#black & shiny and like it's chewy.

[liebelesbe]

You know when you're listening to music, sometimes you feel like how licorice looks?...No? Just me?

[hughiecampbelle]

Necromancy (Hannibal Lecter Oneshot)

Character/s: Hannibal, Will mention

Word Count: 1,314

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: Ahhh okay truthfully I still feel a little shaky about writing Hannibal in character, but I got this idea and couldn't stop myself from writing lol. I plan on watching more within the next few days so I can write him better!! I love this fic though, just like the others, and I'm so happy I get to share!! Thank you for letting me share!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT 🔪🩸

I don’t feel anything. Your voice is stable, flat, made of concrete. It falls heavy to the floor, breaking apart in sharp, bumpy pieces. You imagine it cracking open though there is nothing of interest inside. How boring. Nothing? He questions, adjusting his gaze. Yes, you think, but do not say. Yes. Yes. Yes. Even talking, like this, feels like too much effort. You haven’t been looking at him. Meeting his eyes means something you’re not yet ready to face. Instead you sit, spine straight, hands fumbling. Cracking each knuckle, each finger, over and over until they stop popping. Even then you don’t stop. Pointer. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Rinse and repeat. The pattern, the routine, offers a comfort you can’t explain. No doubt he is watching, taking note, though it would be unlike himself to bring it up. At least, in an obvious way. Direct. It isn’t nothing. I think it is an overwhelming grief. You’ve been abandoned by a paternal figure. Left to face gore and carnage without protection, physical and psychological. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask your thoughts. You look away, dropping your hands in your lap where they might clutch together, nails to palms, in an attempt to feel something. What does Jack have to do with this? As if to say go on, think deeper, Hannibal leans back in his chair, his arms open. He doesn’t, you think stubbornly, childishly. This wasn’t on him. This was on the unsub. This was on you. 

Phantom stitches seep into your neck. They missed the jugular. Barely. Have you been having any nightmares? No. Yes, your mind spits back. You stand, unable to sit any longer, wandering around the office space. Yes. They’re theatrical. Beautiful, even, if you weren’t the one bleeding out. Your hands are slippery with red, unable to grasp your neck, the wound, to prevent hemorrhaging. Your words come out gurgled. Wet. You’re begging for your life. Now it feels pathetic. Embarrassing. Your co-workers are a witness to your desperation. Will covered in it. Splattered. You see now that his glasses, the lenses, are smeared with it, too. His hands, unwavering. He’s talking to you, trying to calm you down, but you are inconsolable. Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t want to die. More true, you don’t want to become another one of their victims. You are like this forever. Together. Panicked and scared, Will your only observer. Only he will know your final moments. Black spots seep into your vision. You want to tell him this, ask him if this is a sign of dying, but you can’t. Your body is cold and your lips, your tongue, are too heavy. There are paramedics. Flashing lights. Will left in the pool of blood as you’re lifted on a stretcher. Gloved hands with pristine white gauze press into you, your throat. Hannibal by your side. He appeared suddenly, behind him Jack, your friends, all of them wearing worry, fear, over their expressions. The unsub got away. You close your eyes and relive these moments. Relive the way their knife, serrated, tries to slice through you. It’s duller than they thought. They have to work at it. You try to fight them off, you do, but they’re stronger. 

Do you think you’re ready to go back into the field? Instinctively, your hand comes up, brushing the scar around your. Like a pearl necklace. The skin is shiny, thick and chewy. Stop it. Do you? You ask. It isn’t up to me. You find the statue of a buck, black and sleek, the material cold under your fingertips. You follow the arch of its neck, the proudness of its antlers, the shyness of its face. He is wrong and you both know this. Your sessions started in the hospital. Medically induced. You were out of it for a few days. When you came to, they sat on either side of you. Will looked exhausted. The circles under his eyes are deep and bruise-like. Even Hannibal, always put together, let his tie hang loose. As if he were hypnotic, Will follows his orders, under his spell: go home, change, get some sleep. He squeezes your hand before leaving, promising he’ll be back as soon as possible. He began talking to you through everything they knew. Who the unsub was, why they went after you, where they’re headed next. Later, you’d need him to repeat himself. The words floated above you, milky and warm. The pain medications were strong, abundant through your veins. When you’re a little stronger, more aware, he begins to assess you. 

Weeks you spent in that room, the whole place sterile and unfamiliar. Eventually you were allowed to bathe, to dress, to eat by yourself. Hannibal split his time between you and the rest of the team, coming in after visiting hours, his voice quiet and neutral when he asks you questions. Are you in any pain? Do you remember what happened? Could you make a positive identification? His presence a fixture in that place, like the gossip of the nurses in the hall or the silver bedpans that mock you. He never complained. He never let the long days work interfere with his time with you. Gentle, his mannerisms soft. Helping you up the first time you got out of that bed. Advocating for you when you felt unheard, unseen. Lulling you out of your panic when the nightmares start. You don’t talk about them. You still haven’t. They’re none of his business. Jack orders mandatory therapy when you’re released. Rest, he said, and for the love of God, talk to him. All you wanted was to go back to work. You were fine. But it is, you mumble with frustration. You don’t think I’m ready and that’s why I can’t go back. You’ve got me on desk duty! You apologize for the outburst, but he shrugs it off. So the lectures aren’t fulfilling? You stare him down, an attitude in your voice you haven’t recognized since adolescence. What do you think? You collect paperwork. You organize pictures for the presentations. You help Will rehearse for his classes. That is all you’re allowed. Any talk of the unsub that attacked you is forbidden. Hannibal thought some distance between you and the case might do you some good. 

I don’t feel anything, you reiterate. Not about being attacked, not about the person who attacked me, none of it. I’ve moved on. But Hannibal knows better. You’ve become fixated on catching them, hunting them, making them hut the way you have been hurt. A flick switched in your brain. Perhaps it was the begging, the pleading, the humiliation you feel for acting a certain way in front of your peers, equally as skilled, equally as detached. Perhaps it's wanting what you can’t have. You stole the case file from Will, unsuspecting, and made copies. Got rid of any evidence. You stare at their picture, their face, imagining what you will do to them when you’re alone together. Falling asleep with their M.O. memorized. You don’t know that he knows, that he understands. This wrath inside you, seeking justice. You’ve become what you study, getting in the minds of unsubs, speaking to the dead, putting the puzzle together. Necromancers, they would have called you, said you worked magic. You and Will, your shared abilities. Things changed. Shifted. You were the victim this time. It was personal. You can’t sit back and let them do all the work. This is your case, your unsub. It would be reckless of him to let you go back to work. Negligent, even. There’s no telling what you’re capable of in the state you’re in. It could end bloody. It could end in death, as all things usually do. It could end with your knife in their neck. Let me talk to Jack.

[m0llygunn]

candy curse (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: like a grim curse, each and every halloween night you are doomed to the worst of belly aches... noble hearted as always, eddie works his own magic to soothe your woes

cw: candy overconsumption; no comments made by eddie (or anyone) about how much candy reader has eaten, candy being 'bad', or negative talk about eating; fluff; comfort. an: the summary makes it sound like smut but its not its just candy lol wc: 1.8k

This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Not by a long shot. 

If truth be told, you are well versed in the Halloween candy belly aches– so well versed that it seems nearly impossible for you not to do it. Every year, belly ache after belly ache, you still remain none the wiser. There is nothing that anybody could say or do that could prevent this yearly occurrence, and Eddie is well aware of that.

“Think that’s it for the trick or treaters tonight,” he says exuding the confidence of a veteran candy-giver-outer. 

Passing from the kitchen to the front door, he locks the deadbolt, switching the front porch light out. He’s not wrong though, the last group of trick or treaters must have been an hour ago. It’s safe to say the night is yours and Eddie’s now.

“That was fun!” you sing excitedly. 

Normally the party goers, this year you both decided subdued was the move, and subdued meant handing out candy at Eddie's place for the very first time. Veteran candy-giver-outers you are not, but it was cozy and cute seeing all the kiddies parade in their costumes with Eddie. It felt like domesticity at its peak and you can only hope to see more of it in your futures. 

He crosses the living room towards the couch, aiming to sit next to you, but just nearly knocks his knee on the coffee table. The slight breeze of his close call sends a red coloured wrapper sailing to the carpeted floor, but neither of you bother with it just yet. Instead, he sits, handing you a glass of water that you didn't ask for but appreciate all the more. 

“I didn't know so many kids lived in the trailer park these days," you say, eyes following him as he settles next to you.

“Oh yeah,” he says with a chortled emphasis. “So many. Arguably too many,” he jokes. 

Taking a sip of the water, you set it down on the coffee table before leaning into Eddie. You lay your front against his side, resting your chin on his chest, tilting your face up to look at him. He meets your gaze, encouraging your closeness with arms that wrap around you, jetting out his lips— silently asking for a kiss. You close the distance without a second thought. 

It’s a chaste thing, just a peck, but he pulls back with amused eyes and a widened smile as he licks his lips. 

“You taste sweet,” he says. 

“Yeah?” you ask, licking your own lips. He’s not wrong.

He licks his lips a second time, brow inquisitively quirking upwards. “Skittles or starburst?” he questions.

Grin wide as can be, “both,” you reply. He returns your flashy smile with mirth, shaking his head. 

“Is that why you’re so sweet?” Boo. Corny and he knows it too with the way his smile pulls to the side, entirely too boyish, entirely too cute for you to call him out for it. 

The stream of cult classic horror that has been the background noise of the evening becomes the main event as you both lazy away the rest of the night. After a few minutes of silent watching and tooth rotting cuddling, the black plastic cauldron at the front door begs for your attention. All of the shimmery and shiny contents— the dragon's wealth of mini chocolate treats and the witch's hoard of chewy colorful candy, it calls for you. 

Eddie’s grip around your shoulders loosens as you slide from your spot next to him. Rolling off the couch, just barely falling to your feet, and quickly pushing up to a stance in a less than eloquent maneuver, he laughs softly as your lack of poise… or maybe he just knows what you're up to. 

In a scurry, not unlike a wild creature of the night, you dash to the front door, grabbing the thin handle of the cauldron and claiming your goods. Eddie smiles at you, eyes beaming with what you hope is adoration.

“Bring it here then. We worked hard for that,” he says, motioning his head for you to come back, patting your seat with a heavy hand. 

“Worked so hard,” you sigh through your giggle. “Seeing all of those adorable kids dressed up in cutesy costumes. Absolutely exhausting,” you continue, making Eddie laugh. Plopping back down on the couch you situate the cauldron to fit snugly between yours and Eddie’s thighs.

Like a couple of eager witches brewing the potion of the century, you and Eddie excitedly stir your hands through the cauldron, faces tilting downwards as you riffle for your pick of the metaphorical poison. 

You, a fun-size twix bar, him, a mini box of milk duds, it’s all plastic crinkles and sticky teeth between the two of you. And of course, you can’t stop at just one. The marvelous collection of candy is far too enticing to not have more. Not to mention, it really is just plain addicting. 

