#even after the war

[venomwrites]

Caitlyn wakes alone.

The nightmares are completely understandable. Vi is an almost militaristic sleeper. She focuses her breathing and sinks away in intervals that seem horribly short. Every so often exhaustion wins though. Usually when they are tangled together, when she has Vi tucked into her arms and Vi feel safe. Everything should be alright then. Sometimes it is. A lot of time it isn’t. Caitlyn knew that would be the case, but in the quiet moments when she wakes up like this she does have to fight the bitterness of failure. Vi’s embrace makes her feel impossibly safe. Caitlyn sleeps like a rock when she is wrapped in it. Nothing can get her there, not even in her own head. She hates the fact that her own embrace cannot do the same for Vi. Vi who deserves comfort more than anyone. 

Caitlyn rises and knots her robe. She finds Vi’s robe and her slippers. Just in case she slips the skeleton key into her pocket and makes her way out of their bedroom. The house is silent at this time of night. Or morning. Caitlyn isn’t certain which. Only that the moon is bright in the sky and it’s just a few people around for the night shift. They perk up when they see her but Caitlyn waves them back into casualty. There are no secrets here. Not anymore. Certainly not right now. The one at his post has already summoned the elevator for her. Caitlyn can see the key ring is still on his belt which is an improvement. She nods at him and steps inside, letting the box take her down to the bowels of the manor. She went years without ever setting foot in this place. For years she was terrified of it, convinced it was haunted. Now it’s scarcely a week in between her visits. And that is an improvement from when it was a near daily thing. 

The elevator drops her off and she steps out, acknowledging her younger self might have been right after all. 

It is haunted. 

The ghost prefers the most haunted cell. As any respectable ghost would. One glance tells her valuable information. Information she needs, but information that guts her none the less. She’s wedged in the corner, arms and legs drawn up. Her arms are tucked against her chest in a survival tactic. Preserve heat the vital organs. She’s got her arms crossed though and her fingers are digging into the material on her thighs. There’s no blood on the walls, but Caitlyn’s fingers ache in sympathy for the death grip she has on her pajama pants. Even though everything in Caitlyn shouts to open the door and run in, she knows that is not what the ghost needs right now. That’s not how she banishes this ghost. When she takes the key out, it’s only to tap it firmly against the bars. The ghost stiffens and Caitlyn forces her voice to be steady. 

“Inmate 516, it’s time,” she says. 

It’s sick that it’s automatic. 

Caitlyn thinks that helplessly every time they do this. She has screamed Vi’s name. Vi, Violet, love, darling—none of them get through the panic. Not when it’s true panic. Not when it’s like this. Her desperation does not register over Vi’s own. Her calm does. Vi’s prisoner number registers before her own name. Caitlyn has to remind herself this is normal. This was her life for ten years. It’s been ingrained and beaten into her to the point of second nature. Inmate 516 means she is with someone who is neutral. Pink means she’s with someone who might hurt her. Vi is somewhere else. Caitlyn hopes it’s somewhere protected. Just as much as she hopes one day this will be nothing more than a joke that passes between them. But right now it’s painfully real. Right now she watches Vi unfold herself and position herself in the same corner. So she can use it as leverage if she’s misjudged the situation. If Inmate becomes Pink. She can fight back more ways in the corner because she can get her feet under her. Because that sick Warden used to love dragging her up the wall. 

Caitlyn slips the key in and sighs when she realizes the door isn’t even fully closed. She watches as Vi’s shoulders soften. Her fist curls against the wall as her face turns red with embarrassment. Caitlyn barely remembers to prop the door open as she crosses the space as Vi crumbles. Inmate 516 falls away to the embarrassed woman Caitlyn loves and aches for with every fibre of her being. Vi resists for a moment before she falls into Caitlyn’s embrace. She’s flushed and sweaty and somehow also clammy. All the contradictions, all Vi. Caitlyn drags her close and wraps her robe around her shoulders, blanketing the bundle of Vi in her arms. She steers them over to the bed against the wall and drags Vi onto it. Vi only goes because she pulls her to it. Caitlyn has learned trying to get them to the main house is also not what is needed here. So she makes sure the bed has a proper mattress and sheets. And even then Vi will only go there if she pulls her. 

