#Leia Tress

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2562- Leia Ruff Walk Cycle- 1/3/23  

[tantive404]

In the Hands of the Enemy: Tarkin/Leia darkfic

CW: noncon elements; creepy, obsessive Tarkin

Summary: At last, Tarkin has Princess Leia right where he wants her...

Caught and imprisoned in the Death Star, it seems the proud rebel is his at last, to tease and to torture...

But Vader finds himself disagreeing with the Governor's methods. Why does the young Organa seem so familiar? And why is he suddenly so protective of this... traitor?

Relying only on her wits and strength, Leia is unsure what to make of the ordeal, but she knows one thing...

For a rebel spy to have drawn the pointed attentions of two of the Empire's most powerful men, it can never mean anything good. ✨ ✨ ✨

" She glared at him– her gaze ice cold– refusing to be intimidated. 

'Tyranny,' Tarkin repeated, softly touching the Princess’s cheek, 'what a charming little epitaph… But tell me, my dear— what is it that you would prefer? How are the masses to be kept in line, without the firm hand of a so-called tyrant?'

Oh, how she seethed– how she must burn – to see her foolish ideals called into question. (And when they at last crumbled, he would rebuild her in the image he saw fit.) 

'Fear,' she declared, 'will never deter those who are fighting to stop you, Governor. We are not animals who can simply be beaten into submission.'

Tarkin merely smiled at her– a chilling gesture. How he longed to touch and tease the young, foolish girl– the way her cheeks flushed with passion and rage–

A stray lock of dark, brunette hair fell loose from those neatly coiled braids. Tarkin reached out and tucked it behind her ear.

(The urge to tug, to pull, on those long, thick tresses suddenly appeared in the Governor’s mind. Such a forbidden fruit. A warm little body, pressed so tightly to his…

Alone. In his offices. He could have her right now, if he so wished. 

Hmm. Perhaps… )

'You are terribly naive, Your Highness,' Tarkin remarked. 'Consider– throughout the galaxy; through all forms of life. Who are the ones that hold the power? The prey, or the predators?' "

[l0nglives]

"i dreamed of you." Space mom pls

leia hums at the little boy and runs her fingers through his dark tresses, “ was it a good dream ? ” ben is still small, sees the world with unfiltered and wide eyes, and the neatest part of being a parent is the things he comes up with. so she sits on his bed, waiting for him to rouse all the way to start his day. “ were there mythosaurs no, no, too mundane. how about a krayt dragon ? when i was your age i begged your grandparents for one. ”

[padmeandaloysupremacy]

This is a snippet of a Modern AU story I'm writing about with Anakin being a single father to Leia and him meeting Padme, and Leia trying to play matchmaker between the two lovebirds!

Rich brown tresses curled to perfection by God himself. Wide and vibrant chocolate brown eyes that brought out the indulgence of Heaven. Slim, toned, and curvy figure that was only missing a pair of bright feathery wings to ascend her ethereal presence to th--.

"Dad!"

Anakin jolted out of his trance and found the eyes of his daughter, the princess herself, Leia Skywalker staring back at him with an odd expression written across her face. Her brown orbs similar in color to the Angel's peered into his soul like she had opened Pandora's box and found something so extraordinary and outwardly that her tiny little head couldn't even comprehend it even if she tried.

Anakin took a deep breath to calm his nerves and answered his daughter's plea, "What, princess?"

No words came out of her mouth, only a chuckle reverberated from her mouth? Oh No!

Red Flag.

Code Red.

A smirk wider than the Grand Canyon stretched across her face, eyes glistening with mischievous intent, and hands fidgeting at her side in the way Anakin only knew as 'YOU ARE SO SCREWED SKYWALKER.'

Anakin closed his eyes and practically pleaded with God the Almighty, that whatever his daughter had planned will not lead to his embarrassment or humiliation.  

He doesn't want a repeat such as the time Leia planted a huge make-shift sign on the back of his car before he left for work which read 'Help wanted, need help cleaning my adult diaper, call this number, PLEASE'.

Anakin will never forget the amount of voicemails left on his phone with people who were actually serious in helping him. And the older women who were more than eagerly interested in helping him with his situation. Just the thought gave him a shudder.

"Oh, nothing." Leia articulated with mock sweetness, that would've been believable to most, but not him. "I was just wondering why your eyes looked like they were going to fall out of your sockets."

Anakin attempted to ignore her answer by turning away from her and choosing to stare at the clear blue sky above and enjoying the flock of birds who were currently flying in some intricate pattern, which Anakin wished he could be doing right now to avoid the inevitable he knew was coming.

"No Answer, that's surprising because I believe that it maybe had to do with the fine young woman currently positioned a couple yards to the right of us, who is currently seated on a beautiful quilted blanket possibly knitted by her grandmother and reading a large book that she seems currently engrossed in, moreso fascinated in. Am I right to presume that?"

This made Anakin swing his head to her faster than a bullet shot out of a rifle, and as he looked into her eyes with something accustomed to fear and guilt, she had the audacity to tilt her head at him and pout like she was suddenly four years old and jumping on his bed at one in the morning to go get ice cream.

The heat radiating from his cheeks was so warm, he swore he could literally fry eggs off of it and start his own restaurant chain to compete against Waffle House and IHOP. 

His daughter, Leia Skywalker, so inquisitive and such a pain in his ass.

Anakin did his best at calming himself and replied with an innocent look crossing his face, hoping Leia would buy his bluff. "L-leia, what are you talking a-about."

"Dad, don't play dumb. I saw you giving her the 'You are so perfect, I will kiss the ground you walk upon'  look."

Anakin shook his head in disbelief at the words pouring out of her at the moment. He closed his eyes to control his breathing and to take control of the situation. 'Grab ahold of yourself, you idiot. You are, Anakin Skywalker, teacher at the prestigious Coruscant University, don't let this 15 year old little dumpling be out to make you look like a fool to all these people here enjoying their day in this beautiful park.'

Seemingly able to somewhat convince himself about his character and integrity, Anakin found that he needed to coherently explain to Leia that she isn't some Dr.Phil and what she saw was just a misunderstanding and biased assumption on her part.

He turned to her and glared, "I d-didn't give her whatever you were calling it eyes, so how about you shut up, Dr. Lightman, and go back to painting your portrait."

Leia stared up at him and seemed to almost obediently nod back at him, which would have raised lots of red flags if it wasn't for the fact that his mind was in such a volatile state that he didn't even know if he was thinking correctly.

He needed to find something quick to alleviate the pressure building up in his brain, so he decided to lie down on the soft blanket atop the grass and was blessed by the immediate sense of pleasure and serenity that seemed to invade his senses and send him on a sort of trip like Alice from Alice in Wonderland.

His mission: to forget the Angel, Leia, and his problems.

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

As Anakin pondered at the noises of nature for the last few minutes, he seemed to realize that it got very quiet. Too quiet. Not physically like no sounds at all, but more so the fact that Leia hasn't said anything in the last few minutes.

He knew Leia to be anything, but quiet. He waited for the witty comeback that he expected she was coming up with at the moment, but he heard nothing, besides the birds chirping and the wind bristling through the leaves of the tall oak trees.

Anakin frowned as the quietness ensued and seemed to damper the tranquility he experienced not too long ago. He finally opened his eyes to investigate the matter. He glanced around trying to find his little princess. He saw that her painting had been left untouched and he started to wonder if she maybe happened to wander off somewhere.

A sense of worry started to fill him up like a pond and he frantically looked around trying to locate her. Once his eyes found what he was looking for, he couldn't find it within himself to fight the urge of not wanting to faint.

He found his little munchkin sitting on an exquisite quilt not too far from him, with her legs crossing each other in the form of sit-cross applesauce and her mouth talking animatedly with, HER.

The Angel

The goddess

The world started to fade

"It can't be." Anakin whispered. Leia can't do this to him.

He then sees a finger pointed his way and a pair of chocolate brown eyes peering into him and a delicate rising in the air to wave directly at him.

 He swore he fainted.

Actually he did.

[mrs-gucci]

Doth Not Fear, For Our Future Awaits {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

@babbushka:

Happy follower milestone my dear friend!! My prompt idea for your consideration: A medieval AU where reader is a lady in waiting to the Queen at the royal court, and Kylo is the crown prince who is in love with her. They can never be together...or can they? However you'd like to take this, if you decide at all, would be so much fun! xoxoxo :)

author’s notes: hello, hello! I’m baaaaack after a lengthy case of writers block 😩 my dearest friend, my beloved, thank you for this wonderful request!! I’ll be honest, I restarted this about three different times, but I’m very pleased with how this one turned out for you <3 @babbushka​

warnings (what you see is what you’ll get!): fluff. forbidden romance/love. passionate kissing. themes of infidelity. use of Shakespearean English. some insults are thrown around.

no tw’s :)

word count: 1.6k

my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka​ ​@mrs-zimmerman​ @dirtytissuebox​ @thepalaceofmelanie​ @einmal-im-traum​ kylo’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings @icarusinthesea @lumdelacour @readingreaver @eagerforhoney​ @trubluepensfan​ @beachwoodmonet​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or at the top of my masterlist.)