Brain rotting from the movie, you don’t even have the opportunity to notice how much candy you’ve eaten— especially when Eddie got up halfway through your milk-chocolate-candy-malt massacre and took all of the garbage with him. On his quick trip to the kitchen to get you a refill of water and himself a beer, he took all the physical proof of how much candy was consumed with him. At least if you saw the proof, maybe you would have gotten the hint to take it easy… or maybe you're just making excuses…

You truly had no idea how much chocolate and candy you had eaten until you felt the first sickly feeling in your stomach. Fortunately, it passed after a few minutes. Nothing a little water couldn’t fix— you made sure to drink lots. 

Some more time had passed and you kept watching the movie. Eddie, the most thoughtful, cuddly companion, had offered you half of his Kit Kat, and you couldn’t say no. Then, to your demise, he opened a full sized package of pop rocks, pouring way too much of it in your mouth and the rest into his. The two of you crackled and popped together, giggling and laughing. What an image it must have been— the two of you huddled around the cauldron still, cackling like witches over the magic of pop rocks. 

Gulping water like it’s anti-poison, you still felt relatively fine— the excitement of the night's little idiosyncrasies serving as the greatest magic circle, protecting you from yourself. 

Unfortunately, as the night dwindled and the clock struck beyond midnight, you hadn’t stopped at the pop rocks. Possessed by the ghosts of Halloween, you went in for another twix, half a box of milk duds, some more skittles, and the devil knows what else. 

You wish you could say it hit you all at once, but it was slow coming and your hand in the cauldron of candy was relentless. Eventually it was too much and you moved the cauldron to the coffee table, tapping out for the night. To say your stomach hurt was an understatement. 

In the agony of your belly ache, you bit by bit began to take over the couch, sprawling yourself over Eddie in the process. First it was simply stretching your limbs out in an attempt to alleviate the overbearing pain in your tummy, then it was a little more than that as you leaned further and further into Eddie’s side. He had accommodated you, absentmindedly scooching over so you had more space for your body to stretch out and your legs to hang over the arm of the couch. He welcomed your head into his lap, running a hand over your forehead, petting down your hair. 

Embarrassment kept you from saying anything. Every year you do this, and every year you swear up and down that it's the last. It never is, but that doesn't stop you from pretending. You put on your best brave face, but when you accidentally let out a low, zombie-like groan, Eddie looks down at you. Concern precedes his features, but amusement doesn't linger too far behind.  

“Sore belly?” he asks. You can tell he's doing his best to hold back his smile to spare your feelings but the effort clearly isn't good because the corners of his lips still turn up. 

You nod weakly, embarrassment gone with the wind. “Why didn’t you stop me?” you groan. He brings his palm to the side of your face, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

“It’s tradition,” he says fondly. He's not making fun of you… but he's making fun of you.

“It’s a bad tradition,” you say with a pained whine. His amusement in the matter takes over, and his good health is taunting. Totally ache free, he smiles widely at you.

“I don’t know…” he starts, eyes twinkling in a loving tease. “I always come out of it looking pretty good ‘cause I get to rub your belly and kiss you better.” 

Pouting out your lip, you frown at him, focusing all your dwindling energy into pinching your brows. He tilts his face to the side, pouting his own lip out— mocking you. 

“Eddie,” you whine, weakly lifting your arm to swat at him. He laughs, grabbing your arm and pressing a kiss to your wrist before setting it back down to your side. 

“Well, think of it this way, at least it's just candy this year. Not candy and alcohol,’ he says, raising a brow. 

Entirely unhelpful because it's entirely true— and does absolutely nothing to get rid of your belly ache. It also doesn't help that he still looks beyond pleased with himself, and you— you continue to live in envy of him for not feeling an identical wrath to the one simmering in your poor, poor tummy. 

“We’ll see how good you look when I throw up pop rocks all over you,” you mumble, cuddling closer to him, closing your eyes to help ease the pain.

“My poor baby,” he laughs. Leaning downwards, he presses a kiss to the edge of your forehead. 

“Rub my tummy please,” you ask pitifully. 

“Course,” he replies. A warm, flattened palm finds its way to your stomach, rubbing gentle circles, helping you relax, banishing the ache with each tender loving pass of his hand.

What a dreadful thing to be hexed with. Like a spell casted, damning you year after year for the rest of your life, a haunting belly ache, each and every Halloween. Jinxed by your own foolishness.

Not even a kiss from your true love could save you… you have to admit, it does help though. If you have to live with this terrible, horrible curse, you’re absolutely bewitched to have Eddie’s kisses, cuddles, and belly rubs to get you through it. 

–––––

happy halloween ty! <3

[dyxtd21]

Skymelon (Skywarp) aesthetic moodboard!!

Skymelon:

Skymelon is a vivid, eye-catching presence among the Decepticorns, his entire design bursting with the bright, playful colors of watermelon-flavored candies. His body is primarily coated in glossy, translucent layers of green and pink, like the shiny surface of watermelon gummies or jelly beans. His arms and legs are striped in vibrant green and lighter shades of pink, mimicking the iconic patterns of a watermelon rind and flesh. His chest features a darker pink core with tiny black seed-like accents scattered across it, giving the appearance of a perfectly ripe watermelon slice. Strips of chewy watermelon roller belts flow like ribbons from his shoulders and waist, trailing behind him dramatically whenever he moves, while his wings shimmer with a candy-glaze effect, their surface resembling the swirled patterns of watermelon lollipops. His overall look is strikingly playful but hides an underlying sharpness, much like his unpredictable personality.

Skymelon’s personality is as chaotic and playful as his appearance. He’s a trickster at heart, constantly playing pranks, stirring up mischief, and keeping everyone around him on edge. His humor is sharp, and while he revels in his antics, there’s often a hint of menace behind his seemingly harmless fun. Skymelon delights in the unexpected, whether it’s surprising an opponent with a sneak attack or vanishing into thin air (aided by his teleportation abilities, which leave behind a faint scent of watermelon candy). To him, life is a game, and he plays it with gleeful abandon, often at the expense of his allies. His unpredictability makes him both a wild card and a dangerous asset in the Decepticorns’ ranks.

Despite his playful exterior, Skymelon is fiercely loyal to Megatwix, whom he views as the only one who truly appreciates his chaotic nature. While his antics often annoy his comrades, Megatwix recognizes the value of Skymelon’s unpredictability in battle and strategic diversions. Skymelon takes pride in this acknowledgment, though he doesn’t show it openly. Instead, he channels his energy into causing distractions or confusing the enemy, often striking where and when they least expect it. While Skymelon rarely expresses outright gratitude, his loyalty to Megatwix runs deep, and he’ll follow his leader’s orders without question—though perhaps with a mischievous twist.

Skymelon’s relationship with Starcream is complicated and often fraught. On one hand, he enjoys teasing Starcream and poking fun at his overly elaborate schemes and dramatic flair. On the other hand, Skymelon has a begrudging respect for Starcream’s cunning, even if he thinks the whipped-cream-coated Decepticorn is far too obsessed with appearances. Their interactions often involve Skymelon pulling pranks on Starcream—like tying his decorative cherry ribbon into knots or swapping his whipped cream for a sticky watermelon glaze—only for Starcream to retaliate with dramatic threats of retribution. Though their dynamic is playful on the surface, there’s an underlying tension, as Skymelon’s erratic behavior sometimes undermines Starcream’s attempts at taking command.

With Soundwafer, Skymelon has a strained but functional relationship. Soundwafer’s serious, no-nonsense demeanor contrasts sharply with Skymelon’s chaotic energy, leading to frequent clashes. Skymelon often mocks Soundwafer’s rigid nature, while Soundwafer views Skymelon as an unpredictable liability. However, despite their differences, they’ve learned to work together when necessary, with Soundwafer using Skymelon’s chaos to create diversions for his more calculated strategies. Skymelon secretly respects Soundwafer’s discipline, though he’d never admit it outright.

Shockwerther is another story entirely. Skymelon admires Shockwerther’s raw strength and unyielding demeanor, though he often views him as a target for harmless pranks. Shockwerther, however, has little patience for Skymelon’s antics, often shutting them down with a single, icy glare. Despite this, Skymelon occasionally manages to draw a rare smirk from the stoic enforcer, especially when his mischief inadvertently benefits the Decepticorns’ cause. Skymelon sees this as a victory, further fueling his playful provocations.

In battle, Skymelon is a whirlwind of chaotic energy, using his teleportation abilities to disorient his enemies and strike from unexpected angles. His watermelon-themed weapons and abilities are as unconventional as his personality. He launches sticky watermelon gummy projectiles that adhere to his opponents, slowing them down and disrupting their movements. His roller belt ribbons can be used as whips or snares, entangling enemies with their stretchy, sugary grip. Skymelon’s agility and teleportation make him nearly impossible to pin down, and his penchant for misdirection allows him to control the flow of battle in ways his enemies rarely anticipate.

Skymelon is the unpredictable spark in the Decepticorns’ ranks, a candy-coated enigma who thrives on chaos and mischief. While his antics may frustrate his allies at times, his loyalty to the cause and his ability to turn the tide of battle make him an invaluable member of Megatwix’s team. Beneath the playful pranks and mischievous grin lies a cunning mind that knows exactly how to turn his sugary chaos into a weapon, ensuring that Skymelon remains a force to be reckoned with.

[robinette-green]

Something I wrote that’s not Sun and Moon content.

Rich merchant offers a half elf up to a dragon as a sacrifice. The merchant gets eaten and the dragon keeps the half elf to eat later.

I don’t know if I’ll write any more of this but here’s a snippet.

Tw: blood

Captured?

"Tell me again why you came here?" Black scales glittered in the light of the torches as the dragon peered down at my captor. His voice deep and resonating in the stone cavern. The plump human male swallowed, nervous, before puffing out his chest.

"I've brought the sacrifice like the legends say! Now grant me the riches and powers promised to all who please the great dragons!" Throwing his head back, the dragon laughed, making the human turn red in anger.

"Fool, you dare to make demands of a dragon? Let me tell you something before you die. Those legends of which you speak are nothing but stories that humans like you made up to romanticize my kind" the human's eyes widened as the dragon spoke of his death. Dropping the rope tied to my hands, the human turned to run.

I couldn't stop the scream that left me as I was splattered in blood, the dragon's teeth closing around the man's upper half, biting him in two. Turning away, I kept my eyes shut as the dragon chewed before snapping up the other half. Running would do me no good; the dragon would catch me in a matter of seconds. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked up at the beast before me. Gold eyes were studying me as I trembled, watching my every move.

"He was rather chewy, not very tasty. You, however, look like you'll be tender, little half-elf." I could feel tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as the dragon leaned forward to better catch my scent. I did my best to keep the sheer terror from my face, trying to hold my ground… die with dignity.

"You smell delectable as well." Body shaking, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the teeth coming for me when the dragon took a bite. Humanoid fingers wrapped around my forearm, pulling my hands forward so a knife could cut the ropes binding me. Startled, my eyes shot open as I pulled back, the man before me barely missing cutting me with the knife. My hands free, the man kept a firm grip on my arm to keep me close. Gold eyes watched me from under long black locks of hair. The dragon in human form leaned toward me with a smile

"I'll keep you for now" Letting go of my arm, the dragon walked away, deeper into the cavern, and I glanced behind me at the entrance.