“Sorry,” Vi whispers. 

“Don’t be,” Caitlyn says.

“I made you get out of bed,” Vi mumbles.

“We’re still in bed,” Caitlyn counters, “I’m not even out of my pajamas.”

That at least gets something like a smile from Vi. She tucks her feet under Caitlyn’s thigh and that feels even more like a victory. Any indication the Vi she knows and loves is thinking about herself is a victory. Even something as minor as trying to get her feet warm. It’s another indication they will both be able to walk out of this cell. Even though Caitlyn knows they will, there’s some part of her that fears they won’t. Not when she finds Vi here tucked against the wall and only responding to the number. In the worst nights Caitlyn has to start a standard search just to get close to Vi. She’s never made it completely through the process before Vi relaxes, but it’s come close. Caitlyn clings to the fact that Vi always comes back. Each time she wills herself back. Most of the time it gets a bit easier but not always. Tonight is not a good night overall, Vi is already tucking in her toes. The blush is easing from her cheeks. They are sitting on the bed. Caitlyn does not have to coax her in the same way she sometimes does.  

Promise me you won’t change. 

Each time the plea echoes in Caitlyn’s mind. At the time she thought it was because of Vi’s fears with how much had changed. Sometimes she thought it was because of how she was changing. But now when she looks back, she thinks her instinct was right. Change is at the root of Vi’s trauma. Which makes Caitlyn sick when she thinks about it. It’s a textbook torture tactic. You don’t let the prisoner predict what is going to happen, you don’t let them develop a routine. It’s hard to reconcile how much torture Vi has been subject to with the woman curling her toes under her thigh. The fact that Vi chooses to participate in the world at all is the most humbling thing Caitlyn has ever seen. And Caitlyn has witnessed magic reshaping the world. Vi sighs and peers up at her through her lashes and Caitlyn tries to smile back at her, but she can feel tears stinging at her eyes. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t too bad tonight,” Caitlyn whispers, afraid to break the silence between them, “shall we sleep here?”

Vi nods slightly, just enough for Caitlyn to see the request. It’s so strange to think this is better, but she’s learning better is a relative term. Vi is letting her stay, which is the biggest thing. And she’s crawling under the covers with her, another monumental win. Caitlyn gently wraps her arms around Vi, pulling her close. It hasn’t been that long. Vi shrugs out of the shoulder of her robe, pushing closer to the sleeve of Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn picks up on the silent request and pushes Vi's robe down. Vi favors the bulky, fluffy garment while Caitlyn has always found robes like that too heavy. But she lingers in the hot water and Vi has not yet learned to trust it is not going to run out. She kicks the robe to the far side of the bed so she can embrace Vi fully. This is for Vi but Caitlyn finds she needs to feel her relax as she comes back from the nightmares and panic that drive her to this place. She can feel it like a spring uncoiling as Vi’s shoulders soften and and her head shifts against Caitlyn’s arm. 

“I dreamed about the early days,” she says finally, “when they put me in with everyone,” she swallows tightly, “it was so bright and loud—“ she trails off, “I thought I wasn’t fast enough again. Thought it worked this time.”

Caitlyn feels her muscles tense against her hand and strokes her thumb over the ribbed tank Vi wears to bed. When she gave her the Shimmer she healed the wound Sevika dealt. But at the time she hadn’t realized there was an even more devastating scar there. One from a sharpened bit of metal, plunged into the belly of a child because they looked like an easy target. The knot of scar is gone, skin knitted back together by Shimmer. But Caitlyn knows the memory is still there. The report in her file detailed it vaguely but Vi had confessed how terrifying it was. How alone she felt. How confused. Even though she had thought she was strong, within a week she learned she wasn’t. Not really. Not compared to the monsters in Stillwater Hold. All Caitlyn can do is hold and soothe and try to make it safe for Vi to confess these things. Like this early, terrifying brush with death. Caitlyn was scraping her knees when she was fourteen and Vi was getting stabbed. 

