#her happiness is so important to me i must document it

[straw-eri-chan]

Unsurprisingly, the ILYF won the poll. So here's more TimKon clone baby!! A bit longer snippet this time, because you guys deserve it. <3

(Also, the second chapter has been posted of this on AO3. The Title is "I Love you Forever, I'll Like You For Always." If you want to keep reading on this story, there's a lot more over there!)

Kon looked down at tube-baby and–yeah. That wasn’t really a name. Kon was an idiot.

“I hadn’t actually thought about it,” He admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt bad about it now, but before it hadn’t even occurred to him. Stars, he had to give him a name? He was terrible with names! 

Of course he had to name him, damn it! Tube-baby is not a name!

“Well, I sort of need one if you want me to forge his documents.” Barbara reminded him. Right, right. Birth certificate. Social security number. All that jazz. His kid was gonna need that stuff to, like, be a member of society. Details.

“Okay, um…” Kon hesitated, thinking about it. What if he picked out a name Tim didn’t like? Or one his kid didn’t like? Or one his family didn’t like? What if everyone got mad at him and called him stupid?! Gah!

Okay Superboy. Breathe.

He looked back down at his baby and sighed softly. He already felt better.

There were too many Jonathans already. And not to give into gender construct or anything, but Martha was a bit too much of a girl name for him to decide on for his son. Clark didn’t fit him. He didn’t really know enough of Tim’s extended family to look there for name idea, unfortunately. But…

His middle name was Jackson, Kon knew that. And Tim never seemed bothered by the name, used it sometimes during covert missions. Never had any hesitation telling people, at least in Kon’s eyes. And Tim was something Kon was good at observing. 

The name was normal. Timeless, even. Kon liked it, and Tim must have already liked it, and really, who else mattered? 

Besides the kid himself, anyway.

“Jackson.” He said firmly, decisively. He liked the way it sounded. It seemed more official, stating it out loud. “Jackson Kent.”

They could hyphenate later, if Tim really wanted. But for now he liked Kent. Jackson Kent. His son.

“Middle name?”

“I’m not going through all that right now.” He grumbled without missing a beat, making Barbara chuckle. He looked back down to tube-baby. Jackson. “Hi there, Jackie-baby.” He cooed, earning a halfhearted coo back. He nearly died on the spot. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I don’t actually care if you have my DNA. You’re mine now, you hear?”

Jackson, as Kon was getting used to, did not respond. But his large owl eyes were so cute and perfect he dissolved into adoring coos and smothering his baby in kisses. 

“According to Tim’s files, Jackson is about three months old. He ages naturally, clearly, since Tim said he didn’t activate any accelerated aging.” Barbara says, reading from her laptop. Kon honestly shouldn’t be surprised she hacked into Tim’s private files that fast, but he still somehow is.

Well happy late birthday, kiddo.” He chirped, holding Jackson up to his face. “You’re pretty darn old, ain’tcha?” 

Not as old as Kon when he came out into the world, but he pushed that thought to the side. Not what he wanted to think about. And not important regardless, especially not now. 

Barbara pricked his arm with a tiny piece of Kryptonite he kept far away from Jackson, then did the same to him with a regular needle. The sharp cries he let out made Kon want to either cry to go ballistic on Barbara; maybe both. But he kept his cool and managed to calm Jackie back down with some rocking and talking. A lot of talking. His kid seemed calmer listening to Kon’s voice, more comfortable with everything else going on around them. 

It was a stupid though. But Kon almost felt, well, like Jackson felt safe with him. That he trusted Kon to take care of him and protect him. Which of course, Kon would. With everything he had, in fact.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing else useful in Tim’s files other than the cloning process.” Barbara commented, souring Kon’s mood slightly. “But the DNA test came back as a match. You’re the father, congratulations. And so is Tim.”

Despite not actually caring if Jackson had his DNA or not, Kon still felt his heart rate pick up at the news. He cooed at the baby and bounced him gently, complimenting his amazing DNA. 

“And hey–listen for a second.” Oracle’s voice was soft, and her hand was warm when it was placed on his arm. “I’m not gonna lecture you or anything like that. You know what you’re getting into having a kid. Partially, anyway. At least I hope you know; it’s not all gonna be sunshine and rainbows. And that’s okay. We’re all here, if you need anything.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He found himself whispering, clutching Jackson tighter to his chest. The baby made a confused noise but snuggled closer anyway. “I understand I’m being selfish by saying this. By asking you to hide this. But I don’t want any other bats to know. I don’t want any risk of someone coming for him. Not until Tim comes home, at least.”Barbara was quiet for a few moments, clearly weighing her options. “I know how good detectives you all are. But Tim was one too. And he’s given everyone on the team a way to hide should they ever need it. From everyone. Even you guys. If I have to hide Jackson and I–to keep us together, to keep him safe, I’ll find a way.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Long distance girlfriend surprising Rafe

Request: Reader going to college on the east coast and being stuck there because of snow + Rafe being sad

—

‘’Thank you for choosing Cameron Development for your project, Mr. Phillips. Our secretary will email the documents shortly,’’ Rafe said in his polished, customer-service tone. ‘’Happy holidays.’’

The second the call ended, his forced smile vanished, leaving his face set in a grim scowl. He’s never been a fan of Christmas, but for the first time, he had been looking forward to it — his first Christmas with you. But that changed when a snowstorm hit the East Coast, forcing all flights in New York to get cancelled. 

Rafe leaned back in his leather office chair, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration. It was only 3pm, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was you, alone in your apartment in New York, and most importantly, miles away from him. He thought of driving to you, but Topper resonated with him. If flights were cancelled, some roads would be closed too. 

Why must you go to college so far away? With a sigh, Rafe picked up his personal phone for the tenth time today, and re-reading your last message. He was hurting himself by doing this, but reading your message also brought him some comfort. 

I’m so sorry I can’t make it to you, baby 😢💔 I’ve been keeping track of the flights, but everything is still cancelled… This snow really wants to sabotage our first Christmas! 😠 In case nothing changes, I’m gonna video-call you on Christmas morning…in my sexy lingerie set I got just for you. Wish you were there to unwrap me 🎁🤭

Before he could finish reading, Wheezie’s face filled his screen with an incoming call. 

‘’Wheezie? Why are you calling me?’’ Rafe frowned, leaning back in his chair. She never called him at work unless it was important.

‘’Rafe! Thank god you picked up! I tried calling Sarah, but she didn’t answer.’’ Wheezie's voice was high-pitched and panicked, words spilling out in a rush. 

‘’Wheezie, what is it?’’ he asked. 

‘’I tried making gingerbread cookies, but I guess I left them in for too long...’’

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on. ‘’Just throw them out if they’re burned. It’s not worth breaking a tooth over.’’

‘’No, you don’t understand,’’ she cried, her voice breaking slightly. ‘’There’s smoke all over the kitchen!’’ A coughing fit punctuated her sentence, and Rafe’s heart dropped.

‘’What? Wheeze, are you okay?’’ 

He was already standing, grabbing his keys. Fuck work. 

‘’Can you come home? Please, Rafe. Dad is gonna be so mad if I burn the house down—’’ 

He didn’t even wait to hang up properly before he was out the door. ‘’I’m coming, Wheeze. Just, stay away from the oven, okay? And get outside if it gets worse. Do you hear me?’’ Rafe’s tone sharpened, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe pulled into the driveway of Tannyhill, tires screeching as he parked quickly. His jaw was tight, still on edge from Wheezie’s frantic call. The house seemed calm from the outside, which was strange because she said there was smoke all over the kitchen.

He opened the front door. “Wheezie?” he called out, stepping into the house, his eyes scanning for signs of smoke. ‘’Wheezie, I’m here. Where’s the damn smoke you talked about?’’ 

The kitchen light was on, and as he stepped closer, his stomach dropped. Instead of finding his little sister panicking, he found you standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning at him. 

‘’Hi.’’ 

For a split second, neither of you moved. Then, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him. Rafe’s brain scrambled to catch up. Then it clicked. The familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your arms — it was really you. His arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear, and you buried your face in his chest, clutching him like you’d never let go.

‘’What the—’’ He pulled back just enough to grab your face, his blue eyes searching yours, wide with disbelief. ‘’You’re here? Really here?’’

‘’Surprise, baby,’’ you murmured before pressing your lips to his, cutting off whatever string of disbelief he was about to voice again.

The kiss was soft at first, but as the realization sank in, Rafe pulled you closer, deepening it, one hand sliding to your back while the other tangled in your hair. It was desperate and relieved, like he couldn’t believe you were actually there, standing in his kitchen, and not miles away in New York.

He hadn’t seen you since his weekend visit for Thanksgiving, he couldn’t settle with a peck. 

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, faces inches apart. 

Rafe’s forehead pressed against yours. ‘’But you were in New York. The flights—’’ He blinked, still trying to process, his grip on your waist tightening. ‘’How are you here? I mean…what—? Wheezie called me about some fire in the kitchen.’’ He glanced around, half-expecting his sister to pop out from somewhere. 

You laughed, guilt flickering across your face. ‘’Yeah, that was her idea. There’s no fire. I told her to find something to make you come home. It worked, didn’t it?’’ 

His eyebrows shot up. ‘’She knew about you coming here and didn’t tell me?!’’ 

You nodded. Flights being cancelled was not a lie, but you were able to take a train to another state — where the snow was not as bad —, and take a flight there. You texted Wheezie during your flight, asking for help to surprise Rafe. Why would she not help the girl who brought smiles on her brother’s moody face?

‘’Sorry, baby.’’ You looked up and rubbed your hands over his work button up, feeling the planes of his muscled chest and the warmth of his skin underneath. ‘’I just… I couldn’t stand hearing how sad you sounded yesterday. I had to get here, I tried everything in my power to get to you. Don’t be mad at her, okay? She just wanted to help me.’’

Rafe shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you close as he tilted his head. ‘’You’re lucky I love you,’’ he murmured, his voice absentmindedly falling into your relationship bubble where it was just you and him.

You stayed like that for a moment, bathing in each other’s embrace, until a thought crossed your mind. ‘’Rafe? There’s one other thing I need to tell you: I left your Christmas present in New York…’’ You pulled back, guilt filling you again as you continued and explained yourself. ‘’It was on the table so I wouldn’t forget it, but—’’ 

But Rafe couldn't care less. 

‘’That’s okay. There’s only you on my wishlist anyway.’’ 

—

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[genshinluvr]

Dating App

Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader

Summary: Tara approaches your cubicle one day at the Hunters Association, asking about your relationship status. Of course, that is a complicated question to answer. Little did you know, you're matched with some familiar faces who are friends, coworkers, and lackeys to the men you're interested in.

Note: I had to delay this fanfic because I was dealing with some personal conflict, and it kept my thoughts occupied, so I could barely type anything for this fic. This is my first Love&Deepspace fanfic! Please be kind because some of these characters may or may not be out of character. Hopefully, the more I write Love&Deepspace fanfics, the more I will get the hang of it and capture their personalities just fine :'> Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of

Word Count: 6.3k

It’s a slow day at the Hunters Association, and you’re in your cubicle typing away on your computer. Usually, you’re killing Wanderers and are assigned to countless perilous missions, but this week, you’re working in the cubicle doing paperwork. Your eyes feel strained from staring at the monitor for so long that you have to look away, or else you’ll get a pounding headache. That is something you don’t want to deal with alongside Zayne’s lectures if you end up having to visit Akso Hospital. 

Footsteps approaching your cubicle pull you out of your thoughts. You see Tara’s head peeking from behind your cubicle. A big smile plasters on her face as she rests her arm on top of your cubicle. 

“Hey, [Y/N],” Tara says, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief as she lays on her arm. “Working hard as always?” She teases.

You stop typing on your computer, smiling at your dear friend and coworker. “Hi, Tara! Yes, I’m trying to get these documents completed and turned in to Captain Jenna before the deadline. Is there anything you need?”

Tara hums, shaking her head. “Not really, but I am curious about something…” She trails off, tapping on her chin, her eyes wandering around while trying to look nonchalant.

“Oh? Then it must be really important for you to approach me in the middle of work.” You joke before continuing typing away on your computer. 

Tara lets out a long, wistful sigh. You continue your work, only for Tara to let out a frustrated huff. She releases another sigh, but louder this time to get your attention away from your computer. “I’m worried if I ask, you wouldn’t answer because of how personal it is,” Tara says, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her bottom lip.

You quickly save your documents before pushing your chair back, turning to give Tara your full undivided attention. You lean in your chair, curious about what Tara wants to ask you— something personal, of course, but her comment piqued your interest. “Tara, we’re friends. You can ask me anything you like! I’m more than happy to answer your pressing questions.” 

Tara’s eyes light up, but she quickly fixes her composure, trying to act like it’s not a big deal. “It’s… about your relationship status and whether you’re seeing anyone,” Tara says, pretending to check her nails while occasionally looking at you from the corner of her eyes.

Your eyes widen at Tara’s response. Your relationship status? While you don’t mind telling Tara about your relationship status, you wonder why she asked all of a sudden. She’s not planning on setting you up on a blind date, is she? 

You press your lips into a thin line, unsure how to answer her. You’re technically not dating anyone as of now, but there are four people in particular who have been occupying your thoughts 24/7. Is Tara going to ask you about your relations with any of them? Tara taps her nails on the cubicle as she waits for your response.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “If I have to be honest, I’m not sure,” you reply.

Tara stares at you, her mouth agape. Tara knows that you’re quite close with Xavier, your mission partner. But she’s also aware of Rafayel’s feelings for you, as you are his bodyguard. Then there’s your primary care physician— a cardiologist named Zayne. He’s a nice guy— a little dry, but nice nonetheless! Oh! Let’s not forget this mysterious man you once brought to karaoke with your coworkers. He’s definitely not the best singer, but he is quite the looker! What’s his name again?

“What are your thoughts on dating apps?” 

You blink at Tara, letting her question slowly sink in. Dating apps? You turn to your computer and scratch the back of your neck. What are your thoughts on dating apps? You’ve never been on one before, nor do you plan on registering for one. Who knows how many weirdos there are on those dating apps?

You visibly shudder. “I don’t plan on being on dating apps, Tara. Besides, as a Deepspace Hunter, I don’t have time for dating apps. I’m always going on missions,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“But the great thing about dating apps is that you don’t even have to meet the people you match with! Who knows, maybe you’ll meet the love of your life on a dating app,” Tara shrugs her shoulders, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

You turn to your computer, shaking your head at her suggestion and comment. You’re not against dating apps, but it’s not for you. Besides, you have a bigger fish to fry, and that is getting the paperwork and documents completed before the deadline. You briefly tell Tara that you’ll think about it just to get her off your back about your dating life. Semi-satisfied with your response, Tara walks away. How do hunters have time to go on dates? Especially if you’re a higher rank and constantly go on dangerous missions? Your schedule is unpredictable, and you don’t have as much time as you wish you did.

You slump forward in your seat and rest your head on your hand. The quiet sound of your coworkers tapping away on their computers isn’t loud enough to drown out the questions running through your mind. While the suggestion of going on a dating app is tempting, you’re not interested in meeting anyone, especially if they’re from the internet. 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ  Zayne ☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ

Zayne looks up from his computer to see Dr. Greyson entering his office. Zayne sighs and adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose as he continues to type away. Footsteps approach Zayne’s desk as he continues to type away on his computer, too busy to see what Dr. Greyson is up to.

Dr. Greyson clears his throat, trying to get Zayne’s attention, only for the cardiologist to briefly look up at the anxious man before continuing what he’s doing. Zayne slowly turns his head, his eyes still glued to the monitor.

“Is there something you need, Dr. Greyson?” Zayne says, finally looking away from his monitor and at Dr. Greyson.

Dr. Greyson clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “How are things going with you and Miss Hunter?” Dr. Greyson asks suddenly.

Zayne stares at Dr. Greyson quizzically, raising his eyebrows at the brown-haired cardiac surgeon. Things are going fine with you, but why does Dr. Greyson want to know how things are going between you and him? Dr. Greyson continues to almost anxiously stare at Zayne, waiting to hear Zayne’s response. 

Zayne sighs, takes his glasses off, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Everything is going fine between us, Dr. Greyson. Why are you suddenly interested in my relationship with her?” Zayne questions, putting his glasses back on.

A look of surprise flashes across Dr. Greyson’s face, almost like he’s caught off guard— his cheeks and ears turning dark red. That doesn’t look good. Zayne raises his eyebrows at Dr. Greyson’s reaction and crosses his arms over his chest. Dr. Greyson briefly looks down at his phone, then back at Zayne, visibly flustered. Dr. Greyson’s strange reaction and action causes Zayne’s eyes to swiftly dart down to the phone in Dr. Greyson’s hands. 

Zayne clears his throat, grabbing Dr. Greyson’s attention. “Is there something I need to be aware of?”

Dr. Greyson presses his lips into a thin line, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand while glancing down at his phone again. For some reason, Dr. Greyson’s strange behavior and his constant looking down at his phone bothers Zayne. Zayne gets up from his seat and walks over to where Dr. Greyson is standing with his arms still crossed over his chest.

Without saying a word, Dr. Greyson shows Zayne the screen of his phone. Zayne takes Dr. Greyson’s phone from his hands and inspects the screen. Dr. Greyson has an app opened on his phone; it’s a dating app… huh, Zayne never thought that Dr. Greyson would be on a dating app.

“What am I supposed to look at aside from your being on a dating app?” Zayne asks Dr. Greyson, raising his eyebrows at the brown-haired cardiac surgeon.

Dr. Greyson’s eyes widen before quickly snatching the phone from Zayne’s hand, tapping away on the screen before returning the phone to Zayne. Zayne raises his eyebrows at Dr. Greyson’s strange behavior before proceeding to look at Dr. Greyson’s phone. On the phone’s screen shows a text conversation between Dr. Greyson and you. Zayne furrows his eyebrows, scrolling through the text message between you and Dr. Greyson. Why are you on a dating app? Zayne hesitantly clicks on your icon, opening a small window to your dating profile.

The profile contains a lot of your personal information, from your name to your age to various selfies. Some information provided on your dating profile is a little bit strange, and there are some things Zayne isn’t even aware of. Wait a minute, why did Dr. Greyson swipe right on you?

Zayne slowly looks at Dr. Greyson from the corner of his eyes, almost glaring at his assistant. “You swiped right on [Y/N], I see,” Zayne says nonchalantly.

Dr. Greyson’s eyes widen. “O-Oh, I wasn’t the first one to swipe, actually. You see, she swiped right on me first, and when I swiped, we ended up matching,” Dr. Greyson sputters, rubbing the back of his neck while his face turns a few shades redder than it already is. 

“You still swiped on her, Dr. Greyson. It doesn’t matter who swiped first; you still swiped right when you saw [Y/N]’s dating profile,” Zayne comments, his grip slightly tightening around Dr. Greyson’s phone.

Zayne doesn’t know how to react. On one side, he’s almost angry that Dr. Greyson swiped right on you, and on the other side, he feels hurt. Almost betrayed in a way, but this dating profile of yours feels off. Without thinking, Zayne takes a screenshot (well, multiple screenshots) of your dating profile, from the information to the images and the conversation you and Dr. Greyson are currently having. 

He sends the screenshot to himself, ignoring the questioning gaze Dr. Greyson sends his way. After Zayne���s shift ends at Akso Hospital, he’s going to be stopping by your apartment to confront you about your dating profile and conversation with Dr. Greyson. Zayne laughs bitterly before handing the phone back to the flustered Dr. Greyson before returning to his desk. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ Xavier ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

At Philo, Xavier is watering the plants around the floral shop, assisting Jeremiah with his shop. It’s a slow day, and only a few customers pop in and out of the shop to buy flowers. Xavier’s supposed to be at the Hunters Association, but instead, he’s at Philo doing other tasks that have nothing to do with finding the Aether Core. Plus, Jeremiah dragged him out of bed, and he did not appreciate it at all. While Xavier’s watering the flowers and plants around the shop, Jeremiah enters the floral shop with his eyes glued to his phone, typing away. Jeremiah looks up from his phone, admiring the rearrangement of the floral shop.

“It’s looking good in here so far! You know, if you weren’t a Hunter, you would be a decent florist,” Jeremiah jokes, walking toward Xavier.

Xavier ignores Jeremiah’s comment and proceeds to walk to the front of the floral shop, placing the watering can on a nearby table. Xavier pulls out his phone and starts playing mobile games, completely disregarding Jeremiah’s presence as the curly-haired man walks toward Xavier. 

“So… how are things going between you and [Y/N]?” Jeremiah asks suddenly, leaning against the table beside Xavier.

Xavier continues to play on his phone, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Everything’s fine between us. I saw her two days ago at the Hunters Association,” Xavier replies, his eyebrows scrunching up as he tries to kill the monsters on his phone. 

Jeremiah slowly nods, crossing his arms over his chest while still holding onto his phone. After the brief pause between Xavier and Jeremiah, Xavier pauses his game and looks at Jeremiah, raising his eyebrows. Jeremiah taps his foot on the ground, fumbling with the phone in his hands, causing Xavier’s eyes to dart down to the device. 

“It’s good to hear that things are fine between you and [Y/N]...” Jeremiah trails off, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “There weren’t any arguments between you two, right? Everything is fine and dandy?” 

Xavier looks at Jeremiah weirdly, wondering why his friend has a sudden interest in your and Xavier’s relationship. Xavier slowly nods his head in response to Jeremiah’s strange question, still confused about Jeremiah’s interrogation and strange reaction. Silence hangs in the air between him and Jeremiah, and no one is saying anything. 