"You can run if you want to, but I will find you." I flinched at the sound of his voice, frozen by indecision. When I looked back at the dragon, I found him leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, waiting for me to make my decision. My lower lip quivered as I fiddled with my fingers, thinking. I had nothing to go back to, and if he was going to kill me regardless of what I decided…

My first few steps in his direction were hesitant, but once he saw me coming, he turned and set a quick pace deeper into the caves. I had to trot to catch up and keep up.

Deeper into the caves were rooms carved into the stone. Human-sized rooms for... prisoners? Friends? Guests? I couldn't tell. I had been shown to a room and told to clean up and change before the dragon wandered away. The room was huge. Canopy bed, dressers, couches, a fireplace. Everything looked like it had been pulled from the most elegant castle. It was exquisite.

As I slowly made my way across the floor, I studied the several animal furs that covered the floor like rugs. They were pelts from animals I didn't think existed anymore, all extinct. Wandering through the massive room, I avoided touching anything, not wanting to get blood or dirt on any shiny surfaces. Passing through the bedroom to a door in the back wall, I found a bathroom just as large. In the middle of the stone floor was a large steaming hot spring and along the back wall was a waterfall flowing into a small pool that also seemed to be steaming. Lovely bamboo cabinets full of towels and toiletries sat against one wall next to a floor-length mirror. With the supplies I found in there, I was able to have the best scrub down I had had in ages… once I got past the anxiety of bathing in a strange place that belonged to one of the strongest dragons in known history. I didn't really get past that. I just bathed quickly.

Wrapped in a towel and dripping slightly, I peered into the bedroom to ensure it was still empty before going to one of the wardrobes. My clothes were covered in blood and dirt, and the dragon had said to change, so there must be clothes to find here. All the clothes in the wardrobe were made from gold and silver, covered in Gemstones and delicate beadwork. Fingers trembling, I carefully sifted through them, looking for the plainest outfit, but each seemed fancier than the last.

Finally, near the back was a simple white gown with beading on the hem and along the draping sleeves. As gently as possible, I pulled the silken fabric out of the wardrobe and dressed. I was amazed to find that the garment fit me perfectly like it had been tailored just for me.

I glanced in one of the many mirrors strewn about the room. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this clean. This whole situation felt unreal… maybe I was still in shock? My body was still shaking with fear. At any moment, the dragon could decide that I was better as a taster treat than a pretty gem to keep for his amusement.

What now? Hugging myself, I looked about the room. Did he want me to come find him? Should I wait here? After another look around the room, I decided I couldn't stay here. It was too big and grand, and I was starting to feel so small just standing here. I peeked into the hallway, and once I saw it was empty, I stepped out of my room, closing the door behind me. Taking the ribbon I had stolen from one of the other dresses, I tied it to the doorknob to remember which room was mine.

Everything was dragon-sized; the rooms, the doorways, and the cavers seemed to be a labyrinth. Within only a few minutes, I was lost. This had been a horrible idea. I had left the room because everything had felt too big and grand, but the hallways were even larger and more luxurious. Now I had no hope of finding my way back. Chewing on a thumbnail, I peered into a nearby archway, trying to see if I recognized the room but what I found inside had me frozen to the spot.

The dragon had locked eyes with me from the end of a large dining room table in the middle of a grand hall. He had been reading a book when I had peered in, but now he was eyeing me with amusement.

"Come here. Sit with me." He said, flicking a finger at the chair next to him, the chair sliding back on its own. I couldn't say no, but I hesitated, not wanting to get any closer. As the dragon watched me stand frozen in the doorway, he raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" Slowly, I stepped into the room, not wanting to anger him. That would only cause my death sooner rather than later. His eyes watched me closely as I made my way to the chair and sat, hands squeezed together in my lap, eyes fixed on the table before me. I could hear the creek of the chair as the dragon leaned back, his eyes still boring into me. Snapping his fingers, I flinched, and the table was suddenly full of platters of food. The dragon leaned forward, crossing his arms over his open book and resting his chin atop them, gold eyes glittering as I glanced at him.

"You look hungry… you should eat." I wanted to. My stomach was growling, demanding to be fed but… with the dragon's eyes on me, I felt as though I had been turned to stone. I didn't know if I could move. As I looked at the plates heaped with food, my stomach won out over my fear. Movements jerky and cautious, I served myself a small amount of one or two of the closest dishes, some roasted vegetables, and a slice of pork chop. As I ate, I kept my eyes on my plate, not wanting to meet the eyes of the dragon watching my every move. I cleaned the plate and found I was still hungry but too nervous to serve myself more food. We sat in silence for a long while, me sitting stiff and uncomfortable under the dragon's gaze.

With a snap of his fingers, the plates vanished, new dishes of deserts appearing in their place. My eyes widened at the wide array of sweet treats. What I would give to try even one. But I was frozen once more.

"Do you not want any?" I could hear the taunt in the dragon's voice, not having to look at him to know that he was smirking. He gave me a moment, but I couldn't respond, cheeks hot as my face flushed. I saw him shrug before snapping his fingers, the plates vanishing from the table. I tried to ignore the disappointment that went through me as the dragon stood and stretched.

"I'm going to turn in for the night. You should do the same."

[brooklynislandgirl]

The Nurse Shark || Beth Riley 

Italicize what your muse likes. Bold what they love. Strike through what they hate. tagged by: the lovely @sohelish​ tagging: Anyone who wants to do it! 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄. Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte Fish | Peppers | Whole wheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavour {{Beth actually loves bacon and absolutely feels guilty for it. She prefers big soft-chewy ‘New York’ pretzels, rather than the hard stick ones. She loves pineapple on bacon-pepperoni pizza but will go absolutely savage when people call ham and pineapple “Hawai’ian”.}} 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇. Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand | Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes {{Beth breaks into hives when coming into contact with velvet or wool.}} 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓.   Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Coconut | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather {{Gunpowder, coffee, cigarette smoke, and leather all remind her of her brother}} 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.   Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping {{Beth lives with audio processing disorder, which comes through as hearing everything so loudly, but voices are muffled, broken up, confusing, like static. So she prefers quiet places, nature sounds, the sound of the sea lapping at the shore and the vibration of deeper vocal tones.}} 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.   Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stained glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

[theiloveyousong]

"Twat," mumbled a welcome voice just loud enough for everybody around to hear.

I turned to see who had said this: the burnout-looking boy across the aisle, slouched and drumming his desk with his fingers. When he saw me looking at him, he raised a surprisingly lively eyebrow, as if to say: can you believe these fucking idiots?

"Did someone have something to say back there?" said Mrs. Spear.

"Like Thoreau gave a toss about roads," said the burnout bov. His accent took me by surprise: foreign, I couldn't place it.

"Thoreau was the first environmentalist," said Mrs. Spear.

"He was also the first vegetarian," said a girl in back.

"Figures," said someone else. "Mr. Crunchy-chewy."

"You're all totally missing my point," the Dragon Ball Z boy said excitedly. "Somebody has to build roads and not just sit in the woods looking at ants and mosquitoes all day. It's called civilization."

My neighbor let out a sharp, contemptuous bark of a laugh. He was pale and thin, not very clean, with lank dark hair falling in his eyes and the unwholesome wanness of a runaway, callused hands and black-circled nails chewed to the nub--not like the shiny-haired, ski-tanned skate rats from my school on the Upper West Side, punks whose dads were CEOs and Park Avenue surgeons, but a kid who might conceivably be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere with a stray dog on a rope.

"Well, to address some of these questions? I'd like for everybody to turn back to page fifteen," Mrs. Spear said. "Where Thoreau is talking about his experiment in living."

"Experiment how?" said Dragon Ball Z. "Why is living in the woods like he does any different from a caveman?"

The dark-haired boy scowled and sank deeper in his seat. He reminded me of the homeless-looking kids who stood around passing cigarettes back and forth on St. Mark's Place, comparing scars, begging for change — same torn-up clothes and scrawny white arms; same black leather bracelets tangled at the wrists. Their multi-layered complexity was a sign I couldn't read, though the general import was clear enough: different tribe, forget about it, I'm way too cool for you, don't even try to talk to me.

Such was my mistaken first impression of the only friend I made when I was in Vegas, and — as it turned out — one of the great friends of my life. His name was Boris. Somehow we found ourselves standing together in the crowd that was waiting for the bus after school that day.

"Hah. Harry Potter," he said, as he looked me over.

"Fuck you," I said listlessly. It was not the first time, in Vegas, I'd heard the Harry Potter comment. My New York clothes — khakis, white oxford shirts, the tortoiseshell glasses which I unfortunately needed to see — made me look like a freak at a school where most people dressed in tank tops and flip flops.

"Where's your broomstick?"

"Left it at Hogwarts," I said. "What about you? Where's your board?"

"Eh?" he said, leaning in to me and cupping his hand behind his ear with an old-mannish, deaf-looking gesture. He was half a head taller than me; along with jungle boots and bizarre old fatigues with the knees busted out, he was wearing a ratted-up black T-shirt with a snowboarding logo.

i actuslly dunno wht this is…

[rustytrident]

i think the hc that occupies my brain the most is the "demonic nature is kinda like human world animals' instincts" so here is the breakdown no one asked for: why i believe demons are much less scary after you actually get to know them!

so, in case it hasn't been evident in my three posts and some lint i have about obey me on here (sarcasm) i am obsessed with the idea that even the most powerful of demons aren't able to resist their demonic urges. like their brain kind of blacks out?? and they do whatever tf either demon brain or sin brain (or both) tells them to do.

lucifer checks himself out on every. single. reflective. surface. fixing his collar, combing his hair, straightening his sleeves – he absolutely hates when he realises he does it but demon brain goes "oohhh!!! it's me im here!!" and sin brain goes "ihavetolookmybestatalltimespleasetellmeilookgood". every time he catches himself with his hand midway through his hair he sighs and tries to go on with his day (one time satan and belphie pranked him by putting mirrors everywhere) (they didn't know lucifer has memorised the layout of the hol and can walk anywhere with his eyes closed).

mammon is that one kid that touches anything shiny and sparkly. you could be wearing highlighter and just feel a poke on your cheek. turn around. it's your demon boy. his pupils are dilated. finger still on your face. half a toof fang sticking out of his mouth. fucking elated. glittery shiny sparkly holographic things are his demon brain cocomelon. sin brain just hoards any and all glittery shiny sparkly holographic things he can find. whenever he's upset he watches those slime or chalk asmr videos but they have to be the ones where the creators use a whole bag of glitter (or! or! the ones where people flick brushes full of glitter above their cameras in slow motion yknow the ones).

leviathan has to be quirky different not like other girls. he has to be the one with the most marine knowledge in the family, the one with the most ruri knowledge in the family – you get the point. i believe he has a touch of the demon tism so if you think you know anything about his special interests no you don't. he was actually there when it happened so joke's on you. yes he did witness the creation of the first amoeba now move. he's also that younger sibling that sees you get praise for doing something and does the exact same thing to get praise too. sin brain goes "if they get that then i have to have it". you see him wearing your clothes sometimes and when you think back you remember you got a compliment on it about a week ago (week agoo 🕺💃) and like yeah. makes sense (pls tell him he's pretty pls).

