#i tried my best with the image descriptions but I'm not a professional and it's A Lot

[icefang100]

I cannot for the life of me draw humans, so I’ve made some anthro designs for the Mechanisms crew!

In rows from right to left, these are Jonny as a Bengal tiger, Nastya as a gyrfalcon, Ashes as a black kite, Brian as a mouflon, Ivy as a barn owl, the Toy Soldier as a maned wolf, Tim as a coyote, Raphaella as a golden eagle, and Marius as a red fox.

Image descriptions below the cut - be aware they’re long.

[Image set ID: A set of nine digitigrade anthropomorphic designs for the Mechanisms crew. They’re drawn digitally, and have transparent backgrounds. All are wearing their usual outfits, though none have hats. End set ID.]

[Image one description: Jonny d’Ville drawn as a Bengal tiger. The stripes are jagged, mimicking his usual eye makeup. In contrast to his main fur and underbelly’s orange shades (underbelly being almost cream), the stripes are slightly blue-tinted black. Jonny is baring his teeth, and has dark grey eyes. End description one.]

[Image two description: Nastya Rasputina drawn as a gyrfalcon. Her colors are slightly blue-tinted greyscale. There is dark grey barring on her wings, a streak from her eye to mid-neck, and a few small spots around her neck. Nastya’s arms and legs are pale yellow, with dark grey talons and beak. She has a neutral expression, and her eyes are dark blue. End description two.]

[Image three description: Ashes O’Reilly drawn as a black kite. Their colors are a few shades of brown and a warm dark grey. Their face and the middle of their wings are cream-colored, while the tops of their wings, low neck, and tail feathers are more moderate. Their wings’ feather tips and a few spots on their neck are warm black. There is light barring on their wings. Ashes’s arms and legs are a moderate yellow, with medium grey talons and beak. They have a neutral expression and brown eyes. End description three.]

[Image four description: Drumbot Brian drawn as a mouflon. He is mechanical, looking to be made of bronze, with some fur-like texture on his neck. Many bolts and screws are visible at the edges of panels. Brian’s horns, hooves, and nose are a darker color than his main body; his hands, feet, and the end of his snout are lighter-colored than his main body. His eyes are yellow and have rectangular, horizontal pupils. Brian’s expression is neutral. End description four.]

[Image five description: Ivy Alexandria drawn as a barn owl. There are bronze panels visible on the side of her head. The undersides of her wings, her face, and front half of her neck being cream. There are warm grey specks across the middle of her wings and around the back of her neck. The rest of Ivy’s feathers are a moderate brown, while her arms and legs are a tan color, and her talons are grey. Her beak is pale yellow, and her expression is neutral. End description five.]

[Image six description: The Toy Soldier drawn as a maned wolf. Its colors contrast strongly - pumpkin orange main body, cream underbelly, and dark brown along its back. The divisions between colors are clean and smooth. The Toy Solder’s dark facial markings resemble a curled mustache. Its expression is vaguely happy, and its eyes are white. End description six.]

[Image seven description: Gunpowder Tim drawn as a coyote. His eyes have a circuit pattern radiating from the bottom edge and midway onto his cheek. His fur is a few shades of brown, with the grey-est of them on his ears, the back of his neck, along his legs, and on the top of his muzzle. A richer dark brown is present on Tim’s throat, his tail, the backs of his legs, and on the bottom half of his face. His underbelly, inner ear, below his eyes, and a little on the back of his neck have a cream color. End description seven.]

[Image eight description: Raphaella la Cognizi drawn as a golden eagle. Her wings are mechanical and look to be made of bronze; each feather is separate from the next, with the quills connecting beneath the joints of the wings. She’s a golden brown color, with a darker shade on her underbelly, the edges of her tail feathers, and a streak from her eye to the middle of her neck. A lighter shade is present along her beak and in a fragmented stripe on her tail feathers. Raphaella’s arms and legs are a moderate yellow color. Her expression is vaguely happy or interested, and her eyes are a moderate blue-green. End description eight.]

[Image nine description: Marius von Raum drawn as a red fox. His main body is a dull orange, with some grey ticking on his tail and the back of his neck. His ears, the bottom and tip of his tail, and his muzzle are a near-black brown. Marius’s underbelly and part of his tail are cream-colored. He is smirking, and his eyes are dark brown. End description nine.]

[persephone-writes]

On the Streets of Coruscant: Part Two

Obi-Wan x Fem!Reader

Read Part One (posted on my old account @persephone-writes2)

Obi-Wan image by ObmanBalagan on pinterest

Description: Over a decade after their spontaneous stroll around the Plaza, Y/N is working as an aide to Senator Amidala. When the Senator is placed under the protection of two Jedi after an assassination attempt, Y/N is reunited with the now Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings & Tags: canon typical violence/the assassination attempts of Padme (mentioned only), mild discussions of low self esteem, reader specifically does *not* have children, probably a crap ton of grammatical errors, lots of Y/N usage, fluff, kissing, happy ending!

Notes: Sooo, full warning, I hate this, but I'm posting it anyway! This takes place during Attack of the Clones, so I had to change a few things around to fit in the reader (some things just happen because I said so lol) This also means that I HAD to include Jar Jar. I attempted at writing dialogue for him but I just couldn't bring myself to, so I tried my best to just have him barely be there lmao. Also, mullet obi-wan is top tier and I will die on that hill

Y/N clicked away on her holopad, attempting to get through the pile of work that had been dumped on her that morning.  While her job was always demanding, and sometimes overwhelming, this was the busiest she had been in a long time.  With Senator Amidala set to arrive on Coruscant today amidst an increasingly intense political climate, Y/N was tasked with taking what seemed like hundreds of messages, thoroughly organizing and answering every one.  While Padmé had an array of other aides to help her, Y/N was the head of her office on Coruscant, leaving her with the majority of the responsibility when she was on-planet, besides that of Dormé. 

Despite her spinning head, Y/N adored her job, as well as Senator Amidala.  She had worked in a variety of low level positions for different Senators, many of which were not nearly as kind.  No matter how much pressure she faced, Padmé never spoke harshly or berated those who worked for her.  Y/N couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must be to represent an entire planet, all while keeping up a professional appearance.  Outside of her office, Padmé had to seem relaxed, dignified, and confident no matter what she was up against.  At least Y/N didn’t have to face the wrath of the public or the argumentative nature of the Senate.  Always tucked away inside the office, Y/N could plug away at her work without the eyes of thousands upon her at any given time. 

Another aide knocked on the door of the office before entering, peeking his head in. 

“The Senator is landing.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, frantically pulling up the most urgent messages in preparation.  The aide hurried away down the hall, the door closing behind him.  After a few minutes, a guard came running down the hall, opening the door abruptly.  Y/N jumped at the sudden intrusion, growing fearful when she saw the look on his face. 

“The Senator’s ship has been attacked,” the guard said, a bit out of breath.  Y/N felt her stomach drop, dread rushing through her. 

“Is she alright?” Y/N asked, voice desperate. Before he could answer, Captain Typho pushed past him, leading Padmé into the room.  Her face was contorted in sadness and confusion, obviously still in shock.  She wasn’t wearing her usual attire, dressed identically to Typho in a dark turtleneck and leather vest.  She immediately sat down in one of the chairs, head hung low.  

A wave of relief came over Y/N knowing Padmé was okay.  She immediately rushed to her, kneeling down beside her chair. 

“Milady, are you alright?” Padmé only nodded.  Y/N looked up at Captain Typho, who was pacing around the room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes darting around in thought. “Someone bombed the ship.”

For a moment, Y/N stared out into space, swallowing thickly before she stood.  

“Milady,” Typho began, to which Padmé lifted her head, “We must get you somewhere safer.”

She nodded, standing up and taking a deep breath.  Her composure was regained, and Y/N marveled at the speed to which she recovered from such a terrifying incident.  She turned to Y/N, eyes determined. 

“Y/N, send me all the necessary documents for the vote,” she paused, turning to Typho, “We shall go to my apartment.”

“Yes, milady,” Y/N answered.  Typho then led Padmé from the room, Y/N immediately returning to her desk to get to work once again.  

A few hours later, Y/N received a message from the Captain that she would be meeting with the Chancellor and would not be returning to the Senate today.  Further, Y/N was to meet Padmé at her apartment to discuss a series of negotiation plans which Y/N had been organizing.  Y/N was no stranger to working in the Senator’s apartment, having done so on many late nights when Padmé refused to get some rest.  However, it had never been under such circumstances.   

Later in the afternoon, Padmé’s team sent a transport for her along with a guard.  Y/N thought it was overkill, as no one was after a random aide, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss about it.  No one could stop Padmé from worrying about her team, especially after some of them likely died in the attack.  As the transport flew through the busy city, Y/N peered out of the window, wondering who could have been behind the explosion.  Padmé had many adversaries, though it surprised Y/N that any one of them would attempt to assassinate her.  The Separatist movement had uprooted nearly every system, turning the Senate into more of a battle ground than ever before.  Even so, war had not broken out yet, and all Y/N could do was hope that it wouldn’t resort to that.

Pulling up to the apartment, Y/N was escorted by the guard all the way up the glass turbolift, exposed to the city.  Stepping in, she remembered the first time she had been called here, unable to pull her eyes away from the city growing smaller as she ascended.  

As the turbolift doors opened, she immediately heard the happy voice of Jar Jar Binks.  While she thought it strange for someone to be excited at a time like this, it was hard to tamper Jar Jar’s spirits.  The guard led her into the apartment, where she saw Padmé sitting on one of the long sofas.  She was clothed her usual fashion, hair in an updo, wearing a wide skirt dress with long flowing sleeves.  Although Padmé looked good in almost anything, it was a small relief to see her back to her normal self.  Captain Typho was standing a few feet away, with Dormé sitting beside Padmé.  On the sofa opposite sat two men who Y/N instantly recognized as Jedi.  Working for the Senate, Y/N had seen her fair share of Jedi over the years, though their presence usually didn’t bring good news.  Of course, today wasn’t the day for good news anyhow. 

Padmé stopped speaking, spotting Y/N as she walked into the room.  She turned to smile at her, which Y/N returned easily.  The other’s followed Padmé’s gaze, and Y/N grew a bit nervous at the attention.  Her eyes went to the two Jedi, now given a clear view of their faces.  The one sitting closest had short, cropped brown hair and the braid of a padawan falling across his shoulder.  He appeared slightly annoyed, and Y/N wondered if she had intruded upon an important conversation she was not meant to be a part of.  Her gaze drifted to the other Jedi, whose hair was on the longer side and a light copper in color.  His beard was short and neatly trimmed, though there was still an air about him that was rugged, ever so slightly ruffled.  After her brief first impression, the realization hit Y/N with a full, intense force.  Her heart sped up significantly as she thought back to over ten years ago when she had met a Jedi at a nightclub. 

Before Y/N could make any sort of reaction, Padmé stood, followed by the others.  

“Y/N,” she said kindly, walking over to greet her. 

“Senator,” Y/N said in return, bowing.

Jar Jar happily pranced over and shook Y/N’s hand, telling her it was nice to see her again.  Y/N chuckled at his enthusiasm before turning back to Padmé. 

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his padawn, Anakin Skywalker,” she introduced.  Y/N was forced to look at the two Jedi, feeling heat rush up her spine and into her face.  She had no idea if she should acknowledge that they knew each other, or pretend they were strangers.  Obi-Wan reached out his hand to shake hers, a small, polite smile on his lips.  She took it wearily, forcing herself to make eye contact.  It was easier to shake the padawan’s hand, who only nodded at her. 

Now that she was closer to Obi-Wan, she stole a look at him from the corner of her eye.  He was just as handsome as he was when they first met, perhaps even more handsome.  His face was not boyish as it had been, now more mature, his features stronger and more pronounced.  The buzz that once existed all around him was settled, but not completely gone.  Remnants of it remained in his eyes, which still held their playful shine.  Suddenly, Y/N grew self conscious of her appearance.  She was older than she had been, no longer the young girl she once was.  It was hard for her to know how different she truly looked, as she had watched herself slowly age over many years.  Her clothes as well were more mature, or rather refined.  She realized that Obi-Wan had only seen her in her party clothes, never something professional, clean-cut, more simple.  Her rapid thoughts were interrupted by Padmé, who went on to introduce her.

“This is Y/N L/N, my leading aide on Coruscant,” Padmé said.  Obi-Wan let out a small laugh at her words, earning a confused look from Padmé.  His laugh was a bit deeper than it was all those years ago, but it held the same lightness and ease. 

“We’ve met,” he said, accent still smooth, “a long time ago.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, knowing that Obi-Wan was looking at her face.  Padmé appeared pleasantly surprised, Anakin raising his brows at his Master. 

“You have?” Padmé asked, smiling at Y/N.  

Y/N nodded, trying to think of what to say.  Obi-Wan saved her, speaking before anyone could ask questions. 

“I was still a padawan then,” Obi-Wan said, light hearted without giving anything away.  Anakin looked suspiciously towards Y/N, but wiped his face quickly when she noticed. 

“This is the day of reacquaintance,” Padmé said, pleased with the surprise. Y/N gave her a confused look, and she laughed a bit, realizing her mistake. “I met Master Kenobi and Anakin ten years ago, when I was Queen.”

Y/N nodded. “I see,” was all she could think to say.  

“You must excuse us,” Padmé began, “We have much work to do.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Y/N said to Anakin.  She then looked to Obi-Wan, mind reeling. “And it’s nice to see you again.”  She then left to follow Padmé and Dormé, cheeks burning.  

Y/N spent the afternoon into the evening with Padmé and Dormé, going over documents and discussing her next moves.  Y/N did most of the clerical work, leaving the politics to Padmé and Dormé, who knew the ins and outs.  Although Y/N had picked up a lot, she still felt overwhelmed by the current climate and all its complexities.  The whole time, she was hyper aware that Obi-Wan was in the other room, doing who knows what.  

As the evening fell, Padmé excused Y/N, asking her to return tomorrow morning.  She was thankful, as the eventful day had her tired, as surely Padmé was as well.  At least she knew that Padmé would take it easy for the rest of the night, forgoing any further work until morning. Exiting the room, holopad in hand, Y/N saw Anakin and Obi-Wan talking on the balcony.  She hoped they wouldn’t notice her, allowing her to slip out quietly, though the chances of this were likely slim.  In all honesty, she had no idea how she would handle being so close to Obi-Wan for the foreseeable future, unable to acknowledge the circumstance of their last meeting and pretending as if they hadn’t gone on a romantic escapade.  

Perhaps feeling her eyes upon his back, Anakin turned, catching Y/N staring.  To her surprise, he gave her a small smile, which she anxiously returned before whipping her head forward.  She walked quickly to the turbolift, hoping that somehow Obi-Wan would remain ignorant of her growing uncertainty. 

Her alarm blared and she hastily reached over to turn off the cacophony of noise.  She laid in bed for a quiet moment, still groggy but remembering the events of the day prior.  She groaned upon the realization that she’d be forced to face Obi-Wan, all with the intent not to embarrass herself.  She envied his even manner which gave nothing away, not letting anyone know of their odd history.  As she pondered over this, she felt a pang in her heart at the thought that Obi-Wan was completely unaffected by her presence.  Yes, Y/N had a series of relationships since her single, solitary kiss with Obi-Wan, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she was entirely unprepared to ever see him again.  Until now, Obi-Wan was a fleeting yet meaningful moment in her life, one which Y/N would look back on every once in a while with an immature sadness.  The thought of him, someone who was so kind, so bright, so considerate, unable to form any romantic attachments, was poignant to say the least.  When this kind of thinking arose, she’d kick herself for giving it the time of day.  You only met him once, you only kissed once, what's the big deal?

Y/N got ready for the day with the intent of forgetting about Obi-Wan, focusing on the far more pressing matters.  Today would likely consist of setting up calls with many different Senators, some of which would want to discuss the recent attack, others who would simply want to argue about the motion to create an army.  Further, Y/N had no clue how long Senator Amidala would stay on-planet, so she would have to get to organizing all she could before she was off somewhere else.  As she brushed her teeth, Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, paying far too much attention to how she looked.  Just as she had sworn off thinking about Obi-Wan, the image of herself brought back feelings of insecurity.  She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what Obi-Wan thought when he first saw her again, thinking that perhaps his placidity came from the fact that he no longer found her attractive.  Although she tried to brush the thought of him away, she didn’t stop herself from putting on her best work-appropriate outfit.  

In a kind gesture, Padmé sent a speeder to pick Y/N up from her apartment, again accompanied by a guard.  She made small talk with him on the way to Padmé’s in an aim to calm her nerves, which despite all her efforts still bubbled beneath the surface.  When Y/N arrived, she saw Padmé and Dormé sitting opposite each other in the seating area, multiple holopads and projections on the table between them.  Off to the side, Obi-Wan and Anakin stood, Anakin seeming on guard and brewing with energy.  Padmé looked up from her work, waving Y/N over to sit with them. 

“There was another attack,” Padmé said, voice even and calculated, “I’m leaving for Naboo tomorrow.”

“Why not today, milady?” Y/N asked, full of concern. 

“I must leave on an unregistered transport, it will take some time to organize,” Padmé explained.  Seeing Y/N’s worries, she placed a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. “I will be alright, Anakin will be with me.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit better.  She wondered why Obi-Wan would not be joining her, though didn’t ask.  

“In the meantime, we must get as much done as we can.  I doubt I will be able to work much in hiding.”

With that, they all got to work.  Y/N was mostly silent, leaving Dormé and Padmé to talk over the majority of her decisions.  Padmé received a warm call from Senator Organa, who extended any help to her that he could offer.  Y/N never had the chance to work under him, though she expected it would be much like working for Padmé.  To Y/N, they seemed to be the only two honest and truly kind politicians in the galaxy, setting them in stark contrast to the increasingly unscrupulous nature of the Senate at large.  Amidst the growing chaos, Y/N hardly paid attention to the two Jedi guarding the apartment. 

