#and the hair on the top of my head is being comically uncooperative

[lynxgirlpaws]

>feel like shit >something something hair again >could go shower to make it go down instead of poofy >or I could do nothing and feel worse >decide to do nothing and feel worse i'm so good at this

[tossawary]

How do you prepare for a writing session? I have a terrible time focusing on anything and would love some pointers

My focus has been all over the place lately, but, ahhh, here are a bunch of things that help me personally focus on getting that WIP done: 

- Deadlines. Deadlines make me focus like nothing else. If I allowed myself to officially say that my update day needed to be Thursday this week instead of Wednesday, the chapter would come late on Thursday. Having an official update day of the week helps me pace myself. 

(Having that day of the week not be a weekend day lets me actually relax and enjoy my weekend, which helps me recharge.) 

- Outlines. Having an outline to follow makes it easier to write a lot all at once or to pick up where I left off if I’m writing in bursts. My outlines are a mess of point-form notes with all the plot and character moments I think I need to hit. Sometimes they’re snippets of nice-sounding dialogue and sometimes they’re things like, “Shang Qinghua says something here that reminds the audience of the existence of X plot detail coming up shortly.” 

Or: “- Shang Qinghua does Y action. - Mobei-Jun is amused.” 

I can dig up one of my outlines for a PINTWILF chapter. I have nearly all of them still, I think. Some of them have very detailed outlines and then some of them were super vague, like, “I HAVE A VISION, LET’S GO BEFORE I LOSE IT.” 

I have a notes document with the outlines and a document that I’m actually writing in. Sometimes, I’ll have the side by side on my screen, with the notes document on my left, so I can glance between the two as I write. 

(When I do this, I keep a third window hidden, which contains my music tabs and my thesaurus tabs and my distraction tabs. If I can’t see it, it helps.) 

Sometimes, if I want one big window, I’ll copy-paste the outline into my writing document, underneath the in-progress writing, separated by a “CONTINUE HERE”. The point-form notes come up one by one, and I delete the point-form notes as I hit them until the copy-pasted outline is gone. 

- If your eyes are slipping over the words, change the font and the font size. A large, dyslexic-friendly font like Comic Sans is usually good. Switching fonts is also good for spell-checking. 

Shorter paragraphs can also make things seem snappier and catch my eyes better. They can also reveal the beats (plot, character, tension, etc.) of a scene. Once your bones are made clear, you can always go back in and rejoin paragraphs, or elaborate on the beats that need it. 

- Honestly, just having massive chunks of free time (yay, being confined to my house) is what has allowed me to write this much. When I have errands or chores or tasks, I try to get them over with before I start writing, because constantly thinking “I need to remember to pay that bill after this” is a focus-breaker. It’s easier to just do it now so I don’t forget later. 

Work is left at work! So fun writing time can be fun writing time only! 

If I’m hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, I just get up and go do that. Being hungry or thirsty makes my brain uncooperative. It needs energy to do its thing! Get up, solve the body’s problem, take the opportunity to stretch, and then my focus isn’t constantly divided by thinking, “I’m hungry.” Meals and other needs shouldn’t be withheld as rewards! They’re needed for writing! 

If my feet are cold, I go get socks. One more distraction eliminated! 

On a similar note, sometimes I can’t focus because I feel like I haven’t “accomplished enough” of other things and it feels like I have other things I should be doing. Taking a walk, cooking a meal (or a treat!), or getting a task or chore out of the way can help with that. I have Accomplished Something and now I can write freely! 

- Give myself permission to just GET IT DONE and then go back and improve upon it later is a huge help. My writing doesn’t have to be pretty. I don’t have to get it right on the first try. I can go back and make it nice later. 

If it’s feeling a little flat, I can come back later and tone it up. 

If it’s feeling a little too much, I can come back later and tone it down. 

I also don’t have to go back and make it nice later. Projects can be imperfect. 

Likewise, it’s good to give myself permission to be direct when I’m writing. “Oh, damn, I need Shang Qinghua to cross the room here,” I’ll say, and it feels like I’ve hit a dead end. How do I write that transition? I write: “Shang Qinghua crossed the room.” Done! Stage directions don’t have to be fancy! 

Maybe I’ll add an adverb later on the second pass, but dialogue can convey that he crossed the room carefully (“Are you... okay?”) or angrily (“What is wrong with you?!”) well enough. 

I’m also allowed to just use “said”. Sometimes less is more! 

- I’m only “allowed” to post one WIP to AO3 at a time. That also helps. 

If you have other WIPs that feel like they’re dragged you down, you can just mark them as “incomplete” or “on hiatus”. Feeling accountable to others helps me write, but it also helps to remind myself I don’t “owe” my time or effort to any project if I’m not feeling it right now. People might be disappointed that I’m not writing what they want or that I even have to backtrack on a promise, but their disappointment isn’t really my problem. I’m allowed to change my mind. 

Sometimes ideas have limits. Some ideas can become feature-length films and some ideas can become 6-hour mini-series and some ideas are only really worth about a short film (unless you bring in more characters and themes and sub-plots, etc). Sometimes, you have to get the writing version of a seam-ripper, figure out what you’re not vibing with, and come back with more characters and themes and sub-plots to make an idea vibe with you again. 

And sometimes it’s good to follow Marie Kondo’s example and go, “You know what? This unfinished fic taught me that I do not enjoy writing fics like this.” Or: “This unfinished fic taught me that I do not vibe with this idea.” 

- Sometimes, music is more distracting than anything else, especially when I’m writing dialogue. I’ll turn music off when I need to “hear” the dialogue better. Listening to ambience mix style stuff that goes on for hours can help set the mood and also means I’m not distracted by constantly picking new music. 

- Sometimes I wear specific outfits or change into a different outfit when I want to be in a better mood for writing. Usually into a more comfortable outfit. (But sometimes there’s a scene that calls to be written by an author wearing a fancy dress! However, I find very fancy outfits are for very rare occasions.) 

Brushing my hair or brushing my teeth before a writing sessions can help me feel refreshed. Sometimes I shower before my writing sessions. I find it relaxing to feel clean. Changing bedsheets or rearranging the couch to my liking can help too. Sometimes, I channel the energy of a bird picking at my nest and fluffing my feathers, for the Best Environment and Best Look! These cleaning behaviors are important for attracting mates and all the jazz, but they’re also good for attracting personal happiness and good writing vibes. 

- Rereading comments before a writing session can help me feel pumped. 

I answer comments or asks in bunches because most often I prefer to direct my energy towards my writing sessions. I love the comments and the asks! So much that sometimes I want to hoard them forever! But sometimes I need to set them aside so that I can keep making the writing I enjoy. 

Sometimes it can be distracting, though. 

- Okay! I think that’s everything off the top of my head! Key points for me: 

Time! 

Preparation! 

Comfort! 

Environment! 

Different techniques will work differently for different people, of course. Sometimes, these techniques work very well for me and sometimes I just get more distracted. Oh, last thing is something I’m bad at, but: if it feels like I really need to sleep, I probably really need to sleep. Naps are my friend. 

So are break weeks. Recharging is good. 

[erinsusername]

Turn

Pairing ~ Agent Kallus, OC

Rating ~ PG-13

Word Count ~ 4850

Summary ~ Lt. Kalivoda meets Agent Kallus for the first time and keeps doing it whether she wants to or not.

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074598/chapters/74069184

Invisible.

Lt. Roan Kalivoda was completely invisible to everyone around her and she preferred it that way. In the eleven years that she had worked as a droid technician for the Empire she had made no friends. She did have a careless and desperate attempt to fill a painful void with another tech that never evolved past anything physical at the beginning of her career, but after that, she made a point to keep to herself, do her job, and repeat without incident. It was exactly how she intended to get by when she joined the Empire back in her early twenties and it had worked well in her favor since. She kept her head down and did what they expected and she got what she needed in return.