satan has chewy toys and wears a retainer pretty frequently because that wrath may be chronic but them teeth won't stay there for long if he keeps baring them!! he buys new ones once a month because he absolutely tears through them and everyone is just used to him popping in his acrylic retainer every time lucifer comes in the room. he isn't even half ashamed of his toys because trust me it's not a cute sight. this man is one of the most imposing beings you have ever encountered creating holes with his teeth in places you believe there weren't any before through what you're guessing used to be something green and made of rubber, but you aren't too sure. you ask him what's wrong and he just stares at you blankly and goes "nothing? why would anything be?". it's just a casual case of both demon and sin brain going "AUURGHHHDHS *chomp*". absolutely feral unicorn man with the straightest teeth you've ever seen.

asmodeus is in the same predicament as lucifer when it comes to checking himself out but instead he embraces the moment. and checks other people out too, as long as what they're wearing catches his attention. he's a very touchy demon so you can find him absentmindedly having his hands on you without even realising he does it: twirling a strand of your hair, playing with your fingers, tracing your jawline. it's just that demon brain goes "ohoho!! my humnan look at my humin go!!" and can't not touch you after that. he also bites. you think it would be mammon or beel but nope it's asmo!! you're just too pretty and he wants to feel close to you!! don't bring it up though he gets embarrassed. you know that meme where person a says "i wonder what i taste like" and person b says "i can help with that" and a imagines a kiss and b imagines biting person a? yeah, inside asmo are two wolves.

beelzebub is the randomest fucking demon in that household idc. he's always so quiet and you never know what he's thinking until one day he brings home a human world ostrich like it's nothing and gives it a "tour of its new home"??? absolutely insane. he also buzzes randomly?? like you'll be hanging out in the common room and all of a sudden you hear "bbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" only for another brother to go "beel. i can't concentrate on my book. please refrain from buzzing inside the house"??? hello??? i think he's got a passion for cleaning too (thousands of years of food and blood stains, crumbs and mould have taught him a couple things) so he is always ready to assist in cleaning his brother's rooms and won't stop until they look brand new. his most demon brain moment is when he lifts things. doesn't matter what or how heavy it is, if he sees something new around him he has to give it a little lift. same thing with the people he's fond of. you have been grabbed by the armpits one too many times to have an impromptu simba moment for three seconds, only for beel to just go on with his day, no explanation. what a demon *sighs dreamily*.

belphegor is the most like his familiars (or at least his habits are most prominent). you see the demon chewing and chewing and chewing like one bite of food and if you dare look at him weird he gives you the cow stare (pls tell me you know what im talking about). you see him in full demon form running headfirst into a wall with his horns (#satan_and_belphie_bonding_activity) and if you dare look at him weird he gives you the cow stare. kinda like his twin, he does random moo or hffphhhmp noises according to his mood without realising ("no belphegor, you can not destroy every wall in this house with your horns" "moOOO"). demon brain goes brrrr with some human world grass and some sunshine. like he absolutely loves being in that mediterranean countryside, twirling some grass between his fingers, eating it, living his life. best brother to go on a picnic with hands down.

fucking dorks *heart eyes*

[violettelueur]

ITADORI YUJI + FUSHIGURO MEGUMI + GOJO SATORU + RYŌMEN SUKUNA || WITH A CHUBBY S/O

| featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru + ryomen sakuna from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors and a lot of my side comments

| form : headcanons

| published : 23 november

| request : Hello! I would like to order jujutsu kaisen headcanons? Can I please have a large “itadori, megumi, gojo, and sukuna with a chubby s/o”? Thank you!

| barista’s notes : hiya! it is now 2:15am in the uk and now the end of my night shift ʕ·ᴥ·˵　ʔ i wanted to remind you guys that all of you are beautiful in every way, no matter what body type you have and like i will say on one of the headcanons, i believe the only time we get to judge someone is by their character once we truly get to know them (if you disagree then please don’t bash me on this - i got a few comments once i said this out loud to someone ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ) but i hope you enjoy this cup of classic black coffee and please come again soon! goodnight everyone, get some good rest all of you! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

ITADORI YUJI:

To be honest, I don’t think any of the boys will care that you are chubby - each and every one of us is beautiful physically, it’s our character that should be perceived in my opinion.

I don’t think Itadori would even mention about your chubbiness at all, but rather he would appreciate the little things that you do that intrigued him.

Like the way you write so neatly or the way, you would eat fish.

It’s the little things that he appreciates about you rather than your physical appearance.

However, if you were to comment about how you looked negatively, Itadori will immediately say the opposite because he genuinely knows that you are beautiful inside and out.

“Why am I so ugly? Ughh”

“Babe, stop, stop, stop, you are the most beautiful, caring and loving person I know. Please don’t put yourself down like that ever!”

Most likely, you would crush him into a hug because what he just said is the sweetest thing in the whole world - girl I would lowkey breakdown and cry, like….ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

This boy will also feed you a lot of foods that had been introduced to him in Tokyo - this boy went on a food tour since he got to the capital.

Beef, sushi, burger, ramen, udon, you name it, he is taking you there to eat.

Of course, he would introduce you to them slowly because he knows that you have some likes and dislikes to food like any other person.

“Babe, this ramen is really good, the broth is so rich and the noodles are so chewy”

“Babe, you should try this waffle, it’s really good and sweet”

To be honest, he loves it when you wear his jumpers because no matter what you would look cute with whatever body type you have.

You just look so cuddly to him.

In conclusion; don’t worry how he thinks about you physically because to be completely honest, he really doesn’t care one single bit. 

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI:

Like I said before, he really doesn’t care what you look like physically if you have an unshakeable character, there is nothing more he could ask for remember?

To be honest, I think he really likes the fact that you are a bit on the chubby side - you’re basically the perfect pillow for him hehe~

He really likes to cuddle you and feel the warmth that is emitted from you, he just feels really safe in your arms and if you are in his arms, he feels like he is protecting you from the world.

At the end of missions, the team realises that he scrolls on his phone quite a bit more than he usually does, making them wonder what he was doing.

Basically, he texting you, asking if you have eaten or not making sure that you weren’t doing some stupid diet that you found on the internet.

If you haven’t eaten, he would order takeout when he would finish his own meal with his team and maybe add a few snacks here and there.

If you have eaten, Fushiguro will most likely ask for a photo of the meal that you have eaten or a picture of the dishes in the sink or on the drying rack.

Yes, man needs evidence - he really cares about you, you know, it’s really sweet.

There are also times where you would put on an outfit and just stare blankly at the mirror, leading to Fushiguro to quickly say something before you fill your mind with downgrading comments - girl if I slap that head of yours….

“You look really beautiful today,”

And he would look at you in the eye when he says this to you.

Those little comments he says to you really put you in a better mood even though he thinks they don’t make much of a difference.

He’s just saying what is on his mind - he really does find you beautiful. You are beautiful to him.

Overall, expect him to say little compliments every now and then as well as a lot of text messages - he’s just checking up on you, you better reply soon before he spams you.

 GOJO SATORU:

This man doesn't really give a damn on what you look like - no matter what he would still tease you to no end still.

He would come back with a lot of sweet souvenirs to share with you since he knows that sweets with a cup of tea really hits the both of you after an exhausting day.

He would always let you pick first on what you want to eat first and on the sidelines would comment on what he would recommend you trying if it’s the first time you tried one of the snacks he bought home.

He really likes to see you eat as you would always have that small smile once you take a bite on what you’re eating - if you are happy, he is happy.

If you comment on anything that you hate about your body, he would place a few cheeky kisses on the area that you have commented - it really doesn’t matter what area you are talking about mate.

“Are my hips too wide? Should I get a waist trainer?”

“Babe come here right now...”

And he would say that in a very stern tone - so you better go to him sweetheart before he drags you to him.

Expect a lot of cafe/dessert place dates with him, once again he would introduce you to his favourite flavours and he would buy your favourite flavours as well to try for himself.

You two seem like the couple that would share a milkshake - you know like the retro 90s theme cafe with the tall glass.

If anyone tries to say something about your appearance, I don’t think they would have the chance to even say what they would have said since they would feel knives being pointed at their heads or back - aka Gojo’s death stare with his shiny blue eyes.

In conclusion: he would kiss any part of your body that you hate and keep reminding you that you are beautiful in any way but feeding you sweets because why the hell not.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna, this man will be the death of me.

I think he would be a little aggressive when he tells you not to worry about his appearance.

Like if you say something that is completely negative about yourself, he would grab your chin and make you face him.

He would probably have an irritated tone as he reminds you that he isn’t with you because of how you look, but who you are as a person.

“Stop saying that you’re ugly, you are a sight to behold, anyone that what’s looks at you should ask for permission first before they are blessed with the sight of you”

Girlllllll, I’m blushingggggggg~

You interest him because you have an interesting and captivating personality and to be honest, I have an idea that he loves the fact that you are chubby.

Because that means he has more areas to mark you as his hehe~

You know that Sukuna’s love language is physical touch/affection, so he would just love to touch your body with no hesitation - probably roams his hands around as well

During a makeout, don’t be surprised when he would grip some part of your body - most likely your thigh, hip, neck, face, basically anywhere at this point.

He would probably leave a lot of open kisses upon your skin as a way to physically tell you that he loves all parts of you.

Sometimes, he would probably make you wear the other layer of his kimono because you would look so adorable and mostly like delicious to him - HAHAHA WHAT DID I JUST TYPE?!

If the both of you are cuddling, Sukuna will most likely caress any part of your body or trace his finger on your skin to feel every bump and trace every stretch marks before telling you that are you beautiful.

In conclusion; Sukuna will tell you physically on how much he loves your body and how much he really worships it (well...he won’t admit it but you can slowly tell over him)

[foreverindreamlandd]

💖 option 1 if you have time! Congratulations again!

Of course!!! I hope you like this 🥰

The holiday season is upon you and your little bookshop, meaning it’s time for longer hours to accommodate the extra foot traffic and sales. You’re too busy selling books during the day that you have to wait for the store to be closed to unpack new inventory, re-shelve books, and run sales reports. It sounds tedious, but you love walking through the quiet empty store that’s dimly lit with twinkle lights, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and your beloved bookstore cat Chewie following you around, meowing at you from time to time for some much-needed scritches.

Usually Chewie is good about staying inside, but one evening as you’re closing up the shop, she sneaks through the open door and into the dark London streets. You scramble to run after her, panicking about cars passing by who might not notice an orange tabby running into the street.

But alas, it’s winter, and the ground is slick with ice. You get a hundred or so feet until you slip on a patch of black ice, body flying in the air, back about to make impact with the hard concrete.

Except instead of a hard, painful collision, you are met with a much more comfortable landing as your eyes lock onto those a beautiful shade of cerulean, and a smile that would knock you off your feet if…well, you hadn’t already.

“Easy there, doll,” the man says in a husky voice, easing you up to stand straight, hands still on your arms. “What has you in such a rush this late at night?”

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts that are currently muddled by this tall, beefy man in a tight leather jacket. Then, your eyes widen when you remember the emergency at hand. “My cat! She ran off, I don’t know where she went.”

The man ponders for a moment, then turns his head over his shoulder, emitting a loud whistle. Ten seconds later, you catch a familiar orange tabby bounding over to you. She jumps into your arms, shivering and rubbing her head against your chin. You let out a small sob of relief.

