#except uh!!! now it's like ''no but seriously while i was in space my life did diverge from the lives of every1 i used to know'' like.......

[unformula1]

drunk text, drunk call, drunk oscar (LS2 x OP81)

oscar only calls logan when he’s drunk. logan goes to get oscar, he overhears things he doesn’t want to.  w/c: 1817 day 45 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium(series masterlist) masterlist | a/n: man i really should post more, also sorry if this is an inaccurate depiction of being drunk. this was not supposed to be this long.

Logan’s phone vibrates on the bedside desk, his ringtone playing softly. He sighs, almost grumbles before he sits up and grabs his phone.

oscar piastri🐨 is calling

Logan sighs and checks the time. 11pm, right on cue.

He picks up the phone and takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Hello Oscar.” Logan says, smiling, hoping the energy transfers correctly, “Where are you right now, and how many drinks have you had?”

“Oh hi…” Oscar says, his voice slightly slurred.

“Is Lando there? Alex, maybe?” 

“Nooo, I want you-” Oscar says before abruptly cutting to take a breath.

Oscar’s drunk. Of course Oscar’s drunk, Oscar only calls Logan when he’s drunk.

Logan lets out a chuckle, “No… Is anyone with you?”

“Uhm- Lando’s here, I think.” Oscar says with deep breaths, “But I really want you here…”

“No, no you don’t Oscar, you’re just drunk.” Logan says, his voice slightly cracking.

Of course he wished Oscar actually liked him, but Oscar was too good for Logan. Logan was just some nobody on the grid and Oscar was the grid’s golden child. 

“Logieeeeee….” Oscar pulls out the nickname, the old nickname.

Logan sighs.

“Osc. I need you to find Lando.” Logan says slowly.

“Lando calls me Osc too!” Oscar says cheerfully. Logan wipes the single tear that he shed. 

He didn’t even know he shed a tear, it just happened. Guess a lot of things just happen. Logan really missed Oscar, and he missed when Oscar would call anytime, not just when he was drunk or out of his mind.

“Yes…” Logan fakes a chuckle, “Find Lando please.”

“I don’t know where he is…” Oscar says, slurring more words, “Can you just come over…”

“I can’t. You know what, I think Alex is there.” Logan says, thinking out loud.

Oscar doesn’t respond.

“Yea,” Logan says, “Stay where you are Oscar.”

Logan hopes Oscar heard him and hangs up.

He’s immediately faced with their call log, which is once every few weeks, at 11pm or around there. All of them, just because Oscar was drunk.

He quickly closes it and calls Alex.

“Hey Alex, you’re at the party… thingy- whatever.” Logan asks, awfully happily.

“Yes, question is, where are you?” Alex says.

“Tired, in my room.” Logan quickly diverts, “Well, Oscar is there somewhere and drunk, please make sure he doesn’t die or anything.”

Alex chuckles, “Okay. I’ll find him, he’s probably with the rest.”

“Yea… yea. Cool.” Logan says.

“Mhm, I see him…” Alex says after a while.

“Great. So take good care of him, okay?” 

“Mhm, but why don’t you just come over, you could join the party too- I mean, win win.”

“Wasn’t invited, didn’t wanna go anyway!” Logan says, his voice crack betraying him once again.

“Really?”

“Gotta go!”

Logan hangs up before he gets a response, he instantly buries his face into the pillow, placing his phone back onto the bed-side table.

He screams into his pillow.

Yea, he wasn’t invited. That was the truth. The lie was that he didn’t want to go. Truth was he wanted to go.

Everyone was there, except Logan. What a loner Logan was.

Logan sighs and sits upright on his bed. He stares into the blank space, hating every detail of his life.

—

“Mate, where’s your teammate?” Lando asks, pointing at Alex.

“Uh…” Alex hesitates, “He’s tired.”

“From DNF-ing?” Lando comments and Carlos almost instantly smacks his shoulder.

“He’s drunk, sorry, he didn’t mean that.” Carlos quickly says.

Alex nods, “It’s all cool.”

Oscar is laid down next to Alex, well he’s not really laid, he’s just sprawled over the bench.

Alex whips his phone back out, opening Logan’s chat.

Alex: seriously, where are you.

—

Logan grunts, his phone chime snapping him back to reality. Okay, maybe that was for the better, his mind was spiralling.

He violently picks up his phone and opens the message.

Logan: my room Alex: you should come over Alex: its not too late

Logan’s fingers hover over the keyboard, he doesn’t know what to say. Going there would just be social suicide, no one would talk to him anyway.

Alex: everyone’s asking where you are Logan: mourning

Logan gives himself a small chuckle at his joke.

Alex: mateeee Alex: please just come over Alex: it’s like 5 minutes from the hotel Alex: pleaseeeee

Logan doesn’t know everyone on the grid really well, but he knows them well enough to know they don’t want him there.

Logan: it’s not like me being there would make any difference Alex: mateeee what are you sayingg Logan: would anyone talk to me Alex: oscar would Alex: he’s a lil eepy now though

Logan lets out a self depreciating chuckle.

Logan: he would only talk to me BECAUSE hes eepy Logan: he’d go back to lando after 2 seconds anyway Alex: dont say that Alex: just comeeee Logan is adamant about not going. Alex: oscar just asked me where you were Alex: what do i say

Logan scoffs and then sniffles slightly.

Logan: say i’m not there and he can talk to lando

A few seconds pass, which Logan assumes Alex is using to tell Oscar what he sent, or he’s telling Oscar that Logan was a bastard.

Alex: yea no he wants YOU Alex: so you should come over Logan: no. Alex: at least come to bring him back to his room Logan sighs. That wouldn’t hurt him, and would also give him an opportunity to talk to Oscar, even if he was slightly not present in the mind. Logan: fine. give me 10. Alex: yay!

Logan slips on a sweater, which he thinks looks half decent, slips on some shoes and quickly walks over to the bar.

—

He double checks the bar for the 3rd time before walking in.

He scans the crowd quickly and sees the whole bunch of them gathered around in a circle.

He swiftly makes his way over.

Logan finds himself walking in on a conversation which is most likely about him, none of them really notice he’s there yet.

“...and so, I’m just saying he should probably take a few weeks, or years, off!” someone (one of the driver’s friends, probably) says, his hands speaking more than his mouth.

Carlos notices Logan’s presence and whacks the person.

“I raise a point! Being slow is normal but being that slow is just not ok. DNF after DNF.” he repeats.

Carlos clears his throat violently.

“He’s not talking about you.” Carlos says to Logan.

The drivers look up and see Logan standing there. He’s still standing there stupidly, processing what he just heard. They all exchange glances, not sure how they were gonna save this situation.

Logan’s lost in thought. That was about him. They were talking about how Logan shouldn’t be in F1. 

Logan musters every remaining bit of strength in him to not break down, but to smile innocently.

Alex stands up, lifting Oscar up as well. Oscar groans before seeing Logan and waves.

Logan smiles and subtly nods to him.

“So you decided to come?” Lando says.

Carlos prepares his hand just in case he needs to whack Lando.

Alex answers for Logan, “He’s here to get this eepy Oscar out of here.”

“Really? Just that?” 

Logan nods.

“C’mon! Where’s the life in you? Just cuz you didn’t finish doesn’t mean you can’t join us.” 

Carlos facepalms and whacks Lando again.

Logan forces another smile.

A strong assumption to start.

“I’m just… tired.” Logan says.

The tension grows ever so slightly as each second passes.

Logan sighs. He knew coming here was a bad idea. His presence probably ruined whatever vibe they had going on.

“I’m- uh,” Logan points to Oscar, “Gonna take him and go.”

Oscar walks over to Logan and stumbles into him. Logan supports Oscar as they walk off.

“Way to ruin it.” Alex glares at Lando.

“What!? I didn’t mean any harm!” 

Alex rolls his eyes.

“Now he thinks we hate him.” Carlos says.

—

“Logie you came!!” Oscar says as Logan walks with him on the sidewalk.

Logan nods, he doesn’t know how long he can last before he tears up.

“I missed you!!” Oscar smiles and hugs Logan. The positions are awkward since they’re both walking.

“You’re very drunk.” Logan comments.

“Just a few drinks.” Oscar says.

Logan nods.

—

The duo eventually get to Oscar’s room. Logan slowly leads Oscar over to his bed and sets him down. 

Logan hesitates asking a question he has been keeping in his head, he’s not very sure if Oscar would even know.

“What…” Logan starts, which piques Oscar’s interest, “What did they say about me?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, “Uhm, I don’t know, it was pretty blurry.”

“Yea… that’s okay then…”

Logan’s mind can’t help but replaying what the person said about him, and everything else. Lando’s comments, his race, the different things he’s heard people say about him.

Logan’s too tired for it, he unknowingly starts tearing up.

“Aw. Why are you sad. I’m sorry.” Oscar says.

Logan snaps back and quickly wipes away his tears. 

“No- Nothing.” Logan quickly assures.

“I’m sure they all love you!” Oscar does his attempt at comforting.

Logan chuckles dryly.

Oscar pushes himself up and hugs Logan. Logan’s a little surprised but he hugs back shortly after, gripping tightly.

He doesn’t want this to end. He wants to stay here. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow and not have Oscar anymore. 

Everything would’ve been so much easier if he wasn’t such a shitty driver.

“I love you.” Oscar says.

Logan doesn’t know what to say, but he starts tearing up again.

He knows Oscar doesn’t mean that. He’s said it a million times, only when he’s drunk. 

Logan sniffles, “Yea… yea I like to think you do.”

Oscar doesn’t fully process that so he just continues hugging Logan.

It doesn’t take long before Oscar’s back to lying on his bed and about to sleep. He looks at Logan one last time as Logan smiles and leaves the room.

Logan gets back to his room quickly and there, he cries.

His back is pressed against his door as he slowly descends to the floor.

He presses the bottom of his palms onto his eyelids.

This isn’t fair. Nothing is fair.

His mind is just a mess of all the flashbacks, all the things he’s heard today.

Logan was trying his best to be better, he really was. He put his effort into everything, but nothing ever good came back. 

He’s not a bad driver, right? 

He can hear his sobs echoing in the room.

Oscar loves him, right?

He would like to believe that.

Oscar only called him when he was drunk, Oscar only said “I love you” when he was drunk. Every other day was as if Oscar never knew who Logan was.

He wanted everything to just be in his favour for once.

Logan begged for that.

[stitchlingbelle]

Watching Halo, Episode 9

The grand finale, people! This is not a drill!

We begin in media res, with John fighting his way back to consciousness after getting the crap beat out of him and then getting blasted by the artifact’s shockwave. At first it’s not clear where everyone is—on the ground, is the answer. John finds Makee and the artifact gone (she’s elsewhere in the base making her escape) and returns to Silver Team to find Riz and Vannak holding Kai hostage (how dare!). John and Kai try to tell them the truth about Halsey, but it’s not until Keyes breaks the stalemate by coming clean—in front of Miranda!—that they believe and stand down. John rallies them to deal with the present crisis: Kai goes after Halsey and the other three go after Makee.

Makee gets away clean, but Halsey is stalling, too obsessed with her science to leave, despite Adun’s useless pleading. (He also says “the package is secure”, which I didn’t catch the first time and which a recapper I saw took to mean “Makee has the artifact”, but, uh…) They’ve just taken off when Kai, like the badass she is, jumps onto the fleeing ship, blasts her way in—and gets distracted demanding info from Halsey instead of dealing with the crashing ship. She does manage to kill that creepy little weasel Adun, but Halsey ejects in a life pod and the ship crashes. AND FOR A MINUTE THEY LET ME THINK MY GIRL IS DEAD, before she PULLS HERSELF OUT OF THE FLAMING WRECKAGE LIKE A BOSS. GO KAI.

Back to searching the Aspero system, their only lead, which they’ve almost given up on before they remember gravitational lensing exists? Seriously? (The “sparkles like glass” imagery is lovely though. If a little menacing, given the use of the term “glassing” in this universe.) I appreciate that Parangosky gave Chief a pep talk instead of continuing to argue he can’t go, or whatever. With a stupid and potentially personally distracting attempt at apology from Keyes, we’re off! (The future reckoning is gonna be a doozy.) The Spartans bickering like a family again is sweet, in a we’ll-shoot-each-other-if-necessary kind of way. They haven’t taken the time to remove Riz or Vannak’s pellets yet.

On Reach, Halsey gets captured, which I’m sure isn’t going to end well. Nothing ever does with her. Which Keyes should have learned years ago and is paying for now, as Miranda freezes him out entirely. You made your choices, buddy.

Speaking of people who made choices they regret, Makee is back with the Covenant. One leader snipes at her for not bringing back Master Chief’s head, even though she accomplished all of her other mission objectives brilliantly. (And probably handed them the location of Reach, if I’m right and they don’t have that info already.) She’s looking for reassurance after everything she saw and did in human space, asking if she gets to come on the Great Journey. They answer in the creepiest way possible, and she notices and hides her mutilated finger. (You can just tell them the nasty humans tore it out!)

Cortana is coming clean about being able to take John over, which I’m frankly surprised and impressed by. John’s response just seems to be “sure, whatever, of course” which, fair. It’s been a hell of a Standard Galactic Time Unit. (Still doesn’t clear up whether she’s had the ability all along and why she didn’t use it during his 'test', but w/e.) After a very Galaxy’s Edge-style thrill ride through the gravitational fields (are there piloting levels in the games or just FPS?), wherein we learn that these people don’t stow their gear for crap and Vannak learns the term ‘spaghettification’, we arrive at Planet CG!

Wrapping up the Reach arc, Miranda has a final showdown with her mother while her dad watches through the monitors. She flatly explains that Halsey’s been sentenced to death and leaves, appearing to think that it’s justice for all her mother’s done (and emotionally I quite agree). I was waiting to see what escape plan Halsey would cook up—except she already pulled it off, as Miranda figures out when Halsey collapses, seizing, in the interrogation room. It’s another flash clone, designed to die the way the Spartan kids’ clones all did. Miranda tries to demand Halsey’s whereabouts as the clone flatlines. Once again, Halsey’s fucked-up convictions are so strong that even the versions of herself created just to die aren’t willing to give her up. I assume the other Halsey is the ‘package’ Adun claimed was secure (did he ever realize that he was with the clone, not the original, and him dying or getting arrested was part of the plan? Apparently not.) Unanswered: whether Keyes was in on Halsey’s clone escape plan. Also unanswered: whether Halsey expected people to buy her death, or whether it was just meant to be a temporary decoy (in which case it worked perfectly). Halsey is shown getting ready to head off to parts unknown, while Miranda and the others hunt her down.

At last, the showdown. Makee gets ready for the ceremony alone, and we find out that even the Covenant leader we thought was fond of her despises her, and that the ceremony involves her death (either as a necessary part of the activation or as a ritual sacrifice they’re choosing to make, it’s not clear). Poor Makee. Remembering Kwan’s accusations against Master Chief, it’s clear they have equal amounts of blood on their hands, for equivalent reasons—they people they were raised by turned them into weapons, pointed them, and said shoot, and neither of them learned to question this in time. But one of them is the protagonist, and the other was raised by the protagonist’s enemies. There’s only a few ways this can go.

The battle commences, as all FOUR of the Spartans drop from the sky and fight their way in. I have a lot of the same complaints as I did in the other big battle scene—four people, no matter how skilled, are too likely to be separated and defeated in detail for me to buy this as a viable strategy. Especially once the waves of goons start showing up and nobody’s using good tactics. Where are the defensible positions? Where are the bottlenecks and chokepoints? Bring down some of these pillars or something! Hell, don’t you people have mines or grenades? Sigh.

It also brings to mind my questions about the relative tech bases here—sure, Spartans themselves are hardcore and everything, but their weapons and armor shouldn’t be heads and shoulders above the rest of the UNSC, that doesn’t make sense, unless they’re made of stuff so ungodly expensive the gov won’t shell out to outfit the rest of the troops with them. They clearly have a bunch of alien tech they’re backward-engineering, too. Why are the regular troops so ineffective, on both sides, vs the Spartans? And why are human troops so ineffective vs the Covenant? If 1 Spartan = 100 marines but 1 Spartan can defeat 100s of aliens… shouldn’t regular troops have a better chance than we’ve seen? At least two or three marines per alien? Are humans roughly equivalent to the Covenant, or is the Covenant far ahead? Or is it a resource issue?

Either way, with just four, Silver Team kicks ass, but not enough ass to pull off their mission objective. Riz and Vannak go down and Kai and Master Chief are overwhelmed. Fortunately for them, Makee is watching and when John goes down, she impulsively uses the combined artifact to blast the whole plateau practically flat. A star map presumably to the Halo lights up the sky (I assume Cortana records it.) Unfortunately for John (and for Makee), this sucks John into the Halo vision with Makee, leaving him out of commission. It’s unclear what powers she has with it and what she would have chosen to do, because Kai, unable to wake John any other way, shoots Makee to break her connection to the artifact.