Xavier points at Jeremiah’s phone, “Why are you twirling your phone around like it’s a fidget toy? Are you okay? You’re acting strange— even more strange than usual,” Xavier says, tucking his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. 

Jeremiah presses his lips into a thin line, debating how to explain to Xavier what has popped up on the dating app he recently joined. “What would you do if the girl you’re interested in has a dating profile?” Jeremiah asks.

“I don’t know how to respond to that question. Does a girl you’re interested in have a dating profile or something? What is going on? I’m confused,” Xavier sighs, running his hands through his hair as he leans on the table behind him.

Jeremiah lets out a frustrated sigh before shoving his phone in Xavier’s face. Xavier takes a step back and grabs the phone from Jeremiah’s grasp, trying to look at what caused Jeremiah to be so frustrated (aside from Xavier’s obliviousness). Xavier looks at Jeremiah, confused. Jeremiah raises his eyebrows, wondering why Xavier had the opposite reaction from what he imagined.

Xavier holds up Jeremiah’s phone to show that he is on the home screen. Jeremiah snatches the phone from Xavier’s hands before clicking on a pink app. Jeremiah then places the phone back in Xavier’s hands, pointing to what he was implying about not long ago. 

Jeremiah scratches the back of his head, looking elsewhere because he does not want to see the reaction on Xavier’s face. “[Y/N] is on this dating app I recently registered on, and we matched. I wanted you to see that your… beloved… is on a dating app,” Jeremiah says, clearing his throat.

Dear god, the tension is so thick that he feels like he might suffocate. A million thoughts race in Xavier’s mind as he scrolls through the messages between you and Jeremiah— the conversation is flirty, needless to say. Xavier clicks on your profile picture, and your dating profile appears on the screen.

There is a lot of information provided on your dating profile, including what you look for in a man; there are eight pictures of you at the Hunters Association, selfies of you and your coworkers at the Hunters Association, and many other things that make Xavier’s head want to spin.

“Hey, Xavier, are you okay?” Jeremiah asks, placing his hand on the distraught man’s shoulders. “I understand you’re upset about [Y/N] being on a dating app, but—”

“You matched with her on the dating app?” Xavier interrupts, turning to Jeremiah with a glare.

Jeremiah looks at Xavier with wide eyes, his mouth agape, unsure how to respond. Yes, he indeed matched with you on the dating app. But does that really matter? You, Xavier’s lady, are on a dating app for fucks sake!

Jeremiah awkwardly clears his throat, “I matched with her because she swiped on me, alright? Besides, I wanted to investigate why she’s on a dating app when she’s with you— well, I assume you two were together.” 

Xavier continues to stare at Jeremiah, unamused. Jeremiah thought that Xavier was going to be upset over you being on a dating app, but apparently, he’s more upset over the fact that Jeremiah swiped right on you. Jeremiah sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while Xavier continues to not-so-subtly glare at him. 

Xavier looks at the screen before screen recording the conversation between you and Jeremiah, then your dating profile before sending it to himself. As much as he wants to confront you right now, you’re still working at the Hunters Association, and he’s going to talk Jeremiah’s ears off for matching with you on the dating app. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 Rafayel 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Rafayel stands in a corner, watching journalists, photographers, and art critics gravitate toward his newest piece. Many admiring and snapping photos of the art piece while murmuring among one another. A couple of journalists approached Rafayel for an interview, and he gladly answered a few questions and explained his inspiration for the art piece. However, the longer the exhibit drags on, the more Rafayel feels drained.

Thomas excuses himself from the conversation he’s having with journalists before walking over to where Rafayel has retreated. Rafayel has a visible pout on his face, his arms crossing over his chest, and he occasionally huffs and fixes his hair.

“Everyone is admiring your newest art piece, Rafayel. Shouldn’t you be happy?” Thomas asks, now standing beside him.

Rafayel drags out a sigh, shifting from one leg to another. “How much longer do I have to be here? I’m tired and hungry. I feel like a fish out of water,” Rafayel says, turning to Thomas with a pout.

Thomas looks at Rafayel amusingly, propping his hands on his hips. “We’ve been here for only three hours, Rafayel. You promised to do a few interviews with renowned art magazines, and you’ve only completed two,” Thomas replies.

“Only three hours? I could’ve spent those three hours with Miss Bodyguard at Twinkle Toys playing at the claw machine with her,” Rafayel huffs, kicking the ground before him. 

Thomas chuckles, shaking his head. There’s not a day where Rafayel doesn’t complain about being at an art exhibit without you. Usually, when you’re not busy, you accompany him and protect him from harm. But today is not that day, and Rafayel has been pouty ever since. Could it be because he’s upset over…

Should Thomas ask Rafayel about that? Thomas is going to do it; Rafayel either knows about it already, and that is the reason why he’s pouting, or he’ll eventually find out about it, and Thomas will never hear the end of it.

“Rafayel, are you upset because [Y/N] is on a dating app?” Thomas asks casually, turning to the pouting Lumerian.

The pout on Rafayel’s face quickly disappears after hearing Thomas’s question. Rafayel looks at Thomas, eyes wide with shock, horror, and confusion. Oh, okay, so maybe Rafayel isn’t aware that you’re on a dating app. Rafayel steps towards Thomas, almost glaring daggers into his friend’s soul.

“What did you say? Care to repeat that for me?”

Thomas clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Thomas scrolls through his phone before showing Rafayel the screen. Rafayel takes Thomas’s phone from his hands and stares at your dating profile with keen eyes. Everything about your profile feels off; it doesn’t feel like it’s the real you. 

Rafayel has seen those images of you before because they’re on your social media. But the information about you does not feel authentic, if that makes sense. Why did you list your type in a man when he’s clearly your type? A man with a lot of money, a sense of humor, and will spoil you with luxury items? Rafayel can easily do that! Why would you be on that damn dating app!?

Wait a damn minute…

“Why does it say unmatch in the corner?” Rafayel asks, slowly turning to Thomas with a sharp glare.

Thomas holds his hands up in defense. “Calm down, Rafayel. I was making sure to see if the person behind the dating profile is actually [Y/N] or someone trying to impersonate her,” Thomas says.

“How does that justify any of this!? You matched with my bodyguard!” Rafayel exclaims, ignoring the looks people shoot in his and Thomas’s direction as they walk by. 

Even if Thomas matched with you to see “whether the person behind the profile is actually you,” Thomas continues to match with you on a dating app. While it’s interesting to see Thomas on a dating app, what bothers Rafayel is the fact that Thomas has the audacity to match with someone Rafayel is interested in.

Rafayel tightens his grip on Thomas’s phone, glaring at the screen. Rafayel’s inner monologue drowns out the noise of art critics, journalists, and photographers. His breathing starts to pick up, as does his heartbeat; the sound of his racing heart pounds in his ears. 

“Rafayel,” Thomas tries to grab his attention, placing a hand on Rafayel’s shoulders.

Rafayel brushes Thomas’s hands away as he continues to scroll through your dating profile to take in every information that’s provided. You’re allegedly not looking for anything serious despite stating that you want a rich boyfriend who will spoil you with materials (he’s already doing that; is that not enough?). The longer he lingers on your dating profile, the more he feels his sanity slips away. Without thinking, Rafayel walks away with Thomas’s phone still in his grasp, leaving his friend behind. 

“Rafayel! Where are you going?! The art exhibit isn’t even over yet!” Thomas calls out.

Rafayel ignores Thomas and continues to walk to the entrance of the art museum. Even if Rafayel is far from Linkon, Rafayel is determined to confront you about your dating profile on the dating app that Thomas has the audacity to match with you. Rafayel looks at the time, making a note that he will arrive at Linkon by nightfall. 

⋆.˚𓅆࿐ Sylus ⋆.˚𓅆࿐

Luke and Kieran stand behind Sylus, looking down at their phones while whispering to one another. Sylus ignores the loud whispering behind him as he continues to stare at the man before him, unamused. The man is one of the dealers of the military-grade weapon that Sylus has auctioned off the black market— it’s illegal to be owned by those who aren’t part of the military, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt them now, will it?

The man— Ashton Gray, also known as Mr. Gray— gestures to one of his lackeys to hand over the briefcase that contains the weapon. Mr. Gray’s lackey places the briefcase on the table and slides it toward Sylus’s direction. Sylus reaches forward and opens the metal briefcase, examining the carefully packed weapon.

“Hmph. It’s in perfect condition and looks lovely,” Sylus mutters. He pulls the weapon out from the briefcase, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. “It’s durable; the material doesn’t feel cheap or flimsy.”

Mr. Gray scoffs, rolling his eyes, and laughs bitterly. “Mr. Sylus, the weapons we sell to consumers are top-notch.”

Sylus ignores the man’s comment and continues to inspect every inch of the weapon. The weapon is made of rare metals that cannot be found anywhere. They’re mined in the deepest depths of a repository by a small group of people in a remote location that isn’t known to many people, or at least to the general public. 

“No way!” Luke gasps, grabbing attention from everyone else in the room.

Sylus turns to the twins behind him and raises his eyebrows at Luke and Kieran. Kieran quickly hides his phone behind his back while Luke rubs the back of his neck, apologizing to the annoyed Onychinus leader. 

Mr. Gray furrows his eyebrows at the twins, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mr. Sylus, do your lackeys have something to share with the rest of the room?” Mr. Gray asks, gesturing to the twenty-something people in the private room in an undisclosed area. 

Sylus looks at Mr. Gray, amused. “Mr. Gray, you seemed to be bothered by whatever is keeping Luke and Kieran occupied,” Sylus comments, placing the gun back in the metal briefcase. “Whatever they are up to is none of your business.” 

The metal briefcase closes with a click. Sylus stands up, grabs the briefcase, and begins making his way to the exit, nodding to Mr. Gray with Luke and Kieran following. Mr. Gray glares at the twins as they walk by, almost mockingly waving at him. Once the three are out of earshot, Sylus sighs and adjusts the sleeve of his shirt. 

The trio enters Sylus’s sports car, silence hanging in the air. Sylus hands the metal briefcase to Luke before turning on the car; the engine roars to life. The three sit in silence, watching the scenery go by as they leave the location. For once, Sylus didn’t blow the place up. Sylus glances in the rearview mirror to see the twins scrolling through their phones, completely occupied with whatever they’re seeing on the screen. Sylus sighs and shakes his head as he continues to drive the three of them back to the base in the N109 Zone.

“Care to explain to me what is keeping you two occupied on that phone of yours?” Sylus asks, breaking the silence in the car. “That outburst was unnecessary.”

Kieran and Luke glance at each other, unsure of what to say. Both Luke and Kieran recently joined a dating app (the N109 Zone is boring, and these two want to meet someone new when their service isn’t needed), and the twins received a match! Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! Luke and Kieran share the same dating profile (they come in a pack; you can’t separate them. If you want one of them, you’ll get the other free), and they happen to match with little ole Miss Hunter (you).

While you and Sylus have this strange yet comical dynamic, it’s shocking to see you on a dating app despite being on Onychinus’s radar. They know every piece of information about you, and by “they,” Luke and Kieran are implying Sylus. Yes, there is information about you that both the twins know, but they don’t know every little thing about you. 

“Is it that dating app of yours?” Sylus asks, eyes gluing onto the road ahead of him. 

Luke clears his throat, nodding. “Yes! But we saw something that caught us off guard, that’s all. I apologize for my outburst, boss-man.”

Kieran continues to stare at your dating profile on his screen, rereading every information provided on your profile. It’s a good thing Sylus meets all of the requirements of what you want in a man. However, Sylus isn’t going to be happy if he hears that you’re on a dating app when you’ve been seeing him. Speaking of…

Kieran looks up from his phone, making eye contact with Sylus through the rearview mirror. “Hey, boss-man! How are things going between you and Miss Hunter?” Kieran asks, crossing his right leg over his left. 

“Things are going well. However, we haven’t been in contact for perhaps a few weeks. Why?” Sylus asks, raising his eyebrows at Kieran’s question. 

Luke and Kieran look at each other, not saying a word. Luke and Kieran press their lips into a thin line, unsure of how else to answer Sylus’s question. Sylus rolls his eyes and uses his Evol to snatch Kieran’s phone from his hands. Kieran opens his mouth to protest but stops when Luke nudges him with his elbow.

Sylus looks down at the phone, letting out a scoff, and a bitter laugh follows. “I see. So this is what caused you two to have an outburst moments ago,” Sylus mutters. “And you two are matched with Miss Hunter.”

Luke and Kieran stare at Sylus from the backseat, waiting to see what Sylus is going to do next. Sylus shakes his head, sighing before tossing the phone back to the twins. Luke quickly grabs the phone and hands it to Kieran, who checks to make sure the phone isn’t damaged. Instead of taking the usual route back to Onychinus’s base, Sylus decides to take a different route, causing Luke and Kieran to be confused.

“Where are we going, boss-man?” Luke asks, looking at Kieran from the corner of his eyes.

Sylus shrugs. “We’re taking a little field trip to visit a certain kitten in Linkon City,” Sylus replies.

˚୨୧⋆. Y/N ˚୨୧⋆.

You step into the elevator of your apartment, rubbing the back of your neck. You have been sitting in your cubicle for hours at the Hunters Association. Your back is hurting, and so is your neck and your butt. While the elevator takes you to the seventh floor of your apartment, you space out, wondering why Tara asked you about your relationship status. The elevator chimes, snapping you out of your thoughts. You step out of the elevator and walk towards your apartment, rummaging through your tote bag to search for your keys. 

“Found you,” you mutter, grabbing your keys hidden deep in your tote bag and pulling them out with a sigh of relief. “Now I can finally relax—”

Your eyes widen when you see four familiar men standing at the front door to your apartment. They’re glaring daggers at each other, on edge. The familiar twins stand to the side, shaking their heads with disapproval. 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Can I help you?”

“Why are you acting all innocent? You have a lot of explaining to do, Miss Bodyguard!” Rafayel exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest while pouting in your direction. 

You tilt your head to the side, confused about what Rafayel is implying. You rub your temples with a sigh, too exhausted to deal with whatever is happening between the four men standing at the door to your apartment. It is way too late for you to be dealing with any sort of conflict. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time. “Whatever is going on, you guys can tell me when I unlock the door to my apartment. I don’t want my neighbors to overhear our conversation,” you mutter, weaving through the crowd of men.

Even though you can get your fingerprint to unlock the door to your apartment, it does not work as of now. You’re going to have to call the front desk to inform them of the issue with the fingerprint lock. Until then, you’re using keys to get into your apartment. You enter your apartment with six men crowding into the comfort of your home while mumbling under their breaths.

You hang your tote bag on the rack along with your coat, toeing your shoes off before slipping on your house slippers. You turn to the four (technically six, but Luke and Kieran are making themselves home in your living room) men, waiting for one of them to explain why they’re all standing in front of your apartment.

Sylus sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kitten, care to—”

“Why are you on a dating app!?” Rafayel exclaims, shoving Thomas’s phone towards your face. 

You back up and grab the phone from Rafayel’s hands, squinting at the screen. Oh great, more screens to look at. You hold the phone close to your face, blinking rapidly. You’re not on a dating app, and you never have a dating profile in the first place. Wait, could this be what Tara was trying to ask you about earlier today at the Hunters Association?

“I’m not on a dating app,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at the men before you.

You walk farther into your apartment, scrolling through your supposed dating profile. Whoever is posing as you on this dating app is very committed to being you. You sit on the armrest of the couch, reading through “your” dating profile.

“Are you three here for the same thing, or is Rafayel the only one interrogating me over something I didn’t know I had?” You ask.

Xavier and Zayne show their phones— screenshots of the same dating profile and messages between you and whoever “you” matched with on that app. Sylus grabs Kieran by the shoulders and nudges him to hand over his phone to you. You stare at Luke and Kieran, almost horrified that they are the ones who found this dating profile of “yours.”

You pull out your phone and hand it to Rafayel. “As I said earlier, I’m not on any dating apps. Whoever these people matched with, that person isn’t me.” 

Rafayel shoves your phone to your face for a second to unlock your phone before scrolling through your phone, skimming through every app you have installed. Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier join Rafayel in going through your phone.

You made a face. “I don’t remember taking this picture,” you mutter, zooming in on one particular photo. “And this information about myself isn’t remotely accurate. How did you four fall for this catfish?”

Luke coughs. “To be fair, we,” he gestures to him and Kieran, “assumed it was legitimate because “your” dating profile is a verified account. Meaning, whoever is running the account somehow managed to confirm that they are you.”

You stare at him blankly, then look at the four men, who are still glued to your phone. You sink into your couch and hand back the phone to Rafayel. Rafayel hands the phone to the closest person before stomping to you, sniffling. 

“Cutie~! How could you match with Thomas!? What’s so special about him?” Rafayel whines, plopping down beside you and resting his head on yours. 

You kiss your teeth and pinch Rafayel’s cheeks. “Rafayel! I told you already! I’m not on any dating apps!” Rafayel whines, grabbing your hands and ripping your hand from his cheek. 

Xavier hands you your phone, standing before you with his arms over his chest. Oh, he’s pouting as well. Zayne and Sylus look both relieved but also mildly miffed with the fact that they fell for a catfish. 

You stand up, stomping towards Sylus and poking his chest with your index finger. “You! You’re technologically advanced, yet you couldn’t tell that the dating profile is a catfish!?” You screech, repeatedly poking his chest over and over.

Sylus grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours. “Kitten, I had a long day. Luke and Kieran are the ones who showed me your supposed dating profile. I had to double-check with you, sweetie. Plus, it has been a while since we’ve seen each other. I wanted to take this opportunity to come and visit you.”

You glare at Sylus, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Damn him and his smooth talk! You look at Zayne and Xavier, waiting for one of them to explain— or give an excuse like the leader of Onychinus. 

Zayne closes his eyes and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a long exhale. “I have no excuses, darling. However, Dr. Greyson was convinced that the person behind that dating profile was you,” Zayne says, gazing at you bashfully, the tips of his ears bright red.

You rub the bridge of your nose, trying to hold on to the last bits of your sanity. From what you’re gathering, you have matched with Dr. Greyson, Thomas, both Luke and Kieran because they share one profile for some reason, and… who else?

You look at Xavier. Xavier avoids your eyes, glaring at the ground with his jaws clenched. If you look closely, you can almost see steam coming from Xavier’s ears. His ears are so red, and you feel bad, but you can’t help but laugh at how adorably jealous he is of whoever “you” matched with on that damn dating app.

“Let me guess, it’s Jeremiah, the owner of Philo?” Luke asks, giggling behind his hand.

Xavier’s head snapped toward Luke and Kieran’s direction, glaring at them while trying to remain as calm as possible. “[Y/N]  didn’t match with Jeremiah. The catfish matched with Jeremiah,” Xavier corrects Luke.

You rub your temples, too tired to handle the entire situation. If you had the energy, you would’ve been very upset over the fact that someone is pretending to be you and matching with men who are friends with the men you’re interested in. But right now, you just want to go shower and relax.

“I’m going to go shower. We can talk about this later, but for now, please give it a rest. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted,” You say.

The four men watch you walk to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Rafayel turns to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest while continuing to pout. “Is there a way for you to check and see who’s behind this account?”

Sylus rubs his temples, shaking his head. “As of now, I cannot check to see who’s behind the account,” Sylus mutters. “But I will certainly look into it. It’s a crime to impersonate someone on the internet.”

Xavier shakes his head, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “If we cannot find the person behind the account, we will need to lure them out somehow. It’s evident this person is close with [Y/N].”

“Oh? And what do you suggest?” Zayne mutters, raising his eyebrows at Xavier’s comment. “I’m sure the person behind the account will not reveal their identity easily. Who knows how long they had this account for.”

Rafayel rolls his eyes and walks to the couch, sitting on the armrest. “Whoever is impersonating as Miss Bodyguard is stupid. They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.”

While you’re in the shower, the four men hatch a plan to lure the person behind the catfish account out. Will you be in on the plan? Perhaps. But for now, they need to find a way to meet the person behind the account. Well, whoever is matched with “you” on that dating app needs to plan a date to meet “you” in person. 

Note: Ehhh, I'm not really feeling the ending, if I have to be really honest. I might make a part two for this fic, but I'm not entirely sure if I should. This is my first Love&Deepspace fanfic, so, it's most likely ass. I was supposed to post this fic before Monday, but then I typed way too much, and here we are with a 6.3k word fanfic. For this brand new "series" of mine, I will be writing various men x reader and individual men x reader. Hopefully my future Love&Deepspace fanfic will improve as I continue to write for this game :) anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[paleprincessturtle]

Ruined Plan

I'm back again! Happy reading and please excuse any inaccuracies in my writing.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Female Reader 

Donna stared at her screen in disbelief and gasped. She closed her eyes and looked at the screen one more time and looked behind her, at her boss’ office. She printed the document on her computer and invited herself into Harvey’s office. She waited in front of Harvey’s desk while he was on the phone. Not long after Harvey hung up the phone and he raised his eyebrows at Donna. “Are you going to say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like fish out of water?” Harvey said as he jolted down something on a document in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Donna asked him in disbelief. “Tell you that I’m the best closer this town has ever seen? I think the world knows, Donna.” Harvey smirked and looked back down at the document. “If it’s a guessing game, we have to pen it down for another day. As you know, this case has been going on for far too long.” Donna didn't say a thing but instead slid the document she printed just minutes ago. Harvey peeked at the document and asked “Why are you looking through my bank statement?”