She liked her assignment on Lothal. It had been a quiet planet, unresisting in its slow destruction by the Empire’s ravaging of its natural resources; that was until a small group of rebels began creating chaos a few years ago. The Imperial response had been borderline comical in its ineptitude when dealing with them, and the determined yet painfully pretentious ISB agent that was sent to capture them had been completely unsuccessful in almost every attempt. Even Vader himself had failed to turn Lothal’s residents against them. These people were good.

What fresh hell will today bring, Roan thought as she sighed heavily and looked deep into the reflection staring back at her in a small mirror hanging in her quarters. She hadn’t slept much the night before, or the night before that. In fact, she hadn’t slept well since she was twelve if she wanted to get technical with herself.

Stop. She blinked hard a few times and quickly pulled her dark hair into its regulation bun before haphazardly placing her uniform cap just above it. The woman took one quick, last look before she exited out into the bright hallway and slowly made her way to the lift at the far end of it.

She was busy fumbling with her uncooperative headpiece in the doors' reflection when they suddenly opened and the ISB agent, Kallus, appeared directly in front of her, his feet slightly apart and hands clasped firmly behind his back. He stared down his broad nose at her with a slightly raised eyebrow before she thought to bring her arms down to her sides and step onto the lift with him.

Roan had never actually seen the man in person but had heard that he carried himself as if he were the Emperor, and judging by what stood before her, it appeared the rumor was true. He was very tall, stood with a naturally intimidating stance, and his stoic, unreadable expression, along with his piercing hazel brown eyes, exuded abject confidence that she could literally feel pressing hard all around her from the moment she stepped onto the lift.

When she boarded he did not step back to allow her a comfortable space to stand forcing her to situate herself with her face just a few inches from the closed doors and himself close enough behind her that she could feel his body heat almost instantly. Or maybe it was her own that was rising rapidly, she wasn’t sure.

She immediately felt his gaze over the top of her head and straightened her posture as she quickly pushed the button to the level that would take her to the commissary. It felt to her like the lift was barely moving, which allowed more than enough time for his mere presence to completely encompass the now heavy air surrounding them and cause a subtle stir deep inside of her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long, long while. She closed her eyes, took in a slow, deep breath, and let out a long, quiet exhale before there was finally a small beep that indicated they had reached the level that the Agent had previously chosen. However, much to her dismay, when the doors opened he didn’t move to exit.

Roan said nothing as the doors closed and they restarted the merciless creep further down into the domed military base. The only sounds she heard were the hard, intense wooshing of blood in her ears broken only by the occasional sound of the leather of his gloves being stretched and relaxed by the slow movements of the long fingers of his hands.

The man was close enough to her that not only did the subtle fragrance of the fancy non-issue soap that he had obviously just washed his body with surround and linger in her nose, but she could feel each rise and fall of his broad chest with every slow, steady breath that he took and she knew that if she moved so much as a millimeter the two would incidentally touch. The mere thought of it made her face flush hot.

Stop it! You’re being ridiculous. You know better, she scolded herself.

She was so focused on his proximity, and her fear that the low hum of the elevator wasn’t loud enough to mask the sound of the pounding of her heart in her chest that when the lift reached her destination she didn’t initially realize it.

“Isn’t this your stop?” a smooth, low voice in a thick core accent came from just above her right ear, the heat of his breath caused every single hair on her body to stand erect.

“Huh? Oh, yes,” she stammered as she clamored her way out of the closing doors and toward the commissary.

Fuck, that was intense, she thought as she practically ran around a corner that led her into the open area where the base’s meals were served. Having shaken off a few of the nerves from her encounter, she turned toward a large cooler in a corner. Her call time was later than most so on most days picking was slim, but today she was in luck. Sitting alone on the back of a middle shelf was a rare container of sliced meilooruns.

 Ha, no protein bar today she thought happily as she quickly made her way across the room and grabbed the cup before anyone else had the chance.

“Why thank you!” a familiar voice mocked her as she turned, and the cup was snatched from her hand by an arrogant Ensign that was almost half her age and the bane of the entire base’s existence.

“I’m not in the mood,” she growled as she reached to take it back only to have the boy pull it above his head and tick a finger back and forth in her face causing the two other boys he was with to roar with laughter.

“Finders keepers,” he laughed as he turned on his heel to walk away.

The woman let out a long exacerbated sigh. “You’ll need the fork,” she resigned and held up the utensil in front of her.

“What a gal!” the Ensign howled back to his friends as he reached out to take it from her. But as he did, she quickly extended her arm as far out to her side as she could and when he looked she reached over with her other hand and slapped the top of the cup he was holding so hard that the lid popped off and the fruit pieces scattered across the floor.

“You stupid bitch!” he screamed loud enough to cause the entire room to go silent and everyone in it to stop and look at the spectacle.

So much for invisible.

“That’s a superior officer you are speaking to,” the thick accent from the elevator boomed through the silence and stopped Lt. Kalivoda’s, and probably everyone else’s, heart immediately.

She looked past the boy to see Agent Kallus standing a few feet behind the two punks that had been laughing along with the Ensign and his theatrics, except now they were visibly shaking.

“Yeah, well you obviously don’t know who I-,” the boy mocked as he turned to face his aggressor before he realized his mistake.

“I know exactly who you are. I had wondered how someone from such a prestigious pedigree ended up way out here on a no name planet in the far outer rim. Now I know. Tell me, did you even manage to finish the academy or did they just put you this far out so no one would ask questions?” Kallus asked callously as he slowly circled the boy like he was injured prey. “Your mother must be so proud.”

“You can’t spea-,” the Ensign began to protest.

“Apologize,” the Agent interrupted.

The boy hesitated for a long few seconds before he finally rubbed the back of his neck, “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not to me, imbecile,” he growled as he tilted his head toward Roan.

The Ensign looked momentarily surprised before he reluctantly conceded, “sorry,” he mumbled while looking at the floor.

“Do better,” the Agent commanded. He was now standing directly behind the Ensign that he towered over due to an impressive height difference.

The boy looked shocked. Roan had never seen anyone take him to task before. Most people were afraid to because of who his family was, but not Agent Kallus. He was relishing in his assault.

The Ensign cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he squeaked out before he looked back at the Agent for affirmation.

“Do better,” he simply said again.

The kid looked absolutely horrified by this point. “What would you like for me to do, then?” he asked with a tinge of moronic sarcasm.

Kallus coolly walked to his side and leaned down to his other ear, “get on your knees.”

“What? You can’t make me do that!” the boy stammered as he tried to turn to move away; however, before he could the Agent grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face Roan.

She wanted to run away as fast as she could but her legs wouldn’t work. Part of her was actually loving the humiliation of the asshole in front of her but another part was vicariously embarrassed and she knew if she tried to leave that she would end up on the punishment end of this bizarre encounter as well. And after the intimidation in the elevator, she wasn��t about to risk that.

Kallus leaned down and whispered something into the Ensign’s ear that made his eyes grow wide and a few seconds later drop to his knees.

“Lt. Kalivoda,” he began before the Agent nudged him with his large boot causing him to clasp his hands together in front of his chest. “I would like to extend my most sincere apology for my behavior.”

She looked up wide eyed from the boy to the Agent who was looking down with an almost mischievous grin across his lips.

He’s enjoying this.

“I hope that you can forgive me for my unacceptable actions,” the Ensign finished.