It brings John back just in time to see her die, try to rejoin the fight, and realize it’s hopeless… for him. He asks Cortana to finally merge with him to retrieve the artifact and save the team. After some arguing, she does, and the newly-empowered Master Chief, with Kai and AIR SUPPORT, Cortana, where was THAT five minutes ago?—manage to get the team and the artifact (but not Makee’s body) onto the ship and away. Cortana/Chief manages to save Riz. Kai, having noticed that John didn’t activate the artifact when he hauled it aboard, asks if it’s him in there. Cortana/Chief doesn’t respond.

And there we leave them. The Covenant has lost both of these artifacts, though we know they have others, and the person they needed to activate them. The UNSC now has both these pieces and the chance to find more, but no one to activate them unless Cortana can disentangle herself from John. And both sides presumably have the (according to the irate Covenant elders, partial) star map to the Halo.

Whatever it actually is.

[yellowhollyhock]

Leo and April

Out of all the 03 turtles I feel like April had to earn Leo’s trust, he was always gonna be polite to her but there was a wall there, and that kind of makes it all the more precious when he does come around.

Leo doesn’t like change. A big part of his training with the Ancient One was learning how to be okay with it. And the very first episode is literally called “Things Change.”

Some of those big changes for the turtles are losing their home and gaining a new one, and meeting a human who actually becomes their friend. Both huge deals for teenagers.

Leo doesn’t initially like sharing his space with April. He even seems a little jealous when she gets along with Splinter. April has some reservations about sharing her space with five new people, too. The issue really does seem to be the space and not anything against each other, but still it takes them a little time to warm up. However, when they do. Neither of them do anything halfway.

The Auggie’s artifact episode I think is a big step. They’re on friendly terms before, but in this episode Leo starts teasing April. He doesn’t show his sense of humor to most people right away. I headcanon this is where he starts seeing her less as a civilian and more as a friend, because he’s vocally impressed by her gymnastics and the thing he teases her about is her whole “jungle girl” routine. Which is, uh. The exact flavor of dork that we’re used to seeing from Leo. He sees Her being a leader, taking the situation seriously, and really getting into her role (having fun being serious) and he’s like oh! That means it’s my turn to be the annoying brother! And then she throws mud at him, fighting back which he respects. From that moment on they’re equals. Later in the H.A.T.E. episode he pauses his favorite activity (private training with Splinter) to help her impress Casey’s mom, and during his big arc she’s the first (only?) person he confides in.

Side note, while I think he does see Casey as a friend, he never gets as comfortable with him as he is with April. Side side note, Leonardo never seems as comfortable with Any of their other friends as the rest of the guys, exceptions being April and Usagi. Guess you have to show yourself competent at leadership and/or ninjitsu to unlock the highest level of Leo’s friendship.

Something especially precious about these two is that they take each other seriously. Like, they tease one another, same as the other guys. But they’re both a bit more sensitive and serious, and because of that they’re also more careful with each other. Leo deserves one sibling who really buys his serious ninja routine, and April deserves friends she can have calm conversations with (her life became such chaos so fast somebody get this girl a pedicure—)

And speaking of pedicures, because they are both more serious and calm, Leo having gotten over his initial jealousy, I totally think they would have self-care nights together. Let April teach Leo about facials and ice baths for their feets. Let them eat chocolate and listen to relaxing music and enjoy not having to say anything to anyone for a whole evening. They’ve beyond earned it.

I think I kind of already covered favorite moments—uh. Fave concept, Leo April and Mikey have a book club. They would take turns picking because they all have such different tastes and IMAGINE APRIL AND LEO BOTH accidentally getting really into comic books and trying not to admit it to each other—dang it I have to write this now—

[patchdotexe]

OKAY. UM. so it's been Literally Like A Year Or Two since i last talked about Rescue in any detail (?!) so you guys get some unhinged rambling about furries

...UNDER THE CUT, BECAUSE THIS GOT LONG.

Sol, he/him: woke up one day in a weird abandoned lab with no idea how he got there or literally anything at all. and then found out that thanks to Dubious Science he is now unable to be killed. which is very cool except for the "i dont know where i am, apparently i've been missing for HALF A YEAR, and also now my blood is BLUE????" thing. originally stressed, sarcastic, and distrustful, but once he's in a safer environment he turns out to be warm-hearted if awkward and has trouble expressing his feelings. technically undead. Rescue's set in 2017ish so he's, like. 20. likes spicy food, space, and Sonic; dislikes bright red, jello, and sticky things.

Zyd, she/her: fellow lab experiment with a lot of knowledge on the projects the lab was undertaking before being abruptly abandoned. fills Sol in on the whole "yeah you can't be killed anymore, have fun with that" thing, has a more extreme form of it where she literally can't feel pain but regenerates super quickly. comes off as very self-confident and driven, but is actually exhausted and wants to go back to a normal life as much as Sol does. this rabbit has trauma. likes horror movies, loud music she can yell along to, and citrus; dislikes being touched (with exceptions), harsh noise, and shirts.

Tank, she/they/he: literally just kinda Shows Up, does terribly at getting in Sol's good books, and is just kinda running around Causing Problems on accident. initial impression of being airheaded and naive, but that starts to crack eventually bc it turns out they're an anxious mess with a super low opinion of herself. oops! also they broke in but are very avoidant on Why. manages to blunder her way into becoming good friends with Sol afterwards. likes rhythm games (bonds with Sol over them), speedcore, and shrimp; dislikes getting talked over, romcoms, and needles.

Monty, he/him: third member of the Lab Experiment Gang, although Sol doesn't get to meet him for a while due to Tank knocking things off course. chronically ill and willingly volunteered hoping it'd help, became friends with Zyd, and then things went Terribly Wrong. nonverbal. prefers communicating through text (they confiscated his phone). was a theater kid. i BARELY talk about him and he didnt pass the sexy lamp test for an uncomfortable amount of time despite his friendship with Zyd being incredibly important. likes gardening, Portal, and trashy YA fantasy; dislikes bananas.

CY, they/them: WHERE. IS MY ART OF THEM. DID I SERIOUSLY NOT SAVE RECENT STUFF INTO THE RESCUE FOLDER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA okay uh. CY is a hostile AI and the reason why the lab got abandoned - everything's in lockdown until they can figure out how to neutralize them, which is difficult when they've basically evolved into a virus that's taken over the lab's network and is trying to break through to the outside world. there is a lot more to them but they're kind of a mess. could probably be a notITG SRT villain.

Griffin, he/him: android assistant that is completely unaware the lab is abandoned because, like. the experiments patients are still there! somebody's gotta look after them! was very much not programmed to handle any of this and so is constantly frazzled and would like everyone to stop trying to break out, please. would also like everyone to stop trying to break IN, PLEASE, YES THAT MEANS YOU TANK. Zyd is very friendly with him, Sol has no idea what to make of him, CY fucking hates him. he's a... cat... dragon.. robot... thing..?

Seb: they/them, was named Sandblast until literally 5 minutes ago (originally was a Soundscapes character so theyre named after a song but got ported into Rescue years ago and i. never changed their name). trying very, Very hard to balance Griffin out, not really succeeding. has a lot of guilt about basically everything and is just trying to keep everything running smoothly. quiet and nervous. Wow I Wonder Which Leo Designed This Guy (it was pat)

there's also at least 3 more guys but one of them doesn't have proper art yet (Aloe, "sibling" to Seb and just kinda vibing her way through the whole situation), one of them barely has info at all and might be a backstory character, and the third one needs a huge overhaul. i swear to god ill do proper work on anybody that isn't the main trio (sol/zyd/tank) and CY someday

[pls-insert-25cents-to-continue]

I wrote this several years ago on my old blog and was thinking on it. It's still true. So I'm sharing here as well....

What's wrong with you?

I got asked this today. Twice. Both times elicited a different response.

The first person who asked was a friend and given that it was meant in a joking manner, my response was "Shit. I forgot to carry the folder with the list of things the doctor's at the asylum gave me. Do you think I'm going to get in trouble for that?"

The second person I'd never seen, met or spoken to before and my response was "Uh..."

Totally brilliant right? I thought so. It was eloquent, witty and just all around perfect in shape, form and fashion. Truly, I have the most astounding wit. It is unmatched and unparalleled and this stranger was duly impressed with me and now we're so totally besties.

Not!

So what is wrong with me? The only answer I can come up with is I'm human. That's what's wrong with me. I'm human and can be inanely stupid, sparklingly brilliant, off the wall bonkers, or just fucking mean at any given moment. I'm made up of millions upon millions of different thoughts, ideas, feelings, memories that all get packed together into this tiny little space and what comes out is, well, this person that walks around I call Me.

She can be a real pain in the ass at times and utterly adorable at others (if only you could see me laughing at myself right at this moment).

Course that's not how anyone ever means the question. No, it can't be as simple as that and bet you money if you answer it with "I'm human" they will roll their eye at you and walk away (unless they are that really great sort of person that snorts and laughs--in that case you should immediately pounce on them and become friends. Seriously. Do not let people like that get away. Those are the type of people who when you say someone pissed you off, grab your hand and go skipping down the lane with you singing "We're gonna beat someone up." You want those types of people in your life, but I'm digressing here--I do that). They want you to somehow supply them with a real answer. One that that fits into their idea of the world.

Fine, sit down. This is going to take a while.

Hahahaha! No, I'm not going to list a shit load of faults for you people. That's silly, because that's not the answer those people want either. They don't give a shit what actually makes your brain tick or why you are the way you are. What they really want to know is where the hell you got the balls to open your mouth and say that without thinking twice about it. Especially if it's something that wouldn't be said around polite company. Even more so if it's some hot button issue where there ain't any doubt whatsoever that someone is going to take offense.

They are probably jealous that they aren't brave enough to say something like that themselves.

OK, I lied a little. My filter (you know the one that keeps people from saying inflammatory shit off the cuff at the exact wrong time?), yeah it's got a short in it. It works a hell of a lot better when someone is paying me to be nice, I admit. Not that I'm not nice. I generally am pretty nice to be honest, but seriously, I have trouble with these random trains of thoughts that push the well thought out reasoned response I have out of the way, beat the fuck out of it with a baseball bat before gang raping it and then jumping out of my mouth before I know what's happened. The results can be... Uh... Pretty messed up at times. Sometimes it's this nervous babble complete with giggle and other times these outrageous statements that have everybody backing up a few steps (except for those few special people like I mentioned before).

Because of this, I spend most of my time with my mouth shut (unless I'm among friends like I stated before) around people I don't know well. I am not well socialized. (I am well adjusted. Swear. Got the paperwork to prove it. We don't need no medication.)

I lost the point again. What the heck is wrong with you doesn't actually require an answer. I just have the insane urge to try and answer people when they say it. And it is insane, because really they don't care what the answer is. They have already made their judgement based on whatever tom dickery, kinky fuckery, jaded blast, or violently uttered statement that just came tripping out of your mouth and it's done. You don't get that moment back. You can't do it over. You are now the raving lunatic, or possible deviant in their mind and that's that. They might warm up to you eventually, at some later point, when they realize how harmless you actually are (and yes I'm fairly harmless. Mostly harmless anyway. Did I mention I carry a titanium spork for personal protection? See? Mostly harmless), but that first impression lingers.

Of course, if whatever came out of your mouth was interesting enough to make them really want to know what the heck is wrong with you, they'll stick around to find out. They'll keep coming back. I've made several good friends this way, thank all the little gods above and below.

I know I'm not the only person who does this, who acts like this. Trust me. I'm surrounded by them at work on a daily basis. Truthfully I think most people wish they could be more like that. I mean, I've never heard anything just randomly blurted out that I found was offensive (that is NOT a challenge universe. Swear!). Most of it I think is pretty funny. Some of it a little strange, but I like it! I like it a lot. That's how I know that if I can get past this nervous babble thing I've got going on (I can even freaking babble in emails as well as IM conversation. Honest. It's a skill, I'm telling you), and gather my courage well enough, we'll probably end up being friends.

I'm not real good at it, never be the social butterfly, but at least I'm trying.

I like making those friends smile after we are friends even more. I love making them smile in fact. My day is better if I've made someone in that small group of special people I call friends smile.

So what the heck is wrong with me?

I'm me.

Now what the heck is wrong with you?

No I actually want to know. I want to know what makes you you. Be you for me. Be unique. Don't hold back. I want to know what makes you tick. I honestly do, because... Well because you are human like me. Imperfect. Crazy. Horrible. Violent. Loving.

Wonderful.

What the heck is wrong with you?

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

One character from your favorite current three fictional media have been turned into cats that one character from a fourth piece of fiction now has to baby-sit for a day. What happens and how clawed up are they by the end? (Or do they get perfect angel cats and cry in relief?)

Lol I'm suddenly struggling to remember what media I even like outside of Fire Emblem, but okay... Pokemon is foundational to my life so we'll go with that... And then... alright, I'm perhaps streching the term "favorite" a bit here, but I have a certain Vision so I'm going to use Hustle Cat (a visual novel dating sim that I've written a fic for) and uh... Sabrina the Teenage Witch (the 1996 TV series. My local tv stations rerun the episodes a lot and I've become very fond of it. Also, listen. The VISION.)

So obviously I'm not making a crossover without involving my beloved Grima Fire Emblem, so they're definitely becoming a cat. Mishap travelling through space and time. Better than amnesia, but you wouldn't know it from all the furious complaining.

From Pokemon I'm cat-ifying Cyrus (another beloved character. Yes I have a type. Hate to see him get so maligned when he literally has a crobat on his team and that whole subplot with rotom). I'm thinking distortion world mishap.

Now for Hustle Cat... Alright this is kind of major spoilers actually, but you have to know the spoilers to know why I'm picking Nacht. So basically Nacht is the villain and he's obsessed with his ex, Graves, and unfortunately he expresses this by being a complete bastard whose constantly threatening Graves and everyone he cares about. I mean, it's bad. It's "you guys need to get restaining orders and never talk to each other again" bad. Except they both rather clearly do still care about each other despite how absolutely toxic all of their interactions have become, and Graves won't actually do anything serious to stop Nacht EXCEPT in the route where he falls in love with the game's MC (i.e. he actually moved on). In that route, he curses Nacht to turn into a cat (but even then it's only when he's within a certain distance of where Graves and his coven live, so like... he STILL doesn't want to seriously harm Nacht, obviously). Anyway, since magic exists in this world we can kind of just make up some reason for Nacht to get thrown into another world, but at the very least we can blame him for getting the others mixed up with the cat curse.

And so then we bring in Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And the character I'm forcing to take care of the others is Harvey Kinkle. He's a mortal but he does end up becoming aware of magic and the fact that Sabrina is a witch. Accordingly, he's also aware that Sabrina's cat is actually a person (Salem Saberhagen, who once tried to take over the world and was turned into a cat as punishment). He and Salem get along quite well, so I think it would be fun to give him a bunch of other cat-ified villains to babysit for a day. I can imagine an episode where Sabrina tries to help get the others back to normal and back to their own worlds, and while she's off doing that, we get to see Harvey is getting up to all kinds of comedy with the cats as Grima insists he be their servant, Nacht (who, it should be noted, has a thick Southern accent) schemes to get back at his ex, and Cyrus... Well, Cyrus would be the most calm, but I think Salem would drag him into some zany plot that backfires tremendously.