“Thank you…uh-“

“Bucky,” he says, reaching up to pet Chewie behind the ear. She purrs loudly.

“Bucky….thank you so much. I don’t know how to repay you.”

His smile widens and you cling to Chewie a little tighter, nervous that your arms might stop working from such a stunning sight.

“How about you let me give you a ride home?” He nods over to the side where a shiny black motorcycle is parked. “I don’t like the idea of you walking home by yourself and slipping on more ice while I’m not there to catch you.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you find yourself thankful for the warmth in the cold night air. “Fair enough. I’m a huge clutz so that definitely isn’t outside the realm of possibility. Let me just leave Chewie back at the store and then we can go.”

Bucky looks behind you. “You work at that bookstore? I’ve actually been meaning to stop by and check it out. The library recently told me I can’t keep borrowing The Hobbit ten times a year so I figured I might as well buy my own copy.”

You giggle. “I actually own the store, and we have a nice special edition that just released of that book with a bunch of beautiful illustrations. I’m happy to give you a friends and family discount for it. You know, for your help tonight.”

He bites his bottom lip, and you have to force yourself not to stare, keeping your eyes locked on his. “Books and a beautiful girl? I think I’m gonna be spending a lot of time there, doll.”

He did. Not that you ever complained. 😉📚

———

Um okay yeah this one got away from me 😂 Hope you liked it!!

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

[depizan]

Bees???

Jezari isn’t a fan of live cargo. She’s even less of a fan when the live cargo is angry insects which are now loose in her cargo hold.

(Not whump, but the only thing that came to mind from the possible prompts. And owes more than a little to Jezari’s origin as a green, female, Han Solo. Because this is exactly the sort of thing that would happen to Han and Chewie.)

Whumptober prompt #15: bees

12.3.10

Jezari tried not to fuss as the dockworkers loaded cargo into the Luck’s hold. It wasn’t that they were doing a bad job, particularly not with Bowdaar and Corso supervising, but she’d caught her client’s nervousness and was beginning to think that there was something in the cargo that he hadn’t mentioned. It was also entirely possible that he was just a fussy man.

“No, no.” Her client, a stocky middle aged human, waved his hands at a Zabrak carrying two small casks. “Those have to go on top. They’re fragile.”

The Zabrak rolled her eyes and shoved the casks into Corso’s arms before he could protest.

“And be very, very careful with that large case,” the client shouted after her as she disappeared down the ramp for more cargo.

Jezari gave it about fifty/fifty odds that one of the workers was going to punt her client off the landing platform before everything was loaded. That was what she got for taking an almost-legitimate job. But she still wasn’t sure Corso understood that she was a smuggler, and not a somehow misunderstood legitimate freighter captain. And she wasn’t at all ready to discuss cargos with Nok Drayen’s daughter. Compared to him, she was a legitimate freighter captain.

So a luxury goods run it was, with all of the crime in the documentation and none of it actually in the cargo. If business people on Fedalle wanted to wow each other with tax-free Corellian brandy, roba steak, and tomuon cloth, she was happy to help them. And if anything went wrong, the only danger was to their credit accounts.

She stepped back from the ramp as the Zabrak returned, a large, narrow rectangular crate balanced between herself and a Weequay. It looked almost like the kind of case used to ship artwork, except it was a shiny gray and had some kind of electronic control panel on one end.

Whatever it was—climate controlled art, a really weird way to ship fresh fish—it appeared to be the last of the load. The two human dockworkers were already leaning on the empty cargo hauler, toasting themselves with bottles of beer. Jezari shook her head.

“Careful!” Her client yelped.

She turned in time to see the end of the large shiny case slip from the Weequay’s hands and crash to the deck. A black cloud, like smoke, rose from the top of the case.

The Weequay swore, batting at the spreading cloud.

Bowdaar grabbed Corso and Jezari and leapt down the ramp. She had a brief glimpse of the startled dockworkers as the Wookiee raced past them.

“Hey! What are you doing!” She struggled in his grasp. “Put me down! Ow!” She slapped a hand to the hot sting at her neck and came away with something. It stung her hand and she tossed it away with a yelp.

Bowdaar set her and Corso down in the middle of the cargo port with a growled instruction to stay put, and ran off. Not in the direction of the ship.

Corso blinked at her, a red, swollen lump on his nose, another above his right eyebrow. “What…?”

“I don’t know.” Jezari looked at the throbbing swelling on her hand. “What the hell were those doing in the cargo!?” She started back toward the Luck, Corso trailing in her wake.

“Captain, wait! What’re you gonna do?”

She didn’t stop. “I don’t know!” She had a whole lot of questions for her client, starting with: “What the fuck?”

Her comm chimed. She fumbled with it, not wanting to stop, or use her sore hand.

A tiny image of Risha, still back on the ship, came to life. “Captain, what—”

Jezari cut her off. “Don’t go in the cargo bay. Don’t leave the ship. Don’t even open the cargo bay. Nasty things!” She held up her hand, though the image would probably be too small to show the swelling.

“Captain…”

“I don’t know!” She gave Risha what explanation she could of what had just happened, which mostly amounted to: angry bugs, cargo, stay put.

The area around the Luck’s landing pad had cleared out, the landing pad empty save for the ship and the abandoned freight hauler. A few curious people had stopped, well back from the entrance, staring at the apparently perfectly ordinary ship and landing platform and the small group arguing in front of it.

The two human dockworkers and the Zabrak had found a medpac and were tending to their stings and glowering at her client, who was shouting at the unimpressed—and apparently uninjured—Weequay.

“You’ve cost me more than I paid you!” The client yelled.

“You fool! No one ship these!” The Weequay had something pinned between his thumb and forefinger and thrust it at the client, who skipped back. “Dangerous!”

“Captain!” Her client waved her over. “Explain to these clods what they’ve done.”

“I’m with him,” Jezari said, indicating the Weequay. “What the fuck were those things and why were they in the cargo?”

The man gaped at her.

“Kuret,” the Weequay said. “For Kubaz. No other.”

“What?” Corso said.

“Wait.” Jezari turned back to her client. “You were shipping those things intentionally?”

“They’re a Kubaz delicacy,” he said. “Very valuable. And perfectly safe. Until these oafs dropped them.”

“Not safe.” The Weequay pointed the thing in his hand at him. “Forbidden.”

The client backed away. “Don’t wave that at me.”

It was a single dark colored insect, Jezari realized, about the size of her fingernail. It was also still alive, legs flailing. She rubbed her temples. “Tell me the rest of them are gone.”

The Weequay shook his head. “On ship.”

“They chased us out,” the Zabrak added.

“We’re done,” one of the human dockworkers put in. “You can’t pay me enough to go in there. We loaded the cargo. We’re out of here.”

The Weequay flicked the kuret at the client’s face and followed his companions.

“Damn it!” Jezari jumped back.

The client flailed at the insect, swatting it away. “How dare they! This is their fault. The kuret were safely stored and would have been no problem at all if they’d been properly handled.”

“I don’t do live cargo!” Jezari shot back. “I don’t ever do live cargo. You get those things off my ship. Now.”

Her client stared at her. “This isn’t my fault. I gave you the cargo manifest and you agreed to it. All perfectly legal. Go shout at those thugs.”

“You didn’t indicate that anything on there was alive.”

“Of course kurets are shipped alive,” her client said. “They’re eaten alive. They wouldn’t be any good dead.”

Bowdaar’s irritated growl cut off Jezari’s response. He’d wanted them to stay far away from the danger, not return to it the moment he was gone.

“We’re fine,” she said. “Except maybe for him.” She waved a hand at her client.

Bowdaar nodded and held up a large tank with a spray nozzle. He repeated his instruction to stay put and started for the Luck.

“What…what is that hairy beast going to do?” Her client stammered. “Wait, no, you’re not going to kill them! I’ve already paid for them!” He ran after the Wookiee.

Jezari groaned. "Why didn't I pick something simple? Like glitterstim. Or timebombs."

[maybe-your-left]

THOUGHT ABOUT IT, needs to happen.

Professor Ren x Professor Reader ONESHOT

“Good morning Professor (Y/N),” your students called out, filing into their seats. Today you had them set up in a half circle. All of them on some big pillows, with their canvases at their feet. It was all about getting to feel the inspiration flow through you this morning.

You smiled from the floor, brushing back your hair to tie into a loose bun. Some paint from your hand smeared on your cheek but that’s okay, it’s art! Art can be anything and anywhere!

“Good morning everyone! There’s coffee and fresh tea in the back! I had my husband go grab some from your favorite shop so we could all relax this morning!”

One of your students yawned, “Thank you professors husband.”

“Oh it was no trouble,” you mused, “It was he and I’s coffee date this morning, we were already there and I thought of all of you.”

Once everyone was settled you told them the plan for the day. Working to connect with the early morning spirits, their souls, how they were feeling today and using the colors to express that. No brushes, no pencils, just the hand to create.

“Oh,” a student piped up, “Professor how was your weekend? Wasn’t it your anniversary?”

You smiled, letting out a sigh as you thought about your wonderful husband. He was so loving, caring, gentle, understanding.... and tall.

“It was fantastic,” you squealed, “We spent the weekend cleaning out the outdoor patio, I used to horde all my art supplies in there. And Ben set it up to be a nice seating area, so many colors and plants and flowers.”

“What did you do for your anniversary?”

You dropped the canvas, thinking intently on what you actually did for your celebration, you knew your students loved to hear about your life. As the textbook oversharing professor, they were thrilled to hear about how eccentric your partner was, calling you ‘true love’ in the purest sense.

“Well, we had a wedding for our cat, you all remember Finn.”

Everyone nodded, “He met some other cat down the street, a stray, and we named him Poe. They had a lovely wedding, both of us cried. Ben loves his cat so much, it was tough for him to realize he had grown up...”

You dabbed at the corner of your eye, wiping away a stray tear from the memories. Ben had Finn before he met you, such a sweet kitty. He loved his cat, which was strange for a man who was so distant at first, but you understood the bond. And now he was all grown up, with a husband!

“What did you guys do though,” they asked once more, “Since it was your 10th anniversary.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, “Ben does things for me all the time, he doesn’t have to ham it up for one day. We spent the morning doing our couples yoga, al-fresco as nature intended, had some nice quiche that I made the evening before.”

“After that, you all remember the bathroom Ben redid for me, the one with the claw foot tub and the living eucalyptus plants lining the windows, we took a wonderful bath together. I don’t want to go into any intimate details, but yoga really makes that man,” you shivered, “Limber.”

Your class laughed, “Professor, you’ve told us stuff about your husband that’s way worse.”

“True.”

“Anyway, after our morning rounds, we went for a walk outside. Our dog Chewie needed some exercise and we both felt like walking the hills behind the house. It was very beautiful. I think I have pictures...”

You moved to get up, wiping the excess paint from your hand on your apron. Scrambling behind your desk for your bag, practically dumping out the contents to find your phone. You frowned when you couldn’t find it, instead finding your husbands phone, “I’m sorry class, I guess I don’t have it today...”

“Oh well, moving on. After that we had a nice dinner downtown, some dancing. My Ben can be quite the romantic when it comes to that, hes an excellent dancer aside from his ginormous feet. And once we got home,” you winked, “Let’s just say we didn’t rest for too long.”