Kallus looked up to notice that she was still looking at him and she instantly covered with a small cough and quickly moved her gaze back down to the matter at hand that knelt on the floor in front of her.

“Do you accept his apology?” he asked her seriously.

She was tempted to say no to see what else he was capable of, but opted to end the situation as fast as possible instead. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” the Agent asked her, his hazel eyes transfixed on her own so deeply that a few seconds went by before she realized that she wasn’t breathing when he asked again, “Lieutenant?”

“Yes. That is fine,” she replied standing up straighter and clasping her hands behind her back.

“Good. Get up,” he barked down at the Ensign as the boy clamored to his feet. He grabbed his arm and pointed at Roan, “mess with her, or anyone for that matter again, and you’ll be emptying vac-tubes by hand on Hoth for the rest of your career. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the kid said with a hint of defiance before his arm was released and he and his friends made a quick escape around a corner.

The people in the room began to slowly go back to their business, but Kallus and Roan just stood and stared at each other in silence for what she thought was an eternity.

“Why did you let him do that? You outrank him,” he asked angrily.

“He gets away with everything because of who he is. I’ve made numerous complaints. Nothing ever happens,” she replied matter of factly. “Also, while I sincerely appreciate you stepping in, you just made things a thousand times worse.”

He took a step closer and put a finger toward her chest, “if he so much as looks at you wro-,”

“Again, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t need a protector,” she scoffed. “I need to get going. Thank you for your help,” she smiled and nodded as she made her way out of the commissary and to the safety of her workstation.

   By fourteen hundred, Lt. Kalivoda’s stomach was growling hard. With the bizarre fiasco of the morning she had missed out on actually getting something to eat and it was starting to show.

It wasn’t the only thing that was bothering her either. While she was grateful for the Agent’s backup in the commissary, the more she thought about it the more annoyed she was with his behavior in the lift. Or, at least she considered it annoyed, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t take lightly to intimidation, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about how unintimidated she was by it.

Did she get flustered? Unequivocally. Seduced? Not even close. Okay, perhaps maybe slightly beguiled at the most. Stars, he did smell wonderful though. Like trees on a warm summer evening in Naboo.

That is dangerous, girl! she thought as she shook her head hard and tried again to concentrate on the task before her.

“R3, will you shine a light directly down into this area?” she asked the green R-unit beside her.

The little machine let out a beep and maneuvered its mechanical arm up and over the top of the opened canopy of the R4 unit that she was working on.

“Great,” she sighed after digging around for a few seconds.

Her little green companion let out a few concerned beeps in response.

“Well, luckily it’s just a loose bolt,” she informed it. “But it’s a tiny one and in a place that I can’t reach easily without taking the whole damn thing apart.”

She sighed heavily again and sat down between the two droids while she thought. A few minutes later she hopped up and quickly headed for the very back of the workshop where she kept her obscure, rarely used tools and slowly began to scour the area for what she hoped she still had.

“Keep an eye on the front, R3,” she called over her shoulder.

After about fifteen minutes she still hadn’t found what she needed and, between it and her growling stomach, was becoming increasingly frustrated by the second.

“Hello?” someone yelled over the sound of her droid’s protests.

She swallowed the urge to scream back and instead politely replied loudly, “I’ll be up there in a minute!”

“I don’t have a minute,” a cocky response came from closer to the back shelving unit where she was standing.

Unbelievable, she thought as she leaned her head back and slowly exhaled in an attempt to not scream. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“I knew you were back here,” she whispered to the long handle of the specialty socket wrench extender that sat poking out precariously from the very top shelf behind her. She quickly began to look around for a stepping stool, to no avail, when the voice shouted again, this time even closer to her.

“Seriously, I don’t have all day!” came a threat in an all too familiar voice.

You’ve got to be kidding me, she screamed in her mind.

“You can’t be back here for safety reasons! Please go back to the front and I will be right there,” she shouted with as much venom in her voice as she could muster. She rolled her eyes and began to assess how she was going to retrieve the extender and not kill the ISB Agent with it once she did.

The unit was almost three meters high, which meant she was going to have to climb up the first few of the rickety shelves to reach it. She swallowed hard and put her hands on the ledge that was just above her head and pulled down as hard as she could with most of her body weight. When nothing happened she took it as a good sign and cautiously stepped up onto the first shelf. After a few fearful seconds, she decided it was safe and reached up and repeated the process.

On the third row up she felt that the extender was close enough to reach out for, but when she did her fingertips could only barely graze the cold metal handle.

Seriously? She sighed as she shifted her weight inward and reached out again; however, before her arm completely extended, the shelf that she was holding onto suddenly broke and flipped toward her causing her center of gravity to shift backward.

It felt like slow motion when she felt herself begin to fall and she braced hard for the impact that her back and head were going to make with the hard floor, except she didn’t. At the last possible second, she felt something hook around her upper back and under her knees before quickly spinning her away and shielding her from the falling debris that she had pulled down with her. She didn’t see what happened, but she immediately knew by another one of her senses. Trees.

“It looks like you do need a protector,” he said quietly into her ear before she finally found her bearings and fumbled her way out of his arms.

She quickly straightened her posture and smoothed out the fabric of her one-piece work jumper before clearing her throat, “thank you,” she squeaked out in a voice that was easily two octaves higher than her own.

What the hell is your problem, she scolded herself.

The man just stood in front of her with his head tilted slightly to his right.

“If you don’t mind going back to the front, I will be with you in a moment,” she said as she gently pushed past him and looked up at the tool that sat exactly where it had before she tried to initiate a shelving tsunami.

“You’re welcome,” he answered unenthusiastically as he stepped toward the cabinetry causing her to instinctively turn to face him and back peddle up against the shelves. He stood close enough to her that she had to lift her chin up to see his face as he slowly, and without looking away from her, reached above his head and grabbed the extender from where it sat.  

“Looks like you owe me one,” he said in a low voice as he slowly looked her up and down before he finally handed her the tool and sauntered away cockily.

Stop, stop, stop. You are a grown-ass woman, act like it, she told herself as she pulled herself back together and rounded the corner that would take her back to the front of the work area.

The Agent was waiting for her when she finally got to the front desk.

“I wasn’t aware that you had a droid,” she informed him as she pulled her datapad out from a drawer. “What’s the req number?”

“I don’t have one. I need help with this,” he replied as he placed his own datapad on the counter.

She looked down at it and tried her hardest to collect herself before she looked back up. “That’s not a droid.”

“I know, but it won’t turn on and IT-“

“Take it back up to them and hit the first person you see with it. Tell them I sent you.”

He just turned his head slightly at her sudden burst of hostility.

“I do droids, not computers,” she almost growled before a series of equally hostile beeps came up from behind her. “Easy, R3,” she said in an easier tone as she patted the droid’s head. “They send me the stuff they can’t fix so I get blamed instead,” she huffed as she pulled a stool behind her.

“I’ll take it back then,” Kallus offered as he reached to take it back.

“Wait,” she hesitated for a brief second. “You’re already here. What happened to it?” she asked as she plugged the machine into a cord that ran under the counter.

“It just stopped working. There is very important intelligence on there and I need access to it immediately,” he said with what she was beginning to notice was a perpetual air of superiority that carried in his voice.

“Is it charged?” she joked as she plugged in another cord.

“I think I’m smart enough to know if-“ he stopped when he realized that she was kidding. He stood silently as she connected the device to her own before flipping it over and removing the back casing.

“Did you throw it or something?”

He just looked at her perplexed.

“I’m serious this time. There’s some really odd damage here,” she said in awe as she poked at the malformed components with a small screwdriver. “It looks like a tiny person got in here and just started pulling things apart,” she continued without looking up.

