#So I think this will honestly kind of be closer to a aunt/uncle or older sibling situation

[raspberrybluejeans]

Celios obtained a daughter tonight. Must reevaluate my lifeplan for them.

[livwritesstuff]

It’s uncharacteristically warm outside for late-winter in Hawkins, Indiana.

It’s 2004, and the whole entire Party is back in Hawkins to celebrate Jim and Joyce’s fifteenth wedding anniversary (it’s actually closer to their sixteenth by now, but they’ve all well and truly entered that phase of adulthood where planning things is next to impossible), and it’s the first time they’ve all been in one room since…honestly, Steve doesn’t even know when. Since Lucas’s wedding in ‘99, maybe.

Everyone is inside unwinding after dinner. Steve can hear them from where he’s sitting outside on the front deck gently rocking the porch swing Hop had installed years ago with one foot, a now-empty bottle resting on the unfinished pine floor by the other.

The front door of Jim and Joyce’s house quietly opens and Steve looks over as El steps onto the porch, closing the door behind her as soft as she’d opened it.

She pauses, her eyes turning wary as they slide off of him and onto the baby girl drifting asleep in his arms (his and Eddie’s littlest baby, Robbie – the older baby, Moe, who’s nearly three so not really a baby anymore, is inside still probably being doted on by all her aunts and uncles).

Even in her early thirties there are so many ways El is still just like the little kid Steve met back in 1984. At the same time though, she’s completely changed.

“Doin’ okay, Ellie?” he asks gently.

She nods.

“It’s getting loud,” El tells him, “Someone put on Jeopardy.” 

Yeah, that’ll do it these days – older and wiser they may all be, but any kind of trivia is still a vice for pretty much the entire Party.

“Well, you’re welcome to join us out here for as long as you like,” Steve replies.

He knows El is a little apprehensive around babies still, same as she is with cats and puppies – really anything small and vulnerable that might have been used against her many years ago, so he half-expects her to go back inside.

But she comes over and sits down next to him on the porch swing anyway and for a while, both of them are quiet.

Robbie exhales a satisfied snuffling noise that tells Steve she’s well and truly asleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees El’s hand twitch, like she was going to raise it but then stopped herself.

“Can I?” she asks tentatively.

“‘Course,” Steve tells her, and he watches as El runs the tips of her fingers over the wisps of soft hair on Robbie’s head.

“How old is she now?”

“Three months,” he replies, “Four in a week or so.”

“And she’s…she’s doing…good?” she asks, and there’s something so El in her tone, the same tone she always uses when she’s tip-toeing her way through something that, to her, is foreign territory.

“Mm-hm. She’s good.”

El nods.

“Your daughters are lucky,” she says, her brown eyes trained wistfully on Robbie even as she pulls her hand away. 

Steve thinks he knows what she’s getting at, but before he can ask, she keeps going.

“She’s gonna live her whole life never having to wonder if she’s loved or if she matters,” El says, “She won’t have to wonder because it’s always true. That’s special. I love Hop, and everything I have that is good is because of him, but…I still wish I could have had what you and Eddie are giving her too.”

And Steve knows exactly what she means because he feels the same way, because he thinks about it all the time, every time he thinks about his daughters and the way they are his entire world like he should have been to his own parents and yet never was, every time he thinks about himself and his father and his father’s father and knows it ends with him.

He’s not sure how to put any of that into words.

It’s El though, and he’s never really had to put those kinds of things into words with El, so he decides to just nod and settle back into the porch swing with his friend at his side and his daughter asleep in his arms and the faint noise of the people he loves most carried over them on the breeze of a warm winter evening.

[princess-of-the-corner]

K, so just. Random Assortment of thoughts.

(This got long so I’m yeeting it under the readmore)

1) CC!NextGen - how about, the fewer kids these couples/groups have, the less likely they’ll ALL want to be Heroes. Like, Say for Umi, Miku, Miyuki, & random kid 4 (Nitaru’s here somewhere, but we aren’t counting him, he’s an outlier). Like, LM wants to be a hero. Umi might, specifically in sea rescue, but otherwise, I don’t see her being THAT into it? I … Honestly can’t say I see Miku wanting to be a HERO-Hero - like, I can see her wanting to be a cop, or a detective, but I could equally see her wanting to be a historian, or a hairdresser. Then Adoption4/ LM’s baby brother (I’m arbitrarily deciding Deku randomly adopts a little toddler boy, they have three girls[?]) he DOESN’T want to be a hero, he’s, like … an analyst. One of the Iida kids becomes a movie producer, or set designer, he ends up with like, 5 or 6, not ALL of them want to be Heroes. Neither of Mina’s kids become heroes, but (if we do the Mimic Kid, and the Blood Drinker Power-Up) both Tooru/Himi(/Sato) kids do. Akiko does, but neither of the twins (if we give them twins) do. Someone wants to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a scientist. One of the Kyoka kids starts a band.

2) CC - Mimi made the joke that Koda’s future husband is just Goliath from Disney’s Gargoyles, so that’s what I’m more or less imagining now. Big, impossibly beefy guy with wings. Has skin like stone, though he can be cut and bleed, though it is really hard to do. Doesn’t actually turn to Stone, but can hold himself stupidly still for HOURS. He prefers signing over talking most of the time, because he thinks his voice is scary (it’s DEEP, and when he’s mad, it can be TERRIFYING).

3) MHA-Monsters - think I sent the ask, but given Shoji is often associated with Octopi, you could make him a Cthulhu-esqe creature from the Deep. He doesn’t necessarily HAVE to be an Eldritch horror (I’m imagining something a bit closer to Octolings from Splatoon mixed with Monster High), but he could be. Or, if it’s funnier, he’s constantly annoyed by people assuming he’s some kind of Eldritch Horror, because whatever species he is, is NOT RELATED, the only reason people think that shit is because of Lovecraft, which is really just insulting-

4) MHA-Monsters - because they weren’t mentioned, I’m guessing; Hound Dog’s a werewolf, Ectoplasm is a poltergeist, Lunch Rush is actually a completely normal human who is just really good at making large quantities of food, Power Loader is a Gremlin, Cementoss is basically a Goron (Legend of Zelda).

5) MHA-Monsters - if Hagakure is a ghost, are we doing, like, recent ghost? Older? Is she straight up dead, or is it more of a Danny Phantom situation?

6) CC - How/when to Shoji and Tokoyami start dating? (I mean, how do ANY of these kids start their relationships, but that seems like a lot, this is already long enough, those two annd Tooru/Himi are who I’m currently most interested in, but Shoji/Toko, let’s start there. If you want to do any of the others, feel free, but yikes, this is getting long)

7) CC/Suggestion - I know you said you wanted to do more with Ojiro, so Mimi suggested submitting her version of his backstory? Anyway, Ojiro backstory, Mimi Version: Ojiro was mostly raised by his grandparents, with assistance from some aunts and uncles. His mom is pretty flighty, doing whatever takes her fancy. She likes to live fast, free, and fancy, something that is hard to do with a kid. So, she decided he could “visit” with his grandparents - she just dropped him off one day, and never came back. His grandparents are somewhat gruff, but kind people, who love Ojiro a lot, and try to teach him practicality and common sense. They are very “we have no idea where we went wrong” about Ojiro’s mom. His uncle owns a martial arts dojo, where Ojiro spent a lot of his childhood. His aunt travels a lot, which is why she Didn’t take Ojiro in, while his uncle is married and has eight kids, which is why he didn’t take Ojiro (to be clear, they both would have, but they all thought the grandparents would give him a more stable childhood). Ojiro has very few memories of his mom, and in fact hadn’t talked to her in years … until shortly after the Sports Festival, when all of a sudden, she was calling to reconnect “because [she] missed [him] so much!” (The whole family is giving her a bit of the side-eye here. Oh, you want to reconnect with your son? After you dumped him for a decade? Right after seeing him on live tv in a very prestigious hero school? Hmmmmmm…….) 

(Ok, Mimi now wants to know how Kendou/Ojiro would go - material artists with very simple Quirks)

Final note for Ojiro: the one thing most of the family hasn’t really forgiven Ojiro’s mom for, even beyond just dumping him off and leaving, is that she has never told anyone who Ojiro’s dad is. None of them know, and they’re pretty sure SHE doesn’t know either.

Again, mostly just sharing to get the thoughts out, you may pick, choose, alter, and discard at your leisure!

-

1.) Oh yeah it’s. Umi I debate between her being a Hero or her doing stage shows and the like. Maybe both tbh. Miku I don’t think she’d be a Hero but she has some great like, paleontology vibes. But yeah there’s just all sorts of kids and some don’t end up Heroes but a good chunk do.

2.) Now I’m straight up imagining Goliath. Voice and all. Holy fuck.

3.) I answered this one in the other ask!

4.) On one hand Hounddog as a Werewolf makes sense, but then I’d probably have him more relevant to the plot given Katsuki so I’ll swing back. For Ectoplasm yeah with a name like that gotta be some kinda Ghost. Lunch Rush being Human is great. Not even a Witch just full on Scooby-Doo and the Ghoul School applied for the job and got it not knowing. For Power Loader I already have Mei as a Gremlin, and I while there’s some allowance for repeat creatures I don’t think havig them repeat is what I want. On the other hand since I already hit my classic monster movie quota, let’s work on the high fantasy with some Dwarves because they’re craftsmen who dig underground(maybe make him more a Dwarf/Elf considering the lack of beard and burlyness. I know I likened the harpies to the Rito, but that wasn’t quite a ‘I have Zelda creatures thing. I’m swinging away from that for a moment.

5.) While I am yoinking from my DP Lore a bit, I am letting her be like. Dead. ( (which my DP lore lets them be dead too lmao) Don’t worry she’s fine it happened a while ago she got over it and is moving on with her lack of life. It’s a funky thing of Ghosts /can/ age but I’ll come back to that later

6.) Ahahahaha. I need to hammer out who asks who but I do know that they’re gonna be dating soon because the Mall Arc is gonna have them on a date.

7.) God even the ‘default settings’ kid gets to have childhood trauma! But also I like this a lot. I am vibing with the Kendo ship though! I can see them talking!

[mutated-green-things]

I do have thoughts on this but I think they all do fall under the 'living part time with a significant other' type beat. Honestly though I think that as the turtles grow older they never exactly... split the family to go off to make a new family? People/mutants/etc just keep getting added to it. And in like. An immediate family way too. Raph, Mikey, and Donnie all begin to consider Usagi to be another brother eventually as one example. April is either older sister or aunt. Casey is similarly the big brother/weird uncle. BUT if the turtles ever did move. In my mind (and turtle boyfriend au) it would be: Leonardo lives part time in Usagi's world. They have a modest home there with decor, a garden, etc. Donatello and Leatherhead do just live in a different part of the underground of NYC. Though in my mind it's usually not a sewer but an abandoned NYC subway tunnel. I even like to imagine their home is just a very renovated/technologically advanced string of old subway cars. They're close enough to the old sewer lair that they visit all the time though. Most commonly for dinner! Raphael lives the farthest away (unless you wanna count the whole alternate dimension thing as farther though in my head it's always been so easy for Leo and Usagi to return to NYC via magic that Raph is the farthest in practice) since he lives on the Triceraton homeworld with Traximus. After the whole Ceraton revolution Traxi becomes a respected high-level politician and honestly Raph spends his time in the lap of alien luxury just kind of vibin. I think there might be arguments here and there about him not visiting home enough. Either from Splinter or Leo or even Mikey but he does still come home pretty frequently. I think there could be some magic involved in that process (Traximus does participate in the Battle Nexus after all, but I think Triceratons aren't as well versed in the mystic arts as say, the people from Usagi's world. So it's more of a Thing to dimension hop for them) And Mikey. Well okay. Part of my headcanons just say that Mikey never really moves out and instead Slash ends up moving into the lair and they just live there with Splinter. But I've also tossed around the idea of Mikey and Slash living much closer to the docks of NYC so they can regularly go free swimming in the Long Island Sound or Lower Bay. Near a nexus of drainage pipes or something. Which would make their situation very similar to Don and LH's. They have their own underground home that's built with help from the rest of the family (especially help from the dynamic science duo that is Leathertello)

Okay this is a middle of the night odd TMNT logic thought:

Where would the Turtles even go if they decided to ever 'Move Out'?

This kinda hit me as an adjacent to if Leo and Usagi got married where would they live, but then really I couldn't help but wonder what the Turtles would do if they wanted to essentially find their own place.

Like would they just move to another part of the sewers in New York? Would they decide to live out in the woods at the Farm House or close to there? For Rise would they move to the Hidden City?

Would they go to a different world like go to Usagis world?

Or is their seperation anxiety on a level where they have a hard time with this and they literally just make a little get away place a couple blocks over, for when they feel things are just a bit much in the moment.

I've read a few different fanfiction that briefly bring this kind of thing up, but it's mostly they all move, or one of them part time lives with a significant other.

If you want to add your own ideas, go right ahead.

Because at least part of my mental work is like 'Rise Boys might move their train car somewhere else, but then come back because they miss everyone' or they kinda fixed part of the old lair, and visit every now and then.

[radiant-reid]

not sure if this really works for build a blurb but 🏖 and 🐳 where spencer and reader are just talking about their relationship to their kid? maybe the kids a little older and needs advice or something btw i love your writing!!!

come celebrate 5k friends with us

🏖️ best friends to lovers 🐳 Dad!Spence 

"Mom, how did you meet dad?" Beatrice asked once she walked into your room, climbing onto the bed.