Often their lives feel so impossibly different, but somehow they have found each other. They fit together like puzzle pieces in a way she cannot quite wrap her head around. Vi needs a cell to learn how to leave, Caitlyn has a cell. Caitlyn needs to relearn to trust, Vi is impossibly steady.

“It didn’t,” Caitlyn says, rubbing over the skin, “we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Vi whispers, shifting her head against her arm, “sorry about this.”

Caitlyn shakes her head, not wanting to open the apology into a discussion. There are some days when Vi can debate anything about it being her fault. Even though Caitlyn wants to say that she shouldn’t apologize, she knows that will open a debate they shouldn’t get into. None of this is Vi’s fault. Instead she just tightens her arms around her and presses a kiss to where her neck and shoulder meet. Vi sighs softly and her eyes start to flutter closed. Caitlyn tries to exaggerate her breathing so Vi follows the rhythm. Slowly her eyes close completely and her breathing evens out. Caitlyn watches her features soften in sleep. It’s taken a while for Vi to remove her makeup before bed, to accept she will not be woken by anything but her own head. Without the makeup she looks impossibly younger. Too young for prison, even though Caitlyn knows that’s not logical. Caitlyn nuzzles into the short hairs on Vi’s head and closes her eyes. Just for a moment. Then she’ll go back to making sure Vi is alright. 

She wakes to Vi’s hand on her shoulder.

Caitlyn jerks awake, looking up to see Vi perching on the edge of the bed. She’s got two mugs in her hands. She looks well rested. Caitlyn realizes she feels well rested too. Instead of smiling she frowns and pushes herself up, looking around for any indication of the time. Of course there isn’t one. They are well below the earth’s surface. Vi smiles at her confusion and pushes the mug at her. Caitlyn sits up and takes the mug from her. Vi makes the perfect cup of tea. Right down to it always being the perfect temperature. She takes a sip and leans against the wall. Vi climbs onto the bed to join her. 

“Do I want to know what time it is?” Caitlyn ventures. 

“Nah,” Vi says with a shake of her head, “we needed the rest.”

Caitlyn smiles into the tea. Vi bumps their shoulders together as she sits next to her against the wall. She fits their sides together as they sit on the bed and look at the cell. Caitlyn is used to considering her nightmares in the morning, but she has no notion if it is even still morning. She doubts it, considering how well rested she feels and how well rested Vi looks. She feels relieved that Vi slipped out of the cell to get tea, even if it means she was in the cell alone without even realizing it. She looks out at the other corners of the cell before focusing back on Vi. 

“You came back quickly,” she says. 

“It’s getting easier,” Vi agrees quickly. Caitlyn looks at her and she wilts a little, “sometimes.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Caitlyn says, settling her hand on Vi’s knee, “I told you, we’re still at home. In our pajamas,” she squeezes her knee, “we can sleep wherever you need.”

“Thanks,” Vi says, though something shadows her eyes, “but you had to get up,” she finally meets Caitlyn’s gaze, “you need to rest.”

“We both do,” Caitlyn says.

Vi smiles at her and leans back against the wall. Caitlyn takes another sip of tea. She tries to focus on the moment but her head spins with everything she has to do. Everything she’s probably fallen behind on. She has more that she needs to do. She glances over at the bars and sighs when she sees that the door is closed. Vi’s slippers are on her feet. She looks from the door to Vi who is drinking from her mug. There’s no panic on her face, which is a good sign. But from this angle Caitlyn can see there is no skeleton key in the lock. She quirks her eyebrow at Vi who takes another drink of tea and quirks her own eyebrow back. 

“You know this is a horrible excuse, right?” Caitlyn asks. Vi nods, “do you at least have the key?”

Vi smiles though they both know the answer to that question. Of course she has the key. But Caitlyn knows she’s not going to get it from her easily. Not when Vi has deemed her needing rest. It’s aggravating and endearing in equal measure. Even though she knows that she has a point. Caitlyn rests the mug on her leg and lets her head fall to Vi’s shoulder. Her robe is still bunched under the sheets but Caitlyn loves the feel of her bare skin. Vi props up her knee and raises her shoulder to ease their height difference. 

“You know I used to be convinced this place was haunted,” Caitlyn offers.