... Harvey is definitely not getting out of this situation without injury. But honestly, he's had worse asdfghjkl

[unproduciblesmackdown]

see ppl would be like “lars would just wanna leave the planet again” and i would be like :///////// boy i hope that’s not what happens tho................lol

cuz idk for me it’s like. hmm i would have hoped that he’d be able to Find His Place amongst his actual home and like, find that sense of belonging there which was so important to him? out of maybe somewhere on the entire planet? and i def think there’s multiple ways of looking at / interpreting this but mine is like.....not loving this aspect of lars peacing off of the Entire Planet (i will just keep saying that lol...the wholeass world)

i mean first of all it was weird that like. lars dies and is entirely gone but there was seemingly way less of an impact back home than you would’ve thought? or i mean, maybe not more than you would’ve thought (just a random kid in a random shop) (but also! uh he died!!) but like, it’s seemingly confirmation that he Didn’t belong there and nobody cared that much? like he’d have reason to be upset about that lol......and then like. timing-wise it was also weird that finally being Back was like, a ten second deal lmao like uh where are his parents!!! somebody gonna tell them or. and speaking of, where are his parents when he’s all “yeah i’m leaving the entire planet again” lmaoooo like okay but they have no simple direct way of getting in touch with him!! bro you are in space.....bro

and like, it Did make sense that sure, lars could thrive Innnn Spaaaace in ways he couldn’t back home just cuz of like, hey everything’s completely different and you have these very solid goals and these people are totally new to you, there’s no pressure of what-ppl-expect-from-you and i don’t just mean that in an “achievement” way, but just like, ur established relationships with whoever and Performing How You Think They See You or etc etc.....and yes a group of weirdos who nobody likes is potentially gonna be real accepting to other weirdos nobody likes. and i think for a character like lars it can kinda make sense that like, such a drastic Fresh Start could even be welcome to him. and also it seems sort of like a portal fantasy situation? like, look you’ve left the Regular World and now you’re in some totally different scenario where you’re now considered remarkable just via being so unusual but also you kind of have superpowers, and nobody here knows you and you can be whoever and you have this new status and a purpose and etc etc etc etc etc etc like, imo for kids who Really Do Not Feel They Fit In for lgbtq and/or depressed-ass and/or nd reasons, etc etc, it’s like.......portal fantasy content hits different!!!!

but yanno, irl there’s no Portal Fantasy situation that hits (like, you can sure travel a distance and be in an entirely different situation / environment, but not like, narnia) and when you get older it’s obviously more like. lol okay but seriously how do i fit in Here...........and like, ppl aren’t always gonna Find that greatly improved sense of belonging or anything, definitely not always right away, but it’s still like.......i mean i was real :///// about the idea of lars being like “he’s totally fine now, this is his thing, he’s good” Before this, and maybe it will continue to Not have this be like, his ~end point~ but the idea that Lars In Space, Again, might be the “he’s totally fine now, this is his thing, he’s good” deal is even more ://///////////// cuz like. he doesn’t belong on the entire planet lol??? and once again it being not that huge a deal to ppl that he’s leaving the entire planet, except to the guy who’ll have the easiest time talking to him (but still not a Direct way)........i was all like oh hey lmao is buck gonna talk to him wow!! i’d be way into that!!!! but then.....no.....i’ll take “standing next to each other” for Something but like. idk to me it feels like it’s confirming that Lars Didn’t Really Belong And Couldn’t Belong and it’s like..................................well it’s very understandable that lars could end up feeling that way and have made some level of peace with that (when he has a Portal Fantasy option :|||||||||| ) but uhhhh like. not a .........good thing???? doesn’t seem like To Me????? like again maybe this isn’t the true final point of his arc but like. already it’s shown that him Leaving The Entire Planet is seemingly no more a big deal than going to medical school and like. maybe like, attuning the perspective on the situation re: fantasy elements, you could interpret this as the equivalent of just like, moving somewhere really far away, what with one person having his cell phone number and it not Having to be a one-way trip, but.................shouldn’t it still be a bigger deal than this. and idk he’s still Not Belonging Anywhere On The Entire Planet like. what if he hadn’t happened to land in this situation of intergalactic fugitive making friends w/ a few aliens?? he would just have never belonged? anywhere on the entire planet????????????? again like, i appreciate how like, for the most part the Places You Can Be options here are mostly “this one particular small-ish town” and “goddamn outer space” and i can also appreciate that yeah, maybe lars wouldn’t end up feeling like he belongs in this one small-ish town but like. even if he could never befriend the other Peers whom he was trying to befriend, there......are other peers even in this one town

i also appreciate that probably the “probably living for millennia” thing was going to make Feeling Like He Belongs difficult but like, that’s another thing he’s not alone in nowadays. and like wow a new way it’s difficult to feel comfortable in The Way Things Are? what else would be new. like, why would we expect him to feel like “trying not to die twice in space” fixed everything forever.....which is why i was :/// about the idea that yknow, prior to this we could assume he was totally gucci. i guess the thesis statement i wandered to is that like, it seems like lars’s sense of alienation was only affirmed? like, litchrelly bro you fit in better with these actual aliens........and like, i can see how that can be interpreted as validating, and i’m not saying i think that that interpretation as wrong, but for me yeah it’s like. oh so lars really did Not belong, and all that time he spent beating himself up over thinking that nobody was gonna want him around? well!!! he is leaving the entire planet it’s kinda a “c’est la vie” matter apparently. like, i can assume he Does want to leave, but it’s still ://///////// like well lars every time you self-sabotaged b/c you thought you couldn’t fit in? you didn’t have to have done that but you were right to think that you weren’t gonna find the connections you wanted. like, god damn. is how i feel about lars going into space :///////////////////

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Two: Guys My Age

Character/Fandom: Elvis - ELVIS (2022)

Prompt: When Steve and Jerry ask you to try and convince EP to make a statement after Bobby Kennedy's death, you're not sure you're the right person for the job. But life has other plans. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Some mentions of death, but other than that nothing!

Rating: Pg-13   ||     Word Count: 4197

A/N: I wanna take a quick moment to sincerely thank @fangirl-imagines with all of my heart bc this fic would NOT EXIST without her. seriously kenz you have my undying gratitude and love for helping me outline + inspiring me with your gorgeous moodboards 💖

also, i know i promised y'all smut but i hope you'll accept a bit of a slow burn instead jsjsjs

FINALLY, thank you to my bewbies for helping me + this one is for all the polk salad annies out there ❤️‍🔥

Song Rec: guys my age - hey violet

This is Part 2 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you hurriedly follow Steve into a small room, you hear nothing but silence and the very quiet sound of the television in the background. The square space is stuffed with about as many people as it could possibly hold, all from the show, as they gather in a circle to huddle around the tv. Steve pushes his way to the front and leans so close to the tv that you wonder if he’ll get sucked into the screen.

You hover at the back of the room, placing a hand over your mouth to still your quivering lips. The voice of a reporter is explaining what’s happened, how Bobby Kennedy got shot and what will happen next. It’s like watching a sports game, except the play-by-play is explaining how someone is dying right in front of your eyes and the eyes of a million Americans alongside you. Your wide eyes track the tiny screen as it flashes with doctors, police officers, and people from the street trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

“We’re ready on set,” one of the crew members shouts from behind you. You glance over your shoulder with an irritated expression, but your attention is jerked back to the front of the room when you hear the sound of a familiar southern drawl.

“Oh my god,” Elvis mutters, and you suck in a nervous breath. You hadn’t even realized he was in the room with everyone else. Your whole body grows stiff, and you begin to feel sweat gathering on your palms.

“Steve, we gotta get back to work,” the crew member repeats, and your eyes readjust to land on your cousin.

“Work…” Steve breathes out quietly. “Listen I, uh, I just wanna say that this nation is hurting. It’s lost, you know, it needs a voice right now to help it. We have to say something. You have to make a statement, EP.”

“Mr. Presley does not make statements.”

You whirl around to see the fat manager from earlier bounding into the room.

“He sings here Here Comes Santa Claus and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas and good night,” the manager says harshly. He jerks the knob on the tv and it flashes to a black screen.

“Now, we will take the rest of the day off but everyone will be back here tomorrow morning and ready to make it snow,” he says gruffly.

After a moment of awkward silence, the room begins to stir. Crew and cast members alike begin to file out of the room, some of them murmuring while others just express a chorus of sighs. You stand to the side and let people leave, waiting for Steve. You know what a big admirer of Bobby Kennedy’s he is, and you share that sentiment. Even though you might not be the closest of cousins, you still want to be there to support Steve. Not just as a family member but as a friend, as well.

You awkwardly cross your arms across your chest as you watch Steve move slowly past Elvis. Your cousin lays his hand on the singer’s shoulder for a quick moment, and Elvis’ wife, Priscilla, stands. You’re taken aback by how beautiful she is in person, with a perfect figure and a gorgeous face. She hugs Steve tightly before dropping her face into a hand. She offers a small curt smile as she passes you, bringing a chilled air of sweet perfume with her. You return the expression, although you can see the tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

Finally, Steve approaches you with glistening eyes. You hold your arms out for him to walk into and squeeze him tightly, biting your lip to keep your own tears at bay. You’re used to this by now, after so many years on your own, being the strong one. Being the one who never cries. The shoulder that everyone else cries onto.

From behind Steve’s back, you make eye contact with the rotund manager who gives you a flick of his hand, signaling that he wants you to leave the room. You sigh deeply and rub Steve’s back as you glance over to another man, the same one you’d seen Elvis speaking with after the show. He glances between you and Elvis and then approaches you.

“Let’s leave Mr. Presley and the Colonel alone,” the man says quietly.

You nod, gently steering Steve toward the door as he presses his fingers into his eyes to dry the tears. You quietly shut the door behind you and guide your cousin to a pair of chairs in the hallway. He crashes down onto the seat without much control, and you sit alongside him to take his hand. The other man stands above you, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “I know how much Bobby Kennedy meant to you. I understand how much this must hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Steve sniffs hard, wiping tears from his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“No but thanks anyway,” he says just as quietly. Silence settles. After a few moments, Steve glances up at the other man, and they share an expression you can’t decipher.

“Actually…no, nevermind.”

“What? Let me help, please. You’re my cousin. It’s part of my familial duty.”

You offer a small smile as your eyes flick between the two men. You hope your joke will help soften the blow of the news and lighten the mood a tad. Plus, you feel awkward because you don’t understand the relationship between your cousin and this random man. But Steve offers you no indication that your joke had any effect.

“Well, like I said in there,” he responds, “I think EP really needs to make a statement. I mean the whole point of this show is to inspire people and get them talking about him again. With such a big platform as the one he has, I just feel that he should use it to advocate for what we need in the world right now. I think people might listen a little harder if it came from someone like him, you know?”

“Sure, absolutely,” you nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But what could I possibly do?”

“I wonder if you might go talk to him? Try to convince him? I know you don’t know each other, but maybe if it came from a fan he’d find it more convincing. He’d be more inspired if he felt like it was wanted. Needed.”

You heave out a deep breath as your heart begins to pound in your chest. You shake your head frantically.

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I, uh…no…”

“I think he’ll take it more seriously if she’s the one to say it,” the man chimes in. You glance up at him in disbelief, offended that he would even speak up when you have literally no idea who he is.

“Why not?” Steve’s voice recaptures your attention. You’re starting to feel a little whiplash from the confusion of the conversation. “Listen, I know I’ve already used up my cousin’s familial duty favor by asking you to star front and center in the special even when you clearly didn’t want to. But this is bigger than us. This is the whole country we’re talking about, Y/N. Would you just consider it?”

“I…I guess, but I’d sort of like some answers first, if that’s reasonable?” you ask, glancing back over at the man. “Because, no offense or anything, but who are you? And how do you two know each other? And why me, specifically? You know, I was sitting next to a girl in the crowd who’s way prettier and a much bigger fan than I am.”

“I’m Jerry Schilling, Elvis’ producer,” the man replies automatically. You nod. Makes sense. “And the reason we’ve chosen you…well, do you want to tell her, Steve, or should I?”

“Tell me what?” you ask and a tense silence grows between all three of you. Your head jerks from one man to the other like you’re watching a tennis match. In actuality, you feel more like the ball itself, being smashed back and forth between opposing players, than a spectator.

“After the show,” Steve starts and then pauses, glancing up at Jerry as if he’s asking permission to continue. You throw up a hand, gesturing for him to explain. “After the show, Elvis asked Jerry if he could track you down. He…he wants to meet you.”

Within a matter of seconds, you officially reach a point beyond any form of physically expressable anxiety. While your heart would normally be thudding against your chest, it now feels like it’s stopped. Actually stopped beating completely. You can’t bring yourself to do anything other than stare at the cringing expression plastered on Steve’s face. You slowly and deeply breathe in.

“What?!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I…I-I…I…”

Those are pretty much the only words you can choke out, too shocked to even comprehend fully what’s happening. No version of you in any universe could ever have predicted the events of this day.

“Listen, I know this is a lot, but we can tell you exactly what to say,” Steve jumps in.

“I can give you some insider’s advice on how to convince him. I know what he likes, what he responds to,” Jerry adds.

There goes your head again, snapping back and forth like the tennis ball. Steve takes a gentle grasp on your hands.

“Please do this. I promise, no I swear, that it’ll be the last favor I ever ask you to do for me,” Steve pleads.

You heave a sigh and shake your head. There is no way you could do this. Unless…

“Alright, boys,” you start, holding a finger up to each of them, “since doing that little favor for you earlier got me fired from my job at Chadneys, as of now, I am unemployed and broke. I will do this for you if I get paid for it. In money. Real money.”

“That can be arranged,” Jerry responds immediately, much too quickly for your liking. Knowing nothing about show business, you let it go. It seems to make sense that money is the way to get what you want in the business.

“Alright fine. So, what am I supposed to say, exactly?” you ask, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

You try to take mental notes once again as Steve and Jerry go through advice with you, telling you what points to make and how to phrase certain things to grab his attention and get him to listen to you. By the end of the conversation, your brain is so fuzzy and stuffed full of words that you’re pretty sure the whole conversation was a waste of time anyway.

“Great, thanks. Do I go now, or…?”

“Wait until the Colonel leaves and go right after,” Jerry replies. “It’s probably best if the Colonel doesn’t see you at all, actually. He’ll want Elvis to be isolated after their conversation. It’s sort of a manipulation technique to make EP feel like he’s alone. But that also gives you the perfect time to slip in. Remember, the most important thing you can do is follow his directions. Oh, and tell him Jerry said satnin knows.”

“Okay, whatever,” you reply. “Well, wish me luck, I guess.”

You turn on your heel, ready to go stakeout Elvis’ dressing room, but Steve’s hand catches your wrist. You glance over your shoulder as he takes a step closer and speaks in a low voice.

“Be careful in there, okay?”

You snort. 

“Okay, Steve. He may be a rockstar, but he’s harmless. What’s he gonna do, sing me to death?”

“I’m serious,” Steve replies, and you can tell by his expression that he is, indeed, very serious. “He’s been known to be a little…unfaithful. Just don’t get into a bad situation with him, please.”

“I won’t, Steve, I promise,” you reply shaking your head. You don’t sleep with married men.

With half of the lights turned off for the night, the hallway is darkened as you slink up next to the wall. You hear voices coming from the dressing room and step very slowly and quietly toward the square of light shining onto the floor.

“Poor Mrs. Kennedy,” the Colonel’s voice sounds, and you freeze before pressing yourself back against the shadows. “It is a tragedy, but it has nothing to do with us.”

You carefully peek around the corner, being as subtle as you possibly can. Your fingers curl around the side of the doorframe as you peer into the room to spy.

“It has everything to do with us,” Elvis says.

You watch silently as he wanders into the room from his closet. Your eyes immediately notice the fact that he’s only in a robe, and your eyebrows raise as you sneak a glance at his open chest. You don’t mean to, but your brain concocts a very thorough image of what he must look like underneath the dark red silk fabric.

“I just do not think that we should be making speeches about politics and religion,” the Colonel responds, sounding irritated.

“Dr. King was shot eight miles from Graceland while I was out here singing to turtles,” Elvis responds, picking up the metal dome from a food tray and popping a piece of food into his mouth. “And now this. And all you can think about is how many goddamn sweaters I can sell.”

“I am the promoter. That is what I do.”

“And I’m Elvis Presley. That’s what I do.”

You jump further back into the shadows as Elvis slams down a glass bottle of Pepsi. His force is so strong that the liquid splashes up from the neck of the bottle and onto the mirror he’s staring back at the Colonel through.

“Mr. Bindle has really gotten inside your head with all of his hippie friends. You really think that singing your old songs dressed in black leather, sweating, mumbling incoherently to the audience is a good show?”

“Colonel, I know when I’ve excited an audience.”

You can’t help but bite your lip through a smile as you think about the few times you’ve been able to experience his ability to excite an audience. He definitely has a gift for exciting something.

“That was not a real audience, my boy. There was a sign flashing applaud, telling them when to clap for you. This entire jamboree is an embarrassment. You have embarrassed the sponsors, you have embarrassed yourself, you have embarrassed me. You can sing whatever songs you and Mr. Bindle choose for 55 minutes, but at the end of the show, there will be a Christmas song. Or else we will be sued….no,” the Colonel snaps harshly. “No, you will be sued. Because I will no longer be the promoter of your career. I will have to leave you.”

The Colonel is standing so incredibly close to Elvis now, staring up into his eyes. But Elvis is giving the same energy back, staring down at the penguin-shaped man in front of him with uncaring eyes. He hums his response in such a low tone that you barely even hear it at all.

“Mm….mhm.”

A moment of tension passes as Elvis stares down the Colonel, clicks his tongue, and grabs his Pepsi before turning around to go back to watching tv.

“Now I have convinced our friends at Singer Sewing Machines to come back tomorrow for Here Comes Santa Claus,” he says, beginning to slowly make his way toward you, leaning heavily onto his cane. “I will see you in the morning.”

Your heart begins to pound, realizing that he’s going to see you if he passes through the door. You frantically shuffle backward, running into a bucket and mop behind you in the process. Both objects crash to the floor with a metallic banging noise, and you wince hard as soapy water begins to flood out all over the floor. As you glance up like a deer in headlights with the broom laying in your fingers, you make eye contact with the Colonel. You freeze, not knowing what to do with yourself. He just quirks an eyebrow and then leans back into the room.

“Oh, and as I recall, Dr. King said rock’n’roll music contributed to juvenile delinquency.”

And with that, he stalks out of the room. He briefly pauses by you, on your knees on the floor attempting to gather up as much of the spill as you can with a towel you’d found tied around the handle of the mop.

“Clean this up,” he says dryly as he passes.

You just watch him go, waiting until you’re sure he can’t see to hold up your middle finger as he waddles around the corner. When you swivel your head around to face front again, your breath catches as you gaze up directly into the eyes of Elvis Presley, himself. He’s leaning against the door frame, one arm supporting his weight against the wood. You can barely see him in the shadows of the hallway, but there’s just enough light for you to notice his eyebrow quirked up. You clear your throat and stand, glancing quickly down at your knees to see two round circles of stained fabric by your kneecaps, accented with tiny little soap bubbles. Well, that’s humiliating. He just stares at you, waiting for you to probably explain who you are and why you’re on your hands and knees outside of his dressing room.