Donna rolled her eyes so hard, for a second she was scared it won’t get back. “To make your usual monthly financial report, Harvey. What else?” Harvey waved the page absentmindedly in the air. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” Donna leaned on his desk and pointed to a specific date. “Cartier? That much? On a lunch break?” Donna asked as she straightened herself. “You’re proposing,” Donna said matter of factly. Harvey grinned so wide that it scared Donna. “The thought was just so sudden and I thought why not.” Harvey shrugged. “And why didn’t you ask for my help to pick out the perfect ring?” Donna paced in front of his desk, looking like the world was about to collapse. Again, Harvey just shrugged. “The ring must be here. Show me the ring.” Harvey squinted his eyes at her. “Harvey, I swear to God if you choose not to show me the ring, I’ll turn your office upside down and nothing will stop me.” Harvey put his hands up in defense and retrieved a key inside a little compartment underneath one of his basketball cases and opened a middle drawer in his desk. He carefully took the box and handed it to Donna. With the same care, Donna took the box in her hand. “Let’s see if we can return this ring if it turns out to lo…” Donna said seriously and stopped herself once she opened the box fully. “Well?” Harvey stood up with his hands in his pockets and smirked.

Donna nodded and grinned “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself. This looks beautiful, simple yet elegant. And jeez, Harvey. Are you trying to blind anyone who looks her way?” Harvey’s smirks grew significantly bigger. “Kinda need to show everyone she’s off the market.” He said proudly and Donna burst into a huge fit of laughter at the prospect of seeing Harvey finally getting married and most importantly, happy. “I know this case is important and you’re swamped. But let’s take 30 minutes to plan the actual proposal. This is a very important matter, Harvey." Donna sat at the chair in front of Harvey’s desk and moved his laptop to face her. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of his own phone startled Harvey. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he looked up from piles upon piles of documents on his desk. He cracked his neck before he moved the documents around to find his phone. Harvey instantly smiled. “If it isn’t the most gorgeous girlfriend a man could ever ask for.” Harvey leaned back in her leather chair as he was immersed in the sound of laughter from the other side of the line. “Flattery won’t bring you anywhere, Mr. Specter.” Harvey smiled “But I’m known for my flattery and charm.” Harvey paused, “Is everything okay?” he suddenly worried as to why she called and it was not even 10 am. “All is well, Commander. Just asking if you could pencil me down for a lunch picnic today?” His heart heaved suddenly, Heaven knows how much he wanted to go and how hard it is to say no to her. But at least she wasn't here to show him the pout. “Oh baby, as much as I love the idea, I’m seriously swamped.” Harvey heard a big sigh and the sound of the fridge door closed. “Still?” he heard her pout. Damn it, Harvey thought. He thought not being with her and not seeing the pout will help. But now, he heard her pout. Great. “Unfortunately, still. I’ll make it up to you. Okay?” Harvey tried to reason with her as he thought of the getaway Donna and him planned earlier and smiled. “No worries, baby. Good luck with your case, okay? Don’t forget to ask Donna to bring you something for lunch. Don’t forget to eat lunch or I’ll send the SWAT team down there to shove a hotdog down your throat.” Harvey laughed heartily at her threat. “I won’t. Gotta go, the DA office called. I love you.” Harvey heard a cheerful I love you as he hung up.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donna entered Harvey’s office exactly at 1.30 pm. “Your 1.30 appointment is here.” Harvey looked up, bewildered. “What appointment? I told you to clear up my schedule today. I’m busy.” Before Harvey saw her, he already smelled the mixture of vanilla and rose. “Even for me?” she said sweetly as Donna left the room and closed the door behind her. Harvey stood up immediately and walked up to her. “You’re too busy now for me, Mr. Naming Partner?” she smirked as Harvey enveloped her in his embrace. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I called Donna and she told me you refused lunch. So I took matters into my own hands and made you lasagna. I’ll only drop this.” she gestured to a lunch bag that he realized just now. “I thought you'd send a SWAT team? You’re damn pretty for I thought would be 10 bulky men.” Harvey said as he gently squeezed her ass and smirked before delicately pecking her lips. “Harvey!” she slapped her hand across his chest. “No fraternizing in the office!” she scolded, face all serious. “You won’t work here until at least another month. You’re here as my girlfriend. And maybe we could make use of the copy room? Or hmm, the file room?” She laughed though he earned another slap across his chest. “I thought you were busy? Come on, eat your lunch.” She separated herself from Harvey’s arms and he involuntarily frowned at the absence of her in his arms. She opened the lunch bag and laid down the food containers on another side of his larger desk for him to eat. “Come, Harvey. You should eat.” she frowned and she called for Harvey. He sat down and now he felt hungry. Between the sight and the smell of this lasagna, he realized that he has been working on an empty stomach. “That ain’t so hard, right?” Harvey nodded, mouth full of food. “Are these the files you've been going through since last night?” she gestured to the ones on the table and a few boxes near his desk. Again, Harvey nodded. “Won’t you eat with me?” He opened the lunch bag to find another lasagna for her. “Meh, I’ve had lunch at home. Thought I will just drop your lunch,” she said as she squatted beside one of the boxes. “I’ll take half of these files. You finished your lunch first.” She took a few boxes with her and brought them to his sofa. “Babe, you don’t have to. You’re not even working here yet, the merger isn’t yet effective. Go out and have a spa day or something. Thank you, but I have it handled.” Harvey said after he gulped a big amount of water. “I won’t have it, Harvey. I’m free to help and I won’t go. Well unless you call the SWAT team." They smirked at each other as she flopped down the sofa and started with the box on the very top. Harvey stared at her as he chowed down the last bit of his lunch. How come he scored such a beauty? She leaned her back, documents opened in front of her, as she pouted while fully concentrating on the task at hand. She folded both legs, hitched her summer dress, and revealed her smooth thighs. What a pretty sight, he thought to himself. Since 3 days ago Mike got sick, this is the first day he felt happy by the news. He looked down at his lunch and something occurred to him so suddenly. He just realized how devoted she is to him. Her bringing him lunch now wasn’t the first time. She’s taking good care of him. They had been together for a tad more than a year now since she was working with her previous firm, been living together for over 7 months now Even when she was busy working, he always got home to dinner. Sometimes even home-cooked lunches brought by herself to his office. The warm baths she always knew he needed without him saying anything. How she knew what to pour him. White, red, whiskey, or bourbon. How all his friends love her. Adore her even. That never really happened with his previous partners.

He had to make her his now. Scratch that, he needed to make her his now. He moved carefully to his desk, as carefully as he could without disturbing her. He took the key and opened the drawer. He checked the box and sighed in relief as he saw the ring still in place.  He sat up straight and fixed his tie before walking up to her. She didn't even bother to look up, thought he must've needed something from one of the boxes she took. It then caught her attention when she saw him standing on one knee. “Harvey?” she looked at him quizzically. He pulled out the red box from his suit jacket and she gasped. She put her legs down, both hands covered her mouth as he opened the box. Exposing the ring. “This is not how I, actually me and Donna, planned it. We were supposed to be in Boboli Garden when I asked you this question. But I can’t wait that long. You are my life and I never loved anyone as much as I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Marry me.” Harvey looked at her sincerely and his eyes glistened. “Yes” her voice was just above a whisper. “Yes yes yes! An infinite amount of yes!!” She shrieked. Harvey smiled widely as he slid the ring down her slender finger. She put up her hand and admired the ring “Goodness, this is beautiful.” Harvey wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her up with him before spinning her around. Harvey stopped, her feet still hadn't touched the ground. Their foreheads touched as they grinned at each other. “I love you so much” she whispered as she closed their distance. “Not even in a proposal will Harvey Specter ask” Both of them laugh, as they kiss again. They separated in shock as Donna swung open the door so hard. She inspected the sight before her and screamed “HARVEY HOW COULD YOU PROPOSE TO HER IN YOUR OWN OFFICE?!?! WE'VE MADE A PLAN!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: Feel free to send me some story ideas. Thanks!

MASTERLIST

[larkral]

Happy WIPsday! I have been wanting to post for approximately 2 weeks, but it's been chaosville at my house, so I haven't done it. I'm not seeing any tags, so I'm going to start us off this week!

So.... in the past two weeks I've written almost 2,000 words on Simon's Two Mums AU and about 4k words on Firstprince Soulmate BS. This is a lot for me! I'm excited about both of them! Soulmate BS is marinating after having had a very important scene written, so finally (already, always) got some overdue attention, and I'm really enjoying where it's going.

Simon's two mums:

Then, mum says, "Is it standard practice to cast spells on students without their agreement or parental assent?"  "I'm sorry?" [omitted for spoilers] says.  "Mum," I hiss at her.  "I'm sorry, Simon, but I'd be very curious to know if this is a common experience for students here, or if it's something that's happening particularly often to my son." Her voice is hard and angry. Her lawyer voice, the one that knows she's going to win, and doesn't mind letting you know as well.  "It's…" [spoiler again] sits back down. "It is, actually, quite common, but it is also very likely that it's happening particularly often with Simon."  Mum seems surprised at how easily he goes along with her. "I'd appreciate if you would draft a policy document that provides students and their parents with more explicit knowledge of circumstances in which they may be subject to magical correction or intervention."  "Of course, yes," [this person's name would spoil you] says. "Absolutely." He moves to stand again, and then sits back down. "Is there anything else before Simon returns to class?"  "No," Mum says. "Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about, Simon?" Mummy asks, and I could cry. I almost do.

Soulmate BS and tags below the cut because I know what y'all here for.

BRILLIANT SHIT I say. Welcome to some soulmate lore knowledge.

"Mmm, yeah," Henry says, then with a little more clarity. "Sorry, what are we having a hard time believing? It's been quite the night in that regard."  [quip removed for spoilers] Alex says. Henry hardly gets in his demure Indeed before Alex says, "I don't think it's that hard to believe that I'm a better dancer than you.” "No," Henry says, and then he presses his thumb into his phone and turns the screen towards Alex.  You're Linked! the Heartlink banner reads, overlaying an illustration of red, pink and brown confetti. "Oh, shit." Alex says.  Congratulations! Your bandmatch was calculated at a 97.82% level of synchronization. That's well above the threshold at which we recommend a parallel re-sync. Your concierge, Alana, will be in touch within 24 hours to facilitate contact with your soulmate.  "Quite," Henry says. Alex can feel his heartbeat in his stomach, suddenly. It's a little bit nauseating, like he might throw up.

Thanks to @talentpiper11 for the name inspiration for the soulmate matching app. Which obviously every soulmate universe must have.

Tags and hugs to all my fandom friends. I hope you're making it through this week, lovelies.

@stitchyqueer @confused-bi-queer @facewithoutheart @whogaveyoupermission @cutestkilla

@hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy

@captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @artsyunderstudy @martsonmars @nausikaaa

@chen-chen-chen-again-chen @that-disabled-princess @shrekgogurt  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl

@blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles

@talentpiper11 @orange-peony @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @mooncello

@aristocratic-otter @roomwithanopenfire @monbons @kiwiana-writes

[writingsofwesteros]

#father’s son

Baelon finding out his new wife is pregnant would be so cute. It would’ve only been a few months after their wedding at Runestone when the maids notice the girl hasn’t bled since she’d arrived. Her handmaiden would take the new Lady to see the maester to confirm what she already suspected - a new babe was on the way.

Baelon would be sitting in his council room pondering over documents when his sweet wife wanders quietly through the doors. He only startles when he feels soft hands brushing over his tense shoulders, her warm body pressing into his back. He can’t help but exhale deeply at her soothing presence.

“My love, you must come to bed…” she mutters lowly. He knows he has been up too late, but his duties required it.

“I have many letters which I must send, and the Lord of-” he begins, only to be cut off as his wife drags his chair out.

“You will not be able to do this much longer. You will have more important things to take care of, husband.” He’s so confused at that, wondering what could be more important than running Runestone. His pretty wife watches as his brows furrow, his face a picture of confusion. She speaks again before he can question. “The maester believes me to be with child… a child that will need a father, not just a Lord.”

He feels his heart stop at her words, his eyes widening as he looks at her stomach. His own child. He’d never been afforded a family and now his beautiful wife would give him one, a small boy or girl to love and care for. Baelon was over the moon. He grabs his wife, wrapping his arms around her tightly as her feet leave the ground - his embrace pulling her up and against him. The squeal she lets out echoes around the council room as his gleeful shouts join in. Whilst Baelon may be uncertain about his ability to be a father, his wife knows from his joy that he will be the best father.

Any of the servants who hear the shouts of joy will simply smile to themselves - happy that their stoic lord has been given what he deserves and has always been denied. You just know they would dote on baby Aenar when he is born too (little Aenar is the delight of Runestone, all the maids fighting to watch over the boy whilst his mother bathes).

WHY IS HE TOO DAMN CUTE!

Oh all those letters will be forgotten about, for now that is. They have their own little helpers thank you

[aishangotome]

Keith Howell: Even If I Were to Disappear

From A Hidden Oath: King of the BEAST (2024 Election) - Collection Event

—

One morning -

While I was doing some research in my room, I heard hurried footsteps in the hallway.

(Is that Emma? If so, could it be...? )

Emma: Prince Keith!

The door burst open and an excited Emma rushed into the room, out of breath.

Emma: I just went to the greenhouse and...!

Keith: I had a feeling it might be time. Let's go together, Emma.

Emma: Yes!

-

Emma: This is the flower that blooms only once in a lifetime...

Emma's eyes sparkled as she looked up at the plant growing in a corner of the greenhouse.

(Emma looks so happy, she's been looking forward to this for so long.)

(Oh no, I have to record the details of the flower.)

I hurriedly turned my attention to the plant.

It was a tall plant that almost reached the ceiling of the greenhouse, with clusters of yellow flowers blooming near the top.

Emma: It's beautiful. It looks like a miniature field of rapeseed blossoms.

Keith: A field of rapeseed blossoms...

Keith: That's a very Emma-like way of putting it. I might just write that down in the records.

Emma: Oh, the records are personal notes that you keep, Your Highness... right?

Keith: They're official records. After all, this flower only blooms once every 100 years. We have to leave it for posterity.

Emma: Please don't include my impressions in such an important document...!

Emma clung to me in a panic, her cuteness bringing a smile to my face.

(...Yes, a flower that only blooms once every 100 years.)

(How lucky I am to be able to see it with Emma like this.)

About half a month ago, the plant, said to bloom only once in a lifetime, had budded.

According to records, it last bloomed 85 years ago, and not only the botanists but also Emma had been eagerly awaiting the blooming, visiting the greenhouse every day.

(I heard that it can wither without blooming, so we were really lucky.)

(It must be thanks to Emma's daily care.)

Emma: This plant is so tall. I'm worried it might break through the ceiling.

Emma is standing on her tiptoes, trying her best to see the flowers at the top.

(Ah, I see. Why didn't I notice sooner?)

Keith: Can you see them now?

Emma: Wow...!

Emma's face turns red as Keith lifts her up.

Emma: K-Keith...?

Keith: Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted to see the flowers up close.

Keith: But, I guess it was surprising to be lifted up like that. I wasn't being very considerate.

Emma: No, thank you. I was just a little startled. I'll take a deep breath.

Emma does as she says, placing her hand on her chest and taking a few deep breaths.

(Why is Emma so adorable?)

(No, I can't get carried away. Emma is trying to seriously observe the flowers.)

Emma: How long do these flowers bloom for?

Keith: They seem to bloom for about a month.

Keith: After that, the parent plant dies, so... in a way, this is their last moment of glory.

Emma: They're beautiful, but it's a little sad to think about it that way...

Keith: Speaking of which, "he" told me, "You're like a plant like that." I thought he was right.

Keith: No, I don't mean to say that I'm equal to a precious flower or anything like that.

Keith: But the way I said it just now makes it sound like that... I'm sorry for saying something misleading.

Emma: You're irreplaceable, Prince Keith, so I don't think it's a misunderstanding.

Keith: Huh...?

Emma looks at me with a blank stare, and I can't help but smile.

And since I'm holding Emma right now, I can't cover my mouth with my hand.

(...This isn't good. He's going to complain later that I'm using him to flirt.)

Keith: What he probably meant was that I hesitate for decades without budding,

Keith: and in the worst case, I might just wither away. The fact that I don't bloom is the same.

Keith: There are very few people who will patiently wait 100 years. Most people give up and forget.

(I used to think it was okay if I withered away without blooming.)

(I thought I would just give everything to him, who was already in bloom, since I would never bloom anyway.)

(At that time, I never thought I would meet someone so precious.)

Emma: ...But, because it only blooms once every 100 years, when it does bloom, it remains in people's hearts forever.

Keith: Huh...?

Emma: This flower will forever be etched in my heart as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Emma: And if it continues to stay by my side forever,

Emma: I still think this flower is just like you, Keith.

Keith: ...............

(Emma, why are you so--)

Emma: Prince Keith?

Overwhelmed with emotion, Keith hugs Emma tightly.

Keith: Sorry, just for a little while...

Thump, thump, the sound of a calm heartbeat can be heard.

It's so comfortable that I want to stay like this forever.

(Emma... you made me bloom when I was about to wither away without blooming.)

(If I'm allowed, I want to continue blooming by your side forever.)

(Even if I wither and disappear, I will become a flower that continues to stay by your side.)

(And I swear to carry on my love for you.)

(I'm happier than anything just to have met you.)

Keith: ...I love you, Emma.

Emma: I love you too, Prince Keith.

Smiling against the backdrop of the yellow flowers, Emma looked like sunshine.

FIN

[a-case-of-attachment]

So in Hell’s Greatest Dad, Lucifer tells Charlie that ‘with a punch of a pentagram’ and ‘usually I charge a sacrificial lamb’ when he’s offering to help her with the hotel and it got me thinking. Surely he must have had people sacrifice things in his honour or for favours before right? So….what if when something is sacrificed to him it ends up down in Hell?

It works like some sort of inter dimensional postal service. Lucifer will just be doing whatever then a portal will open up above him full of weird oil slick coloured clouds and lightening cracking across the endless sky with the boom of thunder not far behind. Out of the portal flies a cherub sized faun wearing a shirt, waistcoat and bow tie brandishing a clipboard that’s got the contract attached to it. All the important things will be on there like who’s doing the sacrificing, what they are sacrificing and what they want in exchange for it. Lucifer can either accept the sacrifice and sign the document, giving the sinner what they want or just straight up refuse to sign, decline the sacrifice and instead have it sent off to purgatory.

The problem is that Lucifer is so jaded that he doesn’t even bother reading the contracts any more. Sinners all want the same thing anyway, fame, fortune, revenge, so what’s the point even bothering to look these days? It’s not like he gets that many sacrifices in his name anymore and when he does it’s mostly just lambs and goats, the occasional dog or guinea pig and a cat that one time. He often just gives them to people as pets, it’s how Charlie had gotten razzle and dazzle.

But you know, people are deranged and over the centuries there have been a handful of human souls that come his way. Lucifer never accepts those, often get angry that people actually think killing someone would make him happy. Shocker, it doesn’t. All it did was prove that humans really are just the worst, a race of violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. Yes Lucifer felt bad that these people had died and for nothing but he wasn’t about to reward some lowlife scumbag for taking another’s life so unfortunately that meant the sacrificed soul was purgatory bound. It wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t permanent. At least there they would get the chance to move onto heaven eventually and not be stuck in this infernal nightmare for all of eternity.

So no, Lucifer didn’t do human sacrifices. Except, well, maybe he did.

It was an accident! Lucifer had been distracted, him and Charlie having a slight disagreement about the hotel and her expectations when it came to heaven. He hadn’t meant to upset her but she needed to realise that very few angels would be as open to the idea of redemption as he or Emily had been. It had been just about the time Lucifer had been urging Charlie to proceed with caution when it came to Heaven that a portal opens above him, a little faun flying out, clipboard already in hand and looking down at Lucifer through the spectacles perched on its nose.

Lucifer had attempted to ignore the blasted thing but it just flys around his head, brandishing the clip board and tapping impatiently at its wristwatch until Lucifer finally had enough and snatches the board off him, quickly flipping to the back and signing it before shoving it back at the startled faun. It just huffs at him, jotting something down before tearing off a sheet and giving it back to Lucifer only to disappear back into the portal. Lucifer doesn’t look at the contract he just signed, not caring what shallow and self serving thing the mortal had asked for. He goes back to Charlie, continuing to urge to not trust heaven so easily, all the while holding his arms out expectantly to catch whatever animal is going to drop out of the portal.

Lucifers expecting a lamb or a goat, heavyish for a human but nothing for him, except he gets something much larger and heavier, the shock of it knocking Lucifer to the ground. His first thought is some wretched mortal had sacrificed a cow or horse, either to lazy to find the usual offering or thinking the bigger the sacrifice the better the reward. Either way Lucifer is already regretting his choice to grant their wish, no clue what he is supposed to do with a cow other than send it down to a farm on wrath. Grumbling Lucifer sits up slightly, tugging at his hat that had been pushed down over his eyes but when he mages to pull his hat off Lucifer realises it’s so much worse than a cow.

There’s a person on his lap. A very human person sprawled across his lap and legs, their weight pinning him to the floor. You are dressed all in a white, the fabric almost see through though the top part was stained red with blood. Lucifer can’t look past your chest, the demonic sigils carved there still oozing blood. When he does manage to look up it’s to fined wide fear filled eyes staring back at him. The two of you just stare at one another, Lucifer feeling more and more panicked as the seconds drag on whilst you look close to passing out.