“Really?” Vi says, “why?”

“No windows, one exit,” she shrugs, “my mother also forbid me from coming down here.”

“Was that before you had your forbidden girlfriend down here?” Vi teases lightly. 

“Nothing’s forbidden anymore,” Caitlyn replies, “it’s my house.”

Vi makes a noise in the back of her throat. Caitlyn looks up at the underside of her chin as Vi catches her eye. Even without her usual makeup, Vi is devastatingly lovely. She always has been. But there’s something about the new softness in her cheeks and the lack of shadows under her eyes that makes her even more beautiful to Caitlyn. Especially when there’s something mischievous building in Vi’s eyes. Caitlyn shoots her a questioning look and feels a shiver of delight when Vi hears her without a word. 

“It’s your house,” she says, “but I have the key.”

Caitlyn feels something warm in her belly that has nothing to do with the tea. Rather it has everything to do with the fact that Vi fucked her senseless against the wall a few feet from them. Vi’s smart enough not to tuck Caitlyn on the same side as the key, but that doesn’t stop Caitlyn from shift closer, turning her head towards Vi’s neck and sighing with her tea-warmed breath. She watches as Vi shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold as Caitlyn’s breath skirts down her shirt. Caitlyn shifts her cheek so her lips just lightly touch the skin by the strap of Vi’s tank. 

“I’m not just giving it to you,” she whispers roughly. 

“Never,” Caitlyn agrees, pressing her lips to the smooth expanse of Vi’s skin as she hitches her leg over and seats herself in Vi’s lap. She takes another sip of tea as the muscles in Vi’s neck go taut, “I wouldn’t waste this perfect cup of tea—“

Both of the mugs clatter to the ground as Vi cradles her head and lays her on the bed. Because of course Vi has chosen two of the metal mugs she’s brought back from Zaun. The ones she always favors no matter where they wake up in the house. They keep the tea warmer than any of the fine china Caitlyn has been drinking from her entire life. Caitlyn kisses her deeply. 

Vi tastes like tea and hope and the last echoes of Caitlyn’s teasing laugh. 

It’s Caitlyn’s favorite taste. 

[goosegooserevolution]

peace negotiations are going...well?

[supertaliart]

I went a little off the rails for a power-point-party, so I thought I'd share. Don't come at me about canonicity. Also yes, I spent hours using illustrator to make pose-able vector mando'ade.

Review from my friend: "I feel like I actually learned something?"

[artsekey]

[wantonlywindswept]

okay but like space jesus baby anakin declaring 'you can't kill a jedi' and the force is like 'oh shit fr? guess that's how it is now'

so jedi just. stop dying. they're confused but maybe okay with it? like some of the older ones still die of old age but when they're out fighting somehow they always make it through

palpatine is furious. he knows what's going on and tries to convince anakin that jedi CAN die, look at all these past instances, but anakin just looks at him like he's crazy 'okay but none of the jedi I'VE met ever die'

and palps is desperately trying to prove that jedi can die by actually killing jedi but like. no. they can't die. all his attempts to kill them fail.

and anakin is a nine year old child going 'well if i've never seen it happen then obviously it's not true'

10-year plan to wipe out the jedi foiled by one (1) overpowered boy confidently deciding that jedi can't die, seeing that jedi never die growing up, and thus continuing to believe that jedi cannot die even when there's a war on and jedi should DEFINITELY be dying

palpatine has time scheduled every night just so he can scream into the void in frustration

[sic-vita]

GOOD OMENS + Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate

[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[corsairspade]

there are many reasons I like the "Erestor son of Caranthir" headcanon but secretly the main one is that I'm imagining all of the remaining noldo auditors sighing of relief when Caranthir dies and they don't have to try play 4d chess with multiverse time travel trying to catch this guy doing tax evasion. life is good for exilic auditors now.

and then suddenly Elrond and Elros turn up again! even better! oh who's this, Elrond? your good friend Erestor? he's helping you with your taxes? oh how swe- what is this Elrond. What is this. your paperwork for your taxes you say. not a declaration of war? because it looks like a declaration of war on the exilic auditors, Elrond.