He watched the almost wonder-like expressions on her face as she prodded further into the device before she picked it up and held it closer to the light. “We went too close to a cluster of collapsed stars.”

“That’s brave,” she mumbled before she set the tablet down and looked at him seriously. “I’m guessing you didn’t go in because it started pulling your ship apart?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it did the same thing to everything; the ship, its equipment, even you. I can’t fix this, but I can try to salvage the right parts of it and get your data off of it,” she offered with a small shrug. “Hopefully.”

“Fine, how long will it take?” he huffed loudly.

“I can start on it when I finish this one,” she offered as she pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the headless R4. The look on his face said that it wasn’t good enough but she could tell his brain interjected before his mouth opened.

“Fine, let me know as soon as it is completed. It’s very important,” he conceded before turning and walking out.

Roan just looked down and winked at the little green droid that never left her side. “It’s very important,” she mocked in a horrendous attempt at the man’s accent before she went back to work.

   It was well into the evening before she managed to retrieve the files saved to the Agent’s datapad. The machine itself was a complete loss but she had managed to get it somewhat working long enough to transfer everything to an external hard drive.

“Okay, R3, take this to his office,” she instructed the droid as she handed over the device.

The robot let out a long series of fast beeps.

“Well, I don’t want to either and you’re already holding it,” she laughed as she sat heavily on a stool. It had been a really long day and she really just wanted to take a long, hot shower and try to sleep.

R3 rocked back and forth angrily before aggressively pushing his way through the swinging door that she had installed below the front counter especially for it.

“I love you!”

All she heard back were its agitated boops of dismay slowly grow quieter as the droid rolled further away from her down the corridor.

“Sorry, buddy. I’ve had my fill for the day,” she said softly to herself as she hopped up and began to put away the array of small tools and components that were scattered all over her work area. As she reached down to lift a box onto the countertop her gaze fell to a small black cord laying on the ground.

That droid is going in the compactor, she sighed as she walked over and picked up the connection cord to the hard drive that the unit was taking to Kallus. The cord that he would have to have.

Maybe I can catch up before R3 gets there, she thought as she quickly scooped it up, pushed through the door, and began to jog down the hallway.

She didn’t get very far before she heard her droid beeping frantically over the sound of maniacal laughter and the sudden sound of something hard hitting metal. When she rounded a corner to her left she saw R3 surrounded by the Ensigns from the cafeteria kicking at the scared machine as it tried desperately to avoid their assaults.

Roan didn’t even hesitate when she ran up behind the boy closest to her and smashed her heel down hard into the outside of his right knee. He howled as he fell to the floor causing the other two to turn and face her, which gave R3 the chance to escape.

“You really are a stupid bitch,” the ringleader snapped as he lunged toward her.

She readied her stance to take him in a frontal assault, but suddenly a sharp pain in her ankle caused her to fall back right into the arms of the third assailant slightly in front of her to her right side. The Ensign on the floor had composed himself enough to return a kick to her foot and suddenly she found herself pinned against the wall with her left arm pulled up high between her shoulder blades. The boy staggered his feet and leaned against her with all of his body weight making it hard for her to breathe and impossible to move. She felt his fingers slowly slide into her hair at the base of her skull before he suddenly closed his fist and pulled her head back hard.

“The shit I’m going to do to you, little bitch,” the leader growled into her ear as he walked over and grabbed her chin yanking her head to face him. “Where’s your boyfriend now, huh?”

Roan whispered something inaudible.

“What was that?” the boy asked laughing as he put his ear closer to her mouth.

“I don’t need him,” she whispered again before she leaned back and slammed her forehead into the cartilage of his ear as hard as she could. Pain engulfed her entire body as the sharpness of what she immediately assumed was a small concussion was contrasted with the burning from her scalp by the handful of hair that the other boy was holding and probably ripped out when she moved forward as hard and fast as she did.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” he screamed as he fell to the ground and she leaned back against the wall to keep her dizziness at bay as best she could. Purple stars filled her field of vision and quiet, obscure beeps began to creep into her auditory senses.

The ensign holding her against the wall pulled her head back again forcing her to look up at the ceiling. “That was stupid,” he whispered slimily into her ear as she felt him grind himself into her back. “But, I like when they fight back.”

She felt a wave of abject disgust wash over her before she leaned into his face, “you better-.”

Before she could finish she heard a blaster ready and a Stormtrooper bark out an order to stand down. The Ensign slowly let go and backed away with his hands up as another trooper placed cuffs on the two others still lying on the floor.

The beeps grew louder as the ringing in her ears began to subside and she turned and slid down the wall to sit on the floor with her nervous droid that had gone to get help.

“Are you alright?” a quiet voice asked from above her. Kallus knelt down a few feet in front of her and looked genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing some ice and a light analgesic won’t fix,” she replied as her attackers were led away, the one that had held her against the wall made a small kiss at her before he was pushed down the hall.

R3 growled and Kallus had to physically stop the droid from chasing after him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” he said darkly to the small robot before it finally wheeled back over to its place beside Roan. He looked at her for a long few seconds before he finally stood, “I’m sorry that you got hurt.” He turned to walk away and quietly added, “it won’t happen again.”

[johnny-and-dora]

lover, please stay with me

38. “i like love your laugh.” requested by the always angelic adele @b99peraltiago (congratulations on finishing your thesis, my love!)

in which five drink jake will tell anyone who'll listen how much he loves amy santiago. (post 4x09)

read on ao3 -

The bar is a little too loud and a little too bright for her while she’s this appallingly sober - but Amy steps forward and shrugs off her coat anyway, the pleasant warmth of Shaw’s a welcome respite from the harsh December night outside. She frowns at her phone when it tells her a much later time than she wants it to be – while the rest of the squad have been here celebrating their first week back to normality for hours, she’s been stuck at the precinct closing the last of her night shift cases.

And while she’s exceedingly glad that nightmare is behind them, she’s been getting increasingly anxious to spend what’s left of her evening getting wasted with her favourite people in the world instead of yelling at the ever-uncooperative copy machine and nursing a pretty serious hand cramp.

Of course, there’s one particular person that she’s been desperate to see ever since she insisted that he go have a good time with the rest of the squad instead of waiting around with her; her ears soon hone in on a well-known laugh like it’s what they were made to do.

“Amy!” Jake shouts, waving excitedly from the squad’s usual table - his entire face lights up as her eyes meet his and as he eagerly scrambles to make his way over to her, her heart does an all too familiar flutter. It’s seemingly inevitable at this point that by the time he’s stumbled through the Friday evening crowd to reach her his smile is enough to light up the entire room and her heart is practically doing somersaults. They’re so joyously predictable.

“Hey, babe.” She grins, completely and utterly endeared by the uninhibited affection practically visibly radiating from him – he’s clearly drunk, more so than usual as he displays the comic unbalance of a new-born giraffe, eyes slightly glassy yet so happy to see her.

His scale of drunkenness has always been more fluid than hers but he’s definitely somewhere between four drinks and five, bordering dangerously on Hot Mess territory. She protectively holds out an arm to steady him and his grin is almost blinding.

“Guys! I’m on babe terms with Amy Santiago! How cool is that?” He yells back towards the booth, beaming with a pride that makes Amy’s cheeks burn. Charles gives them both a dreamy look, enthusiastically giving Jake a double thumbs up; Gina refuses to look up from her phone.

She can’t help but laugh at how far gone he is – and can’t help blushing deeply when he stares at her in complete awe.

“I love your laugh. Almost as much as your face. You’re so pretty and smart, sometimes you say smart things or you use fancy words or solve impossible cases and I’m just like…” He trails off before goofily miming an explosion with his hands.