The whole room is silent and Lucifer just knows that they are all staring at the two of you, just as shocked as him and waiting for one of you to do something. Charlie is the first one to make a move, slowly creeping across the room to lay a hand on your shoulder. She probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but it’s a mistake nonetheless. It startled you, causing you to fall from Lucifers lap and giving you the first real view of the room and the rest of its inhabitants. Things go about as well as you would think.

You start screaming, Charlie panics as she tries to calm you down but only makes it worse, Angel dust offers you a drink that gets knocked out his hand and ends up all over Husk and Alastor offers to silence you permanently. Needless to say that none of what they are doing helps calm you down or make you feel any less afraid and all Lucifer does is sit there, staring down at the smear of red on his white pants and struggling to wrap his head around what in the hell is happening because he couldn’t have just accepted a human soul as payment. He’s never done that before, never, and yet there you are, cowering in the corner like a frightened animal, eyes franticly darting around as you look for some form of escape.

It’s that look of pure terror that gets Lucifer up and moving, handing off his hat and cane to Charlie as he gets everyone to back up and give you some space. He approached you slowly, hands held up in front of him to show you he meant no harm and keeping his voice soft and calm as he tells you that no one’s going to hurt you, that your safe here with them. He makes sure to leave a little bit of space between you when he stops, sinking down into a crouch so he’s eye level though you won’t look at him for long, eyes darting around at even the slightest movement. You’re still bleeding, the sigil for his name looking the deepest. It makes Lucifer feel sick, that someone could do this to you and claim that it’s in his honour. He found no honour in an act like this, only hate and disgust, igniting a strong desire inside him to hunt down those responsible and show them the same kindness they had you.

It takes a good few minutes of Lucifer talking at you before he gets any form of response. He introduces himself, tells you once more that he isn’t going to hurt you and that he just wants to help and maybe even clean up those markings so they don’t get infected. It’s slow going but eventually you give him a slight nod, uncurling from where you had been trying to make yourself as small as possible so he can get a better look at the ugly mess of cuts on your chest. He startled you when he conjures water and a cloth, Lucifer apologising as you bang into the wall behind you in an attempt to get away from the sudden action. He does get you to calm down though, at least enough for him to clean away the blood and apply bandages.

These wounds will not disappear like the injuries the now resident of Hell would sustain, their origin in magic and acting as a physical sign of your binding to him. But Lucifer vows to look after them and you, after all this is all his fault and though he knows that Charlie would care for you if he was to up and leave he can’t bring himself to do so. It’s his responsibility to look after you, you are his after all and isn’t that just a horrific twisted little thought. Lucifer wants to cry, to beg your forgiveness because unless he was to gift your soul to another you were bound to him from now until eternity, forced to obey his every request regardless of what you wanted. He can’t cry though, not when you already are, silent tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin onto his hand and arm as he cleans away the blood. So he fights back the tears, completely focused on his task and trying to be as gentle as he possibly can be.

When he’s done and the now ruined rag and pink water are vanished away with the wave of his hand Lucifer doesn’t know what else to do other than offer you a safe space of your own and a comfortable bed to sleep in so he does exactly that. You look terrified when he asks if you would like to go to bed, eyes dropping down to just below his belt. Lucifer might actually be sick when he realises what you are scared is going to happen and he can’t get the words out quick enough to reassure you that he means to sleep and that you will be the only person in the room. His obvious horror at the implication seems to reassure you and you give him a small nod.

You use the wall to support you getting up but as soon as you go to take a step forward your legs buckle and Lucifer has to lurch forward to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Your to weak, wether that be from the shock or the blood loss Lucifer doesn’t know, possibly both, but what he does know is you are not going to make it up the several flights of stairs on your own.

He asks before picking you up, waiting for you to give him a nod of agreement before he slips one hand behind your back and the other behind your knees. It’s nothing for him to pick you up but it had you squeaking in surprise, flinging your arms around his neck and pulling yourself tighter against him. Lucifer can’t help laugh softly, assuring you that he was stronger than he looked and that he wouldn’t drop you. You don’t seem to buy it though, your hold around his neck tightening as you hide your head against his shoulder. He can’t blame you for being scared, Licifer looks like a strong breeze would send him stumbling but he supposes that’s one of the perks of being an angel, he’s stronger than he looks.

It’s only when he turns around that Lucifer realises the rooms completely empty except for the two of you. He doesn’t know when everyone else disappeared but he’s grateful for it, not sure how you would have reacted to a room full of weird looking people staring at you. He talks to you the whole time up to your room, telling you where he was taking you and a little about the hotel and it’s residents, though he mostly tell you about Charlie and Vaggie, the only other people he trusts to look after you correctly if he wasn’t around. Lucifer picks a room for you on the same floor as him though a couple of doors down in an attempt to keep you close and also give you some probably much needed distance. He sets you down on the bed, tells you where everything is including his room, just in case you need him before he comes back to check the bandages in a few hours. He does conjure you some sleep clothes though, making sure they were the softest and most comfortable thing you have ever worn. He wants you to be comfortable, to actually feel safe after what you have been through and though he knows the simple kindness he has showing you will not erase that it will hopefully show you that despite what you may have heard Lucifer isn’t all that bad.

Lucifer hates himself just a little bit more after what he does next, crouching down to look you in the eye and telling you that you can’t leave the hotel room unless he comes to get you or you are going to his room and nowhere else. Normally it would just be words but you are bound to Lucifer now and even you don’t want to you will have no choice but to obey him. You stiffen, nodding your head slightly but still you don’t say a word, not even when he bids you good night. He doesn’t even get the door half way closed before he hears you start to cry. He wants to go back, to take you in his arms and apologise for what has been done to you whilst reassuring you that life here will not be as bad as you think. He doesn’t though, wanting to give you time to greave and mourn the loss of your life.

He doesn’t even make it two steps down the corridor before it all really hits him and Lucifer crumbles, sinking to the floor and pressing his hand against his mouth in an attempt to muffle his own sobs. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, or how he’s even meant to care for you correctly. Animals were easy, simple to please, humans not so much. Plus Lucifer owned you, he would have to be extremely carful of what he said because even an offhanded comment would be taken as a command and you could end up getting seriously hurt.

It’s too much, Lucifer not equipped to deal with such responsibility but he has no choice, he has to. This is all his fault after all and he couldn’t abandon you in your hour of need. No he would figure this all out, tend to your wounds and help you adjust to life here in hell. He would help you find a place to call home, maybe at the hotel helping with the sinners or maybe something down in one of the other rings. Just somewhere you could feel truly safe and at ease. Whatever you wanted Lucifer would make it yours, giving you as much a slice of paradise as he can. How else would he atone for his mistake?

[simmishccfinds]

Dahlia Suarez Sim Download (With CC Links)

For the second anniversary of my Suarez Legacy series, I finally got around to uploading Dahlia for download! She has all of her skills + likes & dislikes. If you are coming from TikTok, thank you so much for your support. The series wouldn't be what it is today without you all! She only has one outfit to spare you from downloading a million files. I hope you enjoy her as much as I have :)

Download & tutorial under the cut ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TOS:

You are welcome to do whatever you want with Dahlia in your personal gameplay but please do not include her in your social media content. However, I would love to hear how your gameplay is going with her, leave a comment and spill the tea!

Please do not reupload my sims for download anywhere, including the gallery.

How to download

Unfortunately, I cannot upload a version with CC included as it goes against the creator's TOS, but I've linked everything here for you! You must download ALL of these links for her to show up in your game properly. The genetics are especially important, if you are missing presets or sliders her face and body won't look right.

Step one: Download all of the cc files and place them in your "mods" folder. This is typically located in documents > Electronic Arts.

Step Two: Download the tray files at the bottom of the post and unzip them. These go in the "tray" folder. This folder is also located in documents > Electronic Arts.

Step Three: Open your game and go to the gallery, then to your library. If you followed the previous steps correctly Dahlia will be there! Make sure that "include custom content" is selected in your filter settings.

I always recommend making a back up of your tray files before adding anything new in. Your tray files are what shows up in your gallery library, so if something goes wrong you could lose those households/lots. You most likely won't run into any issues but better safe than sorry.

Alright, that's enough yapping from me, let me know if you have any questions!

CC LINKS

Genetics Skin overlay, Face details, Belly overlay, Stretch marks, Eyes, Nose, Hip Slider 1, Hip Slider 2, Thigh Slider, Shoulder Slider, Ears, Eye Width Slider, Eye Preset, Lip Preset, Jaw Preset

Phew, you made it passed the genetics! That was a lot.

Outfit Top, Skirt, Shoes, Necklace & Earrings, Bracelet, Anklet, Rings, Nails, Toenail Polish

Makeup Lipstick, Eyeliner, Eyeshadow, Blush

Hair Hair, Hair flower, Eyebrows (#11), Eyelashes

Tattoo- I couldn’t find a download link for this tattoo ANYWHERE so I uploaded the file onto SFS myself. If the original creator sees this, or if anyone has the link, please let me know so I can give credit!

TRAY FILES Download

Happy simming! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[lessiasya]

-Papa, I want to... Go to art classes. - Tallulah sitting on the soft carpet, while Phil braiding her hair. He was fighting wild brown curls, but his daughter happiness is more important than his sanity.

-Oh? Which one?

Tallulah squeezes a plush orca in her hands, mumbling something inaudible. But after taking a deep breath, she starts.

-I want to draw... To be like you. - though little girl speaks silently, she is very confident with her words. It makes Phil smile, he is so proud of his daughter.

He is proud, but he is also nervous when couple days after they are standing next to door with colourful stickers on it.

Classroom has few tables, but mostly small easels. You can see the park through the windows. And there is the teacher standing next to the desk. Phil saw him couple times, but never spoke to him. They worked in the same building, even were teaching art but in different age groups. Phil teaches high-schoolers mostly, but this guy teaches kids.

-Hola, you've must be new student, right? - man noticed them standing in the doorway. Tallulah squeezes Phil's hald slightly more.

-Yes, I'm Phil, that's Tallulah. Nice to meet you. - "Missa" reads the tag on others shirt.

They're going through the documents and other stuff pretty quickly. And Phil notices how soft Missa with Tallulah, he doesn't rush anything slowly asking her and patiently waiting for her answers.

-Okay, I'll be on my way now, my class are starting soon. If you need me, I'm literally down the hallway. - Phil hugs Tallulah before leaving and now playing little staring contest with Missa. - Here is my number if you need anything.

Maybe Phil lied, maybe it was because he wanted Missa to have it. Phil were smiling the whole way to his class, to which he was slightly late (and it wasn't because his daughter's teacher looks kinda cute).

When Phil left, all what Missa was left were little paper with phone number, big smile and slightly red cheeks.

[sgiandubh]

'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers'

It is one thing to disprove and even despise The Shire and its netizens. It is a whole other affair to violently bash S's skills, based on absolutely nothing else than spiteful disappointment.

We are being told by Mordor's basement polymaths the man cannot act. It is probably by an unelucidated strike of luck or by charity that he was cast by *** to embody book boyfriend JAMMF, when he has only 5 (five) known facial expressions in his quiver. He was the weakest link of Season 1 cast: I suppose the BJ/Frank Randall 2-in-1 does have a fan club, after all. His acting is wooden. He has chemistry only with C and by Her grace only, because you know, gay as a bag of popcorn. He is a semi-literate hunk, with documented spelling problems. Even more so, when we conveniently toss aside the mounting hysteria during Quarantein Ha-wa-wee disgrace (hey Pooks and all the sock account Dobermans: I hope you remember your Twitter blaze of glory moment every single morning while brushing your teeth). And (also a favorite) he doesn't read, he doesn't prepare, he is sloppy, like that.

God forbid you'd try to set this colossal unfairness straight. You are automatically signed up to the Mommies for Sam Committee and labeled accordingly. Brainless victim (of what, since he is basically useless, but let's not embarrass ourselves with logic), unapologetic limerent inamorata, romantic whale, delusional rural shipper, conspiracy theory troll. Anything goes, really and we know the tune by heart, at this point in time.

Not so long ago, I was re-watching the oath sequence of (5.01) The Fiery Cross, for which I suppose all background/context is superfluous. The only clip I could find has appalling sound, but should still immediately take you back to the Return of the Kilt (starts at 0:56):

It immediately reminded me of this:

This is the extraordinary Henry V Saint Crispin's Day speech. Pure Shakespeare and unmatchable Olivier. It is also a well-documented kamikaze moment of the Battle of Agincourt (1415), when a heavily outnumbered English army defeated in an almost miraculous turn of events the French. Granted, the real speech must have been way more concise, but nevertheless a potent affair, with Henry's cunning use of rumors having it that the French would cut two fingers off each captured archer's right hand, to virtually neutralize them. And his army was, essentially, an army of longbows.

Whatever it was, it worked. It worked so well, that it even gave Winston Churchill the idea of asking Laurence Olivier to broadcast this speech for the BBC some time around 1942 and then make a movie of the whole play, in 1944. Again, context is important -it always is, by the way - and it sheds the right light on Olivier's performance. More than acting, it is damn effective war propaganda, a wonderful patriotic act and completely representative for the "we shall fight them on the beaches and we shall never surrender" spirit. It is also all about acting as summoning of energy: Olivier manages to channel Henry V, he is Henry V and this immediately gives an irresistible depth and truth to his performance.

For contrast, one could compare his version with Branagh's 1989 interpretation (https://youtu.be/y1BhnepZnoo), which I am not adding here for the sake of levity. The main difference is, for me at least, palpable: Olivier completely suppressed his ego, which I am afraid is something impossible to achieve for Branagh. His take on the speech aims to be more modern and natural, and yet it is still all about Branagh promoting his art. And we know it immediately. A fairly honest tableau vivant, but no depth and nowhere near as majestic as the other.

I am not saying here that S is on par with Laurence Olivier. That would really mean being a romantic whale and I am the one you start to get, I hope, acquainted with. What I am saying is that this guy you just love to humiliate and endlessly cackle about every single day God makes, really, deliberately knows what he is doing in there. I would bet handsome money on S carefully watching and re-watching Olivier's Saint Crispin's Day monologue, in order to prepare for that particular scene. The similarities are, to me, evident, as is the consistent hard work and - dare I say it?- massive talent. It's all about owning the scene and being in the moment. And it is arresting, at times.

All of this is not exactly some shipper far-fetched speculation. S wrote, after all, in Waypoints (and the reference is way too spot on to believe in a kind gesture of the ghostwriter) that he "devoured"

I see great things. I see a very gifted guy who has no ego (C was spot on and for an actor, that is a blessing) and also probably no idea of his (considerable) acting range. I also see a guy who, spare for OL, has been grossly, unfairly miscast and overlooked. And who was determined to take whatever was available or easy on the schedule, in order to remain relevant. I may not be a good client for his booze, but I would pay handsomely to see him in something along the lines of For Whom The Bell Tolls. Or even (if you want a more exotic but oh, so rewarding alternative) a still inexplicably missing Western adaptation of Bulgakov's Master and Margarita (probably not the best times for that one, but still: Bulgakov was, after all, born in Kyiv and not really a fan, to say the least, of tyrants). That's exactly how damn good he is.

How was it, Kidneystone BIF? Oh. "No boundaries. No respect. No class." Exactly, madam. You said it yourself.

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: when at last we knew

Here is my Fic In A Box fic! I love Mace Windu, and also, he is a Jedi Master. I'm supposed to believe that being thrown out a window was enough to kill him? Yeah, sure, he got his arm chopped off. So did Luke at Cloud City.You will notice Luke didn't die.

Title: when at last we knew Author: Beatrice_Otter Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Kenobi Characters: Luke Skywalker, Mace Windu Length: 10,993 words Rating: teen Written For: Huntress79 in Fic In A Box 2024

AN: Title comes from the poem An Old Story by Tracy K. Smith

On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. On Pillowfort.

Military pilots never got sent on intelligence missions. At least, not if they had working ships. The Alliance had lost a lot of ships in close succession, first at Scarif and then at Yavin, at the same time as they'd started fighting the Empire directly instead of just the occasional ambush or hit-and-run attack on lightly defended targets. They were short on combat pilots, and even shorter on ships.

So Luke was very confused when he got a message to see General Draven and not tell anybody about it.

Draven was in charge of intelligence, and worked with Leia on coordinating her recruiting and supply missions, but Luke had never dealt with the man.

Draven's office was small, cramped, and very neat. No documents or displays were visible, which Luke supposed made sense; keeping things out of sight made snooping harder.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Luke asked.

"Yes," Draven said. "One of our oldest and most reliable intelligence channels has put in a request for you, specifically, to do the next handover."

"Why me?" Luke cocked his head. "How did they even learn my name?" The Alliance hierarchy had debated whether or not to use his name in propaganda about the Death Star before deciding that any gain wasn't worth the additional danger of the Empire's attention. That might change if he ever found a Jedi to train him.

Draven shrugged. "Word is beginning to get out, and it's trickling down our own intelligence channels first. Not all of them are as good at compartmentalization as they should be. As for why you … that wasn't part of the request. Just you, by name."

Luke thought about that. "They must be pretty important if you're taking me off combat runs to do it," he said.

"It would be good to keep them happy, and they've never made a request like this before," Draven said. "I'd like to know why now. If you can find out."

"Right," Luke said. "Who am I meeting?"

"I don't know," Draven said.

"You don't know?"

"Compartmentalization isn't just for lower-level operatives, Skywalker," Draven said. He shrugged. "All I need to know about an information channel is how reliable it is … and in all the years this channel has been in operation, their information has never been wrong, it's usually been useful, and it almost always arrives in time to act on it. It's mostly low-level information, but it's more reliable than any other source we have. It's worth some trust … and if something goes wrong, you'll have Captain Solo and Chewbacca to help you get out of it."

"Han and Chewie are coming along?" Luke asked. He frowned. "Why aren't they here for the briefing?"

"They don't need to know the details of your mission, only the planet and city where you will be meeting your contact," Draven said. "The fewer people who know the details, the less chance that something can leak."

"Han and Chewie are perfectly trustworthy!" Luke protested.

Draven snorted. "Everyone who knows you're the pilot who took down the Death Star is perfectly trustworthy. That hasn't stopped your name from floating around … and it's only a matter of time before it reaches the Empire, and puts a great big fat target on your back. The fewer people who know anything, the less chance there is that some careless accident will reveal it. You will not tell any of your friends any details of your mission, which are classified. You will not tell your squadron where you are going, merely that you have been detached for a classified mission and will return shortly."

***

"So, you can't tell us what you're doing, huh?" Han asked. "Not even now we're in hyperspace and on our way?"

They were sitting in the Falcon's crew lounge. Han and Chewie were playing holo-chess, and Luke was sitting at the nav station reading a book Leia had recommended.

"I'm afraid not," Luke said.

"I can tell you what we're doing," Han said. "The Alliance is paying us to deliver their cargo, and then we're supposed to scrounge something up for the trip back. Either a cargo that takes us close to the base, or something from the list of supplies the Alliance wants."

Chewie said something about paying off Jabba, and Han waved that off. "Yeah, yeah, we'll get to it, but we're nowhere near Tatooine or Nar Shadda or anywhere else he's got a base." He turned back to Luke. "Must be something real secret, if you won't even tell me."

Chewie objected to that, something about Luke showing proper respect for his mission, and Han and Chewie bantered back and forth about that until the buzzer went off that they were nearing their destination.

***

Dolsuf would have astounded Luke a year ago. Now he knew it was a fairly average colony world in the Inner Rim, with lots of agricultural space and lots of industry, the fruits of which were mostly shipped to the core. The port they settled in was one of thousands dotted across the planet, and while it wasn't in the largest city it was still a thousand times larger than anything they had back on Tatooine.

Following the instructions that had been written in the document Draven had handed him, Luke bought a pass for the public transit system and took an underground train to the theater district. (Fortunately, he had gone on leave with Wedge and Dak to Anamuu, and they'd had a subway system there, so he knew how to use it without having to ask Han for help.)

Luke wandered around like a tourist for several hours before slipping in the stage door at one of the smaller theaters, off the beaten track. Nobody challenged him, though several people were sitting in the small antechamber playing cards. He wandered the back halls until he found a door that led to the auditorium, and took a seat near the back.

The backstage area had been worn and threadbare, but the auditorium seats were plush, comfortable, and showed no signs of wear. The walls and ceiling were covered in ornamented carvings that Luke could make out only vaguely in the dim light.

The stage was brightly lit. Four people were on the stage, one of them demonstrating a movement. The other three watched intently, until one of them nodded and tried it himself. After a few comments back and forth, the first man nodded. He turned towards the front of the stage and walked towards the stairs down into the seating area.

This was probably his contact. Luke ran through the code phrase in his head for practice.

The actor was a human or near-human, probably late middle age, with dark skin and curly black hair, shot with gray. "We're flattered by the attention, but we're not open to the public yet," he said, stopping next to Luke's chair. "You can come back and see us tonight. We're doing The Cracked Word."

Yes, this was his contact. "I'm a spacer, shipping out in a few hours. Besides, King Nemlii has been a favorite since I was a kid." It wasn't as smooth as he'd like, but Luke didn't think he'd done too badly for his first undercover mission.

"Mace."

Luke bolted upright in his seat. That was Ben Kenobi's ghost—what was he doing here? Except he probably shouldn't have reacted—did that make him look suspicious?