and then all the auditors are so busy doing "extreme tax auditing™" for the first time since the second Kinslaying that they don't tell anyone they're pretty sure there's another scion of the house of Fëanor running around.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

While you were fighting in the war, I was falling in a pit.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[starrystevie]

18+ | cw: improper use of plumping lipgloss, mentions of alcohol, oral sex, it's steddie endgame i promise | crossposted on twitter

it’s no secret, steve likes making out. likes isn’t a strong enough word. he loves making out. loves grabbing hold of someone and pulling them close, loves laying over them on a couch, on a bed, hips just barely moving as he takes them apart with lips and teeth and tongue.

that doesn’t change once he’s had a few drinks either, body tingling with tequila or vodka or something equally strong that has his inhibitions thrown to the wind. he’s always able to find someone willing to dance with him, hips pressed together and arms wrapped around shoulders.

it’s usually girls, pretty things with pretty hair that draw steve in like a punch drunk happy moth to an overzealous flame. they’ll turn their heads with a flirty shy smile and follow him out to the dance floor before pressing up tight against his front.

they’ll curl their fingers into his where they rest low on their hips and keep him close. they’ll drop their heads onto his shoulder and let their breath ghost over the side of his face until he gets the all too obvious hint.

steve likes making out on a dance floor. no, not likes.

loves.

that is until his lips are covered in sticky, sweet lip gloss and he’s pulling away because his tongue is on fire, tingling from something other than alcohol and the thrill of being in a pretty girl’s mouth.

“what is that?” he yells into her ear over the bumping bass.

“sorry,” the girl says sheepishly, “it’s my lipgloss. it plumps my lips.”

she goes back in to kiss steve once more and he isn’t exactly going to deny her. her lips are pretty just like her, plump and shiny and all too inviting, so he kisses her back. the gloss is spicy on the cracks of his lips, on the tip of his tongue when he he pulls her lip in between his teeth. it’s addictive in a way. he wonders if his own lips will plump up from the contact alone.

later, when they say their drawn out goodbyes outside of the club, he’ll ask to borrow the lip gloss since his night isn’t over yet. she’ll pull it out with a grin and apply it so sweetly to her own lips and then to his. her touch is gentle and precise before she puts the tube back in her purse and then connects their lips for a final time.

steve likes to make out. no, not likes.

loves.

so he goes to a bar around the corner, robin hot on his coat tails with some blonde she picked up attached to her side, and he’ll order a vodka soda that he can sip through a straw so he doesn’t destroy his pretty glossed lips. the bar is grungy, but steve almost prefers that, able to blend into smoky shadows and dark corners while he watches the crowd.

while he watches someone in the crowd watch him back.

he has wild curly hair and handcuffs on his belt and steve swears he’s staring at his lips and the way the light is bouncing off of the gloss, but he isn’t too sure. not until there’s wild curly hair and handcuffs on a belt standing right in front of him.

steve has a different confidence with guys. maybe it’s because he has to read them a little differently. maybe its because he gets read by them a little differently, too. but flirting is flirting all the same and steve finds himself biting at his lip and licking away some of the spicy lip gloss with a wince as it burns the inside of his mouth.

curly hair handcuff guy is cuter once they start talking for a while, all animated and vibrant, a bright shiny beacon in a dingy bar. he finds out his name is eddie with a lingering handshake that means something, fingers trailing and tingling like they had a spice to them, too.

they don’t dance, but they do end up out back, sharing a cigarette as drunk people stumble around them. it’s easy enough for eddie to light, flame from the lighter sparking in his big, brown eyes.