“I love you so much. Sometimes so much it feels like I’m going to explode. Is that scientifically possible? You need a drink. I should get you one because I’m the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

Amy watches him, bemused, as he stumbles over to the bar before she can stop him. Next thing she knows Rosa is standing beside her, giving her a standard stoic nod which Amy thinks means she’s happy to see her. She raises an eyebrow in question and as Rosa follows her eyeline to Jake talking animatedly with complete strangers at the bar she barks out a short laugh.

“He’s such a lightweight, can’t handle a couple of shots.” Rosa smirks as she takes a sip of her beer, alcohol appearing to have no impact on her besides a slightly looser smile. “It was pretty funny at first when he was doing karaoke but now he won’t stop talking about you, which is lame but also kind of adorable I guess.”

Amy makes a mental note to ask about the karaoke later – trusting that Gina will have ample video evidence, she contents herself with watching her boyfriend make his way back to her, familiar endearment surging through her whole being.

“Hey, wanna go home?” She asks, taking the beers in his hand from him and gifting them to Rosa, who disappears as quickly as she’d suddenly materialised. He nods so enthusiastically Amy’s certain that he’d let her take him anywhere - she gently squeezes his shoulder, motioning for them to leave. “C’mon. I’m driving.”

“S’fair. You’re so smart. Don’t know if you can tell but…” He leans in closer like he’s spilling a dark secret and the scent of tequila and Old Spice and (inexplicably) her grapefruit shampoo is almost overpowering. “I’m pretty drunk.”

Her ribs ache from laughing and he looks pleased with himself and it’s a snapshot of their whole relationship if she’s ever seen one and she’s so, so incandescently happy.

By the time Amy actually gets him out of the bar it’s almost midnight; she firmly leads him by the hand to the precinct parking lot while he alternates between humming what she thinks might be Smash Mouth and telling her she’s beautiful in an almost reverent tone. It feels like a monumental victory when they finally make it to her car – so much so apparently that Jake feels the need to celebrate by wrapping her up in a warm bear hug that she feels no need to object to.

“Missed you.” He mumbles, pressing a clumsy yet loving kiss to the top of her head. The few hours that they’ve spent apart today seem trivial, almost laughable when the agonising cruelty of their six month separation still feels so raw – but somehow his whisper is burdened with the same weighty sentiment that it was that first day they were reunited.

She wants to remind him that it’s only been a few hours. She wants to tell him that that’s stupid albeit sweet in that fond voice she reserves for him; that they woke up together, had lunch together, spent the entire day together yesterday; she wants to maintain some semblance of logic. And yet as they’re painted golden by the streetlights, half overtired from a long work week and half intoxicated beyond common sense, logic seems completely pointless.

So instead she gently cups his face, leaning in and kissing him; instead she whispers back “I missed you too” and instead finds - logic be damned - she means it.

“Wanna live with you.” He says, almost childlike in sincerity. “Make you breakfast every morning ‘n’ make you another when I burn it. Wanna share a shoe rack and a spice rack and…other kinds of rack.” He huffs like an impatient toddler and it’s unfairly adorable. “I want you to stay.”

“I want that too.” She says softly, biting her lip and cursing (not for the first time) their shared stubbornness preventing them from choosing a place to live together.

“Really?” He says, eyes shining with hope – and it kills her that she can’t just wrap him up in bubble wrap and hide him somewhere safe and secret, can’t ensure that they’ll never be forced apart again by powers beyond their control. Especially because here, now, she’d easily promise him the world, wholeheartedly certain that he deserves it.

“Of course I do.” She loads the words with as much sincerity as possible, stroking his arm and firmly holding his gaze until he appears convinced.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling to himself and mumbling something almost completely incomprehensible about a “double tuck” – and it’s ridiculous because they’ve been dating for a year and a half but her stomach still dips like their first kiss was yesterday.

It’s ridiculous, because it would be so easy to say there is absolutely nothing logical about her love for Jake Peralta if it wasn’t for the fact that sometimes it’s the only thing in her world that makes any sense.

When he looks at her like that, nothing else in the world needs to make any sense at all.

The drive home is largely uneventful apart from a beautiful interpretative dance to Taylor Swift that she can’t wait to tease him about tomorrow; they slip into bed with as much grace as to be expected, Amy making sure to leave two aspirin and a glass of water easily within his reach and cancel all of her morning plans, deciding they need some well-deserved slug time.

“Will you stay?” He asks softly, gaze far away as they lie together, Amy gently carding her fingers through his hair; she’s not sure if he means just for tonight or something much grander, but either way her answer remains the same.

“Of course I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She echoes, and as he sighs with content and starts to drift peacefully to sleep she falls in love with him all over again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She stays.

[dw-thehiraethkids]

Bedtime

I'm going to start off by saying uh the very base of this character came from here so please read it it's a really good story and I uhh aged 13 accidentally stole this boy so 

But he's very different than the other version in this au so hopefully you can forgive me

Also there’s a part (you’ll know it) thats based on that audio with the baby McElroy (i dont know things about them sorry)

And the song referenced is a real song: Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos

It was quiet at night. Not that night was a solid force in the time vortex. But it was quiet nonetheless. The Doctor sat in the console room with his leg in an unexplainable position up on his chair, reading a book. Only at this time could he get any good reading in without any of his human friends going out on adventures, or more pressingly, making sure that Alexander was safe and well taken care of. It was exhausting taking care of a child, even with the amount of help he had between Donna and even Alex’s father. 

He was distracted from his book though, by the sound of pitter pattering feet down the hall, past the console room. He didn’t stop reading though or even look up. If anyone needed anything they were more than welcome to come see him. 

The footsteps came closer and closer. They were definitely Alex’s footsteps: too small and light footed to be anyone else’s. He still didn’t look up. Not for any reason, mostly because Alex had any choice in the situation and he didn’t have to interact with the Doctor if he didn’t want to. Sometimes they’d just sit together in silence enjoying each other’s company. 

But instead tonight Alex pulled on his pant leg, on the leg that was oddly still perched on top of the arm of the chair. He shut the book, with a bit of a dramatic flair. He moved his leg back down to a more realistic position and perched his head in his hands, “What’s up Alexander?”

Alex’s face scrunched up in thought, clearly he’d come into the console room only to forget what his objective was somewhere between his room and there. Something must have clicked though because his face relaxed and he made his way over to the console. He was a bit too short to reach a majority of the controls and clearly didn’t know how to pilot the ship, “I wanna go.”

The Doctor laughed, “Go? Absolutely not; it’s past your bedtime.”

Alex scowled, a look he had most definitely picked up from his father. It was a bit too cute on him though with his little fists balled up and his arms over his chest. Maybe in 30 years it would look intimidating, maybe. He stopped his foot, “No. I wanna go.” 

The Doctor sighed, he wasn’t getting out of a fight that easily. There was no part of him that wanted to just pick him up and drag him back to his room, honestly because he was getting bigger and he didn’t want to haul an uncooperative dead weight across the TARDIS. “Okay, let’s say I was taking you somewhere, which I’m not, where would we go?”

Alex looked up at him, still unimpressed, kids were in the business of getting what they wanted as soon as they wanted. “Home.”

Oh. Well that was an easy one, maybe he was missing his mother. The Doctor could spare a trip to Earth, maybe he’d settle back down to sleep there. “Okay. You want to see your mum?”

That, was evidently the wrong thing to say. Alex’s face went back to a scowl, and his arms back over his chest. “No. Home.”