Some time that morning, Padmé decided to move to a different room which housed a large table so that they could spread out more.  Y/N was off to the side, plugging away as usual, happy that her responsibilities seemed mild in comparison to Padmé and Dormé’s.  

Y/N hadn’t even noticed that they had worked well into midday, brought up from her work when Dormé suggested they break for a short lunch.  They were all left with a little free time, as it would take a bit for the chef to prepare their meals.  That was one thing Y/N loved about working at Padmé’s apartment; the chef.  Padmé and Dormé left the room as Y/N finished the last few sentences of her address to another Senatorial aide, sighed deeply as she sent it along. 

Walking into the main living space, she found Padmé standing beside one of the long floor to ceiling windows speaking to Anakin.  Padmé’s smile was calm, and for the first time in a while she seemed genuinely relieved.  If Y/N didn't know better, it looked as though Padmé and Anakin were close, long time friends, used to seeing one another.  Her eyes were taken away from the pair, drifting to Obi-Wan who was pouring over something on his holopad.  He too appeared incredibly natural, though tense in the shoulders.  If it weren’t for his robes, he could've been just another aide hard at work. 

Y/N lazily walked over to the balcony, pushing open the large glass doors and feeling the cool air of Coruscant brush against her face.  She sighed with contentment, taking in the view of the city from such a great height.  It wasn’t often that she was so high like this, nearly above the clouds.  It was as close to peaceful as she’s had in a while, not since her last visit to Corellia several years ago.  A few minutes passed, Y/N’s mind wandering to the various tasks which still needed to be done before Padmé left for Naboo. 

She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her.  She glanced back, expecting to see Dormé or perhaps Padmé, only to find that it was Obi-Wan.  Her heart rate picked up as she took in his regal appearance, robes tidy and neatly tucked.  He smiled softly as if to ask permission to join her.  She returned it the best she could, trying to push her nerves down.  He came up beside her near the railing and looked out, sighing to himself. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to peek at him, fearful that her emotions would too clearly show upon her face. 

“I’m glad to see you working in the profession you wanted,” Obi-Wan said, voice abundantly friendly, yet somewhat professional in nature.  Y/N bravely glanced at him with a kind expression, genuinely pleased that he remembered. 

“Yes, I am too,” she paused, realizing that unlike before, it wouldn’t be awkward to mention his profession. “And now you’re a Master, with a padawan of your own.  Congratulations,” she said honestly. 

He chuckled, “Thank you.”  Obi-Wan shifted his weight to one foot, turning to look at her profile. “Truly, I am pleased to see you again.”

“I’m a bit surprised you remembered me,” she let slip, growing a bit more comfortable with the exchange.  Her teasing earned another small chuckle from him.

“I don’t easily forget,” was all he said in return, leaning an elbow on the railing. 

Y/N fully turned towards him, met with the same face she saw that night in the club as they both stood at the bar.  Now, his jaw was partially obscured by a beard.  She thought it suited him, as did his longer hair.  She wanted to tell him so, but decided against it, not wanting to break what felt like a fragile moment. 

“I’ve since visited Corellia,” Obi-Wan began again, tone still light. 

Y/N smiled at him, brows slightly raised. “You did?”

“Yes, though as you might expect, I was occupied most of the time.  However, it did not disappoint.”

Y/N realized he was very much still the same, though perhaps more subtle in his cheekiness. 

“I’ve been back as well, though only a few times. It’s still as boring as I remembered,” she joked. 

“Now, I am sure you are longing for boredom as well.”

Something electric shot through her with his words, reminding her more and more of that night.  It appeared as though Obi-Wan did not lie; he does not easily forget.  A small seed of innocent, foolish hope made its way into her heart.  Had he thought about me since then, as I did him?  She quickly reprimanded herself, shaking her head to clear the thought away. 

“You’re right,” she sighed, “For the Senator’s sake rather than mine.”

Obi-Wan paused, not replying for a moment. Y/N couldn’t stop herself from wondering what was going on inside his mind, which puzzle pieces he was trying to fit together.  She had no clue who was attempting to assassinate Padmé, too many possibilities floating around to grasp.  However, she was sure Obi-Wan had a much better idea than herself. 

“It’s a tricky business we both are in, though all things important are difficult.”

Once again, she was infatuated with his wisdom, which had only grown. 

“I bet you are a wonderful master to Anakin.” 

He took the compliment well, not as bashful as he once was. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said her name warmly, resurfacing a slurry of emotions she didn’t know still existed.  All at once she felt ten years younger, enraptured with her name said in his accent, in his voice.  

“I mean it, really.  I could hardly imagine trying to lead someone, teach them what I know.  The whole thought of it makes me feel like I know nothing,” she was letting more and more of her feelings slip, far more than she originally intended.  This morning, she had vowed to be wholly professional, to focus on the job she had to do, not to get caught up in buried emotions.  However, there was something about Obi-Wan’s presence that made her too free with her words.  It was the same way over ten years ago, where she found herself spilling her guts to an almost stranger.  If he stuck around any longer, one of these days she might just get herself into real trouble.

“I’m sure you could, if given the chance.  It takes courage to come to a new place, to build a new life.  That is something you know far more about than I.”  There he went again, melting her from the inside out. 

“Perhaps, and I’d have to bet I’d beat you in a typing contest,” she jested.  

Obi-Wan let out a hearty laugh, unconstricted and full, “I believe you are right.”

The conversation lulled, with Y/N unsure what to say.  Her guards were still up, despite the fact that they were steadily lowering against her will.  She wondered how much she could get away with addressing, which facts were off limits and which were okay to mention.  Obi-Wan seemed to be perfectly comfortable with speaking about everything but the kiss, though she didn’t want to push her luck.  

She settled on something simple, something pertaining to the here and now. “I’m happy Anakin will accompany the Senator, I’m sure she will be safe in his presence.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, glancing down for a moment. “His eagerness often worries me, though it may serve him well with his task,” Obi-Wan said. 

“A product of youth,” she commented, amused at the thought of Obi-Wan having to deal with the antics of a young man.  She thought that perhaps once, Obi-Wan had done the same to his Master. 

“Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan replied effortlessly, turning to look at her face once again.  She felt bare under his gaze, as if he could see through her every shield, each mask she wore.  

“I’m sure with your guidance he will grow into an exemplary Jedi.  I don’t think you could mold him into anything less.” Her flattery was not lost on Obi-Wan, whose ardent smile felt like a flowering bruise, a reminder of his oxymoronic, sweet rejection.  

“Your faith in me surpasses that of myself,” he retorted frivolously, making Y/N chuckle.  After a pause, Obi-Wan spoke again, “How long have you worked for Senator Amidala?”

Y/N thought for a moment, adding up the years in her head. “About four years now.  I hope to work for her as long as she’ll let me.  She is by far the kindest boss I’ve ever had,” she laughed a bit with the thought of begging Padmé to let her stay, offering to do anything but go back to working with the other Senators. 

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, eyes darting around the skyline. “She is a rarity, no doubt.”

“I’m sure you have worked with a fair few Senators.  You must know how…difficult they can be.”

Obi-Wan chuckled with a sigh, seeming surprised by her admission. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

Without thinking, Y/N said what was on her mind, letting it pass through her filters as if it were a smuggler, “I’m glad you have not lost your sense of humor.”

“I need it to deal with Anakin,” he joked, now his turn to surprise Y/N.  

She couldn’t stop herself from giggling girlishly, placing a hand over her mouth.  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing a mildly devilish look on his face.  

“Your sharp tongue must get you into trouble sometimes,” she teased, pushing the limits a bit further.  

Obi-Wan tilted his head a bit, shrugging slightly. “It only appears amongst friends.”

Friends. The word danced around her head, bouncing all the way to her chest, pulsing against her heartbeat.  She thought that perhaps he was humoring her, throwing her a bone.  He couldn’t possibly think of her as a friend, could he?  Technically, they’ve only known each other a total of three days, which was far too soon to be friends.  Acquaintances, yes.  Friends? No.  While Y/N struggled with the idea that he might just be indulging her, she was suddenly reminded of a detail of their first encounter, one which she played over and over in her head the days following: I should not have allowed myself such an indulgence.  

Obi-Wan glanced back through the glass door, then back to Y/N, who didn’t notice his staring. “Do you still see those whom I met that night?” he asked.

It took a second for Y/N to understand what he meant, remembering he probably never got their names. “Oh, yes, I do.  Well, some of them.  I still see Ripp, whose father owned the club.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chuckling to himself, “They seemed like a lively bunch.”

Y/N laughed, thinking back to the times they had together while in school. “Yes, they were.  Thankfully, we are all doing quite well for ourselves now.”

“I’d say so,” Obi-Wan said genuinely, eyes soft.  

Y/N looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Did you ever find that man?”

“I believe we did,” it sounded almost like a question, as if he wasn’t quite sure.  

Y/N wanted to comment on the fact that he had told her he doesn’t forget things, but thought that it might come out wrong.  Instead, she focused on the vast expanse of skyscrapers and traffic in front of her.  She could sense Obi-Wan looking at her profile, resurfacing her nerves. 

“You have not lost your wonder,” he said gently, almost a whisper.  Suddenly, she could not stop herself from looking at him, met with his tender expression.  His words confused her, throwing her off the delicate footing she had found herself on.  Her mind raced with endless possibilities, attempting to decide what he expected her to do, what he wanted her to say in return.  

With her breath caught in her throat, she said the only thing that came to mind, “Neither have you.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed too intimate for their odd relationship.  Y/N felt honored to have been on the receiving end of such a smile, especially from Obi-Wan.  The gesture made her weak, pathetically chasing another look like that, completely insatiable.  Amending her earlier thought, Y/N decided that if he stuck around, her truthfulness would not be the only thing to get her in trouble.  It seemed as though there were a million things Obi-Wan could get her to do or say with a simple look towards her or a single suggestion.  It wasn’t because he was charming or persuasive, or even because he was handsome.  No, it was because he listened to her so intently, spoke to her so kindly, and seemed to remember insignificant details from a night which occurred so long ago. 

Y/N fought the urge to reach out and touch this cheek, or at least his arm.  She yearned to feel something which solidified his presence in front of her, anything to tell her he was real and not a ghost conjured up from her memory.  His eyes would have to do for now, sparkling against the midday light, so beautiful Y/N couldn’t possibly have dreamt them.  

“I envy your opinion of me,” Obi-Wan said, still soft but with an air of jest, “But I feel you may be wrong.”

She shook her head instantly, bewildered by his statement.  She wondered how he could possibly think that about himself, while at the same time saying such kind things about herself. 

He laughed quietly, taking his eyes from her.  Mourning the loss of their clear blue color, Y/N stayed staring at face, wanting to soak up every second she had with him on the balcony, where everything seemed simple. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she countered.  

He glanced at her with a playful smirk. “For a moment I thought you had grown a bit more shy, but I see that I was wrong.”

She chuckled, feeling embarrassed by his words.  Her whole body was burning hot, despite the high altitude breeze that came whipping past.   

“I’ve just learned when to hold my tongue,” she joked, relaxing a bit as the intensity of the moment began to lift. 

“I only wish Anakn had your skills,” he sounded serious, but Y/N could tell he was joking by his upturned lips and the crinkle on the corners of his eyes.  His sarcasm was new, though it did not feel unnatural, for his wit had always been sharp as a blade.  Y/N giggled to herself, thinking of Obi-Wan talking to his padawan, pestering him with father-like nagging. 

“Something amusing?” Obi-Wan teased, though played it off as if it was a genuine question.  

She shook her head. “No, no,” she faltered for a moment, chuckling to herself, “Are all Jedi as funny as you?”

Obi-Wan sighed as if to think it over, “Perhaps, if you get to know them.” As Y/N was beginning to get caught up in his hidden meaning, he spoke again, “Are all Senatorial aides as diligent as yourself?”

His question caught her a bit off guard, and she wondered if he had peeked into the room and seen her working.  The idea sent butterflies soaring in her belly. 

“No,” she laughed, “But it’s easy to be devoted when Senator Amidala is leading you.”

“You think quite highly of her,” Obi-Wan said a bit curiously.

“Yes,” she answered without thought, “I do.”

“I know how much of a gift it can be to be led by such an admirable example,” Obi-Wan said, voice a bit far off. 

“You’re thinking of your master?” she asked hesitantly, hoping not to overstep her bounds.  Obi-Wan nodded, though his smile had faded.  His eyes, too, were not as bright as they were before.  “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it-” she rambled, fearing the worst.  

Obi-Wan gave her a sad smile, but his face soon turned neutral. “It’s quite alright.  He died many years ago,” he confessed.  Y/N felt a devastating privilege to have received such an admission, surprised that he gave it so freely.  

“Oh,” she said without thinking, “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn’t know.”

“How could you,” he said, unperturbed, the sadness on his face all but washed away.  She wondered where he got his resilience, so that she could get some for herself. 

“He was a good man, and a fine Jedi,” Obi-Wan began again, sounding as if he was speaking only to himself.  Y/N clung to every word, hanging on tightly to anything he chose to tell her. “Though he was a bit more like Anakin than myself.”

Y/N smiled, which soon turned into a grin when Obi-Wan gave her a mischievous sideways glance. “Just think of it as practice.” 

“Yes,” he chuckled, pausing for a moment, “I was lucky to have him, as I am lucky to have Anakin as my padawan,” his tone was deeply warm and full of love.  

Y/N couldn’t believe that he so readily told her about his life in this way, how openly he shared small, intimate details.  While his words alone were not particularly notable, the way he said them told her that he was bearing little pieces of his innermost world.  She wondered how many people were lucky enough to see him like this, punishing herself for assuming that she was special in some way.  Perhaps he was always this open, this unfettered in conversation.  Regardless, she craved a deeper look, even if it was just a peek like a sliver of light coming through a slightly open door.  

After her internal gushing over Obi-Wan’s divulgence, she noticed him looking somewhat hesitant.  It was the first time he faltered since their reintroduction, his expression seeming foreign and unlike his usual self, although Y/N couldn’t deny that she wasn’t the leading expert on the matter.  She cocked her head, flashing him a confused look. 

“What?” she asked, clueless as to what he was thinking. 

He looked down reticently, quickly bringing his eyes back to hers without any shyness.  “Do you have children of your own?” he said it innocently, as if he wasn’t nervous at all.  

Thinking perhaps she had misread his expression, Y/N laughed a bit at the question, “No, I do not.”

“Then you are free of that particular headache,” he chuckled, and Y/N laughed along.

“I can barely take care of myself,” she joked.

“You doubt yourself far too often,” Obi-Wan paused, watching her face, “and ignore how far you have come.”

His kindness spread through her like the tranquil waters of Corellia she used to swim in during the summer months, waves falling in a steady ebb and flow.  She sighed, staring at her hands which rested on the railing.  What could she possibly say to him, what words could express what she felt while also concealing the attraction which had begun to float to the surface?

Before she could think of a reply, Dormé opened the door, causing each of them to turn. 

“Our meal is ready,” she said with a small smile.

“Thank you, Dormé,” Y/N replied, heading back into the apartment with Obi-Wan following behind.  Padmé was already sitting at the table, along with Anakin.  Y/N and Dormé sat down opposite the pair. 

“Join us, Obi-Wan,” Padmé offered.  

Obi-Wan looked a bit hesitant.  “I’ll keep guard, milady,” he said, walking over to the entrance near the turbolift. 

“Captain Typho is on watch,” Padmé insisted, “Please, come eat.”

Obi-Wan sighed, giving in quickly to Padmé’s request.  He took a seat beside Anakin, directly in front of Y/N.  She grew a bit nervous, forced to face him directly, but her attention was diverted as the meals were placed on the table. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Padmé asked Obi-Wan and Y/N, beginning to tuck into her food.  Y/N should have known the question was coming, but she was a bit bewildered nonetheless.  Her mouth opened to answer, but she was at a loss for words. 

“I was on a small mission here in Coruscant,” Obi-Wan began cooly, “Y/N was kind enough to offer a bit of help.”

Anakin smirked to himself as Padmé looked towards Y/N, unaware that she was currently fighting off jitters. Y/N nodded, knowing that she should speak. 

“He was looking for someone, but I was no help,” she said in an even tone, picking at her meal.  

“Surely something must have happened,” Anakin commented, a bit of mockery in his voice, “How else would you remember each other?”

Obi-Wan smiled, completely nonchalant.  Y/N was left wondering how nervous she truly looked, hoping she was playing it as well as Obi-Wan, but seriously doubting her abilities. 

“If I am remembering correctly, a friend of yours knew the man that I was searching for,” he answered, taking a bite. 

“Yes,” she said with a breath, regaining her composure, “His father had kicked him out of the club some time before.”

“The club?” Anakin asked with a raised brow, a smirk playing upon his lips.  Realizing her mistake, Y/N felt heat creep up her cheeks.  Padmé laughed a bit, though Y/N could not tell if it was due to her reaction or Anakins. 

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan clipped, side-eyeing his padawan, “You’re no stranger to them.” 

Obi-Wan’s jab did not seem to affect Anakin, who looked rather pleased with himself.  Y/N focused on her food, not wanting to face the eyes which were surly looking at her.  Normally, she wouldn’t be embarrassed if people knew she went to clubs, especially in her younger years.  However, there was something off about mentioning it in front of a Senator and two Jedi.  It felt as though she had admitted to committing a strange sort of crime.  

“What an odd string of fate,” Padmé said pleasantly, smiling at the others. “It is not often that we are reunited with such fleeting acquaintanceships in a city this large.”

“You are right, milady,” Obi-Wan said, seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. 

“Yes, it is quite funny,” Y/N forced herself to say, fearing that her silence may enact suspicion. 

Thankfully, no one brought it up for the rest of the meal.  At first they discussed politics, though soon Obi-Wan went on to share a few stories of missions he and Anakin had gone on over the years.  Y/N listened with interest, holding onto every word.  Obi-Wan was an excellent storyteller, she realized, finding herself content just to hear his voice.  When the meal was finished, Padmé and Dormé went to discuss the details of the plan with Obi-Wan, excusing themselves to speak privately in another room.  Y/N was left with Anakin, who was to keep watch while Obi-Wan was occupied.   