“so steve,” he says, flicker of some other kind of spark in his eye, “where to?”

and steve knows how to do this part. he grabs the cigarette out of eddie’s mouth and puffs on it himself, blowing the smoke over his head. “is it too forward to say i don’t think i can last much longer without getting my mouth on you?”

eddie grins and lets his eyes flit down. “no. is it too forward for me to say that i’d let you do anything to me, mouth or otherwise?”

he takes the cigarette back and steve can see his trace left behind on the filter, can see when the hint of gloss hits eddie’s lips if the wrinkle of his eyebrows is anything to go off of.

he doesn’t say anything, just winks over at steve. he doesn’t say anything, just drags him into a taxi. he doesn’t say anything, just wraps a hand high over steve’s thigh, just pushes steve up against his apartment wall, just fumbles over handcuffs and pushes down his jeans.

steve likes making out. no, not likes.

loves.

if he loves making out, then he really fucking craves giving head. he feels like a cartoon animal with hearts popping out of his head as he pulls eddie’s cock out of his briefs. he licks his lips like he’s starving and regrets it when the gloss singes his tongue.

steve looks up from his knees and swipes a finger over his lips, holding it up high for eddie to see. “taste it,” he whispers.

eddie’s eyes widen, but he obediently bends his neck, tongue lolling out so he can lap at steve’s finger. “your lip gloss is spicy,” eddie says flatly as he recoils.

steve nods. “and it’s going on your cock unless you say otherwise.”

which is how steve finds himself turning eddie into a writhing mess. his hands hold onto the backs of eddie’s shaking knees as he works over his cock. his hair stings as eddie tugs on the strands. his eyes water as he sucks him in deeper and deeper into his throat, spicy lipgloss tingly on his tongue and cheeks.

“you are a fucking wonder,” eddie whines, hips humping as he grinds himself further into steve’s mouth. “just fucking made for this, huh?”

steve pulls off and spits on his cock to jack his hand over it as he pulls the head to his lips. he rubs the sensitive tip over his lips just to watch eddie twitch.

“you have no idea.”

he blows a line of cool air over the gloss that’s left there and drinks in the way eddie’s eyes roll back in his head before swallowing him back down, reveling in the spice that hits the back of his throat as he does so.

when eddie comes, he pulls steve off so he can paint his pretty, puffy, plump lips with it, dragging his cock over them to make a mess. it’s not a surprise when steve licks it off, spicy and salty and a special kind of sweet that he thinks is all eddie. he leans up to place a kiss into the thatch of hair over eddie’s cock, smearing behind come and shiny lip gloss.

“you gonna wait for me to come in my pants or can i go fuck you?”

steve likes making out. no, not likes.

loves.

and he loves giving eddie head. and he loves fucking eddie. and he loves waking up with a spicy, sticky residue on the side of his cheek after falling asleep with his head on eddie’s chest.

and maybe, just maybe, he’ll love eddie someday, too.

[tragedy-for-sale]

Protective Obi-Wan anyone?

I was re-watching the Ryloth arc and I couldn't help but notice,

I love how Obi-Wan's arm immediately goes to block Cody, he extends his hand out and it's not in the form of a fist, it's flat, it's an attempt to block as much of Cody's chest as possible. Cody takes a full step back to, mainly to get into position to shoot. But he's preparing himself to move behind Obi-Wan, who'd need enough room to swing his lightsaber to block blaster shots.

Obi-Wan's first instinct is to protect Cody, his second is to ignite his lightsaber. Obi-Wan protects Cody before protecting himself and others. His lightsaber would give enough cover for all his men, but his body would only cover Cody's.

In the second frame, Obi-Wan puts his hand on Cody's gun first before turning off his lightsaber. Now, he does know what is about to come out of the grate before his men do, which is partially why he wants to stop Cody. Cody putting down his weapon would signal to his men that there is no danger, however, turning off his lightsaber would do the exact same thing. But he chooses to stop Cody first.

After Obi-Wan puts his hand on Cody's gun, notice how long he looks at Obi-Wan. Cody's guard is down, he doesn't keep his eye on the grate like his men do, he doesn't even try to keep his blaster aimed, also unlike his men. Cody doesn't break contact with Obi-Wan until he does, it's in that moment we understand how much Cody trusts Obi-Wan with his life.

[jynjackets]

all who gain power are afraid to lose it

[oh-biwan]

"You will always be my Master."

[cirr0stratus]

it finally stopped raining

[hegodamask]

Can't believe Andor Season 2 is an actual show coming out next year and not something me and my mutuals have been making up in our heads for the past two years.

[hauntedangelconnoisseur]

Graves is not going to have another step-parent

The dad in question: