#Convenient Lighting

[hajihiko]

buddy your countdown is changing from years to seconds

[royalkitchenware]

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[hinamie]

so just know, I'm healing / even though it don't feel like it

insp

[ominouspuff]

CC-1010

[human-rocket]

Guiding Light | 1.0 | 1.5 | 2.0 | 2.5 | 3.0 | 3.5 | 4.0 | 4.5 | 5.0 | 5.5 | 6.0 | 6.5 | [next]

Also available to read on Ko-fi and now AO3!!!

**Please do not repost**

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[morinuu]

Hello!!!!

I’m so happy to see your requests are open I absolutely love your writing!!

Kyoya x fem reader where they have an arranged marriage because it will help both there parents companies, and Kyoya and reader start to actually have feelings for one another, even though they weren’t sure about marrying the other at first?? Just thought it would be super cute!!

Hope your day/night is going well!!

hiii im so glad u like my work! :3 added a wee bit of angst turnt fluff cus why not. its not exactly what u asked for but i hope u like it anyway!

❄｜kyouya x reader where you're both forced to marry under your families' order. 1.7k words. this doesn't follow the canon for the events after the ouran graduation.

the noiret paced around his room in uneasiness. he knew one day his freedom would be cut short, he'd been waiting for that day, but he also had learnt to have the slightest, stupidest hope that his father's newfound respect for him had changed things.

he wonders, however, how he of all people could have been so naïve.

outside, the fairies of the winter had been drawing pretty little drawings of ice on the edges of his windows, as if to try and distract his racing mind from the events that would unfold the second he got out of his room. he was used to the noise of social events, the people chatter and the pressure of socialising, so this should be nothing for him, right?

right.

he didn't understand this feeling. it wasn't that he necessarily hated an arrangement for marriage, life would go on whether or not it would happen.

looking at the fairies' drawings of comfort one last time, he took a deep breath and exited his room to leave for the wedding venue without a word.

the car ride was uncomfortable. his family had already arrived so they weren't there to talk his ear off and the bride would come some time after than he did as the tradition goes. he had time left to think and contemplate again and again.

he looked down at his tuxedo. the bride requested that if she wasn't able to marry of her own free will, that she at least get to have her dream wedding. not a bad deal, kyouya thought. their outfits had been in matching colours, and both were over-the-top decorated. he felt slightly embarrassed at the outfit, but it wasn't anything too extreme in comparison to what he wore in highschool. the only concern was that his whole family and many important people would be there, though he swallowed that as well, as he'd been doing the entire year of the wedding preparation.

he'd met his fiancée plenty of times in that year. the first time they met was at his university graduation. she was smiling brightly standing next to his sister who rushed to hug him and congratulate him. he remembers her bowing politely and introducing herself, before his father stepped in to explain the situation. he remembers the slight surprise on her face at the lack of comments about his sons' achievements.

the next time they met was at a museum. his sister had advised him to ask her on a date so they could get to know each other. she was intelligent, charismatic, and he couldn't deny her face was pleasant to look at. her interest in history was a plus - at least she had an interesting characteristic.

their second date was a dinner at a restaurant, only the best to serve the ootoris. she'd picked steak and juice - quickly explaining she doesn't drink at the slight raise of his eyebrow. he nodded and changed his own wine order to juice as well. 'you don't have to do that!' she rushed but he assured her he's just being considerate of his fiancée. he never forgot how to be a gentleman.

the fifth date she asked to meet at a commoners' shopping mall to show him around. kyouya wasn't surprised by this. he'd learnt early on from his investigation on potential wife that she'd been adopted into the l/n family due to some sort of an affair. despite it being well-known, the gossip around the situation wasn't very clear, so he decided to wait until she talked about it instead.

at some point down the road, the two had become something akin to friends, and although not very close, y/n claimed she was satisfied with the bond they'd created regardless of its strength.

nine months later, he now is at the altar, bouquet in hand, a performative smile for all the guests to admire - until a beautiful woman comes through with her arm linked to her father's.

the ceremony didn't last long, the after-party however? most guests had already left but the couples' friends continued to act like it was the last day of their lives. the bridesmaids' laughter and his friends' drunk dance moves tired kyouya, but he was having fun, so what's another night sleepless?

a tap in his shoulder by his wife.

"you okay? you seem tired. we can call it a night." she exclaimed into his ear through the music. he'd read enough women's blogs to understand what that meant.

even if he wasn't tired, she was, and that was a roundabout way of telling him. what sort of husband disobeys his wife?

the second they got to their new house, y/n rushed to the bed and flopped on it like a sack. she had no energy to get changed or move, instead asking kyouya 'if they could complete their duties the next day, nobody was rushing them anyway'. kyouya he helped her out of her dress and comatosed with her in peace.

the next morning, nobody bothered to wake the couple. soon they'd leave for their honeymoon anyway. everything happened way too quickly and kyouya didn't know how to handle it. the weeks passed, and he refused to communicate any issues to his wife that weren't work or family related. he felt conflicted, but he didn't know about what. the woman lying next to him was kind, beautiful, clever. what right did he have to complain?

i mean, what did it matter if he didn't feel any connection in bed? why would it matter if she had a disappointed look on her face whenever he had to cut their time short? would it make any difference if he had an heir later and ignored his parents' whines about it? it was a tough thing to do, but each time he failed to satisfy his wife, it felt like a stab in the chest wounding his male ego. so did it really matter that he was away for long periods of time? it was a marriage of convenience, after all, and she wasn't missing out on anything.

she claimed that whatever friendship they had felt like it was dissolving because he 'didn't make an effort'? him? when he's the one working hard to make sure his dad's company doesn't make the wrong decisions? what does she know when she sits at home all day getting princess treatment despite being illegitimate?