With her holopad in the other room, Y/N was left to kill time on her own.  She walked over to the large windows, watching the speeders fly past, criss-crossing lanes along the skyline.  She soon began to worry about Padmé, wishing that whoever was behind the attacks would somehow slip up and reveal themselves.  It was a futile hope, but there was nothing else she could do.  So deep in thought, she did not hear Anakin coming up to stand beside her.  

His voice came without warning, “I have a feeling there is more to you than meets the eye.” 

She jumped, placing a hand on her chest as her head whipped around to see him.  He chuckled at her unease, and she gave him a weary smile.  However, it soon left when she processed his words. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, still a bit fretful from the scare. 

He let out a slow chuckle, looking out the window instead of at her. “I know my master well, better than most.  Which means I know when he is concealing the truth.”

She inhaled shakily, her hands coming together, fingers winding around with nervousness.  Something in her face or tone must have slipped during lunch, letting Anakin in on her secret.  She bit her lip, wondering what to say and how to deny it.  

He smirked, eyeing her steadily. “Something else happened.”

She shook her head, deciding to act as if she had no clue what he was talking about. “No, it really is as simple as what he said.”

Anakin laughed again, “You are a terrible liar.”

She wanted to groan, knowing it was fruitless to play ignorant.  She decided on a new game plan: tell him as little as it takes to satisfy his curiosity. 

“Fine,” she surrendered, wavering a bit, “I bought him a drink. A single drink.”

Anakin stared at her, spurring her on.  As she gave her a resolute look back, he raised his brows. “You know I know that's not all.”

She faltered, feeling his provocation pulling her towards his will.  Unwisely, she had thought her admission would be enough for him.  

“I promise not to tell my Master,” he offered.

After a long pause, she gave in, knowing he would not easily let the matter go. “We got talking, just small talk.  I asked him if he’d ever been around Coruscant while he’s not working, and he said no, and I…” she trailed off, scared that she would reveal too much if she went any further.  

Anakin’s eyes lit at the confession, and he let out a happy sigh. “You see, I knew my Master wasn’t as good of a padawan as he says he was,” he laughed, “He’s probably reeling, worrying that I would find out.”

She shot him an angry look, afraid that he would tell Obi-Wan of her indiscretion.  Anakin rolled his eyes, waving a hand in her direction. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell, even though I want to,” he drawled, looking proud that he had gotten the secret from her.  He crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall.  Y/N would have been infuriated if her embarrassment wasn’t so strong.  While Y/N overthought their interaction, running it over in her head until the words sounded foreign, Anakin strolled off as if nothing had happened.  

She was left a bit stunned until Padmé, Dormé, and Obi-Wan emerged from the room.  Obi-Wan went over to Anakin, telling him that he would have to leave.  He sounded quite urgent, but his composure did not waiver.  Anakin only nodded, and with that Obi-Wan left without a goodbye.  Usually so polite, Y/N guessed that the matter likely pertained to the assassination attempts, which had doubled over the course of a single day.  

Padmé walked over to Y/N, calm and collected as she always was. 

“Y/N, you are free to go back to the Senate,” her voice was tenacious, strong-willed as always.

Y/N nodded. “Yes, milady.  Would you be needing anything else from me before I leave?”

“No, that's alright,” Padmé answered with a smile, “I’m not sure when I will be in contact with you next, so give all messages to Jar Jar, who will be representing me in my absence.”

Y/N bowed, going over to her workspace to collect her things.  She had a feeling Padmé would be getting ready to depart tomorrow, and it was safer for her to have Y/N know as little as possible.  She was already a bit surprised they let her know that Padmé would be leaving Coruscant, though she had been working with her for some time.  Y/N was warmed by the thought that the Senator trusted her so much, feeling a bit proud of the work she had done thus far. 

Y/N returned to the Senate to get the rest of her work completed, not even realizing that she might never see Obi-Wan again until the end of the day.  When the thought came, a wave of sadness drifted all around her, especially since she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.  In spite of all her efforts, she felt the same as she did over a decade ago, sitting on the bench in the Plaza as Obi-Wan faded into the crowd.  It was stupid, foolish, and entirely immature, but her mind could not release its hook from their conversation on the balcony.  She went over every word, every expression, each twitch of the lips.  Instead of pushing the memory away as she should, she held it tighter, embracing it with open arms.  It only appears amongst friends. You have not lost your wonder. You doubt yourself far too often, and ignore how far you have come. I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget.  It was if his words were echoing around the empty office, fading out into space only to begin once more.  The letters rolled on top of each other, spinning into a melodious song sung in his pleasant voice. 

As she left work, she walked slowly down the wide corridors of the Senate building, arms limp at her sides.  A haze of melancholy enveloped every step, dulling the click of her shoes against the polished stone floor.  During the taxi ride home, she looked out of the window like she always did, following the lines of the buildings with her eyes, locking onto a particular point until it was lost in her peripheral.  The noise of the city outside was dulled in her ears, as if she was listening underwater.  She thought of Obi-Wan, his copper hair, his aquamarine eyes, then dismissed it, back and forth into oblivion.  She told herself it was not by fate that they met again, that his words were simply friendly and meant nothing, though her efforts were in vain.  Every irrational bone in her body overpowered her feeble attempts to break them or expose their falsehoods.  It was a losing battle, so she pushed it off as best she could, telling the soldiers it could wait until morning. 

Her head pounded to the beat of the alarm clock like a punishment for the day before.  Turning off the vexatious beeping, she headed straight for the ‘fresher to take some pills for the pain.  She shook her head at herself in the mirror, tsking her half-witted hope that somehow Obi-Wan would fall for her again.  Even if he did happen to feel the same, he was older now, not so impulsive.  He’d never let the past repeat itself.  Y/N had to remind herself that she was an adult now too, that she would have to get over her childish infatuation and move on.  It wasn’t as if she’d never dated anyone since then.  They were never quite like him, though.

In order to regain some sense of normalcy, she went about her routine in the same way she always did.  When it was time to dress, she found herself staring into her closet at all the clothes she had hanging there, her nice outfit piled in the hamper.  She chuckled at her ridiculous decision to wear what she did the day before, somehow thinking that it was important to look nice for a man she could never have.  

The taxi ride to the Senate was longer than usual, traffic congested but thankfully never completely stalled.  It was only a few hours into the day and already it was turning out awful, though Y/N’s patience was thin to start out with.  Unlike the previous evening, she walked quickly through the Senate to her office, giving the people she passed a cordial, but somewhat frigid smile.  She didn’t know if she’d be able to get through the pleasantries of “how are you?” or “nice to see you again”, thinking it better just to get to her office and hole up there until she was ready to go back home.  On the bright side, today her mind would remain busy with work, unable to muse over other things. 

Only a few people popped into the office that morning, mostly for a quick word and nothing more.  It was a blessing that everyone was incredibly swamped as well, unable to take any down time to chat.  Every once in a while, when Y/N wondered if Padmé was off planet yet, or something came in mentioning the assassination, she was practically forced into thinking about Obi-Wan.  With how much he was likely occupied, she thought it would be highly improbable that he was thinking of her at all, even in passing.  His work was important, far more important than her own, demanding diligent, careful attention.  Despite these small reminders of him, they did not stick around like they had last night, remaining fleeting and pulled from her mind when she looked back at her holopad.  

It was the afternoon, the sun over its peak, slowly descending over the city.  A ray shined through the curtainless window, specks of dust revealed in the air which looked almost like falling snow.  Deep in thought, Y/N jumped as the door wooshed open, her head shooting up from the holopad.  As she looked at the door, her breath caught in her throat, making it feel as though she had forgotten how to breathe.  There in her office, Obi-Wan was standing, his brown robe skimming the floor, eyes wide as if he was surprised by his own entrance.  Y/N stood abruptly, her chair pushing out behind her and bumping the wall.  

“Obi-Wan,” she said in shock, or perhaps as a question.  He took a step into the room, then went to take another, though stopped in his tracks. 

“Y/N, I,” he paused, swallowing, “I never got a chance to say goodbye. I’m leaving now, and I am unsure as to when I will return.”

“Oh,” was all she could muster, still paralyzed and unmoving.   

He looked down for a moment, hands clasped together. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said with a small smile.  She didn’t return it, still too stunned to do anything but stare at him.  Obi-Wan promptly turned and left, the door closing behind him.  

She just stood there, her thoughts a thousand miles high.  She questioned if Obi-Wan had really just come into the office or if it was a figment of her imagination, created by her night-long mulling over of the day before.  Her breaths remained shallow as her thoughts caught up to themselves, their summersaults ending with a finale of fireworks erupting between her ears.  She was baffled by his entrance, completely unaware of his motives.  Gradually, all else dropped away but her need to find Obi-Wan, to ask him if had really come back only to say goodbye, or if he had something else to say.  Her mind willed her legs to move, but they stayed still, frozen in time.  

“Come on,” she whispered to herself, not hearing her own voice, “run.”

With that her body finally obeyed, and she rushed to the door, huffing as she pressed the button to open it.  Her feet carried her flying down the hall, not noticing the people who stopped to stare at her along the way.  She skirted around every corner, the white walls and metal doors a single blur like the swipe of a wide paintbrush.  When she came upon the exit to the landing platforms, it was as if the wide door was encased in the glowing light of a new sun, calling her to come through to the other side.  Thankfully, the door was motion censored, saving her the precious few seconds that would be needed to open it.  As she emerged, the sun shined in her eyes, and she placed a hand on her forehead as a shield.  Frantically, she looked around for Obi-Wan, scanning every ship for movement, only to find every ship near to her vacant.  

In the distance, she saw the loading ramp of a ship descend, euphoric at the sight of Obi-Wan’s brown robe.  She began running towards him, sprinting faster as she saw him beginning to board.  Fearing that she would be too late, she called out his name.  Obi-Wan's face was hidden within the ship, though she could see him stop.  He looked down and saw her, though Y/N wasn’t close enough to tell the details of his expression.  As she neared, the realization of what she was doing set in, bringing about a wave of uncertainty.  However, it washed away when she saw Obi-Wan’s face. 

She stood at the base of the ramp, panting from her impromptu workout.  She locked her eyes with Obi-Wan’s, which were soft, brilliantly gleaming as they stared across her face.  Her once racing mind was all but empty, filled only with the serene happiness of having caught Obi-Wan before he took off.  Neither she or Obi-Wan said a word, though he smiled thoughtfully like he had a secret.  Stars, he must think I’m some kind of crazy person.

Despite her lack of shame or uneasiness, she fumbled with her words, not knowing how to express what she wanted to.  

“I,” she began, a doting smile beginning to peek through, “I feel like this is completely foolish,” she paused, bringing her hands up to her face for a moment, “Stars, I just can’t let you leave without telling you.”

“Tell me what?” he murmured, his smile growing slightly more noticeable. 

Her gaze drifted from his, overwhelmed by her boiling face and heart which was beating so fast she ought to be concerned.  Even though she had thought about doing this all last night, running over what she would say and what she would do, the reality of it was unfamiliar territory.  She was flying blind, attempting to find anything that could point her in the right direction.  

Finding a bit of courage left, she glanced back into her eyes, crystal blue and clear.  Within them she saw something new, the knowledge of what he was thinking in this very moment. Without another word or thought, she leapt up the ramp towards him, following all the instincts she had at her disposal.  Throwing her arms around his neck, she crashed her lips to his, a sparkling fuzz running down her spine and into her limbs.  Much differently than last time, Obi-Wan did not hesitate to return her kiss, falling into it along with her.  He held her body to his, pulling her a bit off of the floor and fully into his embrace. Their lips moved as if they had kissed a thousand times, synchronized in each other's affection.  She felt the tickle of his beard against her cheek, his hands gripping her waist tighter as she gasped.  

Breathless, she pulled away, only enough to suck in a gulp of much needed hair.  Obi-Wan did the same, breath uneven and shaky as if he had just been in battle.  Y/N stared into his eyes, watching as their surprise settled into something else, something tender.  A blush had formed upon his cheeks, peeking out from his beard and dotting across his nose.  The rush in her ears was gone, replaced by the low hum of the ship and the soft sound of her hands upon his robes.  She held him tighter, dreading the moment when she would finally have to let go. 

“Will I see you later?” she asked, not bothering to disguise her pleading and desperate tone.  She didn’t know what she was expecting him to do, but his wide grin pleasantly surprised her. 

“Yes,” he said with a long exhale, studying her face.  She grew warm with the attention, even though they had just done much more than look at each other.  Something about his gaze was always so intense, more passionate than she could easily handle.  It was as if flustering her came naturally to him, like he was born to make her shy.

Finally, he slowly set her down, and she relaxed her beskar-like grip she had on his shoulders.  Her hands settled on his chest briefly before falling down at her sides, already missing his touch. She was unsure what to say, but as usual, Obi-Wan was not at a similar loss for words. 

“Perhaps it is the absence, but you’ve grown even more beautiful,” the fondness of his voice did not escape her, bringing about a buzzing feeling in her stomach. 

She felt her knees nearly buckle, growing impossibly weak at his words.  With them, all her fears and worries about herself subsided, and she felt like the most beautiful person in the galaxy.  Forcing herself not to look down at her feet, she gave Obi-Wan a sickly sweet smile, agonized by how much she cared for him in so little time.  He was smiling as well, pleased by her total disarmament.  She longed to tell him how handsome he was, how well he had grown into himself, but she felt the time quickly slipping away.  Knowing he needed to leave soon, she stepped back, still grinning ear to ear.  She bit her lip, giddy with the reemergence of her clandestine romance, now with the promise that Obi-Wan wasn’t gone for good. 

“Be safe,” she said softly, making her way partly down the ramp.  Obi-Wan chuckled, looking self assured as he stood in the entrance of his ship. 

“I always am,” he answered, voice smooth and warm like Gatalentian tea. 

Mustering up every bit of her willpower she had, Y/N turned and walked down the ramp and into the landing platform.  The ramp closed behind her, and she rushed off near the entrance of the Senate building.  She watched as the ship powered up, rising into the air before zooming away all too quickly.  It was bitter to watch him leave, though their parting felt parsecs different than the last time.  From all she knew about him, Obi-Wan was not in the habit of lying, and her chances of seeing him again were close to certain.  With his ship out of sight, Y/N dreamily walked back into the Senate, feeling light as a feather.

[autisticaradiamegido]

OH by the way y'all, there is one major change I am making to the blog as I go this year: Image descriptions!!! I am going to do my best to make sure all my posts from here on out get an alt text description, and I am making an effort to edit all my previous posts on this blog with new alt-text (or occasionally due to funky formatting, plaintext) image descriptions for each date I post! (So, for example, today I went back and edited all the January Second posts from years past to have descriptions! I think this is going to make getting through all the old posts a more manageable task.)

However, I'm not like, a professional at this or anything. I've tried my best to look up tips, but I've honestly seen a lot of different approaches when it comes to art. So if my descriptions are missing any VITAL components, or if they're too long and they're annoying to get through, or if there's anything you think I should change with them, PLEASE let me know.

And also if I fuck up and hit post before I get the description in, let me know that, too! We are building a new habit and I am almost certain to forget sometimes!

[zerodaryls]

this is probably an unpopular opinion but I really think a lot of phobias could be overcome if people took the time to intentionally trigger themselves (i.e. exposure therapy).

before I go any further, I'm not fucking saying that triggering other people's phobias is okay. I'm not saying "I'm intentionally not tagging topics that are widely known to be triggers because y'all just need to suck it up and cope". if you trigger someone on purpose you're a fucking asshole.

but I do think that we coddle ourselves too much, especially in online spaces. I've seen trigger lists on Discord servers that are a mile long. and I know a lot of triggers pertain to PTSD and other issues, and that's totally valid and not something I'm qualified to address. but that's not what I'm talking about here.

I'm talking about certain types of irrational phobias (not things like an intense fear of assault, or other phobias that are based in more realistic concerns -- I've got those, too, and I doubt that "exposure therapy" would help anyone get over those fears; that's what professional therapy is for).

I'm talking about things we have no real business being afraid of, lol.

like, for me, it was spiders (and many other types of bugs; still working on learning to be okay with some of them!)

I think a lot of trigger lists end up serving as a way for people to just keep reinforcing and living in their irrational phobias.

but like...

a phobia is not a life sentence!

estimated reading time under the cut: 4.5 minutes

I swear some people cling to phobias like it's a core part of their identity. I know I did that to an extent with my arachnophobia.

but I'm happy to announce that I'm not afraid of spiders anymore.

I actually really fucking love them and am constantly looking around my home to see if there's a new spider buddy chillin' on the wall.

and before anyone comes in with their skepticism and tries to say "oh then maybe you just never really had arachnophobia to begin with", I know myself and my experiences best. I had arachnophobia.

if someone so much as talked about their own experiences with spiders, I would tense up.

on multiple occasions I would end up shaking and unable to sleep if I spotted a spider anywhere in my home, let alone in my room.

I once abandoned my apartment for an entire day and stayed at my mom's house because there was a big hairy spider outside. it wasn't even in the apartment! it was on the balcony! I rarely even went on the balcony, but I was so fucking arachnophobic back then that I was paranoid that this 8-legged buddy would somehow manage to squeeze in through a crack in the door and... honestly idek what I was afraid would happen after that... it would be in my home?? so??

yeah, I definitely had arachnophobia.

even just photos or videos of spiders triggered me. my hands would literally start shaking if I saw a picture of, like, some Big Boi Spider on a wall in Australia or something, lmao. I would get heart palpitations. I even teared up a few times. and mind, this was in my 20s. I was an adult crying over an image of a spider.

eventually I realized how much my arachnophobia affected me, and I remembered some cheesy Pinterest quote about "interrupting anxiety with curiosity" or something, and I decided to give it a try.

I decided to become curious about spiders. when I would see a spider, I'd ask, "what kind of spider is that?"