[NOT my art/image. full credit to the artist, therealmcgee, and found via Pinterest]

A gentle autumn breeze rustles the masterpiece of dark tresses that sit atop the head of crown prince Kylo Ren, who stands alone in the moonlight-illuminated garden. The birds have ceased their chirps and allowed for the nighttime singers to shine through, crickets and katydids creating a peaceful melody from amongst the grasses.

He stands by the pond, staring down at his gently rippled reflection in the water. A grimace seems to be permanently etched onto his expression whenever he’s in the presence of his overbearing mother or pesky new bride, creating creases in his skin that shall surely remain for the rest of his living days.

As he looks down upon himself under the soft moonlight, he can only see the miserable face of a young man trapped in the cage of a legacy, unable to free himself from the heavy chains of expectation and tradition. Tonight, though, those chains bear an even greater weight for the young royal.

You're all he desires in life, the only thing he wishes to seek out and fight for. Not the kingdom of Alderaan, not his new bride, not even his mother; it’s you. And now, he’s forever bound to the wrong woman, restrained yet again by the rigid ways of his family’s traditions.

What if he no longer wants to be Prince?

A hollow footstep on the stone courtyard startles him from his thoughts and he turns around to gaze upon the intruder of his serene privacy.

“I believeth thy new bride is awaiting that lady marital bedding.”

His expression softens upon the sight of you striding towards him, turning fully around to properly face you as you stand before him. He holds your smaller hands in his much larger ones.

“The lady shalt beest waiting for an eternity, then. I am doubtful of that lady did suppose pureness, if 't be true i am truthful.”

The two of you laugh softly together at his comment.

“I wanteth nay other, Y/N, only thee.”

You offer the crown prince a sad smile. “And I only desire thee, Kylo, but we simply cannot beest together. I am mistress in waiting to thy mother, the queen, and ye art did set to becometh king. 't is 'gainst the laws of the land and we shalt certes beest hanged if 't be true anyone ever did discover our love affair.”

He sighs, forehead pressing against yours as he looks longingly into your eyes. “I wish things wast not this way, yond people couldst beest free to marry for love, not for status or bloodlines.”

“Me too.” You lean into him, bringing your mouth up to hover over his, and his down to meet yours. Warm, gentle wafts of his breath smooth out across your lips and you give a soft whimper in response, pressing yourself further against him. “Telleth me all thee would do to have me as thy bride, Kylo.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, considering you’re barely able to breathe through your nose by now, with your face practically smashed up against him, but that’s the absolute last thing you give thought to at a moment like this. He opens his mouth and lazily attempts to capture you in a kiss, fingertips pressing harder into your sides.

“Gods, I would doth aught for thee. I would giveth up mine coronet, mine legacy for thy handeth.”

Slowly, your arms slither up around the back of his neck, feeling a familiar heat rising and bubbling in your nether regions.  “Telleth me more.”

He’s practically slobbering over you now, so desperate to press his lips unto yours. The hunger surges through him as he pulls you flush against him.

“I would square for thee, square anyone for thy love to belong to only me. I would drop of sorrow mine bloody, beating heart out of mine own chest for thee.”

Your pulse throbs neath your flesh, the upbeat tempo of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You sigh into his open mouth, hand coming up to grab hold of his silky hair. 

“Moo.”

Suddenly, he sweeps you up off your feet and instantly presses you against the side of the nearest structure, effectively caging you in with his massive form. He snarls softly, pinning you even further into the wall, forcing a quiet gasp from your lips.

“By gods, Y/N, I would killeth for thee.”

You tighten your grip in his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. He returns the embrace with eager lips, tongue prodding and exploring every cavern of your mouth. His pelvis presses right up against your lower abdomen, rubbing his stiffening length up against you.

“Kylo.” A sigh pushes its way through your pursed lips as Kylo’s head dips down, lips pecking at the taut skin on your neck.

“Did shalt we runneth hence together. I wanteth to declare our love to the kingdom tonight.” His face lights up as he holds yours in his massive hands, smiling. “I’m sick of hiding in the shadows, sick of having to keepeth myself hence from thee.”

You’re riddled with worry over this sudden decision, rubbing the strong upper arms of your lover. “Art thee sure? This idea worries me greatly, mine sweeting. What if 't be true we receiveth did doth catch? They wilt throweth us in the dungeons for sure; our destiny wilt beest but soft decaying down thither until death showeth us mercy.”

“I don’t care. Allow me to prove all I would doth for thy love and for thy handeth, Y/N. I wilt taketh care of thee, I wilt at each moment maketh sure thee hath't everything thee couldst ever needeth and moo. And we wilt beest together, beest free to love one another at last. Who is't cares whither we art or what our fates wilt beest? We can finally beest together without restrictions, punishments or secrecy.” He presses you further up against the wall, lips parallel to your ear. “Mine life isn't worth living if 't be true thou art not by mine side. Wilt thee runneth hence with me?”

Simply just the thought of that makes your stomach go a flutter, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your eyes flicker up to meet his once more, hands cradling his handsomely carved face.

“I trust thee, kylo, thither's few or none will entertain it path thee decideth to taketh; I wilt remain by thy side. If 't be true thee wish to telleth the kingdom, then I wilt telleth those folk 'longside thee. If 't be true thee wish to runneth hence from this lodging, then I wilt runneth with thee.”

Kylo pulls you close for one more embrace, then guides you along back up to the party. Acidic nerves begins to crawl up your throat as the two of you draw nearer and nearer to the bustling ballroom.

Instantly, the Queen rushes over to her estranged son with a frustrated frown on her face. “Whither on earth hath't thee been?! Thy bride hath been by herself all night waiting for thee to returneth!”

He takes your hand. “The lady is not mine bride, mother, not anymore. Y/n is mine bride, and we don't care what everyone thinkest of our forbidden love. I've grown did tire of trying to prithee, of trying to followeth all of the traditions of our family. I wanteth to marry for love, not for the continuation of our lineage, and i intend to doth so with mine beloved.”

Now, people have begun to look onto the unfolding situation, finding it far more interesting than the festivities. Leia’s eyes search her son’s, then flicker over to glare into yours. A shiver swipes down your spine at her gaze of hatred.

“Thee've poisoned mine son. Callet!”

This gets the attention of even more patrons and suddenly, every single set of eyes are focused on where you stand. You wish to simply crumble in this moment, become one with the Earth in order to escape their accusatory stares. 

“How dare thee speaketh of mine beloved in such a manner?! Didn't thee heareth what I did doth sayeth? We don't care what thee bethink of us, what any of thee bethink of us. We wilt beest together, coequal if 't be true 't doth take every single moment of mine life to achieve.” 

The room is completely still and scarily quiet, not a single shift in position or breath can be heard in this moment. Leia stands up straight to look up into her son’s eyes. “I at each moment did knoweth thee wast nev'r did cullionly to beest in this family. I'm ashamed to hath't thee as a son.”

Patrons begin to stir and an angry unrest drapes itself atop the crowd.

“Throweth those folk in the dungeons!“ One says.

“Death to the coronet prince!“ Another exclaims.

From the very back of the room, another voice pops up. “Traitors!“

Suddenly, Kylo yanks you towards the stairs, breaking out in a full sprint.

“Runneth anon, mine love! We wilt hence!”

Your precious shoes fly off your feet as you run behind him. “Kylo! Mine shoes hath't cometh off! What am I to doth?”

He’s quick to scoop you up and carry you in his arms, breath steadily growing heavier with your added weight. He runs all the way down to the stables and seizes a tacked horse, mounting the perplexed creature swiftly.

“Taketh mine handeth. Doth not fear, for our future awaits, mine beloved.”

With a bright and hopeful smile, you take his hand willingly, the wind catching your hair as rhythmic hoof-falls carry you off to your new life, one you get to spend with the love of your life.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Thinking about them movie scenes of girls doing each other's make up and hair and- just- ✨women✨

Like, I would internally die in bliss if someone like Leia or Jane would hold my chin in place as they fix my lipstick before smudging it all because they can't not kiss me!!!!

Getting Ready and Other Conversations

[Jane the Killer, Leia Sower (OC), Ruth Min (OC) X F!Reader]

[Warnings: like, none?]

[AN: I was gonna draw something for this but instead, I'm gonna write it.]

