then when you realized, as his affirmative answer caressed your ears, and he gently pulled you toward him, settling you on his chest, while the moon shone in all of its splendor, celebrating you. You knew everything about home.

[tizeline]

I’ve never seen a separated au with Leo being raised by big mama, what do you think that would be like? (Since he’s kinda rebellious)

For the record, there are AUs where Leo's been raised by Big Mama, the ones I know of are Gemini AU by tangledinink and True Colors AU by v-albion. I'm not super familiar with either of them, but they're there if you wanna check them out.

That being said-

LEO being raised by BIG MAMA omg I have THOUGHTS

Listen, I don't see enough people compare Leo to Big Mama, but he's quite similar to her. Splinter and BM never got a kid together, BUT IF THEY DID that kid would literally be Leo he's basically just a fusion of the two of them!!

As I've mentioned several times before because I love bringing it up, Leo is strategic, quick-witted, observant and good at talking. In the show (as well as in my own AU) Leo's strengths aren't really recognized, let alone aknowledged for a big portion of the story. Because of that, for a long time he doesn't really get the chance to develop these skills, as much potential Leo has to become a master planner his impulsiveness and inexperience has a tendency to get him into trouble.

BUT! All of these skills also happen to be skills that Big Mama has and would value in Leo. So if he were to actually have to opportunity to not only be raised by BM but also trained by her for his entire life. If he got to properly learn strategy, planning, manipulation...?

... Holy shit Leo would be terrifying.

Think about it, canon!Leo managed to out-smart BM in Many Unhappy Returns without any real experience, just imagine what he could do with a whole life-time of training.... yikes!

Not sure what exactly Big Mama and Leo's relationship would look like. In my opinion she would view him as her son and love him dearly, especially if she knew that he's Splinter's biological son.... it's just that BM has interesting ways of showing affection. ("The love of my life just proposed to me?? Great! I'm gonna lock him up in my gladiator fighting ring for the rest of eternity!") She'd at the very least be quite controlling, I imagine.

As you pointed out, Leo can be quite rebellious, so that mixed with Big Mama's obsessive need to be in complete control of everyone around her would certainly cause some tension. Actually... considering how clever Leo would be in this AU... uh oh.

All of these qualities that BM initially appreciated and encouraged in Leo, what if, as Leo became more and more capable, Big Mama started to eventually view them in a more negative light? If she feels like she's loosing control over Leo, if she interprets Leo's rebellion as not just a normal teenage need for independence but rather him malicously working against her. What if she starts viewing him not as an asset or as a tool, but rather a threat?

If BM has reason to believe that Leo might try to overthrow her and take control over her criminal empire, she might take preemptive action and get rid of him before he has the chance to get rid of her.... Not like murder-get-rid-of, I don't think she'd just kill him, lol! But like lock him up, maybe throw him into the Battle Nexus, I dunno. Anything that would allow her to remain in control of both him and her business.

As for Leo, maybe he would actually try to overthrow BM. Considering he was raised by a literal mafia boss, his moral compass is gonna be a bit wack. Maybe Leo's desire for control over himself would cause him to try to seize control over his mother's business. Oooooorrrrr maybe Leo just wants some independance but doesn't actually want to compete with BM, so when she interprets his actions and behavior as malicious he's not prepared for that at all and, as a result, is more than a little hurt that his own mother would take such extreme actions against him. Who knows?

Hhhhhhh there's a lot of fun posibilities here but MAN I'm not really in the mood to work on an entirely new AU. Maybe I'll create some art for it I dunno, this concept is really fun, but I'm not gonna turn this into a proper Thing, so if anyone else wanna steal this concept and explore it for themselves, feel more than free to do that!

[antianakin]

hey, just wanted to say that i appreciate you creating this space to discuss more uh....unpopular takes on star wars. obviously fandom is a hobby and i don't want to ruin anyone's fun! but i also want a space to push back against fanon interpretations without treading on anyone's toes, you know?

like the whole obi-wan catholic guilt trope, jedi repression trope at large...i'm being dramatic but as an asian person, sometimes it sucks that this is such a prevalent idea about a heroic group that was influenced by buddhism and is very asian-coded. i'm not wording this well but just like how stories about european knights often reflect *the very best* of western values like chivalry, honor, gentility, i could really see a lot of the best of asian culture (a huge over-simplification) in the jedi.

but all that being reduced to "oh actually it's totally catholic guilt" or a inadvertently a regurgitation of prevalent asian stereotypes (the jedi as a group suppress individuality, they don't express emotions, they are too harsh, too unforgiving, lack compassion) is...frustrating to see, even though it's everyone's right to interpret & relate to things as they see fit.

especially when focused on obi-wan! even if we assume that obi-wan is repressed, secretly attached to an unhealthy degree but hiding it, or whatnot - the man quite literally airs the dirty laundry in front of mace and yoda, perhaps the "highest" members of the jedi. he says that he thinks anakin is arrogant, isn't listening to him. i dunno but a repressed person who hates confrontation and vulnerability probably wouldn't do that. he should've gone "haha nope anakin and i are totally fine masters, totally fine" instead of looking for advice & airing out his frustrations.

people getting angry at obi-wan for putting the jedi order over anakin is still annoying, but at least accurate. like yes! obi-wan does put the good of his culture and the galaxy at large over his old padawan! good for him!

but honestly all popular fanon obi-wan tropes go round on a roulette wheel waiting for me to pick one to be petty about lmao.

I definitely get what you mean about wanting a space to push back on common fanon interpretations without stepping on anyone's toes. That's obviously exactly why I made this blog in the first place. It's why I named the blog "antianakin" at all, it's supposed to be a giant neon warning sign to people that I'm not going to feel ashamed of some of my more negative opinions. It's why I use anti and critical tags as much as possible, and don't use the more general tags most of the time (aside from just... "star wars"). This is my space to put my feelings out there, positive AND negative, and I work really hard to make sure I'm not invading spaces that are meant for being positive.

I also often don't reblog people's posts that I completely disagree with JUST to talk about why I don't like their take. I won't invade someone's Jedi critical post in order to tell them that they're wrong about Star Wars. People have tried to tag me into posts like that, but I'm not interested in doing that kind of thing. If I DO want to say something about what I've seen, I make my own post about the issue.

It's interesting that you mention that stories about European knights often reflect what's viewed as the best of Western values, because so often when I see people talk about what would make the Jedi BETTER (or Legends versions of the Jedi that they think were done better), it's usually pretty clear that the Jedi are being turned INTO your more typical European knight to reflect those exact values. They're often wandering on their own, doing what they personally believe to be right whenever and wherever they want, defending the helpless wherever they find them by just riding in on a white horse and slaying an enemy or a monster. And of course some of those values they uphold are about what love and relationships should look like, too, so they all end up in committed monogamous relationships (even if it's with more than one person, it's still usually monogamous). This is one of the reasons I started getting frustrated with the High Republic novels by the third one because it started having that vibe that the "good" Jedi who stuck to more "traditional" ways of doing things and "traditional" values were so much more like your typical European knight, while the Jedi character doing something more modern and more political was losing his way and struggling with a desire for things he was repressing.

It's a feeling we've seen come up time and time again and it keeps getting tossed out in more recent shows, too, the idea that the Jedi "lost their way" from what they should've been, that they once used to represent something worthwhile and losing those traditional values is what caused their destruction and the only way to keep it from happening again is to go back to that. It's not hard to see where that storyline feels compelling, obviously, but it IS sad to see the values that the Jedi DO have in the Prequels in particular getting tossed aside as unworthy and to see their defeat being rewritten as THEIR failure instead of everyone else's.

I've had people tell me that this story feels like it has more nuance to it than the Jedi simply being the heroic victims and the Sith being pure villains. And I get why people think that, I just think that there's a lot of nuance they're MISSING in the story being told, and that that nuance exists EVEN WITH the Jedi still being the heroic victims and the Sith being clear villains. I am more than happy to help critique some of the WAYS that that story got told in the Prequels, the issues in the structure of the Prequels and how it maybe muddied some of the messages that the story was trying to get across, but I also think that that critique is SEPARATE from my feelings on the intended narrative itself. I don't think that the narrative itself is bad or lacking in nuance simply because it may not have been told perfectly. And, personally, I think that some of the more "nuanced" Jedi critical takes often seem INCREDIBLY simplistic themselves.