I started googling descriptions of spiders when I encountered them, and trying to figure out what exact species I was looking at.

it was uncomfortable as fuck the first dozen or so times. I still experienced extreme anxiety. but I kept at it, and reminded myself to be curious. what was it that I was actually afraid of? how realistic was that fear? is that type of spider even venomous? what does their venom do? are they likely to bite, or do they avoid humans as much as possible? (fun fact: very rarely will any species of spider bite a human just for funsies. they straight up don't want to fuck with us!)

you can show me just about any picture of a spider at this point and I'm good. I will even seek them out! I follow a bunch of spider accounts on social media and my suggested posts are at least 50% videos of freaky lil bugs (affectionate).

my dad bought me spider stuffed animals as gifts for my birthday and Christmas. he said he never imagined that I'd want something like that in my life. neither did I!

if you'd told me even just a year ago that I would overcome my phobia of spiders (and moths! nearly forgot about how much moths used to freak me tf out), I wouldn't have believed you.

but here I am.

my next mission is to conquer trypophobia. and I'll be honest, I'm not looking forward to it. I fucking hate seeing clusters of holes n' shit, it really freaks me out. but because those kinds of patterns aren't always avoidable, it'd be really great if I could encounter them without having a panic attack. so, I'm going to be forcing myself to look a little longer every time I see that shit.

ditto pregnancy; I've had severe tokophobia since I was a teen. it's not fucking contributing to my life, and now my best friend's wife is pregnant, and I wanna be able to cheer them on during this exciting journey! I don't wanna be grimacing every time they share updates! they're gonna be moms, for fuck's sake, and my dumbass irrational fear has no business getting in the way of that joy (especially since we need more examples of queer joy and queer families to celebrate right now)!

so, the tokophobia's gotta go. any fear I encounter in myself, I want to do my damndest to work through it, not avoid ever being triggered. I want to have more confidence in myself than that.

and yeah, I know, not all phobias are the same. and I'm sure we can come up with dozens of excuses to wallow in our fear.

but like. I truly believe that Fear is enemy no. 1 in life. that behind every evil thing humans have ever done, you can usually track it all back to some underlying Fear that they hadn't learned how to cope with.

and obviously I'm not saying that your fear of bugs or holes or pregnant people is going to make you commit atrocities, lmao.

but like. for me, personally, seeing the damage that fear does to the human spirit... I don't want that shit anywhere on me.

I want to go through life knowing that I'm bold and brave and that I consistently choose to stare my discomfort in the face and tell it that it doesn't have power over me.

if I'm gonna have a phobia of anything, it's gonna be fear itself.

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a Reddit post on r/AskReddit by u/Smart Calendar1874 which says "How would you get a small cylinder (5.1in length, -4.5in girth) unstuck from a mini M&Ms tube filled with butter and microwaved mashed banana?" u/WinBarr86 comments "Lmfao.

The comments OP replies with are hilarious. It's your dick bro. You stuck your dick in an MnM tube of butter.

Go take a cold shower and relax."]

[OP replies "It's a cylinder.

u/dawayoflyfe comments "Bro did yu get ur dick stick in a m&m tube?"

The OP replies "It's a cylinder."]

[u/Doctor_Expendable comments "You know what? Thats just your dick now. Live with your m&m tube filled with butter and bananas dick for the end of your days and think about what you've done." The OP replies "It's a cylinder."

u/Fabulous-Pause4154 comments "Urinate if possible."]

[OP replies "I dont see how urination has anything to do with my trapped cylinder but ok.

u/Pbwithj6 comments "What's so important about this cylinder? It's not attached to you is it?" OP replies "It's attached to a larger structure so there's a weird angle situation to try and insert anything else into the tube." u/Pbwithj6 replies "If the tube isn't made of anything soft you could saw through the mnms container. Hope this helps!" The OP replies "It's plastic but I don't want to risk damaging what's inside".]

[u/RiddledWithEnigma comments "Cut the cylinder free from the larger object to give you more access. Cut the m&ms container. If you freeze it, the plastic will break easy with a smash of a hammer. Reattach the cylinder after removal from the tube. If you have trouble reattaching the cylinder, there are repair specialists that can assist for a fee. Depends how much you value the cylinder at." OP replies "It is imperative that the cylinder and the larger object remain unharmed."

u/BusterHand comments "If the banana is microwaved, it can be removed by using a spoon to scoop it out. If the cylinder is stuck in the tube, it can be removed by twisting it or using a butter knife to loosen it."]

[OP replies "I'm not comfortable having a knife that close to the cylinder".

u/This-Perspective-865 comments "Cut the tube". OP replies "I dont want to risk a blade coming that close to the cylinder.

u/Ryoukugan comments You're going to want to get the larger structure the cylinder is attached to moving at high enough speeds that the internal pressure of the cylinder goes down, freeing it from the tube. If that fails, I would consider doing to a professional cylinder removing specialist."]

[OP replies "Due to another object attached at the cylinder's base it is difficult to have a range of motion large enough to gather enough speed and angular momentum for that."

u/renton56 comments "If the small cylinder has blood flow do jumping jacks to shrink the cylinder.

If not making everything cold should help. The butter even when solid will be a lubricant and you should be able to pull it out". OP replies "It seems like the cylinder may have expanded and pushed a lot of the butter out when inserted. But why would a cylinder have blood flow? Also doing jumping jacks may cause harm to two other objects attached at the base of the cylinder since it will be moving freely."]

[u/southalbatross14 comments "5.1 is really big. Maybe stick a smaller cylinder in there next time. The problem at hand is quite hard to solve though. I think the best course of action is to see a doctor despite how embarrassing a small cylinder in a mini M&Ms tube is." OP replies "The cylinder was smaller when inserted. Maybe due to change in temperature it expanded significantly. That's where the problem started."

u/SuvenPan comments "Wait for the cylinder to go soft." OP replies "What if the cylinder hasn't changed size in approximately 3 hours?"]

[u/Acdc36 comments "Have you tried inserting another cylinder into the M&Ms tube from the other side?" OP replies "If the tube had an opening on the other end it would not be sealed. I will keep that in mind next time I try this experiment."

u/Exqctly_ comments "Go to the hospital or call 911?" OP replies "Emergency services usually don't take kindly to calls about failed experiments."]

[u/Exqctly_ replies "I think that they would be understanding in your case. The *Cylinder* seems pretty important".

u/Cannibal_Cyborg comments "You keep avoiding the question. But everyone knows you got your tiny dick stuck in the tube and are too embarrassed to admit it or go to the hospital. Wait and it will get soft and come out, or you may have to go to the hospital. But we all know what you did." OP replies "It's not a tiny dick It's an above average sized cylinder."]

[A post on r/AskReddit by u/Traditional_Lack_776 titled "How does sex feel?"

u/Smart_Calendar1874, the OP of the previous post, comments "Physically, for a penis, it feels like entering a hot tub and being hugged at the same time." u/Spartan4a117 replies "Don't you mean for a cylinder?" u/Smart_Calendar1874 responds "So I have to bear this cross forever." u/Shatwick responds "you nailed yourself to it bro".]

gotta admit, I'm impressed with their dedication to the bit

[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 12: Curve Ball

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You and Miles enjoy a date together at the local art museum. Your lovely weekend together is cut short when a twist in your case shows up.

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

As you walk toward the museum, you spot a newspaper dispenser. You notice the front page features a photo of Miles…next to you! You flinch and then stop to bend down to read what you can from the article. The headline reads, 'Miles Edgeworth Secures Next Guilty Verdict…With the Aid of a Beautiful Young Intern!' you continue reading the parts of the article visible behind the glass. It mentions details of the case as well as statements from Miles. He hardly provides any details about you, just your name and your university.

"Even being with me in a professional sense will unfortunately garner you media attention," Miles explains as he watches you read the article.

You stand again. "Yeah, I suppose so." You turn and smile at him. "I guess I better be on my best behavior from now on."

He returns your smile and nods. "I've tried my best to keep them from you, but eventually you'll need to learn how to speak to the press."

"I'm certainly getting more than I bargained for this summer."

He chuckles. "A lesson for another day."

Your hand finds his again and you head toward your original destination.

The museum is the biggest you've ever seen. Granted, you've seen very few in your lifetime and given the size of LA, it shouldn't be surprising, yet you're filled with wonder at the vast expanse of the most breathtaking creations of human kind. It always dazzled you what people can make with their bare hands. When you see the beauty of the works produced by the brilliant minds behind them, it humbles you. You were never the artistic type. No one in your family is. You roomed with an art history major during your undergraduate years, but that's the closest you ever came to understanding the complexity of how to truly appreciate great works of art.

But at the end of the day, it's pretty and you enjoy looking at it. You grin with excitement and grab Miles' hand while you stroll into the first room. It's a very large, bright square room. A bench sits near each corner, but the floor is otherwise empty except for the other patrons. The white walls are full of paintings, long and short, wide and narrow, each with their own designated space. There aren't any paintings you recognize, but you enjoy studying them anyway. You find yourself particularly drawn to the colorful landscapes of flowers and nature as well as the portraits of famous people long past; long enough that the only means by which they could have their images immortalized was in paintings or sculptures.

Before leaving the first room, you tug him back to the painting you liked the best. "This one's my favorite!"

"We've hardly seen any of the museum, so far, and you already have a favorite?" Miles teases. He cocks his head looking back at you.

"My favorite from this room, I mean," you clarify. You gaze at the painting again with a longing smile. It's called 'The Kiss' by Gustav Klimt. Of course it's your favorite from that room. It shows a couple in a passionate embrace, both cloaked in gold robes. The man's face is turned away from the point of view; he's busy giving his love a kiss on her cheek. You hug Miles' arm, leaning into his shoulder and sigh longingly. He mimics the painting and plants a soft kiss to your cheek.

You enjoy each and every painting in the room before leading Miles into the next area. He smiles, watching you glow and finally enjoy something fun. Each time you look at him, pure elation emanating from your eyes, you make his heart skip a beat. Every glance motivates him to move heaven and Earth just to see that look on your face again.

The second room features more abstract art. It's less interesting to you…maybe because it's beyond your understanding of art, but you take your time appreciating every piece anyway, milking every moment of this day off with Miles that you can.

As you study one of the odd sculptures, Miles lifts your hand to kiss it. You turn to him, your joyful expression still on full display. "Have a favorite in this room, yet?" He asks quietly. His gentle smile and soft eyes melt you, capturing you in a way of which all of the artistic works around you could only dream. You smile widely and nod, then lead him over to a chandelier hanging low to the ground. According to the description, it's on loan from a large medical institution where it normally greets visitors and patients while hanging high from the ceiling in the foyer of the main building. It's not a normal looking chandelier. It's a cluster of round pedals, belled and fluted, arranged in the shape of a cone. Each pedal is made of glass and the piece features the full spectrum of colors. It's captivating and beautiful. It doesn't look like it would really offer much illumination due to the opacity of the glass, but it's clearly not meant for that. Although 'Chandelier' is both the name of the piece and its occupation, so to speak, it's far more skilled at catching light than emitting it.

You continue moving slowly throughout the giant museum, carefully studying each work of art. Miles chuckles at you whenever you purse your lips at something you actually dislike. This is rare, though. Most of the pieces leave you in awe, whether you can explain why or not.

You spend the rest of the day strolling through the massive building, simply marveling at the beauty of human creations. You both discuss and occasionally playfully debate the meanings behind the pieces you observe. You distract him by either kissing him or purposely biting your lip when you're losing the argument. He catches on rather quickly, but lets you get away with it anyway.

You dine in the restaurant at the museum and as twilight sets in, Miles takes you to the last piece of art you've been waiting to see, the forest of streetlights just outside the museum arranged tightly together. They've just lit up. You smile wider than you have all day. It's so stunning, you can't take your eyes off it. You wrap your hands around Miles' arm and walk together into the collection of antique lights. "You know, I talked a lot about which pieces were my favorite, but you never mentioned yours. Did you have a favorite?" You ask.

"I did. Just one," he answers cryptically, smiling flirtatiously at you.

You smile, waiting for him to describe his favorite piece. He says nothing. "Well, don't keep me in suspense!" You playfully command and tug gently on his arm. "What was the genius chief prosecutor's favorite work of art?"

He smiles wide and stares longingly at you for a moment, then gently lifts your chin to kiss you tenderly. You chuckle into his mouth when his meaning hits you. Cheese ball.

You're tingling everywhere, heart swelling. How could this moment get any more perfect? Your lips massage his and before too long, tongues mingle together. You whimper softly, taking in this incredible day you've had together, overwhelmed with emotion…the one you refuse to name. You could stay like this forever, wrapped safely in his arms, locked in his kiss.

Miles finally breaks your kiss under the romantic lighting to speak, "I…I've never felt like this about anyone."

You smile sweetly, leaning your forehead against his, holding him tight. "Neither have I," you whisper.

He brushes your loose hairs behind your ear. "You're all I can think about when I'm not with you." His breath sweeps across your lips. "What are you doing to me?" He asks, rhetorically, a certain desperation in his voice, as if he's burning to understand how you've captivated him so.

"I could ask you the same question," you retort with a smirk. You close your eyes and enjoy the moment for as long as you can. You feel Miles' lips pressing against yours once more.

God, I love him, you finally admit to yourself. Perhaps one day you'll say it out loud to him.

You return to Miles' home, walking hand in hand through the front door. You tug him along towards the study and push the door open. He smiles at you with his eyebrows raised, waiting for your next move. You gesture to the chess set. "Rematch?" You ask.

"Ready to add another loss to your record?" Miles banters.

You slide your arms around his waist and crane your head up at him. "I don't think either of us will come out of this 'losing'," you reply.

"Unlikely," he agrees with a chuckle and kisses your forehead.

"We could make it interesting," you begin and take your seat, choosing black this time.

"A wager?" Miles asks and sits down across from you, a smile creeping across his face.

"Mhmm," you reply. You look seductively at him, eyes trailing up and down his body.

He smirks wickedly. You can tell he already knows where you're headed. "What are the terms?"

"Winner gets to pick where…and how," you answer with a wink and cross your legs in front of you.

Miles nods. He glances briefly at the board to make the first move of the game and relaxes into his chair, arm draped over the back.

"I'd like to add one additional dimension to our wager," Miles begins.

You straighten in your seat and gaze at him quizzically. "Okay…"

"When," he replies.

The addition is odd to you but you see nothing wrong with it. "Agreed," you answer.

To the surprise of absolutely no one on the planet, Miles wins again. Although you avoid your castle strategy, he still, rather easily, manages to capture your king anyway.

You offer him a sexy smile. "So…when, where, and how?"

"Monday evening, whenever our work day is finished. Here, of course. As to how…well, I'll let you decide," he replies.

You laugh when it hits you. You wouldn't normally be with him during the week. He's stealing another night with you.

And Miles never lets you leave after you sleep together. It's been an unspoken rule since you started dating.

"Clever," you retort, trying to hide your smile. You rise from the chair and move to look at his book shelf on the other side of the room. You marvel at the massive collection of law texts and reference materials. "Have you read all these?" You ask, fully prepared to believe he has.

"Most of them. I was required to read a great deal as a student. I had a very strict mentor," he answers. You hear him rise from his seat and approach you.

You turn your head back to glance at him. "Gee, what's that like?" You ask sarcastically and return your eyes to the massive collection.

His arms slide around your waist and he hugs your back against his chest. "I can guarantee you, my mentor was far worse than yours." He presses his cheek to the side of your head.

Manfred Von Karma. You suddenly remember who taught Miles when he was a young attorney. The prosecutor who tainted the mind of the man holding you tight at this moment was a demon and he almost turned Miles into the same thing.

But he didn't. Miles managed to escape and, years later, prevent you from meeting the same fate.

"I don't know…mine is very hard on me sometimes," you playfully argue and lean against him.

"Is that so?" He purrs. His hot breath tickles your neck. His hands move up and down your chest. He begins lazily unclasping the buttons holding your dress together. Your core begins leaking slick arousal.

"Mhmm," you hum in affirmation. You reach back and tangle your fingers in his hair. His lips peck your jaw and cheek. "He makes me work late all the time." You shrug your dress off once all of the buttons are undone; the thickness of the fabric negated the need for a bra. You grab his hands and bring them right to your breasts, one of your favorite places to have him touch you. "I hardly ever get a moment to relax."

He enthusiastically cups and gropes your chest. "I do believe you were warned of the challenges you would face accepting an internship with him. Perhaps you didn't listen as well as you should have," he retorts and sucks on your neck. His fondling of your chest intensifies, eliciting breathy moans from your throat. He slowly moves you toward his desk, caressing you lovingly. Your panties are getting soaked already, anticipating Miles taking you in his study again.

When you reach the familiar wooden furniture piece, Miles drops his head to plant more kisses on your shoulder. His hands return to exploring you fervently. "Yes," you moan happily. "I listened very carefully. I knew what I was getting into. I'm just saying my mentor is really very strict. He doesn't even let anyone else touch me."

His fingers find their way under your panties and tease your absolutely soaked folds. You feel his lips smile against your skin as he discovers the intense wetness from you. He moans. "Hm, that certainly is concerning. Do you feel you are not touched enough?" He teases your opening with his middle and ring fingers before sliding them inside, completely uninhibited considering the slick gushing out.

You belt out another moan, loving every second of this. "I will never get enough of your touch," you exclaim deliberately.

"Excellent. I'll never get enough of my touching you." He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, stroking your walls and drawing all his favorite sounds from you. The digital stimulation is enough to send you into a delightful orgasm. He sucks on your neck while you ride through your climax. He removes his fingers from you and gingerly rubs your hips. With his chest, he presses you gently down to the desk and you brace yourself on your hands. You let out another moan, your sex already heating up again. He pulls your panties completely off.

Caged between his arms, you feel Miles kiss the back of your neck and down your shoulder. He grinds his hips against yours. His hands slide down your waist, then he quickly undoes his pants and teases your entrance with his hard erection. Your entire lower half is tingling with delectable anticipation. Moans are flying out of you as he slips inside your wet heat. His hands return to your breasts and his lips sloppily kiss your neck as he begins thrusting.