Everyone laughed, congratulating you on your anniversary. How wonderful your life was, how much they love hearing about you and Ben. They so desperately wanted to meet him... but that wouldn’t happen.

Unfortunately, Ben was another professor at the university. In a completely different department, under the English Literature studies branch. Teaching the effects and influences mid century writers have on society today, he was a mean and strict man. Didn’t enjoy loud noises, food, drinks, or phones in his class. He also didn’t go by Ben for his professional name, he went by Kylo Ren. No one knew he was your husband, the same one who helped you rescue a baby bird, or the one who crushes you at chess, or the one who sings while showering, and sleeps with a teddy bear when you’re away.

It would be devastating to his reputation if he knew how much you shared of your personal lives.

However... he did marry you.

Fully knowing how loud mouthed you were, so sharing and compassionate with your students. Even calling them by their first names when he likes to seperate them from himself by using their last names. He doesn’t share anything with them, they barely know that he’s married. All they know is that Professor Ren is mean, and probably eats babies for breakfast.

You moved back to your seat, waving your hand for everyone to focus back on their paintings. Things were getting a little out of control and you did want them to finish these before class was over.

After about ten minutes of quiet murmuring, the door to your room flew open.

“Lovely,” your husband burst in, “I think we swapped phones this morning, yours kept playing that ridiculous shark song whenever someone messaged you.”

“Professor Ren?”

He stopped at your desk, scanning your classroom for the face that had recognized him. You repeated the action, zeroing in on one of your students.

“Good morning Miss Johnson,” Ben cleared his throat, his face dropping into a stone frown. “I was unaware you were in art courses.”

“Um,” she cleared her throat, looking as uncomfortable as you felt, “I’m double majoring.”

“Oh.”

Ben swiftly swapped phones from behind your desk, moving towards you. Cringing at all the paint on the floors and how messy everyone was. He squatted down next to you, his shiny black oxfords creasing slightly. Dressed from head to toe in a black suit, looking the complete opposite from you. His harsh, pale face frowning at all your students. The scar that slashed across his cheek red from his embarrassment, he finally looked at you. “I’ll see you for lunch my love.”

He kissed your lips, quickly standing as if to reverse the action. Over his shoulder he yelled at your mutual student, “Not a peep Miss Johnson, not a peep!”

After he slammed the door shut everyone’s gaze fell to you. Eyes wide and mouths popped open in awe, how was that supposed to be the same man you had told them about?

“Professor?” Rey piped up.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat, “Yes sweetie?”

“Professor Ren, the one who made that girl cry in front of the entire class, is your Ben?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh,” she swallowed, “Professor?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m switching majors.”

———

HAHAHHAA yes. Gotta love a hard ass in the streets and a big lover in the sheets.

i ❤️ kylo ren

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @onlykyloscenes​ @candycanes19​ @desiraypark​ @historyandfandoms50​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​ @ghoulian13​ @mrs-kylo-ren​ @millenialcatlady​ @emeraldsiren20​ @dancingmicrobes​ @relationshipwithmybed​ @wayward-rose​ @safarigirlsp​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ @daydreamsofren​ @caillea​ @insufferablelust​ @ohdamnadamm​ @mariesackler​ @jalexunderthestars​ @shesakillerkween​ @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch

[digitalvoidheart]

Proud indeed...

°°°°°°°°

The black cat is back. Same place same time as always. Ccino figured out why.

Ever since this fluffy black cat appeared at his quaint shop at the boardwalk, he's noticed it avoiding all the cat treats he has offered to it, only giving it a tiny sniff and turning away. Trying to figure out why it refuses to eat was quite a challenge considering he has to run his coffee shop and follow the stray cat. His luck did turn for the better later.

Ever since realising that cats liked to bask in his shop when the weather gets too hot, he replaced the front screen door to have a pet door. It was small enough that during one evening, the little fuzzball came dashing through it, covered in scratches and its fur matted. On the other side through the pet door were a pair of sharp canine jaws snapping uncontrollably to try grab the injured kitty behind boxes. Ccino realised the situation, chasing the dog away before tending to his new visitor.

They were feral at first, not surprising since one of their eye was scratched up and closed to reduce pain. After several minutes of coaxing, sweet words and promises, the teal eyed kitty gave him a chance to tend to his wounds (it was a boy, Ccino found out).

For the next few days, during a visit to the vet, Ccino named the kitty "Night" because of his beautiful black fur. The vet insisted on calling him 'Nightmare' due to his feral nature and resistance against the doctor. Albeit being a stray, his only injuries were his body and right eye now permanently blind. No problems with emaciation or parasites in his luscious fur. It put Ccino on edge but he shrugged it off later.

He then decided to adopt the fuzzy kitty, even going as far as to getting him toys of his own liking and an adorable belled-collar that even Night loved.

Nightmare (Ah-he meant Night. Guess the nickname stuck) didn't usually show affection much, only the occasional twisting around his legs (though it could be mistaken for scenting Ccino as his) and purring whenever Ccino pets him and gives him wet food. Although it came to a halt when Night decided to stop eating again, going out more often than staying indoors at night.

Ccino, with nothing to do at night and having no idea on Night's history, followed him one day without the kitty's knowledge. Night only stopped his journey when he figured out Ccino was following him, returning to the Café only to repeat the next day.

Being extra careful this time, Ccino followed him and surprisingly, he stopped at the empty docks. Thinking he might've been caught again, Ccino decided to walk away. Until sounds of something emerging from the water stole his attention.

A skull, connected to a strong skeletal frame and glowing sanguine tail, looked up at his pet cat. A skeleton mermaid! His cat is friends with a mermaid!

The mermaid's gentle male voice was soothing as it spoke to Night.

"Hello there, beautiful. Been a while, where've you been? What's this? A collar? That's wonderful news! You found an owner!" A soft mewl from Night as he headbutted the outstretched hand of the mer. "Haha. Alright, you've been forgiven. Why are you closing one eye though? Did a bad dog hurt you?" A grumbling purr "That's not good. At least you got an owner. They'll keep you safe. You can come here whenever you want too!"

Ccino wanted to go there, but he didn't want to risk ruining this adorable reunion. He should leave. If Night decides not to return, that'll be alright. Its not like Ccino didn't know how to live without an amazing pet, or emotional support, or-

"Hey! I found your favourite type of fish! The one from that shiny box you gave me! Hang on." A quick dive and an equally speedy return from the red mer scared his kitty. "Pffft, you got scared," a growl emitted from Night. The half skeleton put up his hands defensively, "alright you egotistic and proud cat, you weren't. Don't scratch attack me or no minnow- or whatever the box said this was." He handed out a pile of fresh Minnow to Nightmare before resting his head on his hands on the dock, watching Nightmare eat.

Minnow... That was the flavour of wet food Nightmare preferred. It was funny to think Night brought a can of wet food to the mermaid monster to get more. The cheeky bastard. No wonder he's not slimming down. Though Ccino learned one fact about Night's secret friend. This mermaid knows how to read.

He sighed as Night nudged one back to him "As much as I love to share with you, I already ate. Plus, I prefer Salmon that tiny fry." Night gave him another guttural growl as he scarfed down the fish. "Jeez, fine. I think I should call you Proudy for your demanding nature and anger towards insults." He picked up one fish and swallowed it.

Looking behind at the sea as Night finished the last of the fish, he sighed, "time you go back to your new home, kitten. Your owner must be worried" the red mermaid reminded Night. With a small drop of his tiny head, the mer chuckled lightly, petting Night and taking a look at his belled collar. "Well Night, I'll be waiting as always. Goodbye." And the handsome mer dove back in the ocean.

-*-

The next night was the same as the day (or should he say night) before yesterday. Night didn't return. Killer figured that would happen. He guessed he grew too attached with the once stray cat which didn't fear him like the rest, his bravery and pride is one he looks up to greatly.

He shouldn't stay. After all, Night didn't return- maybe might never... Pushing himself off the edge of the docks, he began to leap into the waters.

That is until he heard a little familiar growl.

Turning back, there he was. Little Night. The little adorable kitty cat with an equally adorable backpack. That was new.

"What's this about, little Night?" He chuckled, letting his hand wander and open the little clasp holding the bag close as Night Nuzzled his phalanges. Inside was a rolled up paper, likely a message.

Being a nosey and curious mer, Killer opened it. As he read it, he was surprised the message was for him!

Dear Mermaid,

My name is Ccino (si-seeno? Keeno? Cheeno? Killer didn't know how to pronounce it). I'm Night's owner. Please do not fret. I promise not to tattle of your existence. It is between Night and me and you. I only want to thank you for keeping this kitty safe. I shall leave a special something every night for you under the docks. Please accept my gratitude.

Ccino.

Looking around, he only saw Night standing with a puffed chest like the proud creature he is. No sign of any human or monster in sight. Deciding to humour the message, he dove under the docks. There was a small crevice where rocks resided, on top of them was a platter with circular white balls.

Picking one up, it was kinda squishy. Giving it a sniff proved it was edible from a fresh fish scent. Killer popped it into his mouth and bit into its chewy surface. The burst of flavour was an instant flood of fresh Salmon. He scarfed down the others, loving them just as equally. He made sure to leave one before reuniting at the docks with the pretty black cat. He pushed the white chewy fish ball to his friend, only to be surprised when he nudged it back.

It became a small back and forth game until Night gave his signature growl, stopping the game as Killer took the fish ball and downed it making the kitty relax in satisfaction.

He laughed. "I guess not all landwalkers are bad. I mean you don't look like you lost your spunk at all!" Petting his friend, glad he wasn't abused and became fearful like the rest. No. Night was brave. Tilting his tiny head upwards like a king on his throne to show he isn't and will never be hurt "a proud creature indeed".

°°°°°°°°°

Day 2 of Fluffynightkiller week

Did this all mid class and during day 1 so the ending looks very rushed. I apologise if it isn't that nice...

Although since its still mermay, I added a smol story with kitty nm and fishy friend killer! No drawing tho. This was a last second idea. Sorry. ^^"

Fluffynightkiller week by @help-im-a-gay-fish

[infinitefandomimagines]

I Can’t Lose You - Poe Dameron x Reader

-

WARNINGS: RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS, MENTIONS OF DEATH, MENTIONS OF TORTURE, ANGST, BLOOD, YELLING

REQUEST: @lookinsidemyhead could I maybe ask for a Star Wars imagine? Like a poexfem!reader Maybe like instead of chewie being captured it was the reader and when they rescue her she’s a little out it from the torture in the interrogation room. angst with happy ending bc they escape

+

A poe dameron tros x reader where reader gets captured with chewy and poe rescues her, lots of angsty poe after losing reader because he thinks she's dead, then fluff when they reunite

-

The only thing that could pull the team's stunned gazes from the fiery explosion of the First Order ship was Poe's horrifying scream. The way your name ripped through his throat made Finn's heart stop and his blood run cold.

Poe took no caution in his efforts to make his way down from the rocky structure their getaway ship stood perched on, slipping and nearly falling more than once.