As for Obi-Wan, fandom will do what fandom does to its darlings. I've certainly done my fair share of simplifying my faves down to shadows of themselves because I happened to enjoy the shadow sometimes in its own right. But I do think that there's plenty of evidence to contradict a lot of people's more popular interpretation of Obi-Wan as a repressed, damaged, traumatized waif. I don't mind a LITTLE of that sometimes, usually when I read fics set in the early years of his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon following some of the events of Jedi Apprentice, but it comes with the context that Obi-Wan is still VERY YOUNG at the time and is dealing with some fairly specific things that have just happened to him and is still learning how to do that in a healthy way.

By the time you hit The Phantom Menace and ESPECIALLY the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan should no longer be a repressed, traumatized waif of a person. That's when it stops being believable to me because the character we see on screen in that time period never fits that description. Like you said, he's ACTIVELY confrontational to his superiors. He does do it with Mace and Yoda (and he does it in ROTS as well as in AOTC) and he does it with Qui-Gon during his apprenticeship, too.

The one other time I was willing to accept some of this characterization was in the Kenobi show where we do see him being more repressed and traumatized and less willing to stand up for himself when faced with confrontation with people like Owen. But one of the reasons this worked for me is because, much like with those JA fics, it comes with a VERY SPECIFIC CONTEXT, and it's done with the intentional purpose of giving Obi-Wan somewhere to develop. He also doesn't stay particularly submissive or waif-like for long, we see him gain back a LOT of his willingness to stand up for himself and confront people by the second episode. The message wasn't that Obi-Wan had ALWAYS been damaged and traumatized or that he was always "meant" for sadness or whatever, but that he had the capacity to find happiness IF HE CHOOSES TO ACT LIKE THE JEDI HE ONE WAS. The only reason he's struggling is because he ISN'T acting like a Jedi anymore. He's not finally figuring out how to handle his traumas, he's GOING BACK to being the person who can handle his traumas.

Anyway, yeah, I feel you, I have definitely experienced the roulette wheel of petty frustration at fandom interpretations of Obi-Wan lol. I can barely handle the "he drops his lightsaber all the time" joke because I feel like it often makes him come across as childishly incompetent.

[krispycreamcake]

Kanato Sakamaki bf headcanons𖤐𖤐

🧸- This is so random and probably not the best way to start things off, but he frequently dresses your hair

🧸- It literally doesn't matter if you're male or female or even a woolly mamoth, you're never seeing the inside of a salon/barber again

🧸- While it's generally fun for him to do his s/o hair, he also uses it to his advantage to essentially groom you to his likings and preferences (no not that kind of groom get out)

🧸- If you have a stuffed animal or a collection of the sort, they will be invited to his tea parties and he'll even teach you how to sew little outfits for them

🧸- Honestly as childish as Kanato is, I think the reason he acts like this is because he feels emotions very intensely

🧸- I have a similar issue and people will often undermine it as just having a "dramatic" or "childish" personality, when in reality the poor guy just feels things 10x more than your average Joe

🧸- And because of this, I think one of the main issues that'll present themselves in your relationship is that you might unknowingly hurt his feelings

🧸- Let me elaborate. Basically calling him "cute" for making a mistake, or let's say even just brushing off his tantrums by saying "that's just how he acts and I'll need to get used to it" is essentially babying him

🧸- The uh easiest way to fix this would be by letting him know you're there for him and ready to work at whatever the issue is, together

🧸- Ok I lied, it's not going to be easy when it comes to Kanato or any diaboy honestly, but I promise you it'll be worth it

🧸- Treat him like his own person while still retaining your compassion and sympathy for him and you'll be rewarded immensely in your relationship

🧸- In my opinion, Kanato seems like his love language is gift giving and quality time

🧸- Now I'm not saying you have to spend a pound and a crown to get him the fanciest Dubai chocolate or crumbl cookie box, I'm talking on a sentimental value level

🧸- So for example, he mentioned how he needed a new hat for teddy but couldn't find one that was right for him, what you would do in that scenario is go on YouTube, look up a tutorial on how to make shit with felt, fail like once or twice and THEN give him the gift of his lifetime

🧸- Now let's say you aren't the artsy type, pay attention to his wants and likes and even if it's a tiny cute little keychain from the dollar store, once he likes it, he'll cherish it forever

🧸- Ok I realized that I'm talking a loooot about the whole gift giving thing, so I'll just write a bit on quality time to even things out

🧸- Graveyard picnic dates, watching the stars on top the roof, 90s horror film night, you reading to him something from the Grimm Brothers, tea parties in the dungeon

🧸- When thinking Kanato, think "wow this is kinda fucked up but it strangely doesn't feel that way when I'm with this person"

🧸- I'm so dumb, I talked about his love language and didn't mention what he'd do for YOU💀

🧸- Well for starters, he's the type of guy to not say I love you a lot but instead write you songs and serenade you

🧸- Clothes galore with this guy. He's always making or buying some kind of outfit for you

🧸- If he knows you like a certain collection of an item (ie. Books, tea sets, stuffed animals, dolls) he'll get them for you, trust

🧸- He LOVES going bone hunting with you, literally loves it so much

🧸- Date night is a regular Friday night occurrence so do NOT miss it

🧸- Oh right, his favourite time of the year is Halloween and he LOOOOVES making you do creepy couple costumes, baking fall/halloween themed cookies with you, carving pumpkins. It's especially his favourite time of the year to take long strolls through the cemetery

🧸- He loves tracing the veins on your wrist with his nails

🧸- Speaking of nails, I imagine he has medium length nails and keeps them rounded but just a tad bit sharp and he likes to pierce your flesh with them if he's in the mood

🧸- Do you know that whole "would you still love me if I was a worm?" Thing? Yeah, that's him but replace worm with decomposing corpse that has lost all its beauty

🧸- His favourite spots to bite you are your lips and your hips

[doink-boink]

Finally drew my interpretation of Zach's parents!

Have had these fellows in the works for a good while!

Really had to lock in when doing the writing here lol - my handwriting is normally a weird hyper mix between cursive and print. But messier. Hopefully its legible! Enjoy some more yapping about these guys below the cut >:D

Must mention this is within my own AU! My interpretation of Zach specifically is a trans man. So uh! No way in hell Arthur is supportive in that regard. He is a miserable man whose only concern is furthering the family business and his public image.

Really looked to both Moral Orel and Bojack Horseman as inspiration for how these two would be. Did not intend for Arthur to share a name with the character he is inspired by lol - but uhm! He specifically is like Arthur Puppington when Clay was a kid: Distant, cold, though not physically abusive. Emotionally? Oh brother, you bet.

Regarding Kim and Arthur's relationship, that was really dead in the water. Kim is a self published author, or rather, an ASPIRING self published author. She mostly writes crime novellas/dramas, though needed some outsider input regarding the legal side of her stories. So, of course, she decides to reach out to the biggest law firm in the area.

It is initially a short and sweet interaction: "I ask you questions, you give me answers and insight when you can." However, she grows to enjoy Arthur's company, falling for him quickly. VERY rushed marriage ensues! Good god! (Of course not ASAP, within a few months time of dating/correspondence) Not too certain as of right now where Zach comes into the mix, but definitely in that honeymoon stage of a relationship where you don't quite know the person yet to really gauge if things will work out or not.

I mean, things absolutely do NOT work out in the end, but they don't know that yet. Arthur I feel is the type to want a family ASAP. Need that sweet sweet heir to the company. Will accept nothing less than a son. Sucks for him, doesn't end up coming to fruition until much later! AFAB child, disappointment on Arthur's behalf, compassion on Kim's. Like a night and day difference - even after Zach does eventually transition (his mother is deceased by this point) his father refuses to accept it until he dies. By until I mean: "You still are not my son." *flatline*

Kim was there for Zach until the day she died, which would probably be around late middle school to early highschool? In that age range. Old enough to have fond and in depth memories. Which! Arthur is the one who discovers what had happened. Busy writing a novel when wham, sudden cardiac arrest - alone, as she tended to keep to herself. Entire family dynamic changes from then onward, though the abusive aspects of it were ever present. Arthur is generally unsupportive of Zach's endeavors, frustrated that he is going into science and robotics as opposed to law. (Though I do think he'd have been trained or prepped for a career as a lawyer throughout his teens-adolescence)

Zach is the closest to his mother, with most of his fashion sense coming from her. Gotta love the turtleneck sweater! @novazentryx came up with the idea that he inherited his early black sweater from Tazzy Chris from her after it shrunk in the wash, loved that so y'know what! This totally applies here. Not only did he inherit the sweater, but also her V-necklace! (Which, if you have seen Zoey, is where she gets it from! As well as she looks strikingly similar to Kim. On that front I think that was a surprise from Aviva, knowing how close he was to her)

Spitballing with this one, but I think it would be interesting if Zach had assisted in pitching ideas for Kim's stories! What aspects of it I do not know, but maybe names for the characters. Mayhaps that is where he gets ZACH from? Don't ask what his deadname is, haven't thought of that and would prefer not to lol

I think that concludes my rambling! Do not really have anything else that is coming to mind at the moment, so feel free to ask questions or leave suggestions about these two! I will more than likely respond ^^ (To asks or replies) Thank you for humoring me and reading all of this if you're here lol, I really appreciate it!!