Your pleasurable cries bleed into heavy moans. You push your hips back to meet his thrusts, taking in every inch of his length that you can. Your bodies are perfectly synced, each movement deepening your connection. He drives into you harder, his strength overtaking you, making you hotter and wetter.

He braces himself on the desk as he picks up his pace, arms on either side of you. He covers your hands with his, lacing your fingers together. Your legs are trembling and your core is surging with pleasure, tightening and quivering as the hot, thick length pistons inside you. Your next orgasm approaches and your eyes roll back into your head. You scream, "Miles!" Your walls collapse around him, pushing him into his own climax. You ride the waves of immense pleasure together, carefully bracing yourselves as you crash from the rapture.

He holds onto you until you regain your strength and you both mosey upstairs to slide into bed. Snuggled against him and wrapped in his embrace, the other best feeling in the world, you drift off comfortably, daring to imagine that perhaps this could one day become a permanent thing.

You wake early; the sun is barely creeping above the horizon. You glance up at Miles, deep in slumber. You decide to get a little studying in this weekend and carefully pull yourself off his chest. God knows, while you're both awake, there will be very little exam prep. You find a small notepad and leave Miles a message for when he wakes:

Up for hide and seek? Come find me! XOXO

You set the note on your pillow…you sigh. My pillow, you think to yourself, as if his bed is also yours.

You tiptoe out of the bedroom and downstairs to the study, grab a review book and your cell phone that had been left in there inside your bag, and daintily walk around the house looking for a place to sit and read. The house is big and you think you're going to get lost but you find a sliding glass door leading to a beautiful patio. Perfect! You sneak outside and sit on one of the chaise lounge chairs with plush cushions to read and enjoy the sunrise.

The birds are singing and you can just faintly hear the sounds of the city. It's a lovely ambience that relaxes and soothes your soul. You can't help but grin and let out a content sigh. You crack the bar review book and begin studying.

An hour or so into reading, sun now firmly in the morning sky, your phone rings. 'Mom' the caller ID says. "Hey, Mom!" You greet happily.

"Hi, Sweetheart! How are you? I miss you!" She greets, her old southern drawl just barely perceptible after living in Colorado for four decades.

"I miss you, too, Mom. I'm…I'm…" In love with my mentor! "Great!"

"Oh, I'm so glad, Sweetie! Dad says you're working pretty long hours, though. Are you doing okay? Are you getting enough to eat?" She asks. She's going through the mom checklist: Happy? Healthy? Eating?

You chuckle. It's so good to hear from her. "Yeah, Mom. It's hard work, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. And yes, I'm getting plenty to eat," you add obligatorily.

You hear her sigh happily, satisfied your basic needs are being met. "Good. Well, tell me about the internship! Dad told me your mentor is a really famous attorney! That's pretty cool!"

"Yeah, Miles," You begin with a longing sigh, smiling into the phone. His name rolls so easily off your tongue. "Um, Miles Edgeworth," you clarify.

"Yup, I think I've heard Dad and Cotter talk about him before. What's he like?" She asks about him in such a way that she's almost already insinuating a romantic connection.

Butterflies flap around in your stomach. You sit up in the chair, stiff. All you want to do is gush about how handsome he is, how sweet he is, how well he treats you, how he protects you, looks out for you, how he makes such tender love to you that it almost makes you cry with joy…how much you love him. You grin thinking about him but try to control yourself. "Oh, he's great." She is absolutely going to see right through that, you realize, eyes wide, hoping you're wrong.

"Oh," she replies. You can tell she's smirking right now. "Tell me more."

"I, uh, the office building is incredible," you begin spewing out whatever comes to your mind to avoid any more questions about Miles. "There's a library I can use to study before work. I've been participating in several cases and learning a ton! I love it! I actually think I want to go into prosecution when I'm done with school. I know a lot of good attorneys who I'm sure will write a letter of recommendation for me when I start looking for jobs." You're starting to run out of things to say, but your mother is silent. "And…I got to see Mr. Hagen again, recently! He testified for one of my trials!"

Silence.

You quickly look at your phone to see if you're still connected and it appears you are. "Mom, did I lose you?" You ask.

"No, just waiting for you to run out of things to say while you avoid telling me more about this guy," she answers.

You force a laugh. "What guy?" You decide to play dumb, which is dumb in and of itself.

"Baby girl, you can hide it from your Dad, but I am your mother. You cannot hide it from me. Now, how about we try this again? Tell me more about Miles."

You know what she's asking because you can tell she's already figured out most of it…but if you're going down, you're going down swinging. "Well, he's a very accomplished prosecutor. He was only twenty when he started! He has a near perfect conviction record, although he hasn't put away as many criminals as Dad!" You force a chuckle. "He's been the chief prosecutor for a while now and he was kind enough to offer me a really great opportunity to study alongside him since he has the most complicated cases. It's a lot of long days, but he really puts in the time and effort to teach me! He's even helping me study for the bar!"

You hear your mother's frustrated sigh on the other end. "Alright…alright. This is how you want to play. How long have you been working together?"

"About a month." You're fearing where she is going with this.

"What kind of cases does he usually have?"

"Homicide."

"Where's he from?"

"California."

"What color are his eyes?"

"Gray."

"And how many times have you slept together?"

You pale and nearly faint from her forwardness, although it's not as though you didn't have it coming. You're frozen, but your mother waits patiently. "I lost count," you finally admit after several moments of silence.

Your mom chuckles triumphantly. "Honey, when your dad told me about him and what he's like and what he's done, I'm sorry, but I thought to myself right then, 'my little girl doesn't stand a chance'. I figured that boy was going to steal your heart faster than your father took mine. Now are you going to tell me about him and I mean really tell me about him?"

You sink back into the lounge chair and let out a longing sigh. "He's incredible, Mom," you confess softly. She broke you in less than five minutes. Not even Dad can do that.

"Mhmm. Go on," she encourages, clearly proud of herself.

"Dad's not there is he?" You ask, briefly tensing.

"He got paged into work an hour ago."

"Okay good. You can't tell him any of this!"

"Ah, 'keeping things from Dad', we haven't played that game since you were in high school," she jokes. "Alright, mums the word, but you're going to have to tell him eventually."

"Yeah, I know, Mom," you reply, relaxing once again.

"Anyway…" she says, pressing you to reveal more.

"He's brilliant. It's intimidating sometimes but it's one of my favorite things about him. He's so kind and sweet. He watches out for me and takes care of me. I feel so safe around him…like I'm almost invincible when we're together. He backs me up, but he will definitely call me out when I need it. I know he does it to make sure I'm on the right track, though. He's so handsome, Mom. I still can't get over it!"

"He sounds amazing, Sweetie."

"You have no idea, Mom!"

"How often do you get to see each other? And I mean as a couple."

"I'm…actually at his place right now," you confess. You wince, waiting for a reprimand. "He's still asleep."

"Are you living together?" There is no accusation or judgment in her voice. She simply asks.

"No, oh my God Mom, it's way too soon for that! I've only known him for a month!"

Your mother laughs. "Honey, do you know how long your dad and I were together before he proposed?"

You think for a moment. You can't recall ever hearing that story. "...No?"

"Six weeks," she reveals.

Your eyes widen dramatically and your jaw drops. "What!?" Your hand flies up to cover your mouth.

"Mhmm," your mother confirms.

"You are absolutely lying to me right now!" You accuse, eyes wide staring at nothing ahead of you.

"Honest to God, Sweetie."

"How did I not know about this?" You ask yourself more than your mother.

"You know how long your grandmother was with your grandfather before they got engaged?"

"Oh God, how long?" You ask like you're waiting for a juicy piece of gossip.

"Two weeks," she announces.

"How!? How is that possible?" You ask. There's no way they knew after such a short period of time. "How did that marriage last? How has yours lasted?"

"I guess it runs in the family, Sweetie. We just know and we know immediately. Your grandparents were married for sixty years and your dad and I have been married thirty five years and we're still going strong."

"I am not like you and Nana. There isn't…I don't…he…" you sigh in discomfort. "We're not…we don't…"

"Uh huh," your mom replies, not buying your stuttery and sorry excuses. "Look, Honey, my point is sometimes when you're with someone, you just know. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes it takes months. Or in Nana's and my case, it takes weeks. I'm not trying to push you into making any kind of life altering decision, of course, I'm just saying, follow your heart. Sometimes, I think it brought you all the way out there for a reason."

"Law school, Mom," you remind her.

"Ehh, there's law schools here in Colorado, Baby girl. Is UCLA really going to make that big of a difference in your future? You know Cotter would have helped you get wherever you wanted to go. He's got a lot of influence around here and he's practically an uncle to you."

"But, Mom, I didn't even know I was going to be with Miles…as his student, even, I mean. I never planned on meeting him. I-I never even wanted to. He has kind of a harsh reputation. Incorrect obviously, but I still avoided him like the plague. I wasn't even trying to get into the prosecutor's office in the first place."

"And yet here you are," she counters. She made a good point. The thought of meeting someone when you moved out here, let alone that someone being the great Miles Edgeworth, never even crossed your mind for a second, and yet, you can't imagine not choosing him. You'd choose him again if you had to…in a heartbeat.

"How do I know, Mom? How do I know if he's it?" You ask, almost begging for the grand secret of finding your soulmate.

"Can't explain it, Honey. You just know. I promise you, you will know."

"Aren't you worried about the fact that we're breaking about a thousand rules since we're mentor and student?"

"Not really. I trust you, Sweetie, and if you're willing to risk everything to be with him, then he's obviously worth it."

More than worth it, you think to yourself. You didn't even think twice when the chance came up. "Yeah," you agree softly.

"He clearly thinks the same thing about you. Sounds like he's risking just as much," your mother adds.

You swallow hard. "I love him, Mom," you practically whisper into the phone.

"I'm glad, Sweetie, but I'm not the one who should be hearing that."

"I can't tell him! Not yet! Too early!" You argue.

"Is it?"

Damnit. How are you supposed to know when you can tell him and he won't freak out? You repeat the question in your mind out loud to your mother.

"I think you know the answer, Sweetie."

"'I'll just know'," you repeat, annoyed. You roll your eyes. Well, I don't know, you think to yourself. It's certainly not the right time, now. It can't be. There's no way!

"That's right, Honey!" Your mom replies, ignoring your mocking tone.

"Okay, Mom, are you satisfied with your interrogation?"

"I sure am and you think I can be married to a detective for close to forty years and not learn how to interrogate?"

"Yeah, Dad's probably the reason I've picked up prosecution as fast as I have," you reply with a laugh.

"I'm sure it helped, but you're a smart girl, Honey. You would have picked it up quickly anyway."

"Thanks, Mom." You hear the sliding glass door open behind you. You smile widely. Miles is obviously awake. A gentle hand slides fingers into your hair and soft, familiar lips kiss your cheek. Your eyes slip shut, savoring the loving touch. You reach up with your free hand to grab his. Your fingers lace together. You turn your head to meet his eyes with yours and smile. "Mom, I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, Baby. I love you," she says.

"Love you, too," you reply and end the call.

"Good morning," Miles greets and kisses your lips. He's not wearing a shirt and otherwise only has on a surprisingly casual pair of lounge pants.

"Morning," you begin. You cock your head to the side and playfully add, "you found me."

"Are you surprised?" He replies with a smirk.

Your smile widens and you shake your head.

Miles tugs you up, briefly, to sit himself in the chair before pulling you down on top of him, your chest flush with his. He holds you in his arms and brings your lips together again.

You lazily kiss each other for a while before Miles speaks. "Did you enjoy talking with your mother?"

"Is that really the question you want to ask?" You retort, smirking.

"Did you tell her?"

"Yes, I did. I told her everything…well not everything," you plant a sensual kiss to his lips. "But everything important."

"And?"

"She's happy. I knew she would be."

"Your father?"

You turn away, your expression guilty. He gently tips your chin back up to him. "Not yet. I promise I will," you vow.

"One down, one to go," Miles says with a reassuring smile.

You smile and return to kissing him. Your lips refuse to part until your cell phone rings.

'Nora', the caller ID, reads. "Hey," you greet with mild confusion.

"Are you okay!?" Nora asks somewhat frantically.

"Yeah, of course." You tense in Miles' arms, sensing something is wrong. You turn on the speakerphone. You both sit up on the chair, Miles keeping his arms around you.

"You're in a safe place, right?"

"Yeah, I'm with Miles. Nora, what's going on?"

"There are some detectives here looking for you. They won't tell me much, but I guess they found your picture from a newspaper article at some kind of crime scene and they're worried about you. They want to know where you are."

You tense further. "What did you tell them?"

"I said you were 'staying with a friend'. I also said I would call you to ask, but I'm guessing they're going to want to talk to you at some point and, heads up, I'm pretty sure your 'friend' is about to get a phone call, too. The detective that's here said he's going to call his boss. You two might want to get your story straight," Nora warns. Her words are a bit muddled as though she's biting her fingernail, something she does when she's upset. You and Miles exchange worried glances.

"Thanks for the heads up, Nora," you reply.

"Yeah, no problem. Hey, maybe you should stay with your 'friend' for a few more days. I'm not sure it's the safest thing for you to be at the house right now, if there's some creep out there looking for you."

You look at Miles once more. He raises his eyebrows as if he'll be insulted should you even think about going back to your sorority house. "Okay, Nora. I will."

"Good," she sighs with relief. "Stay safe, okay? And tell your 'friend' he'd better look out for you!"

You say goodbye and end the call.

"Can you think of anyone who would be looking for you?" Miles asks. He's trying to hide the anxiety in his voice, but with only partial success.

You shake your head. "No idea."

Miles’ phone rings next. He grabs it from his pants pocket. “Edgeworth,” he says into his phone. You can faintly hear who you assume to be Detective Gumshoe on the line. Miles turns on the speaker just as you had.

"...and we got a call to a construction site about two hours ago where the body of a female was found. We haven't found an ID or anything on the victim, but she appears to be in her early twenties. There's a lot of similarities between this one and Ms. Ozcar. It gets worse though…" Gumshoe pauses.

"Go on, Detective," Miles commands. He pulls you tighter against him. You melt into his chest. He's tense.

"We found a folded up newspaper clipping at the crime scene with a picture of your intern, sir. The uniformed officers started to worry she might be another target, so I went over to her sorority house myself, but she wasn't there. Her roommate called her and she says she's staying with a friend. I'm not going to lie though, sir, I'd still like to talk to her myself."

"Don't worry, detective," Miles says calmly. He kisses you, quietly. "I'll make contact with her. She is my intern. I'll collect her myself and ensure she has safe accommodations. I will also interview her about this and let you know what I find out."

"Understood…would you let us know when you find her, sir? We all really care about her. We just wanna know she's alright."

"Of course, Detective," Miles agrees. "Is the crime scene still intact?"

"Yes, sir. I'll hold it until you get there if you want," Gumshoe offers.

"Yes. We will meet you there, then you can see her yourself."

"I appreciate that, sir. I'll see you there."

The call ends. Miles turns to you and hugs you tightly. His breathing is slightly labored. He's starting to act like he did when you came across Suzanne's body for the first time. "I will not…let you out of my sight…until I find who did this," Miles promises. His voice is strained. You can tell he's terrified, despite his best efforts to conceal it. You make no attempts to argue with him.

You return his embrace and run your fingers through his hair. You can feel his heartbeat racing in his chest and realize the wager you made playing chess is completely moot now.

[whats-k-popping]

Hey there sweetheart I'm glad you have many followers you deserved them and even more! Supporting you always!

I would like to ask for a yoonseok one with Hoseok being the one sick. Having not eat to well and being nervous for his upcoming album, his defenses go down and he gets himself the worst enteritis he could have get. His stomach hurts so much he haves the runs and nausea but still he wants to work up more,until Yoongi finds him and has to take care of him.

Thanks

Thank you so much Anon! 😊 I really appreciate your kindness and support! I'm thrilled to fill this request for you and hope you'll enjoy it. It's my final deliberate JITB themed request, so I went a little overboard on it. 😅 I've never written enteritis specifically before. But I did research it so I hope this is sufficient. I hope you like it! 🫶🫶🫶

Pairing: SOPE- romantic relationship between members

Words: 3770

Warnings: Emeto || Scat || Graphic Descriptions of Illness || Fever || Enteritis Symptoms || Overworking || Angst

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

The sound of the door slamming shut plays though Yoongi's mind on repeat. 

Yoongi scrolls again through his chat with Hoseok, re-reading the dozens of apology messages that are still marked unread. The older rapper has been trying to get in touch with his dongsaeng for three days now. He figured Hoseok needed some time to get over it, but this is startling to feel ridiculous. Yoongi sends a new, longer, concern-filled text message every few hours. But his boyfriend hasn't opened a single one. 

Once his concern boils over, he decides to reach out to Jimin. The younger dancer is arguably the only other member as close to Hoseok as he is. If Yoongi has earned the title of boyfriend, then Jimin has earned the title of best friend. The two are inseparable in their own way. And Yoongi doesn't mind sharing Hoseok's attention. But he wishes right now that he would receive some of it.

Although maybe he doesn't currently deserve it. It's been three days since Yoongi and Hoseok had an ugly disagreement. It started with playful banter, as most of their arguments do. Hoseok had tried to convince Yoongi to fly to Chicago with him for his first ever solo performance. But Yoongi adamantly put his foot down, making the steadfast decision that he did not want to travel. It wasn’t an attempt to shun Hoseok. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to be supportive. He simply didn’t want to go through the hassle of leaving the county. No matter how much Hoseok pleaded that he needed his boyfriend with him for comfort and support, Yoongi didn't budge on the matter. After Hoseok all but groveled for over forty minutes, Yoongi's blood boiled from the repetitive line of questioning. He said no and Hoseok wasn’t listening. In the heat of the moment, he went off on his boyfriend. He'd gone as far to challenge Hoseok's professionalism and allude that his solo debut would fail because he's too dependent on others. 

No words were exchanged after that. The next thing Yoongi remembers hearing is the loud slamming of the front door. The image of Hoseok’s back as he ran out is burned in his mind. 