His heels kicked up sand as he sprinted towards the wrecked ship and Rey, who still stood frozen as the realization of what she'd just done dawned on her. Finn had to stop Poe from running straight to her, he'd never hurt Rey, but after what just happened he definitely wasn't thinking straight.

Finn wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him back and restricting his movement as he struggled to get free.

"What did you do?" Poe yelled at Rey, the high pitched crack in his voice was enough to send daggers through anyone listening's heart. Poe never stopped struggling to break free from Finn's grasp, and it was getting to the point where he just might succeed.

"Chewie I need some help down here!" Finn called up to the Wookie. There was no way he could get Poe to the ship himself, not when he was like this.

"Poe we need to go!" Finn yelled as he tried to pull Poe towards the ship, knowing if they stayed any longer your life wouldn't be the only fatality.

"No! No, I can't leave her!"

"She's gone, Poe. There's nothing we can-"

Finn stopped short as Poe finally broke free from his grasp. However, he didn't get very far, Chewie had made it down just in time to grab him.

"Chewie!" Finn yelled out, "Get him to the ship we need to get out of here! Rey come on!" Poe tried to fight his way out again, but the Wookie was too strong, forcibly pulling him back to the ship. He didn't stop fighting until Chewie released him once the ship had taken off with everyone safely inside.

There was a heavy tension in the air, nobody knew what to say. It's like they were just waiting for Poe to lash out like he usually did when he was upset, but he didn't. The burst of yelling and cursing the team was anxiously waiting for never came. Instead, he simply collapsed onto a storage box and with his head in his hands, he sobbed.

Finn watched his best friend, one who usually stood so strong and fiery, completely fall apart. Rey's heart ached in a way she didn't know it could, the thought that she'd caused this haunting her mind.

BB-8 slowly rolled over to Poe, letting out a series of confused beeps. "She's gone, buddy," Poe said in a broken voice. The small droid let out a high pitched whine mixed with sad beeps.

"This can't be for nothing," Finn finally spoke up, his voice soft as he struggled to speak through his own tears. "We can't let her die for nothing."

"She had the dagger with her, and without that. . ." Rey's voice was grim.

"So true, the inscription lives only in my memory now," C-3PO spoke up. All heads turned towards the droid. "Hang on, the inscription from the dagger is in your memory?" Finn asked.

"Yes master Finn, but the translation from a forbidden language cannot be retrieved, that is short of a complete redactive memory bypass. It is an extremely dangerous procedure usually performed by criminals."

"Alright, how do we do that?" Finn asked as if there was no question as to what the next step was.

"I know a black market droidsmith," Poe finally spoke up, his eyes glazed over and red. "He's on Kijimi." Poe didn't like the idea of going to Kijimi, but he didn't like the idea of you dying for nothing more.

"For Y/N," Finn said, giving Poe's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, for Y/N," Poe repeated, the sound of your name leaving a sad and bitter taste in his mouth.

-

Kijimi went just about how Poe thought it would. They had a rocky start, but in the end, they were able to retrieve the inscription from C-3PO's memory.

The droid's eyes glowed an ominous red as it recited the location to the Wayfinder.

"The Endor system? Where the last war ended?" Finn asked. No one had the opportunity to answer him as the entire building started shaking. Everyone shared concerned looks, but it was Rey who was the first to run outside to see what was causing the commotion.

"Ren's destroyer," she announced, looking up at the large, menacing ship. "He's here?" Finn asked, looking up at her. But Rey didn't answer, it seemed as though her entire body had gone stiff. "Y/N. . ." She spoke softly, but loud enough for Finn and Poe to hear.

"What about her?" Poe asked bitterly, your name sending a dagger through his heart.

"She's alive, she's on that ship," Rey turned around to face her friends.

"What?" Poe whispered, his voice cracking slightly. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but this time the tears weren't ones of sorrow. He felt a small glimmer of hope bubble up inside of him. He no longer slouched, his back straightening up and shoulders rolling back, Rey's words bringing a new light to his eyes.

"How is that possible?" Finn questioned.

"She must have been on a different transport," Rey spoke, her words still laced with disbelief.

"We have to go get her," Poe said eagerly, grabbing his things and looking around at the group. Everyone nodded in agreement, all except C-3PO, who sat confused, his only thought being to introduce himself.

"Yeah, that's gonna be a problem," Poe muttered, a little annoyed at their situation, but not even C-3PO's lost memory could damage his spirits. His head already fantasizing about seeing you again, creating multiple scenarios in his head.

Once everyone was ready, they rushed from Zorii's hideout, the girl following them just to be sure they made it to their ship.

"Thank you," Poe rushed out to Zorii once they'd reached their ship. He didn't plan on waiting for a response, but a grip on his forearm stopped him dead in his tracks. "Poe-" Zorii spoke up, only to be cut short.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, but you can come with us," He offered. Though his feelings for his past relationship were gone, he still cared about Zorii as a friend and leaving her behind just felt wrong. But Zorii shook her head, "I can't," she answered sadly, "But take this, it'll grant you passage to Ren's ship."

Poe stared at the shiny medallion, "I can't, it's yours-"

"Anyone two eyes and half a brain can see how much you care about this girl, it's worth more to you than it is to me."

Poe paused before lifting his hands and gently taking the medallion from Zorii, "Thank you," he breathed out, wrapping Zorii in a tight embrace. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Zorii chuckled a bit as she returned the hug before lightly pushing Poe towards his ship, "Now go, save your girl and win the war."

Poe nodded, mumbling one more 'thank you' before boarding the ship with the others.

-

Getting inside Ren's destroyer had been easier than anticipated, especially with the held of the medallion. However, searching the maze of a ship deemed a difficult task. It seemed as though with each hall they turned down there were more and more stormtroopers.

The next corner they turned no one had their blasters at the ready. Rey quickly jumped in front of Finn and Poe, waving her hand in front of the stormtroopers, "It is okay that we are here," she rushed out.

"It is okay that you're here," one of the troopers repeated.

"You're relieved that we're here."

"Oh thank God you're here," The trooper's shoulders relaxed and he lowered his blaster to his side, as did the other.

"Does she do that to us?" Poe asked, a little confused as to what exactly just happened. Rey just ignored him, instead, she asked the troopers for where you were being held, which they gladly provided.

It was a mad dash to the room you were in, the name of the room being "Interrogation room #6" worrying him.

At some point, Rey ran off on her own, but when Finn tried to follow her Poe gripped his arm, "We need to find Y/N, Rey can handle herself." Chewie howled in agreement with Poe, and Finn knew better than to argue with his friends.

It didn't take long to reach the room you were being held in and even less to shoot the lock on the door and bust in. Poe winced as he entered the familiar room, the dark lighting and metal chair-like structure sending painful memories of his time spent being tortured by Kylo Ren. He didn't even want to imagine what you must have been through, though sadly he could.

Poe quickly shook all thoughts that plagued his mind, you were the only thing that mattered right now. Nothing else. He approached the chair slowly, scared that what he finds might not be what he hoped for.

His heart sank when he saw your unconscious form strapped down to the chair by restraints. A bruise had already formed on the left side of your face, just over your cheekbone. There was a bloody cut that stretched across your right temple which was beginning to form its own bruise, and a trail of blood trickled down and dripped onto your shirt from your nose. Your chest moved up and down slowly as you took in shallow breaths. Poe didn't even want to imagine what the parts of you he couldn't see looked like.

Poe gently placed his shaking hands on either side of your cheeks, cupping your face. The pad of his thumb lightly brushed over you bruise, examining it. "Y/N," he spoke softly, "Y/N, baby please wake up."

Your entire body suddenly tensed up as your struggled against your restraints, prompting Poe to quickly pull his hands away from you, terrified he hurt you.

"No, please. . ." You mumbled, not fully awake, your eyes screwed shut. "Please. . . Don't."

"We need to get her out of these restraints," Poe instructed, trying his best to hide the panic in his voice. Chewie let out a wail, pressing a red button on the wall adjacent to the chair. There was a hissing sound followed by a click as your restraints popped open.

You blinked your eyes a bit at the noise and sudden release of pressure on your wrists and ankles. A familiar face came into view as you blinked away the hazy glaze from your eyes.

"Poe?" You whispered, not quite sure if Kylo Ren was playing tricks on your mind again or not.

"It's me, baby, you're okay." He said, helping you out of the metal chair and pulling you into his arms. One arm wrapped around your waist as the other held the back of your head, your cheeks resting against his chest. You winced as he accidentally pressed against your bruised ribcage, but in all honesty, you didn't care. You were just relieved to be back in his arms, and Poe was more than happy to have you there.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled into your hair, "I shouldn't have let you go out there alone."

"It's not your fault, you couldn't have known."

"Guys I really hate to break up the moment, but we gotta go!" Finn rushed out, earning a bellow of agreement from Chewie.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Poe said, pulling away from the embrace. "Can you walk?"

You nodded, however as soon as you took the first step forward your head started spinning and your vision blurred. You quickly reached out and gripped Poe's arm to stop yourself from losing balance. Poe instinctively caught you, holding up the majority of your weight.

"Chewie!" Poe called out, gesturing to you. The Wookie swiftly placed your arm around his waist, and wrapped a furry arm around your back and under your arm, holding you up.

Poe and Finn walked ahead of you, blasters at the ready, inspecting each hallway for hostiles. You limped behind them, Chewie helping you walk by holding you upright.

And after Poe being shot, all four of you nearly being executed, only to be saved by an unlikely ally, you made it to the Millennium Falcon.

Chewie gently set you down on the small cot in Poe's quarters while Finn rushed to the cockpit, trying his best to remember everything Poe had taught him about flying. Chewie soon joined him, helping him get the Falcon in the air so they could go find Rey.

Poe stayed with you in his quarters, sorting through a med pack to find supplies to bandage and clean your wounds. A soft groan escaped your throat as the ship took a sharp turn, harshly shaking the cot you were laying on, sending a wave of pain through your body.

Poe wet a cloth and started dabbing at the dried blood on your temple. You let out a hiss as the sudden contact stung. Poe slipped his free hand into yours, attempting to provide any form of comfort he could.

"What did they do to you?" Poe asked as he moved to clean the blood from under your nose. The question wasn't directed towards you, more of Poe just thinking out loud. However, his question still sent a chill up your spine as you began to replay the horrible things Kylo Ren and his minions did to get information out of you. You were able to refrain from giving them anything up until Kylo Ren used the force to crawl around in your mind. The pain was indescribable.

"Hey, it's okay," Poe comforted, stopping what he was doing. He'd noticed the grimace on your face and how you tensed up when he brought up his question. "You're safe, he can't hurt you."

You nodded weakly, waiting for the horrible thoughts to pass as Poe got back to work.

Poe worked quickly to clean and bandage your wounds, finishing up a matter of minutes. While he packed up the medical kit, you attempted to sit up, but the action proved to be a bit more painful than you anticipated. You inhaled sharply as a sharp pain exploded from your side, your hand instinctively flew to your bruised ribcage, holding it as if that would help the pain subside.

"Here, let me help," Poe said softly when he noticed your struggle. He placed a hand on your back and the other lightly grabbed your arm as he pulled you to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Your hand still clutched your side as you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the pain to dissipate.