[reineydraws]

Hey Reiney! i've been following your Renkaza comic for some time now and it's kind of gotten me into the ship. Would you happen to have any fic recs to get me started?

im so honoured my comic got u into the ship! (@sshcomic for those who don't know! 🫶) i love giving out fic recs omg thank u so much for asking!!!! i have 15 for ya haha.

i'll have specific recs under the cut, but first i wanna just say that anything by emilieee @e-milieeee ; dragonsandcryptids @lesbiansanemi ; and tippertupper are great places to start! they're amazing writers with a good body of work and i've definitely gone through a lot--if not all--of their renkaza stuff! please check them out!

word count is rounded to nearest thousand btw! :) smoke and mirrors + demon's choice are big inspirations for my comic, if ur coming from there!

i've also realized these can be pretty lengthy so if u want recs with shorter word counts just lmk and i'll comb through my bookmarks for <15k. but anyways!

Smoke and Mirrors by emilieee (272k)

canon happens in modern times au, where akaza ends up as kyo's apartment neighbour, tho kyo doesn't initially realize akaza's a demon. it's emotional! it's plotty! akaza mentions kokushibo made all the kizuki's fake id's and i still think that's hilarious! it's got one of my fave enemies to besties akaza & shinobu plots ever! please read this!!!

last sunrise by DragonsAndCryptids (182k)

akaza turns kyojuro by accident bc he bleeds too much into kyo's open wounds during the mugen train fight, and neither notice until it's too late. shinobu notices too and decides perhaps that this might be a prime research opportunity... uh-oh! the ethical quandries are good in this, and shinobu while flawed is very well-written. renkaza also end up with a soul bond. another emotional one but god is the journey amazing. tw for some torture scenes that could be graphic.

Small Fire of Winter Stars by phabulousphantom (66k)

modern au where akaza is a tattoo artist and kyo runs a teens program at the local community centre. it's one of my faves bc i just love stories about jaded people opening up and finding love and trust again, and this is exactly that. i also love the ensemble cast in it. the teenagers are adorable, especially inosuke who is a problem kid that finds something aspirational with akaza. thinking abt this fic is making me smile again!

Camp Kasugai by si1verbird77 (20k)

also modern au where renkaza are both counselors at a summer camp. kyo runs a percy jackson program, and he and akaza fall in love over the summer with the help of the deep trust that camp atmospheres usually end up fostering. kyo and sen, and akaza as well, also touch on the grief of losing parents, and the nature of camps as a place to grow into yourself and how time keeps moving. it's nice. i love this one a lot.

Inertia (series) by TipperTupper (23k)

akaza saves kyo from freezing to death, and kyo marvels at the compassion and humanity that akaza seems to hold in his muscle memory. ends up digging a little bit into akaza's trauma both as a human and as a demon controlled by muzan. sanemi gets a little mad about it in the third part and it's funny. overall vibe of the series is warm.

The Neverending Night by apodis (155k - incomplete)

when i say this fic rotates in my brain 24/7!!! akaza gets stuck in a time loop that resets every time kyo dies. it explores akaza's nature as someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for loved ones, and it's interesting bc at first kyo hates him, and then he starts to realize there's something wrong with akaza's memories bc of muzan, and he starts to really see how self-effacing akaza is. it's SO good, and the realizations both kyo and you as the reader have build and layer as the story progresses. akaza and kaname (kyo's crow) also build a friendship that is so important to me.

Demon's Choice by Celeste Gladnick (lairMorbidon) (69k - incomplete)

akaza defects early and joins tamayo, and so many more people are alive as a result. kyo in this one is interesting bc he's bigoted against demons thanks to his upbringing in a slayer family under abusive shinjuro, and refuses to see that akaza is anything other than dangerous, despite literally everyone else sticking up for him. extra fun bc he crushes on butterfly assistant hakuji without realizing that it's akaza in a human guise. akaza himself also has some deeply held trauma he doesnt quite realize he has.

what i wouldn't give by DragonsAndCryptids (59k)

senjuro becomes terminally ill and his end is fast-approaching. akaza, who's been bothering kyo on and off for two years since mugen train, hears about it and offers to help by turning sen into a demon. at first, kyo gives a hard no, but as his baby brother's illness progresses... well, anyone would get a little desperate, wouldn't they? love this bc one of my fave things abt renkaza is pushing kyo to his moral and ethical limit lol.

if you fly (say you won’t come back) by apodis (10k)

siren au! well, akaza's a siren, and kyo is the caretaker of a house that sees many different travelers. akaza's just the latest one. i love this one bc it's fantastical elements are wonderful, and it builds a very interesting world. as the reader, you have a lot of questions and it's an experience getting them answered. it's also prettily written. :)

Little Fighter Boy Comes Marching Home by VTheTrashKing (19k)

akaza gets de-aged by a demon's blood art, and kyo comes upon a little human boy with black hair and blue eyes, a chip on his shoulder and a very implicitly sad past, what with the criminal markings on his wrists and the way he insists he can take care of himself. another one of my fave renkaza things and kyo getting bowled over by hakuji's tragic story so i loved the way he puzzles it together in this one based on the little boy in front of him, and just finds one sad thing after another.

“Don’t die, Kyojuro” by Lenasaurous (24k)

akaza lets kyo live and often tells him not to die. kyo, who's life is often visited by death considering his occupation, begins to rely on akaza's immortality as a demon, and depend on his company as a constant--that is, until akaza passes out from not eating, and stays down for the count. uh-oh. (i also love this fic 'cuz there's this scene where akaza tries so hard to make kyo like him by giving him herbs and helpful plants, even tho kyo doesn't really want him around at that point, and it's so sweet and so sad. i wanna give him a hug!!!)

Memories behind broken glass by GammaRays (58k - incomplete)

this is the akaza whump fic of my dreams lol he gets captured and experimented on by shinobu (and it can be grisly so tw for that). kyo lured him into a trap to get him captured and ends up standing guard and starting to question his morals when it becomes clear that shinobu is being intentionally cruel. as the torture experiments go on, akaza also becomes so delirious that he begins to remember his human past. kyo loses it a little. it's good.

All the things a cup can hold by Liatheus (9k)

akaza takes shinjuro demon hunting lol. this is actually more of a shinjuro character study with side renkaza, but i love it specifically for a scene near the end where they all have tea, and ruka's empty place at the table feels obvious, and kyo and shinjuro are sort of crying about it. i also love that it explores the way shinjuro used to be a hashira, and how akaza investigates his strength in that sense. shinjuro's strength is an important aspect to kyojuro that doesn't often get delved into, and it makes sense to me that akaza sort of looks into it, as someone who loves kyo's strength.

Hello Again (the weight of memories welcome me home) by VTheTrashKing (15k)

this one's more artsy than anything but i love sci-fi as a genre so i'm reccing it lol i'm being self-indulgent. for whatever reason, throughout his life, akaza gets visited by various hashira. it's all very timey-wimey and the renkaza is more implied than anything, but there's this scene where akaza's being held trial at a hashira meeting, and then a future sanemi and future giyuu come out of nowhere to protect him and shock the living daylights out of their past selves, and it's so wild. i love it so much.

the milk incident by lattelesbean (4k)

this is just funny haha! short and fun read. modern soyama twins au where akaza's a café barista and accidentally puts his foot in his mouth in a very embarrassing way, bc he was too busy thirsting over kyo, his latest customer, to double-check what was about to come out of his mouth lol. i am still laughing.

[askthestans]

Ford, are you aware your brother has 10 guns hidden around the shack?

Stanley: Shh, don't let Poindexter overhear ya! He's gonna kill me if he finds out-

Stanford: *Walking into the room, preoccupied with a demonic owl chick of some sort that's currently sleeping in his hair.* Ah, Stan, I see you're answering another ask from our blog. What's this one about?