Jane smiles softly as she tilts your chin up, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the corners of her lips pull upwards. Her beautiful dark hair is pulled up into a tight bun, and captures the tresses so she can work on your face in peace. "Leia, dear," Jane begins, her voice smooth an velvety. "Can you go find Ruth?"

The white haired lady looks up from her phone as she sits on the bed, a brow raised as she turns sapphire eyes away from her screen. "What for?" She asks as she clicks her screen off before slowly standing, long legs finally being stretched as she hums in content.

Jane gently moves your chin downwards, her eyes still locked on your lips as she does so. "I want her lipstick," she replies.

Leia walks across the hardwood floor, her stilettos gently clacking against the grain as she does so before crouching slightly behind Jane. She rests dark hands on her knees as she squints to look over your almost fully made up face. "It's the blue one, isn't it?"

Jane grins almost devilishly before nodding, her head turning over her shoulder to show Leia her enthusiasm. "Wouldn't she be smashing in it?"

"Belle of the ball," Leia agrees as she stands up right and wiggles her fingers playfully at you before turning to leave the bedroom. "Ruthie!" She calls out in a sing-songy tone. The sound of Leia's heels falling down the stairs makes you smile gently.

While the two of you wait, Jane works on your eyes, the mascara brush pulling at your lashes gently. Never once do you feel scared or anything other than at ease in her grasp.

The bedroom door reopens.

"Blue lipstick?" A tall East Asian woman asks, her own pink lips curling upwards into a smile once she lands honey colored eyes on you.

Jane nods and holds her hand out, black nails reflecting the light from the ring light almost like freshly fallen winter snow at sunrise.

Ruth chuckles softly and makes her way over, hand already ready to place the tube of lipstick in Jane's awaiting hand. "You want me to do her hair while I'm here?" She inquires, her silver fingertips dancing across Jane's shoulder.

Jane thinks it over for a moment or two before nodding. "Please do," she says before glancing over at Leia, "and then her as well."

Leia feigns offense and falls back on the bed. "My hair is perfect the way it is."

"It's wild and unkempt," both Ruth and Jane deadpan before they giggle.

You roll your eyes before relaxing into Ruth's touch, her nails gently scratching against your scalp. "Is all this really necessary?" You ask before Jane's thumb gently rests on your lower lip.

"Absolutely," Ruth answers. "You're going to be meeting our boss for the first time, impressions count."

You look over to Leia who holds a thumbs up before going back to scrolling on her phone.

Jane exhales sharply, like a muted laugh before rolling the lipstick onto your soft lips. "The Slender Man is admittedly finicky when it comes to changing opinions on people he knows. If you made a bad impression on him to begin with..."

Leia snorts, "he's gonna hate you forever." She then looks over at you and sits up straight. "Speaking from experience."

Ruth skillfully braids your hair, her fingers working quickly as Jane finishes up the artistry on your face. "We just want to make sure he takes you seriously."

"But I'm not even going into work like the three of you," you say before rubbing your lips together, mimicking Jane's mouth before the two of you crack sly grins at each other.

"Different branch," Jane begins. "Just because you're not putting people to rest-"

Both Leia and Ruth snort loudly at this.

"- Doesn't mean your work isn't important to him."

You hum in acknowledgement, melting into both Jane and Ruth's touch before realizing they've finished on you. In the time you've been chatting, Leia tamed her hair and threw in a waterfall braid for good measure.

You stand up, feeling like a model before turning to look at yourself in the mirror.

"Isn't she lovely?" Jane hums, her head resting on top of yours.

Ruth's hands find their way to your shoulders, gently squeezing you while Leia's rests on the small of your back.

You feel warm, oh so warm.

[love-peterparker]

In Extremis || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After the reveal of Spider-Man’s secret identity and the release of Quentin Beck’s murder video, there isn’t a lot going right for Peter Parker. But he has you. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, protests and rallies, mentions of murder, a gun that is never shot, and some hair description for Y/N for plot purposes (but it should still be generic enough).  

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m first a Captain America and Agent Carter fan, and I wanted to recreate what makes their relationship so special, but with Peter and Y/N… ‘cuz I also love Peter Parker. I really loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, thanks to @marvelouspeterparker, @sinisterspidey (she actually has a blurb called I’ll Follow You and it builds off of Spider-Man’s identity reveal) and @stuckonspidey for answering my anon asks for general writing tips and Peter’s character. And @spideyspeaches with her kind words after reading one of the final drafts of this fic. Lastly, a special thanks to @peterbenjiparker encouraging me with this fic and for making me so emotional with her series Invisible String (Read this!... but only if your heart can take it) that I needed to write something. This story has nothing to do with it, but it does make some small generic references to her fic, and I would like to think that Y/N and Peter are soulmates in this story.

***

This takes place in a universe where a FFH-esque identity reveal happens when Y/N and Peter are young adults.

***

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

Peter rarely admits it, but you say it all the time. When you hit a dead end in the Avenger’s database. When checking for your gun before leaving another safehouse. When reaching for him in the dark of night.

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

It had been over a year since Peter’s identity as Spider-Man was revealed and the dubious video of Quentin Beck’s murder was released. But it felt like a lifetime.

These two Peter problems were like ivy. They rooted, twisted, and spread. Winding into chokeholds around their victims.

But heroes knew how to play with fire.

Peter’s identity was dealt with in a straightforward fashion. Plenty villains who would do anything to exact revenge on Spider-Man, but they would have to find Peter Parker and identify his loved ones first. And for someone like Peter? Well, it was going to take some time.

To you, Peter was lifegiving. A shining ray of golden hope. You fell to sleep and rose to press kisses into his face. To cherish and hold. To share tears. But to the world, or even New York City? He was a nobody, one who couldn’t even hold a steady job.

You all worked fast while the wicked played catch-up. The Avengers searched and wiped all, but ultimately little personal information Peter had on the internet, as well anything that might connect him to your shared inner circle. Everyone was given an Avenger’s signal watch. And both you and May opted to move as a precaution. May to Brooklyn. You to Avenger’s Tower.

The case of Quentin Beck’s murder was a much more grinding process. Through polished superhero reputations, the lawyers secured an Avenger’s Tower house arrest during court proceedings. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Peter’s favor was gathered. Press conferences were held. Speeches were given. And when it all seemed like it was too much for too long, you and Peter would lie in bed, arms and legs entangled, whispering that everything would turn out all right. Good will win. You just had to keep going.

It was taxing, but not impossible. And just when you all thought you were pulling at the end of the thread with the jury in your favor, the ground beneath you crumbles into nothingness. You spiral and crash into a labyrinth, lush and high-walled. Maybe this was the way out- oh wait, you’ve been here- or have you? You all turn and turn only to face a new dead end. A new set of incriminating videos were released. Spider-Man’s videos took the spotlight, but videos of Wanda and Bucky were also revealed. The streets of New York bustled in whispers.

Can we really trust these heroes? What if these videos are the truth?

And what happens when these powerful people think they are right when they are wrong?

When public protests against Earth’s heroes sprouted and jury members started to disappear, it was clear that the whoever or whatever was behind this had greater motives and powerful allies. It was time to buy time.

Everyone had tried to convince Peter to go into hiding somewhere else. Anywhere else. He had enough super-friends where anywhere was possible. Lay low while everyone else above ground scrambled to unweave this massive web of lies. But Peter was infuriatingly adamant that New York, regardless of her wavering loyalties, was his to protect.

So two months ago, he started bouncing around New York City, investigating when he could, and making polarizing headlines with every swing he took.

You tried to continue as if Peter was still by your side. After being terminated from your junior journalist job for “suspect ties to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man became your mission. You originally attended press conferences and rallies as moral support, but after Peter’s first awkward mumbles of a speech, it was painfully clear that he needed a new voice. The public herself needed a normal person who interacted with superheroes. Who better than Spider-Man’s girlfriend? But after the last kidnapping attempt and the Avengers’ numbers shrinking, it was clear that this wouldn’t last. The world now knew who you were too.

The thick ivy had caught up, and you were on fire.

But to hell with it because there was no universe where you would be leaving this nightmare without him. So the next time you looked in the mirror, you donned short red hair and heavy eyeliner.  

Days were spent questioning possible witnesses. Nights were spent in the light of a computer. And when you could barely drag yourself to continue, moments were spent staring at your beautiful boy’s picture. He needed you.  

You had only heard from him twice since he went into hiding, though there were a few times answered unknown number calls would lead to abstract rustling and distinct web shooter noises. To those, you always whispered “I love you,” before hanging up.

That was until last night, when you noticed small slip of paper in the crack of the window of the safehouse you had been staying at. Only a time and an address were written, in messy, but undeniably Parker script.

You spent the next day visiting arbitrary places in the Bronx, trying to determine if anyone was following you and collecting items in an unsuspecting backpack.