You patted the spot next to you where Spencer had been before he finally went to get you your morning coffee. She obliged your request, sitting against the headboard next to you.

"You wanna know how I met your dad?" You asked, running your hands through her messed curls which had always resembled your husband's.

"Haven't you heard that story, little love?" Spencer asked, walking back into the room and handing you your cup of coffee while he placed a kiss on Beatrice's forehead.

She shuffled closer to you while Spencer got into bed next to her. "When I was little, but I don't remember anymore."

You looked over at Spencer quickly, smiling while he smiled. Somehow, moments like that always made you both feel so grateful for where you were and so intensely in love with each other.

"Well, she was my best friend for a really long time." He started, taking over your storytelling.

"Actually, I was your only friend." You jumped in, shooting him a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes, continuing with his story. "But I always knew I loved her. Pretty much since the moment I met her at work." He told her. Even though you'd known this information for years, it still made you blush at the thought of a terrified 26-year-old you and a nervous 27-year-old Spencer.

"Did you know?" Beatrice asked, turning to you.

There wasn't any hesitancy in your answer. "Yeah." You answered, making him blush. "How could I not?" You half-joked, earning a frown from Beatrice, who was wondering why she started a conversation when the only thing that was going to be discussed was your love for each other.

"So then what happened?" She asked, looking back to Spencer for an answer.

"Uh, well, I was kind of awkward back then, so nothing," Spencer continued the story. "I knew I loved her, but I didn't know how to tell her, so I became her friend. For 3 long years."

He barely touched on the intense pinning moments of your story where either one of you couldn't stand to be around the other because you loved each other that much.

"What happened after that?" Beatrice continued her questions.

"He got shot." You told her honestly. When she was little, the story was altered, but she knew what you both did and how it could be dangerous.

It didn't stop her from immediately looking at Spencer with her brown eyes wide from shock. "You did?" She confirmed. Spencer tipped his head slightly so she could see the scar that was on his neck. "Did it hurt?" She asked, touching the scar lightly.

"When I woke up, yeah," Spencer answered, still not remembering much from the hours before he woke up in the hospital room.

"I waited the whole time with Aunt Alex, Aunt JJ, and Aunt Penelope." You remembered the scary hours when you weren't sure if Spencer was going to live or not. It was one of the most terrifying moments of your life.

Spencer could see it from the way your face dropped, and he reached over to hold your hand comfortingly. "Did you tell her after you woke up?" Beatrice guessed.

He bit his bottom lip. "Not exactly. All your aunts and uncles knew by then..."

"But someone was trying to convince himself we were just best friends." You filled in the blanks, smirking at Spencer, who couldn't deny the action. "So I got stuck in and told him myself." It happened after Blake took him home that night and you couldn't sleep knowing that something could happen to him and you'd never get to tell him how you really felt.

"Girl power," Beatrice commented, holding out a closed fist for you to give her a fist bump. "Would you change anything, dad?"

That took Spencer a moment to think about, carefully weighing the pros and cons as he looked off into the distance. "If I knew we'd still end up here- hypothetically because it's scientifically improbable- then yes, I would have told her sooner."

"Why are you asking, Bea?" You asked, frowning a little. She was always inquisitive, but there was something else in her tone that you could detect.

She did the same clenched teeth look that Spencer did, revealing there was more to the story. "I sort of, maybe, like like one of my friends, but I didn't know what to do." She quickly mumbled out before quickly leaving the conversation. "I'm going to go."

"Wait, Bea, can we know who it is?" You called out after her as she climbed off the bed and raced towards the door.

"I'll tell you, maybe, once I talk to her." She decided, walking quickly away before you could ask her any more questions.

Spencer looked over at you with raised eyebrows. "I mean, not to gloat, but she has the best relationship specialist, so she's going to do great." He mentioned with a smirk.

"I'm not sure I would call you a specialist." You started, furrowing your eyebrows jokingly. "But you do know a little bit about love."

[michals]

Alright so this came outta nowhere but why not. Just a little something in that special niche genre I love: cheerful angst.

Five's technically younger than his siblings so it makes sense that he's going to die last, he doesn't like it but he accepts it. G, 1334 words, major character deaths:

-

It’s stupid, really goddamn stupid, Five thinks, that Luther’s 58 when he dies. He gets the joke, thanks universe, but he doesn’t think it’s funny that his twin is the age Five came back to him as when he dies. Five’s mind is 85 but his body’s only 40 and even though he knows he shouldn’t he still hates that he’s not the first one to go.

It’s the serum’s fault of course. Despite his powers, despite the strength and endurance, people can’t walk around as two different creatures, not forever. Stupider still Luther knows it’s happening.

“Ben’s probably been bored without us,” Luther says, sitting with one arm around Five’s shoulders, Five’s head tucked into his neck. Five feels so small, this time it doesn’t make him angry it just makes him sad.

“He’s waited this long,” Five says.

“It’s okay, we’ll keep each other company until the rest of you get there,” Luther’s voice is quiet, he sounds tired. “It’s okay.”

Klaus tells him after the funeral that Luther stuck around after to tell him to watch over Five and hopes he doesn’t see any of them any time soon.

“Me, look after you? Delusional right at the end wasn’t he?”

Five doesn’t want to smile at that but he does.

-

Diego’s 65 and he dies cause he’s an idiot. That’s what Allison tells him though her voice is choked, trying to speak through tears.

“Still kicked that guy’s ass,” Diego says with a weak grin. He never gave up that whole vigilante thing and no matter how many times they yelled and scolded and at one point actively locked him up, nothing ever stopped him.

“Could’ve picked something cooler than a gunshot wound,” Five says, holding his shoulder in his hospital bed.

“Yeah,” Diego sighs, “that part kind of sucks.” When he coughs Vanya squeezes his hand in hers.

“Fitting,” Klaus says with a smirk though his eyes are watery, “you’d go after Lu, like always.”

Diego chuckles, says, “I’ll tell him you guys say hi.”

At the funeral Five tells himself he only needs to do this three more times, as if that’s a good thing. He’s decided he’s not leaving any of them first. If he has to be the last anyway he’s holding on tooth and nail until he really is the last. He’s 93 in his head, he feels ancient.

“Convenient he was already wearing black,” Klaus says with a cigarette between his lips. This time Allison laughs until she cries.

-

“We’re just going right in order aren’t we?” Klaus mutters as he sniffs a rose. It’s one of thousands that’ve been sent to the mansion, now stacked ceiling to floor with gifts from Allison’s fans.

Heart attack, 82. So mundane and simple for someone like her. Five always figured she’d go out with fireworks but on the other hand it was peaceful and easy and honestly, not a bad way to go. He hopes his own happens like that.

“Vanya you have to take something home,” Claire urges her aunt, “I can’t take all this back to LA.”

Vanya plucks a single lily from a bouquet. “Hmm, I’ll take this,” she says teasingly. Claire rolls her eyes, hugs her for the 100th time.

“We’ll put this half,” Klaus says gesturing to one side of the room, “on Luther’s, and this half on Diego’s.” He twirls the rose, “and this I’ll put in Ben’s little copper hand.”

Five huffs and shakes his head at him though he can’t hide his smirk.

Before Claire goes back to LA a few days later she hugs Five for a long time. She’s not a young woman but Five will always see her as that little 5 year old Allison finally got to bring back to their family home to meet her aunt and all her uncles.

“Bet she and Diego are already arguing,” Klaus says later as they sit by the fireplace.

“Bet Ben’s already sick of all of them,” Five says.

-

Klaus is wrong, he’s not next. Vanya loses her voice to throat cancer a couple months before she goes but it doesn’t actually seem to bother her. It makes Five angry and sad, but she just grins and has whole conversations with him and Klaus by manipulating records and radios and TV’s.

Five’ll ask how she’s feeling and she’ll pull down the soundwaves of the TV playing upstairs, the weather report announcing: “Sunny without a cloud in the sky.”

She’d spent years looking for pictures of Sissy and Harlan, gotten a locket and put them in it. She'd been buried with it but Five puts some of the extra photos by her headstone just to show everyone they were hers too. Klaus lays the violin down with them.

“I broke it,” Klaus says, “Just a little. So it could follow her up there.”

Five is ready to be angry about that, it’s so ridiculous and stupid but then again…well, it is stupid, and sweet and he imagines Vanya entertaining the others with her music, all together again. He surprises himself when he laughs.

“You really did fry your brain didn’t you?”

“Like an egg,” Klaus says.

-

Five was only ever being rational when he figured Klaus would die first. He’d spent most of his life with any variety of poisons in his system, spent decades abusing his body. Five considered it reasonable to brace himself to lose Klaus first.

Except no, Klaus is the last, just he and Five left. Klaus is 93, then 94, and so on and still they both linger. Five’s body is 20 years younger than Klaus’s but his consciousness is 25 years older. His bones shouldn’t feel as old as his mind but they do.

But he’s not lonely. The mansion’s too big for them but neither are willing to give it up, they belong there they figure. When Klaus has to start using a wheelchair he makes Five push him around the house, pretending to give him tours and rattling off absolutely nonsense stories of the past. He still drinks wine and smokes and wears feather boas and Five wakes up every day then has to wait til Klaus rolls out of bed at noon.

As the years pass the others get further away and yet closer at the same time. Klaus tells him what he knows about the afterlife: that it’s there, that it’s bright, that there is color you just have to want it.

-

“No roses,” Klaus says, leaning back in his wheelchair, face to the sun. “Too cliché. Tulips maybe. Marigolds. All together, my grave should look like a parade float.”

“Dandelions,” Five says, leaning his chin on his cane.

“I like dandelions,” Klaus hums. Then: “Not that you’ll be around to put them there.”

Five’s face scrunches, “Of course I will.”

Klaus opens his eyes, turns to him. “No no, I die after you that’s how it goes.” He says it so nonchalant.

“What’re you talking about?” Five is genuinely thrown, “Of course I’ll die first.”

Klaus shakes his head, like Five is being obtuse. “That’s not the deal.”

“What deal?”

Klaus’s turn to be confused, looks him over with a furrowed brow. “Five, have you been waiting around for me?”

Five reels back as far as his body will let him. “Of course I have!”

Klaus shakes his head, smiles like he can’t believe it. “No Fivey, I worked it out with the big one upstairs,” he points heavenward with a boney finger, “I get to stick around for all of you as long as I don’t bother her before then.”

Five sits back against the bench, processing.

“Besides,” Klaus says with a shrug, “Luther told me to look after you.”

Oh, well, that’s that then. Five smiles.

-

Five is 85, Five is 130, and he dies peacefully in his sleep just like he wanted. Klaus sticks around to put him next to his twin, then he sits in the courtyard with Dave's dogtags in his hand, looks skyward, and says, “You all better have rolled out the red carpet for me.”

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

[acciofanfics]

Be Quiet (Harry Potter x Reader) SMUT

Request: Can you write a story where the reader (Slytherin) and Harry fall in love with each other and have their first time (smut pls!) and at the same time Sirius and the reader find out that’s she’s his daughter? Xo

Pairing: Harry Potter x FemReader

Warnings: Smut, very slight mentions of death, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2389

A/N: I forgot to specify the reader’s house! 😭 Also I didn’t do a whole lot of set up, let’s pretend their slightly older in Order of The Phoenix and this is set in when they’re staying in Sirius’ place? -S

———————————————————————

(Y/N) rapped quietly on the door, she supposed knocking on the door at all kind of defeated the purpose of trying to be quiet, so she abandoned her efforts and attempted to open the wooden door with minimal squeaking. “Harry? Are you up?”

Harry was quick to appear and open the door for her to come into the room. Honestly, he felt kind of bad, because it had been his intention to come to her. She had just beat him to it, but he supposed that wasn’t too surprising; she had always seemed to be more sure of herself than Harry had. “Yeah, come in. I was just about to go look for you.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Harry was probably her best friend...or maybe Hermione, but that would only because she couldn’t share EVERYTHING with Harry (despite her desire to do so). She plopped on the bed and let out a sigh, a dramatic, but justified one. “This is a lot, right?”

“It’s a bit much sure… not entirely bad though?” Harry knew immediately what she’d been referring to. A bombshell for sure. One thing they had been able to bond over was the fact that she grew up without her parents, Harry was thankful that she had a much more loving and tolerant aunt and uncle though. She never knew who her father was, and her mother had died around the age of 3. She knew who her father was now though�� the notorious Sirius Black.

(Y/N) knew that she had been kept in the dark for her own good. Most people still thought the man was a murderer and she knew her aunt and uncle just didn’t want her to grow up knowing that they shared the DNA. “I mean I guess not… Sirius is cool and all.” It definitely sucked that his name hadn’t been cleared to anyone not in the Order, but while not seemingly knowing a lot about what he was doing he seemed eager to try as much as he would be able to.

“I feel like I’ve been lied to my entire life and I get why they did it, but I wish I would’ve known.” (Y/N) sat up and laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. He’d sat down beside her after she’d laid back. “I suppose nothing really changes that much though.”

He could definitely relate to some extent. Harry constantly felt like he was playing catch-up, and he was always a step behind everyone in knowing about himself and his life. “Right.”

A silence fell over the pair. Harry wasn’t sure what (Y/N) was feeling, but he felt content. She always had a way of making him feel that way. Hermione kept pushing him to say something, and as much as he wanted to he always found a reason not to do so. Now for example would be incredibly inappropriate, she was already so overwhelmed it just wouldn’t be fair to add the weight of his feelings for her onto her shoulders.