Stanley: N-nothin'! *Switches to another internet tab quick.* Nothin' at all, don't worry about it, it's a question for me. Totally boring.

Stanford: Oh, really? *Raises brow.* Then why did the question start with 'Ford'? You know, my name?

Stanley: Uh...

*Stan glances around and starts to sweat bullets. How best to distract Ford? Then Stan grins. He knows just the trick.*

Stanley: Ya know... a more important question to ask, is... is the Patterson-Gimlin film legit?

Stanford: *A very intense, serious expression carves through his face. It's the face of a man with a strong opinion and just the right amount of ire to defend it, perhaps fueled by years of arguments over this very same exact question; a look akin to what someone on Twitter pulls right before they decide compassion and humanity is overrated, and being right is more important as they begin to rage-smash their keyboard.* Stan, I'm glad you asked. Because I think you're smart enough - and spent enough years as a conman - to know the difference between something real and something faked. The Patterson film is real, and I, Dr. Stanford Filbrick Pines, the world's greatest paranormal scientist and cryptozoologist, will die on this hill.

Stanley: Yes, exactly! *Stan looks relieved that the distraction worked.* Of course I agree. I mean, why wouldn't I? You tell 'em, Ford! Tell the world how legit the Patterson film is. Preferably in a different room than this one with your, uh... *Stan looks at the demonic owl chick sleeping in Ford's hair.* Whatever that is.

Stanford: *Smugly petting said demonic owl chick.* Hm, a better idea would be to utilize our ask blog to educate the populace on supernatural concepts such as this. I always wanted a platform to extend my knowledge to the world. I mean, teaching math to a whale was impressive enough, but imagine the paranormal knowledge I could spread with the power of the internet! *He chuckles.* Bill Nye and Neil DeGrasse Tyson better watch out, because a new popular scientist in media is in town. Stan, for the sake of knowledge, I'm going to need you to let me borrow our blog laptop for the afternoon.

Stanley: *Sweating bullets again.* W-what!? Not right now, Ford! You can have it later when I'm done with this one question. Just... gimme a little bit longer-

Stanford: Science cannot wait, Stanley. Hand it over.

Stanley: Alright, fine! Just lemme type somethin' quick and- h-hey!

Stanford: *Ford takes the laptop away from Stan and starts walking off with it.* Great, you already have the ask blog up. Time to...

*Ford sees the question about the ten guns in the Shack. He pauses.*

Stanley: Ford! Ford, I can explain... just let me... just hand the laptop back over and we can forget-

Stanford: *His voice cold.* Ten guns, Stan? Ten of them?

Stanley: It's... it's not what you think!

Stanford: Stan, you do know Dipper and Mabel live here in the summers, right? And you're telling me that you have ten guns around the Shack?

Stanley: Ford, just... *His expression turns defiant and mad.* Yeah, you know what? I've got ten guns! What of it!? Go ahead and judge me, Poindexter! You've always been good at that, haven't ya!?

Stanford: *Eyes narrowing.* Oh, I'm judging you, all right. Stan, I'm sorry, but I have no choice other than to host an emergency family meeting. We need to discuss this with Dipper and Mabel immediately. They must know about this. And then we can rectify this dangerous matter.

Stanley: Ford, really, it's fine, we don't need-

Stanford: *His voice ringing through the whole Shack.* Family meeting! Family meeting!

Three hours later...

*Stan, Ford, Dipper, Mabel are in the living room of the Shack at the dining table, where they usually host their family meetings. Stan looks more pissed than he has all day, Dipper looks nervous and confused, Mabel looks excited, and Ford is standing up by a chalkboard on wheels, multiple rules written on it, and he looks quite pleased.*

Stanford: Now, one final time, let's repeat the Pines family gun rules before this meeting comes to an end.

Stanley: Sweet Moses, Ford, isn't this overkill?

Mabel: Don't listen to Grunkle Stan! I am 1000% on board with all of these rules. *She pets the demonic owl chick that was sleeping in Ford's hair earlier and gives it a cheese flavored chip to eat.* Nice job, Grunkle Ford!

Dipper: I think Grunkle Stan has a point, though. Grunkle Ford, no offense, but-

Stanford: No buts! Now, repeat the rules, everyone!

Dipper, Mabel, and Stanley: *Stan and Dipper looking both annoyed, and Mabel looking very amused, they repeat the rules aloud in unison.*

Rule one, whenever a cryptid, government agent, evil being, or any kind of potential enemy of the Pines family comes to the door, carry a gun.

Rule two, everyone living in the Shack shall keep a gun or similar weapon by their bed at night in the case of a nighttime supernatural emergency.

Rule three, do not be afraid to brandish a gun whenever anyone asks too many questions about Stan's criminal past, Ford's research and/or interdimensional criminal past, or threatens to hurt Dipper or Mabel, either their feelings or physically.

Rule four, all members of the Pines family and their employees must be trained to use at least three different kinds of weapons.

Rule five, there must never be less than thirty guns hidden in the Shack at all times, preferably two per room and three per bedroom. Ten is not enough, no matter what Stan claims.

Rule six, when in doubt, Ford has the last say on anything related to weaponry and defense related matters in the Shack. Or else.

Stanford: Very good. Does anyone have any objections? Wait. *He chuckles deeply.* No, of course you don't, because these rules are forged from hard-earned lessons from the three decades I spent in the Multiverse, and they make perfect logical, ethical sense and are foolproof from accidents. Don't worry, I'll make sure all of these guns are kept in protective, cheap plastic cases.

Dipper: And here I thought living in the Shack every summer was crazy enough already. *He sighs and lets his head drop to the table.* Seriously, this is dumb.

Mabel: Grunkle Ford, why are you so badass and cool!? Grunkle Stan never let us use any guns last summer!

Stanley: Gee, I wonder why? *He sighs, then goes back to typing on Stan and Ford's shared laptop they use to answer blog questions.* Thanks, asker, for askin' about the ten guns I had around the Shack. I'll have you know that all of this is your fault.

[the-authoress-writes]

Up Where We Belong

Part One

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of hospice and family member deaths, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: The plot bunnies have reproduced at an unholy rate, and I am so stupid for writing this, especially since I have another chapter of “Wherever You Go”, to write, the first chapter of “Safe and Sound” and a MavDad story to finish.

The second part and another Mav story is lined up, but at this point, I’m not going to complain, because at least I’m writing, and Mav is finally getting more of my writerly attention.

We’ll see what gets finished next, 😂.

#writerlife

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs—I can’t stop, apparently)

So here we go!

She had always been somewhat interested in planes—it was hard not to be, when most of her family was in commercial aviation.

Her father had flown for nearly thirty years for American, her younger brother was currently a first officer coming up on his command upgrade with Delta, and her grandfather, whom she affectionately called PopPop, had flown for Continental.

Some of her fondest memories were looking over her grandfather’s maps and airport diagrams, and sitting on his lap while he taught her how to use an analog flight computer.

But one day, when she was home from her freshman year of college, where she was taking her degree in English, her grandfather took her up to the attic to show her something.

It was a footlocker from World War II, the faded paint on the outside reading “USAAF”.

“This was your granduncle Joseph’s—my eldest brother.

He was a P-51 pilot.

He ran many successful missions in his aircraft until he got shot down saving his wingman’s life, near the end of the war.”

PopPop opened the footlocker, revealing a faded American flag folded into a tricorn lying neatly atop several dark greenish-brown uniforms.

PopPop gently lifted the flag and uniforms out of the footlocker, uncovering yellowed, brittle-looking maps, a compass set, and a thick stack of letters, tied together with a black ribbon.

It was the stack of letters that PopPop lifted out, and held out to her. “Look at these, and read them.”

She did, and the story the letters contained was beautiful and heartbreaking.

Her granduncle had fallen in love with a woman who was a member of the French Resistance, named Céline, whom he’d met during a covert resupply mission, and they even had plans to marry after the war.

But she’d died in a skirmish with German soldiers in Paris, leaving him so bereft that he’d taken to writing letters to her specter, just to have an outlet for his grief.

The last letter in the pile was heartwrenching, where her granduncle Joseph talked about how he was only living because she would want him to, only being careful in the air because she’d want him to.

She’d cried reading the letters, and she’d asked PopPop why he’d wanted her to read the letters.

“I wanted someone else to know their story,” he’d simply replied.