"you chose this, kyouya." what?

"you refuse to leave your father's shadow." that's not it.

"maybe if you stood up for yourself, half the issues you're complaining about would be gone!" you're wrong.

he doesn't have free will, he never did. since he was a kid his life had been dictated by those around him, and surely you under-

"you're nearing thirty, kyoya! i'm tired of your self-pity! do something! i'm sick of this!"

it felt like yesterday when he saw his wife in her wedding dress for the first time. back then, he didn't really understand the concept of forever.

yet it had already been seven years.

seven years of obedience. seven years of keeping his head down. seven years of neglecting his wife to dedicate his time to his work. seven years for him to realise he was serving the ootoris. he was never on an equal level.

the issue wasn't his father, it was him. and on his twenty-ninth birthday, a snowy day just like his wedding day, with the winter fairies for comfort, he announced to his old man his retirement from the company.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything. let's try again."

you took his hand and embraced him. you knew your husband was broken somewhere inside him. you'd known for years. you'd seen how his family treated him, how they took him for granted. but no matter what you did, how much you pressured him, he only let you see specific parts of himself, and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

you refused to leave his side, no matter how exhausting your marriage felt. you rarely went on dates anymore, he never made the move to touch you, it wasn't marriage, it felt like... a business transaction.

deep down, you knew that that's what it was. you'd considered divorce plenty of times but at the end of the day, even if not your lover, kyouya was your friend. the man whom you ate breakfast with and lied on the same bed with. the man you'd seen you at your worst and gave you strength, and you knew you had to support even if he refused to let go of what was familiar to him. even if he refused his own happiness.

the sobbing man in your arms reminded you of a younger version of him. years ago, on your third anniversary when he'd planned a trip to chongqing because he remembered you saying you always wanted to go. during your two week stay, he got wine tipsy at dinner and eventually drunk by nighttime, spilling feelings he'd kept to himself for years.

he'd kneeled in front of you, furiously crying in your lap as he held your legs tightly, begging you not to leave because he could feel himself changing and neglecting his personal life.

you'd carried him to bed and admired his face as he fell asleep, naïvely thinking that this was just a rough patch and he'd go back to putting effort in just like he did in chongqing.

but the years passed and he proved to you his fears were legitimate.

"sure, let's try again kyouya." you patted his back when he held you in even tighter. "but this time we're trying counselling, okay?" you giggled, trying to light up the mood.

he pulled back and gave a tiny smile when you wiped his cheek.

"whatever my wife says." he caressed your hair. "let's stay married, okay? i don't want to lose you."

he didn't say the three words, but that was okay. it didn't matter much. romance could wait, because you knew you loved him more than a woman in a cheesy romcom would. you loved his soul, and you wanted nothing more than to see him bloom.

"let's stay married, kyouya. happy birthday."

it was a new beginning for the both of you and you had nothing but time on the horizon.

[cangrellesteponme]

i don't think wonderland is ready for those alices

[nerdynuala]

Lawlightweek Day 2

Soulmates

Hands close up and Red Thread of Fate

They couldn't have met any other way, it was their fate to meet like this.

[atsukunaritai]

and then the show proceeds to cut to the next scene where they've changed clothes

[bittercafanddatapads]

Marshall Commander Fox is scarcely seen without his iconic helmet, even within the confines of the Coruscant guards headquarters. The freshest of shinies usually don’t see his face until a few rotations into their deployment, even then usually in private moments and passing chances. The very rare occasion Fox eats with his corries in the mess hall (the times he actually has time to), glances of Fox in the medical bay being treated after a sideways operation (only after everyone else has been cared for by his firm insistence,) the training assessments he’s able to schedule and be apart of and participate in (swift healing to the pride of cocky shinies he calls to the sparring mat.)

Rather, it’s not impossible that he’s most often unhelmed in the situations of senate view.

Talking down antsy senators is one thing, and there’s numerous reasons why Fox’s number one rule for his Corries to follow is to never remove your helmet in senate view. The ability to decorate yourself and make yourself unique is a freedom the Coruscant guard gets to indulge very little in. They can’t decorate their armor for their own safety, and still enabling them the freedom to decorate their bodies and hair Fox is thankful he’s able to allow. But Fox’s mismatched armor isn’t unique to be hypocritical towards his own rules and troopers. It’s to protect them.

When a senator finds yet another fickle complaint about the troopers in red, they can’t discern amongst a selective Trooper to pin the blame. But in the line of white and red, Fox’s red and white armor catches their eye. There’s someone they can funnel their frustrations towards. Fox’s scars, hardened eyes, and graying hairs is the only face they’ve seen helmetless, the face they think about when building their ire.