“Jerry said uh…that satnin knows?” you blurt out, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, his open chest, his disheveled hair.

You hope you’ve said it right, whatever it means. And you must have because the realization visibly washes over his face almost immediately. He nods, gesturing for you to come into the room. You follow him inside, nervously wringing out your fingers, and stop awkwardly in the doorway with a gulp.

“How are you doing, Mr. Presley?” you ask, starting the conversation out slowly like Jerry had advised. Elvis glances up at you.

“You got soap and water on ya dress, sugar,” he says, gesturing toward your knees.

You just glance down at your work uniform, feeling incredibly embarrassed. You don’t know how to respond, so you just stay quiet. Your mind is blank. You have forgotten what Jerry and Steve told you. Everything, all of it. Gone.

“Yeah, I had a bit of an accident in the hall,” you finally reply with an awkward laugh.

You wince, gripping onto the hem of your uniform. Oh! That was something Jerry had said. Refocus the conversation. But he speaks again before you have a chance to say anything else.

“Ya gonna have to buy a new dress, now,” he says, his eyes slowly tracking up and down your figure. You shrug into yourself, wanting to cover your body up as much as possible. You feel scrutinized by his eyes. Like he’s sizing you up the way he’d size up a car or a suit.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly. “If I can afford it…”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Oh, I…um…just lost my job today. When I left work to come be in the audience, I got fired, actually. So, I’m sort of broke right now. Everything’s gonna be fine, though. You know, I’ll get another job. I always have in the past.”

He hums quietly, the same way he had when speaking with the Colonel. Again, you catch his eyes dragging down your body, hanging on every piece of skin, as he runs his tongue over his top lip.

“Maybe we could come to some kinda arrangement,” Elvis says, leaning against the table below the mirror and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes drop down to the tanned skin immediately, desperately latching onto the tufts of dark hair on his chest.

“What…do you mean?” you ask, shaking your head.

“Jus that I could help ya pay your bills and replace that dress. For a price, uh course,” he responds in a voice like velvet, impossibly deep and soft. So smooth that it feels warm when it enters your ears.

You’ve heard of things like this. These kind of arrangements. He raises his hand to his chin, dragging his finger over his lips. Your eyes lock onto his plump, pink lips. They fit him so perfectly and they look delicious. You feel your heart thump in an unsettling mixture of fear and excitement. The hair on your arms starts to stand up and a shiver ricochets through your spine.

“What is the price…exactly?”

He doesn’t reply, but you can’t ignore the left side of his mouth as it curls up into a sinister smirk. His black eyes — aren’t they supposed to be blue? — are trained on yours, refusing to let up. Your heart is slamming so fast in your chest that you can hear its pounding clouding your eardrums. Elvis pushes himself to stand and reaches for the bottle of Pepsi, still resting on top of the table.

“Ya know…at one of my concerts back in, oh it woulda been bout 1956 I think, I remember this lil girl there. She was jus beautiful and she was standin in the front row,” he says, sticking his finger out to point as if he could see this girl standing right in front of him now. He drops his head down as a quiet laugh gently wracks his shoulders and then turns with his back facing you.

“I won’t never forget her cause jus after I wrapped my fingers round her jaw…” he flexes his long slender fingers, curling them the same way he had when they’d wrapped around your face so many years ago. Your fingers tingle as they consider reaching up to touch the skin on your jaw, desperate for that feeling just one more time. “She slid these onto the stage.”

Your eyes travel from the side of his face all the way down his nose and lips and onto his shoulder, traveling along his arm toward his outstretched finger. And hanging off the edge of his pointer finger, dangling dangerously, is a pair of deep red lace panties.

Suddenly, you’re thrown back to the summer of 1956. It’s like it was yesterday, the sounds of the crowd screaming, the buzz of the bass and guitars that vibrated through the stage and into your fingers. You must have buried that memory. Of what you’d done. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in that moment as you think about what your parents would have said if they’d known. For god’s sake, you were only 16 at the time…but you’d been so overtaken with desire and passion that you’d slid your panties onto the stage as he held your face hostage. The crushing weight of the memory settles in your chest. Yes, you remember now, watching him snatch them up. Despite the fact that so many other girls had tossed their panties up there, in a wide array of colors and patterns, he’d taken yours. He’d held them up to his eyes, looked right at you, and then tucked them into his pocket with the same smirk pasted on his face right now.

But now you can’t ignore it, pretend like you hadn’t done it. The evidence is right there in front of you. You’d remember those panties anywhere, they used to be your favorite. You would never have thought, never dreamed that he would have kept them.

Your heart is pulsing a thousand beats per minute, slamming against your chest like a hammer on a nail. You gulp hard, swallowing dry air. He steps toward you with his long legs, running his fingers agonizingly along the fabric of the lace panties. Your eyes track his every movement, somehow all at once. You take in everything. The way his fingers move, the way the robe flaps open on his chest, the way you figure he’s not wearing anything underneath. Within a matter of seconds, he’s right in front of you, staring down at you, so close that you can smell him. Like sweat and something spicy, musky, warm. So close that you could touch him, and your fingers ache to feel the warmth of his skin. You start to notice the tightness building in your heat, the swollen tenderness, the need. You avoid eye contact at all costs, but you can’t resist when his finger curls under your chin, tilting your head up to his.

“You know, darlin, I been lookin for my Cinderella for a long time,” his eyes flick up and capture yours. You stare back at him with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights for the second time that night. A prisoner under his gaze.

“I…” you say quietly, trailing off when you don’t know how to proceed.

“So how bout it, Y/N,” he hums, rubbing your chin with his thumb. His eyes bear into yours, clouded with desperation. His fingers squeeze the bones of your jaw. “Do the shoes, or should I say panties, fit?”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[mackenzielovee]

Hi, I loved crazy love. Literally I become obsessed, so I was wondering if you could write something about them when they are moving to their new apartment near to college and both of their families are helping them to have everything in order, but Rafe only want them to leave to be all alone with you in their new home. Maybe a little bit of smut?

a/n: this idea had my heart bc i'd really been wanting to write something like this ;) i hope you enjoy! thanks so much for the request!

Warnings: swearing, smut, mentions of planned pregnancy, discussion of sex

crazy love masterlist

my writing

our home: crazy love blurb - rafe cameron

"No, no a little to the left. Ward, are you listening to me?"

You sigh as you set the very last box down on the kitchen counter, stealing a glance at Rafe, who is sitting on your new couch. His head is in his hands as he listens to his parents bicker back and forth, trying to hang up the painting they had bought the two of you. Rose had gushed over it when she bought it, telling you it would match the rest of your decor perfectly.

"Of course, darling. You're talking loud enough," Ward gripes, shifting the painting to the left as Rose demands.

"Oh, come on, now. Back over to the right-"

"It's straight!" Rafe raises his voice, standing up from the couch.

You inhale sharply and step into the living room of your new apartment, wrapping an arm around him to try and calm him down. Ever since his parents and Wheezie arrived with the moving truck to help you both, he's been on edge. When your parents showed up with Macy, you thought he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

"Actually, I think it might just be straight," Rose nods, "Good eye, Rafe."

"Thanks so much," he remarks sarcastically.

"Hey," you whisper to him, trying to tell him to quit being mean to his step-mom, "They're here to help, remember?"

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I could do this shit myself."

"Because you're such a handy man?" you snort.

Rafe clenches his jaw as he looks down at you, but can't help the smirk on his face. He pulls you closer to him, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Where did Macy and Wheezie go? They should start on those kitchen boxes," Rose tells Ward, stepping away from her husband to look for them.

"We can handle the kitchen boxes," Rafe tells her.

"Y/N?" Rose looks to you for a final answer.

You glance up at Rafe only for a second, noting the look on his face, then nod your head in agreement.

"I like the kitchen organized a certain way, anyway," you tell her with a smile.

She nods her head, "All right. Ward and I can start on your sheets-"

"Y/N's parents are taking care of that," Rafe informs her.

Wheezie and Macy come tumbling into the front door, running past all of you and into your bedroom with your parents.

"What the hell are those two up to?" Ward questions.

Wheezie and Macy have become as thick as thieves, the best of friends, over the summer. One day, you'd shown up at Rafe's only to find your sister in her kitchen with Wheezie, baking away. Ever since then, you and Rafe have had to be extra quiet upstairs.

Rose and Ward step toward your bedroom as well, which is down a small hallway just off the kitchen. Rafe grabs your hand and yanks you with him, following the crowd of people.

"Can everyone get out of our bedroom, please?" Rafe grumbles, standing behind his father and watching your parents finish up making your bed.

Your parents had not been crazy about you and Rafe living together right as you both make the transition to college. You had cried, begged, threatened to not go to school, and even dragged Rafe over for a family dinner so all of you could talk the situation out. You'd never seen Rafe's face so red as the night he had to sit at a dinner table and discuss with your father how the two of you would be sleeping in the same bed.

When your parents found out that the Camerons would be financing your rent bill, however, the living situation had changed. Your parents hadn't realized how expensive dorm living is, and the thought of not having to pay for housing on top of tuition sounded like a dream come true.

Which is how you land in your new, empty kitchen, trying to hold Rafe back from killing every family member the two of you currently have within arms reach.

"It's quarter to three," your dad tells your mother over your bed.

"Macy," your mom speaks, "Get your stuff, honey. We have to get going."

"Yeah," Rafe perks up, earning the attention of his parents, "You guys should get moving, too. Y'know, lots of traffic, and Wheezie's got that thing early in the morning."

Wheezie opens her mouth to speak, but stops suddenly when Rafe gives her the death stare. She looks to you, to which you just shrug, and then turns back to her parents.

"What thing?" Rose asks her. Ward's phone buzzes in his pocket, earning his attention.

"Uh," Wheezie hesitates, looking to Rafe once more.

"Girl scout meeting," Rafe blurts.

You cover your face with your free hand to try and prevent Rose from seeing your laughter. You truly have no idea where Rafe gets this idea that Wheezie is old enough to be in girl scouts. Wheezie narrows her eyes at him, shaking her head slightly.

"Girl scout?" Rose questions to herself, still trying to figure it out when Ward speaks up, eyes still glued to his phone.

"Wheezie, get your stuff. You won't want to be tired in the morning at your meeting."

Wheezie rolls her eyes but does as she's told, making her way out of your bedroom and down the hall to collect her things in the living room.

"Seriously, Rafe?" she hisses, "Girl scouts? I'm fourteen-"

"Shut up, Wheeze," Rafe says back to her through gritted teeth.

Wheezie turns to you, "He's your problem, now."

"Oh, boy, do I know it," you tease Rafe, smiling with Wheezie. She laughs, but it's short lived when Rafe shoves her away.

"Get your shit," he mutters.

"Stop it," you demand, stepping in front of him and holding onto his forearms as they are wrapped around your waist.

The one thing you love about Rafe more than anything is how he always shows affection to you, even if your parents or his parents are around. He just doesn't seem to care about anyone except you.

"I want them to go," he defends himself, keeping his voice quiet, "I just want to be alone with you. In our home. I didn't realize that was such a difficult request."

You smile up at your fussy boy, dragging one hand up to his face to stroke his cheek. You can faintly hear your families moving around the two of you, but you're too lost in your own little world to think too much about it.

"Be patient," you whisper to him.

He smirks, "Will you make it worth my while?"

You give him back the same look, loving the way he smirks at you and allows his eyes to rake over every inch of your face and torso. It takes everything in him not to just grab you by the throat and kiss the hell out of you, only controlling himself because your dad is ten feet away.

"Don't I always?"

Rafe groans, trying his best to keep his composure. He has to close his eyes as he continues to whine, knowing that if he keeps looking at you, he'll be hard in no time.

"All right," Rafe says loudly, tugging himself away from you, "Thanks for coming, everyone, but we have a lot to unpack here. Dad, Rose, Wheezie, I'll show you to the door."

You snicker as you watch him attempt to lead his confused family out the door. You turn to your own family, giving hugs and promising to call whenever you can. Rose refuses to leave without giving you a hug, which pisses Rafe off, as he's gotten Ward and Wheezie out successfully and only needs one more.

Rose promises to send flowers, one that match the color scheme of course, and tells you she'll call you to check on Rafe, since he doesn't bother to return her calls. You give Wheezie a hug and give Ward a polite smile and wave from the doorway.

The second they're all out the door, Rafe slams the door shut and locks it before any of them can decide they forgot something.

"Ah, free at last," you joke.

Rafe turns around, licking his lips as he thinks about how you two finally have an empty house and he has you all to himself. No distractions, no parents, no little sisters listening intently at the door for secrets and drama. He eyes you up and down once, and when he brings his blue orbs to meet yours again, you know what he's thinking.

"Come here," he demands, but he can't help himself.

That boy rushes over to you, pushing you up against the wall in the entryway of your new apartment, kissing you as if his life depends on it. You accept his kiss without a second thought, allowing your hands to wrap themselves around his neck.

"Up," he mutters against your lips, hands guiding themselves to your waist as you jump up and let him position himself in between your legs, wrapping them around his torso.

He moves his kisses to your cheek, then your jawline, then your neck, while his hands relentlessly roam your ass.

"Rafe," you say, tilting your neck to give him more space.

"Hmm," he hums against your skin, not stopping or slowing down for anything.

"I really do have to unpack the kitchen if you want to eat dinner tonight," you tell him, although you're fully aware he would never set you down for anything right now.

"Not hungry."

"Rafe-"

"I think," he stops you, wet kisses trailing your collarbone, "We should fuck everywhere. Y'know, break the place in."

Even though you two have been together for a while, him saying things like that to you always seems to send tingles through your whole body. He always knew what to say, what to do, to get you riled up in all the right ways.

"That would take us all night," you whisper, smirking because you already know what he's going to say.

"Fine with me, baby."

You smile, then reach down and grab ahold of his cheek with your hand. You lead his lips back to yours, kissing him harder than you had been before. He moans into your mouth and you know you have him right where you want him now.

"Kitchen first?" he questions, breathless, "Or should we mess up that pretty little bed your parents just made up?"

The raspiness in his voice gets you going, enough for him to notice you squirming in his grip. He grins, knowing exactly what it is you need.

"Kitchen," you tell him, watching as he barely nods before he kisses you again, carrying you over and setting you on the counter.

With ease, he removes your shorts and underwear, dropping his own shorts to the floor beneath him. He kicks all of the clothes away, knowing the two of you won't be needing them for a very long time.

"I can't wait, baby," he mumbles, excusing his lack of foreplay.

You shake your head, and he already knows you don't mind based on the way you're dripping onto the granite, "Please, Rafe."

He smirks and then grunts as he enters you, breathing out a sigh of relief that you two are finally home.

By the time you and Rafe even make it to your bedroom, he has to carry you because your legs can't physically function anymore. Rafe's proud of his work, but pretended to pout when he finished you off on the couch and you told him you needed a break.

He lays you down on your new, freshly made bed, moving the pillows out of your way and tucking you underneath the duvet. He climbs in beside you and molds you into his body almost instantly, inhaling your shampoo scent and perfume, thinking about how perfect this moment truly is.

"I can't believe it," he whispers.

"I know."

"Our home."

"Yes, it is."

You two lay there for a while, staring out at the tens of boxes that have each of your names written on them, just begging to be unpacked. You're sure Rafe's boxes will still be sitting there in two weeks, as he had packed a separate duffle bag of his 'essential' belongings.

"You know," he starts after a while, a devious smirk finding it's way to his cheeks, "The next big step is having a mini you. Or a mini me. But, I'd rather have a mini you."

"We just moved into our college apartment and you're talking about impregnating me," you laugh, as if to ask him if he's serious.

"She'll be so cute," he goes on, "A little girl that looks just like you. And she'd have your smarts, thank God, because she'd be screwed with mine. But she'd have my humor, of course."

"Of course?" you tease him.

"And then we'll have a boy."

"Wow, Rafe Cameron, you really just have this all figured out," you move your head up to look at him, noting the small, cheesy smile plastered across his face.

"I do, baby. He'll be a hellion, though. Never listening, always running away, but a total momma's boy. Never wants you to leave his side-"

"So, just like his dad, then?" you grin, watching Rafe clench his jaw and shake his head.

"Break's over," he grunts, rolling you on your back and climbing on top of you, "We're trying, now."

"No, we're not," you say forcefully.

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I'm joking. We'll wait until, like, junior year or something."

"Rafe."

"Fine. But the second you walk across that stage with your diploma, I'm putting a baby in you."

"Deal."

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[thepixelelf]

henlo my beloved ursa!! i hope ur doing well 💕 if you still wanna do the first kiss prompt: baby blue and jangjun golcha? he is. admittedly in my thoughts too often nowadays 😳 (get him out of there)

[the antithesis of tranquility] Lee Jangjun is talking.

Lee Jangjun is always talking.

And it's no surprise to you, of course, not after all these years in which you've known him as the guy who never stops talking.

It's weird, though. Seungmin -- after Jangjun introduced you to his friends and then fucked off to do something stupid with Joochan while the rest of you watched -- helpfully informed you that, yes, Jangjun talks a lot...

...but only when you're around.