“No one else knows?”

He hummed, considering his answer. “Sometimes you keep some things to yourself until the right person to tell comes along.”

A few years passed, and when PopPop was on hospice, the two of them were watching “Band of Brothers”, when she remembered Uncle Joe, as she’d taken to calling him in her head.

“What’s going on in that bright head of yours, darling?” PopPop’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh, uh, nothing much, I was just remembering Uncle Joe.

Thinking that he and Céline deserved better.”

“They did.”

She shook her head, “I wish I could write them a happier ending, you know?”

PopPop hummed weakly. “Well, why don’t you?

If anyone could do it, it would be you.

If you do that, I’m sure in a few years, those English professors of yours would be saying that they taught a great American author.”

She was shocked and touched. “Wha—I—well, I guess I could, but, are—y-you’d be okay with that, PopPop?”

He laid a cold hand on hers, “I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else, my dear girl.”

“Okay,” she smiled tearily, and nodded, the two of them returning their attention to the episode.

A week later, PopPop passed, and many things happened over the ensuing years that caused the idea of writing about Uncle Joe to be put on the back burner.

In fact, she forgot all about it, until she was sitting on her couch a couple of weeks after having been let go from her job as an English teacher at her local high school.

She was mindlessly watching an episode of some show she couldn’t even remember the name of, when her eyes landed on the footlocker which PopPop had given to her in his will.

The memory of PopPop encouraging her to write about Uncle Joe came back to her, and she paused the episode, strode over to the footlocker, carefully opened it, and drew out the letters.

Madly, over the course of the next several hours, she reread the letters, numerous research-related tabs quickly opening up on her phone, tablet, and laptop.

As months passed, she made good progress on her first draft, but somewhere along the way, about slightly less than halfway through her intended story beats, she hit the dreaded dead end, writer’s block in full force.

Rereading the letters did nothing—every line she wrote, she deleted; she felt lost, and like she’d completely lost Uncle Joe and Céline’s voices.

She felt right back at square one.

Then, one day, as she was looking at her brother’s latest Facebook reel from his layover in Korea, she saw an advertisement for the Apple Valley Airshow, which would feature an aerobatic demonstration with an actual, airworthy P-51.

Maybe seeing the aircraft her Uncle flew would shake something loose in her brain so she could move forward.

She didn’t even hesitate—she immediately booked a ticket, and prepared herself to take down a lot of notes.

The airshow was absolutely wonderful, and even though she never got as into aviation as the rest of her family, it was still something which fascinated her, and seeing the planes made her marvel all over again at the miracle that was aviation, how humankind had successfully taken the skies for itself through brutally elegant means.

Finally, it was time for the reason she’d come—the emcee began, “Now, everyone, you’re all in for a treat, because up next, we have a nearly eighty-year-old aircraft, a P-51K named Bianca, and she’ll be giving us an aerobatic demonstration!

So let’s give a warm Apple Valley Airshow welcome to Bianca and her owner and pilot, US Navy Captain Pete Mitchell!”

She clapped along with everyone else, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the P-51.

Soon, the sound of a propeller engine grew louder and louder, and then, there she was.

Bianca was gorgeous, gleaming silver with red markings, the American star roundel on her side.

The shining aircraft got closer and closer to the ground, towards the crowd, and just as she was about to worry that the P-51 was in an upset condition, the plane pulled up slightly, buzzing the transfixed people.

Laughing in awe and delight, she clapped with everyone, and watched as the daring pilot put the plane through a series of hair-raising spirals, rolls, dives, and elegant, breathtaking passes with such precision, skill, and ease, just knowing that whoever was flying that old girl had aviation in his blood as surely as it ran in hers; it made her wonder what her granduncle would say about how the venerable fighter was being flown.

Before she knew it, the demonstration was over, and with another low pass and wing wave, the P-51 flew off to land.

It actually took her a moment to come back to herself, she was so stunned by what she saw, and she knew she had to see Bianca up close.

After asking for directions to the flight line, she scanned the row of planes, eventually spying a flash of red.

She walked over, catching sight of a tall, mustached man a few years younger than her, standing in front of the aircraft, wearing a borderline-obnoxiously-loud Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over a white tank and jeans, stereotypical Ray-Bans pushed up onto his head.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” the man replied.

“Is this the P-51 which flew a few minutes ago?

She is a P-51, right?”

“That’d be a yes to both questions, ma’am.”

She chuckled grimly at the idea that her age was maybe showing enough for her to be ma’am-ed by someone only a few years younger than her. “Are you the owner?”

He scoffed, good-naturedly. “Nah, that’ll be my dad.

Hey Dad, someone wants to talk to you!”

A moment later, a man stepped out from under the P-51, and she’d absolutely be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch.

First off, if she had to guess, he was older than her, but there was something about him which made him seem younger than his age.

Then there was the fact that he was absurdly good looking—ridiculously so, in fact; impossibly raven-dark hair, mischievously sparkling, brilliant green eyes, and a physique that people half her age would kill for, all sinewy muscle, visible with the snug white t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin was his smile—God, it belonged in a museum, because it was a work of art, and coupled with his roguish air, everything about him screamed the most delicious kind of trouble, sending echoes of Whoopi Goldberg’s voice saying, “You in danger, girl,” through her head.

“Hi,” he began, extending his hand.

Luckily for her, she was quick on the draw, and extended her own hand, proffering a “Hi,” of her own, though she kicked herself at the fact that the next words out of her mouth were, “Are you the owner?”

Oh, well—couldn’t win them all.

His grip was firm and calloused, but gentle, without the cool metal band she expected on his fourth finger, quick eyes observing the lack of even a pale band of skin on the same finger, and she shook herself from the observation in time to hear his, “That’s me—Pete Mitchell, you can call me Mav.”

At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s short for my callsign, Maverick—I’m Navy.”

She nodded, “The emcee did say you were Navy, and that tracks; judging from that impressive demonstration, you don’t strike me as the kind who blends in.”

“Thank you—I aim to please,” he grinned.

Miraculously, she managed to ignore his brilliant, beautiful smile, somehow mustering a “Well, you certainly delivered,” before she introduced herself.

A cough from the younger man, Pete’s son, made her realize that she hadn’t let go of Pete’s hand, and vice versa, which caused the two of them to practically spring apart.

“Oh, uh, this is my son, Bradley,” Pete introduced the younger man, reaching nearly comically up to wrap an arm around Bradley’s shoulders.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley,” she replied, trying to recollect herself while her mind acted like it was the first time she’d interacted with a good-looking man.

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“I look that bad, do I?” she chuckled.

“Just the way he was raised,” Pete proudly said, patting his son on the back.

Embarrassingly, she just then remembered the reason she was here. “Oh, I—I actually had a few questions for you, Pete, about the P-51, because I’m writing a book, and I wanted to get some details.”

His eyes lit up. “Details about this old girl, huh?

I can do that; come on, let me show you around.” He moved to the side of the aircraft and gestured grandly. “Bianca here’s a Dallas-built North American P-51K, with a Packard V-1650-7 engine and an 11 foot diameter Aeroproducts propeller.

She was donated to the Civil Air Patrol in 1946, and I acquired her in 2001.

I’m not sure if she ever saw combat, because her military flight logs were lost, but I know for a fact that she routinely patrolled the California skies way back when.

Let me show you the controls.”

He nimbly boosted himself up to the wing and held his hand out to her. “Come on up.”

“Uh, is this a wise decision?” she asked, glancing between his hand and the wing. “She is nearly eighty-years-old.”

Pete laughed, “She’s stronger than she looks, and these girls were made to withstand this sort of thing, come on.”

Deciding to trust his judgment, she took his hand and jumped up to the wing at the same time as he pulled her up, causing extra momentum which propelled her body into his.

He caught them on the edge of the cockpit, and after a second, she realized that she was pressed up against his body, both hands resting against his…very solid chest.

She prayed that her suddenly pounding heart and the burning flush on her cheeks could be discounted as a reaction to her stumble.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, scrambling back to put some distance between them for her sanity’s sake, while trying not to fall off either wing edge.

“Eh,” he waved off, “that’s my fault, I should have said I’d pull you up,” as he shifted to kneel on the wing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied breezily, “I believe you were about to show me the controls?”

“Mm-hmm, come here.”

They slowly adjusted themselves into a configuration that enabled them both to see into the cockpit, and he pointed out the many gauges—explaining each one—and the literal stick stick, which looked nothing like the controls of any aircraft she’d seen in person or in the movies, as well as her general flight capabilities and technical specifications.