“Can I ask you something completely off topic?”

“Anything.”

“Do you like me?” (Y/N) felt bad for blurting out the question. Now probably wasn’t the time and that probably wasn’t the best way to go about it, but at that moment it seemed like the most appropriate option.

Poor Harry was happy he didn’t have a mouth full or butter beer or pumpkin juice because there was no doubt that he would’ve probably spit it all over the bedding and the floor. He used to say that they were close enough that she could never surprise him, but that clearly was a lie. He often wondered if she was a Legilimen, because she seemed to have some sort of innate ability to read his mind. She also knew when he was lying to playing dumb probably wouldn’t be too much help in this situation, “Uh...yeah. Hermione says it's bloody obvious.”

(Y/N) chuckled and smiled, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it, “She says the same to me if it makes you feel any better.”

“You fancy me?” Harry always had a small suspicion, he didn’t think that Hermione would be constantly trying to get him to confess his feelings if she thought it would end badly, but still he had his doubts.

“You might be the chosen one, but you can be pretty thick sometimes…” She sighed and lifted her head from his shoulder. When he turned to see what was wrong she just planted a soft kiss on his lips. He immediately melted into it, he didn’t need to be told twice to kiss her back. He’d been thinking about doing it so long that it just seemed second nature.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together even when the urge to break away to breathe came. Her eyes were still closed, but Harry kept his open (he just needed to make sure this wasn’t a dream). “Would it be too soon to say that I’m in love with you?”

“I don’t think I’d use the word soon at all.” (Y/N) teased with a soft laugh.

Harry pulled the girl back in for another kiss, the second was even better than the first (which he hadn’t previously thought to be possible). She tasted like mint toothpaste, which probably now his favorite flavor as his tongue swept across hers. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him, an act partially meant to pull him closer and partially meant to keep a grip on him so that when she laid down he’d come tumbling down with her.

Her back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and she found herself mildly impressed with Harry’s ability to gracefully follow her. His body resting between her legs and his hands on either side of her head. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled herself further into him, earning a small groan. Her lips curled into a smile against his skin, and she set herself on a mission to elicit a similar reaction, but not before whispering to him, “You have to be quiet, apparently my dad is in the other room.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her, but soon found himself forgetting what she’d said. Instead he was more focused on the feathery light kisses being trailed down from his cheek to his neck. He took a deep breath when she began to kiss his neck, her ministrations on the skin a new and very enjoyable experience. He didn’t even notice her hands sneaking under his shirt. He shivered slightly from her cold hands, but relaxed into her touch when she ran her palms across his chest and torso. “Whatever you’re doing for Quidditch is clearly working.” She hummed into his ear.

Harry chuckled and leaned up, pulling his shirt over his head and then helping her out of hers. He was kind of shocked by how not nervous he was. There was just something about her, he doubted there was anything in the world she could do to make him think less of her and he just had a hunch she felt the same (or least that’s the way she made him feel). There was little light in the bedroom, but he could still see her (barely, but he could). He hadn’t even thought about the fact they were in her pajamas and she probably wouldn’t be wearing a bra… she definitely wasn’t and he felt his voice catch in the back of his throat.

“This is the part where you tell me how good I look.” (Y/N) whispered playfully to him. She worried that perhaps she might’ve been ruining the moment with so much talking, but she also knew that Harry was aware she liked to make jokes to ease her own nerves. He was often the only one not taken aback by the sometimes poorly time sentiments.

“You’re bloody gorgeous.” His voice held no trace of jest and he didn’t even give her a chance to respond before he went back in for another kiss. The kiss was chaste, because honestly he wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. When his lips met the skin of her neck (Y/N) found herself having to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her voice down. However, whenever he dipped lower and found her chest the action was futile. A sharp gasp tore through her throat at the new sensation and when to shower her breasts in kisses she no longer found holding back a moan a possible option.

The sound was like music to Harry’s ears and he began to crave hearing more like it was a song stuck in his head. He switched between her right and left nipple, carefully trying to pay the same amount of attention to each one, and he only found himself willing to stop whenever she rolled her hips upward and brushed herself against the erection he was now painfully aware of. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what was exactly expected of him. He definitely wasn’t entirely stupid on the subject, he knew WHAT happened, but maybe he was skipping an important step in the foreplay that he wasn’t aware of. He didn’t have much time to think too much about it, because (Y/N) wiggled out from under him. He would’ve been worried that he’d done something wrong, but when she began to shed the rest of his clothes those thoughts abandoned his mind. Really the only thoughts left in his head was her… and how she looked. Completely bare. In front of him. Merlin, he wasn’t sure there was ever a sight more beautiful and he doubted he’d ever be able to think of anything else.

“Care to join me?” (Y/N) hoped she wasn’t being too forward. This really was probably too soon… they’d just had their first kiss not even an hour ago and now she was lying on his bed completely naked. She’d been imagining this for far more than a few hours though. It was definitely not a fleeting thought… well it wasn’t to her. She hoped Harry felt the same.

“Oh! Yeah!” It occurred to him how lame it must’ve been that he was just sitting there looking at her and he quickly shed his left over layers too. Now they were both naked, and still just staring.

“This is okay with you right?” She drew closer to him again, careful not to touch him until she was sure that he also wanted this.

“Yes.” He thought she was bloody insane to even ask him that, but he wouldn’t say that to her (at least not right then).

That was all she wanted to hear, (Y/N) kissed him again, but this time it was different. It was full of anticipation and desire and their lips just moved together instinctively, because they were both too focused on the feeling of their bodies being pressed together.

This time (Y/N) didn’t have to pull Harry on top of her, this time he carefully laid her down and hovered over her. The tip of his cock brushed against her core and he was worried that he’d lose it right then and there. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet him. Their eyes locked and there wasn’t a need for words to ask permission or any questions. They both knew this was exactly what they wanted. Harry reached between them and drug the tip of his cock across her folds, his eyes closed when he slowly began to press himself into her.

Immediate pleasure washed over Harry and to put it bluntly it was far better than any late night with his hand. (Y/N) felt it too, not quite as intensely as she was still adjusting to the foreign feeling of being so completely stretched by him. The thought alone made her shift her hips. He was trying not to give into the desire to just completely ruin her, the thought had crossed his mind more than once if he was being honest and now that he was presented with the actual opportunity he was doing his best to be a gentleman.

“Harry,” He had always enjoyed hearing her say his name, and this was no exception. It was at least 10 times better when it came out more of a moan than an actual word, “Move already.”

He grunted a bit at the order, but obliged nonetheless. He pulled out slowly and then resheathed himself in her again. Each time a little faster and every little whimper or moan that came from her lips egged him on ever more. It didn’t take long for the somewhat uncomfortable feeling to completely disappear and soon her weak noises became a little louder. Harry would’ve been happy to have her screaming his name, the noise echoing through the hallways, but she was right. Her father was in the other room, as well as other people who would not approve of their display of affection.

“We have.. To be.. Quiet… remember?” His sentence was broken up by the thrusting of his hips, unable to find enough concern to completely stop his movements. Knowing he was right (Y/N) roughly kissed him. She wasn’t entirely sure that it would keep the noises at bay, but it was the only thing that she could say would have the potential to work at the moment. She was getting close, she could feel something like a spring in her body being twisted tighter and tighter with every thrust and then POP. A wave of relief and pleasure erupted through her body and a moan that sounded more like a strangled sob was let out. As cliche as it sounded, it completely undid Harry and he held her close, his face buried into her shoulder as he found the same pleasure she did and his hips stilled.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“That was my first time.”

“Mine too.” He answered honestly.

“We’re pretty good at this.” She let out a quiet laugh as Harry pulled himself out of her and collapsed on the bed. She laid down beside him, her head resting on his chest.

“Honestly… I think we could go for a bit more practice.”

[izzielizzie]

Now I’ve Seen You I’ve Seen It All Chapter One

okay so this ask inspired me so am i writing a ten chapter nateywn parent trap au? yes. Is the first chapter under the cut? also yes 

“Okay honey,” Bronwyn Rojas says as she puts her hands on her daughter Ellen’s shoulders. “You’ve got everything you need right?”

Ellen nods.

“Toothbrush?”

Ellen nods again.

“All your clothes? Shampoo? Hair brush? Retainers?” 

Ellen nods again, four times, and wiggles a little in her mother’s grip. Twelve year old Ellen Rojas has never spent more than a week out of her mother’s sights, and this two month camp is testing both of them.

Bronwyn looks like she’s about to cry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look over your things one more time?”

Ellen sighs and considers the best way to tell her mother it is time for her to leave. Thankfully she doesn’t have to. A slender woman with dark hair and expressive amber eyes practically materializes in front of Ellen and Bronwyn. Maeve Santos.

Maeve, with her messy bun, face full of freckles, tattered Hodges Camp t-shirt, and denim shorts, looks absolutely nothing like her older sister Bronwyn. Until further examination. They carry themselves the same way, like they belong anywhere they happen to be, and their smiles are the same. It’s hard to tell since Bronwyn’s face is all lines and hardness, and Maeve’s is soft and open. But the smiles, well, they’re identical.

“Hey Bron,” Maeve says. She pulls her sister into a hug, taking care not to wrinkle Bronwyn’s suit. Bronwyn pats her sister’s back, her way of saying “okay enough hugging”. Maeve pulls away with a grin, and swings Ellen up into her arms. Maeve - and her husband Luis - don’t have any kids, so all their attention is directed to Ellen and their nephews on Luis’s side. But mostly Ellen. Ellen hugs her back with all her might.

“Hi Aunt Maeve,” Ellen says.

“Hey Ellen, ready for some fun!”

Ellen giggles and looks around the camp over her aunt’s shoulder. It’s a large camp, with seven cabins for campers: three for girls on one side of the path and three for boys on the other. The seventh can be seen peeking over the trees where the forest meets the large lake (Lake Hodges, where Aunt Maeve got the name for the camp). There’s a large center cabin, fittingly named the Big Cabin meals are served, the counselors congregate during off times, and one room is used as a games room, where Ellen knows air hockey tables and pool tables and foosball tables have been set up. Farther along the path is the arts and crafts cabin, then the nurse’s cabin. The grand finale before the dock and boat house is a large amphitheatre, where plays and concerts are held. 

Ellen’s never really seen the camp, not really, but she’s heard enough about it from her Aunt Maeve - the founder/head - to feel as if she’s greeting an old friend, the musky smells and bird chirps as familiar to Ellen as the brick buildings and sound of honking cars in New Haven is.

“More than ready,” Ellen assures her aunt. Maeve grins at her. 

“That’s my girl - whoa be careful!”

The last warning isn’t for Ellen, but for the person who swings Ellen high up into the air out of her aunt’s arms. She doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Uncle Luis. Ellen turns the moment she’s on solid ground to give her uncle a hug. Bronwyn often compares Luis to a puppy: energetic, over joyous, and incredibly good at snuggling. She’s not wrong.

“Hey Bronwyn,” Luis says, hugging his sister in law. He doesn’t mind her suit. Bronwyn hugs him back for a moment before readjusting her jacket and looking around helplessly. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea? Maybe Ellen’s too young.”

“Mom, you said I could come when I turned twelve,” Ellen protests, trying very hard not to stomp her foot. It wouldn’t be proving her point.

“I know but-” Bronwyn waves her arms around. 

“We’re here, don't forget,” Maeve says.

“No offence Maeve but you left Ellen in a parking lot.” 

Maeve’s smile becomes a little strained. “That was ten years ago.”

“Still!”

Maeve sighs. “Cooper and Kris are here. Who’s more responsible than Cooper and Kris?”

This seems to calm Ellen’s mom. “Okay, okay, you’re right. That’s true. Alright then, Ellen darling, I think it’s time for me to go.”

If Maeve is hurt that Bronwyn trusts Cooper and Kris Becker-Clay more than her own sister, she doesn’t show it. She looks over Bronwyn’s shoulder as if looking for something. “Okay Bron you’ve got a plane to catch right?”

“Right, right okay.” Bronwyn reaches forward and pulls Ellen out of Luis’s arms, squeezing her tight. “Be good okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay. I will.” Ellen hugs her mother back until Maeve gently disentangles them. With a last kiss on Maeve’s cheek and on Ellen’s forehead, Bronwyn heads back over to her car, pulling away with a wave for the family she knows is watching. 

“Well Ellen darling, excited for camp?” Maeve asks as she takes Ellen’s hand, picking up her oversized duffle with the other hand, which she expertly tosses to her husband. He catches it. Ellen loves watching her aunt and uncle work together, since it’s always been her and her mother. Ellen’s never seen two adults who just fit. 

The trio don’t get far before a motorcycle comes roaring up the drive. They all turn to see what’s happening as a girl expertly jumps off the back of the motorcycle. She’s wearing white shorts and a black leather motorcycle jacket that matches the jacket of the man on the motorcycle. The girl pulls off her helmet to reveal long black hair. 

Maeve grins. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.” Maeve scurries away to the biker before Luis and Ellen can follow. 

“What’s happening Uncle Luis?” Ellen asks, sliding her hand into her uncle’s hand. 

“No clue kiddo,” Luis answers, but based on the look on his face, he does indeed know. 

They watch as Maeve talks to the man on the motorcycle. Ellen’s too far away to see who he is, and before she can get a closer look he’s waving at the girl and backing down the path to the main road. Maeve and the girl are standing together. They watch the motorcycle until it’s out of sight. Maeve takes the girl’s hand, and the way she’s looking at her sends a flash of white hot jealousy through Ellen. That’s the way Maeve looks at her.