It was a balancing act between comfort and practicalities. An extra stealth suit. A waterproof jacket you both shared. Protein bars. Extra web fluid and a first-aid kit. A hefty wad of cash, just in case. And in the smallest pocket, things to help him in the darkest days to come. Letters from you, May, Ned, and your other friends. A few packs of gummy bears. And a picture of you and him, laughing in Central Park on one of your many dates. Sunlight casting halos on your heads. Bright. Carefree. Brimming with love.

Your heart cried and cried and cried, begging for those days.

But they were gone. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, so were the people in that picture.

You travelled to the building location and made your way to the rooftop. Rows and rows of white sheets were hung, all whipping in the wind to dry.

A small smile graced your lips. You had to hand it to him. He was smart.

You folded yourself into one of the corners of the rooftop, gun in hand and waited. Eerie silence slowly lulling you to…

You woke up to the soft footsteps, sleepy eyes registering a shadowy figure behind one of the bedsheets.

“Hans?” you whispered, pointing your gun with a finger on the trigger.

“Leia,” the figured replied, equally hushed. The shadow lifted the curtain. It took a second to register, but it was really him. You raced towards each other, quick hold each other, beaming. Today, you existed in the same place at the same time.

“That was so stupid. I can’t believe you got me to do that,” you laughed, pressing your face into him, holding him tightly as if he could disappear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, you loved it!” he quipped. You hummed in appreciation.

“True, but I love you more.” His eyes brightened at your confession, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I know.” You shook your head, smiling at his response before turning your head and taking in who he had become. Gone were the luxurious curls, replaced with a buzzcut. A pair of fake glasses perched on his nose in further attempts to conceal his identity. Hallowed eyes. His skin tinted gray from the stress. You ran your fingers through the fuzz on his head, massaging his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, eyes fluttering shut, with hands reaching to caress yours.

“You cut your hair.”

“You did too.” His fingers danced in the ends of your own tresses. A sad smile furnished your face.

“It had to be done,” you replied, before pressing your lips to his cheek and gently removing yourself from his embrace to get your laptop. “We need to get started. We’ve found a lot since you left.”

With his head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours, and your laptop on your lap, you recounted the on-going investigation to him. The deep web that just kept going and going. Your theories and suspects. And when that was done, you kept talking. How Aunt May and his friends were fine but missing him. How the remaining Avengers were fairing. Peter was oddly quiet, sharing only a few thoughts here and there, but you attributed it to his weariness.

As the sun continued to dip, the silences between sentences stretched, but you mustered more words. As if your sentences were the delicate string that grounded him to you.

“Y/N,” he interrupted. You looked at him and hummed in reply. He began playing with your fingers, eyes never meeting your own. “I love you more than I ever I thought I could, and I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done. And you’ve done so much. Like, I don’t know if I would have even made it this far without you, but here you are, and well, you can’t keep doing this.” You cocked your head, before shaking your head, hair rustling.

“What? Peter, we are getting somewhere! I just need to visit the-“ He lets go of your hand, fingers clenching into trembling fists.

“No, no more visits. No more investigating. This can’t be your life. When this started, we thought there was a way out. But it’s been over a year. Clearly whoever or whatever is doing this won’t stop until we’re all gone. This may never stop. I can’t have you throwing away your life for me. Hell, I don’t even know when I’ll see you aga-“

“Peter,” you cut him off, your voice pitched lower in concern, “Where is this coming from? We’re gonna make it. It is just a matter of-”

“I can’t give you what you deserve! I’m Spider-Man, so we don’t get to have a house and two kids! We get this-, this fucking disaster! I live like this because I have to. I don’t get a choice. And you shouldn’t be stupid enough where you are doing the same thing!”  

Your mouth fell open, ready to spit back poison when he looked at you. It was in his eyes. Behind the falling tears and redness was the glint of insecurity that Peter had always carried. This was the child whose parents died. The teenager who didn’t stop his Uncle Ben from getting killed. Who held Tony Stark in his last moments. The man who was on the run.  

The hero who would never stop giving to a world who would never stop taking.

Your thoughts frenzied. If you held on to him too tightly, he would resist. The more he would thrash, determined to save you while slowly sacrificing himself until there was nothing left. Your brain was frozen, so your heart gave you the words-

“Marry me.”  

Peter’s eyes widen before retracting into a tight furrow, scrunching his nose.

“What?! No! Did you not hear anything I just said-“

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. The one thing you never get to doubt in the world is us. So, I’m gonna ask you again; will you,” you took his hand, went to one knee, and let your voice soften as you held his gaze, “Peter Parker, marry me?”  

You both bathed in silence. His chocolate doe eyes boring straight into yours, searching for truth. The thought that maybe you had gone about this the wrong way started to crawl into your mind, but then a smile slowly creeped onto his face, bright red with blush. More salt-water pooled in his eyes. He pulled you into a near lung-constricting embrace, smothering wet kisses into every inch of your face. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could practically hear his thoughts as you basked in each kiss. I missed you. I love you. And oh my god, you’re here to stay.

“What did I ever-, I have no idea know what I ever did to ever deserve you.” A smirked formed on your lips.

“Is that a yes?” The gold stars in his eyes shined at your playfulness. There was the man you always loved.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes. I do, Mrs. Parker,” he said pulling you in for a passionate kiss. And you both stayed there, melting into the ground beneath you. Breathing each other in as moments passed. Tender “I love you’s” flowing generously from both of your lips. As if the world had vanished and all that existed was you and him, and him and you, and this understanding that this, this was a love until death do you part.

Peter was the one to break the string of kisses, leaving you to chase his lips before touching his forehead with your own. His breath hot on your face. “I- , if you go to my lab there is a secret compartment. In my desk. The code is your birthday. I was going to ask you myself, but then, well… this.” You chuckled as he stumbled on his words.

“I’ll get it as soon as I can.” You both leaned in to close the gap again when a cacophony of sirens and lights echoed in the streets below.

Frustration filled Peter’s eyes as he sat up. “Shit. I-, I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?” You let out a shallow breath, but quickly forced a smile.

“Go get’em.” And with the whip of his webs, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, taking in the new quiet. Your fingers graced your lips, still warm with the memory of his. A lightness had settled in your chest, and with every breathe you could feel it pulse stronger.

Because no matter what it took, no matter how long the wait, there was two things for certain.

He was going to protect the city. And you were going to save your husband.

[ageofevermore]

Nights On Naboo

summary: in which anakin is so in love with his little family. or, an alternative ending to revenge of the sith.

warning(s): fluff, mentions of canon angst, pregnancy, unedited 

word count: 0.6k

years ago, if anyone had told anakin of the life that preceded him, he simply would have laughed. in life, leading up to padme, all he had known was pain and ridicule. how a simple young woman with values of democracy and peace could change that all for him, he was uncertain, but simply knowing her had bestowed the brighter side of life upon him. knowing padme made him a better man; a man who thought flower crowns were the only suitable everyday accessories. 

anakin had known many trials in his life, most would argue too many, but nobody could deny that padme amidala had always been his serendipity. a safe place to land. the calm to his storm. fates intertwined the moment they met beneath sandstorms and slavery, only strengthening into something beautiful with time and space. a queen and a young jedi, creating eternal love between themselves and soon to be two beautiful children born of infinite affection. 

“what about luke?” 

it had been an otherwise still night on naboo, gentle rays of orange moonlight encompassing the gentle tenderness of anakin's well earned delight. padme had rested easily across his lap, a sweet millaflower crown braided into her silky chocolate tresses. 

“huh?” she smiled sleepily beneath the stardust, gleaming golden eyes captivating anakin, pulling his thoughts from the soft question to the delicate beauty of her features. “ani.” 

the young padawan, a man of practiced composure and traditional masculine poise, felt his cheeks go warm beneath her affectionate giggle. he moved to settle a calloused palm across her cheek, diaphanous love in his melted cerulean stare. he had moons in his eyes, and she had stars, yet only for each other were they so gentle. “for a boy, what about luke? it means light.” 

the young queen had smiled so widely at anakin’s sentimente, her eyes fluttering shut upon his airy caress of affection across cheek, the perfect moment framed them sweetly. “i was thinking leia. if it’s a girl.” 

“luke or leia.” anakin had matched her delight, lips splitting into that eye-wrinkling grin that padme adored. his hand trailed down to the soft curve of her belly, anticipation in his irises, “what’ll it be, young padawan?” 