A further glance to the right showed something she didn’t expect to see. “I thought the P-51 was a single seat aircraft?”

Pete absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, “They are—I made a… few modifications.”

“Oh.”

“You want to sit in her?” he offered, gesturing to the pilot’s seat.

She was not about to pass up an opportunity like that. “I—wh—sure!”

He carefully helped her into the cockpit, and once settled, she breathed in and out while she absorbed this moment, and imagined her granduncle sitting in a seat similar to this one, looking out at the boundless sky. “Wow,” she reverently murmured.

“I know, right?”

“This is amazing, that aircraft like this is still around and still flying, I mean—this is history,” she said, getting slightly emotional.

“It is; she is.”

After a few beats longer, she sighed, and reached for his hand so she could get out, and he carefully eased her out of the cockpit, onto the wing, then both of them back onto the ground.

“Thank you, for showing me around, this was really helpful, Pete, I think this really helped me.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded easily. “If I may ask, what kind of book are you writing?”

For the briefest second, she instinctively recoiled from the idea of telling the story, but then, some part of her heart said that Pete Mitchell was someone she could tell this story to. “It’s uh, a fictional version of my granduncle Joe’s love story; he was a P-51 pilot during World War II, and he was in love with a woman in the French Resistance named Céline.” She turned to look at Bianca’s gleaming fuselage. “But they both died in the war; she was killed by the Germans, and he got shot down saving his wingman soon after.

I never even knew until my first year of college, when my grandfather told me the story through the love letters my granduncle and Céline wrote.

When my grandfather was dying, I told him that I wished they had a happy ending, and… well, he told me to write it for them, since I was an English major.

So here I am,” she shrugged, turning to face Pete.

He looked grave and touched. “That’s… that’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I have to admit, I’ve wondered if what I was doing was disrespectful.”

“I know quite a few people who deserved happy endings that didn’t get them,” he glanced into the distance, a wistful, pained look in his eyes. “If I can help at least two people who didn’t have their happy endings in this world get it somehow, I’m more than willing to help.”

She sincerely replied, “Thank you for the validation,” wondering what his story was.

“You’re welcome.

And uh… you know what?

Gimme a second.”

He leapt back onto the P-51’s wing, and rummaged through the cockpit, pulling out a flight log book and a pen, hastily writing something on a page, before he tore it out, and leapt back down.

“Here, it’s my number—if you had any more questions, feel free to call, I’d be happy to answer them.”

If she had been placed in a similar situation as this maybe twenty years ago, she’d have probably done something to embarrass herself, because this—things like this didn’t happen to her—they only happened in movies, but here she was.

He gave her his number—yes, it was if she had any research questions, but still.

‘Get a grip, woman, just because you didn’t see a ring doesn’t mean he isn’t in a relationship,’ she told herself, trying to project “Respectable Professional Woman”, while her inner adolescent was trying its level best to come out.

“Th—thank you,” she managed to get out, with only a minute stammer on the first syllable.

“I’m serious, call if you need anything—I mean—there’s not a lot of people out there who can tell you what it’s like to actually fly one of these beauties.”

“Be careful,” she chuckled, already determined not to call unless it was absolutely dire, “You don’t know if I might take you up on that offer.”

“It’s what I gave you my number for,” Pete winked, and she commended herself for keeping it together.

Deciding to quit while she was ahead, and while she still seemed like a normal human being, she came in for final approach, as her dad would put it, with, “Alright—I better go, I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

“It’s fine, it’s always a pleasure to talk to someone about this girl.”

“Thank you again,” she stated, honestly grateful, feeling the creative juices flowing and simmering in the background.

“You’re welcome.”

And with that, she walked away, exhaling evenly for so many reasons.

That night, she wrote and wrote just as she expected, and the story was flowing.

That is, until she hit another wall just before the next weekend.

And this one was even more stubborn than the first.

It didn’t help that she had written herself into a corner with this dogfight scene she was on—she had no way of knowing if the tactics were sound, and she was thinking of completely cutting it, but it seemed so stilted without it, and she had no idea of how to avoid writing this scene.

But one part of that thought, she realized, wasn’t true.

Her gaze landed on her coffee table.

The sheet of flight log paper with ten numbers written on them stared tauntingly back at her, daring her to call Pete.

“Nope, no, I am not going to do it,” she told herself. “No—absolutely not.

I’m sure he has better things to do than answer stupid questions.

No—I will not call him.”

The paper raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

“No!” was her battle cry, and she turned back to her laptop screen, but it offered no relief.

The depressing reality of her blinking, unmoving cursor cackled at her in harmony with the flight log paper.

It was like that healthy cereal ad from years ago, with the little girl in a prim uniform, enticingly calling “Donuts?”

However, after ten more minutes, the dictatorship of the blank page grew too cruel and harsh, and she folded like a house of whatever was more insubstantial than cards.

“Fine,” she muttered, snatching up the paper. “I’ll call, but if he doesn’t answer, it’s no skin off my back—I’ll manage… somehow.”

At least that’s what she told herself.

She dialed the number, heart pounding as the phone rang…

And rang…

And rang…

And rang.

She was just about to breathe a sigh of conflicted relief and hang up, but then the line clicked, and she heard a slightly breathless “Pete Mitchell.”

“Hi,” she blinked, cursing herself for not thinking through what she was going to say. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at the Apple Valley Airshow—”

“__, right?

The writer.”

“Yeah, that’s me, you said I could call if I had any questions,” she scratched her head.

“Uh-huh.

I’m guessing you have one,” she could hear the smile in his voice.

“More like a lot, really.

I’ve unfortunately written myself into a corner, it’s this dogfight scene, and there’s no way I can currently remove it without sacrificing practically all of my progress since last week.

I just need to know if the tactics are sound.”

“Huh.”

“I—you know, I can figure it out myself, if it’s too much trouble—”

He interrupted, “No, it’s no trouble, I’m more than willing to help, in fact… uh, this might sound—weird and uncomfortable—or—both, really, but if you want, why don’t you come out to my hangar tomorrow, we can talk about this, rework your scene if we need to, without having to do video calls or text or email.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything,” he chuckled.

“I—thank you for the reassurance, by the way—but I mean, that’s a lot of confidence in how well I can write a dogfight.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” he assured.

“I’ll just prepare to be ripped to shreds,” she half-teasingly replied.

Pete snorted. “Even if it were that bad, I wouldn’t rip it to shreds—I save that for my new students.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what’s worse, being torn apart or the porcelain treatment.”

“How about a balance, then?”

“I’d be very happy with that.”

“So… is that a yes to coming out to my hangar?”

“I… suppose it is,” she replied, before she could convince herself otherwise.

She was a mature, responsible adult, and she was capable of being said mature, responsible adult.

(And if time permitted, she was even capable of looking respectfully, when he wasn’t watching.)

(She was only human, after all.)

“Perfect, I’ll send you the address; I have to warn you, it’ll probably be a bit of a drive, is that okay?”

“That’s fine, after all, where else will I find someone with experience flying the P-51?”

“You could always try the local VFW post,” he joked.

“What are the odds my local VFW has a former P-51 pilot?

I’ll go with the expert I’ve already met.”

“Alright, alright, I already agreed to help, no need to butter me up,” he lightly said, humorously.

“Just send the address,” was her amused response.

And that was how she found herself on US-395 North making the three-and-a-half hour drive from her apartment in San Bernardino to the Mojave, praying that she wouldn’t somehow make a fool of herself today.

To be continued…

Next Part

Was part of this story inspired by Atonement?

Maybe.

I didn’t really have the movie in mind when I wrote the plot device, but I realized the similarity after the fact.

Analog flight computer

USAAF

Band of Brothers

The Apple Valley Airshow takes place every year in the town of Apple Valley, located in San Bernardino, California.

(I considered setting this story at the annual Miramar Airshow, which takes place at MCAS (formerly NAS) Miramar, but I imagine that Mav would probably want to avoid going to MCAS Miramar for obvious reasons.)

Roundel

I don’t think that most pilots would do very daring aerobatic stunts in a plane as old as the P-51, just because she’s a darn P-51, and she’s a flying piece of history, but this is Mav, he absolutely knows what his girl can handle, I’m sure he knows how to make something look more crazy than it actually is, and bottom line, let’s just suspend our disbelief, 😂.

Did I introduce Mav in that way just so I could use that gif?