Maeve smiles when they approach Luis and Ellen. “Ali, this is my husband Luis.”

“Hey Ali,” Luis says.

“And this is my niece Ellen Rojas. Ellen, this is Ali Macauley.” 

What a stupid name Ellen almost says. Instead she just grunts. She’s not quite sure why, but she doesn’t like this girl in her Guinness band t-shirt and tattered shorts and red flip flops that - ugh - look a lot like Ellen’s. Ali’s glaring right back at Ellen. Clearly, she doesn’t like her either. 

“Wow, you guys look nearly identical,” Luis says as he looks between his niece and the newcomer with her oversized backpack.

“No we don’t,” Ali says dryly.

“Oh I agree,” Ellen says. “I would never wear a shirt advertising that tacky band.”

“Ellen,” Maeve says in her warning voice.

“At least I don’t dress like the next queen of England.”

Ellen huffs and looks down at her pressed skirt and matching jacket. Her mother picked it for her.

“Oh you wish you were the queen of En-”

“Okay how about cabin assignments!” Maeve says brightly. Ali looks up at Maeve like she’s the queen, and Ellen’s ready to sock her in the nose. 

Maeve looks down at her clipboard as if she can sense Ellen’s thoughts. “You’re both in cabin one. Fun!”

“No it’s not,” Ali mumbles. 

Maeve ignores her and takes her hand instead. “Okay, let’s get you to your cabin.” Maeve takes Ellen’s hand after tucking her clipboard under her arm, and kisses her husband’s cheek before setting off, chatting about the camp as she goes. 

“You’ve met Luis of course, he’s a chef in New York and he’s in charge of cooking and also outdoor activities like hikes and stuff like that. And our head of arts and crafts is Addy Prentiss, she’s a teacher and she and her wife Keely live in London, where Keely is a fashion designer or something like that I never understand. Cooper Becker-Clay - you probably know him from the Padres - he’s in charge of sports. His husband Kris is our onsite medic.” Maeve pauses to push open the cabin door. “And Knox Myers does all the theatre and music stuff - he’s a Broadway director. Phoebe Myers, his wife, is our counselor. Need anything, go to her.”

Ellen knows all of this, since the people Aunt Maeve is talking about have been in Ellen’s life since she was a baby, so this is clearly for Ali. This annoys Ellen more, since she wanted to tell Aunt Maeve about the boy she thought she was in love with who turned out to not be in love with her. Aunt Maeve is the kind of aunt who understands about confusing things like the heart. 

“Okay girls. Looks like you’re the first in here. Pick a bunk.”

“Top,” Ali says right as Ellen says the same thing. Both girls look at each other in surprise and scramble for the ladder. 

“Whoa, whoa, girls slow down!” Maeve calls as both girls try to climb up the ladder at the same time. Ali beats Ellen, who’s slowed by the skirt. Ali’s long hair gets in her way, so Ellen uses that chance to climb up the side of the ladder like she does on the fire escape of her building. She’s nearly at the top when she feels hands clamp around her waist and pull her off. 

“Aunt Maeve!” Ellen protests as she’s placed on solid ground. She watches as Maeve pulls Ali off the ladder too. 

“Don’t ‘Aunt Maeve’ me. Honestly what’s gotten into you two?”

“It’s her fault,” Ali says stubbornly, pointing at Ellen. 

“She’s the one who cheated!”

“How did I cheat Ellen?”

“You’re not wearing a skirt.”

Ali scoffs. 

“Both of you two stop it right now. Ali, you take that bunk -”

“Hey!” Ellen protests as Ali does a little happy hop.

“And Ellen, you take the one on the other wall.”

Ellen is in shock. Aunt Maeve has never ever chosen someone over her. Not even the time her cousin Matias wanted the last ice cream at his own birthday party and Maeve talked circles around him until he was so confused he forgot about the dessert. 

“Fine,” Ellen sighs as she crosses the wooden cabin to the bunk identical to the one Ali is triumphantly perched on.

“Good. Now let’s hope you two get along better in the morning.”

Unfortunately, that does not happen. 

The next morning, Ellen enters the Big Cabin with Aunt Maeve and Uncle Luis’s latest foster child, named Nick. Ellen and Nick get along fabulously, something that pleases her aunt and uncle to no end. Ali stalks in after her. Ellen noticed last night that Ali prefers to be alone. She refused to join in on the game of go fish their cabin mates were playing, and she ignored all talk about the cute boys at the camp and past crushes.

“I’m telling you Nick, she’s so stuck up. Like she’s too good for us or something,” Ellen says, continuing her conversation even though Ali is right behind her. 

“Maybe she’s just shy,” Nick says. Even though he has no blood relation to any of Ellen’s family members he still looks vaguely like Luis with his good looks and deep brown eyes.

Ellen scoffs. “She wasn’t shy when she stole my aunt.”

“Maeve isn’t stolen.”

“Right,” Ellen says skeptically as she hands Nick a tray. They’re entering the food line, and she graciously lets Nick before her. She ends up next to Ali, who’s glaring at Ellen. “Good morning sunshine,'' Ellen says pleasantly.

Ali glares harder as she takes a tray from the pile.

“Not a morning person huh?” Ellen asks.

“Say another word and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Ali threatens.

“Scary,” Ellen says dryly as they head down the line. She hesitates in front of the last pancake, weighing the pros and cons of grabbing it when Ali speaks up.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna grab that?” She’s already reaching for the pancake in question.

“I was going to grab it,” Ellen lies, stabbing it with a fork as Ali does the same thing. They engage in a sort of food based tug-of-war. “Let go!”

“You let go!”

“I saw it first!”

“You were just mouth breathing on it!”

They both tug hard, and the pancakes crumble into two pieces. The momentum sends them flying. Ali crashes to the floor and Ellen stumbles back into Nick, who steadies her. 

“What kind of loser can’t keep their balance?” Ellen asks.

“Ellen, stop,” Luis says emerging from the kitchen. He’s looking half amused and half annoyed. “Ali, you okay?”

“Fine,” Ali snaps. “But your niece is annoying.”

Luis ignores her, and Nick gently tugs Ellen away.

Ellen sulks all the way to the crafts barn, where Addy Prentiss in all her pink haired glory is perched on a table in a pair of faded denim overalls. She hops off the table when the group arrives. 

“Alright guys, I thought we could start with bracelets today,” Addy says with her slight British accent, winking at Ellen, who glows. “So, find a table y’all, and let’s see what bracelets you come up with!”

Addy circles the room, and Ellen chooses a table with Cosette Myers, Nick, and - ugh - Ali. Ali pointedly ignores her, and Ellen choses to do the same, chatting with Cosette about the last musical her father Knox took her to. Ellen reaches for a bead at the same time as Ali, and their hands collide.

“Can you move?” Ali asks.

“You move!” Ellen protests.

“I just want a bead.”

“Then wait.”

“Why don’t you wait, princess?”

“Because I was first.”

Both girls glare at each other for a moment before reaching for the beads again, knocking into the container and sending the beads flying over the table and floor. Cosette and Nick jump back. Addy choses this moment to approach this table.

“Are you two kidding me?” she asks, irritated.

“It's Ellen's fault!”

“It was not Aunt Addy, it was Ali!”

Addy looks between the identical looking girls and huffs. “Pick them up.”

“What?” Ellen asks.

“El, you heard me.”

Ellen glares halfheartedly at Ali as she sinks to the floor to pick up the scattered pea sized beads.

Cosette and Nick slide to the floor to help as Ali starts on her side of the table.

“She’s a monster,” Ellen hisses. Cosette and Nick exchange glances.

Twenty minutes later, the girls find themselves near the lake, lined up next to Cooper Becker-Clay, who’s teaching the finer details of the ever important sport of wiffle ball. 

“Okay guys,” he says, pulling off his baseball hat and running his hand through his sandy hair. “I need some volunteers please.” His blue eyes roves the crowd of excitable preteens and lands on Ellen and Ali, who are both glaring at each other while pretending the other person doesn’t exist.

“Ellen. Ali. What about you two?”

Ellen shrugs, and Ali scoffs. “You’re choosing the person who wears skirts?”

“But she’s… not wearing a skirt,” Cooper says, looking a little confused. It’s true, Ellen is wearing a camp shirt tucked into a pair of shorts. 

“Ignore her, she’s being weird,” Ellen says, stepping forward. Ali glares. Cooper shakes his head as if straightening out his thoughts.

“Okay. Ali, take the bat and stand on the base. Just like that, yeah. And Ellen, come here. Okay guys pay attention. Ellen’s going to put her left foot forward since that’s her non-dominant side, and she’ll pull her right arm back and yeah - no Ellen wait!”

Ellen, after being raised with both Uncle Luis and Uncle Cooper, knows exactly how to aim a perfect fastball. And, being her mother’s daughter, she’s able to figure out how to compensate for the lighter ball - flicking her wrist just so - until her pitch is perfectly aimed straight for Ali’s nose. Ali, who isn’t expecting this, doesn’t swing and instead stands still as the ball comes flying towards her nose with a sickening crack. 

And, being Addy’s goddaughter, Ellen knows how to act too. “Oh my gosh Ali I’m so sorry,” she cries, sounding incredibly believable as she sprints after Cooper towards Ali, who’s got her hand pressed against her nose. “Uncle Cooper, really, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.”

Cooper looks between Ali, Ellen, and the other campers who look gleeful - they were expecting to make friendship bracelets and sing weird songs at camp, not see the greatest feud of their adolescent lives. 

“It’s fine El. Take Ali to Uncle Kris okay?”

“Okay, oh my gosh I feel so bad.”

Cooper, of course, being both not an idiot and the father of triplet girls, knows Ellen isn’t sorry in the slightest, but he lets her lead Ali to Kris’s med cabin. 

Once at the cabin, Ellen considers leaving Ali when Kris calls her in. 

“Hey Uncle Kris,” Ellen says as Kris lifts Ali onto a bed in the cabin lined with beds. Kris raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, his green eyes roving over Ellen’s face.

“Hello Ellen. How are we today, girls?”

Kris takes one look between the girl he’s known since she was born and the identical looking girl on the bed and knows exactly what happened.

“Fine,” Ellen says.

Ali mumbles something, and Kris pulls her hand from her nose. He touches it gently. 

“Well Miss Macauley, it’s not broken, just sore.” Kris looks over Ali’s face and notices a small cut, which he instantly starts cleaning.

“You know one of the wonderful things about camp is the ability to make new friends, right girls?” Kris asks, looking pointedly at Ellen.

“Yes sir,” Ellen says. Ali mumbles again.

“You know some friendships last a lifetime.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s important to be open to new friendships too.”

“Yes sir.”

Kris laughs as he lifts Ali off the bed, her cut freshly bandaged and a wax wrapped caramel slipped into her hand. “Yes sir, yes sir. You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?”

“Yes sir,” Ellen repeats with a grin. Kris grins right back and hands her a caramel too.

“Okay, be good you two.”

“Yes sir!” Ali calls as she skips out of the cab. Kris shakes his head as he watches the girls go. He knows that’s not going to happen.

And it doesn’t. Their next class is theatre with Knox, where they’re putting on a production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Alright guys, I have the cast list for you.” Knox rattles off names and assignments: Cosette is the Wicked Witch of the East, and Nick is the Cowardly Lion. “Ellen Rojas and Ali Macauley, you guys are Munchkins.”

“How come I’m a Munchkin when I’m taller than Ellen?” Ali asks, her voice a little warped because of her swollen nose.

“Am not!” Ellen protests.

“Are too!”

Cosette and Nick roll their eyes at each other and Knox sighs.

“Girls, girls, you two are identical if you haven’t realized.”

Both girls stop their squabbling to stare at Knox. They look at each other, studying one another.

“No way,” Ali says. 

“Agreed,” Ellen says.

“I’m way better looking than Ellen.”

“Excuse you! You look like you’re gonna sell drugs on the street in high school.”

Ali opens her mouth in shock as Knox startles and begins to reprimand Ellen. “Ellen Maeve Rojas you can not say things like tha-”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” Ali interrupts with a shout, lunging at Ellen. Ellen maintains her ground, and pushes back, aiming a punch at Ali’s already injured nose. Ali, being an inch taller in her Docs, gains the upper hand as she rolls on top of Ellen and is about to punch her nose when another person arrives in the amphitheater.

“Hey Knox I’ve got that box of props you wanted and Ali what in the world are you doing?”

Everyone turns to Maeve Santos carrying an old cardboard box under one arm. She’s in mom jeans and a Bayview High t-shirt today, a bandana covering her hair, and right now, she’s fuming. 

“She called me a future drug dealer!” Ali points at Ellen. “I was defending myself!”

“She started it!” Ellen protests, pushing Ali off her and sitting up. 

“No I didn’t, you started it!”

Maeve watches with pursed lips. Knox, having known Maeve for years, steps back. He knows an angry Maeve when he sees one.

“Both of you, come one, you’re moving to cabin seven.”

“Cabin seven?” Ellen repeats incredulously. “There are spiders and bugs and pests and stuff there!”

“And? You’re being a pest. Both of you. I’m disappointed in you. So you’re living together until you learn to get along.”

Her voice is calm, conversational almost, but her amber eyes are flashing dangerously. This is a Maeve you don’t cross. 

Sadly, Ellen doesn’t always have common sense.

“My mom won’t like that,” she says.