The actor's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked off to the side, to about where Luke had heard Ben's voice from. Had he heard him? Could he see him? Luke sometimes thought he could, but wasn't sure if he was just imagining things. Ben was very faint.

"Well," the actor said, "if it's your favorite, I suppose we can make an exception. You might as well come up and watch from the front."

Luke got up and followed him down to the second row, and sat in the seat the actor indicated. He watched the rehearsal and tried to look as if he knew what was going on and was enjoying himself. Come to think of it, he should probably have looked up the play and what it was about, if it was supposed to be his favorite.

The actors on stage paid him no mind. After a bit, he shifted in his chair as unobtrusively as he could, and ran his fingers under the seat until he found the data rod taped there.

"The lead actor and director is Jedi Master Mace Windu," Ben said.

Luke didn't jump again, but only because he'd been expecting Ben to say something more. But he couldn't keep his face still at the revelation that here was a Jedi! Right in front of him! A real, live Jedi master! He wanted to pepper Ben with questions, but they were in public and he was undercover. He couldn't just start talking to thin air.

Luke looked down and put a hand over his mouth, so that maybe nobody would notice his reaction, or at least not enough to realize something interesting was happening.

"I thought he was dead," Ben said. "Killed by Darth Vader, when he tried to arrest Palpatine, the night Palpatine declared himself Emperor."

Luke wanted to hear more—a Jedi who'd challenged the Emperor directly! And almost died in the process! How had he survived Darth Vader?—but this wasn't the place for it. "It would be a lot easier to maintain my cover if you weren't saying shocking things," he muttered.

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry," Ben said.

Luke had been planning on leaving fairly soon—anyone watching would assume that he was needed back at his ship, or that he'd gotten bored—but there was no way he was leaving a real live Jedi Master. This had to be why he'd been requested specifically!

What was the Jedi Master doing, though? Surely, he could have helped the Rebellion more by joining up directly, rather than by simply feeding them information? Draven didn't know who he was, so he couldn't have done anything that would stand out.

Ben had spent twenty years hiding, but then, Ben had been watching over Luke. Was Master Mace Windu doing something similar? Were there other Jedi who survived, that Ben didn't know about? Luke was almost vibrating out of his skin, watching the rehearsal.

***

Mace had had decades of experience with galactic politics at the highest level, in addition to considerable practice at amateur theatrics, before the destruction of the Jedi. The two decades of being a fugitive, combined with subsequent professional acting, had polished his abilities to a high degree.

So it wasn't particularly difficult to keep his renewed grief off his face, as he concentrated on the rest of the rehearsal.

The young Force-sensitive in the audience, however, had no such abilities. Fortunately, his focus on Mace was obvious even from the stage, and so it didn't take much to nudge his fellow-actors' minds in a less-dangerous direction.

Force, but he was bright. Not powerful, necessarily, but in a way that suggested he'd never learned to shield himself, not even the rudimentary shields most Force-sensitives developed reflexively, if they lived in a populated area. His every thought and feeling was broadcast like a beacon—how had nobody ever noticed him? It was true, the Inquisitorius was not large; but they made up for it by travelling constantly. And the Jedi and Sith were hardly the only Force-users in the galaxy.

More to the point, how and why had Obi-Wan never taught him any better? As he was, Luke was dangerous to himself and to the people around him. Obi-Wan must have some sort of connection to him, to be haunting him.

Mace ached to know what had happened to Obi-Wan in the years since the fall of the Jedi; his ghost looked old, much older than Mace had ever seen him; he couldn't have been dead for very long. It grieved Mace to know that his old friend and colleague had been alive all this time. It would have been a joy beyond measure to know another Council member had survived, and a great relief.

"You're a bit out of it today, Gann, do you feel all right?" Kangan said.

Sixi snorted. "No, he's just distracted by the tail he's going to get when we're through here."

Mace rolled his eyes. He trusted his fellow actors, and Force knew they'd all proved themselves willing to turn a blind eye to his work, even not knowing what it was. Still. The less they knew the safer they would all be. "Have you ever known me to be distracted by a date? He reminds me of someone I used to know, that's all."

"Someone he used to know in the religious sense." Sixi's leer was predictable.

"I'd be more interested in your innuendo if you weren't trying to insert it into your portrayal of Prince Zirnzevan," Mace said.

"Hey, it could be there, he could be—"

"If you had any shred of textual evidence to back that up, you would have argued for it already," Mace said, dryly. "We're playing this one straight and traditional. He's driven by fear of loss, by grief, by the way his parents and tutors didn't understand him, and the deep scars that left behind. I think if you make it less about Duke Kostrom, that would help."

Sixi was nodding.

Mace continued. "Zirnzevan's actions really aren't about Kostrom, are they? They're about what's going on inside Zirnzevan's head. He's too deep in his pain and fear to really see Kostrom for what they really are. To see anyone for what they really are. Let's try the scene from the top."

***

It took forever, but at last the rehearsal was over. When the actors were done, Master Windu shooed them off the stage. One of them pointed to Luke, but Master Windu shook his head.

Windu ignored Luke, fiddling around with the sets and props for some time.

"He's waiting until everyone else has left," Ben said.

Which made sense; if he was a Jedi, he wouldn't want anyone to hear what they had to say to each other. Still, Luke was holding onto his patience by a thread by the time Windu finally climbed down off the stage.

"Are you really—"

Windu raised a hand. "I prefer to talk in more … private places."

"Oh," Luke said, chagrined. "Right."

"If you've got time for a meal, you're welcome to join me," Master Windu said.

"Of course!" Luke said. He hopped out of his seat. "Let's go!"

Windu got them both food from a market, and then led them to a small and unassuming hotel.

Once they were in Windu's hotel room, Luke opened his mouth to speak, but Windu held a hand up to stop him. "Please set out the food."

Luke took the bag of takeout, grabbed his patience with both hands, and got the cartons and silverware out of the bag.

Windu rummaged around in the bottom of one of his bags, pulling out a machine. It started playing a noise that Luke realized, after a few seconds, was rainfall with the occasional bird sounds. "We can talk a bit more freely, now."

"Is that a jammer?" Luke asked. "Are you worried that people are going to notice you bringing me here and think it's a spy meeting, or something?"

Windu smiled. "No, and no. If anyone was watching, what they saw was an actor bringing a visibly starstruck young person back to their hotel room. And then turning on a privacy box—cheap hotel rooms are notorious for having thin walls, so people who regularly spend a lot of time in them often have privacy boxes. They aren't quite as good at preventing intentional spying as a dedicated jammer, but they're much less obvious … and they're good enough for our purposes."

"Oh," Luke said, blinking. He hadn't thought of it that way, but it made sense. "Do we … need to do anything to sell the illusion?" He blushed, a little, at the thought of pretending to have sex for potential surveillance to overhear.

Master Windu laughed. "No, the privacy box is sufficient, as long as we speak quietly."

Luke nodded, relieved.

Windu gestured to the room's tiny table and chairs, and they both took a seat. "So," Windu said, "did you know you are being haunted by a Jedi ghost?"

"Yes, of course," Luke said. "Old Ben has been hanging around since he died. I can hear him, sometimes, and sometimes I think I can almost see him, but that might just be my imagination. He taught me how to feel the Force, and how to meditate."

"I see," Windu said. "Well. Usually I would beat around the bush for a bit longer to sound you out, but I think Obi-Wan fully proves your bona fides. I am Jedi Master Mace Windu, head of the Order."

"I'm Luke Skywalker—"

Windu's eyes went wide, and he reared back in his seat.

"Did you know my father?" Luke asked.

"Of course I knew your father," Master Windu said. "He was one of the most powerful Jedi in the Order, and one of the most troubled. He was the one who told us that Palpatine was the Sith Master we'd been hunting for. Then, after our attempt to arrest Palpatine had failed and Palpatine had slaughtered the other Masters with me, Anakin came to Palpatine's rescue, threw me out a window, turned to the Dark Side and joined the Sith, and then led the army into the Temple to slaughter everyone there."

At first Luke couldn't even understand what he had said. "No," he said, once the words had penetrated. "No, that's not right, my father was killed by Darth Vader." Or … had he been killed by Darth Vader after turning? Ben had told him a little bit about the Sith, how they were always betraying each other.

"I was there," Windu said gently. "I saw it happen. Obi-Wan was on Utapau. I was trapped on Coruscant, in the undercity, trying to heal and then save what I could and escape, for … a long time. I saw what Anakin did, as a Sith Lord. I felt his darkness. I have, once, fought an Inquisitor he trained. There is no doubt. Anakin Skywalker is still alive, and he is a Sith Lord."

"That can't be true," Luke said.

"I am sorry." Windu's voice was warm with compassion, but it was also implacable and unyielding. Windu had no shred of doubt he was speaking the truth.

Luke reached out with the Force, as best he knew how. As Ben had trained him to. (But could he trust Ben—Obi-Wan? Had Obi-Wan lied to him?) But the Force answered him, with a finality that reverberated through him like a bell: Master Windu was telling the truth.

"Ben, why did you lie to me?" Luke's voice was choked, and he felt like he couldn't breathe, but he got the words out.

"Luke, has Ben taught you how to release your emotions to the Force?" Windu asked.

"What?" Luke felt like he was swimming through water, as he turned to look at Windu.

"When Jedi are in the grip of some strong emotion, there are ways to release that emotion into the Force," Windu said. "This gives us a clear head, and a heart that is not distracted."

"Distracted?" Luke's breath sped up. He wanted to shout, but he couldn't—someone might hear. "Distracted? Ben lied to me!"

"We don't know that yet," Windu said. "There are a great many hard truths that we must face—truths filled with death, and pain. There are harsh things that must be said. It is very easy, in such times as this, to be guided by our emotions: to let our fear and anger and confusion and pain goad us into saying and doing things that we later regret."

Luke wanted to rage, but … Uncle Owen had often said something similar (though less poetic), when Luke was upset. He'd been right, though the simple childhood fights he'd been talking about paled in comparison to this betrayal. "All right."

"First, let's eat our food, before it gets cold," Windu said.

Luke nodded; Aunt Beru would have said something similar. Everything's harder on an empty stomach. He took a bite of his wrap. It tasted like sand, but he knew better than to waste food. His body needed the fuel. He took a sip of his drink.

"What's your favorite food?" Windu asked.

"What?" Luke frowned.

"Your favorite food," Windu repeated. "Mine's Eoffo pudding. Best place I've ever had it was a little food cart tucked away in Hithol City on Scanu. It was so tender, it felt like it melted in my mouth. And I don't know what that person did with the gravy, but it was amazing."

"Oh," Luke said. He tried to think. "A nerf burger, I guess. Correllian-style."

They talked about inconsequential things until the food was done, and by the end of the meal Luke had relaxed a little bit. They put the containers in the recycle chute, and Windu gestured for him to sit on the bed cross-legged with him.

Windu walked him through a basic meditation. It was a little harder than usual for Luke to get into the trance, but he got there.

"Good," said Windu. "Now, feel your body. Where are your emotions, in your body, right now?"

Luke's stomach was roiling, and his breath kept wanting to speed up, and his body didn't quite feel real, but he did his best. Windu led him through the parts of the body, and helped him to notice how each one felt, and what it meant to him.

"Name your feelings to yourself, even the ones you aren't comfortable with," Windu said.

Luke resisted. He didn't want to. Didn't want to face how Ben had betrayed him. (Didn't want to face the ruin of his hopes and dreams.)

Windu waited for him, and Luke tried, a bit, but there were things he couldn't face.

"Now look up to the Force," Windu said, and led his attention outward. It was as deep as a starry night in the desert, as warm as a sun and cold as the void. Luke himself was barely a pin-prick within it.

"Let it pass through you like a wave, and carry away with it all that you don't need."

Luke had seen waves, now; Rogue Squadron had had leave on a planet with an ocean and beaches, once, and he'd played in the shallows while a few of his squadron had surfed. He pictured one of those sweeping through him. Not enough to knock him off his feet, but enough to tumble him around a bit and scour him clean.

"And now, we come back to ourselves," Windu said.

Luke opened his eyes.

"Do you feel better?"

Luke considered. "Yeah?" he said. "I'm still hurt, and confused, and angry, though."

Windu smiled. "Jedi are not computers, Luke, and even computers can have emotions. The point is not to be rid of our emotions; the point is not to let them overwhelm us. If we're so wrapped up in our own feelings, we can't hear the Force. Or we'll hear what we want to hear, and tell ourselves it's the Force."

"Does that happen often?" Luke asked. "The Force is so much bigger than I am—than any Jedi is."

"But we can only sense it through our own selves," Windu said. "The Force is vast, but often subtle or nuanced. Or obscured. The louder our own wants and fears are, the harder it is to hear the Force … and the easier it is to convince ourselves that our own reactions are the Force prompting us. This is why Jedi must strive for peace within ourselves, and self-knowledge. Great power and sensitivity to the Force will not prevent our own self-deception."

"Oh," Luke said.

"On a more prosaic note, overpowering emotions also prevent us from hearing and understanding others," Windu said. "So now that we are both a bit more centered, let us ask Obi-Wan for his side of the story."

He unfolded his legs and turned so that his back was against the wall. "So. Obi-Wan. Did you know that Anakin Skywalker fell to the Dark Side?"

"Of course he—"

Windu held up his hand. "He wasn't there."

Luke opened his mouth to object again, but Windu spoke over him.

"Things were very tumultuous, and there was no chance to meet afterwards and piece together what had happened. Our entire world was destroyed in the space of a few hours. I've no idea how he escaped. I've no idea what he suffered, what he did, to survive. Neither do you. And neither of us will learn, if we do not listen."

Luke pursed his lips together, but nodded. He took a deep breath and settled himself in a more comfortable position. Ben had sacrificed his life to help Luke and the others escape; he'd helped Luke take down the Death Star. Luke should at least listen to hear what he had to say.

Windu nodded. He turned to the wall where the table was. "So. Obi-Wan." He nodded as if he could see him.

Obi-Wan told his story: being shot down by his own men, meeting up with another Jedi Master named Yoda, slipping into the Temple and watching with horror as his apprentice whom he loved like a son bowed to a Sith Lord.

Luke could hear the pain in his voice. He could almost smell the charred flesh, like his last day on Tatooine, discovering the bodies of Uncle Own and Aunt Beru. He shook his head. That didn't justify lying. Not about something this big.

But the story didn't end there. Ben had gone to his mother—a Senator! A former queen!—and told her what had happened, then followed her as she went to confront his father. How his father had attacked her, hurt her, how Obi-Wan had intervened. How they had fought, and his father had lost.

"I know I should have … finished him," Obi-Wan said, voice broken with pain. "It was cruel to leave him to die that way, and if I had, Palpatine couldn't have found him and saved his life. But I couldn't. I knew that I should—I've killed Sith Lords before, I knew how dangerous they were, I knew that they can sometimes survive things you wouldn't believe possible. But I couldn't do it."

Luke tried to imagine it. Fighting someone he loved. Knowing someone he loved was capable of that much evil. If it had been Uncle Owen or Aunt Beru, or Biggs, or Leia, or Han—could he have killed someone he loved, even if they'd done that much evil? He didn't think so. He hoped he wouldn't—but was that even the right thing to hope for? How many people would have been saved if Obi-Wan had finished Anakin then and there? (How many people would have been saved if his father had listened to his mother, and turned away from the Dark Side?)

(How many would have been saved if his father had never fallen in the first place?)

If Luke had had to kill someone he loved, or tried and failed to kill them, how would he have lived with himself afterwards? Obi-Wan's reputation as a crazy old man—a ghost haunting the sands—made a horrible sense.

But it still didn't explain the lie.

"I went back to the ship—the droids had loaded Padmé aboard—and took her to a discreet medical facility Bail Organa knew of. But it was too late for Padmé. She died. The droids couldn't find anything wrong with her—they fixed what he did, it was a simple injury. The birth was … no worse than usual. I've always wondered: was there something wrong with the droids? Was it something an experienced healer would have caught? Did Anakin do something to her with the Force, something more than merely choking her? Or was it something Palpatine did, some sort of Sith magic—she would have been a threat to him, to his control of his apprentice, to his Empire, if she'd lived. Might a Jedi skilled in healing have been able to save her?"

"Those are all reasonable questions," Mace said, his voice warm. "But … Obi-Wan, you know how useless it is to dwell on things that can't be changed. To center your thoughts in the past, rather than in the present."

"I know, Mace." Luke couldn't see Obi-Wan, but he sounded exhausted. Weary, with the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. "I've known that for eighteen years. But I was never able to make myself do it. Could you, if it were Depa?"

"Depa was my last apprentice, before the war," Mace told Luke. "I don't know. I hope I would have been able to. I'm sorry you were alone, that there was nobody to help you carry that burden."

"I didn't know anyone else had survived, besides Yoda," Obi-Wan said.

"More survived than you'd think," Mace said. "Jedi are very hard to kill. And there are a lot of people, across the galaxy, who didn't believe Palpatine's lies even at the very start."

This was all very interesting, and at any other time Luke would have been thrilled and fascinated to learn that other Jedi had survived. "You haven't said why you lied to me, Ben."

"It's what he told me, himself," Ben said. "I fought him, once, a decade after he fell. He said Anakin was dead, that he had killed him, that there was nothing left but Darth Vader."

Windu scoffed. "The Sith are masters of deception, including self-deception. He may have believed that; it doesn't make it true."

"Why would he say that, though?" Luke said. "It's obviously not true!"

"It can be true on a metaphorical level," Ben said.

Windu sighed. "He lies to himself about it because that is part of the way Sith manipulate themselves and their apprentices, to keep them tied to the Dark."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked.

"When someone chooses the Dark Side, it is very difficult to turn back from it, and they will be forever changed by their experiences," Windu said. "They will always be plagued by it. But it is possible to turn back … and no Sith master would wish his apprentice to do so. There are several things they do to make it less likely. One is to demand, at the very beginning of the apprenticeship, a task so heinous that it severs every tie the apprentice has and causes them to hate themselves for doing it."

"But if they hate themselves, won't that make them more likely to change?" Luke asked.

"The opposite, I'm afraid," Windu said. "It means that they have a driving motivation to never question their allegiance to the Dark, or what was it all for? If they ever do try to come back to the Light, they must face the evil thing they have done. As long as they continue to choose the Dark Side, they can see it as justified or right or necessary, or simply expedient. In the Light, they can see clearly that it was none of those things. If they can't imagine forgiveness or redemption or even new life is possible … they have every reason to cling to the Dark.

"As for the name, that is similar," Windu went on. "Anakin was a person with friends, a community, a commitment to the Light Side of the Force and the Jedi Order. Anakin had people who cared about him, people who might have held him to account, people who might have walked with him along the path out of the darkness … if he hadn't killed them. Darth Vader has none of those things. If he is not Anakin Skywalker, then he has no connections to Anakin Skywalker's life, no connections other than those he has made through the Sith and the Dark Side. If he is not Anakin Skywalker, then the terrible things he did to Anakin Skywalker's people are no tragedy to him."

"Do you think it's possible for him to turn back to good?" Luke asked, startled. Could his father be saved? His mother had thought so, even after he'd attacked her.

"In the Force, all things are possible," Windu said. "But that is not the same as probable. And it is not a choice anyone can make but Anakin himself. He began his fall with one great evil act, and he has committed countless more ever since. He has tried to kill everyone who reached out a hand to him, to offer help returning to the Light. Including those who loved him, and whom he loved. He must choose his own path—and whether or not he can live with what he has done. You can't choose it for him."

Luke nodded. Leia would have said the same thing. Had said the same thing, about Han. Han had come back, had joined the Rebellion, but not because of anything Luke had said or done. Because he'd chosen to do the right thing.

***

As Luke lost himself in thought, his emotions kept roiling.

Mace hid a wince. He'd have to teach the young man to shield himself as soon as he could; how had Obi-Wan not taught Anakin Skywalker's son to shield? If anyone had found him, he would have been the most important pawn in the galaxy, with dire consequences for Luke himself and everyone else.

But with Luke distracted, there was time for Mace to ask the questions he most cared about, without interruption. He centered himself in the Force, and asked it if this was a safe conversation to have. He felt no danger, saw no shatterpoints other than the remnant of the one that had broken when he had first seen Obi-Wan's ghost and Luke. "You said that Yoda survived the initial few days after Palpatine's rise. Is he still alive?"

The ghost nodded. "Yes. He secluded himself on an uninhabited planet called Dagobah. It has a large swamp, and in that swamp is a cave with a vergence in the Force—a Dark one. From a distance—"

"From a distance, it would conceal all trace of him in the Force, even in visions," Mace said, nodding. "And there would be nothing to draw anyone to an uninhabited planet."

"And a swamp is the most comfortable habitat for him," Obi-Wan said. "At least in so far as a solitary retreat in the wilderness can be comfortable."

"I can see why he made that choice—he was always a very distinctive person, easily recognized—but secluding himself that way meant there was no chance of the Force leading him to me or to any other Jedi," Mace said. "It's a pity. We could have used him."

"Other Jedi?" Obi-Wan sounded startled, as surprised as a ghost could be.

"Nobody you know," Mace said. "Nobody who Palpatine or Anakin would have considered notable. A few who escaped when their battalions turned on them, or who were never involved directly in the war. A few Corps members. A few young Force-sensitives we've rescued from bad situations."

"Where are they?" Obi-Wan asked. "They're obviously not in your acting troupe."