The Doctor stared down at him confused. The TARDIS and Earth were the only two homes he had ever known. He knew for certain that his father hadn’t been taking him on any secret adventures, the TARDIS didn’t allow him to operate her except in dire circumstances. (This had nothing to do with anything the Doctor had asked for, she was just one to hold a grudge.) “What do you mean? Where do you want to go?”

He rolled his eyes and the Doctor felt himself flash forward to his teenage years and how little he was looking forward to that; he was already too much like his father in some ways. “Not my home. Your home. Yours and daddy’s.”

Oh. He wanted to go to Gallifrey. 

The problem there was that there was no Gallifrey to go to. At least as far as he was aware. Ali hadn’t mentioned her or any of the others at the Collection finding any trace remnants of their planet. As far as any of them it was gone. Dead. He moved to the floor and crouched down to be eye level with Alex, “We can’t go there. It’s gone.” He definitely wasn’t one to shy away from talking about the horrors he’d seen, but he was one to shy away from traumatizing children he helped take care of, so he’d keep it vague. 

But of course that wasn’t a good enough answer for the little one. “How come? Why’d they get rid of it?”

Kids' minds were unique compared to any others. To think that they simply removed a planet with billions of inhabitants for a singular reason made sense to Alex. The Doctor took a deep breath, “Well there were other aliens that didn’t like them very much and they had a war. A very big war and the only way for them to keep other people safe was to lose.”

Alex made his thinking face again, “Why didn't they like Gallifrey?”

It was honestly hard to make a convincing argument as to why anyone would actually like Gallifrey and therefore would be easier to list its benefits rather than its pitfalls, but Alex wouldn’t take that as an answer. “Well, a lot of people didn’t like the Time Lords. But these aliens in particular didn’t like it that the Time Lords kept trying to stop them from taking over everywhere in the universe.”

He really was only alternating between being a very childish version of angry and deep thought in his facial expressions that night. They were all a bit over dramatic and comical. There was a lot of emotion stored in such a little body. “I’m gonna punched it.”

“What?” He was confused, deeply confused. He hadn’t even said who the other combatants were. Or perhaps he intended on punching the Time Lords which the Doctor could only see as fair, they were kind of bastards. But assuming he was talking about the ones who fought the Time Lords, there was no way in hell he was letting this child punch a Dalek. “You want-- you want to punch them?”

“Yeah.”

“How ‘bout instead I take you to your room and I tell you about Gallifrey instead?” There was only one way to win an argument with a child, especially a nonsensical one: distraction. 

He nodded and threw his arms up ready to be carried. The Doctor didn’t love this outcome but it was better than explaining to a little kid the intricacies of the Time War. 

Alex’s room was never too far from the console room. Just in case. Just in case he needed something quickly, as the Doctor spent most of his time there. But just far enough away that if something managed to get into the TARDIS (which really was impossible) that he wouldn’t immediately be in harm’s way. He was also only ever a few doors away from his father, but again far enough away. Just in case. 

Honestly the Doctor was happy, excited even with how much Alex’s father was improving himself after spawning a child. He definitely wasn’t winning any humanitarian awards for his behavior but it was a lot harder to enact evil plots and schemes with a little kid at your side telling you to be sure to mind your manners so you can have a cookie after dinner. 

It was still a surprise that he was sitting on Alex’s bed when they returned. “Oh, he’s not dead.”

He was joking. Sort of. The Doctor rolled his eyes, “Of course--”

“Daddy!” Alex’s face lit up and he ran into his father’s arms. 

The Master looked the Doctor in the eyes, a different look than he’d seen in centuries. It was nice to see it again after so long. “I was going to tell Alex bedtime stories. Have any fond memories about Gallifrey.”

The Master scoffed. The Doctor expected it, the planet had screwed them both over but specifically him in the brutality of the Time Lords. In their ever present belief they were the highest powers in the universe. “You’re really gonna ask me that?”

The Doctor was preparing whatever story came first into his mind. Something kind, Alex was still at the very black and white thinking stage.  Zagreus is strictly off limits as it was disturbingly dark. Plus he was still a bit traumatized from the time he’d manifested into his head just a few regenerations ago. 

“There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword,” the Master has taken matters into his own hands. 

It was an old folk song. Probably a prophecy he noted. Possibly about him, that was nothing new, clearly he had a large effect on Gallifreyan past, present, and future. Which as one of the only positive renegades in the universe that made sense. 

Alex nuzzled in closer to his father’s hand as he stroked his hair to put him to sleep. “There will come a poet whose weapon is his word.” 

That did sound like him didn’t it. The powerful Time Lord Victorious who could turn armies away with a single word. Not that he hadn’t been powerful in the War but honestly those myths were nothing more than that, just myths. “Night night Doctor ‘n daddy.” 

Then he passed out. 

The Doctor continued humming the old song. They sang it at the festival of Fate. A year end celebration honoring the old gods. He trailed off as the song ended, no need to keep it in his head for the next decade. He’d been there and it was not enjoyable. 

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while just watching Alex sleep. Eventually though, the Doctor’s curiosity got the better of him, “Why’d you come in here in the first place?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, just staring at his son. “Somethings coming Thete. Something bad and I can feel it. I just—want to get in any of the time that I can.”

The Doctor put his hand over his, “I’m here to help. No matter what it is, Koschei. I’m here for both of you, no matter what. And don’t you dare try and push me out of whatever this is. Got it?”

“Okay whatever loser.”

[suho-mochi]

Permeate - Ch. 01

Byun Baekhyun/Reader(OC) Genre: Fluff/Romance/Slight Angst 

Ch. 00 - Prologue

“What the hell is this?” You ask, almost screeching.

“You know I wouldn’t be here like this unless I’d completely run out of ideas!” Minseok retaliates, grunting as he pulls up the arm of the man passed out on his shoulder.

“Really?” You ask, disbelief lacing your voice.

“Really!” Minseok huffs, knees bending under the weight on him. “Can I come in now?”

“Fine,” you concede, opening the door wider for him.

With a few more grunts and huffs Minseok deposits the sleeping man on your couch.

“What happened?” You ask curiously, bending over Baekhyun to look at his face.

In all honesty, you think he looks like absolute shit.

His hair is mussed and messy, his face looks pasty and hollowed, dark circles under his eyes and the stench of alcohol is unmistakable. Even the nicest clothes in the world can’t hide that he is obviously going through some sort of hell.

You move back, scrunching your nose, and look at Minseok who is massaging his shoulder roughly.

“He’s basically on the run from his girlfriend, or I should probably be saying ex now,” Minseok supplies, his voice quiet. You quirk an eyebrow at that. And here you thought Baekhyun had finally settled, found the girl of his dreams that he could write songs about till the end of his days. You and the rest of the country.

“I didn’t know they had broken up,” you reply.

“Neither did I, until three days ago when he showed up at my doorstep,” Minseok says, flopping in one of your armchairs. “Things had been rough with them for a while, but I didn’t expect him to show up at my house asking for a place to stay.”

“He’s a bit dramatic isn’t he?” You ask, sitting on your coffee table as you eye the slow rise and fall of Baekhyun’s chest. “And why is he not back at yours then?”

“She found out he’s with me and came to look for him and he practically ran away. I’ve been going around the neighbourhood bars trying to find him.” He huffs. “I’m not sure what happened, he’s been drunk and detached almost every waking moment,” Minseok says quietly. “I found out that he’s been staying with friends for a week now, refusing to see or speak to her and every time she finds him, he runs away.”

You are still confused, but your heart prickles sympathetically. You know a thing or two about heartbreak.

“Was I the closest to the bar where you found him?”

“No, but you’re the best person I can leave him with now. You have a spare room, she wouldn’t look for him here and you know him.” Minseok says, guilt written all over his face. “People recognise him, otherwise I’d just dump him in a hotel somewhere, I’m sorry.”