He assumes the rapper has been staying with Jimin. So he finally decides to make the phone call. Jimin answers almost immediately, "Hyung, I was actually just about to call you." He replies with the most forced chuckle Yoongi's ever heard. 

He picks up on the tension in the dancer's voice, postponing his question in favor of investigating Jimin's distress. He hopes it will somehow lead him to Hoseok. "Did you need something, Jiminie?"

"I was just wondering if you know what’s going on with Hoseok-hyung," Jimin admits, "he hasn't answered me in a while." 

"You and I both. I actually called you to see if you knew how he's doing. He hasn't been home in a few days." Yoongi admits, running an exasperated hand through his hair. The dancer must be really angry if he's shutting Jimin out too. Jimin hadn’t even done anything. 

"He hasn't even come home?" Jimin's voice raises an octave in concern. "You don't think something bad happened to him, do you?" There's obvious fear in the question. Jimin rambles off a few absurd scenarios in worry. 

Yoongi doesn’t think anything bad happened. He thinks Hoseok is still just mad about their argument. But if Jimin hasn't even heard from him, or about the argument, he's starting to assume the worst. Still, he knows Jimin's already anxious and he doesn't want to upset him any more. 

"I'm sure he's safe. We had a bit of an argument the other night, so I thought maybe he needed space and was staying with you." Yoongi shares hoping it will ease Jimin’s concern. Unfortunately, that backfires. Jimin questions again, sounding even more concerned. 

"You two fought? Hyung, what did you do?" Yoongi's admittedly a little offended that Jimin automatically assumes he's in the wrong. But he can’t be too mad about it. It's not like he's wrong… 

"We just," he pauses to chew on his lower lip. Just thinking about it makes him feel guilty, "had a small disagreement over his Lollapalooza performance. I overreacted. And might have said some pretty hurtful things to him. I may have told him his debut is going to flop." It sounds so stupid to say it out loud. 

"Yoongi-hyung, how could you?" Jimin's using his scolding voice, the voice he uses to reprimand Taehyung and Jungkook. But Yoongi doesn't stop him. "You know how stressed out he's been about his album debut and the performance." And yes, Yoongi does know. "He's been really nervous about it. He doesn't need any added stress right now. You know he's already overworking himself." Yoongi knows that too. 

When Jimin's been silent for a full ten seconds, Yoongi responds. "I feel awful about it, Jimin-ah. I know I took it too far. I knew the second the words left my mouth. I thought he just needed time to cool off. But he hasn't even opened my texts. And all of my calls go straight to voicemail." Guilt and regret is usually hard for Yoongi to admit, but talking to Jimin has always been easy. The words just fall out. Yoongi’s unable to restrain himself; his emotions pour onto his sleeve. 

"I know you probably do feel bad, hyung." Jimin's tone softens again. The wrath of Jimin is a force to be reckoned with. But as quick as it comes, it goes, leaving a gentle warmth behind. "But you need to tell Hobi-hyung you're sorry. You need to talk to him. In person." Yoongi huffs. Why is Jimin always right? 

"I would if I could. But I don't know where he is!" The rapper shouts into the receiver. It's not directed at Jimin, just an eruption to ease his own frustration. But he finds that he doesn’t feel any better afterwards. And he quickly corrects himself before another member, another person he cares deeply about, gets mad at him. "Sorry for yelling, but I feel sick just thinking about it. I want to see him." 

"Then find him. He has to be around somewhere." Jimin replies calmly. "You know him better than anyone else. You should know where he is." 

Jimin's smooth speech feels like a comforting hug pressed around him. He takes a deep calming breath, "I'm going to go find him. You'll let me know if you hear anything?" 

"Of course. And you'll let me know when you find him?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Once you guys figure everything out, tell him to call me. There's something I need to talk to him about." Yoongi can hear the smirk in Jimin's voice. He wonders what Jimin could want to talk about. 

"If he talks to me, I'll let him know." 

"He's going to talk to you, hyung. He loves you." Jimin reminds like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He’s quick to hang up before Yoongi can argue.

Yoongi doesn’t know where to start. He does know Hoseok better than anyone, so he knows Hoseok’s favorite place is in their home. That knowledge isn’t getting him far. If he hasn’t reached out to Jimin, it’s unlikely that he’s reached out to any other member. Then Yoongi remembers one thing that Hoseok loves on an equal scale to Yoongi and the rest of the members- ARMY. He opens social media to see if Hoseok’s posted anything recently that might give him a clue about the dancer’s location. 

He finds an Instagram story posted 18 hours ago. It’s a mirror selfie. Yoongi immediately identifies the practice room and knows it’s in the company building. He stares at the selfie, having to flip back and forth between his and Namjoon’s story after the 10 seconds pass for Hoseok’s. Hoseok looks tired, and uncharacteristically pale. He looks small, but it may just be because everything he’s wearing is at least three sizes bigger than his body. His face is mostly covered by a low sitting bucket hat. And a caption to remind ARMY that he’s doing everything he can to make sure his debut is a success. Yoongi feels that comment is directed more at him than ARMY though. He thinks Hoseok posted it as a clue. 

He starts his search from there. He knows at least Hoseok was at the company building 18 hours ago. Maybe he’s still there, living out of his studio. Or maybe someone from the company has seen him and knows where he is. It’s a starting point. So Yoongi makes the short drive over to the company and shoots up the elevator to the dance studio. He finds that same studio reserved for an ENHYPHEN practice.  

Next he wanders the halls until he gets to Hoseok’s studio. The door is locked, but Yoongi knows the passcode and lets himself inside. Hoseok’s not there. Though Yoongi speculates he recently was. Their production software is open on his screen. Sheet music and lyric papers are scattered on the desk. His phone is buried among the chaos. When Yoongi picks it up, he notices that the device is dead. He graciously plugs it into the cord that Hoseok keeps in the USB port of the tower powering his desktop and watches for the little battery symbol to light up. He then sets that aside.

When he wanders closer to the work station, he has to throw his hand over his nose. He’s nauseated by the smell coming from Hoseok’s studio waste bin. He immediately recognizes the stench as vomit, but still peeks into the bin to confirm. There’s a bag a quarter filled with brown liquid and undigested stomach contents. Yoongi knows it must have been Hoseok. He wonders how many times Hoseok’s thrown up as he ties off the bag and carries it down to the trash chute at the end of the hall. 

Yoongi returns and waits again for Hoseok. He has to come back eventually. The man can’t go more than an hour without using his phone. He sits himself on Hoseok’s oversized couch and keeps his eyes trained on the door. 

Hoseok does return, but not how Yoongi expected him to be. Hoseok shuffles slowly through the door, hunched over with an arm clutching his middle and a grimace on his sweaty face. His knees wobble as if Hoseok’s just ran 10 kilometers to get there, but Yoongi thinks that’s hardly the case. A soft breeze would be enough to knock him over.  

The dancer doesn’t even notice Yoongi sitting on the couch among his many pillows as he makes his way back to his desk. He practically collapses into the desk chair and has to yank himself back toward the computer. His movements are slow and it seems like even the slightest click causes him pain. Yoongi watches in silence and Hoseok continues to attempt to work through his obvious suffering. He shoots Jimin a quick text to let him know he’s found Hoseok, but to hold off on reaching out.

Yoongi knows he should intervene. He knows he should jump in and force Hoseok to take a break. But he isn’t sure where to start. He wants to apologize for how he acted, how he spoke the other night. But Hoseok doesn’t look like he has the energy to have that conversation right now. He contemplates just jumping in and taking care of him, but he doesn’t want to do that if Hoseok’s still mad about their fight. It’s a paradoxical situation that Yoongi can’t think himself out of. All the answers seem wrong. 

It’s not until Hoseok burps up a stream of liquid that splatters loudly inside the unbagged garbage bin that Yoongi jumps in. He’s off the couch and by Hoseok’s side in less than a second. “Easy, love. Take it easy.” He knows how emetophobic Hoseok is. It pains him to know that Hoseok was through this alone. “Just let it out. You’ll feel better. You’re doing great.”  He coaxes with gentle ministrations along the dancer’s skin as more vomit spews from his mouth. Hoseok doesn’t immediately push him away, Yoongi takes that as a sign to continue. 

Hoseok pants heavily with his face still hovering over the bin. Silent tears run down to the tip of his nose and mix with the sick mess coating the plastic. When he sniffles in an attempt to slow the tears, Yoongi finally realizes he’s crying. “Hobi. Hobi, baby. Tell me what hurts.” He uses one finger to lift Hoseok’s chin, guiding them to make eye contact. 

Looking into Yoongi’s soft, innocent eyes only makes him cry harder. His shoulders shake with violent sobs. “Wh-Why are you-ou he-here.” He cries out between hiccuping breaths. 

Yoongi gasps, taking a step back. He didn’t mean to upset Hoseok. But he guesses the younger is still mad at him. He takes a deep breath and goes in for the apology, “Oh, Hob-ah.” He uses a tissue to wipe away the rivers of tears that pour down his puffy cheeks. Hoseok allows it, trying to measure his breathing. “I came to apologize to you about the other night.” Hoseok wipes his eyes in waiting. Yoongi takes a deep breath before continuing. “Hobi, I am so sorry for the things I said the other night. I know how hard you’ve been working, and how nervous you are. It was insensitive of me to use that against you. I want to make it up to you.” Yoongi takes Hoseok’s hand into his own, using his thumb to rub over the soft sweaty skin on the dancer’s palm. “Can you forgive me?” 

Hoseok, again, doesn’t pull away. He wants to stay mad at Yoongi. He wants Yoongi to feel the consequences of his hurtful actions. But he also doesn’t feel well. He wants to be cuddled and pampered just a bit. He wants someone to rub his stomach and play with his hair because it makes him feel better. He wanted someone to break into his studio out of concern and be his knight in shining armor. God, he loves Yoongi so much. But not enough to just let him off the hook. “I can’t believe you told me my debut would fail. I thought you believed in me.” Hoseok reminds him, punctuating the sentence with a sob. 

It stings like a knife in Yoongi’s chest to be reminded. But he knows he deserves it. What Yoongi said to him probably stung even worse in the moment. “I do believe in you, jagi.” Yoongi clasps his hand tighter. “Hoseok, everything you touch turns to gold. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. And idiots say stupid, meaningless, hurtful things sometimes. Even to the people they love the most.” Yoongi sheds a tear. Then five. Then 10. Then too many to count because they just don’t seem to stop. 

The weight of the situation hurts, he can’t mask this raw emotion he has looking at the heartbreak in Hoseok’s eyes. He knows he shouldn’t be crying, because he was in the wrong and he certainly doesn’t deserve Hoseok’s sympathy. Especially since Hoseok’s emotionally hurt and physically sick. Hoseok doesn't have the bandwidth to be dealing with an emotional Yoongi right now. So he quickly rubs the tears away, swiping at his running nose with the back of his sleeve. “I’m so sorry, Hob-ah.”

“Hyung,” Hoseok whispers to get the older man’s attention. And he has it instantly. This is the first term of endearment Hoseok’s used. Granted, it’s not as romantic as Yoongi’s used to. But it’s a step in the right direction. At least he’s getting acknowledged at all. “I just wanted your support.” He swallows thickly, feeling another round of nausea creeping in. He’s not going to punish Yoongi any more. Seeing him cry was enough. “I’m scared.” The words leave his mouth in an airy whisper. 

But Yoongi hears them clearly. He doesn’t have any words, left absolutely stunned speechless for the first time in his life. His heart aches at the confession, at the vulnerability in Hoseok’s voice. He moves forward and pulls Hoseok into a tight hug, hoping that the embrace would speak to how much support, admiration and affection he has for the younger man. 

Hoseok is initially grateful for the hug. It’s warm and tight, a welcomed pressure grounding him. He’s been feeling like he’s been free falling into a void for weeks now. Like he’s been shrouded in darkness. But Yoongi brings him a ray of light. Yoongi’s arms make him feel safe. They also, unfortunately, make him feel sick. He feels the nausea he swallowed previously creep into the back of his throat. As much as he wants to melt into his boyfriend’s chest, he pushes Yoongi away. 

Yoongi’s heartbroken at first, thinking he’d moved too quickly into rekindling their relationship. He thinks that Hoseok’s holding a steady grudge. But when he sees Hoseok dive for the bin again, he realizes that Hoseok’s shove was just to avoid vomiting on him. He’s grateful, and comforts Hoseok again not a second later. He swipes fingers through Hoseok’s hair, wondering when the strands got so long. He grazes the dancer’s skin and feels the heat of fever radiating off of him. He knows the rest of the apology and the remainder of the restorations can wait. He needs to get Hoseok home, resting. He’s overworked himself to the point he’s made himself sick. And Yoongi feels like that’s his fault, too. 

Hoseok dry heaves over the bin, his stomach completely empty. But he’s been on this rotation for a while now. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the discomfort settles in his other end. He’s taken six emergent trips to the bathroom since he’d started feeling sick. And the persistent cramping and aches tell him it’s going to go on for a while. 

“Hob-ah,” Yoongi massages the tense muscles in Hoseok’s neck and shoulders. Hoseok relaxes immediately. “Let’s go home.” He encourages, kissing the crown of the other’s head. “Let me take care of you, please.”

“My album…” Hoseok replies, glancing a second at the computer screen. It’s timed out, a colorful screensaver lighting up the screen. He had wanted to finish something today. Otherwise, all his suffering had been for nothing. 

“Jagiya. You still have so much time. Please.” Yoongi pleads, kneeling in front of Hoseok, looking up at him with pleading eyes and pressing random kisses to his knuckles, “Please. Come home with me.” He won’t take no for an answer. 

A quiet voice in the back of Hoseok’s mind knows that he’s tortured Yoongi enough. And he’s tortured himself enough. He doesn’t want to take a break, the pressure of debut weighs down heavily upon him. But he knows taking a few days to recover will do him some good. “I really don’t feel well, hyung. My tummy hurts.” 

Yoongi smiles, standing up and helping Hoseok to stand as well. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon.” He guides Hoseok out of the studio and down the hall. 

Hoseok has to stop by the bathroom before he allows Yoongi to take them to the car. When Yoongi sees the way that Hoseok wiggles his hips and clenches his ass through the door, he imagines he knows what's going on. He uses that time to go back to Hoseok’s studio and tidy up a bit. He makes sure the track is saved and the papers are organized. He grabs Hoseok’s barely charged phone when he sees it. He throws the whole waste bin down the trash chute and decides he’ll just buy Hoseok a new one. He knows Hoseok hates a mess. And Yoongi doesn’t want his boyfriend to be immediately stressed again once he returns to work. 

Hoseok’s still in the bathroom when Yoongi returns. He enters and leans against one of the sinks, waiting. He listens silently to the angry noises Hoseok’s stomach makes. He hears the steady flow of liquid shit and gaseous breaks in between. He hears Hoseok whimper, whine and moan in discomfort. When a staff member enters the bathroom, Yoongi politely asks them to find another to spare Hoseok’s dignity. 

15 minutes pass and Yoongi finally hears the toilet flush. Hoseok emerges from the stall looking seconds away from passing out. Yoongi is immediately worried about dehydration. “Hob-ah. Drink something.” He says before he realizes there’s nothing to drink in the bathroom. So instead, he just cups water in his hands and dampens Hoseok’s face and neck. He hopes through the power of osmosis it will be enough to keep him hydrated enough until he can get to a vending machine. 

There’s a machine on the lower level and he pays for a bottle of water. In one swift motion, he snatches the drink from the machine and unscrews the cap, bringing it to Hoseok’s lips. The dancer can only take a few sips before he turns away. His skin starts to pale. He looks positively green. But he doesn’t throw up. So Yoongi quickly guides them back to the car and drives. If he goes over the speed limit, Hoseok doesn’t correct him. 

Hoseok falls immediately onto their living room sofa when he steps through the door. He doesn’t have the strength to get to the bedroom. Yoongi tries to encourage Hoseok to drink a little more before he falls asleep. But Hoseok can only take five more small sips. “Cuddle me, please, jagi.” Hoseok asks shyly, making room for Yoongi on the couch. 

Yoongi can’t say no. He sits down and lets Hoseok make himself comfortable. The dancer’s head rests against Yoongi’s shoulder, his body across his lap. It’s the perfect position so Yoongi has access to his hair and his stomach. Yoongi realizes this too and provides comforting touches. “Just a little nap, Hobi. Okay? Then you need food and medicine,” Yoongi can smell Hoseok’s body odor combined with the stench of sickness, “and a ahower.” He presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s sweaty forehead. “But for now, rest.” 

Hoseok starts to fall asleep, safe and content in Yoongi’s arms. “I’m not mad at you anymore, Yoon-ie.” He slurs, voice thick will sleep. “Thank you for looking out for me.” 

“Always, Jagi.” Yoongi starts to feel tired himself, the stress of their fight finally falling off his shoulders. “I’ll always look out for you.” 

As he drifts, Hoseok thinks of the lyrics he was working on. He thinks he’s finally gotten the concept. He’s found his safe zone.

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

A/N: I didn't know I was going to make this about Safety Zone literally until I wrote the final line. Guess it just kinda worked out that way? Is that cliche? Anyway, JITB is so great! I love all the songs. I love Hoseok and am so proud of his debut! Just because this is my last JITB request does not mean it's my last Hoseok request. But we'll see what comes next. However my motivations fall.

As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

Lots of Love

💜💜💜 Aki

[funnywormz]

would love to know some of the headcanons you have for eyes 👀

i think i will use this ask as an excuse to post the stuff ive been working on with eyes! here's my headcanon for his appearance, and some information about what he was like.