— ☆ —

life had surprised anakin skywalker many times. when he was just a boy living amongst slavery and sand, blonde haired and bright eyed, he’d won a pod race. now, years later, after being taught the boundless confines of true love and happiness, he welcomes two children. a son, of the confidently chosen name, luke skywalker, and a daughter, as gentle and beautiful as his gleaming wife, affectionately named leia. 

until this moment, anakin had never felt so many paralyzing emotions. his tears leak into padme’s hair as he weeps, arms full of precious new life they created from unrequited love. her skin is sticky, gleaming with sweat and grace, and still he thinks her to be the most precious angel to have ever walked their universe. his lips conceal hers sweetly and needily until luke whimpers, a curious hand reaching from the warmth of the soft swaddled blanket and out onto his chest. 

a mellow cry jolts the young jedi’s chest, endless love overcoming him. he thinks of his mother in this perfect moment, how she must have felt years ago beneath the moon of tootine, holding him just as closely as he does the twins. life had a way of sneaking up on anakin, but this beautiful moment was worth the many trials and losses. 

“i love you, padme skywalker.” 

“i love you more, ani.”

“not possible.”

[spiltscribbles]

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

.-

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline?  |  Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

.-

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic  highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he  begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely  before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water  from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers  her  hair anxiously, tying the red main   into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically  scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in  only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush  that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind…  And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah?  Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean  toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks  before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams,  cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last  night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new  tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus.  “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer.  “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back,  blinking up  owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s  a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin. 

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly  the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before  starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into  Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge. 

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy  librarian is what   gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks—  loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.” 

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body  back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous,  I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply  because you had a royal scepter  up your arse that I wanted to replace with my  prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more.  “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. 

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah.  You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely. 

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just  for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by  the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

.-

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle  that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah,  whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git.  So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably  scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently  scorched into his every thought.

.-

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through  his dark, tawny curls. 

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference  actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a  small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring  for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to  nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now.  And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place 

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over,  already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over  Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging  inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says  with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you  guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

[ladyvader23]

Darth Vader, Master Hairstylist

This was inspired by @scuddington ‘s post HERE. I absolutely love Scud’s art, and this one just instantly inspired me! 

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

The first time Vader learned how important hair was to little children was the day Miss Laena took PTO in the morning for an important doctors appointment. 

He figured he had this. It was just one morning. No big deal. The only difference was that this morning, he’d be the one getting the kids ready for school. That wasn’t hard. He was Darth Vader, Sith, destroyer of Jedi and Rebels alike, Commander of the Imperial Navy! He could handle school. 

He scheduled his own meetings around the conflict, he’d warned the twins repeatedly that he needed them to cooperate, he’d made sure the night before that all was prepared. Bags, lunches, homework. 

Too easy. Maybe he’d reconsider Miss Laena’s salary. 

And the morning did begin smoothly. Until Leia came running to him with a brush in her hand. 

“I gotta be pretty daddy!” She shoved the brush towards him. “Do my hair!” 

Vader froze. He...knew nothing about hair. He knew his wife had been excellent at it. When had she begun to be interested in how she did her hair? He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen her in public without perfectly styled tresses. 

“You are a child. You do not need me to do your hair. Just brush it.” 

That of course, offended Leia. She pouted and glared. “I’m a big girl daddy, and big girls have pretty hair!” 

She literally forced the brush into his hand. 

Well. He’d mastered the Force. How hard could hair be? 

Famous last words. 

First, he was apparently not gentle enough. He tried to comb the tangles that she’d acquired overnight, and each time he did she began screaming “OW!” and crying. Horrified, he decided to instead hide the tangles and figure them out later. He pulled her hair into what resembled a ponytail and stepped back. “There. Now you will be late for school. Let us leave.” 

The hair wasn’t...exactly like it should be. It was crooked, and he wasn’t sure it was tight enough to stay in, but he didn’t want to hurt her further. And he was pretty sure she didn’t want him to try again, because she didn’t argue. 

He forgot about the incident shortly after the kids were dropped off. Miss Laena came back shortly before the end of school. He was in their home’s personal conference room, doing assignments from home, when he heard the front door open and the telltale sound of children running through the home. 

Miss Laena will take care of it. He thought, focusing back on his work…

Until he realized Leia was crying. 

He hated it when she cried. Luke, he could deal with. But Leia? Absolutely not. 

Shoving the datapad aside, he went to investigate. 

“I’m ugly!” She was wailing when he entered the kitchen. Mis Laena was trying to comb Leia’s hair and having a hard time with it. “I’m ugly!!!” 

“Who told you a ridiculous lie like that?!” Vader thundered. Leia was the image of his beloved wife. Both of them were more beautiful than all the stars of the galaxy. 

But to his surprise, Leia wailed harder. “Everyone! My hair was ugly!!!” 

“Your hair does not reflect how beautiful you are. Hair changes daily.” 

Miss Laena winced. “Lord Vader...many children want to feel pretty when they go see their friends at school.” 

“Leia is beautiful already. I do not see what the problem is.” 

“...She is beautiful, but she may not feel that way when she doesn’t like her hair...and other kids might say something if it looks...different.” 

“She is five.” 

“Even five year olds want to feel pretty.” 

Vader thought it was silly. Leia could have no hair and he’d find her just as perfect as she was with it. But judging on Leia’s reaction, she very much cared about how her hair looked. 

It was something her mother should have done. Had she lived, he had no doubt Leia would never have a bad day...or even Luke for that matter (sometimes that boy needed to run a comb through his hair, if Vader was being honest with himself). 

But Padme...was not there. And it was his fault for that. 

So it was up to him to fix it. 

First, he ordered practice manikin heads, the kind hairdressers used to practice. Then, he found online tutorials on the holonet. He watched them carefully, paying close attention to the stylists finger and brush movements. It was not unlike studying lightsaber technique. Both had a certain art to it. 

He just needed to master it. 

The first many attempts didn’t work as planned. Part of it was due to his cybernetics. They were...not made for the delicacy it took to style hair. The first few manikin heads ended up either with hair ripped out, or he’d grow so frustrated when he couldn’t get a braid right, that he’d throw the manakin off the balcony, where it fell into the lower levels of Coruscant below. 

But he was determined. He would not fail in this task. He would not be so reliant on Miss Laena that he would ruin his daughter's day again like that. 

He would be the master hairstylist. 

It took months (and countless manikin heads) to get things to where he felt he could confidently and safely try working on Leia’s hair. 

One morning, before school, he interrupted Miss Laena as she was about to help Leia get ready for school. “I have no need of your services when it comes to Leia.” He informed her confidently. “I will handle it from here.” 

He did not miss the concern that flashed through the other woman, but she wisely did not say anything. “As you wish, My Lord.” 

He entered Leia’s room. She was already dressed, though her hair, thankfully, was still a mess. “Where’s Miss Laena?” She asked, frowning when he was the only one there. 

“I am here to fix your hair problem.” He announced confidently, spotting the brush and summoning it to his hand. 

Leia did not hide her nervousness. “No, that’s okay daddy, I...I can have ugly hair today.” 

“No. You will sit down and allow me to help you.”

“No--”

“If you do not let me help you, I will ground you from your dolls.” It was an unfair threat and he knew it...but he was a Sith. He’d spent an unsithly amount of time mastering the ways of the hairdresser. He was not about to let Leia stop him now. 

Leia pouted, but sat down. “Be nice to my hair, daddy.” She warned as he approached, and he felt her genuine fear. 

Carefully, he placed a hand on top of her head and smoothed her hair down in what he hoped was a soothing gesture...and began. 

He first worked out the tangles. Carefully, in a way he knew wouldn’t hurt her. Once all the tangles were gone, he began to braid. 

The trick, he found, was not to completely rely on his metal fingers. Doing so would result in failure. The trick was to use the Force for anything that was too delicate and precarious for his clumsy hands. With a mixture of the Force and his own now well-practiced hands, he managed to braid her hair into a crown. 

He stepped back, satisfied. “You look like a princess.” He told her, and he meant it. It was hair that would make any royal princess jealous. He was fairly certain that Padme would have been quite proud of him had she seen it. 

Leia looked in the mirror...and smiled. “Wow, daddy! You got good!”

“For you, my princess...though don’t tell anyone I did it.” 

Having redeemed himself, he could have stopped there. He’d mastered enough to impress any five year old. 

But he didn’t stop there. 

Leia soon decided that she’d rather have him do her hair than Miss Laena (something he was secretly pleased about, though he’d never admit it). As she grew, so too did her tastes in hair. Occasionally, she’d be interested in a style he didn’t know how to do. But if she showed him what she wanted, he’d spend what little off time he had trying to figure it out. Once he’d mastered it, he’d try it out on her. Usually he was successful. 

Soon, he began to savor the moments when it was just him and her. She’d sit on the chair, swinging her legs happily while he worked on her hair. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t share as many interests, but when he did her hair, it seemed like it was their own “thing.” It was unsithly, and his Master would absolutely have a heart attack if he ever found out, but he didn’t care. 