“Saying that I know him is a bit far fetched, I’ve barely spoken to the man,” you mumble.

“You say that, but actually you’ve known him for a very long time,” Minseok retorts with a huff.

You sigh, nodding in defeat.

“Help me move him to the room,” you say, glancing towards the corridor, at the end of which is your spare room.

Minseok smiles gently as he nods.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

You move out of the way, watching the whole thing unfold.

Minseok stands up, quickly making his way to Baekhyun and pulls him into a sitting position before sliding an arm under his shoulder and pulling him up with a grunt, his knees almost giving up.

Baekhyun doesn’t even stir.

“He’s out cold isn’t he?” You ask, incredulous.

“He insisted to finish his drink in the cab on the way here,” Minseok says, voice strained. He slowly walks towards you and you can’t help but take pity on him and grab Baekhyun’s free arm, draping it over your shoulder and sharing the weight. The smell of alcohol and smoke mixed with cologne immediately invades your senses.

“I think he deliberately wanted to be as uncooperative as possible in case I took him back to her. As if I’d do that, idiot.” Minseok continues.

With a lot of effort from both of you, Baekhyun is finally on a proper bed, clothes and all. You take out the spare duvet and cover him with it, while Minseok writes a post it and sticks it on his forehead.

You peek at it curiously.

You’re an idiot. Stay here, we’ll talk in the morning.

- Minseok

“I’ve got to go home, my girlfriend is waiting and worried sick, but I’ll be back in the morning with some clothes for him.” Minseok says, standing up.

“Okay,” you reply, following him out of the room. “Hopefully he won’t freak out he’s in a stranger’s house and call the police.”

You stop at your front door, Minseok already calling a cab on his phone.

“He doesn't have his phone on him,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “And you’re not a stranger, he knows you.”

You give an unconvincing nod.

“Thank you for doing this,” he continues. “We’ll sort this out as soon as possible.”

He gives you a quick hug and repeats his thank yous several more times before he is out of the door.

You walk back inside the living room, still confused by what the events in the last hour. You glance at the clock and groan. It is already past one in the morning and definitely past your Sunday night bedtime.

You huff, walking to the kitchen and taking out a small tray.

You quickly put two empty glasses on it, filling one with water and the other with apple juice. You fish out some biscuits from a cupboard and pile some on a saucer. The final thing you add is two paracetamols, which would hopefully save you from being woken up in the middle of the night by the telltale signs of a badly hungover man in your flat.

You pad down the hall and into the spare bedroom, whose door is still hanging open.

Baekhyun has barely stirred from his spot on the bed, post it note still stuck on his forehead comically.

You place the tray on the nightstand carefully, wary of making too much noise, even though your guest probably isn’t going to wake up even if there was a marching band playing in the room.

You take out another post it and write directions to the bathroom on it. After overcoming your temptation to stick it on his nose, you press it to the water glass. He shouldn’t miss that.

You sigh, looking back at him. His features are much gentler when he is sleeping, more like what you remember from when you were younger than what you’d grown to know him to be in recent years. You yawn tiredly and pull the duvet up to his chin.

What a way to reunite with Byun Baekhyun.

~~

It had taken you some time to fall asleep the night before, which definitely explains the grogginess clouding your mind currently.

After a brief visit to the bathroom, you pad to the kitchen, your rumbling stomach guiding you.

You almost jump out of your skin when you realise there is already someone there.

“Hi,” he says, voice quiet and noticeably croaky.

Baekhyun is sitting on one of the chairs at your dining table, arms crossed over his chest and legs extended under him, the tray you had taken to him the night before laid out in front of him.

“Ah,” his dark eyes focus on your face, darting all over your features before they travel down, taking in your whole look. The look is unreadable and makes you fidget with the hem of your tshirt. Maybe you should have worn a proper pyjama. “I was wondering who he’d left me with,” he mumbles.

You quirk a tired eyebrow at that, questions bubbling in you. You swallow your curiosity, saving it for later. You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit and fix your blurry vision.

“Thanks for leaving this, it saved me when I woke up,” he says louder, nudging his chin towards the tray, glasses and saucer now empty.

You are a bit too confused to form a coherent answer so you just nod.

He is still wearing the clothes from the night before, although he has taken his shoes and jacket off. He is in all black, shirt and jeans, hair pushed back. If you just looked at his clothes you’d think he is ready to go out and film a movie, but the reality is that he looks like he’s been through hell and back.

With some relief however, you notice he is looking a little less pasty than the night before.

His eyes seem to follow you as you wordlessly move to the fridge, taking out the plate of pancakes covered in clear film, that you made the day before. You place it on the counter before turning around abruptly.

“You recognise me then?” You ask, meeting his dark eyes. They look hollow, almost flat.

His lips lift slightly on one side.

“Shouldn’t I?” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. “We took at least 2 modules together in university and you flat out ignored me when I tried to greet you at the last high school reunion.”

You bite your lip nervously, you didn’t expect him to even know you exist in the same world. You just nod turning back around.

“Do you like pancakes?” You ask, as you peel off the clear film from the plate.

You are met with silence, you turn your head to take a peek and you see Baekhyun looking at you, head cocked to the side, his face void of emotion.

“Baekhyun?” You whisper, his eyes immediately snapping to yours as if you’d pulled him out of a daydream.

“Yes?” Momentary confusion overtaking his features.

“Pancakes?” You ask, lifting the plate showing him what you were offering.

It could be your imagination, but his eyes seem to flicker at your offer.

“Yes, please.” He replies, just as his stomach growls quietly.

Baekhyun looks to the side, pursing his lips in something akin to embarrassment and you smile under your nose as you turn back to prepare breakfast for the two of you.

Baekhyun sits quietly as you shuffle back and forth between the cupboards, picking out pancake toppings and making breakfast tea.

The silence between you isn’t awkward, it is oddly comfortable, although you could probably argue that that is mostly due to your sleepiness and his general despondency.

Baekhyun doesn’t touch anything placed in front of him until you finally sit down leaving the pot of tea in the middle.

“Help yourself,” you say, nudging the plate of pancakes towards him as you peel a banana and start cutting it in small pieces.

Baekhyun doesn’t need to be asked twice as he nods and leans in and taking a pancake into his plate.

For someone who looks like he’s been avoiding food for the past few weeks you definitely didn’t expect him to practically inhale the pile of pancakes that is in front of him. You are full after having two of them, as you drowned them in honey, bananas and nuts, so you nudge the big plate towards Baekhyun who doesn’t argue as he scarfs them all down. Those were supposed to last you two more days, but the sudden appearance of colour in Baekhyun’s cheeks slowly appeases you.

You are resting your cheek on the palm of your hand, watching him sip his milky tea in content.

“When was the last time you had real food?” You ask, unable to control yourself.

Baekhyun looks you, a flash of guilt passing his steely eyes.

“I don’t remember,” he admits, eyes casting down. “I’ve been drinking a lot.”

You just hum, moving to stand so you can clean up.

To your surprise, Baekhyun moves to stand up as well, picking up the plates and placing them in a neat stack. You open the dishwasher and he starts filling the rack wordlessly.

It isn’t long before you have cleaned up and you glance at the clock worriedly, you have to leave for work soon.

Just as you are about to turn to speak to Baekhyun and let him know, the doorbell rings.

You walk out of the kitchen leaving Baekhyun to his own devices as you go to open the door. Before you can turn the handle however, a warm hand falls on top of yours.

“Did you check who it is?” Baekhyun asks in a whisper, his breath tickling your ear. He is way too close, hunching over you, the warmth of his chest seeping through your thin t-shirt.