Probably absolutely.

It’s a great shot, and I do not blame me.

“You in danger, girl.” Timestamp 1:35

All the information about the P-51 is taken from the information available about the model and history/registration of Tom’s P-51, except for the details of her name and the military flight logs being missing, as the history available for N51EW never mentions if she saw actual WWII combat.

She is registered in the FAA database with the serial number 44-12840, and her name since 2006 has been “Kiss Me Kate”.

(I know why she’s named this, and it hits something in my heart that Tom never bothered to rename her.)

Her name in this story will be explained later, but those who follow me on my main blog, @oh-great-authoress, might have a hunch as to why I named the P-51 “Bianca”.

The ad I mentioned was a real Kellogg’s Special K ad.

VFW

The travel time between San Bernardino and Mav’s hangar is estimated using the travel time from San Bernardino to NAWS China Lake, and then a further hour and twenty minutes from there.

Taglist

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@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

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@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[fleeting-sanity]

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Thank you to @swtorramblings for proof-reading!

He slept for the longest time in his entire life, dreamless. His body was still weak; in this year alone, there were too many times where he had to be rescued and nursed back to life. They kept insisting on repaying his kindness that way, which took him back to his own words of extending compassion to others. His eyes stared at his foot, and he told himself to not waste this chance.

But his senses told him that things were bad out there. He wanted to leave Dantooine as soon as possible, believing himself to be fully cured and fit to resume duty. However, he received a surprise guest early the next day.

“Hey. Just wanted to stop by to check on you. I heard from your sister.”

“Thank you. I’m touched you thought of me. Um… how are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m fine, I just found a lead on my objective. Also, Arn’s going to be Knighted next week, just wanna tell you that.”

“That’s amazing! I’ll be sure to attend and give my commendations.”

Tau chuckled. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll try to holo you if you can’t make it.”

It always warmed his head whenever he was around Tau’s presence, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, or her beautiful features. Further into their conversation, Tau looked like she just realized something. She hesitated for a second before delivering the news.

“Have you watched the broadcast? I can hardly believe that Vaylin is actually alive, after all this time. But I’m glad she won’t be a problem anymore. She and her brother might be sentenced harshly.”

To say that Riornivo was gobsmacked was an understatement. His reaction surprised her, and they were both speechless for a few seconds. The Barsen’thor snapped out of it, embarrassed by the figurative potential of a fly entering his gaping mouth. “I, um… she’s… alive?”

“You seem… surprised.” Tau could sense that wasn't the right word, but asking more felt like prying. The atmosphere turned awkward, when they were mingling with mirth just then. She bid farewell to her fellow Jedi after stating her intention of resuming her mission.

He had to take a moment to sit and digest the information presented to him. That was what his senses were telling him, he thought. Vaylin’s anonymity was never promised permanence, but he didn’t think it would be revealed this soon. Anxiety scoured his psyche, wanting to meet her immediately. There was another thought of how it came to this, which led him to phoning his twin brother. The first few dials failed with a busy signal.

“Red.”

“Can we talk later? I’m-”

“Please, Red. I know-” “I know you know. I think it’s best if we talk in person. I’ll come there tomorrow, don’t go anywhere.”

Rionnic quickly ended the call, feeling unprepared to talk about the situation. He was fortunately saved from follow up calls by his sister knocking on Riornivo’s door. Vyria immediately sighed upon looking at her brother’s facial expression. Before he could utter a single word however; “Hold on. Just… hold on a minute okay? Let me go get my tea real quick!”

Vyria returned as fast as she went. Seeing her face meek and frowny made Riornivo rein back on his intense desire for the truth. This would be a calm and rational conversation–the basics of being a Jedi. 

“Yeah, alright, okay, you’re going to talk about her. Look, before anything, I haven’t been on Odessen since I got here. This is all I’ve heard from Red. She’s safe with her brother. She turned herself in, no casualties–no fuss. I think her Mom’s with the grandkids. Uhh… what else is there…”

“Thank you. Please be at ease, Snowy. I see that you’re quite flustered.”

His observation was confirmed by her taking a big gulp from her cup. “Oh, oh yeah… one more thing. She uh, she doesn’t wanna see anyone. Including you.”

Riornivo nodded. Frankly, his reaction wasn’t what Vyria was expecting.

“Huh… okay, here's some advice you didn’t ask for,” as Vyria’s index finger shot up, her face relaxing. “Maybe this time, you should heed her request–leave her alone, and don’t play into your feelings for her, okay? Remember the Code.”

“W-what feelings? I’m just concerned–didn’t you say Arcann was there too?”

“Ugh, you’re so bad at lying. But you reaaaallly have to listen. Give her space and time,” and then Vyria got up from her seat to leave; “Oh, and… could you uh, bake me a Bestine Threeberry pie again? The one with the golden sauce.”

He gave his sister an affirmation with a chuckle, but not a second later it reminded him of the taste of Vaylin’s cooking. His smile faded. He couldn’t help but feel as if she was plunged back into the worst time of her life all over again, undoing the progress they both have been through. Whether the latter part was true or not, all he could do was nothing, and it corroded him inside.

Perhaps he should write her a letter. With ink.

The first few drafts stacked the refuse bin, but then he remembered to not leave any trace of correspondence between them. Every letter started with an apology. What he wanted was to clarify his feelings towards her, but the concept sounded a little too illogical for him. He tried rationalizing the resistance towards it by two fronts: that it was not what Vaylin needed at that time of strife, and he wanted to keep it to himself. Vaylin deserved more than a man such as him. He kept delaying finishing the letter, as life kept borrowing him away from her.   

But the letter was smuggled in anyway, now in Vaylin’s hands. She kept staring at it, almost going a full day without opening it.

For a cell so completely anti-Force, the lack of intense surveillance perplexed her. Was the Alliance undermanned or under-funded? But it was definitely better than her cell in Nathema. She recalled how there was no privacy inside the glass-walled cage–just another factor designed to break her will. There were no taunts, no torture, no experiments, no conditioning. It was more than she deserved, she thought. 

There were no visitors allowed as per her request, except for Serrus, who handed her the letter. 

Dear Vaylin,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite your circumstances. I want to apologize for the way we parted ways that day. I wish things would have been different… You’ve been an invaluable lesson for me, and I don’t want it to stop. But if you wish to not see me, I respect that. If it’s the opposite instead, I will eagerly fly to your side. You can always confide in me about anything.

Your nieces are healthy and loved. I visited Aryuni and Senya the other day. Understandably, they were deprived of the spirit and drive they once had, but I’m going to help them through it. I’ll make sure they’d always have everything they need without assuming Arcann’s role. Speaking of him, we talked recently about logistics and the reason behind your decision. Without talking to you directly, I can only take Arcann’s words with discretion. We’re working together with your defense team for the trial.

I know you want to be responsible for your actions, but I can’t help believing that you deserve compassion, or another chance living the life free of your father’s dominion and isolation. 

I apologize if my words offend you… or come across as patronizing. You are a strong, independent, insightful, and talented woman. The more I get to know you, the more I admire you. I treasure the times we spent together, and I thank you for being the person you are.

Warmest regards,

Riornivo

She scanned the letter repeatedly to look for something more obvious. It left her feeling rejected yet again, it was as if he was saying nothing while skirting around the subject they should be discussing between them. Of course, the news about her nieces and the outside world was a relief to hear, but it was nothing Serrus had not already relayed to her. She crumpled then threw the letter, annoyed at his empty yet honeyed words. It was unexplainable, but she didn’t feel abandoned this time. The people who mattered to her were all in her corner, and she was sure they’d understand her condition of wanting solitude. Especially that stupid Jedi.

She picked the letter back up, straightened it and kept it inside a cabinet.

Shortly after, a group of Knights and droids delivered additional amenities for her. Even without looking inside their helmets, she could tell that they were on high alert, some nervous, some afraid of her presence. The only words exchanged were that of the Paladin stating their purpose then excusing themselves.

There was an easel with art supplies, a holonet receiver, some gardening equipment, and a datapad. Most of these objects could hypothetically be used as tools for escaping, and she was sure Rionnic knew of that. But from her point of view, this generosity felt unusual for someone like him. Was it his twin brother instead? 

She ignored the new additions to her cell and went to sleep.

From the next day onwards, there were interrogations after another. She mostly spaced out during them, unable to disperse that foggy layer made of his words. Another part of her desperately reached around the darkness for the remorse she should be feeling. 