Soon though, as Leia grew into a teenager, she began to need him less and less. But instead, their time together was replaced by him teaching her how to do her own hair. He’d always dreamed of teaching his children the ways of the Force, but with Sidious suspicious of that ever happening, he knew this would probably be the closest thing he could get for Leia. 

For now. 

One day, as Leia finished braiding her hair so that it looked like a blooming flower for a Imperial youth party, she paused. “You know. I’ve never told anyone you learned how to do hair.” She said. 

“That is wise.” He tried not to think of what the media would say if they ever found out Darth Vader knew almost as much about hair as any professional hairstylist. 

“Why? I mean. You’re...you.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. She’d grown to be so beautiful, exactly like her mother. And he decided to be honest. 

“Because your mother was not here to do it for you.” He replied. “I did not want you to miss out on that experience.” 

Leia turned, taking him in for a moment. Then, with a smile, she reached out and gave him a rare hug. 

He...allowed it. This time. 

“Thanks dad.” She said. “You’re the best. I don’t care what anyone else says.” 

He didn’t understand how him being good at hair made him the best…

But he’d accept it.

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

I accept PROMPTS for this or any SW AU! 

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2068-Leia- 6/ 5/21

Character design concept

[morganas-pendragons]

Dancing With Your Ghosts | Prologue

This story features an OC of mine - Emma Skywalker - who is married to Luke and was the daughter of Obi-Wan. Her mother is also mentioned. For sake of it, she and Leia are Generals who oversee The Rebellion. The Jedi!Reader has psychometry. 

This is my first clone related series besides Child Soldiers (which, so you know, is getting updated soon) and I asked who’d like to be tagged because I am so excited to write it! I know clone fic isn’t super.. in demand at the moment, but I haven’t felt motivated to write for them in forever, so I hope this gives those of you who are here something to say about it!

if you’d like to be tagged, let me know!

tag: @nelba / @mickeymouse-moshpit​/ @iamassbuttkingofhell / @majorshiraharu / @fractiouskat​ / @libradusk​ / @generic-geek-girl​ / @obi-bae-kenobi​ / @sacred-things​ / @midnightredemption​ / @thatbitchfromkamino​ / @captainrexsbiggesthoe​ / @littlevodika​

It’s a quiet day when Emma receives the intel about the clone trooper. He’s been asleep in cryo-stasis for fifty years. Worlds have come and gone since he went to sleep. People have turned to ash and have bid this galaxy farewell. 

His brothers. All of them. 

The men who died for a lie. 

The reports call him Kix. You hadn’t been apart of the retrieval team sent to the wreckage of the Separatist ship when Emma and Leia had been sent the data about him. You knew nothing except what you’d read in his report that had been composed before the fall of the Old Republic. 

CLONE TROOPER KIX - CT 6116

MEDIC TO THE 501ST ATTACK LEGION 

JEDI GENERAL: ANAKIN SKYWALKER 

SUSPECTED TREASON AGAINST CHANCELLOR PALPATINE 

STATUS: MIA 

commentary from his jedi: Kix is the best medic I have seen during the entire war. Attentive and intuitive, his sharp mind and even softer heart have gotten many of my men through their injuries and back onto the front lines of the battlefield. He gives so much of himself that we often forget he’s just as breakable as the rest of us. - a.t. 

another side note from his ‘’other’’ jedi: rex said if kix doesn’t sleep tonight, i’m to drug him - how? who knows, we are not cowards here - but i see his concern, kix doesn’t know how to take care of himself - a.t.

BONUS: He really just needs to be reminded to take care of himself. One of the best men and medics the GAR has. 

You ran your fingertips over the picture that was displayed on your data pad. He seemed.. sweet. Haunted. Innocent. Like the war had made him into who he was.. and he had never really gotten to be anything other then that. Kix was supposed to be someone who saved people. 

He couldn’t save everyone. 

You understood that better then most. 

  “You tighten your fingers around that saber anymore then you already are, and you’re going to have sore fingers.” Emma lightly teased as she joined your side where you stood waiting in the hangar. General Skywalker had taken you on as her Apprentice upon meeting you on (insert planet) and having seen your skill with a blade. All you had of your former life was your saber and your name. “Are you alright, vod’ika?” 

Her father had been fluent in Mando’a, and so had she. It was only logical that she passed it onto you. 

  “I worry about this clone.” You murmur. You often wonder how the Jedi of Old were able to walk throughout their lives without having any attachment - because now here you stand mere moments away from meeting a man, a legend, who is going to wake up and realize how alone he is - and the thought of Kix being lost in a world so unlike the one he came from makes your heart ache. “I’ve been lost in the galaxy before.. before you found me, General.” 

  “You have an unique gift.” Emma replied. “Psychometry was rare in the times of the Jedi Order, and your gift proves extremely beneficial to The Rebellion. You’ve made quite good progress since you arrived.” She nodded in the direction of the shuttle Poe and Finn had taken for the retrieval as the wings leveled and the wheels settled onto the landing platform. “I have high hopes for this clone just as I did for you. I imagine he’ll be the same.” 

He’s not a clone. 

You watch, expression contorted by your nerves, as the ramp descends and several technicians - along with the small contingent of soldiers who had accompanied Poe - gingerly move a hovering cryo-stasis chamber out into the open. 

He’s a man. 

Emma calls something out to Poe and the technicians on site as the pod lid opens. All the people present wait with baited breath for the hibernating clone within to stir and be welcomed back into the world. 

A brand new world. 

It’s hard to hide your gasp of surprise at the sight of the man who slowly sits up at the waist and peers around the hangar like a newborn child coming into the world. Dark tresses hang around his brow bone and frame sharp onyx eyes that are surveying the hangar as if he is trying to assess his surroundings and where he is. 

And then his eyes recognize the sight of people. Humans. 

  “Where am I?” He calls out. You stiffen at your sudden urge to rush forward and grasp his arm so his legs don’t give out, but Emma stops you and takes a tentative step forward. The two of you had spent a considerable amount of time talking about her past and her father’s dedication to his battalion during The Clone War. Emma Kenobi-Skywalker had grown up in a little hut with two legends - a mother and father who had lived and breathed for their Order and for each other - that had whispered stories of their fallen friends and soldiers, brothers in arms, underneath a blanket of stars. “This isn’t Anaxes.” 

  “You’re in The Rebel base, trooper.” Emma said. “Can you tell me your name?” 

  “Designation CT-6116-” 

  “No.” She shakes her head, and that’s Kix’s first clue that this jeti in front of him is not the typical jeti he encountered during the war. “I will not lower you to your designation number. I asked you your name.” 

He hesitates for a minute. You recognize that look. It’s one that only appears in what you believe to be a threat on your life. You are in enemy territory and one slip up costs you everything. 

You intend to ensure that he doesn’t believe that to be the case here. That he woke up in a new world, that he is safe, and he can fight in this war if he so chooses to. You refuse to let the Generals coerce him into fighting another war that isn’t his to fight. 

  “Kix. My name is Kix.” 

Emma smiles then. “It’s nice to meet you, baar’ur.” She greets, pushing loose blonde hair behind her shoulders as she slowly approaches where he stands trembling beside the pod that has kept him safe since the ship he was captured on crashed. “My name is Emma. Emma Skywalker.” 

Your eyes catch Kix’s then. His own flicker to the lightsabers fastened on your hips and then slowly shift back to General Skywalker who has yet to show a glimpse of reluctance in her expression. She is nothing but open and welcome to him. Something he will desperately need. 

  “Are you..” He swallows the knot in his throat. It’s still such a sore topic to remember his aliit. He just needs to get back to them- “Are you related to Anakin Skywalker?” 

  “He was my father’s best friend. My father was Obi-Wan Kenobi and my mother was Opal Stone.” Kix’s eyes flood with tears that he struggles to keep contained at the mention of a jeti who had been his best friend throughout nearly the entire war. Opal Kenobi would’ve gone to hell and back to keep him and his vode safe. “You can call me Emma.” 

Breathless and awed by how composed he is, you keep walking forward despite Poe’s insistent call of your name, and you remove your gloves to lay your fingertips against Kix’s armor. You cannot see the past - or the story - of the person you touch without there being something for you to pull the memories from. 

  “No, wait-” 

Clone armor has hundreds if not thousands of memories written into its design. Bloodshed and brokenness and the rattling, rasping cries of dying brothers as they fumble for grasps on their vode’s armor and suddenly lose their ability to breathe. 

When you touch Kix - the clone medic pulled from time itself - the world around you disappears, and you’re thrown right into the devastation of The Clone Wars. Psychometry really is a fascinating Force ability at its root because of how unpredictable it is, but even in spite of that, you are still privy to some of the most devastating events you have ever seen in your life. There is laughter and joy, sorrow and heartbreak, funeral pyre upon funeral pyre on a world so overcome by shadow that you can hardly see the fires that are lit, the anguish of a brother and the blood that stains his hands. 