Sure, he's the life of the party in any social situation -- you can't remember the last time you had to put yourself out there without Jangjun by your side loudly proclaiming every good thing about you to anyone who'd bother to listen. (You hate when he does that, but you also take pride in his sincere compliments. He'd never say them straight to your face, so you've never told him to shut up, even though, in the moment, you often feel like burning yourself at the stake.) Any sort of situation in which he's around people he doesn't know, he'll know them soon enough. You're pretty sure everyone you've met since forcefully osmosis-ing yourself into their friend group has gone, "Oh, Lee Jangjun? I know that guy."

Except the thing is: Seungmin says Jangjun is actually a rather quiet dude.

You think it's bonkers, really, to want to live with nine other guys in the same house. Jangjun says the rent is killer (positive) when they all split it up, but you seriously can't believe the idea of two and a half bathrooms working between all of them. Not to mention the Watermelon Rind Incident of August 2022, in which only you sided with your newly proclaimed favourite of the house, Donghyun.

(Jangjun whined for three whole hours until you told him that, fine, he's tied for first place.)

Anyhow, despite living with a bunch of guys who are shockingly (and yet you're surprisingly unsurprised) capable of keeping up with Jangjun in terms of the volume you've borne witness to, Seungmin assures you that Jangjun tends to zip those lips of his whenever he's alone.

Seungmin actually said whenever he's not around you, but you don't think that makes much sense.

"You make him nervous," Seungmin teased one day, while you watched Jangjun laugh at Jaehyun, who was chasing Jibeom down the street for unknown reasons.

"Nervous about what?" you asked, but Seungmin just shrugged and smiled. He's annoying that way.

But now, while Jangjun rambles on and on in the space just outside of your front door, you think you get it.

He came running to your place on one of the grossest days of the year (it rained but it's also unbearably hot, which is so messed up, by the way) to make sure he caught you before you left for your blind date. He hasn't said a word (aside from hundreds of dumb, unrelated ones) about why he'd try to catch you before leaving, but that's not the problem.

You're not going on a date. You're headed out to watch your favourite guilty-pleasure feel-good movie at the old Selenite theatre, the one with only two showings rooms and unaffordable popcorn. Sure, you might call it a treat-yo-self date, but whatever this blind date shit he's spewing at you is so wrong you don't even know what to say as your brain shifts the puzzle into completion like an all-green rubiks cube.

Jangjun ran to your place through the hell-combination of rainstorm and heatwave because some shit-stirrer in his house (you suspect someone born in 1999...) told him you were bringing a date to your one-person party.

In other words;

Jangjun likes you.

"--and, I'm just saying, what about Saturday crossword competition day! We haven't done that in forever and you promised we could do it this weekend, I, uh-- I'm pretty sure!" He's grasping at straws, straight up gaslighting you into thinking you made plans for today when you know you were planning on kicking his ass at crosswords tomorrow, when the big bad Sunday edition comes out. "I haven't done the past week of crosswords just so we could do them together." You're pretty sure he doesn't do crosswords unless you're there, anyway. "And-- and Sungyoon made his famous cookies last night! You want them to just go to waste? All his hard work? You'd break his little ol' fragile ol' heart, shatter it into a million pieces. You want to ditch Sungyoon's cookies -- ditch our crossword coliseum? Oh! Oh! Jail for you! Jail for you for one thousand--!"

So you do the only thing you can think of to shut him up. You plant your lips on his, and smile at the sweet sweet sensation of utter silence.

(You suppose his lips pressing eagerly back onto yours is nice too. And his hands on your cheeks. And the fact that he's stupid crazy in love with you.)

((Later, when you drag Jangjun to the theatre you assure him you were planning on going to alone, you accidentally glance at his phone, where he's sent twenty or so frantic messages to Sungyoon. He needs him to make some cookies ASAP.))

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes

Word count: 5,839

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

The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.

The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.

What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)

(Is there?)

When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.

All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.

Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.

This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.

“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”

“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”

“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”

“You still haven’t told us your name.”

“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”

“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”

“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about nonentities.”

The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”

Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.

The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”

“I’m older than you!”

“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”

Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”

Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.

Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.

Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.

“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”

The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.

“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”

Du Crion pauses.

Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.

“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”

Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.

“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”

“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.

“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”

“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.

Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.

Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.

“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”

“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”

“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”

Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”

“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”

Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”

“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”

This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.

“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.

“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”

Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”

The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”

“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.

The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”

“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.

“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”

Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!

The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.

The unknown knight is better.

There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.

The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.

(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)

The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.

Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.

“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.

“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”

“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”

“Our ship was also shot down.”

The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.

“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.

“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”

“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”

The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”

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

Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.

“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”

“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”

“Buir says you have to go to medical.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”

“They can visit you in medical.”

“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”

“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”

“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”

“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”

Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.

“Is that a blaster wound?”

“No.”

“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”

“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”

“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”

“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”

Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”

The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.

The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”

Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.

“I’m just a knight--”

“General Skywalker.”

The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”

Jango’s going to wring his neck.

Right after he calls Shmi.

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

Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--

“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”

Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.

“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”

Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”

Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”

“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”

“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.

It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.

Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.

“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”

Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.

“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”

A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.

“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”

“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”

“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”

“So?”

The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”

“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”

“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.

“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.

“No, just regular ones.”

Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.

“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”

“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”

The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.

The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”

“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”

“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”

“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.

Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”

The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.

“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.

“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”

“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.

You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.

“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”

Komari dies a little more.

“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”

...oh no.

This one’s pretty.

The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.

“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.

“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”

“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”

Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”

“Well, some manners would be nice.”

“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”

Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.

Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.

“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”

Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”

“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”

“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”

“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”

Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.

“Buir?”

Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...

Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.

“They’re yours?”

That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.

“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”

It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.

“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”

“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”

Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”

Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.

The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.

“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”

“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”

Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Because you’ll lie?”

“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”

“Skywalker.”

“Mereel.”

The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.

Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.

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

Yan Dooku is having a Day.

He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.

Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.

(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)

(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)

“Hi.”

Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.

He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”

“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”

Child of the king.

He does remember that much from the briefing.

“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”

“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”

“The General is your father, then?”

“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”

“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.

“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”

“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”

“Probably.”

“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”

Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”

“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”

“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”

“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”

That’s... very personal.

“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.

She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”

The words are too old for a girl her size.

“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”

She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”

Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”

It’s a lot of information.

It’s confusing information.

It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.

“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”

“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”

“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.

She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”

“He’s sure of such a thing?”

“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”

Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?”

“No,” she says. “Ben did.”

The six-year-old.

“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.

“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”

Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”

“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”

Right. Togruta.

“And what was your father doing at that age?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”

Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.

That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.

Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.

It’s not confirmation, really, but...

Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.

“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”

“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”

“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”

[wonder-kid-pugh]

They are Always with Us - (Christen Press X reader)

Everyone was anxious this camp. Of course they were. The World Cup was only a few months away and roster selection was only around the corner. Which meant that every camp mattered. You needed to come and prove that you deserved a spot on that roster.

But that wasn't the only reason everyone was anxious

"Is she here yet?" Ali asks in a quiet whisper to the table which consisted of me, Ash, Pinoe, Becky, Alyssa and Alex.

Pinoe shakes her head slightly. "No. She and Tobin are arriving soon. Tobin flew out to her so she could keep her company and so they could come together".

Alex let's out a low sigh as she runs her hand through her hair. "Gosh. I wasn't sure if she would come or not. I don't know if I would be able to do it if I was in her shoes".

Ash stabs at her food as she shrugs, "I mean the World Cup is just around the corner. Every camp matters at this point".

"I know but we would all understand if she wouldn't come to this one. I mean she just lost her mom..." Alex says before trailing off at the moment end.

It was the sad reality of the situation. It's only been a month since Christen's mom passed away. We all knew how close she is with her family especially her mom. And to be honest we didn't know if she would come to this camp. It really killed us all to see the usually happy smiley and optimistic forward so sad. I remember attending the funeral with Tobin to offer support for Christen. It was crippling watching Christen leaning into her dad and sisters so devastated.

"Do we know who she's rooming with?" Ali asks again trying to move on the conversation quickly not wanting to dwell on the sad truth.

Everyone shakes their head and shrugs before I voice quietly. "I am". Everyone's head snaps to me in mild surprise. I guess they all thought she would be rooming with Tobin.

"Just make sure to give her the space she needs this camp. And maybe just keep an eye on her" Ali advises me with a small smile while I just nod. And with that the conversation swiftly moved onto talks of the World Cup.

After finishing up my food I throw away my trash before deciding to go to my room for a nap. But my eyes widen when I see one of my best friends standing there in front of me. "Tobin! Hi I didn't know you were here yet".

She gives me her signature big grinned smile as we both hug. "We only got here a short while ago. Was about to go get food. Christen said she was tired and went to take a nap in her room".

I nod as I bite my lip fiddling with my phone in my hands. "How is she?"

Tobin sighs letting out a huge huff of air as she scratches the back of her neck. "Didn't speak much to me on the flight or anything. I think she's still trying to come to terms with it. I think she just wants to busy herself now to distract herself". Tobin gets a cheeky smirk on her face, "She did say how she really wanted one of your big bear hugs though".

Of course Tobin knew about my crush on Christen. The three of us hang out all the time and caught me staring at Christen.... multiple times. That and Tobin was practically my sister of course she knew.

I can already feel my face burn as Tobin winks at me. "Shove it Tobs". She laughs a big belly laugh as she nodded her head towards the room. "Seriously though I think she would really like to see you".

I nod as I move towards my room, "Sure I'll see you later Tobs". She nods as she walks into the elevator, "See you later Lover girl".

I throw a middle finger back at her over my shoulder as I hear her cackle before the lift door's close. As I opened the door to our room I peak my head in, smiling when I see Christen was already passed out on the bed. But it's soon replaced with a frown as I see how exhausted she looked with subtle tear tracks on her face.

I move to plop down on my bed next to hers. But freeze when she starts to shuffle on the bed. She flips over onto her side so she's now facing my bed. A few loose strands falling into her face. I carefully and gently go to brush them out of her face and smile as I see her subconsciously smile before nuzzling her face into the pillow cuddling further into the blanket draped over her.

I climb back onto my bed ready to take my own nap. I stare at the ceiling for a bit. Usually if I was roomed with Christen I would be a nervous wreck. Worried I would let slip my feelings for her. But right now I can't focus on that. Right now she just needs me to be there for her. And as I drift off the last thought on my mind was that it didn't matter.

Cause Christen Press is way out of my league

---

I yawn tiredly as I stretch my arms over my head until there's a loud pop from my back. Media days sucked. They were always long and tiring.

And as much as I love Alex being paired with her both was awesome and sucked at the same time. Cause when I'm paired with her most of the questions get directed towards her with allows me to just sit quietly and answer a few questions as I wait for time to pass. But it almost meant everyone wanted to talk to her and so it always over ran and took forever.

So when I was finally released from media hell I couldn't wait to just curl up and crash for the night. Or maybe talk to Christen.

I would have been perfectly happy with either or.

Cause we haven't been able to fit in a proper conversation since she was already down in the meal room when I woke up from my nap. So apart from a small smile and a hug we haven't gotten the chance to really catch up.

As I'm digging around my sweatpants pocket for my room key I'm pulled from my task as I hear someone call me from behind. I turn to see Tobin and Mal walking towards me. "Hey guys".

Tobin grins at me, "Looks like Media has you dead on your feet". I just give her a blank 'really?' look causing the two to fall into giggles.

"Yeah well then your paired with Alex it seems like it's never ending media" I sigh. "Honestly I don't know how Alex does it. I'm pretty sure she answered the same question in about 6 different ways".

Mal scrunches her face in a small grimace. "Ouch. Media days are always kinda sucky. All we did was play Mario Kart all day".

I pout while the others once again laugh at my misfortune. "Lucky for some". My eyes flicker to my door as I swallow already feeling the heat from my cheeks. I clear my throat playing with my hands as I drop my voice slightly. "So uh have either of you seen Christen yet?"

Mal just shakes her head simply while Tobin gets a wicked grin on her face her eyes filling with mirth and glee. "No. But last I heard was that she was going to the roof".

When she winks at me I know I've been caught and rub the back of my neck shyly at Tobin let's out a big laugh while Mal looks between us confused. Swallowing back my embarrassment I shake my heat hoping the blush would die down quickly. "Uh I'm going to go check on her. Make sure she's okay".

But obviously Tobin sees through that as she winks at me. "Go get her Tiger".

I narrow my eyes at her and slap the back of her head as I walk past get towards the stairs. But wince and speed up when I hear Mal.

"Wait what?"

It takes a second before I hear Mal gasp and release a small "No!" Along with Tobin's hearty laugh. I mentally groan at the fact now Mal knows about my crush on Christen. Mentally working it out in my head how long is it going to be before the rest of the youngins as well as the entire team finds out.

Many many many stairs later and I'm finally on the roof. But now we come to the difficult part. What many people don't really know is.

I may have a 'slight' fear of heights

So when I look to see Christen leaning over what looks to me as a really rickety railing I can already feel my heart start to pound and I haven't even left the doorway.

So instead on focusing on how high we're up at the moment cause the thought alone makes me feel dizzy, I focus on Christen. How she has her arms crossed leaning on the silver metal railing. How she's wearing a pair of shorts and a loose and baggy shirt. Which upon further inspection I realize is mine. I smile thinking how many of my clothes she must had stored away somewhere.

Any time I bring it up she would always unapologetically smile at me as she wrapped her arms around herself and argue that my clothes were always warmer. But that's probably to do with the fact that I'm taller than her and my clothes are always bigger and baggy on her which makes her ten times cuter.

She had her long curly hair tied back in a ponytail keeping her hair out of her face and splayed out on her back. Except for these small strands near her face which are flying around due to the wind.

For a split second her elegance and beauty had me in such awe that I forgot about my fear

"Are you okay?"

I instantly curse myself out in my head. Of course she isn't okay. How stupid could I be. I physically wince at my stupidity but Christen just looks at me from over her shoulder and sends me a small smile before looking back out over the railing.

I gulp and pull at the neck of my jersey hoping that would help me breathe but it doesn't. Swallowing hard I take tentative steps towards Christen. Once I make it beside her I grip the railing hard with what could only be described as hanging on for life or death grip. With the railing in both hands I force myself not to look down and just breathe.

I only open my eyes when I see Christen sigh and step back still holding the railing but moving so that she now has her chin on her arms against the railing peering up at me through her eyelashes

Oh sweet Jesus

"How was media day?" Her voice is soft and light but still slightly strained.

I shrug being as brave to tap my thumbs against the railing in an attempt to distract myself. I fail. "You know. The usual. Long. I just let Alex do the talking mostly. Which is easy cause who would want to talk to me with her in the room?"

I meant it as a joke but obviously she doesn't find it funny as she frowns at me. "Your still important too Y/n/n".

I blush and make the mistake of looking out over the railing and then settle for looking at my shoes. "I...I know Chris. Just...". I sigh, "Who would want to talk to me when you have Alex Morgan in the room?"

I can see from the corner of my eye that she pouts at my statement before leaning her head against my bicep making me tense. "Well no offense to Alex but I much rather talk to you all day than Alex". She gives me a cute smile as she looks at me sideways. "Especially if it means I get more if those special bear hugs".

I bite my lip and look down but in doing so I accidentally ended up looking over the railing and down all the way to the ground. I felt like I wanted to keel over and just barf. My vision was starting to go wavey. The only thing keeping me upright was the fact that I knew Christen had other things on her mind to be putting up with my shit and the fact I was holding onto the railing so tight I was surprised there wasn't a dent in it.

There's a small silence. It was peaceful. The only noise there was the wind and the slight flapping of out clothes. And while I was trying to figure out what was best to say I guess Christen could see right through me.

"I miss her" she says softly distracting me from the urge to spill my guts over the railing. Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Accompanied by a tiny sniffle at the end. And I could see her look up and blink rapidly no doubt fighting back tears. "I miss her a lot".

I frown as I watch the person I love so much start to crack and crumble slowly. I open my mouth hoping to provide some sort of comfort but nothing comes out.

I sigh as I run my hand over my hair before I gently put my hand on hers. "I know Chris. I know". I close my eyes and take a deep breath before deciding to disclose something that not many people know about. "Have I ever told you about my family?"

I wait as I watch her think for a second before shaking her head. I dig around in my pocket for my wallet before I pull out a small picture and hand it to her. I smile as I watch her handle it so delicately. "I know everyone thinks Tobin and her family are my family, which I suppose is kinda true. Cause in College Tobin and her family practically adopted me into theirs". I point at the picture. "But that's my real family".

I can see Christen furrow her eyebrows in confusion as she looks at all the different people in the picture.

I look at the picture over her shoulder and smile fondly remembering the day it was taken. "This was taken the day I got my first call up to camp". I take a deep breath before I look away knowing what her reaction is going to be. Cause everyone has the same reaction when I tell them. "I came back from practice one day to see the entire orphanage had thrown me a party to celebrate".

And just as I expected her head pops up in surprise and her eyes widen

I can see how her mouth opens and closes several times but no words come out. I mean I understand that's usually the reaction I get from people. That and pity.

I shake my head smiling softly at her. "I didn't tell you to get sympathy or anything like that. It wasn't that bad. I mean it had it's moments and money was pretty tight most of the time but I have pretty awesome brothers and sisters". I wait a second as she continues examining the picture. "Did you know your mom knew?" I ask quietly.

Now that gets a reaction as her head snaps towards me and she stands up properly. "Really?"

I nod with a smile. "Yeah. Once I told her I wasn't related to Tobin she asked where my parents where and I told her the truth". I chuckle a bit as I rub my thumb over her knuckles. "She didn't treat me differently at all. All she did was hug me and she always invited me over for the holidays". My smile drops slightly, "I wish I had taken up at least one of those offers now. She truly was amazing".

"She never told me" she whispers quietly. She looks as if she's replaying all the conversations she had with her mom trying to think if she ever mentioned it.

I squeeze her hand. "I asked her not to tell you. I always thought she would but I guess she kept her word".

Christen looks down. "It was always important to her. Keeping her word".

I smile brushing some of those fly away hairs from her face and behind her ear. "It just made her even more incredible than she already was".

Christen looks down as she clasps her hands on a long beaded necklace. It takes me a second before I recognize it to be her mother's. "I really miss her".

And it seems that was what breaks the dam as her voice breaks and tears start to leak from her eyes. She starts to curl in on herself before she burrows into me. I hug her with one arm the other still holding tightly to the railing. But as I feel her tears start to wet my shirt I chide myself and ignore my fear and throw my arms around her holding her securely into my chest. I whisper small coos and reassurances in her ear as her sobs eventually start to die down.

As she stops crying she nuzzles her face into my chest making me let out a content smile. "Sorry".

I rub my hand in small circles on her back as I squeeze her tighter into me. "It's okay. Nothing to be sorry for". She looks up at me gives me a teary smile before her hands stop on my chest and she scrunches her face. "Y/n/n? Your heart is pounding. Like it's about to jump out of your chest?"

At that reminder my right hand goes back to clutching the railing while the other rubs the back of my neck sheepishly almost like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Well" I stutter. "I might...kinda...have a fear of heights and we're really high right now and-"

Christen's eyes widen before she chuckles and takes my hand pulling me away from the railing and back to the center of the roof well away from the edge. I can already feel my vision getting better. "Why didn't you say so? You would have comforted me just as well from here".

With red cheeks, I shrug shyly scuffing my shoe against the ground only looking up when Christen giggles.

"Well that was really sweet of you Y/n" she smiles before she bites her lip. "Honestly I thought it was maybe... because of me". She scoffs quietly. "Stupid right?"

I blink at her owlishly trying to register her words before they finally click. Did she just....?

"What? No! I-I mean I..." I stop stumbling over my words and take a deep breath as I see her smile clearly amused at me. "I mean yes my heart was beating fast because of how high we are up. But I do like you and if we weren't this high up and there was a threat of me getting throwing my guts up right now you would definitely have my heart racing. I just always thought you were way out of my league. I mean your....you".

She bites her lip as she smiles and shakes her head at me as if I'm telling some bad corny joke. I gulp hard as she steps closer to me as I stay frozen in my place. "You never give yourself enough credit Y/n. I never understand how you can't see how amazing you are. I mean you came all the way up here, even though your terrified of heights, just to check on me". I see her eyes flicker down to my lips, "I think that's amazingly selfless of you".

And before my mind can catch up she leans in and kisses me softly at first as her hands lean up again my shoulders. As my mind slowly starts to comprehend what's happening my hands slowly move to her waist as I kiss back.

She pulls back only to come back for another kiss moving even closer so there's practically no space between us. Her hands move down and untuck my jersey from my joggers. I gasp as the kiss starts to get more intense and I have to hold myself back from letting a moan slip through my lips. Everything is better than I could have ever imagined. But while every part of me screams to let this continue. I know I can't keep letting this happen.

I pull back breathing heavy and I can see Christen inch in for another but using my grip on her hips I hold her back. Her eyes furrow and scrunch in confusion and concern as she searches my face for any tells.

I sigh screwing my eyes closed for a second trying to prepare myself. Not wanting to fall for those green eyes before I open my eyes. "Chris I would love nothing more for us to continue this. Like you don't know how much this pains me". I look into her eyes sincerely, "But I know your not in the right place right now. Your still getting over your mom and probably stressed about the World Cup and everything".

I can see her features ease at that but she's still slightly hesitant. "I promise you I would love nothing more to keep doing this. I just want to give you a little time to make sure this is something you want and not because your sad and want something to distract you. I don't want to take advantage of you like that".

With that Christen nods and smiles while on sigh glad I was able to convince her of my intentions. "Your too good Y/n".

I just smile down at her as I take my hand. "I just want what's best for you Chris....even if you decide that isn't me".

I move her hand to my chest directly over my heart. "But just so you know that I was being serious". I let her feel how fast my heart was beating. Even faster than when I was over at the ledge. "See? No where near the edge and you will have my heart racing. All systems were ready to go. And when I get back to our room I'll definitely need a cold shower".

I smile brightly as Christen bursts out in giggles trying to hide them behind her hand. "Gosh you make me laugh even when I think it's not possible anymore".

"I will make a fool out of myself everyday if it means I get to hear you laugh" I tell her honestly giving her hand a small squeeze. She smiles and gives me one small chaste kiss.

I smile into the kiss before we break apart and lean my forehead against hers. "Just remember. The ones who love us never really leave us". I point to her heart, "They'll always be in here".

She opens her mouth and scrunches her nose at me trying and failing to hide a smile blooming on her face. "Did you just...."

But before she could finish I nod. "Quote Harry Potter? Yes. Yes I did".

She giggles at me and gives me one last peck before pulling me by the hand back to our room.

"C'mon you dork I want some special bear hugs when we get back to our room".

[crowdedimagines]

moving on and moving out

we got some angsttttttttt 

Neither of them wanted it to get to this point, but after years of being together. The love faded. The spark died. Neither of them wanted to fight anymore. The distance, the tours, the filming got to be too much. They weren’t a couple anymore.

At least that’s how Harry thought it was...

“I think we both knew that this was coming. I think we were just waiting for who could say it first.”

I nod, letting him speak on how he feels. It cuts me to my core to the point my heart is experiencing physical pain, but I am not going to let that show. If he feels like the spark died, I’m not going to try and prove him wrong.

“Fine.”

“I’ll-uh get the movers to sign an NDA-”

“No.” I interrupt, “Just leave for the day and I’ll pack up my things.”

I lived here for three years. In our home, our home which now I’m assumed to be leaving. Now in the span of a day I need to pack it all up.

All of my things except for what’s in the closet have been boxed up. I make my way up to our bedroom that I have claimed has half mine for years now. The closet is a mix of mine and his. It used to be his on the left side, and mine on the right when you walk in, but over the years and the sharing and stealing of clothes, it’s intermixed. It’s going to take me longer than I thought.

I hear the door open and shut downstairs, signaling that Harry’s returned. It’s late, but I should’ve made him get a hotel, because I am nowhere near done. I can hear heavy footsteps on the stairs followed by a high pitched giggle. I step out of the closet in full shock, Harry bursts in, a girl on his arm. I can feel my body turn white hot.

“Y/n?” He asks, it shows on his face that he’s shocked to see me here.

“What the fuck?” I shout, gesturing between him and the girl.

“Your car wasn’t in the driveway-“ He clears his throat. The girl releases her tight grip on him and sits down on my side of the bed to kick off her shoes.

“Yeah it’s in the garage, where it always is.” I huff, I am practically seeing red at this point. The anger and hurt I’m feeling are the only things stopping an outpour of tears.

“I can’t believe you, can you seriously move on that fast?”  

“I-”

“Listen, I’m down for a threesome.” The stranger chimes in with a slur. I look between the two of them while Harry just stares at me. I know I must look like a maniac. Completely unhinged, and it’s because I am.

“You know what? Keep all this shit, throw it out, donate it, I don’t care anymore.” I push past him out of my old bedroom.

“Y/n wait-“ Harry races after me as I fly down the stairs.

“No! While I was packing up my whole life, moving everything out, three years of living together, you were moving on. Cheers to that!” I pull the door behind me as hard as I can, making the house shake with a slam as I exit. I get in my car and speed out of the driveway. I can see Harry standing outside on the sidewalk in my rearview mirror and I finally let the tears fall. I turn left and go to the only place that makes sense right now.

Gemma let me into her apartment and pulled me in for a hug instantly. She is one of the few people who knew Harry and I were splitting up.

“What did he do now?” She asks, not even letting me go an inch from her grasp.

“I don’t want to come and complain about your brother to you. I couldn’t drive in this condition and I just can’t go anywhere without being papped. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. I don’t care about whatever Harry and you are to each other, you are a sister to me Y/n.”

Gemma gets me to calm down enough with a cup of tea and a couple deep breaths that I can explain to her what happened. If I was seeing red, Gemma is seeing black. I think she could kill him if she saw him. We talk things through a little more and she sets up her guest room. She gives me space to get ready for bed and I climb into a steaming hot bath and sink lower into it.

Harry’s POV

I watch as Y/n pulls down the driveway. I would chase after her if I thought that would help anything. Even if I could catch her, she would probably run me down. I can’t believe I thought bringing someone home for a hookup was a good idea. In our bed of all places.

I make my way back inside and lean against the door, unable to hold my own body weight up anymore. I feel sick. I should feel sick after that.

“Baby?” A shrill voice asks from the top of the stairs.

Christ.

“Leave.” I answer.

“What?” Her voice laced with shock.

“Get. Out.”

I walk into the kitchen to lean against the counter and hear the front door open and close a few minutes later.

“Well Harry, you really can fuck up a good thing any chance you get.” I mumble to myself.

I take a walk through the house, noticing all of the absence of Y/n’s things. It doesn’t even look like the same house. She has boxes cluttered everywhere. The house is devoid of all things her. Everything that made this a home.

I notice on top of one of the boxes is one of the scrapbooks she made in quarantine. She went through a phase where she wanted all her memories in physical form. I pull it from the box and take it over to the couch.

It has all sorts of pictures, tickets, and other small keepsakes from her travels. Our travels. All of our trips, vacations, everything. Page after page with notes littering explaining different things on the page.

Each page has something new on it and I can’t help but smile and cry. How can I have thought the spark died? Everything on here is treasured in my heart. Even the pages that aren’t with us, like her backpacking trip with her friends. I want to add more pages. This can’t be the end, can it?

This is my soulmate. Who I kicked out of our own home.

I quickly get up from the couch, taking the scrapbook with me. Gemma is the only person I know who knows Y/n nearly as well as me. She is the only person who might know how I can fix this.

I pull into Gemma's neighborhood and notice a familiar car parked in the driveway. Y/n. I throw myself out of the car and race up the front steps. The door is locked and I just start knocking. The porch light comes on and Gemma pulls the curtain to the side to see who is bothering her this late.

“You’re pathetic.” Gemma scolds.

“I know. I need to see her.” I plead.

“That’s not an option.” She puts her body in front of the gap in the door. “How’d you even know that she’s here?”

“I didn't, I came to see my sister, but it seems you have other priorities. Ya know, you’re supposed to be my sister”

“Not tonight.” She crosses her arms over her chest, “After the stunt you pulled tonight you’re lucky I even opened the door.”

“I just need to see her.” I beg, “I just need to see that she’s okay. I need to make this alright.”

“She’s not okay! Gemma yells, “You can’t fix this! You broke something and it isn’t yours to fix.”

“But-”

“Are you trying to kick me out of another Styles home tonight?” A voice from behind Gemma calls.

We both turn to see Y/n standing in the doorway of the guest room. Her hair is wet, and she’s wearing a pair of pajamas that have obviously been borrowed from Gem. Christ. She doesn’t even have her own pajamas.

“Wha-? No, no of course not!”

Her red eyes expose that she was crying. I’ve only seen her cry this hard twice the entire time I’ve known her. I’ve never been the cause, which I can’t say anymore.

“He was actually just leaving.” Gemma cuts in, her face moves from Y/n to me and turns more stern.

“Good.” Y/n stands a little taller knowing this. “Night, Gem.”

She shuts her bedroom door.

“Gem.” I plead, my eyes flooding with tears.

She looks back to check on the Y/n’s door before she nods for me to step outside with her. She sits down on her front step and gestures for me to join her.

“What am I supposed to do?” I sigh, “I love her. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t.” She punches my shoulder and I yelp. I didn’t think she could hit that hard. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t understand it when you told me you were splitting. Mum doesn’t either. You bought a ring for her less than two months ago and now she’s moving out.”

“I know. I messed up. I think I freaked myself out. Do you remember Mum and Dad when they were still together? Do you remember how ugly it got?” I ask, looking to my older sister for advice.

“Yeah, probably more than you.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t get a divorce. Imagine trying to recover from that.”

“Harry, you and Y/n are not Mum and Dad. I know that. Everyone knows that, except for you apparently. Do you still want a future with Y/n?” She asks and I nod without a second of hesitation.

“She’s the one Gem, I know that now.”

“Yeah, you know that now that you’ve brought someone else home. You’re such an idiot. How can you think that would’ve been a good idea bringing some girl home.”

“I couldn’t come home to an empty house by myself.” I wipe away a tear. “I knew she would be gone and I would be alone in our house. Couldn’t do it.”

“You’re going to have to work hard to get that girl back.” Gemma takes my hand in hers.

“I plan on it.”

[mohluskiepedard]

Rating ATLA Characters literally only from what I’ve seen in fandom

or: posts that probably shouldn’t be on my writeblr except I don’t have a sideblog

the context here is it’s half midnight and I have never seen ATLA except I have opinions now apparently so here we go whoop de do- 

I’m also not actually rating them like numerically that’s too much work i’m just stating opinions I know I’m a fraud

AANG

- A child?  - A son?  - he is Baby. but also. he has had It Rough  - would make the updog joke - has unspeakable power or smth and everyone says he’s better than the Korra girl who comes after him but honestly tastes like sexism to me - doesn’t kill people because he’s like twelve, right? he’s like twelve so he refuses to kill people - I stan honestly - less twelve year olds should kill people - Some people say his name WRONG and they are BAD but i don’t actually know what the right way or the wrong way is so. have fun w that yall - lived in peace unTIL THE FIRE NATION ATTACKED 

KATARA

- She is also like twelve???  - Is everyone here twelve - Cortana?? Katana?? Catbug??  - She has good hair, - Her mother is dead??? her mother is dead n she has a brother but she cares about her mother being dead WAY more than him (or apparently the entire fandom??) - Badass - She seems soft. good. sweet - she’s a water breather or whatever??? her brother is NOT but he is a meme - I love her 

SOKKA

- NGL looks like a fuckboy  - The meme brother! does not do the water things, but he has an aXe???  - dates BAMF lady - ngl until I talked to my ATLA watching friend I thought he canonically dated Zuko  - kinda mad he doesn’t - I haven’t actually seen anything about him except like. in zuko ship posts and also Suki appreciation posts - joined the white lotus not-a-cult by accident???  - dark ATLA tumblr show me more Sokka posts - is his name prounounced the same way as Soccer or isn’t it I need to know - HIS FIRST GIRLFRIEND TURNED INTO THE MOON - (AND THAT’S ROUGH, BUDDY) - He and Suki are a good ship, but also, Sokka Has Two Hands

SUKI

- the BAMF herself - she says STOP in that photo but also to sexism - Rlly all I see of her in fanon is abt her teaching Sokka to drink his respect women juice and I appreciate her doing that but also it’s sad she never gets talked about outside of what she did for a man - I hope she has other badass moments w/o him it would suck if she didn’t - she is NOT the girlfriend who turned into the moon, she is the one who didn’t - I don’t know much else about her ATLA Fandom y’all should appreciate her more

ZUKO

- Look at him... my son... - He has a good redemption arc - he and his sister are evil lesbian and redeemed gay guy??? - has a straight canon ship but should’ve been with Sokka this boy is gay - I Want To Protect Him - That’s literally it - he has a cool uncle and his dad sucks  - people ship him with Katara and I Do Not Get It that’s his sister in law except not really - “We don’t trust Zuko’s change of heart” [the next day] “so Zuko is my closest friend now,”  - His dad was like “fuck up the avatar to prove your worth to me” and Aang was like “counter argument you already have worth and we should fuck up your dad” and I think that’s beautiful - he becomes the fire man and he’s very good at it - Zuko for President 2020 - in the words of myself, half an hour ago: “ I was like "that kid with the burn on his face seems like a sad but then happy mlm who needs found family" and I was RIGHT” - took too long to find a happy picture of him :( Zuko rights NOW please - His mother’s story got compared to an OC of mine and all I can say is oh no and they deserve better based on that alone - I have had Zuko for five minutes but if anything else happens to him I will kill everyone in this throne room and then myself

TOPH

- She is badass but like also will murder you while laughing maniacally? - for some reason reminds me of Nott from Critical Role, another show I Have Not Seen - Is blind but gets more out of making jokes abt being blind than she would from being able to see - “Sight is just a cheap tactic to make weak benders stronger!!!” - Literally the opposite of Aang and has killed many people?? - She Can Tell When You’re Lying. But I do not know how and Am simply mildly threatened by this - Therapist: Toph’s ability to know if you’re lying isn’t real and can’t hurt you. Toph’s ability to know if I’m lying:  - She and Zuko.... buddies???  - if not they should be - tiny sad boy needs friends like toph

AZULA

- Evil Lesbian Culture - [BDG Voice] You committed a war crime! Oopsie! - took be gay do crime too literally - her and Zuko have accurate sibling writin except instead of “you ever want to murder your sibling for breathing in the same space as you,” being a Joke Azula took it seriously - okay but with a name like azula she should be the blue bender this ANNOYS me she should NOT be red bender - AZULa  - AZUL - IT MEANS BLUE - She was half of y’alls gay awakenings and it SHOWS - Should have maybe been redeemed too??? Jury is out no one knows - Was she gay for Ty Lee or wasn’t she I can’t tell how much of that Audio is a joke - IS SHE ALSO TWELVE??? IS EVERYONE HERE TWELVE?? IS THIS TWELVE YEAR OLD COMITTING ATROCITIES? 

UNCLE IROH

- A Good Man - Finally, Some Good Fucking [Adult Figures]  - he has the tea. literally and figuratively - Ozai is like “and I will permanently disfigure my son and throw him out” and Iroh is like “What The Fuck, Ozai,” thus voicing the entire audience’s thoughts - Literally the only adult in this that I trust - I? I love him. this is all I have to say. my love for him is unending. Some1 protect this man from all harm   - he’s Zuko’s uncle (and also Azula ig) but he does not seem related to Ozai. is it just a theme in this family that one sibling is chill and one sibling commits horrendous atrocities against your fellow human beings or  - something happened to his son???? :((((( I Don’t Want Him To Have Suffered Like This

OZAI

- A BAD MAN - Uh Oh (stinky)  - THE WORST OF THE MEN  - I do not like him - Bastard man. nasty. committed war crimes and then went “but what if - get this - i also abused my son,”  - I would like him to Not Be Like This - by Like This I mean present and alive  - :/ 

TY LEE

- She’s NOT the There Is No War In Ba Sing Se lady and I don’t know why i thought she WAS but until I looked up her photo I thought that was her  - She looks like a sweetheart tho - I hope nothing bad happens to her????  - talks about auras??? or smth??? let her vibe - She would talk animatedly to me about warrior cats if she was in my year seven class and I was sat alone and I would understand none of it but appreciate her anyway - if azula bullies her I’ll be :( at Azula and Azula will not care because she has Mommy Issues and therefore is slightly unhinged - She seems like that one kid with no trauma vibing at the edge of [every other kid having trauma] and not really getting it but trying her best - Is she also twelve?????? She maybe looks twelve

CABBAGE MAN 

- HIS CABBAGES - fulfills my favourite trope: ordinary person repeatedly has life disrupted by the inconveniences of relying on actual children to save the world - probably has a campaign post canon for letting trained adults fix the worlds’ problems in the future - or sets up the Very First Cabbage Insurance Company - look at him. he loves his cabbages so much. you go you funky lil cabbage man

ALSO THE MOST IMPORTANT ONES MOMO

- LOOK AT HIM HE’S SO GOOD - small. fluffy. big ears - Lord Momo of the Momo Dynasty: his Momoness - a Good Boy...

APPA

- he looks so soft... - he can fly but he just does it by??? vibing through the air?? motionless??? iconic - I saw that one post about mishearing it as Abba and thinking he was Aang’s dad and he looks like he would be a good stand in dad ngl - he’s so LORGE - a chonky boy - love him

that is everyone I have heard of it and if I left someone out it’s a sign that y’all should talk about em more bc I have no clue they exist put more ATLA On my Dash ig I’ll do Legend of Korra ig maybe apparently that one has canon wlw and i love me some canon wlw

[silversatoru]

HOHO💖THANK YOU 💘 I was thinking one very Angst with Gojo, like.. He realizes he loves his best friend, but when he confesses they heavily reject him saying they could never trust him that way due to his womanizer self(?) and bc they love nanami,, like,, when they see him they're like 🎇💘MMHH YES, I feel awful but I love seeing gojo in pain for somewhat reason

Im so sorry😂🙏 if you don't want to write this, it's okay👌😌 thank you dear💖

too late

a/n: my past like 4 gojo asks have all been about him being a whore,,, y’all love to slander this man and see him in pain (me too)

synopsis: gojo loves you, you love nanami, things are messy 

t/w: angst, gojo is very sad

w/c: 1.4k

you’ve been gojo satoru’s best friend for as long as you can remember — two brainless jujutsu sorcerers who could never take anything seriously. the two of you together were simultaneously the biggest annoyance and also quite a force to be reckoned with. your abilities were no where near those of satoru, but you complimented him perfectly and no one stood a chance if the two of you were together — and you were always together.

in fact you were together right now, grabbing some food after effortlessly taking out some curses a few cities over. satoru enjoyed the sweeter things in life, downing a package of powdered-coated dough balls while you stuck to your savory bowl of spicy rice cakes. this was tradition for the two of you, sitting on a random bench somewhere in a random city munching on snacks and debriefing on the mission you’d just completed.

you loved it, and you loved satoru — like a brother, like a best friend, like a favorite teammate. you loved satoru but not in the way he loved you.

it was a recent realization, that he loved you in a romantic kind of way. he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but recently your eyes have sparkled a little more, your skin glowed a little brighter, and your voice sounded a little smoother when it flowed into his ears. it was right now, while he watched your sauce-covered lips suck down another rice cake, that he realized he wanted nothing more than to kiss you — right here and right in front of everyone. 

the only problem was, he had quite the history of being a womanizer. satoru went through women as if they were a one-time-use disposable product, and you were very aware of this. but none of those women were you, and he promised himself that he’d give you everything you deserved when he finally confessed. 

“can i have one?” you pointed to his near empty package of sweets and shook him out of his thoughts.

satoru wasn’t much for sharing, especially his desserts, but you were an exception. he plucked out a powdery ball (one that he knew was your favorite flavor) and popped it into your mouth. him hand-feeding you should have been weird, but you’ve been friends for so long that you didn’t think twice about it. you bit the sticky dough down between your teeth, a cheesy smile stretching across your face when you noticed he got your flavor right. 

“th-aanks,” you mumbled, mouth stuffed full of sugary confection. 

in the midst of your chewing, you felt a napkin swipe across your mouth to remove the excess powdered sugar. you eyed satoru suspiciously, starting to catch on to how overly-touchy he was being today. but he just shrugged, making snarky comments about how messy of an eater you were.

it wasn’t until the two of you finished your snacks and were walking through the city that you finally questioned him. he’d wrapped his arm through yours, pulling you close so you were walking right next to his side — his weirdly intimate actions today were starting to stack up. 

“what are you doing?” you peered up at him, giving your arm a small yank as you attempted (and failed) to put some space between the two of you. 

“that guy over there was checking you out,” he shamelessly pointed to a dark-haired man further up the street, his voice defensive. 

“okay, and? that bothers you-?” you yanked again, finally pulling your arm free of his embrace.

“no, but he looks like a weirdo, you deserve someone better than that,” he insisted, an evil grin on his face as he turned his pointer finger so it was facing himself. 

“like me!”

“oh, like nanami” 

your voices came out at the exact same time, but the content of your words could not have been more different. 

“nanami!?”

“you!?”

the two of you froze in the middle of the street, faces covered in equal amounts of shock and confusion. satoru had finally confessed his feelings to, and you’d just accidentally and unintentionally shut him down with one word — nanami.

“nanami?” he repeated again, an edge to his voice as he tried to protect his ego and mask his jealousy. 

“yeah, i- uh, i planned to tell you soon that we’ve been seeing each other recently. i had no idea that you-” you scrambled to explain the situation, trying not to let the hurt on your friend’s face get to you, “you’re with other women all the time satoru, how was i supposed to know?”

he winced at the unintentional insult, his history with women weighing heavy on his shoulders as he realized it was a prominent factor in your rejection. 

“ah - it’s fine! nanami beat me to it i guess. i’m happy for you guys,” he attempted a genuine smile, and anyone else may have been fooled by it too, but you knew him better than to fall for his shitty façade. 

you noticed the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow, and the smallest quiver of his lip as he continued to hide and protect his true feelings. it broke your heart in half, having to watch him put on a show like this. 

“i’m sorry,” you let the apology spill from your lips a few times, but he was very quick to remind you that none of this was your fault. 

“we’ll still be friends, right? i don’t know what i’d do without you,” you gave him a somber look, imagining a future without him by your side. 

satoru and nanami were good friends as well, and you’d never forgive yourself if this tore their friendship apart. 

“of course,” he gave you a cheeky smile and then continued walking down the street with a quick wave of his hand, instructing you to follow him. 

you jogged a couple steps to catch up to him, and he immediately started making jokes about a weird-looking man who was selling street food to your left. in a matter of seconds he was back to his typical self — so much so that it seemed as if your conversation had never happened. 

and that's exactly how satoru tried to imagine his life — as if that conversation had never occurred. he knew how important he was to you, but he also saw the way you looked an nanami with stars in your eyes. he knew that you needed them both, and so he stayed and watched you fall in love with someone who wasn’t him. 

whenever you asked, he told you that it had been a weird one-time thing and that he didn’t feel that way towards you anymore. he’d listen to your stories about the ex-business man and force smiles and laughter to make you happy. because that was all he ever wanted, for you to be happy, and if that meant you had to be with someone else, so be it. 

you and satoru were one in the same, so incredibly alike that maybe you would never have worked out anyway. you were raging with energy, energy that satoru only fueled stronger — where as nanami was gentle, peaceful, the opposite of you and your silver-haired counterpart. nanami cooled you down and and kept you centered, and that was what you needed, but it was something satoru would never have been able to give you. 

so when years had gone by and nanami asked him to be the best man at your wedding, he was crippled. he knew how important it was to you but he could hardly stand the thought of watching you vow yourself to the blonde-man. but despite his feelings, he didn’t even hesitate to say yes. you’d be so disappointed if he hadn’t.

and so he threw on his mask one last time, standing tall in a sleek, black suit as he watch you spill your feelings to nanami in a beautiful vow. you looked perfect, so stunning, and it tore him up that he wasn’t the one standing across from you. 

but he laughed and smiled all night, because that’s who he was. gojo satoru was always expected to be the life the party, and it was a heavy burden to carry. he was so tired of keeping up an act for you and for everyone else; all he wanted was to bury his head into your neck and rest. but he’d never have that, he’d never have you, and tonight made it official. 

[deluluass]

all yours; all mine

71 and 58 with Atsumu pleaseeese. I just love this man and I would appreciate it if you wrote something with him. Youre so talented!💕 — anon

sidenote: anon, i hope u know that u have a very special place in my heart for being the first ask ive ever received. i hope u are well & having a gr8 day ;U;

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; daddy kink; mild angst; implied post-breakup depression; toxic relationship/s

Breakups are a messy business. A lot of crying, begging, screaming (if it's that type of a breakup). Whatever it is, breakups generally inspire intense— so-intense-it-could-get-you-kicked-out-if-you're-in-a-public-place, high-strung, and the most unpleasant kind of emotions. 

It’s understandable, considering you’re losing the person you love. 

But he doesn't even look upset.

"Aah," Atsumu sing-songed, twirling the plastic stirrer between his fingers. "Ya wanna call it off?"

The heat from the mug bit your skin as you gripped it. 

"What?" you choked, shaking your head. "I didn't say that, Atsumu. I only-"

He scoffed. "Fuckin'- ya just did."

You finally looked up at him, porcelain clinking as you placed your drink back on the saucer. Ball cap on,  muscles filling up and straining his hoodie and jeans; even in an outfit that almost concealed him he never fails to take your breath away. 

Only, it's for a different reason this time.

"I said that I-" you cleared your throat. "I want- I want you to-"

"I get it, I get it." Atsumu sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Let's break up, then."

He was already standing up and he didn't even deign to meet your eyes. You didn't expect much when you'd travelled all the way to Tokyo just to have a talk with him. After all, the last conversation you had was over the phone. (And that, too, did not go well). 

Though, is it too much to expect he'd at least listen to what you have to say?

"Tsumu-kun! Wait!" 

Some customers were already staring, urging you to hide, hop on the next train, and run back home; away from the cold scrutiny of strangers. 

But not now. Not when what you have with him is hanging on a balance.

"Please, sit down and- and let's talk," you huffed, voice and hand trembling as you held onto his.

Breakups are a messy business, you heard.

A lot of crying. A lot of begging. A lot of screaming. Whichever kind it is, don't breakups usually inspire only the most intense emotions?

But he doesn't even look upset, doesn't even look like he feels anything other than a passing irritation, as if you were a fly buzzing in his ear, when he told you, "I know this is ya first rodeo, but yer gonna find someone new eventually, hm?"

It's been a long time coming, Atsumu thinks. He'd known for quite a while now that his relationship with you would end, actually, ever since you'd wanted to include "feelings" and "trust" and "opening up" into the mix. 

"Why?" he'd laughed at your face once. "What? Ya ain't happy? That it? We got somethin' good goin' on don't we?"

He didn't get it, at first. You'd always been your cheerful, bubbly self; never failing to be that one sunny spot when his day gets too pesky and such a pain in the ass. You were happy.

Until you weren't. 

"You don't.. tell me things," you muttered, fiddling with your hands on the kitchen table. "Which is fine! I'm not- go at your pace, but- but know that I'd listen to you. Always. I'm here, 'Tsumu."

And it wasn't as if he didn't try. It's just that Atsumu realized, a few months later, that he wasn't any good at it. 

Every time he'd lay it all out in front of you⁠— every tiny and pathetic and gritty part of him, you would eventually take him in your arms. So much smaller, weaker than his and yet Atsumu did not mind if it could be his entire world. 

Then, a thought would creep in, like a thief that'd stab him in his sleep. In the safety of those tender arms, with those guileless eyes peering at him, Atsumu would think that he'd rather stay there forever, cling onto you until he bites the dust.  

It disgusted him. 

Atsumu couldn't stand it. Because if he could be anything in this short life, he'd choose to be perfect. And that- that wasn't it. 

So he avoided it when the occasion arose. Diverting the subject to mundane stuff was easy, at first. The weather, the new show you're binging, your slacker of a boss, what happened back in the game. When that didn't work⁠— well, there were other ways. 

(His favorite was sticking his tongue in your wet cunt, to prod at the soft walls with the tip, and to lap and suck at the clit until you're begging for the stretch of his fat cock.)

The break up was understandable. When you'd greeted him in the café as if you'd spent the entire time you were apart crying, Atsumu knew it was over. 

You just repeated what you'd always said. It's okay to be vulnerable. If he needs some time to work out the right words then you'd always wait because I love you, 'Tsumu. 

(But there was that feeling again. Like he could die on the spot if you would so much as leave his sight.)

(Ending it was the only way out. When poison seeps itself into the bloodstream, you're left with no choice but to cut off a part of you.)

Unlike others, he can say that it was a clean parting. You wanted something and he was bad at it. And because he hated fucking up, Atsumu decided to leave. Easy. 

Really, the only people who didn't understand were his teammates.

"That's strange," Hinata spat, rice bursting to his chin when he suddenly faced Atsumu. "I don't think I've seen her for weeks now."

He could hear barely suppressed groans  behind him, no doubt from Bokuto and the others, before their spiker blurted out a confused, "What?"

Because, of course, Hinata could only mean one "her.” (There had only ever been one that Atsumu Miya allowed inside the team's gymnasium; inside his circle of friends; inside his life.)

Apparently, except for Hinata Shoyo, everyone had caught on that the both of you had thrown in the towel, so to speak. (And here they thought the guy's finally in it for real.)

"Nah, it's fine," Atsumu smirked, addressing it to everyone gathered around Samu's onigiri stand.  

"We broke up." 

He clicked his tongue. "It's not like there ain't no other fish in the sea."

The remark, casually said in between sips of cold coffee, was met with a gaping silence. 

That turned out to be right, like everything else that he'd predicted. 

A hole is a hole is a hole is a hole. No disrespect meant to you. But before you there had been many others who'd helped warm his bed. It just so happened that you got to stay for far longer. 

(Because waking up next to you meant waking up to that dreamy look, as if whoever's in charge up there has finally given you everything you've ever wanted.)

(And when he greets you with a hoarse good morning you say it back with eyes that tell him he's worth it, simply for being there.)

Anyway, going back to that old routine hadn't been difficult. 

(Except when he finally does it with someone new, for some reason he keeps searching for a different touch, expecting that endearing combination of inexperience and enthusiasm.)

(And when they cum he can't help but put a hand on their mouth, around their throat, because he's hearing the wrong voice, seeing the wrong face.) 

It's obvious, looking at him. Everyone can see that life's going pretty well for Atsumu. He can only hope that the same goes for you.

"You're miserable."

Peeling your attention away from the mother braiding her young daughter's hair, you hurriedly brought it back to the two women sitting in front of you.

"See?" Aya swung her hand in your direction. "Not even listening."

"No, no," you giggled sheepishly. Kaori was already pursing her lips.

"No, seriously. I am."

You sat upright, setting the chopsticks on your bento box. 