"We have a hidden enclave," Mace said. And he wasn't about to say more than that without better security, even with the Force telling him they were safe for the moment. "But several of us travel around in various guises, looking for survivors, or for Force-sensitives in danger, or for … useful things. Sometimes we find information that would be useful to the Alliance, or to other groups that are working against the Empire, and I pass it along."

"An enclave," Obi-Wan said. "With other Jedi, and younglings to train in safety." He, of course, had no need to worry about security; only a trained Force-sensitive would be able to perceive his words.

"Training?" Luke said. He had all the eagerness of a young tooka. "Could I come? Obi-Wan's been doing his best, but … as a ghost, it's hard."

"You could," Mace said. "It would be a hard path; becoming a Jedi is no easy thing, and—" he shook his head. "Normally, this would be the point where I tell you all about the danger of becoming a Jedi, with the Empire seeking us out to kill us. But given who your father is, and that you're apparently using his name?"

Luke nodded.

"I can't see that training you would put you in any more danger than you're already in, just by existing," Mace said. "And learning to hear and use the Force would be a great ally in staying safe and out of Palpatine's clutches."

***

Much as Luke wanted to begin his training immediately, it simply wasn't possible. Mace had never brought a lover along on one of their tours, and Luke's cover as a theater-loving spacer wouldn't last through a two-second conversation with anyone who knew theater. Moreover, Luke had to see to it that the intelligence Mace had gathered reached the Alliance in a timely fashion.

"You could tell me the name of the planet and I could make my way there by myself," Luke pointed out.

Mace stared at him. "I am not saying the name out loud. Not even if we had a proper stealth generator running."

"If I can't hang out with you until the tour is over and you go to the enclave yourself, and you won't tell me the name of the planet, how am I supposed to get there?"

He was a very impatient young man, Mace noted. "I'm not sure you should go there. If your father doesn't know of your existence already, he soon will—and he will be searching for you in the Force. If he had a vision of you, and could make out any identifying marks of the enclave in that vision, he might be able to track it down. I can't put everyone else at risk."

"Perhaps he should go to Yoda, on Dagobah," Obi-Wan suggested.

"Yoda hasn't taken an apprentice in over a century," Mace pointed out. "And he has never trained an adult who did not grow up within the Temple." And his given the failures of the line of that last apprentice—three who had chosen the Darkness, two of whom became Sith—Mace wasn't sure he was the best choice for Luke.

"Over a century?" Luke said. "How old is he?"

"Somewhere around the 900 years," Mace said.

"He is one of the greatest Jedi to ever live," Obi-Wan said. "He has trained countless generations of Jedi."

"Oh," Luke said, voice filled with awe.

"All of which experience took place in the old Republic," Mace said. "Things are different, now." He considered what Luke might find interesting and relevant. "Your father was brought to the Jedi at the age of nine. We almost turned him away—did turn him away, at first—because he was too old."

"Too old? At age nine?" Luke was appalled.

Mace nodded. "There are advantages to training a child starting when they are a youngling. It ensures that they are part of our culture, and grow up understanding and living by the tenets of our religion, and minimizes the bad habits they will have to unlearn. People who had Force-sensitive children, but who were not themselves part of a Force-sensitive tradition, would often give their children to us." He shook his head. "It is not the only way Jedi have been trained, over the millennia, because our history is ancient. But it is the way Jedi have been trained for the last thousand years. It caused problems with your father—he was so very different from what we were used to. We expected him to adapt, and when he struggled in ways that someone who had come to the Temple younger would not have, we did not know how to help him—and some did not even try."

Mace spread his hands. "It is something I think about often; all of the people we are currently training are older than Anakin was, when he became a Jedi. And we don't have the resources or support that we did then. We have had to adapt. We have learned a great deal. Yoda has trained more Jedi than anyone else in the history of the Order, that we know of."

"But he's been all alone for the last eighteen years," Luke said. "He hasn't learned what you've learned." He sat back, looking thoughtful.

"What do you suggest?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Luke goes back to his base, arranges for leave, and goes to Dagobah."

"But you said—"

"I continue on with the troupe through this engagement," Mace said, "and possibly the next, and then once there's no obvious connection with Luke, I announce that I found another gig and will be taking leave of the company for a while. I join you. It will be … a gift beyond price, to see him again, and we can see what he needs, and what you need."

***

Once Luke had left to go back to his ship, Obi-Wan turned to Mace. "Why did you make such a fuss about Yoda, if you were just going to tell him to go to Dagobah anyway?"

"He idolizes the Jedi, doesn't he?" Mace said.

"I suppose so."

Mace nodded. It had always happened; even at the height of the Order's powers, they were a tiny percentage of the galaxy's population, and the vast majority of people would never see a Jedi in their entire lives. That, plus their abilities, and their role as peacekeepers and bringers of justice, led to a certain amount of myth-making. Their destruction had only heightened that tendency, among people who didn't believe Palpatine's lies. "He can't possibly learn to be a good Jedi himself until he unlearns that, and can see us clearly, both good and bad. We do not want blind obedience. We want a mature Jedi who can see clearly, and learn from the mistakes of the past."

Obi-Wan shifted. Mace narrowed his eyes. He knew that movement; it was guilt. "Unless you do want blind obedience. Why did you lie about his father? Guilt and grief and believing Sith lies can't be the only reason."

"He may idolize the Jedi now, but he's idolized his father all his life," Obi-Wan said. "At best, it will be a distraction. At worst … he will refuse to do what he must. And then we will have no hope left. No hope to save the galaxy; no hope to protect your enclave."

Mace considered this. The deception stank of the worst mistakes the Jedi had made, during the war and in the years leading up to it. Sacrificing ethics for expediency. But he couldn't see the reason for it. "What do you think he 'must' do?"

"Kill Vader," Obi-Wan said. "Anakin, if you prefer. As I should have done, and failed to do."

"Skywalker?" Mace shook his head. "What does that matter? Why would killing the apprentice save either the galaxy or the enclave?"

Obi-Wan's ghost frowned at him. "Vader is more powerful than Palpatine, and the one who has directly slaughtered both the Jedi and countless others. If the enclave is discovered, Palpatine will not come destroy it himself; he will send Vader."

"And if Skywalker is killed, Palpatine will simply replace him with a new apprentice and nothing will change," Mace pointed out. He rubbed his forehead. Obi-Wan had let his attachment to his former apprentice blind his reason. It was understandable, but Mace would have thought that eighteen years to think about it would have given him time to clear his mind. "What would happen if Palpatine were killed, and Vader were left alive?"

"Then Vader would rule in his stead, and take an apprentice, and there would still be two Sith plus whatever acolytes and inquisitors Vader chooses to train."

Mace shook his head. "What, in all the things you know about Anakin Skywalker, implies to you that he would be able to keep the Empire together and rule it?"

"He would kill anyone who tried to defy him," Obi-Wan said.

"No government, not even the Empire, can rest solely on fear of punishment," Mace said. "Particularly not fear of one man. It's true, he could and would slaughter anyone who displeased him, but consider: he can only be in one place at a time. Expanding his powers beyond what he, personally, can be present for requires people to cooperate with him when he is not present. The galaxy is large. Even as a Jedi, Anakin possessed little understanding of politics, and less patience for it. Palpatine rules because, regardless of his considerable skill with the Force, he is an excellent politician. He is very good at getting people to cooperate with him and do what he wants, because he understands what they want and how to manipulate them because of it. Anakin has no such skills. At least he had none when he was a Jedi. Do you think that eighteen years as a Sith will have taught him patience and understanding?"

Obi-Wan scoffed. "Hardly."

"It would devolve quickly into civil war," Mace said, "as other high Imperial officials grabbed for power and tried to either unseat him entirely or break away their own fiefdoms. This would be very hard on the galaxy, and would cause great suffering and death. But it would also provide an opportunity for worlds to free themselves from the Imperial yoke. Not ideal, but better than Imperial rule in the long run." He waited for Obi-Wan to nod.

"As for the enclave, Vader and any apprentice he took would be far too busy trying to maintain their power to come after us," Mace went on. "We'd be safer than we have been since he fell."

He thought about Obi-Wan's reactions, the things he had done since the fall of the Jedi. They had only just begun to scratch the surface of what had passed; there would be many hours of conversation, of meditation, before either would know what the other had lived well enough to understand or judge their decisions.

But it seemed to Mace that Obi-Wan had never considered the possibility that the Jedi might have a future, not just a past. He had thought a great deal about how to kill his old apprentice, but if he had put any at all into what would happen after, it had yet to come up. He certainly hadn't given Luke even the most rudimentary training that might prepare him to carry on the Jedi legacy. And given Luke's excitement at meeting Mace, that lack could not have been Luke's idea.

Had Obi-Wan been trapped, in his head, in those last, few, terrible days? Mace ached at the thought. He himself had spent … a long time, trapped in his own pain, both physical and emotional, and the grief within him was a deep well of sadness that would always be a part of him.

But Mace had, eventually, learned to live. He had crawled out of the hovel in Coruscant's lower levels where he had holed up. He had gathered together what few survivors he could find who had managed to escape the Temple, and they had gotten each other offworld. He had had to set aside his pain enough to function, or they would never have made it. And by the time they had reached a place the Force told them was safe to settle down, and made it habitable, and had time to properly grieve—the worst of it had been behind him.

Behind them. Because they'd had each other to lean on.

Obi-Wan had been alone.

"Why didn't you stay with Yoda?" Mace asked, quietly.

"I—" Obi-Wan broke off, as if he hadn't thought of it. "I had to take Luke to his family, and then watch, to make sure Vader didn't follow. To be there to defend them if he did."

"Were you hoping he would?" Mace asked. "Was that why you let him keep the name, and put him with Anakin's family?" It would be an excellent way to lure Vader in, so Obi-Wan could kill him as he had failed to the first time. But an awful risk for Luke and his family.

"No," Obi-Wan said. "I didn't expect Vader would ever come to Tatooine. He always hated the place, and it has no value to the Empire."

"Did you stay with Luke's family?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Even if I had wanted to intrude, Owen held the Jedi responsible for what happened to Anakin, what he had become. He wanted to protect Luke."

The 'from me' went unspoken, but Mace heard it anyways.

"What did you do?"

"I retreated into the desert."

"Did you have anyone?"

"I was alone." There was a wealth of pain in those words.

"I'm so sorry," Mace said.

"I didn't have to be," Obi-Wan said. "I could have rented a room in Anchorhead or Mos Eisley. But I couldn't bear to be around people."

If Obi-Wan were still alive, and had a body, Mace would have asked if he could hold him, physical comfort for both of them. He would have asked if they could meditate together.

But Obi-Wan was dead, and all they could do was sit together in silence.

***

"Hey, kid, you're kinda quiet."

Luke looked up to Han, who was standing over him. Luke hadn't even noticed him and Chewie come into the crew lounge. "Huh? Oh. Yeah."

"Everything okay? Nothing happened? You weren't gone that long."

Chewie yowled that Luke could find trouble in no time at all.

"You said it, Chewie." Han spread his hands. "Okay, what's wrong?"

Luke hesitated. Besides the Alliance's own classification of the intelligence source, he'd been sworn to secrecy about Mace and the Jedi. He trusted Han, of course, but the fewer people who knew, the better. He realized there was one thing he could say.

"I met someone who knew my father," he said slowly.

"You're not looking like that's a good thing." Han slid into the chair across from Luke.

Luke heaved a sigh. "Depends on what you mean," Luke said. "I learned the truth."

"Which is …?" Han trailed off, inviting Luke to speak.

"He's still alive," Luke said.

"And you're sitting here looking like the world is ending, so I'm guessing it's not that easy."

"Ben lied to me," Luke said. "Anakin Skywalker wasn't killed by Darth Vader. He became Darth Vader."

Chewie yowled something Luke had no hope of understanding.

"The Emperor's enforcer?" Han said. "The guy who personally slaughtered three whole brigades on Rorlun IV? That guy?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "That's the guy."

Han swore. "And Ben didn't tell you that maybe you should change your last name, or at least not go around telling people your father was Anakin Skywalker? If Vader hears about you, I got no idea how he'll react but it can't be good."

"I know."

Chewie asked why Ben had lied to him, and Luke sighed. "I don't know. They were very close, and Ben's kind of messed up about the whole thing."

"He's dead, kid," Han pointed out. "Maybe he was messed up about it, but he's not anything, now."

"His ghost hangs around," Luke said. "Sometimes he talks to me."

"His ghost?" Han's voice dripped with disbelief. "I hate to break it to you, but there's no such thing as ghosts."

Chewie said there were enough weird things in the galaxy that he wasn't willing to deny the possibility of ghosts, especially not where Jedi were concerned.

"Chewie—" Han said.

Chewie reminded Han that it was rude to call someone crazy, especially a friend, and unless Han could prove ghosts didn't exist, he shouldn't give Luke a hard time about it.

Han waved a hand, but gave up on arguing with Chewie. "So. You're hearing voices."

"Just the one voice," Luke said. "And the more I practice meditating and other things he taught me, the more clearly I hear him."

Han made a face.

"Once I knew who my father really was, Obi-Wan talked about him, a bit," Luke said. "He killed my mother. He led the attack on the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Obi-Wan fought him, and won—but couldn't bring himself to kill him. Just left him for dead."

"Was this … ghost … the one who told you your father was Darth Vader?"

Luke shook his head. "No. But please don't ask me who did, or tell anyone about it."

"Was it your contact?" Han asked. "Was that why they wanted you, specifically? How do you know they were telling the truth?"

"I could feel it in the Force," Luke said. "I didn't want to believe it, but as soon as they said it I knew it was true." He hunched over.

He could tell Han was skeptical, but didn't argue about it. "I'm sorry kid. "That must have been rough."

Luke nodded.

They sat there in silence for a bit. Luke couldn't think of a thing to say.

***

Draven's office felt strange.

It took Luke a moment to realize it wasn't because the office had changed, but because he had changed. Or, no, he hadn't; but the things he knew about himself, his family, and his past had changed. But Draven's office—the whole Alliance—was still the same.

"Here's the data, sir," Luke said, handing the chip over.

"Anything I need to know that's not on it?" Draven asked. "That won't compromise the identity of the agent?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "You know that my father was the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker?"

"I believe it's been mentioned a few times," Draven said dryly.

"It turns out he didn't die with the rest of the Jedi," Luke said. He closed his eyes. "He turned to the Dark Side, and hunted them instead." He didn't want to tell anybody, but if his father could have a vision of him and see what planet he was on, Draven needed to know. It was a security breach.

"He became an Inquisitor?" Draven's voice was carefully neutral.

"No." Luke took a breath, and let it out. "He became Darth Vader."

Draven was quiet for a while. Luke looked down at his hands. He didn't want to see the look on Draven's face, and he was glad he hadn't learned yet how to sense other peoples' emotions in the Force.

"Is that absolutely confirmed?"

"Yes."

"Shame we didn't know earlier," Draven said. "But it's too late to change your name at this point. Still, I can think of ways to use it."

"I'd rather it not become common knowledge," Luke said.

"Of course," Draven said. "Do you know whether he will be interested in a relationship with you, or capturing you, once he learns?"

"I have no idea." Luke sighed. "He killed my mother."

"So we can't count on any family feeling protecting you," Draven said. "Well, I wouldn't have imagined that was possible in any case."

"It's possible that he might be able to have a vision in the Force, that might give him enough identifying information to figure out where I am."

"That will be harder to deal with," Draven said. "Though—is there any way to send him a vision on purpose?"

Luke frowned. "I have no idea. Why?"

"So we can mislead him, or lure him into a trap," Draven said.

"I … don't know, I'll let you know if I find out," Luke said.

"Good." Draven nodded decisively. "Anything else?"

"I'm going to have to take some leave to—" Luke remembered he wasn't supposed to mention living Jedi just in time "—deal with … things." He finished lamely.

"We'll be sorry to miss you," Draven said. "You're a good pilot, and we need every fighter we can get. But it will make security easier, if Vader can indeed get details—any details at all—of wherever you are."

"Yeah," Luke said. "What's—how do I—I don't know who I need to talk to, about arranging for it?"

"Your squad leader," Draven said. "But don't tell them why, if you don't want rumors about your parentage floating around."

Luke nodded.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I have no idea," Luke said, helplessly. How long did it take to become a Jedi? Could he do it part time—a few months with Masters Yoda and Windu, then a few months of missions with the Alliance, then back to training? Surely Master Windu couldn't take too much time off from his travels with his company, if that was how he found Jedi and information.

"Then the question is, how will you find us again when you are ready to come back? We don't make ourselves easy to find, and you know how little communication we allow with outsiders."

Luke nodded again. "I know how to get ahold of Princess Leia, if I have to. And Han, as long as he sticks around." He was always threatening to leave, and Luke wasn't sure if he'd stay without Luke. Also, Master Windu regularly passed information to the Alliance. Even if Leia was out of contact for some reason, and Han had left, Master Windu could get him back in contact.

"Very well," Draven said. "Then may the Force be with you, Skywalker."

***

"If Vader can sense your presence and may be able to track you down, then surely the best place for you is to stay with the Alliance," Leia said, matter-of-factly. She'd taken the news of his parentage with a flinch, but had collected herself with the sort of iron control he'd admired her since the first barb she'd thrown at him when they met.

"I don't want to put you all in danger," Luke protested.

"Whoever you're around will be in danger, if Vader decides to come after you," Leia said. "Nobody else has a prayer of stopping him. The Alliance has a better shot at it than anyone else in the galaxy—and if we could kill Vader, that would be a huge boon for us."

"She's got a point, kid," Han said.

"I know," Luke said. "But I have things I have to do."

"I hope you're not planning to rush off and confront him," Leia said grimly. "At best he'll kill you. At worst … you don't want to know what he does to prisoners. Or what the Emperor does."

"I'm not," Luke said. "This is … something else."

Leia narrowed her eyes. "You've found a Jedi to train you, haven't you."

"How did you—" Luke broke off with a blush as he realized he'd just confirmed it to her. "You can't tell anyone," he said, eyeing them both.

"No, I fully understand," Leia said. "Any Jedi who has survived this long hasn't done it by being careless with their security. I won't betray you—or them. Neither will Captain Solo." She shot him a glare.

"Cross my heart, I won't even tell Chewie," Han said. "Want me to give you a lift?" Han asked. "If you're so determined to go."

Luke shook his head. "I'm supposed to go alone. I need a ship, I won't be able to book passage."

"I'll arrange for a shuttle," Leia said. "We have more of them, proportionally, than any other ship. But it may take a while for one to be free."

***

The moisture in the air rushed in to beat Mace in the face as soon as he opened the hatch, but he ignored it. The Dark vergence clouded his perceptions, but it was only a little worse than the state of the general galaxy.

It took a few seconds of scanning the swamp before he saw Yoda, sitting on a rock to the side of the ship.

Mace drew in a breath. Yoda had aged more than Mace would have expected. A great deal more. "My old friend, it is good to see you." His throat was choked with emotion.

"Yes," Yoda said.

Mace went to him, knelt before him, and embraced him. They clung together, and Mace reveled in the tangible feel of a dear friend he had believed dead. One tiny piece of the weight of his grief fell away.

They meditated together, there on the rock. Words could come later; intwining into the Force with a dear friend was a pleasure Yoda had been denied for eighteen years.

"Tell me about what I have missed, these two decades," Mace said when they raised themselves back to their bodies.

"Caught many frogs, have I," Yoda said. He shot Mace a sly look. "Thrilled, would I have been, eight hundred and fifty years ago, to see that my retirement would produce such bounty."

Mace laughed.

***

"Told me, Obi-Wan has, of your opinion of my teaching abilities," Yoda said later, over dinner.

"I mean no disrespect, or unkindness," Mace said. "You taught countless Jedi, and did it well."

Yoda waved this away. "Afraid of the truth, a Jedi should never be. Telling, or hearing, either. Failed, we did, all of us. Failed our students, failed the Republic, failed the Force. Old I am, and frail. Teach another … I do not know if I can."

Mace nodded. "You and Obi-Wan know more of him than I do," he said. "What is he like? What are his strengths and weaknesses? What strategies had you considered?"

They spent hours discussing Luke and the challenges of training an adult (barely) with no prior Jedi training. It was a relief; Mace was by far the most senior Jedi in the enclave, and conversations like this one, based on an equality of experience and mastery of the Force, were rare.

***

Mace sat outside the hut, and listened in on Yoda's act. It had been Yoda's idea, and not something Mace would have thought of, but it was interesting to hear Luke interact with someone he wasn't expecting to be important. It was very revealing.

Mace had been skeptical that the sort of games Yoda played with younglings in the creche would be effective with an adult, but he'd been wrong.

When Yoda stopped playing with the young man, Mace got up and went in. Luke did a double-take, breaking off his protests.

"Master Windu, you're already here?" he said. "Why didn't you say anything? Were you sitting out there laughing at me?"

"I wasn't mocking you," Mace said. "I was evaluating how you treated someone who is different and odd, and also, how long it took you to look past your own preconceptions."

"But it's not fair," Luke said. "I didn't know I was being tested!"

"In the real world, we rarely know when our words and actions will be important and when they will not," Mace said. "And we weren't trying to evaluate how you treat people you think are important. We were trying to evaluate how you treat people when they're not important."

Luke sagged. "Oh."

"Being a Jedi is not—or shouldn't be—about power," Mace said. "It's about following the will of the Force, and about having compassion for all. It's about being able to see past the surface of things to their true depth."

"Not trusting your eyes, because they can deceive you," Luke said.

Mace nodded. "Yes."