“Your mother is a…” Maeve stops, taking a deep breath to compose herself, and for a moment, both Ellen and Ali are actually scared. Ellen’s heard about the Aunt Maeve of yesteryears, the one who pushed people away and lashed out when hurting or scared because she never knew how to accept love. Bronwyn says Maeve used to be different, and Ellen can see what she meant. 

Ali and Ellen glance at each other, and they come to an understanding: they don’t need to talk to one another, or even acknowledge each other’s presence in Cabin Seven. But Maeve Santos should not be angered. 

“We’ll get our stuff,” Ali mumbles for the both of them.

“Good,” Maeve says.

“Off to the isolation cabin?” Knox teases. Maeve turns her glare to him, and he steps back.

“Forget I said anything.”

[mooifyourecows]

hiya gorgeous!

so this is my first birthday, Halloween, basically all of the holidays away from home & the thought of making my own traditions is pretty intimidating but also exciting 👀 for example, my thanksgiving feast might just turn out to be a day I cry while I look at my mom’s Facebook and wish meals could be mailed…

anywaysss, do you have any kind of traditions or ways you celebrate the upcoming holidays?

This is actually my first time away from my family too. Back when I lived closer to my parents I would just go over to their house for Thanksgiving and Christmas and I used to go to my uncles house for Halloween because he always makes a big deal out of it every year

But now that I'm 24 hours away from my parents, I'm gonna have to figure some stuff out for myself

Though it sounds like my parents and brother might come to my house for Christmas? Maybe? I'm the one thats kinda in the middle of them all so it would make sense lol

Also im definitely not interested in traveling for the holidays so if they want to see me, they gotta come here 😅

I haven't really decided what we are going to do for holiday stuff from now on yet. But apparently I now live next to a famous serial killer's pig farm?? So I might check that out around Halloween time 👀

Other than that... I might look up some haunted houses or corn mazes and stuff for the weeks leading up to Halloween and then on the day itself, just stay home. I'm not really in a neighborhood situation where there will be trick-or-treaters (unless my neighbors bring their grandkids over) so I won't need to give out candy. I'm thinking about doing some decorating though! Like maybe make some of those chicken wire ghosts and stuff 👀👀👀👀👀

If not though, it'll just be a relaxed year.

For Thanksgiving, ill probably cook a meal but I'm not really much of a chef so who knows how it will turn out lol

As for Christmas, if my family decides not to come visit, we will just get a Christmas tree, do some decorating, maybe look for some light displays nearby... stuff like that.

I think it'll take me a few years to really develop some good potential holiday traditions, especially since I honestly don't know what this place has to offer in terms of holiday things

I kinda wish I can just zip back in time to when I was little and these holidays were super fun and spent with all my cousins and aunts and uncles. Christmas at my grandparents house was always so fun. We always played a big family football game and had snowball fights and tied sleds or an old recliner chair to the back of the 4 wheeler and would go riding on the river bank. Ahh man good times...

But now all the grandkids are older and our parents no longer try to hide how much they hate each other and nobody can stand to have a family dinner together soooooooooo..... oh well

Maybe I'll just adopt a bunch of queer loners here and have a new family to eat a big dinner with 🤗

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) do you dare look him right in the eyes?  STAR WARS

Jangobi Week Day 4 - Forced to Work Together

A03

Jango lets out a grunt of pain as he throws himself behind cover, vocoder crackling in his  buy’ce, his leg and side burning in pain.

Arla was going to be pissed with him. His  aliit’alor  had told him,  ordered him even, not to get involved in the Sith-Jedi shit currently burning its way through the galaxy, but here Jango is, trapped behind the combat lines, with a downed ship, a broken leg, a dead bounty, and a damaged jetpack, trying desperately not to catch the attention of either side.

Jango had thought he could skirt around the worst of the conflict, thought he could just get in and out with the bounty that would feed his aliit for a month. His hunt had gone off effortlessly, the smuggler he was chasing had a lot of credits on his head if brought in alive, apparently having pissed off the wrong royal family when stealing one heirloom or another, and with how tight credits had been since Arla had denied to let them join in the war between the  dar’Jetiise  and  Jetiise, had stepped back from the army to put the  aliit first, despite the Mand’alor’s support being given to the Sith. Their family had lost a lot in the last number of generations; their Buire, aunts and uncles, so many of their cousins - they had all fallen in the line of duty, leaving Arla to lead their  aliit  too young. The older generations had been decimated, leaving only a child who had only just passed her  verd’goten to lead more children, all younger than her. Jango himself had only been eight when their family had died, fifteen years ago, he barely remembers it or them, but he remembers how it hurt Arla, even years later. When the Mand’alor had begun gathering  verde, he’d almost volunteered, he had wanted the chance to bring glory to his small  aliit, but one look at Arla’s face, her wild-eyed fear, had kept him quiet.

Instead, he’d gone back to bounty hunting. He’d done what he could to help provide for the younger members, for Arla’s children, for their younger cousins and nieces and nephews, but refusing the Mand’alor came with consequences. It was hard to find employers who didn’t have connections to their king, it was hard to find people who would pay for his time. Clan Fett had been blacklisted for refusing to rejoin the war, and their farm could only provide so much.

At least there were plenty of stuffy royals willing to pay a premium to be able to claim they had a  Mando’ad at their beck and call.

The hunt for the thief had gone off without a problem, he’d tracked to  hut’uun to where he was hiding, thinking that cowering behind the war would keep him safe. Jango had tracked him down, had taken him into custody, but the moment he’d tried to leave the planet’s atmosphere, his ship had been shot down. Jango had barely survived, his bounty hadn’t, and if he manages to get off the planet, it means that he’s lost his pay.

He’s trapped behind  dar’Jetiise  lines now, trying to avoid the hunters sent after him. He doesn’t like  Jetiise  - what self-respecting  Mando’ad  does - but at this point, Jango thinks he’d prefer them to their darker counterparts. At least  Jetiise were easier to fool, and would be more willing to let him leave the planet with all his limbs intact if he explained that he’s not one of the Mando’ade following the  dar’Jetiise. They probably wouldn’t like him, simply on principle, but if he could prove he wasn’t a combatant they would be honour-bound not to attack.

That is if he could ever get out of this kriffing nightmare.

Jango curses again, pushing himself deeper into the mud when he hears movement. Thanking the Manda that his  beskar’gam  messes with the Force enough that the  dar’Jetiise hunting him for sport wouldn’t be able to sense him. If he could stay hidden long enough for them to walk right past him, then he could keep travelling in the direction that he remembers the  Jetiise camp being when he’d studied the planet.

Kriff - he hates this.

Heart pounding in his chest, Jango carefully regulates his breathing, and lets himself sink deeper into the black mud. His HUD can pick up a body traveling towards him, growing closer and closer, and the Jango’s grip tightens on his vibroblade; if the  dar’Jetii gets close, he’ll be able to fight back.

Another voice lets out a curse, there’s a heavy splash, and a Human comes stumbling over the bush Jango has hidden himself under. Jango lashes out, grabbing the  dar’Jetii’s ankle and  pulling. When the Human goes tumbling, Jango drags himself on top of them, raising his dagger, and moments before he brings it down, he finds himself staring into wide  blue eyes in a young, mud-stained face.

A  Jetii.

Jango has a moment to curse, jerking to a stop, before the  Jetii he’s caught lashes out and flings him off of them. Jango finds himself plucked off of the Human by an invisible hand, and thrown like a child’s toy. He hits the ground, pain exploding through his body, and as he lays there, reeling and gasping, he expects the  Jetii  to follow up on the attack. He expects to be carved open by a  jetii’kad for his stupid mistake, expects to find himself suddenly passing into the Manda, to see those who marched on before him to join their ancestors.

But it never comes.

Instead, a blue  jetii’kad  is leveled at his chest. The  Jetii stands over him, and Jango finds himself blinking in shock, looking up into the fierce expression and burning eyes the same colour as the blade. The Jetii is scrawny, but there’s power in their shoulders, not at all hidden by the pauldrons on their shoulders.

“Who might you be, Mandalorian?” The  Jetii demands, white teeth flashing amongst the black mud caked to their face in a fierce grin. Jango knows it's a demand, despite the generally cheerful tone in the  Jetii’s voice. “Why have you attacked me? Are you a servant of the Sith?”

“I serve  no one.” Jango hisses, pushing back the pain, ignoring the memories of arrogant royals considering him nothing more than an exotic plaything. He’d needed the credits, had agreed to it, because he doesn’t have the reputation that would bring him the bigger bounties - not yet anyways. He’d agreed to anything to get the credits his aliit needed, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

He’d bend, but he’d never break.

“I’m just a simple man making his way through the galaxy.”

“A simple man, are you?” The  Jetii  says slowly, and Jango can almost imagine the eyebrow being raised under all that mud. “And you just  happened to have almost shoved a vibroblade through my eye?”

“Thought you were a  dar’Jetii.” Jango grunts, and the  Jetii’s head tilts.

“I was under the impression that the Mandalorians were fighting for the Sith?”

Jango growls, “Not  all  of us.” The Jetii continues to watch him, but those blue eyes don’t seem as intent anymore. “I was here for a bounty. Some  chakaar that was stupid enough to get caught stealing from a royal family. Pay was good, if he was brought in warm, but my ship was shot down.”

“Is that so?” The Jetii muses, but the  jetii’kad deactivates with a hiss. “Could I perhaps have a name, my new bounty hunting friend?”

“Jango.” He grunts, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. “Jango Fett.” He stares up into bright eyes, mind still reeling to catch up with the situation he's found himself in. He had come far too close to loosing his head for comfort, and the faintest stirrings of attraction deep in his gut is annoying - he doesn't have time for another crush on another person with a nice smile who could have definitely killed him without trying. "And we're not friends."

The Jetii  beams  at him, far too charming for his own good. “A pleasure!” He says cheerfully, stowing away his  kad’au, “I’m Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, and it seems we’re in the same kind of trouble.” Kenobi’s blue eyes sparkle, and Jango glares suspiciously, “What say you to a temporary alliance, Jango Fett?”

“Well,” Jango says slowly, and honestly, he’d prefer a baby  Jetii  to a  dar’Jetii, even if it's an annoyingly pretty one, “if you can use your crazy magic to help with a broken leg, I’d be in your debt.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42 @tumceteri-fratres @etainskirata

[streetslost]

i’m so certain i’ve talked about this before, but i’m having feelings so i’mma ramble again.  cat’s feelings towards herself are so... mixed.  she doesn’t really take the middle ground in view of herself.  there’s no “average” or “ordinary” for her.  she is either amazing or the worst thing ever.  though there isn’t a whole lot that she regards herself as spectacular with, but there are a few core things that she feels she actually holds merit to.

copper saw potential in her at ten years old and trained her.  he trained her well.  i won’t sit here and say she’s about to defeat someone with ten times more strength or experience than her, of course, but she can put up a solid fight even against more skilled opponents.  copper is nearly two feet taller than her and probably has almost 200 pounds more on her ( tbh his weight is not something i’ve heavily contemplated, but he is a muscular man so a lot of his weight is muscle anyway ).  she was trained to fight him as well as against tinderbox, a woman closer to her size.  she has the depth of knowledge.  she knows she is good at fighting, defense, and especially with her aim.  throwing knives may be her favorite, but she learns most weapons that depend upon aiming fairly quickly ( her weakest would probably be a bow and arrow where she has to pull back that string and it’s just a different movement/feel to her, but she would still be a decent shot with it.  crossbows, most guns, etc. are all adapted to quickly, esp since she’s trained with a number different guns so she actually knows those and doesn’t need to train, just re-adapt to the difference ).

she’s an excellent thief.  and honestly i low-key get a bit sad when people send things for her that are her getting caught doing what she’s literally been doing for seven years to survive.  she was named street cat because of her ability to move silently and swiftly.  it’s not a random name, it was in reference to those talents ( margie is short for margarine, she was named for being smooth but an excellent act, like how margarine is just like.  fake butter lol.  flint for his ability to spark energy in others, etc. )

cat knows these things and is proud of herself.  unfortunately being proud of stealing and fighting does play somewhat of a role into why she hates herself.  she knows those aren’t exactly talents she should be proud of.  but, hey, she is alive thanks to them.

in terms of her own personality, her looks, and her intelligence, she thinks such shit of herself.  especially intelligence because she blames countless mistakes on why she’s in the situation she is.  she isn’t entirely to blame.  her aunt and uncle, copper, vinnie, those that “cared” for her in juvie, maurion... she was a child, and all these older people/adults and such continually screwed her over.  she could have made better choices, sure, but she was so fucked over by people who were supposed to guide and help her in life.  her choices play off their inability to have been decent people in her life.  but, ultimately, she blames herself, views herself as stupid and incompetent.  then her looks she regards as trash, herself as trash, her personality as abrasive and terrible... she doesn’t see how anyone can genuinely like her.  the one thing she likes about her behavior is her puns, but most people are... all over the board with how they feel about those.

much of these issues are partially stemmed by her mental illness, but she also hates that she has mental illness, as well, and she regards herself as broken quite frequently until someone helps her to view the stigma differently.  on the streets, a lot of people have such things, but they get treated terribly most of the time.  she doesn’t want to be seen that way, she doesn’t want to be treated that way.  so she hates that and plays all kind of games to seem like she isn’t struggling.  she knows she isn’t normal and doesn’t see herself as normal, but if she can pretend, then maybe people will treat her as a lost girl in need of help rather than a giant mess up.