And then there’s nothing but screaming and the cold. 

Kix jerks backward like he’s been burnt. So do you. 

   “Jedi, what did you see?” 

You don’t even react to the fact he called you a Jedi. You’ve tried your best to carry on the legacy of a long dead religion because it gave you a purpose in this world, a purpose in this fight against The First Order.. but you consider yourself a poor imitation compared to the figures swathed in Light that you’d seen running through Kix’s memories. 

Because despite the darkness and the fire and the overwhelming torture that has been his entire existence, Kix has always felt one thing inside. 

It’s what he had to be in the face of the war. War is not kind to those who are soft hearted. 

  “Te ciryc bal te dha.” 

The cold and the dark. 

[lettadalokislayter]

If anyone from Disney is watching, I’d really like Bloodline or Leia, Princess of Alderaan made into an animated series, preferably with the Galaxy of Adventures art style.

My ideas for the voice actors of characters of Bloodline would be:

-Rinnrivin played by Werner Herzog (he’s just creepy enough to be admirable and he’s got that Tarkin on crack vibe)

-Ransolm Casterfo by Peter Serafinowicz (You probably know him as Lord Covington from Parks and Rec. Smart, young, and definitely the sort of dude to geek out over Empire stuff)

-Greer Sonnel by Lauryn McClain (she’d just be mwah *chefs kiss*)

-Lady Carise by Tress MacNeille (Need I say more about the voice legend Tress?)

-Joph Seastriker by Jake Johnson (as close to Poe Dameron as I could get without it flat out being Oscar Isaac).

As for Leia and Han, that’s tricky. I really think Claudia did a good job of voicing her in the audiobook, but perhaps that role might be better suited for Billie Lourd, if she’d want to. Han’s a toss up.

[nezumionice]

a prompt from my friend: reylo second kiss? No urgency. No life/death. No *deep sigh* "gratitude"

the next time they kiss, the sky is as black as his hair, and the stars are as bright as her eyes.

she finds him hidden away from the triumphant chaos of the resistance's victory celebrations, away from the sloshing of exotic alcohol and away from prying malicious eyes who want his blood in return for the people he'd killed as kylo ren.

he's crouched over his mother's grave, head bowed against his clasped hands as if in prayer.

the sight alone breaks her heart.

it's not until she starts drawing closer to him that she realises he's speaking softly to himself - no, to leia.

"you did so much for me," ben sniffles into his palms. "i'm sorry i wasn't there for you."

something tells her she's intruding on something private, so she begins to retreat, her eyes blurring with tears-

"stay." he doesn't turn around and his voice comes out as a whisper, yet a desperate plea all the same.

so she stays. crouches down beside him and soothes a tentative hand down his back.

"the force will be with her," she says, above the wind in the trees and the fragile tremor in his force signature. a vase of memories threatening to crack and overflow.

he finally lifts his head to look at her, and her first tears fall as she sees the way his eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, his lip trembling like it holds back all the words, all the love, that snoke and palpatine had bottled up inside him.

"i wish i got a chance to tell her," he says, and his voice breaks along with his heart. "i wish- i wish she knew."

rey turns fully towards him now, lifting her hands to cradle either side of his tear stained face.

"she knows," she finds herself whispering back to him, swiping away another tear leaking down the corner of his eye. "she knows."

she feels a breath hitch in ben's throat as he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against her chest.

"what do you need, love?" she murmurs, running a hand through tresses of his space black hair.

"just hold me," he whimpers, and she does.

after a long, easing moment, he lifts his head again. she barely has time to look down at him, to catch his deep brown eyes in hers, sparkling gold flecks of light from the faraway celebrations, before he leans up and kisses her.

he tastes of tears and truth and all the hope in the galaxy (it is, after all, his namesake), the way he's moving his lips against hers elicits some kind of longing. it's nothing like how they'd kissed on exegol, not just short and sweet and spontaneous.

no, he kisses her like they have all the time in the world, like the force permits them a new beginning to make up for everyone they'd lost. he kisses her like they're finally allowed to love.

and that's all they've both ever wanted.

that's what leia would have wanted too.

[gifms]

                                        hi  pals  !  this  is  super  late  per  usual  because  i’m  a  #hotmess  ,  but  i  can’t  wait  to  interact  with  you  all  !  i’m  leia  (  she/her  )  &  i’ve  pretty  much  had  the  weeknd’s  new  album  on  repeat  .  i’ve  never  played  isabella  before  ,  but  she  fits  georgia’s  vibe  perfectly  !  under  the  cut  is  everything  you  need  to  know  about  my  lil’  southern  belle  .  pls  smash  that  ❤️ if  you���d  like  to  plot  --  either  on  ims  or  discord  ,  i’m  not  picky  !  

#triggers  :  drinking  /  infedelity

hey  GEORGIA  BUCHANAN  ,  welcome  to  dillon  university  .  has  anyone  ever  told  you  you’re  ISABELLA  JONE ’s  twin  ?  no  ?  well  okay  ,  i  heard  you  are  TWENTY-ONE  &  a  JUNIOR  at  the  university  .  we  hope  PHOTOGRAPHY  isn’t  kicking  your  ass  too  much  ,  especially  since  you’re  the  COACH’S DAUGHTER  .  see  you  at  the  next  game  ,  GI  & cis  female  +  she/her  .

i.         a  halo  of  blonde  tresses  framing  an  angelic  face  ,  georgia  may  buchanan  looked  like  the  doll  her  parents  wished  for  every  day  until  her  arrival  .    her  father  ,  the   current  football  coach  at  dillon  university  ,  doted  on  her  affectionately  –  daddy’s  little  girl  always  nabbing  the  top  spot  in  his  heart  .  her  mother  ,  a  former  pageant  queen  obsessed  with  the  ideal  of  skin  deep  beauty  ,  taught  her  the  isms  of  being  a  buchanan  girl  .

ii.        like  mother  like  daughter  ,  georgia  became  a  beauty  queen  –  working  her  way  through  child  pageants  to  state  until  the  age  of  sixteen  .  her  dreams  of  winning  on  the  basis  of  adoration  alone  ,  a  poison  fed  to  her  from  a  silver  spoon  .  her  mother  lived  vicariously  through  her  ,  determined  to  improve  her  past  through  georgia  ,  her  future  .  &  for  a  time  ,  charlotte  found  herself  desiring  just  that  –  the  planted  seed  of  envy  watered  whenever  a  loss  took  a  stab  at  her  ego  .

iii.          her  mother’s  unholiness  :  lust  ,  unable  to  contain  the  proper  southern  charm  that  oozed  from  her  with  every  sickly  sweet  smile  .  the  hook  up  merely  beginning  as  a  means  to  bribe  a  judge  ,  to  ensure  that  georgia  won  .  it  never  ended  ,  their  tryst  turning  into  a  full  blown  affair  –  kept  under  wraps  as  cherilyn  buchanan  found  the  one  thing  she  desired  the  most  :  to  feel  young  again  .

iv.         her  father’s  unholiness  :  pride  ,  eager  hands  unwrapping  his  wife’s  affair  like  a  present  he  never  wanted  .  the  decision  to  remain  together  born  out  of  their  love  for   georgia  ,  the  two  hiding  their  fights  behind  closed  doors  as  the  spark  between  them  fizzled  out  .  kisses  were  reserved  for  the  public  only  ,  the  marriage  merely  proven  by  a  piece  of  paper  .

v.         slowly  ,  her  life  begins  to  unravel  from  perfection  to  tatters  .  for  a  couple  years  after  ,  georgia  never  understood  why  her  father  traded  quality  time  with  her  for   coaching  .  he  always  had  an  excuse  ,  work  his  top  priority  .  her  mother  played  it  off  ,  he  was  a  busy  man  &  georgia  had  other  prospects  to  look  forward  to  –  worry  creates  frown  lines  .

vi.       one  night  ,  georgia  accidentally  stumbled  upon  the  truth  –  her  mother’s  transgressions  the  reason  for  the  sudden  change  that  occurred  between  her  &  her  father  .  it  was  too  much  for  him  ,  a  heartache  each  time  he  looked  at  her  :  the  spitting  image  of  her  mother  in  almost  every  way  .  georgia  internalized  her  resentment  ,  unable  to  change  &  envious  for  what  she  could  no  longer  have  .

vii.        after  the  revelation  ,  all  georgia  wanted  was  to  find  a  way  to  steal  her  father’s  affection  back  .  it  started  innocent  ,  dying  her  golden  locks  to  brunette  .  much  to  her  mother’s  protest  ,  georgia  quit  pageants  &  traded  in  her  new  found  free  time  for  late  night  escapades  .  when  shedding  her  babydoll  persona  for  one  more  perverse  didn’t  work  ,  georgia  tried  harder  as  she  went  from  stumbling  home  tipsy  to  being  drunk   more  often  than  sober  .