"That was … the Order's greatest failure, during the Clone Wars," Obi-Wan's ghost said. "We became too caught up in reacting to each catastrophe as it came, we did not have the time or attention to step back and see what the deeper problems were. We were too busy with the most obvious problems to see their roots, until it was far too late."

Mace and Yoda nodded soberly.

"And here I just did the same thing," Luke said, a wave of shame flowing through him. "Did you do that sort of thing often, in training Jedi?"

"Lie to them about my identity, I did not," Yoda said. "Could not. Every Jedi knew me from the moment they were first brought to the Temple for training. But play similar games with the younglings, I did, so that practice their manners they could, even when frustrating, the person they talked to was."

"And I just failed a game you played with children," Luke said bitterly.

"You are still very young, Luke," Mace said. "Still learning who you are as a person, still growing. And you are only just beginning your journey as a Jedi. Young people are often impatient, and prone to quick judgments they do not have the experience to realize are flawed. Even back in the Order's height, when all Jedi began their training as children, it was not uncommon for Padawans and new knights to have similar issues. Obi-Wan, for example, was not shy about showing his impatience with the bedraggled and unfortunate people his master regularly associated with."

Obi-Wan's ghost nodded ruefully, although Luke couldn't see him.

"The purpose of being a student is to learn," Mace said. "The purpose of being a Jedi apprentice is to learn about the Force, and about yourself, so that you can more clearly see how to use the Force—and when to let it use you. Don't be discouraged. It's hard work, but I think you will do well, as long as you acknowledge your mistakes and learn from them."

Luke sighed, but nodded.

"Let us begin," Mace said.

[the-smart-house]

Say, Hermione, you’re a girl? (Pluck up the courage and ask!)

867 Words

(A/N: Warning, I stayed up way too late writing this and it's probably rushed.)

Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic, sits at her desk, well, it’s not hers, but it’s as good as. She’s never been one to be picky about working environments. Maybe she would’ve been in her school days, but ever since living in a tent for months, it hardly mattered. And, of course, she was given a spare office at Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall was more than happy to accommodate her.

Now she reads over important documents (she’d needed an enlarged suitcase to bring them all with her), deciding whether or not to allow her enchanted quill to sign them. Hogwarts is once again holding host to the TriWizard Tournament after it took another short hiatus, and she’d spent the past week busy preparing for the first task, so the papers stand in piles too high for her to see over. 

She glances over at the blue velvet envelope on the corner of her desk. A letter of gratitude from the Headmaster of Beauxbatons for organizing the event, especially after all the trouble was caused last time. The envelope is beautiful, with embroidery work, and a metal butterfly as the seal. The enchanted thing flits about the room, landing every so often.

Between one line of legalese and the next and knocking at her door breaks her concentration.

“Who is it?”

There’s a security charm around the office, to prevent curious or lost students from distracting her by wandering in, so she knows whoever it is must have already been approved by the wards. She isn’t scared so much as confused. It’s late, everyone else should’ve gone to sleep by now. In fact, she should be asleep.

“Ronald.” Her husband answers.

“Oh, well, come in.” She laughs. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

He comes in, holding a bouquet of flowers, all varying shades of blue. He looks nervous, but Hermione can’t think of why he would be.

“Ron, is that a peacock feather?” She asks, gesturing to the bouquet’s decoration.

“Oh, yeah. Mal- I mean Potter, gave it to me when I was stocking up on potions from the Apothecary. He said and I quote he ‘was happy to pull a feather from one of those pompous bastards.’”

Hermione snorts, “My, he really does hate those peacocks, doesn’t he? I wonder why?” 

“Yeah, I wonder.” Ron agrees.

But they both know why. The Malfoy peacocks belonged to Lucius.

“So, what’s the bouquet for, anyway?”

“Do I need an occasion?” Ron asks, sitting himself on the edge of her desk.

Hermione smiles, “No, but to get here you’d have had to appear into Hogsmeade, then take a carriage up to school. Besides, I know you’ve been busy at work. It’s quite a lot of effort to make just for flowers.”

“Well, you’re worth it . . . but actually.” He blushes. It reminds Hermione of their school days, Ron’s hardly ever embarrassed now. “It’s more important than that.”

“Oh.” She teases, leaning towards him.

He bites his lip, “Well, it’s about something you said to me 20 years ago. And I know I don’t say it, I don’t think we need to, normally, but I do still feel rotten about it, so I thought I would go and do it right this time.”

She cocks her head, thinking. 

‘20 years ago? Well, that would have been 4th year. I said loads of things that year. Is this about the tournament? I’ve told him it’s perfectly safe. He knows that. He didn’t seem worried about it. Is this about SPEW maybe?’

“Ronald, what’s this about?” She’s a little concerned.

He stands up, facing her, a look of determination on his face, “Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

It’s one of the Minister of Magic’s duties to attend the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament when it’s hosted in their country, of course, she was going.

She can only stare for a moment. Suddenly she’s not sure whether to giggle or cry. He waits patiently, holding out the flowers.

She ends up doing a bit of both “Oh, Ronald . . . well . . . you’re quite a bit early. Obviously, I’m going with you. Who else would I go with?” She stands up, getting on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“Oh well, you know, just making sure.” He jokes when they break apart.

“Yeah.” She hugs him again, holding him tightly, memories of the last tournament flashing through her mind. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Ron.”

He nods. It pays to be just a sidekick sometimes. Hermione doesn’t think she could love someone who was always running from death. Ron is safe, and she loves him more than anything.

“I wished I’d just asked you back then, blimey I really was thick back then.”

Hermione shakes her head, “Eh, you just weren’t ready, but we are now . . . and you have real dress robes.”

“Oh, Merlin, don’t remind me. I’m so glad there weren’t photos.” A wicked grin corset shi face, “You know, Hugo is too young, but we could send them to Louis.”

“Ronald, nO. Flour would kill us, or just you.”

“Oh come on, just as a joke. You know Bill will agree with me.”

“Hmm, maybe. Let’s go home and see if we can even find those blasted things.”

“Okay, let’s go home.”

With another kiss, the two are off.

[wicked-secretsanta]

Merry Christmas @starspangledpumpkin!

Read it on Ao3

“Is the party over yet?”

To hear the word party slip past Fiyero Tigelaar’s lips with such sullenness was an uncanny thing for Elphaba to hear. 

She’d found him sulking alone on a staircase on the outskirts of campus, bitter as the midwinter winds that whistled around them. Though voices from the party they’d abandoned could still be heard in the distance, Elphaba and Fiyero were far removed from the warming lamps and jolly pine decor of Shiz University’s courtyard.

As nipping as Fiyero’s remark was, Elphaba was happy that he’d spoken first. In fact, she was happy he spoke to her at all. She’d been surprised when Fiyero left the gathering, but not as surprised as when she instinctively followed him out. Not that she had any plan of what to say. What to do.

“For me at least,” Elphaba answered evenly, standing to the side of Fiyero on the step he was sitting on. “And it seems for you as well?”

A pause ensued as Elphaba patiently waited for Fiyero’s reply. It didn’t come.

“Fiyero—”

“Why are you even talking to me?” Fiyero muttered. “You haven’t for weeks”

Elphaba sighed. He was right. While she wouldn’t say that things had been icy between them…they’d been quiet. Things had been very quiet after…that day.

“You broke up with Galinda,” Elphaba said. “I was mad at you for that.”

“And now?”

“Well frankly it’s hard to stay mad at someone so pitiable.”

Her blunt remark would have insulted Fiyero on any other day, but he merely responded with a sad scoff. 

“Good point,” he agreed. “At any rate…Galinda seemed to forgive me faster than you did.”

“And why is it so important?” Elphaba asked. “That I forgive you?”

When Fiyero neglected to answer, Elphaba sighed and moved to sit beside him on the stairs. 

“I’m here now. Aren’t I? Extending an olive branch,” she said. “And not the kind Galinda made us dance with tonight…”

Despite himself, Fiyero cracked a faint smile.

“Yeah,” Fiyero agreed. “I’m not sure where Galinda got the idea to do a Wintertide party but she definitely had some interesting ideas.”

“I fear I may be partially to blame. She was dying to host something but I told her Lurlinemas was out. Nessa stiffens up at the faintest whiff of paganism.”

“Is that why Nessa was so tense over by the punch bowl?”

“Lacasa nectar,” Elphaba smiled wryly. “Galinda had to sneak in some Lurlinemas traditions. Princess Ozma’s punch, as she calls it.”

“Well it is ‘nicer to drink than soda-water’,” Fiyero jokingly quoted Galinda.

“‘And lemonade’!” Elphaba tacked on with a small laugh. “So once Lurlinemas was out she pivoted to all of…that,” she said with a vague gesture behind them. “And all of this.” 

Elphaba pointed to the halo of pine and golden berries that Galinda had fastened into her long, loose hair for the occasion. 

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Fiyero said, eying the crown. “Ridiculous…”

“So are you going to come back to the party or not?” Elphaba asked.

“No,” Fiyero muttered. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then neither am I.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“Please. I love an excuse to leave a gathering,” Elphaba smirked.

“Well this is a first for me.”

“Yes, that is well documented,” Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Your leaving early must be part of your ‘transformatoriam’.”

Fiyero frowned.

“My what?”

“Galinda says you’ve changed. She said that you’d gotten quieter, moodier just before you two broke up. That you’d been thinking. Oh, say it isn’t so, Fiyero!” Elphaba teased good-naturedly. 

Fiyero, who was usually eager to tease back, merely offered a glum shrug in return. Elphaba felt her face fall, dismayed by the state of him. It was as if Fiyero had…dimmed. He was muted and bleak. Worst of all…the light behind his eyes was simply…missing. It had been for some time. 

Elphaba missed that most of all.

“You’re not yourself, Fiyero,” Elphaba said gently. “One day you were breezing along without a care in the world and the next you just…changed. What changed?”

Curiosity, frustration, and concern all blended within Elphaba’s chest as she tried to figure Fiyero out. She wasn’t sure which emotion to lead with. However, when Fiyero finally turned his head to meet her eyes, it was curiosity that took hold first. She frowned with intrigue, unable to shake the feeling that all of Fiyero’s mysteries would be revealed to her…if she could only search his eyes long enough.

She wasn’t allowed that chance. 

Stiffly rising to his feet, Fiyero abruptly descended the rest of the staircase and turned his back to her.

“You should get back. Galinda will be looking for you.”

Elphaba stood, her frustration now flaring to the lead. 

“I’ve already said that I don’t want to go back,” Elphaba repeated tensely. “Everyone is just getting drunker, Nessa is cranky, and I’ll never get the smell of pine off of me. Besides—"

“Besides what?” Fiyero asked, turning to face her. 

“Well? What would you have me do?” Elphaba challenged. “Leave you out in the cold to mope around?”

“Hey, I am not moping,” Fiyero said petulantly. “I am a prince. Princes don’t mope.”

“Well this prince is moping!”

With a huff Elphaba descended to join Fiyero on the ground. 

“What is this really about?” she prodded. “Is it about what Avaric said? He is such an ass.”

“You just can’t let him get to you,” Fiyero muttered dismissively.

“Then why are you letting him get to you?”

Fiyero’s jaw clenched but, again, he said nothing! Fiyero, though Elphaba would never tell him so, had previously proven himself a worthy sparring partner. But now? His silence stung her. Had their chilly couple of weeks really caused that deep a divide between them? 

Though now Elphaba had to wonder…how close had they ever really been? Perhaps she’d misjudged Fiyero’s friendship from the beginning. Perhaps she’d misjudged everything.

“Okay, well…” Elphaba muttered, turning back towards the steps to leave. “If you don’t want me here then—”

“No! Elphaba, I do.”

Elphaba stopped in her tracks as Fiyero’s hand reached forward to seize her own. Her gaze drifted towards their now linked hands and back to Fiyero’s eyes, and as she did…it all came surging back.

That day. 

The Cub, the poppy field, the scratch on his face. The way she’d taken his hand…much like he’d just taken hers. 

The way he had looked at her.

Much like he was looking at her now. 

A wintery gust rippled past them and Elphaba, shivering back into herself, quickly released Fiyero’s hand. 

“Sorry, I—” she apologized breathily, flexing her stiffening fingers. “My…fingers are ice.”

“Are they?”

Fiyero, obliviously undeterred, reached forward to rub Elphaba’s hands, warming them in his own.

“Oz, you weren’t kidding, Thropp,” he said in lighthearted jest. “I’m not so sure you’re going to make it.”

“Is that so?”

“Let’s see.”

Without a thought, Fiyero brought Elphaba’s hand to his face and pressed the back of her fingers against his cheek. 

“Yeah. It’s as I thought. You’re a goner, Thropp. And…”

Fiyero trailed off as he finally registered the silent surprise across Elphaba’s face. Her fingers remained on this face, frozen in more ways than one, delicately held in place by Fiyero’s grasp. Cold vapor mingled as their breathing grew shallower, tenser. Unable to help himself, Fiyero’s eyes drifted towards the sweet part between Elphaba’s lips.  

“And apparently so am I…” Fiyero breathed.

Elphaba wasn’t sure what to say, but before she had time to think of anything, Fiyero removed his hand and pulled back to create that same familiar, safe distance between them. 

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry, I…didn’t mean to do that…”

Elphaba pursed her lips back together, the burn of embarrassment heating her neck. There he went again. Pulling away after confusing her with his…closeness. 

“Of course,” Elphaba said tightly. “Of course you didn’t.”

With that she turned on her heel and began stalking towards the steps to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Fiyero called after her. 

“Back to the party!” Elphaba said, turning back. “I might as well, right? Seeing as I keep getting the cold shoulder from you here, why shouldn’t I go back and enjoy my first bonafide Wintertide celebration?”

“Bonafide—” Fiyero scoffed. “Are you kidding? You know—Vinkuns are the only people left in Oz who still actually celebrate Wintertide! And I can tell you none of that was close to what it’s actually like.”

“Well go on then,” Elphaba prompted. “You clearly want to get it off your chest!”

“It’s all just a mockery of Winkies—no different than usual,” Fiyero continued heatedly. “We don’t dance with pine branches. We don’t drink princess punch. We certainly don’t put on masks and have orgies in the grasslands like Avaric said!”

“So you are mad about Avaric,” Elphaba said. “You could have just said so—”

“And we don’t wear halos of golden berries no matter how pretty it looks on you!”

Elphaba, momentarily flustered, emitted a sound between a choke and scoff. Swallowing to recover, she barreled forward to ignore his comment.

“So that’s really why you’re so worked up?” she said. “Some poorly mimicked traditions?” 

“No—”

“Because screw traditions!” Elphaba declared. “Oz—this time of year. I swear! You want to know what I think about traditions, Fiyero?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“I think they’re dumb. Sure some of them are harmless. Maybe even fun! But overall traditions just create yet another excuse to exclude people. Another excuse to keep things working the same way it always has. Oh, but it’s tradition!” Elphaba cried sarcastically. “It’s tradition! But why, Fiyero? Why do we uphold traditions year after thankless year?”

“Elphaba,” Fiyero interjected.

“Is it for familiarity? Sentimentality?”

“Elphaba.”

“Or are people really that afraid of change?!”

“Elphaba—”

“What?!” Elphaba snapped. “What? What, Fiyero?!”

“I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

“I meant that you look really pretty tonight,” Fiyero said softly. He took a breath. “You look beautiful.”

Elphaba straightened her spine, her rant fizzling under his sudden intensity. 

“Don’t,” she muttered softly, shaking her head at him. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t—” Elphaba gestured ambiguously. “Confuse me like that. I’m—I’m not Galinda, Fiyero. I don’t know any of the right…ploys. I can’t tell what your intentions are!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you stopped talking to me too,” Elphaba accused. “It wasn’t just me. After that day…after the Lion Cub you—”

Fiyero looked away from her. 

“There!” Elphaba pointed out. “There, you see? After that day you broke things off with Galinda and just…stopped talking to people. You stopped talking to me,” she said. “And…”

“And what?” Fiyero asked, chancing a glance back towards her. 

“And…” Elphaba gestured helplessly. “And that hurt, Fiyero. It hurt me. I kept thinking…that I had done something wrong.”

Fiyero shook his head. 

“No, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then why?”

“I—” Fiyero made a frustrated sound and shook his head. “I don’t—”

He walked past her to sit on the steps once more, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Fiyero?” Elphaba asked, turning to look at him. 

“I don’t know, Elphaba. Okay? And I’m sorry. I don’t know—I don’t…” Fiyero put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea…what I’m doing.”

Elphaba stared after him and, after a long fought battle, her concern for Fiyero finally reigned victorious. She slowly crossed to sit beside him on the step, calmly reached into her bag, and procured a small loaf of poundcake meant for one. She unwrapped it from the plastic, broke it in half with care, and held one half out to Fiyero.  

“Here.” 

Fiyero lifted his head, frowning in confusion. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s…my tradition,” Elphaba admitted with some reluctance. Fiyero gave her a questioning look and she emitted an embarrassed sigh. “During this time of year Father always gave our cook time off for the religious holiday which left me responsible for preparing dinner. Afterwards he and Nessa always went to midnight service and left me behind to clean up.”

“Doesn’t sound very fun.”

“Right. But it still beat going to the midnight service,” Elphaba snorted. “So, every year after they left I would just…make myself some ginger pound cake and enjoy a little…peace. I so rarely got time alone in the house and it became my own little…secret ritual.”

“So you were holding out on me,” Fiyero said. “For someone who hates traditions so much…I wouldn't have expected you to create one for yourself.”

“I suppose it’s not traditions themselves I hate. I hate…doing things a certain way simply because that’s how they’ve always been done. Or…how things are expected to be done.”

“Yeah…” Fiyero murmured. “I can understand that.”

Elphaba nodded gently. “I thought you might be able to.”

Fiyero looked at her and then back at the poundcake.  

“Well I have to say it. This is the gloomiest tradition I’ve ever heard of,” Fiyero teased. “Making cake for yourself and then eating it alone.”

“Then I’m in good company,” Elphaba shrugged. “Because you’re as unhappy as I’ve ever seen you, Fiyero. And that is saying something.”

Fiyero felt a half-hearted swell of defensiveness and the urge to deny her claim…an urge that was soon soothed by Elphaba’s earnest expression.

“Why did you follow me out here, Elphaba?” Fiyero asked seriously. “Really. If I’m as sad as you say I am?”

“Because…you don’t have to be happy for me to care about you, Fiyero,” Elphaba said. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Fiyero said nothing but Elphaba watched as his features softened. 

“Oh, Fiyero,” Elphaba sighed, her shoulders slackening in sympathy. “You do know that…right?”

Fiyero was quiet, offering only a single, small shrug. Elphaba watched him swallow as if there was a new tightness in his throat.  

“You know…there’s something about this time of year,” Elphaba began musingly. “Have you ever noticed? There is so much emphasis on celebrating, gathering, togetherness. And it doesn’t matter if people celebrate Lurlinemas or Wintertide, or nothing. It’s like everyone starts to participate in some sick pageant where they’re trying to…I don’t know. Out happy each other.”

As Elphaba spoke, hers and Fiyero’s knees deftly brushed against each other. They both expected for the other to pull theirs away…but neither did. 

“So…” Elphaba continued. “We throw parties and decorate and visit loved ones and everyone labels it the best time of the year. And…it’s hard not to feel crazy if you disagree. In fact this time of year has a way of making it so that the lonely…just get lonelier.” 

Fiyero thought about this.

“Do you ever get homesick, Elphaba?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” Elphaba answered honestly. “Yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Fiyero said, equally as honest. “Sometimes I think I do…but other times not so much.”

“Well whichever it is…I am sorry that the party back there didn’t represent your home very well.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I was never really all that into Wintertide anyway…” Fiyero chuckled before trailing off into thought. “Although…there was always one part of it I liked.”

“Oh?” Elphaba asked, interest piqued. “What is it?”

“The Dark Night torch.”

Elphaba waited for him to continue. 

“Well you know how Wintertide is the longest and darkest night of the year?” Fiyero asked. Elphaba nodded. “It’s customary for two people to pair off and light a torch together in the middle of the night. If another pair spots a torch in the distance, then they light a torch. And so on and so on and so on…” Fiyero explained. “The idea was to send a signal to the hunters in the grasslands. To let them know that the darkest night was ending…and that the light would be returning soon.”

“That’s lovely,” Elphaba said. She meant it.

“Yeah, well…nowadays it’s all symbolic. The first torch is usually lit at the castle. I’ve never lit it, though.”

“Why not?”

Fiyero paused to consider his response.

“I guess it was just never…” Fiyero began vaguely. “Right.” 

“I see…” Elphaba said slowly. Down the cobblestone path before them, she eyed an unlit gas streetlamp. “Well…why not tonight, then?” 

Standing off the step, Elphaba began walking purposefully towards the streetlamp.

“What are you doing?” Fiyero asked, rising to follow her.

“I mean it’s no torch but it’s close enough, right?” Elphaba explained, pointing it out. “They must have missed that one tonight.”

“But we don’t have the…stick…lighty thing.” 

“Ah, yes. The technical term,” Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Come on now. It’s the least I can offer after the Shiz student body bastardized your entire culture tonight.”

Elphaba stopped at the streetlamp and, when she didn’t hear Fiyero’s footsteps, looked behind her to see him hanging back. He wore a strange expression. 

“What are you so afraid of, Fiyero?” Elphaba asked. 

She said it half in jest and half with all the sincerity in the world. Her question seemed to do the trick, however, because Fiyero took a breath and crossed to join Elphaba at her side. 