[what-big-teeth]

Punish

And it’s finally done! Thank you all for being patient with me as I finished this piece! I hope you all enjoy! Gender Neutral Reader x Male Monster tw: mentions of infidelity ; general violence  The ceremony is everything your best friend imagined it’d be and more. 

It’s a winter celebration held within an old church with long ties to her paternal family, officiated by her German-born uncle. The cathedral is decorated in carefully chosen whites and dusty blues, reflecting the cooler colors just beyond the towering stained-glass windows.  Emma stares at her husband-to-be with tears dotting her lashes and a loving smile on her painted lips. No objections are made when the time comes. 

And so, when her uncle happily pronounces Emma officially wed, as she walks hand in hand with her husband down the aisle to a joyous uproar, you can’t help but think everything is perfect.

And yet, a twinge of doubt remains. 

All attempts at mental self-soothing fall short as Michael’s behavior draws your attention. Was it the way he cut the cake, his hand loosely clutching Emma’s? Or the way he fed her a piece with a too-flat smile? 

Even now, as one of her relatives happily proposes a toast to the new couple, the true shine in Emma’s eyes is missing from Michael’s. The champagne flows bitterly down your throat, nearly forcing you to cough. But a warm, wrinkled cream-colored hand smooths across your mid-back. Emma’s paternal grandmother, Greta, leans closer as not to interrupt the festivities.

“Are you alright, dear?

You nod, clearing your throat.

“I’m fine, Omi. Some of my drink just went down the wrong pipe.”

Omi takes a moment to look at you, to ensure you’re truly alright. She then nods, as any grandmother would after ascertaining their grandchild is sound. Seeing as how Omi quickly took you under her care after meeting you, she’s honestly your grandmother in every sense save for blood.

“Be more careful in the future,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Emma will worry her head off about you, even on her special day.”

If Omi was your honorary grandmother, then Emma was the older sister you never had. Losing your parents at a young age to a car crash left you in the care of your paternal aunt and uncle. And while both were kind, there wasn’t a true closeness between the three of you. Both your caretakers were a generation older than your parents. Making any and all attempts to connect harder. Your overall relationship with them is cordial, but not as closer as they perhaps hoped. 

When you met Emma early on in high school, you found a kindred spirit and became part of her family overtime. Keeping in touch had never been an issue for you two, which is why you’re now at her wedding. 

Both Emma and Michael’s families lose themselves in conversation, the selection of German beers and wines, and the delicious cuisine familiar to her side of the family and you. Even as he nurses one of the higher-grade beers, Michael looks strangely uncomfortable in the midst of things. In fact, both Emma and Michael don’t fit in with the happy scene.

Her attempts at catching his attention is barely successful. He’s more occupied with his empty wine glass than anything else. Emma places her cream-colored hand onto his shoulder, only for him to suddenly stand. He steps away from the bridal table without so much as a glance towards her. 

But her worried, green gaze catches yours. You nod at her with what you hope is a reassuring smile, rising to your feet. Quickly reassuring Omi, you follow after Michael at a leisurely pace. There aren’t too many places he can go to inside of the event hall. But the most obvious sticks out in your mind immediately. 

You spot the hinged, heavy door to the unisex bathroom slowly closing shut. Even with no-one around, your sense of propriety won’t allow you to enter the single-stall. And waiting around for him to come out would leave a bad taste in your mouth. You turn on your heel only to bump face-first into something solid with a squeak.

With a wriggle of your smarting nose and a few blinks, you look at the sudden roadblock. A man stands before you, wearing a simple black tuxedo accented with a deep red pocket square and dress shirt. His dark, wavy hair is strangely wild and contrasts against his pale skin. But it oddly works, more so as the strands obscure his bright, amber eyes.

“My apologies,” he says with a deep timber. It doesn’t help that he has an accent you can’t quite place. “I was expecting a little mouse to be the cause of such a sound. Though I can’t say I’m disappointed with the true source.”

You ignore the heat building in your cheeks. Thinking of the horror stories you’ve heard about horrible hook-ups at weddings helps you focus. 

“I-it’s fine,” you mutter.

“Such a worried expression tells me otherwise.”

For some reason you can’t determine, the lie you attempt to build crumbles under his patient gaze. 

“The groom left the reception without warning. Emma wanted me to check in on him.”

The man keeps his eyes leveled on your face. He rolls the end of a dark coil between his fingertips then lets it go. 

“Perhaps something at the reception didn’t sit well with him?”

No, that wasn’t right. You hadn’t seen Michael eat anything from any of the buffet tables. In fact, now that you think about it, any hint of Michael’s preferences in the spread was nowhere to be found. Emma had excitedly told you about the selection of foods that she’d picked out month before. But she hadn’t mentioned Michael’s input at all.

“The thing about these sorts of events,” the man says, “is that not everything is as it seems.”

For a moment, you swear that as he smiles, his incisors sharpen. And his hands, which smooth down the lapels of his suit…had his nails always been so sharp?

“A charming veneer can easily hide a rotten core. Remember that, little mouse.”

Your features scrunch together as you gently shake your head. 

“What are you—”

A horrible screech silences you, overriding your thoughts. Your neck muscles almost strain from your head turning so quickly.

Michael stands in front of the restroom door, his jacket in bundled heap in his bent arm. His white dress shirt is horribly wrinkled and his tie barely in a knot. All attempts at smoothing both down fail. 

One crease in particular sticks out to you. All thanks to the pinkish stain smeared into the fabric.

“…were you talking to?”

Your eyes snap up in time to see his quizzical stare. 

“D-did you say something?”

Michael smiles at you. It’d be a charming gesture, but it doesn’t reach his blue eyes.

“I asked if you were talking to someone.”

You turn to motion to the stranger behind you, but only find an empty hallway. 

“Well?” he broaches again.

“I was…just talking to myself. Anyway, Emma asked me to check on you. She wanted to know if you were alright.”

His smile tightens as he claps a heavy, tanned hand onto your shoulder.

“I’m just fine,” he says. “Just needed some time to myself.”

He breezes by you without another word, back towards the main room of the reception hall. Instead of the cologne you expect, a sickly, cloying scent trails after him.

You stomach drops as your breath catches in your throat. A small part of you screams to tell Emma, or at least Omi. But something compels you to keep quiet. 

The feeling reminds you of the man you bumped into earlier.

Fighting against the shudder racing down your spine, you follow after Michael, wincing at the lingering perfume in the air. 

You hope with all your might that your assumptions are wrong. 

But that same, small part of you knows you aren’t.

____________________________________________

In just three days’ time, on the snowy night of Christmas Eve, you’re proven horribly right.

The cloying perfume clinging to Michael, the pink stain on his dress shirt, the too-tight smile he gave you…all signs of infidelity. But the absolute horrible part of the truth churned your stomach. 

When cornered by Emma, Michael admitted through bared teeth that he didn’t care for her at all. Just the valuables he’d spot on her person, in her home. The items that were family heirlooms, that she earned all her own. The truth left her stunned and frozen in place; Michael wasted no time in leaving, not even taking care to close the door of the cabin resort behind him. 

After emptying her stomach in the bathroom, Emma was able to call you through her deep sobs, begging you come over. You didn’t hesitate at all, leaving your own cabin to rush over to her. When you arrived, you were surprised to see no signs of her Uncle Roland, her parents, or Omi. But when Emma admitted in a quiet voice that she couldn’t bear to tell them the truth, you understood. If the news was so shocking to her, then you both could only imagine how her family would handle the truth. 

That admittance leaves you both sitting before the crackling fireplace wrapped in thick blankets, nursing warm mugs of chamomile tea.  Emma looks ready to drift off at any moment; the swollen, red bags under her eyes and her drooping lids tell you as much. Slowly, and so she can see you, you take her mug and place it on the ground beside you. 

“N-no,” she mutters, “I should be awake in case he—”

The cabin door slams open. You recover from wincing at the sharp impact against the door stopper and shoot to your feet. Michael stands just before the doorway, clothing askew and snow dusting his shoulders. Seeing his face littered with kiss marks and a satisfied grin on his lips makes your teeth grit.

“Get. Out.”

“And who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do? Last I checked, my name’s still listed as the renter of this property. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Emma shrinks further into herself in reply, refusing to look his way. Michael laughs.

“If all it took to shut you up was being honest, I would’ve done so a long time ago. But then, the plan wouldn’t have worked out, now would it?”

Michael inches closer but you refuse to let him cow you. You stand your ground, fingertips digging into the ceramic of your mug. 

“I said pack your shit and leave, you son of a—”

Pain blossoms across your face. The force behind it sends you sprawling to the ground, your mug spilling its contents. You think you hear Emma scream against the ringing in your ears. But it’s nothing compared to the ticking of the clock. Heavy. Tense. 

Midnight strikes. The fireplace snuffs itself out during the first chime. The electrical lights flicker, then die as Michael mutters in confusion during the second. A gentle warmth envelops you during the next. Emma. Tears slide down her face, her words almost muffled by the throbbing in your head. 

The smell doesn’t help. A pungent sootiness and smokiness that grows stronger and stronger. Emma’s gaze darts away from your face. You hear a scrapping noise coming from inside the chimney…like nails on a chalkboard…

It ends with a heavy ‘thud’, then silence.

“W-what in the fuck?!”

You can make out the large, hulking shape, even in the darkness. It stands to its full height, revealing a black, furred body, topped with a goat-like horns. Its cloven hooves stamp and drag against the carpet, burning ember-lit prints into the fabric. They’re bright enough to reveal the creature’s long, tufted tail. 

It huffs out a visible, heated breath and lets the large, woven basket it carries over its humanoid shoulder drop to the ground, revealing heavy chains and a coiled whip. The creature fixes its gaze onto Emma with a horrible, razor sharp grin.

“Remember me, Häschen? Or has fifteen years taken away the memory of my swift visit of that one night?

Emma’s pale frame shakes under the creature’s gaze. As its black, rectangular pupils widen and its golden sclerae glow, Emma breathes one word:

“Krampus.”

Emma crumples to the ground with a soft breath. Your throat nearly seizes at the sight, but you’re able to sit up. Your hands tremble, but find the pulse point against her neck. Her carotid leaps against your touch, to your relief. But your safety isn’t assured…

You focus on the creature—Krampus—as he unwinds his black whip, pulling the leather at the base taut.

“There is no need to fear, little mouse,” he says. “Neither you or Häschen will come to harm. I’m only here for the one that reeks of infidelity.”

Michael whimpers out a denial, and scrambles towards the door. But Krampus employs his whip without any difficulty. The thin end wraps around Michael’s neck and yanks, choking off his sobs and slamming him onto his back. His hands scratch at his own skin and the whip. All it does is gradually tighten, as if imbued a life of its own. 

Krampus stalks over towards Michael, letting a clawed hand dart out and dig into his mussed hair. He pulls, revealing Michael’s tear and snot-streaked face. Krampus grins, revealing needle-like teeth that a forked tongue slips through before receding.

“As I said before, a charming veneer can easily hide a rotten core. The girl will be all the better without this worm around.”

A frisson of realization shoots through you as your eyes widen. 

“It’s you,” you murmur. 

Krampus turns to you, ignoring how Michael snivels and begs to be let go. Instead of mirthful glee, his features have smoothed over into utter calm. And his eyes shine with what you can only decipher as interest.

“A shame we couldn’t have met again under better circumstances, little mouse. Perhaps another time.”

Then, without any effort, Krampus drags Michael towards his sack. He wraps chains around his squirming body in a careful manner, as if he’s done this before. He shoves Michael into his sack by his head, pulling away a few locks of hair in the process. Then he hauls the bag over his shoulder and duck into the chimney, returning the way he came. 

Once the sounds of struggling fade completely, the fireplace roars back to life and the lights flicker back on. Even the heavy smell of soot and the ember-lit prints have vanished, leaving no trace behind. As much as the small part of you screams to see where to creature went, you ignore it and focus on Emma. 

You coax her lax body into a more comfortable position, placing a pillow under her head and her blanket over her prone form. Then, after ensuring the front door is closed and locked, you flop down onto the couch. Fatigue like no other courses through your body. You let it take you under.

__________________________________________

Uncle Roland and Omi do their best to comfort Emma the following morning, the former swearing to take Michael to court. Omi, however, doesn’t mention Michael at all. She merely consoles Emma the best way a grandmother can: through listening, genuine comfort, and homemade food. 

You peer over the rim of your hot cocoa at Omi as she finishes drying the dishes. At her insistence, both you have made yourself comfortable with Omi having gently bandaged your cheek. The calm way she has taken everything in stride strikes you as odd…

“You saw him too, right?”

You meet Emma’s uncertain, exhausted gaze as she burrows deeper into her blanket.

“We didn’t…I didn’t imagine that, right?”

“No,” you say softly. “I saw Krampus, too.”

Emma sniffs, then takes a long sip from her steaming mug.

“Then he’s gone for good. We don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“But what if he tries the same tactic again on someone else?” you begin. “What if—”

“The justice that Krampus metes out is absolute,” Emma says resolutely. “Michael will wish he were in prison instead.”

You take Emma’s words to heart. Yet knowing that everything’s been said and done doesn’t stop your curiosity from growing. 

Later that night, when Uncle Roland, Omi, and Emma are all tucked into bed, you pull on your heaviest coat, your warmest boots, and your thickest gloves. Armed with only a flashlight, you step outside into the encompassing night, coming across the main trail that leads into the forest. 

The air grows colder the further you trek away from the cabin. But you have to be sure. You won’t be at peace until you know. 

A gently, growing warmth envelops you when the wind becomes too much to bear. Your eyes slide close, grateful at the wonderful sensation. 

“And why, little mouse, have you wondered so far from your warm nest?”

A shiver runs down your spine, but not from the cold. His voice warms you like the best and freshest brewed cup of tea. And as your eyes meet his, you realize his gaze has the same effect.

“I wanted to make sure,” you say against the breath fogging your vision. “I want to know that Michael won’t ever come back.”

Krampus flashes you a wicked grin. 

“Is that doubt I hear? Would you like to go to where is now, to ensure he can’t escape?”

“No. I’m not doubting you.” How could you, with the tales Uncle Roland and Omi told you of the mythical being standing before you before retiring to bed? “I just want to make sure when he’s been missing long enough, that his disappearance won’t draw attention to Emma and her family. She’s been through enough already and she doesn’t need any unnecessary drama.”

Krampus doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes a few steps closer and reaches towards you with his clawed hand. His fingertips touch the gauze taped onto your cheek. Yet instead of stinging, a pleasant warmth seeps through the bandage and into your skin. You lean into his touch, holding his gaze and he looks as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. 

“What a genuine, sweet thing you are. A rarity in such a world as this. One that I would like to learn more about.”

You can feel every beat of your heart within your chest. It’s a sensation you welcome, more so as it thrills you. 

“I’m not going anywhere until the end of the holidays,” you reveal. “And I don’t have anyone waiting for me back home.”

A deep, steady rumbling emerges from Krampus’ chest. He grins.

“I vow to make this holiday season one to remember, if you will allow me to do so.”

It’s a tempting offer, one you’re willing to accept. Save for one thing.

“And that won’t interfere with your duties?” you ask.

Krampus snorts, now fully stroking your bandaged cheek with his thumb.

“I’ve yet to falter once,” he says. Then, he smiles. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind looking forward to something pleasurable after dealing with the indecent souls in the land.”

You wet your lips with a slow drag of your tongue. It’s an action that Krampus’ eyes follow intently. 

“I accept,” you say.

“Then we have an accord.”

The deal is sealed with a kiss, one that’s both gentle and tinged with just a hint of fang. As if to remind you of the sort of creature he is. All that does is encourage you to ask for entrance, which Krampus slowly grants. The sensation of his mouth against yours warms you from the soles of your feet to the top of your head. And the taste of it… smokey yet bittersweet. It leaves you breathless and clinging to Krampus’ furred chest. He chuckles and brushes his knuckles over your uninjured cheek.

“I just realized…I never learned you name.”

The revelation is announced as a sigh instead of a statement. Not that you find any reason to care now, feeling too good.

“Let’s see if you can get it from me before you leave, hm? Until then, liebling. Pleasant dreams.”

In the blink of an eye, Krampus is gone, but the heat from him lingers, steady and true. With your pulse thundering in your chest, you turn back towards the cabin, looking forward to learning more about your new beau during the remaining nights of the holiday season.

[volvolts]

trying again. im gonna talk about my ocs. its pretty long and kinda incoherent idk

first start with robin

idk how to make the picture smaller so im sorry

- her name is robin wright and she’s 17

BACKSTORY

- her mom is a cyberneticist and her dad is a neurosurgeon. they do research on cyborg’s disease and have a company that makes prosthetics. they’re really rich because if it

- robin also had a twin brother named ronan (she’s the younger twin btw). he died when they were 15 because he had a rare case of cyborg’s disease in the brain. his death was so traumatizing for her that she doesn’t remember the months surrounding his death. she doesn’t even remember the funeral

- after ronan’s death, robin’s parents put her into isolation for two years. they pulled her out of her classes and activities and she barely got human interactions during this time

- eventually she had enough and begged to be allowed out which they do--as long as she has a bodyguard with her at all times. the problem? robin had a hard time getting along with most of them. in fact, ryuji is kind of a last resort. if she doesn’t get on well with him, she’ll most likely be isolated until further notice

random facts

- she’s really smart, a natural genius you could say. she was on her third year in college before she was pulled from it (she’s studying to be a neurosurgeon like her father). she’s one of those organized highlighter/color coded note takers too

- robin is a very compassionate person and is compelled to help others as much as she can. 

- stubborn and determined, she’ll pursue nearly everything and won’t back down until she has answers. sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop and accidentally oversteps her boundaries. it’s not because she’s needlessly nosy but because she wants to know the whole story before she can help them

- she has a overactive imagination and would end up thinking up outlandish ideas to fill in the blanks of things she doesn’t know

- robin is one of those people who’s polite and reserved if she doesn’t know you but will talk your ear off when she’s comfortable with you

- she closer with her father, which is why she’s studying the same subject that he works in

- both of her parents are incredibly successful and she’s expected to do something similar so she has a lot on her shoulders

- she hasn’t worked a day in her life but she has unusually strong endurance and stamina

- she has a dog! he’s a golden retriever and his name is beck. he’s an old dog and she loves him very much 

next is ryuji

- his name is ryuji lor and he’s 22

- he also goes by “ryder” (technically he’s supposed to go by that throughout most of my half-baked story because he never told anyone is real name but that’s beside the point)

- he’s a quarter japanese and three quarters se asian (not really sure what kind yet but im thinking somewhere within the vietnam/laos area)

BACKSTORY 

- a bit of TW: FAMILY ABUSE in this passage so skip if it bothers you:  his mom got pregnant with him while she was in college and because her boyfriend bailed on her and stress of the pregnancy and burnout she dropped out and went back to her family. she was seen as “the good one” of the family and was expected to get a good job to get her family out of poverty however when she came back they were incredibly bitter that she “failed” and would verbally and emotionally put her down. They also blamed ryuji because if he wasn’t born then she wouldn’t have dropped out and he was often ostracized because of it. 

- fortunately he and his mom left when he turned 5. they lived in a small apartment and had to get lots of help from neighbors and friends to make ends meet (mostly to babysit ryuji while his mom worked). ryuji vowed to get smart and get a good job to give his mother the life she deserves (and partly because he feels a part of her really does hate him and he wants to make it up to her somehow because if he doesn’t, was he just a parasite like what his aunts and uncles said?)

- when he turned 10, his mom got married and how he has two moms. they’re hard on him but it’s from a place of love so he tries his best to be a good son by studying and staying out of trouble

- at 17, ryuji has a bit of hope ahead of him. he has a part time job, good grades, and maybe a scholarship if he could qualify. suddenly he’s diagnosed with cyborg’s disease in his eyes and arm. they can’t afford either of his surgeries, let alone one. and that’s not going into the prosthetics and rehab afterwards. at night when they think he’s asleep, ryuji hears his moms arguing about how they’ll be able to afford any of it and what they’ll have to do to pay for it. 

- he can’t take it anymore. he runs away

- he ends up in a city he doesn’t recognize and is just allowing himself to die but he gets saved by irving, a back alley repair doctor. he gets prosthetics thanks to her but is now in a massive debt so he works as her assistant and also finds other jobs on the side to repay it

- his backstory is getting really long so things happen in ryuji’s attempt to make money and he ends up also working with ace, who leads an organized crime group, as a handler whose job is to fight/intimidate/kill whoever. 

- a sudden coincidence also ends up working as robin’s bodyguard which starts everything. honestly he’s didn’t want to do this job at first but robin’s parents are willing to pay a good amount of money and it allows him to have time away from his jobs with ace

random facts

- he’s left hand but learned to be ambidextrous, however he’ll usually default to his left hand

- he wore glasses when he was younger (near sighted; it was super bad but he didn’t like it)

- he’s afraid of dogs. it’s not a full on phobia but they make him uneasy because of a childhood thing. (he’s more of a cat person and maybe pets a few stray cats that come across his house every once in a while)

- he doesn’t like people staring at him. he feels self-conscious because of the scar on his face and the shadowed bags under his eyes and people staring at him don’t help

- ryuji is really good with prosthetics repair and can go into in-depth discussions about the mechanics of it all; he actually really enjoys working on it and actually helped design his own arm

- he’s really smart but he had to work really hard to get there and because he never finished his education, he doesn’t really think he is either

- ryuji tries to give off a “i don’t care about anyone” bravado to try and distance himself from everything. but he really cares. like a lot. the few people he has in his life right now, he’s ride or die for them

- ryuji works himself to death to ignore his problems. he’s afraid if he stops moving, he’ll buckle under the pressure and stop forever

- he has a knife hidden in his prosthetic forearm which he will use if he feels threatened. (it’s probably a stiletto knife or something idk yet)

- ryuji is an early riser; waking up at 9 am feels like sleeping in to him. he’s not even that much of a morning person, its mostly out of habit

then there’s castor

- his name is castor oda and he’s 24

- he’s japanese

BACKSTORY

- he lived in a really strict and controlling family who owned a business where he had his entire life planned out for him up to who he was going to marry. he’s always been angry about it because he has older siblings who will take over the company and it’s clear that more of a control and image thing than anything else

- when he went to college, it was his first time actually be away from his family and became friends with a guy named ben. 

- ben helped castor when his family kicked him out at 19 and gave him a place to stay until he could get back on his feet

- castor loved ben like a brother and is forever grateful for him

- ben mysteriously disappeared when they were 21 and everyone is pretty sure he’s dead but no one knows why

- castor wants to find closure on what happened because he’s definitely sure there’s something shady going on and he’s going to find out what.

- he’s an information broker, occasionally crossing paths with ace to relay and gather info but for the most part, castor has been working alone

- when he’s not doing that though, he works as a barista at a coffee shop

random facts

- he has cyborg’s disease in his right arm and when he lived with his family, he was deeply self-conscious about it

- he hasn’t spoken to his parents since they kicked him out but he still talks to his siblings sometimes; he’s the youngest child with two older sisters

- he always had an inkling that ben had romantic feelings for him, which was unrequited, and castor always felt a little guilty that he never reciprocated or that they never got to talk about it

- castor always wears his red scarf no matter the occasion or weather; he has more scarves but he just likes the red one the best

- people think he’s like calm and collected but in reality he’s an impulsive, emotional driven idiot just like the rest of us

- however he is the master of the polite business smile because of his strict upbringing

- he’s a rather disorganized person

next is irving

- her name is ellie irving and she’s 35

- she’s half black, half white

BACKSTORY 

- i don’t have that much solidified for her backstory yet so it might change fyi

- irving had been doing cybernetic research back in college but someone plagiarized her work and submitted their paper before she came forward

- because the paper was published before she published hers, SHE was initially hit with backlash of plagiarism

- eventually they try to sort it out but in the end, while she proved she didn’t plagiarize the other, she couldn’t prove that she came up with the research first and they just terminated the both her and the plagiarist

- she was barred from going into higher cybernetics research and honestly she’s still a bit bitter about it

- she went into prosthetics repair instead but still struggled to find work because of her alleged reputation, which many still believed she stole another’s work

- eventually she manages to open up a shop that specializes in prosthetic repairs and replacements

random facts

- she’s really harsh and aloof, however she cares in her own way

- honestly irving doesn’t believe herself to be a good person due to how she feels she let herself to bitterly sulk in her anger for so long

- she smokes a bit but she’s trying to cut back lately

- irving won’t pry if you come to her with a broken arm and you need help; she’ll fix you up and leave it at that and allow you to come to her yourself

- she’s incredibly observant and can tell if your lying with just a glance

- she doesn’t know that ryuji works for ace; she’s concerned when he seems more tired than usual but she doesn’t know how to pry

last one cuz im tired

his name is ace (i don’t have a last name for him) and he’s 32

- he owns an organized crime ring; im thinking he’s connected to something bigger and possibly something with the black market

- not much is known about him but he’s a charismatic man and has the intimidation factor 

- he flips his demeanor a lot. one minute he’s jovial and kind then the next he’ll give you thinly veil threats. he mostly does it to keep people on their toes so it’s a power thing

- begrudgingly he’s the closest thing to a father figure ryuji is gonna get

- also the jacket ryuji always wears? it’s a gift from ace

and that’s all i got so far! i have a lot more ocs but i don’t have have a lot of backstory for them yet. let me know what you think of these guys and feel free to ask questions!

[oh-theres-a-woman]

Flowers in a Peaked Cap; Prologue

A/N; The very first Shelby Sister story that I’ve written, I wanted to give her a little bit of a whimsical vibe. A young woman with her head in the clouds, closer to her gyspy roots in loving to be on the road and travelling. Instead, she’s contempt with staying with her family in Small Heath. Pouring her soul out onto paper into the long hours of the night without her brother’s knowledge. After all, most of the tales she writes is about the glory days before the war. 

Due to the request of her being much like the love Luna Lovegood, I thought it was fitting that Tillie’s face claim was the lovely Evanna Lynch. 

Thought I’d add a few extras to the tag list whom I thought might like this story!!! 

Requested By; @csigeoblue​

Parts; [ 1 ]

Taglist; @zodiyack​, @itsfrancisneptun​, @amys-small-world​, @fandom-fucking-shit​, @hesagod-notyet​, @hinagiku0​, @dylanlover24​, @amirahiddleston​, @a-dorky-book-keeper​, @theamuz​, @csigeoblue​ & @smallheathgangsters​

Word Count; 1021

Mornings light these bought in the oddest sorts from the streets into the betting shops, not that Tillie minded at all. She watched all unfold from her place on the stairs. Minding her own business, taking in each character pinned on a bet. Making up a story for every single one of them. Of course, she already knew the regulars, but there was no fun in that. Tillie liked to think of the whimsical things as her Aunt and brothers went about their workings, well, all except Finn. He tried, yet, seemed to get in the way. A lot. 