(image description: a drawing of an older, square-jawed, dark skinned man with dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail style, who is smiling in a friendly way off to the side. he has a hearing aid in his left ear, which is coloured green and white. there is text around him reading "alistair barnes, commonly known as "al" or "eyes"." his pronouns are he/him. the text goes on to say that he was 17 years older than kim (referring to kim kitsuragi from disco elysium), and died when he was 59 years old. he left behind his wife and 3 daughters. he was kim's superior, and became partners with him when he was moved to the homicide unit of precinct 57. he was a guitarist in his spare time, and a huge speedfreak! he was deaf in his left ear. he was strong but very kind and gentle, and always tried to help people even when he wasn't "supposed" to. he was idealistic but firm, and working for the rcm was hard on him mentally. end image description)

i'm going to put the rest of this post under a read-more link bc it's going to get pretty long in between various image descriptions and me rambling lol

eyes was a lieutenant-yefreitor, and had joined the rcm as a young man after the revolution ended. he was just old enough to be part of the icm while the revolution was still happening. when it ended he was left traumatised and confused, at a lose end, having lost his family in the fighting. he lost the hearing in his left ear due to being too close to a bomb detonation during the revolution, and his hearing in his right ear wasn't great either, meaning he often had to rely on lip-reading etc to hear in a society where most people don't know how to sign. it was rough for him after the revolution.

joining the rcm, despite it's deeply seated flaws already being present, helped him find a "purpose" again. although racism was somewhat of an issue for him, he was a very conscientious person and slowly attained the respect of others and rose through the ranks.

by the time 23 year old kim kitsuragi joined the rcm, eyes was a well known and respected lieutenant at precinct 57. he was kim's superior, but they became friends and he stuck up for kim as best as he could when he could see that kim was being underestimated or discriminated against due to his vision issues and/or race. he was basically like kim's mentor, and almost a kind of father figure for him. kim learned sign language because of him, and was motivated to become a homicide detective because of his influence. eyes also got kim into speedfreaks fm, and helped kim gain confidence and form more of a sense of personal identity. once kim left juvie and joined the homicide unit, he became eyes's satellite officer and official partner.

(image description: a drawing of kim kitsuragi and "eyes", the man described in the previous image description. eyes is wearing a black suit jacket and tie, with a white shirt. he is smiling with one eye closed, and gesturing towards kim with his thumb, saying "and, y'know, the kid did a pretty good job too!". kim kitsuragi, a middle aged man with a receding hairline, small moustache and round glasses, is wearing a white shirt with a black suit vest and gloves. his arms are folded, and he looks mildly irritated, saying "don't you think i'm getting too old for "kid"? i'm 40 years old...". however, a small text bubble next to him says in brackets, "(doesn't really mind"), implying that kim doesn't actually mind being called "kid", and is just being playfully annoyed. end description)

they were very close, and would have a kind of playful brotherly relationship where they would rib each other and tease each other, and always be there for each other. kim, despite trying his best to be 100% professional as to not undermine his standing in the rcm, was still a young man when he first met eyes and had grown up as an orphan, so he craved a stable older person in his life who he could rely on, even if he would never consciously admit it. likewise, eyes had lost his younger siblings in the revolution, and although he had since made a new family of his own, kim filled a hole in his heart he didn't know he had. they became like family to each other, and eyes would often invite kim to family gatherings because he knew kim didn't really have many social connections otherwise.

(image description: a drawing of 6 characters posed together for a family photo. the photo has been labelled with the text "couron park, '49" in the upper left-hand corner. on the far left, a young girl with brown skin (eyes's daughter) wearing a pink t-shirt is smirking at the viewer/camera, her hair up in two afro puffs. next to her, an older woman with light brown skin, eyes's wife, is laughing. she is wearing a gold earring, gold bracelet and gold wedding ring, and a purple v-neck shirt. eyes is next to her, kissing her affectionately, squishing their faces together, wrapping his arm around her. his hearing aid is visible, and his hair is down instead of being up in a ponytail like usual, his dreadlocks flowing out behind him. most of his body is obscured by the other characters standing in front of him. next to/in front of him is his second daughter, a young woman with warm brown skin wearing a choker and a black shirt. one side of her hair is cut short, the other side dyed blue and worn in dreadlocks. she is winking and smiling, with her tongue sticking out, making a backwards peace sign at the viewer. kim kitsuragi stands next to her, wearing a white t-shirt, smiling nervously but nonetheless happily. eyes's other arm is wrapped around him. to the right of them, a tall young woman with brown skin (eyes's oldest daughter) is smiling widely with both of her eyes closed. she is wearing a white button-up shirt and gold earrings. her hair is in a shaved style. she has her hands held behind her back. behind everyone in the image, trees with green leaves and a blue sky is visible. it's a happy scene, full of love. end description)

although things were pretty happy for a while, as revachol fell into an economic recession following the brief post-revolution period of prosperity (also known as "the new"), the scars left behind by the revolution and the flaws in the rcm became clearer to eyes. originally he had fought in the revolution simply because it was the side his family and friends were on, and he wanted to protect them, but he hadn't had a great understanding of why it happened. however, as he got older and wiser, he began to understand the reasons why the revolutionaries originally hadn't trusted authority and the coalition. as he bore witness to increasingly horrific and unjust scenarios, often worsened or even caused by the rcm, he lost his affection for it. by autumn '49 he decided he was going to retire from the rcm, and spend his days with his family. however, on his very last case, he and kim ended up becoming targets for one of jamrock's many criminal gangs, and were involved in a firefight. eyes was hit by the very first shot fired, putting himself between kim and the gunman to protect him. kim hadn't even seen the gunman coming, due to his eyesight. eyes managed to survive for the rest of the fight, long enough for backup to arrive and for him to know that kim was safe. he died later of his wounds in hospital.

(image description: a black and white drawing of kim kitsuragi, looking back over his shoulder. he is dramatically lit, with white light spilling onto him from the right side of the image. only one of his eyes is visible behind his glasses. he has a shocked expression on his face, dread dawning on him. red text on the right side of the screen simply reads "BANG", as an onomatopoeia for a gunshot sound. on the left side of the screen, a quote from disco elysium reads "this is not the first person to die in his place", with "his" referring to kim in this instant. although it isn't shown in the image, the implication is that kim has just witnessed eyes being fatally shot. end description.)

kim was understandably distraught about eyes's death, and partly blamed himself for it. instead of helping eyes's family and connecting with them after his death, kim isolated himself from them completely despite their previous closeness. his guilt over eyes's death made him feel as if they would resent him trying to be part of their lives, and that they blamed him for what happened, although this wasn't true. kim in general became more isolated after eyes died, preferring to work alone and retreating into himself more, attempting to repress the more emotional, loving and mischievous side to himself that eyes had helped to bring out of him.

for kim in canon, the death of eyes is still pretty raw and immediate for him, as he died only a year and a few months ago. kim hasn't allowed himself to properly grieve or process it. he's the kind of person who believes that it's better to power through emotions by burying himself in his work, rather than embrace his feelings. however, whether he likes it or not, there's a lot of sadness inside of him that's going to have to get expressed sooner or later. throwing himself into his job can only work for a limited time. not to mention now harry has been thrown into the mix, which complicates things more, because kim not only has to maintain his composure and reserved nature in the face of the dreaded "human can-opener", but also is growing increasingly conflicted about the idea of caring about someone again and letting his guard down. one side of him desperately craves companionship and genuinely likes and cares about harry. but the other side of him is terrified of being hurt again, and the consequences that might arise from allowing himself to love someone.

alright, that's all i've got for now! sorry for the long fucking post lol i have a Lot of thoughts. i've become pretty affectionate for eyes while developing his character, and him and kim's friendship makes me happy... so remembering that i was working on him with the intent of him dying came as a shock to me and now im bummed out abt it. i am NOT good with tragedy lmao.

[herstarburststories]

You Have A Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.

Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader

A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!

Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”

“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”

“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”

“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.

“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”

Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”

“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”

“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”

“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”

He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.

“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”

“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.

Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”

She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”

“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”

“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”

“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”

Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”

Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”

“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”

“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”

He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”

“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.

“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”

“So, you and Layla still live together?”

“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”

Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”

“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”

“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.

“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”

“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”

“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”

“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”

Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”

“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.

“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”

“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.

“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”

“You need a therapist.”

Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”

Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”

“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.

Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.

“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.

“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.

“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.

“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.

You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!” 

“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”

Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”

“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”

“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.

Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”

“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”

“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”

The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.

Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”

“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”

You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.

At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?

You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.

“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”

“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”

“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”

“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”

“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”

Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”

“So, Cupcake?”

"Let's focus on the case, Dean."

“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”

Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.

Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”

“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”

A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.

Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”

Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”

You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.

“You should have come home sooner.” 

His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”

“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

[icefang100]

Another set of (Warrior) cat designs for Mechanisms characters! This has characters from Once Upon a Time in Space.

In order of left to right in each row, the designs are for: Cinders, Rose Red, General White, the Red Hood, King Cole, and the three little pigs.

All of the drawings started with the same base, then edited for fur lengths, scars, and expressions.

See below the read more for image descriptions and some notes on each design! Be warned, it’s a lot of text.

[Also uploaded to DeviantART]

[Image set ID: A set of eight digitally drawn headshots of cats. The features and edges of each is lined with black, while their markings are lineless. The first five are separate images, while the last three are on the same PNG. /End ID.]

[Image 1 description: A drawing of Cinders as a cat with brown-grey and white fur (best described as granite, storm grey, dawn grey, and light silver). She looks exhausted, and she's frowning. She has a dark dorsal stripe, ear rims, nose bridge, and above eye markings. Her cheeks, inner ears, and above her nose bridge are lighter in color. Overlapping and making all other markings, she also has patchy white markings (vitiligo); these cover most of her face and look somewhat like falling ash. Cinders’s eyes are pastel orange. Her nose is dark brown. Her fur is very long, including the ear tufts (which bend beneath their own weight) and inner ear fur. /End description.]

[Image 2 description: A drawing of Rose Red as a cat with reddish and red-brown fur (best described as old copper, Congo brown, and rose taupe). She looks like she's on the brink of growling. She has complex, sharp dark tabby markings (including cheek and chin stripes, and a dorsal stripe that links to cheek stripes, framing her eyes), a thin nose bridge marking, ear rims, and false eyes on her ears. Her inner ears, along the stripes, and within the false eye patterns are lighter in color. Rose Red’s eyes are glacier blue, and her nose is a dark walnut brown. Her fur is short and spikey. /End description.]

[Image 3 description: A drawing of General White as a cat with black fur (best described as Baltic sea black, ebony clay black, and gunmetal grey). She's snarling. She has complex, smooth dark tabby markings (including cheek stripes and a dorsal stripe that connects to her thin nose bridge marking and under eye markings), ear rims, and false eye markings on her ears. Her inner ears, within the false eye markings, along the stripes, and the center of the dorsal/forehead marking are lighter in color. General White's eyes are glacier blue, and her nose is ship grey. She has extensive damage on the left side of her face, with four notable scars - one spanning from her cheek to the right side of her nose bridge (starting out about an eye-height wide and narrowing to half that), a smaller cut below that one on her cheek, one crossing vertically over the left side of her mouth (in the wake of this scar, she's missing a few teeth: both fangs on the left side and possibly some premolars) as well as her nose (which is discolored where the scar crosses), and finally, about half of her upper left ear is missing. /End description.]

[Image 4 description: A drawing of the Red Hood as a cat with dull reddish fur (best described as rosy finch, reddish grey, and dark rose). She's lightly smiling. She has dark, squared-off and smooth tabby markings (including cheek stripes, ear tips, and a dorsal stripe), as well as mid-ear markings that span down to frame the undersides of her eyes, and a thin nose bridge marking that spans from cheek to cheek but doesn't connect to any cheek stripes. She has lighter colored markings covering her inner ears, under and between her eyes (bowing over her nose bridge), around and between her stripes, and between the mid ear and ear tip markings. The Red Hood’s eyes are a sienna-like orang-brown. Her nose is a dark cork brown. She has relatively long fur, which hangs rather limply from her cheeks. /End description.]

[Image 5 description: A drawing of King Cole as a hairless cat with pink and grey-brown skin (best described as dusty pink and warm grey). He's growling. He has grey covering his ears, forehead, nose (all three connected together), and jaw. King Cole’s eyes are orange-yellow, with an otter brown spot in the right eye. His right pupil is a medium grey color while the left is black. His nose is olive black. King Cole's left ear has a tear on the inner edge, and his teeth are notably both yellowed and blood-stained. /End description.]

[Image 6 description: A drawing of the Three Little Pigs as cats with grey and black fur (best described as charcoal, gunmetal, and dark dust). All three of them have impassive expressions. They all have a dark dorsal stripe, ear tips, hollow under eye markings, and a stipe framing their bottom jaws. They all have lighter colored inner ears, ear rims, jaws, and under eye markings as well. Each has different dark forehead markings - one in five segments with highlights in a lighter color, one broken in four segments with a light-colored downward arrow shape outlined below, and one with a rounded marking split into two lighter-colored halves. Two of the Pigs have dark nose bridge markings, one of which extends to the individual's eyes and leaves a light colored center between them. All three have Persian orange eyes eyes and olive black noses. Each has clipped ears, but in different ways - one has the left ear tip split, the next has the right ear tip split, and the last has both ear tips split. All three have short, uniform fur. /End description.]

Some notes on the designs' details:

Cinders having vitiligo came from the thoughts that, A, vitiligo can look very pretty, and B, it can also look like snow - or ashes from a large fire, which would be left alongside cinders.

As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun with Rose Red and General White's markings! They came out nicely (in my totally-not-biased opinion), but goddamn would those be a pain to replicate

General White's scars were also very interesting to do - I really wanted them to be prominent, and I think that's been achieved. On a similar note, it took me so long to get the teeth to look right.

The Red Hood is the first design I did in this set - and actually one of the first of any set. As such, the style's a little different from the rest, but I still like how her markings came out, so it'll do.

I wouldn't have normally included the Red Hood since she's a relatively minor character in the album and (most of) the connected fiction (similarly to Narcissus, Freya, or the Lady of the Lake - none of whom got designs), but. [Marge Simpson meme voice] I just think she's neat <3

Making King Cole a sphinx just Felt Right™

I made an alternate version of the Little Pigs' designs with paint in place of their masks (which also served to cover up their unique markings), but I just didn't like the look of it, so those versions didn't make it into this post.

[queerspacepunk]

bookcloth walkthrough!

finally got some supplies sorted for the bookcloth I want to make for the copy of no abundance of tomorrows that I'm binding and thought I would document/share this process!

big old disclaimer: I do not know what I'm doing. I am not a professional bookbinder, I'm not even really an amateur bookbinder yet, I'm just getting started! what I am is a person who a) lives somewhere where it's really fucking hard to get hold of bookcloth and b) very picky about colours and textures. the method I'm gonna show will probably change from here, BUT I did do a lot of experimenting and trial and error to get to something I'm happy with, so.

[images are illustrative and show what I'm describing in the steps. descriptions have been included in alt text]

Part 1

supplies: things you're gonna need:

fabric (this is some "shot" quilting cotton)

scissors

flexible plastic (like a large ziplock bag) ideally with something inside to stablise it and tape to help with that if needed

brushes (i only used one)

not pictured: an iron and the paint/medium

something to work on. I'd recommend putting down a drop cloth/newspaper/etc -- something to stop the medium from getting onto your surfaces, I used my bench hook.

fabric paint/medium: I have tried a bunch of different paints and mediums and so far the jacquard neopaque has been the best. it's a fabric paint, and this one is specifically for use on things like sneakers so it is thick, flexible and hard-wearing. it's also (as the name suggests) opaque, but I generally use the 579 flowable extender 'shade' which is transparent.

it's also pretty pricey for how much you go through (~NZ$15 for a jar and I'll probably use most-all of a jar for this project) and I can't seem to find the bigger containers so might be looking into alternatives at some point

okay lets go!

step 1: prep your surface! this method basically involves saturating your fabric in the medium, so you need to do that on a surface that's flat and smooth and will allow you to peel the bookcloth off after.

I've found these large ziplock bags work really well. To keep the plastic from wrinkling or flopping about everywhere, and to get a nice smooth surface, I insert a piece of board that's pretty much the same size as the bag. In this case: the back of a scrapbook.

you want the board to be big enough to keep the plastic taut, BUT you don't want it to rip or stretch the plastic as you wrestle it in, so I have rounded the corners and then sanded them (and the edges) so it's smoother, and then used a bit of tape at one end to take out some of the slack

step 2: prep your fabric. I'm limited by how big the plastic is, but as ~A3 this is about perfect as the book I'm covering is a bit smaller that A5 (which is what's on top of the fabric in the image below).

trim your fabric the the right size, snip off loose threads and bits of fluff (as best you can) and iron to get rid of the wrinkles!

[cocomaxley]

Dress for Success

The question of what if Drake went for a job interview came up during a convo between @ao719 @zaffrenotes @the-soot-sprite and myself and it turned into this...

*********

Drake sat in the waiting room, tugging at his collar, making him think to himself, fucking ties are so uncomfortable. Then he remembered the image of his bank statement showing he had $21.76 left in his account. He slapped his forehead when he realized that he had to put gas in his rusty pick up. His total was now $2.

The receptionist opened the door, “Mr. Walker?”

He stood up. He was sure he was sweating through the expensive suit he ‘borrowed’ from Liam’s closet. “Drake is fine,” he grumbled.

The receptionist scoffed at his lack of professionalism. She led him to a small conference room that had a table with four chairs.

“Can I get you some water, coffee, a towel?” She smirked.

Drake wiped his brow. His hair felt damp and with the amount of hair gel he used that morning, he knew he had to have looked like a hobo in fancy clothes.

“No...no thank you.”

She left and a short while later, the door opened. A middle aged woman with blonde hair and a kind face entered the room. She raised her brow as she took in Drake’s appearance. He stood up, extending his hand. She gave him a strong, firm handshake.

“Good afternoon, I'm Drake Walker.”

“Mr. Walker, my name is Candice Jones, Director of Operations. It's nice to meet you.”

After a quick introduction, Candice crossed her left leg over her right.

“I'm going to be honest, Drake, your resume is...you're not really…”

She paused briefly, “I'm just gonna come out and say it. We decided to do an on-site interview at the King’s request. However, you don't have the necessary skills or experience for this job. On your resume, you state that you were King Liam's assistant but under the job description all it says is traveling, attending balls and political events. Did you coordinate or plan any of these events?