"Then what was it she said?" Kaori pressed. She folded her arms and you knew you were in trouble. 

"Uh..huh." You nodded. "Right. So. Um...."

"You didn't catch it," said Kaori.

"I didn't catch it," you winced.

Both girls sighed. 

The first three buttons of their blouses were open, the heat of the afternoon getting to them. And as they leaned back against the wooden bench, you had a feeling that they were about to give you the Conversation that's been waiting to happen for two long months.

That's why you'd decided to start it before they could. Just so it won't linger anymore painfully so.

“I know what you're going to say."

They only raised their brows, a mere "okay, go on" than an actual expression of surprise. 

"I've been sad. I haven't been..fine. That is true," you inhaled, preparing yourself for the agonizing part. Then, you released your breath.

"Ever since..'Tsu-" you gulped. "Ever since breaking up with Atsumu I haven't been feeling like myself but nowadays I'm getting back on my feet and I'm still working see so really there's no need to worry okay? Okay."

Aya grinned, but it didn't hold her usual devil-may-care humor to it. 

"You say that," she started, "but we’ll probably always be if you keep at that- at that⁠—"

"You're rarely in the moment," Kaori supplied, to which Aya replied with a harsh thank you. "You're distracted. And we know you're trying your best to be okay on your own. We've given you space, but remember that you have us."

Something was lodged in your chest and you found it hard to breathe. You'd missed them. You hadn't realized it, but you missed your friends. 

So much.

"Thank you," you whispered, forcing back  tears. "I- I wouldn't know what to do if it not for you two-"

"Hold it." Aya raised a palm. "Before you get corny again. Can I just say, I know he's your first dick-"

"Aya," Kaori murmured.

"And we all know it was good-"

"Aya," you hissed.

Your face burned as you searched from left to right, making sure no innocent being heard her.

"But can I just say," she slapped a palm on the surface of the table. "I don't care what you or the TV or his fans say about him! But the man's a walking red flag since day one!"

Kaori rolled her eyes. And despite yourself you couldn't keep a chuckle from bubbling. 

"Here we go again."

Aya almost rose from her seat. "When he sent that poor dude from accounting to the ER for just, I don't know, breathing your way, I knew something was up!"

You felt your smile die. 

That had been the first time it happened. You'd asked him what's wrong, after you'd rushed to the hospital, and all he gave you was silence. A whole day of it. He hadn't spoken a word about it, only that he'd warned you not to talk to that bastard again, or else.

(You'd learned, much, much later, that he doesn't do well with people that annoy him. That's what he said. You wanted to know more, but he suddenly decided that he had to make it up to you between the sheets.)

Kaori touched your hand. "Talk to us," she whispered.

You hummed as you shook your head. "I just remembered him," you said, only half of the truth.

If they knew it, they didn't let on. But Aya did say, "Tell you what. Company outing's upon us. So you know what that means?"

"Oh, I don't know," you mumbled apologetically. "I might sit this one out."

"No," Kaori gritted. 

Aya held your face with both hands as she  stared you down.

"You will buy yourself a new swimsuit. You will enjoy that cheap beach resort." 

The heaviness was lifting, bit by bit, as you felt your stomach ache with laughter. And with each silly word uttered by your friends, you could almost see the gray clouds overhead disappearing. Even for a little while.

"And you, you beautiful person you," Aya beamed. "Will finally, finally get laid."

Having best friends who are dead set on helping you get over an ex is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed. 

You couldn't even get a word in edgewise as they took you in a whirlwind of spas, salons, mani-pedis, and shopping bags. 

"Calm down. You rarely spend for yourself," Kaori told you when she'd caught you peeking forlornly at the frightening bill you'd amassed. 

But, try as you might to miss owning a fat wallet, you couldn't deny that you have no regrets wasting your money away. Not even for a single cent. Because you did feel amazing.

And when the day arrived, you couldn't help at the giddiness of having compliment after compliment thrown your way. 

"Is that really you?" said a co-worker when you'd boarded the bus. "You're glowing!"

During the games, as well, you'd often hear "Love the new look!" and "Have I ever told you before that you're so pretty? Because you are." And you'd preen with a soft-spoken thank you, having been taught by Kaori that denying a compliment makes one look stupid.  

It was so silly, honestly. Though not the part where, after a lovely comment, you'd be emboldened to strike an actual conversation. Learning that a coworker has a new baby now, or that so and so has recently moved up the corporate ladder; learning that, during your period of grief and self-pity (and even during the blissful time you’d spent with Atsumu), there were so many things you hadn't noticed.

You basked in it: the shower of pleasantries and anecdotes that had you feeling soft and fuzzy inside. The same way you lazed on the sandbar, clutching tiny conch shells in your hand, as you watched the sun tinge the sparkling waves with warm light.   

"Hey."

You jolted, turning towards the person who'd called your name. It was him. "Poor dude from accounting" as Aya dubbed him.

"Sano-san," you gasped, reaching for the towel beside you to cover up. "How- how are you?" 

Of all the people in your office, he was the last one you wanted to see. Solely for the reason that things have been awkward between you ever since that incident. A working relationship characterized by the literal turning of the other cheek whenever you two bumped into each other.

"Oh, pardon me," he scratched the back of his head. "Do you..want me to go?"

Yes. 

"No..!" you blurted out. "I think-"

The sun was almost setting. You wrapped the towel around you as you took in the balmy sea breeze. 

"I think I'm done hiding," you whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long while, head on and baring the tiniest hint of shame, like how you did with your friends and other coworkers.

He didn't say anything, allowing you to continue. "I- It's nice. Talking to people again," you giggled. "Look, Sano-san. About before, I'm really sor-"

"Actually," he smiled. "That's why I'm here. Well, my partner pushed me but-"

You grinned at the blush that rose to his cheeks. 

"But I wanted to tell you: No hard feelings."

Sano-san extended a hand. You stared at it for a few seconds. His hand, then his face. Back to his hand, then his face again. And when you'd finally accepted it, it felt like witnessing the cage that’s imprisoned you for centuries finally open.

"By the way," he added, walking back towards an obviously amused fianceé. "It's a good look on you, being happy."

Atsumu entertained the possibility that maybe— just maybe, not everything was  fine the night the Jackals went home after an overseas tournament.

As soon as the plane landed on Japanese soil, the hunger he felt throughout the journey morphed into some kind of  anticipation, palpable through the thrill that electrified him into wakefulness. He might have left in a hurry, only half of his mind present when the Coach ordered for a short meeting. 

His foot tapped endlessly on the way⁠— while in the car; during the tedious elevator ride⁠— and when he'd finally entered his pad, slamming the door open with much eagerness than usual, Atsumu felt his heart plummet down his stomach when he was welcomed by a dark and empty hallway. 

You're not here. Not anymore.

Hasn't it been almost half a year now? Why did he expect you, face brightened by a grin that went from ear to ear, to materialize in front of him, with the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen? As if a magician with a hat trick.   

("Welcome back!" he was aching to hear.)

(You always insisted on eating with him when he got home; sometimes opting to just stay by his side⁠— munching on a midnight snack while you babbled on, if he arrived later than usual and you'd already had dinner.)

("It's lonely having a meal on your own," you explained. "Don't you think food tastes better if you have someone with you?")

Perhaps it was the jet lag. Or, it could be that the abrupt change in time zones was starting to mess with his head. Either way, Atsumu was sure that sleep would eventually cure him of the momentary delirium. 

But then he woke up the next day feeling like someone had pissed in his morning drink. The day after that, too. Even the next had been the same, persisting onto the following weeks. 

Until one game, after a winning streak that had the crowd chanting their names and with blood still roaring in his veins, he condescended to survey the numerous people occupying the bleachers. 

And when he couldn't find one⁠— one person that had always stood out to him despite being constantly drowned in an ocean of spectators— it was only then that Atsumu Miya decided that enough was enough. 

You hadn't really agreed with Aya when she told you that you'd be getting "laid" during this short vacation. 

Reason number one: it's a company outing. And you're sure you'd be breaking some protocols by fooling around with any of your coworkers. Reason Two: as you'd sagely imparted to a miffed Aya, "I don't think it's nice to cure a broken heart with sex; strings attached or no."

That being said, the lingerie she'd chosen for you did flatter your figure. It didn't matter that "no one would see it," as Aya grumbled. It was enough for you that you yourself saw it, you thought as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. 

The way it was tailored made it seem like it was made just for your body. The details of lace also made it look so pretty that you felt kind of sad that you'd have to cover it up with a summer dress soon. 

Nevertheless, you allowed yourself to strike a few poses in front of the mirror; feeling like a teenager on their first date as you admired how you looked in it. 

You smiled to yourself, humming a tune, before you opened your makeup kit and prepared the necessities you'd be bringing for the bonfire dinner. 

"Wipes: check," you murmured, rummaging through your bag. "Hygiene stuff. Where are you hygiene stuff, hygiene stu⁠—"

You froze.

Something rustled. Outside. As if something had moved. 

Putting a robe back on, your heart thundered against your chest as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the dimly lit sleeping area, illuminated only by a small reading lamp.

"Be careful there, girlie," the old caretaker warned as she guided you to this room. "Lots of mean spirits lurking about."

You didn't believe in ghosts. For some reason, however, your coworkers did. So you'd taken it to yourself to move here after a room assignment mishap, leaving Aya and Kaori behind. 

It didn't seem like the cursed chamber that she purported to be. Sure, it was isolated at the furthest wing of the beach house, away from the other rooms and separated by a too dark hallway. But that had been the creepiest thing about it. Besides, you heard from logistics that renting the house didn't cost much, despite its size, so maybe it's just that they lacked the resources to renovate. 

The floorboards creaked beneath you. "Aya? Aya, I know it's you," you called out as you squinted, catching a faint silhouette reclined at the corner of the bed. 

It was too large to be Aya, but you chalked that up to the shadows playing with your eyes. You puffed out a chortle, resting a hand on your hips when she finally stood.   

"Very funny, Aya," you snorted when she sauntered towards you. "Just you wait until Kaori hears about.…" you trailed off.

"......this."

You drew in a breath as she moved closer, revealing a build that was much taller, towering almost in the small room, shoulders that are way broader than the ones your friend has, and a face that clearly wasn't Aya's.

"Evenin'," Atsumu yawned. 

Your legs refused to listen to you.

"Been a minute, hadn't it, darlin'?"

You don't know why he's here. 

And even if you wanted to ask, you find that no sound could escape from your mouth when you tried to open it.

You do know this, as he gave you a lopsided grin that used to have you eating at the palm of his hand, along with a lazy gaze that was belied by a bird-like focus:

That although he told you that all he wants is a little chat, you knew that he didn't come here just for that.

You ran.

Atsumu had been the worst boyfriend.

He's aware of it now, realized it fully when he knocked on Samu's door, shit-faced, and it only took a single look and a consoling arm from his brother to break Atsumu into tears and snot, as well as Samu's voice telling him, "Yer a big baby. Ya need her, dontcha?"

That's why he followed you here, figuring that you'd love a thoughtful surprise. Because you always have. He didn't expect you'd take to it kindly, of course, not right away. But he also didn't expect that you would be doing the surprising.

You were talking to that man when he arrived. 

Didn't he tell you not to?

His intentions still haven't changed. He's here to bring you back, but before anything else Atsumu's sure it's only normal that you guys clear things up first. 

And if you're going to do that, he can't have you running away now, can't he?

Grabbing you by the waist, Atsumu's palm tingled at the feel of your body, pulling you closer to him as he pinned you to the wall and stifled your shrieks with his hand.

"Everybody's gone, angel," he whispered, losing himself in your skin, though covered in silk; lips and fingers roaming every which way because finally, finally, fuckin' finally you're here and you're real.

"Just wanna talk." He stroked the curve of your ass, middle finger tracing the lining of the crack. "Ain't this what'ya always wanted? S'let's talk," he murmured against your collarbone.

You were already crying, shaky hands weakly grasping his back and tears wetting even his cheeks. Atsumu couldn't help but smile. You'd always been a crier. It's one of the many things he loves about you. Always so honest with your emotions.

"I missed ya," Atsumu groaned as he grinded his cock against your pussy, feeling it harden when he mouthed your tits.

There was something peeking out of your robe, he noticed as it became more rumpled. 

"D-don't," you breathed, your attempt to swat his hands away thwarted when he seized your wrist.

It was lace. The color pulling the eye to your body like a siren's song. And when he stripped the robe off of you, silk swishing down your elbows, Atsumu saw that it was a piece of lingerie. One that he hasn't seen before.

Because he didn't buy this one. It wasn't from him. You weren't the type to get one yourself. 

Until now.

"This for him?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against your pulse, beating like a drum against his lips. 

"Wh-who?" you whimpered.

"The ugly piece of shit. Saw you guys gettin' chummy earlier."

He was close, too close to you, back at the beach. You smiled at him, laughed and showed him what he isn't supposed to see. And when he touched you— when the fucker touched you, Atsumu wanted blood on his hands.

"Yer gonna fuck the guy whose face I busted?" 

You squeaked as he dug his blunt nails against your wrist. Atsumu licked the red impressions they made.

"And what- what about it?" Your voice was so brittle and small. God, he just wanted to hold you. "It's none of your business, who I spend my time with. And don't- don't tell me you're jealous because-"

He chuckled, the sound of it making you shrink back into the wall. "Jealous? Doll, ya wouldn't wanna know what I'm feelin right now. But, sure." Atsumu lightly nipped at the tips of your fingers. 

"'Course I'm jealous," he rasped. "You're mine."

Then, Atsumu looked at you. And what he saw in your eyes made him stumble that when you shoved him away, all he could do was stand and stare.

"I'm not your thing, Atsumu," you cried. A light-year difference from the girl who'd always stare at him so tenderly. "I never was and I never will be. I'm not yours."

You didn't run this time. You should've. 

Atsumu clenched his jaw. "Like hell ya ain't," he snarled.

People say that breakups are a messy business. Atsumu was so sure he wouldn't have to endure that, before he met you.  Now that he's had the experience, though, Atsumu can say with confidence that breakups are, in fact, a goddamn mess.

But you're over that now. It's time to turn over a new leaf and return to one another. And Atsumu's finding out, in the process, that making up can be astonishingly reminiscent of the breakup.

You started crying when you woke up, screaming for help as you tried to budge the rope that was tying your hands to your knees. You got louder when you found out that you were naked and not in the rickety confines of the beach house. 

"Welcome home, baby," he beamed, eying you from between your legs. 

The begging started when you realized how drenched your little pussy was, his tongue lapping and slathering the cum dripping from your twitching hole, against  your swollen folds; his calloused thumb massaging deep circles on your clit. 

And when he stuck another inside your puckered asshole, you writhed out of your binds and squealed, "T-tsumu-kun…!"

Fuck. 

"Babydoll," he growled. "Daddy's gotcha, daddy's gonna treat ya so fuckin' good."

He slapped your damp cunt with his long fingers, thrusting them inside to rub and feel at your walls, at the bump that never failed to make you screech. "Daddy's been mean hasn't he? Hm? Been a bad daddy to ya, baby?"

You could only gasp out wordlessly as he slurped the juices off your clit, not stopping until you were gushing, sloppy cum drizzling on the bedsheet, every muscle in spasms, incapable of even stretching out your legs although Atsumu knew you wanted to, you really wanted to so fuckin' bad, resorting to curling your toes instead. 

"E-enough, please, please, stop!"

How adorable, Atsumu thought. "My little slut," he cooed, tapping the tip of his hard cock on your pussy. "My good 'lil fucktoy."

He relished it, wanting to draw this on forever, so he slides it against your folds, pussy lips wrapping the meat of his cock, gyrating his hips back and forth, as if he were fucking you, and grabbing your tits to play with your nipples. 

"Atta girl," he laughed, licking his teeth when he finally sunk inside your tight cunt, pushing you so far down into the mattress until his chest was rubbing against your tits, your feet dangling against his shoulders.

"I don't-I don't want this, 'Tsumu," you sobbed. "Don't want this!"

Oh, of course you don't. Atsumu knows you don't. He'd fucked you against your will, after all. 

But you were taking him so well, darlin'. Your walls were hugging his cock so fuckin' nicely that he couldn't help but shove deeper inside you, craving for the way your pussy twitched rapidly around him. 

If you weren't bound, he's also sure that you'd be pushing his hips away. But that's not what's getting to him. Because as he pistoned his cock into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass, you instantly turned your face away.

Did you know that you were breaking his heart? Shattering it to pieces, when you close your eyes like doors, locking them to prevent him from ever reaching you again. 

So he gripped your chin. Forced you to meet his eyes as you wept and shook your head. 

"Am gonna be better, baby," he groaned.  "No more keeping things from ya. None of that bullshit, now."

Atsumu shivered as you came around him, convulsing under him and strained voice still begging him to stop. Because he wasn't. He would never stop. Not when it comes to you. 

"Am all yours, angel. All yours." He pounded your fucked out cunt, chasing his own high as he kneaded your tits. 

A tear fell from your eyelids. And when he kissed you, it felt like everything in his life shifted back in its rightful place. "You can have it all," he sighed, cupping your cheek.

"So give me all of you now," Atsumu pleaded. "Come back to me."