Nibbling at her nails the girl poked her tongue out at her twin brother, teasingly. After he’d been told off for getting in the way of the others. Watching Finn scrunch up his face at the teasing gesture. The girl picked herself up from the confine of her stairway. Wandering away from the quietest place in Betting Shop. She landed herself beside her oldest brother Arthur. “Do you lot need me ta do anything then?” Tillie asked Art with a light purse of her lips. “Or can I go that reading from the store down the Lane, they have some interesting ones out at the moment. Read about them in the paper,” The girl beamed only to be shut down by her older brother, a frown creasing her brow. 

“Oi, don’t you be giving me that look. Those readings are a bloody waste of money,” he flicked Tillie’s brow for the end of his point being made. She rubbed the tingling spot in her knitted brow that hurt from the flick. Ignoring her brother’s laughter; Finn. They’d always had this happen of laughing at each other if they got in the shit. Honestly, it was a family trait that followed them all through in some regard. The older boys; Arthur, Thomas and John, however never really laughed at Tillie like they did Finn. 

She was a different sort; more sensitive than the lot of them. Often found herself blue and down when not about to run free. Or get lost in her own imagination. Unlike the gangsters in the family. Sweet, dear, Tillie was the soul of a writer. Enjoying days like these to just wander down the Lane towards the quietly kept bookshop. Where many creative souls, mostly men read their tales. The youngest Shelby never had the balls to stand up and speak before a massive crowd, let alone a few people here and there. Today was to be the chance, but it was going South so quickly. 

“It’s not that kind of readin’, please, Art?” Tillie asked with a number of growing tears in her eyes, before the eldest shook her off once more. 

“No, go back to whatever you were doing prior, aye. You’re getting in the way, Till.” The Shelby eldest warned and watched her drag back up the stairs, head eased against the stairs. Not at all a lady-like appearance, but it felt like an active protest. 

Thomas watched his sister from where he stood in the shop, looking to Arthur with a sigh. There were other ways to put things than expressing someone’s piece of enjoyment was a waste of money. Plus, there’ll come the  day where Tillie would become smart enough to use their own pleasures against them; whores, booze and Tokyo. He didn’t know of the little world inside her head; but he knew that she was elsewhere compared to them. Her world was the fairytales they all thought and dreamed of during the war, or back when Finn and Tillie were little babies that needed stories to sleep.

He also knew, just by looking at his sister that she was tireder than normal. However, dressed in her favourite and cleanest dress. One that Pol had made a big deal about getting for her birthday. It had suited the lush blonde hair that she had gained from their mother’s side. Uncle Charlie had light hair as well, so it was mostly the strong family trait. Yet, the cream accents of the dress made the Shelby blue of her eyes stand out a little moment. In the braided bun she always had pinned into place, there were flowers neatly tucked in there. Making her look every bit the gyspy, but also like a proper lady should in some regard. 

Ink stained her hands that rested over her stomach, ignoring the rest of the things going on. Before she got the balls to nick back upstairs. Slamming her door behind Arthur’s protest about her staying at the stairs. The Shelbys’ needed to present as a united front. That was the bullshit that they kept selling, and spilling. Tillie else her back against the door to her bedroom, sighing softly looking at the sight of her novel bound and perfectly ready for the reading at the bookstore. 

It was her chance to get it published, the tales of some sort of fantasy epic she hadn’t quite found the name for yet. Something that was perfect for the children with a wee bit of kindling for spiriting away.

So, she tucked her novel; complete. Within a scathe bag, and flung it over her shoulder. Opening the window. Tillie carefully climbed across the neighbours fence, then jumped down into the streets of Watery Lane. Dashing through the puddles not caring at all for them soaking her stockings. There was just a wild excitement with her heart. Finally, Tillie would be given the chance to read her stories and spark a chance for them to possibly be published. 

Become something for herself that her brother’s never knew was in her whimsical soul. Perhaps, she was a little bit like that orphan girl Montgomery wrote about. Tillie just had an overbearing and protective family that feared that she’d end up like Ada… Only Pol knew of these tales and often spoke of how they’d sell millions of copies worldwide. They’d be the voices for little children need to learn their little lessons in life.

Before anything though, it’s author needed to to find her path and come into her own.

[trashcankitty12]

Timmy Headcanons

(Sorry for the wait, life, am I right?)

Timmy Somerville. Cute nerd, badass strategist, and most likely one of the smartest dudes you’ll ever meet.

Poor dude doesn’t always get the recognition he deserves, so here it is. I hope.

(Also, I took the name for his hometown/home city from the comics.)

(Also, these headcanons are mostly for my main verses. “Left” and “The New Company of Light”.)

-Timmy is from Zenith, more specifically, the City of Titania, Zenith’s Capitol.

-It’s just him and his mom and dad, and their robo-cat, Chester. (Timmy named him after a character from his favorite game series.)

-Timmy doesn’t have many family members, as both his parents are also only children and both sets of grandparents live in the warmer climates of Zenith. (There are like… Two or three warm cities/villages in Zenith.)

-But his parents do have lots of friends that are sort of like his ‘aunts and uncles’. (And they spoiled him like they were his family.)

-Honestly Timmy is a bit spoiled as far as family love goes. They have always been supportive of his projects and are just so proud of him.

-He tends to be closer to his dad than to his mom. His dad was more of a stay-at-home dad (he ran his business from home, which was game designing), and his mom worked as a hotshot lawyer on Zenith. (Mostly for copyright claiming and patenting.)

-His dad always let him playtest his games (assuming they weren’t for more mature audiences, Timmy was a bit of a sheltered child about those subjects). And Timmy… Well it started Timmy’s love of them.

-As he got older and more into the mechanics of game design, mechanic-ing in general, his parents let him start using his room as a workshop.

-He used to take everything apart he could get his hands on, and then would put it all back together, good as new. (And sometimes, better.)

-His parents used to suspect he may have some techno-magic because of how the machines responded to him, but they never could prove it.

-(To this day, even the others in his squad question if Timmy has some latent-magical abilities. He tries to laugh it off, but he has found himself wondering too… Even to the point of trying to summon his magic. So far, nothing.)

-His vision started going bad around the time he turned 12. He was averse to getting glasses at first, but his run-in with contacts didn’t go so well… So glasses. (Which sucks when you wear helmets, but he’s come up with specialized helmets for people like him with poor vision. It just took some time to create. And for his mother to help with the copyright and patents.)

-Timmy had braces for a short time after an incident in elementary school messed his mouth up.

-(Dodgeball at Titania Prep was cut-throat. Cut. Throat.)

-Timmy also has an allergy to seafood. Which sucks, because he likes the smell of fried fish and the sauces that come with shrimp… But if he eats it, he can’t breathe and he’d just rather not deal with that.

-He was actually a pretty popular guy at his elementary and middle schools. He was the guy who had access to first-rate games before anyone else did, and he got to have the latest in technology. (And could explain it without it being boring.)

-So how did little Timmy decide to go to Red Fountain?

-His middle school hosted one of those fairs that shows off different high schools that someone could go to. There was Zenithian Prep, which was connected to the main college of Zenith, Zeni Tech. The Eraklyon Institute. The Callistian Artistry School for the Aspiring Youth (what a mouthful). Coventry Academy for Witches and Wizards. And Red Fountain.

-Timmy had been wanting to go to the prep school, just as was expected of him. But Red Fountain just… Spoke to him. He wanted to be different. He wanted to be more than just ‘the smart Zenith kid’. He wanted to standout somewhere. And he kind of liked the idea of the adventures Red Fountain offered.

-So he started his training for the entrance exams. Thankfully, Chester could easily be programmed to be an exercising partner and couldn’t be easily swayed to deviate from the course.

-Granted, the physical part of the exam was hard, but Codatorta saw something in him and personally vouched for him to join the program.

-Timmy’s parents were shocked at first, but since Timmy got in and had expressed such a want to go, they approved and signed the necessary papers. (With the promise that Timmy would bail if it became too much for him. No shame in realizing something wasn’t for you.)

-Not gonna lie, adjusting to Red Fountain life was a bit hard at first, but once he got into the routine, it was second nature.

-Granted, he was never as physically fit as Riven or Sky or Brandon, but he could hold his own in a fight.

-Hand-to-hand fighting isn’t his strong suite, but he is tenacious about it and isn’t afraid to exploit weaknesses his opponent has.

-Thanks to his hand-eye coordination skills from playing video games, he’s actually really good at aiming blasters and performing with a bow and arrows.

-Piloting is his favorite though. He loves getting to ‘play with the ships’ and getting to work on them and fly them around. It’s just… He loves it so much. You guys just don’t understand.

-Please don’t ask him to fight with swords or shields or spears… He does his best and he could hold his own… But it’s just not for him. (He doesn’t have the upper-body strength to really fight and hold up the weapons too. At least, not for long periods. He does well enough just to get passing marks.)

-Strategy is another strong suite of Timmy’s. He loves plotting and looking over maps and creating the battle strategies. (Maybe, just maybe, it makes him think of the Magical Dimension’s version of DnD, but he won’t say that outloud to anyone but Tecna.)

-He also sort of liked the war game drills Red Fountain ran. And the off-world training exercises.

-And okay, he wasn’t a complete fan of the camping trips, but he did have his favorite camping moments. Like bonding with his squad-mates and getting to know more about the people around him.

-(And getting to learn more about people other than Zenithians. Despite being the tech giants of the Magical Dimension, Zenith doesn’t really communicate much with the rest of the realms. So this was a great experience for Timmy and he got to share his adventures with his family who also loved hearing about them.)

-The Sky/Brandon thing did hurt him though. Like he found out early-on who they really were because they weren’t as discreet as they should have been at Red Fountain. But the fact that they didn’t just come to him and admit to him who they were kind of stung. Especially since he was supposed to rely on these guys to be his ‘brothers-in-arms’.

-His crush on Tecna happened early-on too. When he first met her, she made him so nervous and he just couldn’t believe that he was talking to that Tecna Mode, daughter of the owners of Mode Inc., and he just… Almost lost his cool. (Okay he did lose it, but she laughed and joked and that made it so much more bearable.)

-(And the fact that after they started dating, his parents fell in love with her too, just sealed the deal for him.)

-He does tend to go to Helia and Brandon for romantic advice. He knows Tecna loves him as is, but he wants to continue being able to make her feel special and keep the warm-fuzziness going.

-When she was thought to be dead in Omega, Timmy had a full-on meltdown. He went to her memorial at Alfea and he cried like a baby to her parents. He apologized at least half a dozen times to them. But he swore to them he’d bring her back. Alive. Somehow. He swore it.

-It didn’t matter that everyone thought he was crazy or delusional. Tecna was alive and he could feel it. And so could Digit. And if anyone would know if Tecna was really dead, it’d be the damn pixie she was bonded to. So she had to be alive.

-And damn, when he did see her again, when they finally made it back to the ship in one piece… He almost couldn’t bear to let her go. He basically let Helia fly the ship back so he could spend the entire flight holding her. (And she let him, despite not usually being one for PDA.)

-After that, he texted her nearly non-stop for a month, just be sure she was still there. That it wasn’t a dream he’d had. Thankfully, it was all true. She was safe and back at Alfea.

-Timmy has a poor sleep schedule, despite having been training for early morning drills at RF since he was 14. When he’s working on a project though, nothing will stop him from finishing it. (Unless the others literally pull him away.)

-(Which has happened before. Riven will literally just scoop up Timmy and take him to his room and plop him down and be like ‘sleep or I’ll knock you out’.)

-Timmy has a small case of tinnitus due to blaster use and working on the RF ships.

-Timmy also runs mostly on caffeine. Coffee, energy drinks, soda. You name it. (Helia and Nabu have been subtly trying to remove the caffeine over the years, but Tecna keeps enabling him… Or rather, enabling them both since she also runs on caffeine.)

-Timmy has tried his hands at poetry. It’s not the best, but it makes him feel great to work on writing and Tecna absolutely loves the poems he writes for her.

-Stella and Timmy have secretly been working on uniforms for soldiers/cadets in training. She wants them to be a little more stylish and he has some ideas on how to better protect the person wearing them. (And maybe add in some heat/air condition stuff. Those things are super temperamental.)

-And Layla has been helping Timmy stay in shape since they all graduated and moved to Earth. (Well, temporarily relocated to Earth.) She knows he’s slacked a bit on training since he hasn’t been at RF, and he needs to keep on his toes.

-He likes Earth okay, but he has to fight his need to fix everything to be on par with the rest of the Magical Dimension. (Please Bloom? Just one car? Or maybe a computer? Please? Please?)

-Timmy loves when they have game-night at the loft. Even if it tends to end in screaming matches between Stella, Riven, Musa, and Tecna. (So many super-competitive people in one place.)

-He has discovered that he makes the ‘best sweet tea’. At least, according to Bloom. (He doesn’t understand her or what this ‘sweet tea’ is… He’s honestly just pretty sure he ruined a thing of tea… But hey… Earth is weird.)

-Timmy hopes that after all of this ‘saving the magical dimension’ stuff is over, he and Tecna will get to live a quiet life. Or at least one where their inventions and games blow-up and they get to bring joy to others’ lives.

-(But first, the Magical Dimension needs to stop needing to be saved. And like hell that’ll happen.)