“Vaylin? Are you listening?”

“It was Arcann who ordered it. I’m just an observer.”

“And what about Voss? Exactly six months and twenty one days after the… five worlds.”

“That was me.”

She admitted to every single crime and atrocities. That wasn’t a popular move with her defense team, but they were aiming for damage reduction anyways. Those discussions with them were droll to her–she wanted to get it over with while leaning towards capital punishment. An instance stood out to her though; one of her lawyers had a wild idea of her seeking asylum in the Empire. He pitched the idea as a gamble: that maybe she would be feared and respected over there, instead of facing consequences. Another lawyer, a Neimoidian woman named Britu, laughed at that.

“You’re kidding, right? Don’t waste our visitation time. Focus on our case!”

She wouldn’t want that anyways; she’s had enough of being used as a weapon. When asked about Arcann’s choice, the lawyers responded by working towards a life sentence. Understandable, as his twin daughters still needed their father. The next days proceeded as usual for her; utilizing the tools she was given with. She painted an abstract piece depicting broken wings representing light amidst the blood and darkness.

Deep down, she felt a vague unfulfillment looming over her heart. 

She waited until there was a break from building her case to utilize the tools given to her for escaping. The note she left stating that she would return to her cell after a few days would probably be ignored, but that’s their problem. All of her escape attempts failed at Nathema, but Odessen felt like it was intentionally unguarded. Was this a ploy of the evil twin? To make her punishment even worse, perhaps?

Being a new master of disguises, she successfully got off the planet by sneaking into an aid shipment and landed on Dubrillion. The feeling of distributing aid to the people she massacred was indescribable. Her hands were shaking. A child amputee was among the ones receiving food from her hands. The girl smiled and thanked her.

“Auntie? Why are your hands shaking?”

It wasn’t just her hands, but her voice as well. “U-uh I, I just… haven’t had b-breakfast yet! Don’t worry about me!”

It wasn’t as if she hadn't seen an amputee before–the example was one of her own blood. But the sight and smell of the destruction did something different to her this time. The way the child hurdled back to wherever she came from, limping and alone. Her co-workers ushered her to resume the distribution upon seeing her idle, but she couldn’t function well due to the overwhelming feeling. She tried defining what it was.  

She was scared of those victims. 

Soon it was break time for the Alliance crew. Her coworkers barely ate anything, and instead spent the time preparing for more aid and helping the restoration effort–the latter had the most participants of the Force-wielding nature, including her. Her Knight disguise allowed her to freely utilize the Force, but cautiously so as to not alert the others of her power. Brick by brick, she reconstructed some destroyed houses and infrastructures. While most of the Alliance personnel retreated to rest their tired bodies, she kept on going. Throughout the process, anxiety never loosened its grip on her. It didn’t matter how many buildings she helped to repair, the dread would not go away.

As the day turned to dusk, she was again approached by the girl from earlier. 

“Hi auntie… we’ve been watching you for so long. Would you want to join us and rest? Please? Aren’t you tired?”

The sweetness of the girl’s tone made her finally stop. When the girl escorted her with the hand on her remaining arm, it made her weak. It didn’t help that the girl almost resembled her twin nieces. She altered her voice as best as she could to ask for the girl’s name.

“My name’s Aulia. What’s yours?

“Um… Syl. You can call me Syl.”

She didn’t dare say a word throughout their short journey to the encampment. There she saw children playing joyfully despite their circumstances. Some Republic soldiers were cooking food en masse, some medics applying tourniquets, some were preparing for a funeral not far from there. 

“He survived initially–for almost a year... Which is remarkable despite the lack of resources we have to help him. The last of his family. But we’ve let him know that he’s loved and remembered…”

The hushed eulogy she overheard distracted her from Aulia who handed her a bread. She apologized sheepishly, but couldn’t think of an excuse as to why she wouldn’t eat the bread yet. Undoing her disguise there would be like a death sentence, especially with how she was careful to stay in Aulia’s good graces. She prayed that the child would buy her next excuse: that she had to answer nature's call first. Luckily, it worked.

She planned to eat but not before finding a spot away from any eyes on her. 

Taking off her Knight helmet, she began eating the bread, which was stale. Every few bites, she kept rotating her head around, paranoid and jittery. It was such an effort to calm herself down–the helmet made things worse, but she had to put it back on before anyone saw her. 

But someone saw her.

[whatispersonalspacejyp]

What is the Story Behind This?

Genre: Angst Fluff

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Word Count: 928

Summary: Jisung met a mysterious person near the river. They meet every day by accident, and sooner then later they sat with each other while looking at the stars. What will happen when the scars and tattoos come clean? Will they tell or will they keep quiet?

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mentions of scars, tattoo’s, depression, anxiety

Original Date: 14 September 2021

Every evening Jisung walked along the river to clear his mind and to help his anxiety to calm down. Every time he did this he noticed a person sitting there, sometimes staring at the sky or the water, or sometimes crying.He did feel the urge to walk over and just sit there but his mind went against it, so another day he just walked by. But that day was not today, everything felt so overwhelming that Jisung just went to sit near the river and cry. It was all too much.

You sat at the river, the dark sky shows the stars clearly, making the water shine upon its lights. The depressed feeling had become too much and the anxiety made you feel like you couldn’t breathe while being at home. So here you were, sitting at the edge of the river. The silence and slightly cool breeze made you feel a lot more relaxed. You felt like standing up and just jumping in the water, letting the coldness consume you and letting you drown in your own thoughts.

While you closed your eyes, trying to fight the urge to calm down the thoughts, some soft crying was heard. You quickly opened your eyes and noticed a boy sitting near you who was clearly crying. You were certain you had seen him a lot of times here too when you were here. You quickly stood up and walked over to him and sit next to him.

The boy looks up with tears still streaming down his face. “I... I’m sorry for disturbing you.” You just gave the boy a smile. “No, it’s fine. I hope you don’t mind the company... I uh... feel like you need it.” the boy stayed quiet but nods slightly. The both of you stayed there for a while before he started to speak. “You come here a lot too right? I think I saw you a lot of times here too.”

You look at him and nod. “Yeah, it feels way better being here than at home.” The boy nods too. “I’m sorry for my crying. I just felt very sad.” You sighed. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Jisung nods and gave you a sad smile before checking his phone. “Oh I should get home, and you too. Uh, I’m Jisung by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Another evening while you sat near the river, completely enjoying the silence. You felt someone coming close to you, with a faint smell you knew it was the boy who joined you every day. “Hey. I’m actually glad that you are here.” You mumbled at Jisung who slightly nods. “Hi, and yeah me too. Anxiety is killing me right now.” You nod, knowing in the slightest how should feel. 

You stretched your arms, letting your sleeves fall slightly. Leaving your tattoos on display. Jisung pointed at a tattoo on your wrist. “That one is beautiful! Does it have a meaning?” You nod at him but felt slightly uncertain to tell it. “The compass, I got it on my 18th birthday. A compass always points you in the direction you need to go. And in my case, it means I will find a way out of my depression and anxiety. It also covers my scares, which I was so insecure about. So at least it’s covered up now with something meaningful!” Jisung smiled and nods. 

“Wow, that story makes the tattoo even more beautiful.” He holds your hand and then looks over the river. You had noticed the boy’s hand slightly shaking so you put your other over his, before looking at the river tAs you looked over the river you sighed. For once the boy was nowhere in sight, making you feel sad as you felt like a real friendship had started. You wanted to leave as it felt like coming here had no purpose anymore. But before you could, you could hear footsteps coming closer. “Sorry, I’m late! My mom wanted me to help her with something.” Jisung said with a sad smile.

“I’m very sorry.” He grabs both of your hands and pulls you towards him. Jisung holds you close while hiding his face. After standing like that for a bit he pulls slightly back and looks at your face. “I really enjoy spending time with you and I hope we could see each other more often. I know I can’t fix your depression or anxiety and you can’t fix mine. But I really want to be there for you and hold you close to me when things become bad.” Jisung had tears in his eyes now, it took him a lot of effort to come up with this confession. His anxiety started to scream at him of this being a bad idea when silence had fallen.

You looked at the boy who had stolen your heart without you want to. You took a deep sigh and moved onto your toes to give him a kiss. “Deal.” you looked at him slightly worried before hugging him back as he started to cry. After a bit when Jisung was just sniffing he started to speak again. “Now, I do believe you have some story to tell me.”

You smiled back at the boy, this time a real smile. Before starting to explain another tattoo.