“Alright. Let’s do it,” Fiyero nodded. “How?”

“I have an idea,” Elphaba said, presenting her hands to Fiyero. “Put your hands beneath mine.”

Fiyero eyed them a moment before gently placing his hands beneath Elphaba’s open palms. He watched, then, as Elphaba inhaled deeply and produced a smoldering flame directly above her hands.

“Whoa—!” 

Wildly off guard, Fiyero removed his hands and leapt backwards. The flame dissolved in a small puff of smoke as Elphaba opened her eyes with an amused cackle. 

“What? You’re not afraid of a little fire, are you?” she goaded.

“I’m not not afraid of fire!” Fiyero protested. “Especially not that close to me!”

“It’s very controlled, I promise,” Elphaba assured him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question…”

Elphaba raised her eyebrows, her hands still outstretched towards him. Shaking his head, unable to believe he was doing this, Fiyero crossed back towards her and returned his hands beneath hers. 

“Okay,” Fiyero decided. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Elphaba nodded. “I mean that.”

More prepared this time, Fiyero watched in anticipation as Elphaba closed her eyes and reconjured the flame between them. It hovered above their fingers and grew steadily until it was about the size of an apple. As promised, it did not harm them. Instead it warmed Elphaba and Fiyero’s hands as if they were holding a mug of tea. Slowly, Elphaba raised her eyes to find that Fiyero was already looking at her, admiring how the flickering flame brought out the warmth in her eyes. The golden glint of the halo in her hair. Her vibrant emerald.

“Fiyero…” Elphaba said without thinking.

The word slipped out with no others to follow. Even Elphaba didn’t know her intention behind it. She only knew that Fiyero was looking at her with an intensity that made her burn in a way that the flame they were holding could not. 

“What happens next?” 

“What?” Elphaba asked dumbly.   

“With the lantern.” 

“Oh—yes,” Elphaba nodded. “Just…follow my movements.”

With a fluid gesture, Elphaba lifted her hands with Fiyero’s beneath them. The orb of fire lifted off their hands and drifted lazily upwards like a balloon until it took perch in the streetlamp to begin sharing its light. Elphaba and Fiyero dropped their hands and stood back, heads craned upwards to admire their lantern which now stood indistinguishable from the other lighted lamps. 

But they knew. 

“Happy Wintertide, Fiyero,” Elphaba murmured, still looking at the lamp. 

“Happy Wintertide…”

The initial brush may have been accidental, but the lingering was not. They both knew it. Fiyero’s knuckle brushed against Elphaba’s and they both took a cold breath in. Though their flame was high above them now, too far to feel its warmth, a heat lingered between them. Then, without looking, without speaking, the tips of Elphaba and Fiyero’s fingers met and twisted together into a rather delicate tangle. 

“Why did you never do this tradition before?” Elphaba asked again, this time in a whisper. 

“Because…” Fiyero replied weakly, his thumb brushing back and forth against Elphaba’s hand. “Because the tradition is…”

They slowly turned their heads to look at each other, hands still linked, and Fiyero met Elphaba’s eyes with affectionate resignation.

“The tradition is to light the torch with someone you love.”

Elphaba blinked, her heart aggressively pulsing adrenaline throughout her body. Fiyero turned towards her, apparently emboldened, and his hands took her waist. 

“And I had never felt that way,” Fiyero continued breathlessly, eyes drifting to Elphaba’s lips. “Not…not until…”

“Fiyero…”

Before either of them had time to react, Elphaba and Fiyero leaned forward to meet in a sudden but tender kiss.

Eyes slipping closed, Elphaba’s hands found Fiyero’s shoulders to hang onto as his arms encircled her waist. A strange but calm feeling washed over them both as if their kiss was both impulsive and yet long overdue. Their lips soon parted but their faces stayed close, the tips of their icy noses brushing against each other as their circumstances sunk in. 

“You just kissed me,” Elphaba breathed. 

“I did,” Fiyero said, arms still locked around her frame. 

“Did you mean to do that?”

Fiyero’s face broke into a grin, amused by her flustered query.

“Yeah, I did…” he answered. “And you kissed me back.”

“I did.”

“Did you mean to do that?”

Elphaba was quiet for a moment before nodding slightly. 

“Yes. I did.”

Their gaze lingered for a moment before they kissed again, this time with decidedly more fervor. They grasped at each other almost clumsily, as if their pent-up passion was all trying to escape at once. Fiyero’s hands stroked Elphaba’s face once before his fingers dove into her haloed hair. Elphaba, in turn, gripped the lapels of his coat and kissed Fiyero insistently—insistently. 

“This is crazy,” Elphaba muttered between kisses. “This is crazy…”

With a sudden jerking motion, Elphaba stepped backwards and broke their kiss with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Fiyero asked dazedly. “What’d I do?”

“This is crazy!” Elphaba repeated in earnest, eyes wild with confusion. “Fiyero, this is crazy!”

“No it’s not,” Fiyero said. “It’s not crazy.”

“Do you even realize what you just did?” Elphaba said with a wild laugh. “Fiyero you just kissed me.”

“Yeah! Like I said, I did it on purpose!”

“But it’s me, Fiyero. It’s me and it’s you and—”

“And what?!”

Elphaba wrung her hands together. 

“You’re not thinking clearly. You’re not thinking at all,” she insisted. “You’re just having a bad night. As I said, you’ve been off lately and—”

“Off? I’ve been off?!” Fiyero glared. “Do you want to know why I’ve been different, Elphaba?! You want to know why I’ve changed?!”

“Why—”

“I’ve changed because of you!” 

Elphaba blinked. “What?”

“You, Elphaba. You,” Fiyero insisted, gesturing to her. “You are why I broke up with Galinda. You are why I left the party. You are why—”

“So you’re saying I’m to blame?!”

“Yes!” Fiyero exclaimed. “For all of it! It’s like you cracked my brain open. It’s like you pried open my eyes! You’re the reason I’ve been thinking, Elphaba. You’re…you’re who I’ve been thinking about!” he professed. “I can’t—I can’t…I cannot stop thinking about you, Elphaba. I just…I can’t.”

Elphaba was speechless for a moment. She stood paralyzed, staring at Fiyero, before weakly whispering: “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Fiyero repeated, confused. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” Elphaba answered. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for that, I suppose. That I don’t know what to say. What to think.”

“So you’re saying that now I’m thinking too much and you can’t think at all?” Fiyero asked. Elphaba shrugged. “How ironic.”

Elphaba managed a feeble smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Fiyero stepped forward and took her cold hands in his. 

“Is it crazy, Elphaba?” Fiyero asked seriously, rubbing her fingers. “Is it really so crazy? You and I?”

“Yes. It is,” Elphaba answered hoarsely. “It’s rather impossible to picture, in fact. For you to care for me in that way.”

“But not hard to picture it the other way around?” Fiyero asked hopefully. 

“Don’t,” Elphaba hissed, removing her hands from his. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me fess up to feelings that are already perfectly obvious!”

“They’re not as obvious as you might think!” 

“Don’t,” Elphaba repeated, voice cracking this time. She shook her head and crossed her hands over her heart as if to plead with him. “Don’t make me say it, Fiyero. Don’t toy with me.”

“Hey—”

“Have I not already been subjected to enough humiliation for one lifetime?!”

She turned her back to him, but not before Fiyero caught sight of anxious tears jumping to her eyes. Too proud to show her face, Elphaba quickly swiped her cheeks clean and took a few shaky breaths. 

“Don’t make me say it, Fiyero. Don’t make me risk saying something…that I cannot ever take back.”

“Elphaba…look at me.”

Frozen vapor released between Elphaba’s lips as she exhaled greatly, gathering her courage to face him. When at last she did, Elphaba, to her surprise, felt her body go off script. Betraying her safeguarding senses, Elphaba flung herself into Fiyero’s arms for a needy hug. Surprised though he was, Fiyero embraced her readily and tucked her close against him. When she shivered he held her tighter, rubbing her back up and down to warm her. To soothe her. 

“I’ll say it, then,” Fiyero spoke up softly, and Elphaba could feel his heart accelerate from where her head lay on his chest. “Oz, I’m scared to shreds…but I’ll say it first. Elphaba, I’m—”

“Don’t say it if it’s not true,” Elphaba warned in a hurried whisper, her fingers clutching him tighter. “Don’t tell me anything that you don’t mean.”

“I won’t. I promise you I won’t,” Fiyero murmured. “Do you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Even so, after a moment Elphaba lifted her head off of Fiyero’s chest to properly meet his eyes. Fiyero delicately brushed her hair aside before caressing the sides of her face. 

“Elphaba…” he breathed. “I have been such a coward. Because you’re right…I have been avoiding you. I thought I could brave this party but when I saw you…”

Fiyero shook his head, gently stroking Elphaba’s face with his thumbs. 

“I was scared to face you after that day with the Cub because…because I know I can’t hide from you. I know I can’t trick you. And I knew that if you looked at me for long enough that you’d see…” Fiyero poured his gaze into hers. “You’d see that I’m falling in love with you. And I am, Elphaba. I am falling so…so in love with you.”

Elphaba placed her trembling hand over Fiyero’s.

“And you’re not just saying this because we kissed, right?” Elphaba checked anxiously. “You’re not just getting caught up…in the heat of the moment?”

“How could it be the heat of the moment?” Fiyero said simply. “It’s freezing out here.”

She tried not to…but Elphaba smiled at that. Weakly, but still. She smiled. 

“And you don’t need to say anything back,” Fiyero assured her, encouraged by her smile. “As far as I’m concerned…this is already the best Wintertide I’ve ever had.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely. I lit my first Dark Night torch, got some free cake, had the best first kiss of my life,” Fiyero listed charmingly, earning a flustered laugh from Elphaba. “And I finally told the woman of my dreams how I felt about her. Oz, Elphaba. I have never felt so…free.”

Elphaba took a good look at him. He looked freer too. Unburdened. There was energy in his features again, a giddiness in his tone. But best of all… 

The light had returned. 

The light had returned to his eyes.

“I love you too,” Elphaba said before she could overthink what she knew in her heart to be true. Her declaration was impulsive but the sentiment was anything but. “Oz help me, Fiyero…but I am falling in love with you too.”  

And Elphaba watched as Fiyero’s eyes, deeply expressive once more, lit up with surprise, then joy, then…mischief.

“What?” Elphaba narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What’s that look? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you saying that you’ve been…” Fiyero reached over to straighten the coniferous crown upon her head. “Pining for me?”

“Oh sweet Oz,” Elphaba complained loudly, backing away from him. “I tell you that I love you and you respond with a pun?!”

“Oh come on!” Fiyero called after her, grinning. “I’ve been pining for you too! It was mutual!”

Elphaba, trying and failing not to laugh, tore off her halo of berries. 

“There!” Elphaba said, chucking it towards Fiyero who caught it in both hands. “Take it, you horror!”

Fiyero grinned at the halo in his hands before returning his gaze to Elphaba. 

“You know…” Fiyero began, approaching Elphaba to close the gap between them. “Suddenly I’m glad that tonight is the longest night of the year….”

“And why is that?” Elphaba asked. 

“Because I never want this night to end.”

Carelessly tossing the halo behind his shoulder, Fiyero used his now free hands to pull Elphaba against him and kiss her again, a kiss that she more than welcomed. The torch they lighted flickered approvingly above their heads and as they fell deeper into one another, Elphaba couldn’t help but muse over how odd a match she and Fiyero were. 

How strange. 

How…untraditional. 

And it was funny, they both thought, that their hearts had come together on the darkest night of the year…because neither Elphaba nor Fiyero could remember a time when they’d ever shone so bright.

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Sabo x reader, but the reader is Dragons assistant, She sometimes goes to meetings for him, makes sure he's on top of his paperwork and will help him with it, she's almost always at dragons side, but when she's not she's with sabo, or Sabo is shamelessly flirting with her while trying to get her paperwork done. He notices small things like if she forgot to eat or drink water, he sometimes visits her to make sure she takes a break. they go on missions together and are known as an iconic duo. she ate a Lava devil fruit (I can't think of the name) and her body can form into Lava.

It could be a cute one shot of him flirting with her, or maybe just a comfort one shot after a long frustrating day. Maybe She's been overworking herself trying to figure out how to fix a problem the revolution has been having and now dragon has something else to do so he can't be of help and she's on the edge of a breakdown?

Warnings: lightly suggestive

Word Count: 1225

     Walking down the halls of the RA headquarters, you carefully shifted the stack of files in your arms. Papers that Dragon needed for the latest meeting, no doubt to be somehow handed out by you despite barely being able to hold the stack, let alone hand them out. Hopefully there was a side table to set them on. While Dragon didn’t do it to intentionally torture you or anything, the main table and chairs were meant for the commanders and any documents they had. It made some sense, they often spread their papers out while looking over 5 pages at once, they didn’t need you taking up space. That being said, it made your life so much harder. Glancing at the stack worriedly, you stopped. Had they just shifted? Would they fall if you continued? You soon felt one arm behind your back, another arm steadying the stack.

     “Hey, beautiful. Quite the stack you’ve got. The meeting must be pretty important today.” Sabo said softly, lifting at least half the stack out of your arms once he was certain neither you nor your papers would end up sprawled across the floor. Had you not known his strength, you might have worried about how much he’d taken, but this was Sabo, second-in-command, trained by Dragon, he could handle it. 

     “I wouldn’t actually know. He shares a lot with me, I fill out paperwork, I file things, and I fetch files for him, but I know surprisingly little about your meetings.” you said, smiling at him as you both headed towards the meeting room.

     “Could have fooled me, you’re always so on top of everything.” He said, giving you that dreamy smile of his.

     “You flirt. You know damned well that I’m not on top of things.” you said, giving him a small, playful glare. 

     “Alright, alright, I know you’re not always on top of things, but you make it look like you are. Of course, if you’d like to be on top-” you quickly stepped on the blond’s foot before he could finish his sentence. While you knew it wouldn’t hurt the boy, it would stop him from saying anything further. Sabo chuckled but didn’t say anything further, setting your papers down as soon as you were in the meeting room. Thankfully, you had been given a small table. 

     Sitting at your desk, you wanted to groan. The meeting had gone well, but had given you a lot more paperwork to do. Some days, you didn’t know how you kept up on it all, the papers on your desk always more than enough to block most of your view of anything. Not that you had anything to view anyway, but that wasn’t your point. Hearing a small clink, you looked up from your papers, smiling when you found a cup of water on your desk, Sabo standing behind it, holding two trays, one piled high with food.

     “Figured you’d be busy after that meeting so I decided to bring dinner to you.” he said, setting the trays down, sliding one over to you.

     “Just do me a favor and don’t get food all over my papers again. People weren’t happy with me even though I told them it wasn’t me who got food over everything.” you said, scolding him slightly. Giving you a sheepish smile, Sabo nodded. The food was a welcome distraction from your papers, enjoying your food and Sabo’s presence. While the boy still ate like a feral animal, he’d made sure that nothing would get on your papers this time as he ate, something you were extremely grateful for, even if it meant both of your jackets were getting dirty from protecting your work, the clothes carefully draped over the papers. Despite some of the trouble he caused, the blond was always sweet and caring, especially when it came to you. Holding you tightly but lovingly, making sure you didn’t overwork yourself or miss meals, and carrying you to bed, kicking and screaming, when you tried to stay up all night to finish ‘just one more thing’. 

     Sighing, you set the latest paper aside, you’d finally finished all the work from the meeting and were, understandably, exhausted. You’d been filling out papers all day, your vision blurring together at moments from staring at papers too long, and a couple of 5 minute naps on your desk, but you were finally done. As what always happened, new things had been added to your pile of papers to do later, but the stack had shrunk and you’d gotten the vital things finished, so you weren’t particularly worried about what you’d finish tomorrow. Laying your head on your desk again, you didn’t notice the footsteps approaching you until a pair of arms was carefully lifting you out of your chair. Opening your eyes, you looked up into the loving face of your boyfriend, his smile growing wider as he looked down at your sleepy form.

     “Sorry, did I wake you? Figured I’d let you sleep.” he said softly, already carrying you back to your room.

     “Wasn’t actually asleep yet. Just resting my head.” you said with a smile, making the man chuckle.

     “No, angel, you were asleep. I called your name 5 times and stood in front of you making sure you weren’t awake for 10 minutes.” he said, making you look at him in slight bewilderment. Had you really fallen asleep without realizing it? You could have sworn it was only a couple of minutes. Sabo just shook his head before kissing your forehead. He didn’t really mind, you were cute, especially when you fell asleep at your desk. It didn’t take long for him to help you get ready for bed before, once more, picking you up and carrying you to bed. To be absolutely honest, you were falling asleep in his arms before you even hit the mattress, missing the loving look on Sabo’s face as he carefully tucked you in before laying down next to you. He’d take care of you like he always had, more than happy to do things for you. Helping you was always the highlight of his day, enjoying the sweet, thankful smiles you gave him, the kisses on the cheek as a reward, and the chance to simply be close to you. With all the work you did for Dragon, you were busy more often than not which didn’t leave a lot of time for just holding you and while he understood how important it was, he really wished he could hold you more. So he’d take every moment he could to be with you, especially if he could be alone with you, allowed to be as sweet and loving as he desired without anyone hassling him about being sickeningly sweet. Brushing some hair out of your face, he kissed your forehead before pulling you close, quickly falling asleep with you in his arms. Bedtime was, more often than not, his favorite time of the day because he got to see you looking so peaceful, got to hold you close, and simply be with you without interruption. He’d have to convince Dragon to give you some time off, you’d deserved it and you needed it. With that thought in mind, the blond quickly drifted off to sleep with you, having you close easily putting him to sleep.

[gatheredfates]

Hi everyone, happy weekend (or happy almost weekend, depending on your timezone)! I was waiting on a couple of communities to get back to me before I released this update... but there is nothing stopping me from making a belated one later. ⭐

With that being said, as of today (06/01 - Happy Pride!), the following resources have been added to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives.

LORE

Minerica Eorzea — maintained by @wildfireward, this Compendium was inspired by the Botanica Eorzea and serves as her counterpart. It contains item descriptions of raw materials, item descriptions of gear that use said materials, stats of gear that use said materials, leve quest lore, and crafter quest dialogue.

MISC

Animations for XIV — A spreadsheet created and maintained by Sayo#0196 that contains a list of animations that can be useful for posing purposes.

Transparent Assets for GPOSE — Have you ever wanted to overlay a screenshot with XIV’s assets like ‘this scene cannot be skipped’? @fortunafavore has you covered!

CHANGELOG

For some reason, the text for the Hingan Alphabet had vanished on its bigger advertisement. It has since been readded! (Don't ask me why it did it, I have no idea.)

COMMUNITIES

With the Tumblr communities in beta, I'm trying to think how to best incorporate them into the Compendium should we get an influx of XIV related ones when the feature goes properly live. While they're currently invite only I won't be adding any (unless community leaders would like to reach out and have them added) but, once they are, I'll either make a separate section in the Compendium for them or sort them between the aforementioned categories as needed. If you have any thoughts, questions or suggestions, please let me know!

Do keep in mind that the feature is in beta, so my thought and categorisations may change as the community feature itself expands. Tumblr may also incorporate a better method of searching/filtering that might make it redundant! We'll have to see.

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here, send me an ask with the relevant information contained on the Compendium, or join my Discord at SEAFLOOR (21+ only)!

Is my space suitable for the Compendium? Most of the time, yes! Below the read more is some more information/stipulations. Again, all the below information is accessible on the document! 🐡

Below are the following things I do not accept on the Compendium:

Personal/Single-Character LFC ads.

Content intended for or can be used for bullying, harassment and OOC gossip. E.g. ‘Secrets’ blogs, receipts, callout posts, etc. This does not include in-character tabloid blogs used to generate RP.

Communities that do not have an RP/writing element (large-scale exempt).

Anything I find personally distasteful or goes against the spirit of this project.

Common-sense rule applies.

FAQ.

I want to put my community on the compendium but we have an application process. Is this okay?

Yes! Just note somewhere in your application that's a requirement. The only thing that is mandatory for the Compendium is that you must be open to new members or have a public-facing/accessible facet. There's no point advertising a community if no one can join it in some way!

I want to put my community on the compendium but I only have x number of members —

Also totally okay! People don't start with large communities. Activity is a must but, whether your server has two or two thousand members, if you're looking for new people to join, I'd love to help you find people.

I want to put my community on the compendium but I worry its too niche?

Okay, and? If your Eorzean Fishing Alliance has four members but you roleplay every second weekend, I still want to know about it.

What resources/communities can I add if I'm not the owner of them?

Mutual consent is extremely important to me, so anything that isn't a large-scale community OR a publicly accessible resource must be endorsed by the owner/admin/moderators in order to be added to the compendium. I operate under the assumption that a resource posted to a public space (tumblr, googledocs, youtube, etc) is open to all. A large-scale community is one with a significant member count or openly advertises itself as being accessible to everyone for whatever purpose it serves. If in doubt, please get in touch with me. I'm happy to contact your community owners for you!

How active does a community need to be?

If you find a community has not been active in about two/three months, send me a message and I'll take a look at it. Communities have ebbs and flows, especially event spaces that may take hiatuses depending on member interest/life events. I'm not strict in my implementation provided a space isn't dead. If a link or anything is broken, absolutely contact me about that.

I have [insert a question not stated here]?

No drama! Send me an ask or use the #Compendium channel in my Discord!