[fisheito]

found a baby yaku amidst the Sketchbook-glitch-corruption wreckage..... wondering if he flipped skin tones between black and red and everything in between until he saw his to-be-grandparents (and started mimicking THEIR skin tone....... )

[cocofawn]

haiya sweetlings 🎀 .ᐟ how abt chu take a littl break . . ‘n make ur darling self, here ૮ ◜ᵕ◝  ྀིა .ᐟ .ᐟ

i had sho much fun creating these 🥺 fwirst one is magical girl xiva . . ‘n da second one is mi in a special sumones sweater . . eheh, guess who .ᐟ

nu presssure .ᐟ @satorisoup ﾉ @kenmakodz ﾉ @weskersdoll ﾉ @bbluefllame ﾉ @liilacwine + chu ꨄ

[chinzhilla]

what goes around...

[revivisection]

get eated, idiot

[endlessnightlock]

Regencylark! Part one of maybe three?

Based on the prompt, Evening, submitted by @mollywog

Under the weary gaze of Plutarch Heavensbee, Esq., Peeta Mellark completed his perusal of Uncle Haymitch's last will and testament and, thoroughly shocked by its contents, cast the document aside. "Can he actually do this?"

Heavensbee shrugged. "I'm sorry to tell you, my boy, he most certainly can. While you shall retain the title, either way, the money was not entailed with the estate. No matter how eccentric Haymitch may have been, he was in his right mind until the end."

Steepling his fingertips beneath his chin, Mellark frowned. "Well, this is a bit of a shit."

Heavensbee, sensing the beginning of a lengthy conversation on the tale end of a journey already fraught with disasters at every turn that resulted in him only arriving two days before the deadline set forth by the will (god rest his soul, though Heavensbee would have some choice words for the man if they were to meet in the afterlife), made himself comfortable in the ancient wingback chair next to the fire. He took a sip of the brandy Mellark's man poured out for them, forcing himself not to shudder. The drink was not of a good quality.

The situation was certainly a bit of a shit. It was apparent to anyone with eyes that Mellark was in no way prepared to take over the estate without additional funds to aid in its upkeep. If Heavensbee were to guess, the young man barely kept up the expenses of this house.

Heavensbee coughed several times, an indication that they had no time to dilly-dally. Mellark finally looked up. "Have you no lady of a particular acquaintance who is wife material?"

The younger man frowned. "One would think so. Unfortunately, one would be wrong. My whole life, I have made an effort to avoid society." He shuddered as if the idea of balls and theater gatherings and garden parties made him ill. "I assumed when the time came that I must take a wife, it would be after I had possession of Lord Abernathy's title and funds."

"How about, er, a special friend? Someone you keep company with regularly?"

"I have no mistress."

Heavensbee was beginning to sweat. This was going poorer than he'd anticipated. Mellark made it sound as though he were a hermit or a monk. "No local woman? A pretty village widow?"

Mr. Mellark stared back at him as if a woman were an alien concept.

"Anyone? Christ man, a scullery maid?"

There was a polite-sounding knock on the drawing-room door. It was Mellark's man again. The future Lord (perhaps penniless Lord?) made no effort to hide his relief at the interruption in conversation. Heavensbee sighed.

"My apologies for the interruptions, Sir, but you requested I let you know when Ms. Everdeen arrived."

Mellark's face lit up in what seemed genuine delight. "Oh, wonderful. Heavensbee, do you mind a short interruption in our conversation? It is not necessary to dismiss yourself. Simply a small matter to take care of."

No, Heavensbee certainly did not mind the appearance of an unmarried woman at the present time. "By all means," he said. Once Mellark's man was dismissed and the two were once again alone in the drawing room, he began his inquiry with delicacy. "Ms. Everdeen?"

"The local gamekeeper," Peeta explained, rising to his feet. Heavensbee followed. "It is a bit untoward having a young woman in the position, but her father before was renowned for his skill."

"Does Ms. Everdeen have a good reputation?"

"Oh, the best as far as I know. She is well-loved in the community. Highly respected. Not given to drink or men. She is quite an attractive woman," Mellark admitted, chewing the corner of his lip in contemplation.

Hope simmered in Heavensbee's belly at the younger man's admiration for any woman, romantic or not. A lot of good marriages began out of mutual admiration. Love was free to blossom in such situations.

"Tell me if you would then. This Ms. Everdeen---she is unattached?"

"I'm not subject to village gossip, Heavensbee. I do not know Ms. Everdeen well, except that she has a mother and sister in her care."

Heavensbee had to restrain himself from smacking Mellark in the back of his head. Simply in the interest of knocking some smarts into the young man. "So Ms. Everdeen is a young, attractive woman, most likely unattached, with an unmatched reputation."

"What are you getting at?" Mellark asked, setting his drink aside.

"My boy, do you not see? When one is in a pinch, such as you are, the deadline for your nuptials is tomorrow evening, and Ms. Everdeen sounds like your best option for a wife. If she is willing."