The bed sank beside you as Poe took a seat beside you, his hand rubbing comforting circle in your back. You leaned into him, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

"Do you want something for the pain," he asked, there was a bit of tension in his voice as he tried to hold back tears, he hated seeing you in so much pain. "No, it'll pass. I'm fine." And eventually, it did, leaving you relieved and a bit more cautious about how you moved.

You lifted your head from Poe's shoulder, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile graced his lips and his hand moved from your back to your neck, his thumb resting on your jaw. "I thought I'd lost you," he said in a shaky voice, tears threatening to spill. "And it made me realize you're the one thing I can't live without."

You wrapped your fingers around Poe's arm, just below his wrist, rubbing small circles in the back of his hand with the pad of your thumb.

"I can't lose you," his voice cracked as his eyes glazed over with tears.

"You won't, I promise," you confirmed.

Poe pulled you into him, gently pressing his lips to yours. His hand slid down from your neck to your waist, his other hand finding it's way to your hip. He pulled you into his lap, breaking the kiss to fully envelop you in a hug, careful not to touch your bruised side. One arm kept hold of your waist while the other crossed your back, his hand placed on your shoulder. Poe rested his head in the crook of your neck, holding you close.

You rested a hand on his back while the other held the back of his head. You lightly ran your fingers through his messy curls.

You let out a sigh of content, finally feeling at ease being in Poe's arms. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

TAG LIST

@gracielou0518 @booklove103

[stevenismyboy]

You Belong Among The Stars.

a/n: inspired by a post written by @jxnehxpper​ (check her work out because it’s incredible!!!) from a few weeks ago, I just couldn't resist not writing about Steve as Han Solo! I haven't been here long enough, but I hope you still enjoy my work. The day after tomorrow, or in two days' time I should publish the next part of To All The Boys I Loved Before au- who's excited? I certainly am! 

summary: This year, Steve is dressing up as a famous Star Wars smuggler for Halloween. But he didn't expect to meet a princess on his way. You can find my Masterlist here.

-

Steve loved Halloween. As soon as the leaves on the trees started to turn red, yellow and orange instead of green, he and Dustin just couldn't wait for it. Robin didn't share their admiration, although she was happy to join in with the costumes and go for a trick or treat in the evening. Steve wanted that night so badly. He wanted to be someone else for one night. Somebody special.

“Give me that” the guy sighed annoyed. Dustin reluctantly gave him a can of hairspray. Steve looked at himself in the mirror and put his lips in a beak, still dissatisfied with the effect. “You look good, Your Majesty. I've got to look, too. Don't be selfish!” Dustin sighed, trying to rip the can out of his hands. Steve just raised his hand up so his friend couldn't reach it. “Come on, that's not fair!”

“You, my little friend, are just going to ask the old ladies for candy. And I'm going hunting to a distant galaxy today, inhabited by the hottest girls on the planet Hawkins. You don't need a hairstyle from space” Steve snorted. 

“Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I have to look worse. Chewbacca had a great haircut. I'm not gonna let your tall ego ruin my image” the guy answered and finally ripped out his can. His costume looked fantastic. The kid worked on it so long, Steve was impressed. The fake fur was sewn by Claudia to his brown sweatshirt and even darker pants. Dustin worked almost all evening to attach his eyebrows and beard, but Robin and Steve assured him that what he had was enough.

It was Steve who came up with the idea for their costumes. He had to admit that he surprised himself year after year. His creativity was getting higher and higher. When he was recently moving cassettes with movies on the shelf with the most watched productions, he came across Star Wars and simply couldn't resist. He found and ironed a white shirt, bought a brown vest for a few dollars, and completed the whole thing with tall shoes, waving a plastic fake gun in his hands. Everyone will know who he is. A smuggler. Casanova of the Milky Way. Han Solo.

“First of all, you look terrible enough for a creature from outer space. And second, who do you want to impress today? You've already found your Suzie” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Excuse me? Just because I have a girlfriend doesn't mean I'll go to Halloween unprepared. That would be unprofessional, and you, Steven Harrington, should know that of all the people you know, I am the least unprofessional. I could have been Luke, but you insisted I have to be Chewie, so bite your tongue and wait for me at the Millennium Falcon”.

“Yes, Captain” Steve saluted a friend and left the bathroom. His parents weren't home as usual. Why? To ruin his night?

Robin was already waiting downstairs. She was chewing the gum lazy looking at his childhood photos in frames, listening to the wind howling outside. She was wearing jeans, a white checked shirt and a red vest, much more spacious than the one Steve had. She looked at him surprised and made a gum balloon that broke with a loud crack.

“I have to admit that... I didn't expect you to look so good. And believe that it was supposed to be a compliment”she added quickly when Steve made a pirouette to present herself to her. “You really liked that movie so much?” Steve wrinkled his nose, pointing to her outfit. “Well, I don't remember much of it, given that I was completely high, but I had no other idea, and time was running out. Besides, I didn't spend millions on it. Marty Mcfly is fully satisfied with me” his friend shrugged her shoulders. True, she remembered little of "Back to the Future", but so what? She remembered that she liked it. Before she stared at the lights on the ceiling so long that she threw up in the bathroom.

“I gave you an idea. Then you disagreed” Steve squinted, pretending to be offended, though in a way it was. He's been dreaming about this day for months. He was supposed to be Han Solo, Dustin Chewbacca (though he would only spend two or three hours with him and Robin) and his friend was supposed to be Leia. But she didn't even want to hear about it. 

“I'll say again for the hundredth time, dingus. I don't want to and I will never dress up as a princess”. “Did you ever watch that movie? She's great! She's damn brave, sarcastic, and I guess I don't have to add that she's super hot. Don't you see the resemblance?” Steve raised one eyebrow. Robin sighined, threw herself on the couch, looking out the window. 

“You're only talking like that to convince me. My costume is ready, and Leia is absolutely not persuading me. Do you have any idea how many chicks can dress up like her today? A whole lot. You'll be able to dress up in them as much as you like. So leave me alone and accept that today you're playing a duo instead of a trio” she said with her hands behind her head. Steve refrained from commenting, hearing Dustin's feet rumble on the stairs. The boy ran to them with a perfectly laid out head, smiling from ear to ear.

“Ready for the most scary night of the year?” he asked, carrying his plastic gun and falling out before anyone could stop him.

-

After Steve and Robin made sure that Dustin would reach his friends safely and his sugar level would not exceed the norm, Steve took them both to the party he had been waiting for so long. Fortunately, Tina didn't organize it. He would have had the resistance to go to the bathroom to relive the same experience as last year. The host was some Nick (he didn't even know who hewas) but Robin made sure that he was a great guy and everyone who will be there would make sure that they don't forget that night for the rest of their lives.

They went through the crowd of sweaty teenagers, heading to the kitchen to find alcohol. Robin's blue eyes were wandering around the people, looking for a girl who has been visiting her at work quite often lately. Steve was looking around too. He was looking for smiling ladies, shiny eyes, long hair. He wanted to feel different today. He wanted to feel as if he could still please someone else. As a smuggler, he wanted to steal someone's heart today. Not for one night. Maybe for longer.

“Steve! Here!” Nancy waved at him, standing by the fireplace. Robin ran up to her first to say hi. The girl was wearing a short green dress and cardboard wings, painted with paint and glitter that was falling under her feet. She looked like a real forest fairy. Jonathan chose no costume, but was wearing a green shirt that matched his girlfriend's outfit. Steve smiled, nodding his head at him.

“You look incredible! Steve... I wouldn't expect you to be a smuggler today, Nancy smiled, drinking a sip of juice from her mug. Apparently after the last time she said she wouldn't touch alcohol on Halloween. “Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away...” Jonathan quoted the movie, giving Steve a hand. The boy shooked it, scratching his neck. A couple of people had already managed to hang their eyes on him and, frankly, he didn't expect it to embarrass him. He used to get used to the looks. Now, they made him feel warm.

All of a sudden, Robin's eyes were shining. She saw the blackness of a girl's hair, who had recently occupied her thoughts. She banged up and put her hand on Nancy's shoulder, apologizing to her. “You'll have to forgive me for a moment. I have to... move in time” she smiled at one corner of her mouth and rushed into the crowd so she wouldn't lose her chosen one. Steve smiled at her on the run and went into the crowd himself to dance. Wanting to dance like he hadn't danced in a long time, so that he could enjoy the music with all his heart and that he was among strangers for whom he was now only a smuggler.

At the same time, you too are stuck in a crowd of people. The pride in your costume began to splash like a soap bubble. The long, white dress got tangled under your feet, the long sleeves made you hot. It's good that the belt kept the fabric at the waist and didn't slip lower than it should. Instead of two princess's chignons on both sides of your head, you tied ordinary ponies, hoping that everyone would still know who you are today.

As you were fixing your make up on the couch, the mascara fell out of your hand, making your fingers black. All you wanted was to get into the bathroom to wash your fingers and accidentally not touch the dress. The princess is not allowed to walk in dirty clothes. But a party is always a party. A moment of inattention was enough for someone to step on a piece of your dress. You lost your balance by falling into a crowd of people, getting ready to meet the floor.

But that didn't happen. Someone's strong shoulders woven around your waist to protect you from falling. The ponies just swirled around your face, and when you took them aside, your heart stopped.

The universe has stopped for a moment. The planets stopped circulating, the stars surely glowed brighter. Steve couldn't believe his eyes. One moment he danced as if it was the last night of his life, and the next he held Princess Leia in his arms. You were speechless. The real, living Han Solo embraced you with no intention of taking his hands off you.

“I... um... my hands are dirty” you said the first thing that came to your mind, hitting yourself in your head for this stupid sentence. “My hands are dirty, too” Steve said immediately, and then he closed his eyes from embarrassment. “I mean... No, they're not, you don't have to worry about the dress, but it's a quote... That's what Han Solo said to Leia when... I just wanted...”. “I understand” you said it with a wide smile. Steve relaxed. He still didn't take his hands, but at least he stopped feeling the burning shame. “Well, if you know the movie so well, what did Han Solo say later?”

“I think... I think he asked 'what are you afraid of?’” Steve guessed, squinting his dark eyes a little. “Afraid?” you repeated amused again, not believing in your own happiness. Someone who knew Star Wars lines by heart, someone who was dressed up as Han Solo, someone who looked amazingly charming saved you from falling? No way. 

“You're trembling” Steve squinted, continuing to quote. Maybe he was even a little right. You got goosebumps out of your nerves, although just a moment ago, the long sleeves were keeping the heat. “I'm not trembling” your fingers went to his vest. You forgot they could leave ink streaks.

“You like me because I'm a scoundrel. There aren't enough scoundrels in your life” Steve smiled even wider. “I happen to like nice men”. “I'm a nice man” he said it clearly. If he have to, he'll convince you to spend the evening with him. That he won't do anything to upset or disappoint you. He didn't even have to try. You already believed him.

“Well, let's see how well you're dancing” you're smiling, giving him a hand, completely forgetting the traces of the mascara. Steve didn't even care about that. He was led by the princess to the middle of the dance floor and when she held his hand he could swear that although he was in the middle of the house, he saw the stars in front of his eyes.

Taglist: @mochminnie​ @quen1054 @krazykatkay456​ @sydzygy​ @ghostineleven​ @the-almond-dinger​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​