You grunt, pulling your hand away from his.

He takes a step back, standing at your side and crossing his arms over his chest, lips in a tight line.

You tiptoe, looking through the peehole.

“It’s just Minseok,” you inform him. “He’s here to bring you clothes.”

Baekhyun nods, the furrow between his eyebrows relaxing a little.

You open the door to reveal a wide eyed and worried Minseok. As usual he is wearing a suit, his hair styled neatly and he has a big bag in his hand that you assume contains the aforementioned clothes. His eyes dart between you and Baekhyun quickly as he steps inside.

“Morning,” he greets, taking his shoes off. “You feeling better?” He asks, turning to Baekhyun.

The man nods, which makes you somewhat proud.

“You have some colour in your face, did she make you eat?” Minseok asks, a smile making its way to his lips. “She makes the best pancakes.”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun admits, smiling a little.

You can’t handle it anymore so you just walk further inside, prompting the men to follow you in the living room.

You sit on one of the armchairs, watching as the other two make their way to the couch.

“I brought you a change of clothes and some basics,” Minseok begins, handing Baekhyun the bag he is carrying. “I’ve also brought you your phone that you seem to like to ignore these days.”

You smile under your nose as you watch your friend offhandedly scold the Byun Baekhyun, just like that.

“You should turn it on and at least call your PA so he can find you a place to stay,” he continues, shoving the phone in Baekhyun’s hands. “I called him last night to at least let him know you’re where you are, he’s been covering for you for a the past days, saying you were on holiday in Europe.”

Baekhyun grimaces, but nods.

Minseok seems somewhat satisfied as he then turns to you.

“Do you mind if he stays here for a few more days?” He asks, tone almost too nice.

“It’s fine,” you sigh. As if you’d say no.

Minseok beams happily making you smile back tentatively. Your eyes slide to Baekhyun and to your surprise he is already looking at you, eyes wide.

“Thank you,” he says, his words just above a whisper.

You nod, looking down, unable to keep up the eye contact.

A/N: Happy Mochiful Holidays everyone! -3-

I wasn’t really planning on updating so soon, I even mentioned it in the prologue, but as some of you may know, the past few weeks have been particularly tough and, after a rather rough patch last week, I realised I was reading a lot more somewhat in order to distract myself so I decided to post this in hopes that it might help someone else out there who is looking for a distraction ^^ 

I love you all and I hope you’re enjoying a nice break! 

Next Chapter - TBC

Permeate Masterlist

Mochi Masterlist

[lurkingcrow]

Apparently I find inspiration in the weirdest of places, I feel the need to share this ridiculous idea with you all. Now, I won't say this is the happiest of universes, as much as I would like a universe where Obi-Wan is still the first to hold the twinsonly because Padmé is doing her best to crush her husband's prosthetic hand, this is not one of them.

Instead, we are faced with the prospect of Obi-Wan Kenobi (he's not yet Ben, it's still too soon, the grief too raw), in his hermit hut on Tatooine, desperately trying to work out what to do with himself. The life of a hermit is quite simple, and while he spends a considerable amount of time communing with the Force, it is still something of a shock to go from running half the Republic war effort to lying low and scaring away the occasional group of raiders from the area around the Lars homestead.

He gets antsy. His needs are minimal, and routine maintenance only takes so long. He needs something to keep himself occupied, to stop himself from obsessing over his own failure, or constantly checking on the small but bright Force signature at the edge of his senses. But his resources are rather limited. 

The idea comes while he is checking on the welfare of the Bantha herd that seems to have adopted him. They shed a considerable amount of hair, and the nights are cold out here in the Wastes...

On his next trip to town Obi-Wan procures some necessary equipment and advice - the old matron smiles at him as she outlines the basic techniques, amused at his stubborn insistence on learning for himself rather than simply selling the raw materials. A day later Obi-Wan has collected a enough Bantha hair to begin experimenting.

Carding the hair and spinning it into yarn takes a lot of practice, but eventually Obi-Wan thinks he has it down. His first attempts are somewhat lumpy and uneven in texture, but they will do for now. Similarly, while wood is scarce on Tatooine bone is in ample supply and he soon has a service pair of matching needles. Now comes the tricky part.

It is slow going but Obi-Wan finds the repetitive motions draw him into a kind of moving meditation. Bit by bit the simple blanket begins to take shape. It is not much to look at, but it is warm, and it is made by his own hands.

Over time he improves, and while selling his leftover yarn the old matron offers him suggestions for more complicated pstterns. Obi-Wan listens eagerly, open for new projects to keep himself busy.

Which is how he ends up standing in front of the Lars homestead holding a large knitted bantha. Beru is the one who opens the door, and he manages to politely ask after her own health before offering her the stuffed toy with the explanation that it is a gift for Luke. His first birthday is coming up after all, and he knows it's not much, but birthdays are important and...

Beru takes pity on him and bundles Obi-Wan inside with the promise of tea and the chance to give Luke his present himself. Owen might not be pleased when he comes home, but Beru knows a man desperately clinging to anything for stability when she sees one. She keeps up a light conversation, showing him her own needles inherited from her mother, inquiring about the Banthas he got the wool from and was he familiar with this or that stitch? Obi-Wan leaves calmer and more settled than he has been in a very long time.

Later he realises just what Beru did and finds himself immensely grateful. He makes her a scarf, the weave transitioning from pale cream to deep russet and back again, in thanks. He intends to leave it on the doorstep for her, only to run smack bang into Owen Lars leaving to check on the outlying vaporators. Angry words ar exchanged until their argument gets the attention of Beru who puts her foot down and makes them talk out a truce. Obi-Wan agrees not to engage in any sort of force related funny business and Owen will not grumble about Obi-Wan visiting occasionally for a bitch and stitch session.

(Obi-Wan wonders at the prospect, but it turns out complaining about uncooperative vaporators and scheming merchants while methodically adding row after row to the fabric is not all that dissimilar to the gripe sessions his men conducted while undertaking routine weapons maintenance. The memory is bitter, but not as painful as it once was, and Beru's amicable company makes it even less so.)

Beru is delighted by her scarf, and Luke loves his Bantha. Even Owen grudgingly admits that the decorative rug was very well made. But it's not until Beru remarks about all the compliments she's had regarding the toddler's adorable Tooka onesie that Ben realises he apparently has a talent for this sort of thing. He agrees to let Beru take a few samples with her to market, and soon he finds himself earning a small income from his creations. Everyone knows that if you want something special, something durable and warm, you talk to Ben Kenobi. No one knows how, but his wool is always softer, his patterns more intricate than other options.

It's strange, to be admired for talents completely unrelated to his time as a Jedi, or General, but Obi-Wan, no Ben Kenobi finds himself rather content with the current state of affairs. His meditations with Qui-Gon are are progressing well, the Banthas are looking sleeker and shinier than ever, and he has even been experimenting with the use of his knitting needles in combat situations. Best of all though, he has a good friend in Beru, one who is not afraid to tell him and. He is being an idiot by taking on too much.

And every night Luke Skywalker goes to sleep surrounded by his love from head to toe.

****

And that is where the silly idea formed from that comic panel of Obi-Wan and his Banthas, and the photo of my nephew in a knitted fox onesie leave us! I hope you enjoyed this jaunt into the world of the mad knitter Kenobi and his fibre crafts of great reknown. And yes, he has worked out how to utilise them in self defence, and the Hutts are STILL mystified as to how exactly certain employees of theirs ended up stunt up from the top of the palace gates inside some of the itchiest and most difficult to untie sacks in existence without having seen or heard anything suspicious... 😀