viii.        at  eighteen  ,   georgia   found   success  as  her  father  took  on  a  new  coaching  position  at  dillon  university  .  he  insisted  she  attended  as  a  means  to  keep  an  eye  on  her  ,  her  behavior  ,  as  of  late  ,  unacceptable  .  with  the  separation  from  her  mother  ,  georgia  thought  their  relationship  would  improve  --  always  showing  up  to  games  &  refusing  to  join  the  cheerleading  squad  as  a  sign  that  she  was  different  from  her  mother  .  yet  ,  vying  for  her  father’s  attention  seemed  to  be  the  new  norm  . 

ix.        the  world  blurred  ,  georgia  finding  herself  as  dependent  on  liquor  as  she  was  on  becoming  daddy’s  little  girl  again  .  it  got  old  keeping  up  with  her  charade  –  her  mother’s  isms  still  engrained  &  her  efforts  to  break  from  the  mold  futile  .  the  bottles  of  vodka  hidden  beneath  old  pageant  dresses  the  only  escape  ,  a  way  for  her  to  feel  nothing  at  all  .

i  apologize  for  that  mess  ,  but  i’ve  got  a  lil’  list  of  wanted  connections  here  to  kinda  get  the  ball  rolling  ! 

[whaleofatjme1920]

Heya, so I was wondering if I could get a scenario based off of your hanahaki disease story for ej. What if somehow Leia started to fall for the reader some time after they got the disease?

Butterfly Kisses

[Leia (OC) X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: death (not really described), angst]

[AN: Check out my masterlist for the Hanahaki series that's originally EJ X F!Reader]

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

Leia watched you deteriorate when she stole Jack from you, and she smiled at the thought. She watched you grow sicker and sicker and basked in the piles of tiny forget-me-nots you left scattered around the house.

And she loved it. She loved watching the destruction that was you while Jack was still blinded by her light.

In truth, there was no reason for her to actually dislike you other than the fact you are a proxy. She was her father’s killing machine, nothing more, nothing less. It was nothing personal, just what her father desired of her. The white haired woman wasn’t supposed to be able to feel love or anything amiable, but then she met Jack. Just like that, everything changed.

He felt strongly for her, that much she could tell right off the bat. Did Jack’s ‘eyes’ always wander when he saw a pretty face? It was so easy for him to fall into her grasp and for her to wrap around him like an octopus, keeping him in her clutches.

If she had any semblance of guilt, it was smothered by her rationalizing that she was doing you a favor. What kind of girl should stay with a guy who wanders both physically and emotionally? Leia took away a man who, in a way, didn’t deserve you. If she could win over Jack with her sapphire eyes that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, then he didn’t deserve you. Who knows what he would do in the long run? She took from you what you wouldn’t miss.

Here you are, day after day, dying. You’re coughing up forget-me-nots because you were too stupid to realize that you’re better off without him. You’re perishing in front of her and all Leia can think is that you deserve it. She hears you as you and Kate chat on the couch only to be interrupted by a series of thick, heinous coughs and the daily arguments that ensue between Hoodie and Jack. Toby is more supportive of you than ever! She thinks you know what love is, and she thinks you know it well.

It’s something she’ll never really have. She’s a weapon, nothing more, nothing less.

That’s not until one summer evening when you’re reaching the end of your rope that you sit down next to her on the porch. The crickets and cicadas are singing, and the light of the summer sun filters through the trees like golden tresses of hair. It’s gorgeous. She’s sipping on some pink lemonade, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of the air and when you sit next to her, she pauses.

Her blue eyes look over at you, and in that moment, she doesn’t sense anything from you but stillness. No animosity or acrimony, nothing scathing, just stillness. She sees how sickly you look. You really don’t have much longer left, maybe a few days if you’re lucky, to next morning at worst. Your eyes are so tired and heavy, and the dark circles under them seem almost endless. But you still look gorgeous when the light hits you just right.

“How are you?” You ask, voice soft and scratchy due to the flowers that threaten to shoot up from your throat.

“Never better,” Leia replies before sipping at her striped straw. “And you?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “How I look,” you say.

Leia cracks a grin. “These final days been treating you well?”

You shrug before making a so-so motion with your hand. “Yes and no.” You take in a deep breath to fuel yourself for just a moment longer before glancing at Leia. “I’m tired, really tired,”

“Then why don’t you get some rest?”

You smile quietly and shake your head. “I’ve done so much resting these past few days,” a scoff escapes your throat alongside some more petals, “for as long as I’ve had this!” You exclaim. “I just wanna, I don’t know, see something.”

Leia doesn’t know where the softness comes from, but she suddenly stands up. “Okay, follow me.” She places down her glass of pink lemonade before holding out her hand to you.

You raise a brow but sense no duping from her and hesitantly take her hand. You’ve spent the better part of a year hating her, loathing her for what she’s done to you, but you realize it was Jack. Jack was the one who ultimately betrayed you, and Jack was the one whose heart left the room it used to share with yours. You still have strange feelings against her, but you know that you’re okay to be with her for what may be your final night alive.

Leia hoists you up and then brings you off the back porch, not letting you do as she leads you through the tall grass. The sound of cicadas kicks up, and in the distance, you can hear deer moving through the meadows. The sun is sinking further and further below the horizon, making the sky dazzle you in hues of pinks and purples only knitted together by shades of blue. The clouds are the size of whales and swim through the sky like airships.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask with a small grin.

Leia brings you into the woods, halting from pointing out little mushroom caps that come in reds, pinks and browns before addressing you. “A place I think you’d really like,” she hums. “We’re almost there. What do you think the air smells like?”

You take in a thoughtful sniff. “Sweet flowers, grass,” you begin to list off.

Leia looks over her shoulder at you and smiles again. “Let’s go see why.” The fallen child of Zalgo then pulls you on just a little further, the scent of lavender and phlox filling the air. Honey also permeates your surroundings.

You watch as the trees shift to shades of gold before the most beautiful sight of flowers overtakes your vision. It looks like there’s a staircase carved out of rock and it leads down to an alluring flower field that blankets the entire opening. Butterflies of every kind swarm the area, landing gracefully on flowers before flitting off to the next. Fireflies are beginning to rise up and light up the blanketing darkness.

“Nice, right?” Leia says as she begins to lead you down the stairs. Her grip is gentle as she helps you.

You nod, a giggle rising up from your throat as Monarchs and Swallowtails begin to perch on your head and arms. It’s like they’re greeting someone they love. “Have you always known about this place?” You inquire, one of the Painted Ladies coming to rest on your nose, kissing you with her wings.

“Sure have,” Leia replies, guiding you slowly through the field of flowers. “I like to come here and think,” she murmurs. Leia pauses when the two of you reach a slight divot in the flower field. There’s a little rock shelf she must’ve built and in it is a well sized box. Leia sits you down, then pulls out the box and opens it. “Sometimes I like to journal here,” she explains, showing you her doodles of the flowers and the butterflies.

“I didn’t know you were into such things,” you smile, still getting covered by butterflies and their kisses.

“I do a lot of things when I’m not being a jerk,” she chuckles. “Here, you can look through it.” She hands you her journal and you gingerly take it into your hands.

You begin to flip through the pages while Leia hums and looks up at the rising moon, fireflies and butterflies resting on the flowers all around you as the breeze gently wafts by.

It’s peaceful here - there’s no signs of worry, and your lungs seem to be at peace with all the sweetness in the air. The stars begin to shine overhead, and Leia thinks that maybe, just for a moment, everything will be okay.

Sometime during the silence (and Leia’s humming), you look over at her and pause from reading and looking over her entries. “Y’know,” you begin. “You make fields nice.”

Leia almost forgets you’ve got that stupid disease when you begin to violently cough, sending the field into a deathly silence except for your internal struggle.

It becomes harder and harder for you to breathe, and Leia panics. She picks you up like you weigh nothing and begins sprinting back to the house knowing you need to be with your group. The Slender Man won’t come at her call. Maybe, just maybe, if she gets you back to Masky…

They lost you that night.

Leia barreled back into the temp house, your fading form in her arms and they lost you. Slender Man wasn’t able to save you.

Maybe it’s a curse, a curse that whatever angry part of you or the universe inflicted on her for being such an awful person when she first met you.

She knows she deserves it. Yellow sunflowers unfurl in her lungs at an alarming pace, and when she’s in that field surrounded by butterflies that do not kiss her the way they kissed you, she can’t help but feel she deserves it.

But hey, she makes fields good, you said so yourself.