Drake chuckled nervously. “Well, no, not really. I assisted King Liam by going to these things with him. You know, I talked to him and kept him company…”

Candice tried to stop the laugh that threatened to escape which made her choke on her saliva. She held up her finger as she coughed and tried to regain her composure.

“An office position might not be the best choice for you. Even though you certainly dressed to...impress, this job isn't going to be a good fit.”

Drake clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew that this was a long shot, but this woman just laughed at him. It was humiliating and discouraging.

“My brother owns a farm and he's looking for a farmhand. How are you with using a shovel?”

Drake scoffed, “I can use a shovel just fine, thank you.”

“Your hands look quite soft, no calluses.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Well never mind. I'll pass on your phone number. I'm sure he will be in touch.”

She stood up and shook his hand, then escorted him back to the lobby. He was met by a stern looking Bastien. Drake’s face flushed as everyone in the waiting room stared at him and the head of the King's Guard.

Bastien’s tone was irritated as he spoke, “Of all the suits you could have taken from your best friend's closet, you chose that?"

[cozywine]

Title: My Type pt. 1

Summary: A fluffy piece based on a dream I had. F!Reader feels self conscious about her body size and he makes her feel better.

Pairing: SpencerxF!Reader

CW/TW: mention of general challenges with dieting and body image. No description of eating disorder though.

................................................................................

The case the team was currently on had been twisty turny in the worst way. They had been brought to Chicago after human remains had been found within 3 churches that were recently demolished. The remains were posed the same way and had been hidden in the same manner- beneath the baptismal font. They had been there over a week and were still trying to figure out who was responsible for the crimes. They'd had a suspect but it had led to nothing... Starting over was always the worst.

"Ok, let's go back to the beginning... What do we know about the victims?" Rossi instructed paternally.

"All females between the ages of 21 and 35." Y/N stated quickly. "No ties to the churches they were found within."

"All of them were college educated and single," added Emily. "And they were attractive... physically fit, well dressed and likeable types. Popular on Tinder and their other social medias."

Y/N always felt uncomfortable when profiling someone based off their physical traits... Bluntly put, she wasn't slim. In a profile, that would make her considered less sexually appealing for the majority of UnSubs. Statistically, it was a fact. Yet it always felt like there could be some subjectivity when her colleagues brought up the stature of those they worked to avenge.

All of her female colleagues were slimmer than her. She often found herself donning bulky sweaters in dark colors, hoping they would disguise the softness of her belly and the rolls on her back, just below her bra line. In magazines she'd read that she should emphasize her face and cleavage, as if that would distract anyone from the parts of her body she disliked.

Of course she was physically fit and capable of passing her field tests... She just didn't have the same body type as her colleagues. Where they were lean, she was voluptuous. Over-full. Despite lifelong diets and general misery around food, her body size remained a pain point until finally after working with a therapist, she discovered intuitive eating. Y/N now felt more connected to her body, appreciated it's cues for the type of fuel it needed, and generally struggled less around her eating habits. But the body image challenges... Those continued. Some days worse than others... And today was one of those.

She knew it wasn't necessarily intentional, but Derek never made flirtatious comments toward her. She sometimes sensed that Rossi put all of the vegetables closer to her end of the table. Hotch usually signed her up for desk work if it was an option. And Spencer, pipe cleaner that he was... Never gave her a second glance. They were all great friends, especially Y/N and the younger Doctor... Both intellectual, sensitive and intuitive, they got along famously. But Y/N knew it would never be more than that... Someone as beautiful as Spencer Reid would never give her the time of day.

"With no ties to the churches, being buried beneath the baptismal font could indicate our UnSub as someone looking to cleanse them of their sins of life." Y/N added, snapping out of her negative thoughts to focus on the case. "What would make someone want to do that?"

"If I'm the UnSub, these churches mean a lot to me.. So I'm religious. I would be repulsed by their lack of virtue... Yet possibly attracted to them. What would that make me do?" Morgan added. "I might feel that this is the only way to feel holy again."

"So we need to go back to the church... We already figured that this UnSub would need access to the facility but there must be someone we missed." Rossi said.

Rossi and Morgan went back to the church while the rest of the team worked with Garcia to pinpoint any specifics of who might be the culprit. Limited social media use by the UnSub made it tricky, but you eventually tracked down Joseph Knight. He was a current seminary student placed at one of the many Catholic churches in Chicago. In his mission work, he organized events for young professionals to volunteer as tutors for lower income students. As it turned out, all three victims had been to at least one tutoring session, each in a different neighborhood.

"So there's our connection, my furry friends. And wouldn't you bet the next event is tomorrow night?" Garcia said.

"If we send someone in who fits his type, we could draw him out..." Emily added. "What do you guys think?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think it could work. You or JJ rock paper scissors for it. I'm going for a coffee refill... Anyone need anything?"

Y/N pushed away from the table, pushing up the sleeves of her navy blazer and wrapping the strap of her wallet around her wrist. She adjusted her jeans quickly, making sure they still sat at the narrowest part of her waist and ensured that her striped tee wasn't clinging anywhere. She felt a little flustered, her outfit not doing as much as she'd hoped to make her feel confident. The local coffeeshop around the corner had friendly baristas and a little positive human interaction would definitely improve her mood.

"I'll join you," Spencer said quickly. "If that's all right. I could use some fresh air."

They walked in silence to the coffeeshop in the brisk September air, Spencer holding the door for Y/N with a small smile. He did this for everyone, so Y/N paid it no mind. The shop smelled delicious, roasty and warm. They hopped in the short line, and Y/N perused the drink list. In their week there, she'd tried a few specialties but mostly stuck to plain coffee.

"Okay genius... Which has more caffeine, black coffee or an Americano?" She asked, trying to lighten the mood.

His eyes shone, excited for the opportunity to talk about something other than work.

"Contrary to popular belief," he explained, his hands moving as he spoke, "One 2 oz double espresso shot has about 80 milligrams of caffeine. Whereas a 12 oz brewed coffee has about 120 milligrams. So actually there is more caffeine in an average cup of drip coffee than in espresso. If you really want to go crazy you could get a red-eye, but I wonder if the post-caffeine crash is really the best idea for you today."

"What do you mean? I'm fine." She said. "Frustrated that I had to board Millie for a second week, but I know we're getting closer to solving this." Thinking of her sweet lab mix made her smile.

"Fair. I just mean, you seemed a little touchy when Emily suggested sending in someone as bait."

"Yeah, I don't know. They'll figure out who's the most attractive. It will probably work. It's good, for sure."

"The most attractive to that UnSub, you mean?" He tried to clarify, not totally sure why she sounded so down talking about it.

"Oh yeah, yeah... Of course." She shrugged. The line had dwindled. She smiled at the barista, who was wearing a hand drawn name tag. "Hi Jenny, how are you?... Great thanks. Can I please have a medium plain latte with an extra shot? Thank you so much. Spence, what's your order?"

He flushed, clearly feeling a little awkward. "Oh, a large pour over... The Guatemalan single origin, if you have it."

The barista nodded, and Y/N chuckled lightly at his very specific order. She paid, tipping Jenny generously, and they went to stand near the pickup counter.

"Single origin, huh? Getting fancy, Dr. Reid." Y/N teased. Her brief conversation with Jenny had brightened her day.

"Yeah, they tend to be more interesting than a blend so I like to try them when I can... Thank you for buying by the way... next one on me, ok?" She nodded in response, and he continued.

"Did you know that Guatemala is one of the top ten coffee producers in the world, producing more than 204,000 metric tons of coffee beans a year?" He looked delighted, a far cry from his usual down turned look when they were on a case. He looked... Great.

Y/N tried not to focus too much on the happy crinkles around his eyes or the way his large yet delicate hands gestured as he spoke. She knew he would never consider her equally lovely.

Their coffees came up quickly and they returned to the station ready to plan for the next days effort.

A/N stay tuned for part 2... Just thought this was getting a little lengthy!

[batwynn]

Hi Bat! I was wondering if you could help me out. Ever since I was a kid I never really felt like a girl. I don't like pink, don't feel comfortable wearing girl clothes(not only dresses like in general)I don't style my hair/wear make up. You know all the general things girls do. I've been kinda struggling with my image cause I hate that I have boobs. I'm not sure about my gender identity at all in a nutshell. Idk if I'm just an anti conformist or something more :( it's really confusing

Hey there anon, i’m sorry it’s been a difficult gender-journey for you so far. :(

First, let me start by saying one of the most important things i’ve learned in the past few years: Your gender can change whenever, wherever, and for whatever reason. You don’t have to settle unless it feels right( or at all ), and it’s absolutely okay to be confused or unsure about your gender, you do not have confirm anything to be valid in whatever gender you currently identify with. (There’s no such thing as ‘too old��� or ‘too young’ to change, either.) 

For you in particular, though, it sounds like you’ve had a tough time. I know some of this confusion can come from external sources, outside and within the LGBTQA community. There’s a lot of different people pressuring others into making choices in the name of the community, rather than for the safety and health of the individual. Outside of the community, there are even more people pushing for some sort of ‘gender norm’ based on their own standards and beliefs. That being said, i’ve also found a vast and diverse community of understanding and accepting people from all genders/non-genders and sexualities. So, there’s the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’, but suffice to say, they both can bring pressure and anxiety about your gender.

From what you saying here, it sounds like you’ve never really adhered to any of the gender binary stuff people seem to think are necessary. [Pink and makeup for girls, blue and football for guys or whatever it is. I don’t even know, I never paid much attention.] The thing is, these things don’t make up one’s gender. What you do, what you wear, how you talk, etc, should not be associated with any gender in particular. Not that this changes how society chooses to associate them, of course, but try to remind yourself that feminine and masculine or anything beyond and between aren’t defined by these things, or by other people. You define them, you decide if they are important in your life and in gender identity. You choose how to identify what you do in your life, with who you are.It also sounds like you’re dealing with some possible (gender) dysphoria from your physical appearance. Have you ever tried binding in any way, just to see how you feel seeing yourself with a flat/flatter chest? It might give you some ideas about what would make you feel more comfortable, either way. Beyond that, though, I would consider speaking to a mental health professional about these things.  (if you are comfortable and trust them enough to do so.) I’ve never really had an understanding response from my therapists (I also have bad luck) when i’ve spoken about it myself, but even at a professional level, they can help you identify where some of this distress is coming from. (Especially internal vs external stresses. It’s important to recognize what your brain is coming up with, and what is coming from outside sources.)So, from here I would suggest you take a look at some resources, and see if any of the gender identities out there seems to resonate more strongly with you. I would also see if you can find someone more professional to speak with about this, since i’m not really the end-all know-all of anything really. XD This can be anyone from your family therapist, maybe someone new, or even someone through @plannedparenthood. I would also suggest you Check out the Gender Wiki!  They’ve got a vast amount of continually updated information on genders/non-genders, and is a safe place to find facts and ideas about gender without certain biases or misinformation. But! If you don’t feel comfortable browsing websites for whatever reason, please take a look at some of these gender identities under the ‘Keep Reading’, and I wish you the best of luck!

Gender fluid is a gender identity which refers to a gender which varies over time. A gender fluid person may at any time identify as male, female, neutrois, or any other non-binary identity, or some combination of identities. Their gender identity can vary at random or in response to different circumstances.

Multigender is a term for anyone who experiences more than one gender identity. It can be used as a gender identity in its own right, or can be an umbrella term for other identities which fit this description. Multigender people may experience two or more gender identities at the same time, or their gender identity may change over time. [meaning you identify as multiple genders at once, less switching between. More of a solid state, generally.]

Non-binary gender (see also genderqueer) describes any gender identity which does not fit within the binary of male and female. Those with non-binary genders can feel that they: [feel free to check the links in the text below for more info]

Have an androgynous (both masculine and feminine) gender identity, such as androgyne.

Have an identity between male and female, such as intergender.

Have a neutral or non-existent gender identity, such as agender or neutrois.

Have multiple gender identities, such as bigender or pangender.

Have a gender identity which varies over time, known as genderfluid.

Have a weak or partial connection to a gender identity, known as demigender.

Genderflux  is a gender identity in which the strength of feelings of gender varies over time. It can be seen as a form of genderfluid between being agender and one or more other gender identities. Genderflux people may also identify as nonbinary, genderqueer and/or transgender.

Agender is a term which can be literally translated as ‘without gender’. It can be seen either as a non-binary gender identity or as a statement of not having a gender identity. People who identify as agender may describe themselves as one or more of the following:

Genderless or lacking gender.

Gender neutral. This may be meant in the sense of being neither man or woman yet still having a gender.

Neutrois or neutrally gendered.

Having an unknown or undefinable gender; not aligning with any gender.

Having no words that fit their gender identity.

Not knowing or not caring about gender, either as an internal identity or as an external label or in both senses.

Deciding not to label their gender.

[icefang100]

Used @/bitegore’s character sheet template for some of my OCs!

Notes:

Some of the art’s a bit outdated, but they all work well enough.

Most responses are based on how I view them, but some (ex. “the most godawful hot takes known to mankind”) are based on how I think other people would interpret them.

These two have So Much wrong with them,,

Image IDs below the cut (be warned, they’re long).

[Image set ID: Two filled-out character development sheets, all using the same base, which is titled “OMG its BLORBO BLEEBUS”. The space to add a name is labelled “This scrungly motherfucker is:”, and there’s a box to add an image. There’s six other sections to fill in, three of which have headings; these headings are “Sub-Class”, “Evokes”, and “You Want them to have:”, and all are noted with “select all that apply”. There are severity scales for “Intense”, “Complex”, and “Fruity”, along with gradient scales for “just some guy” to “the protagonist of life”, “head empty” to “too many thoughts”, “awful company” to “ray of sunshine”, “hated by all” to “beloved by all”, “trauma x1000” to “untouched by history”, “sadistic for fun” to “helps others for fun”, “stupid as shit” to “scary-smart”, “1,000 weapons” to “1,000 tools”, “enemy of god” to “at peace with life”, and “break the rules” to “change the rules”. The Sub Class section has the options “Angst-lord”, “Enemy of the State”, “Flavor Container”, “Himbo”, “Soft and Sweet”, “Braincell Haver”, “This Is A Kink”, “Just Like You FR”, “Chew Toy”, “Friend-Shaped”, “Aspirational Character”, and “Little Meow Meow”. Under the Evokes and You Want Them to Have sections, and a third unlabeled section, are boxes to check off, which read as follows. In the unlabeled section, “Tragic backstory?”, “Orphan?”, “Frequently violent?”, “Divorced?”, “Has enemies?”, “No friends?”, “Sidekick owner?”, “Pets stray animals?”, “Chronic insomniac?”, and “Murderer?”; in the Evokes section, “spontaneous gushing”, “powerful violent urges”, “raw, unbridled affection”, “The Horny”, “late-night thoughts”, “meta-posting on main”, “creative drive”, “defensive feelings”, “distraction”, “delight”, “symptoms of projection”, “absent-minded doodles on tabletops”, and “the most godawful hot takes known to mankind”; In the You Want Them to Have section, “a better/wose time”, “more/less trauma”, “more/less/different romance”, “more friends”, “painful isolation”, “a family”, “catharsis”, “revenge”, “sympathy”, “a better/worse situation”, “more/less healing”, “more/less/different sex”, “different friends”, “freedom”, “justification”, “The Realization™”, “consequences”, and “a satisfying ending”. /End ID.]

[Image 1 ID: Character sheet for "Eero Dunn (He/Him; OC)". A digital drawing is displayed; he's depicted as an anthropomorphic snake. The Intense and Complex meters are just below center, while the Fruity meter is full. The unlabeled check-off list is marked for frequently violent, has enemies, and murderer. The gradient scale markers are closest to "the protagonist of life", "head empty", "awful company", "hated by all", "untouched by history", "sadistic for fun", "scary-smart", "1,000 weapons", "at peace with life", and "break the rules". Of the Sub Class section, "Enemy of the State" and "Flavor Container" are marked. The Evokes section is marked for creative drive, distraction, delight, and godawful hot takes. The "You want them to have:" section is marked for a worse time, consequences, and a satisfying ending. /End ID.]

[Image 2 ID: Character sheet for "Joshua Wray (He/Him; OC)". A digital drawing is displayed; he's depicted as an anthropomorphic red-tailed hawk. The Intense, Complex, and Fruity meters are all close to center. The unlabeled check-off list is marked for has enemies, no friends, and chronic insomniac. The gradient scale markers are closest to "just some guy", "too many thoughts", "awful company", "hated by all", "sadistic for fun", "enemy of god", and "break the rules", with the "trauma x1000" to "untouched by history", "stupid as shit" to "scary-smart", and "1,000 weapons" to "1,000 tools" gradients marked in their middles. Of the Sub Class section, only Angst Lord is marked. The Evokes section is marked for violent urges, creative drive, and godawful hot takes. The "You want them to have:" section is marked for a worse time, more trauma, a worse situation, and consequences. /End ID.]

[icefang100]

Another set of (Warrior) cat designs for Mechanisms characters! This has characters from High Noon Over Camelot.

In order of left to right in each row, the designs are for: Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Ygraine, Mordred, Morgan, Gawain, and Galahad.

All of the drawings started with the same base, then edited for fur lengths, scars, and expressions.

See below the read more for image descriptions and some notes on each design! Be warned, it’s a lot of text.

[Also uploaded to DeviantART]

[Image set ID: A set of nine digitally drawn headshots of cats. The features and edges of each is lined with black, while their markings are lineless. /End ID.]

[Image 1 description: A drawing of Arthur as a cat with tan and brown fur (best described as taupe, coffee, and dust). He’s frowning lightly. He has dark false eyes (on ears), cheek stripes (which frame octagonal spots), dorsal stripe, and smooth, rounded markings connecting between his nose bridge, under eye-, and over eye-markings. His inner ears, the center of the connected markings, and between his cheek stripes are lighter in color. Arthur’s eyes are pumpkin orange. His pupils are a dark hemlock grey, while his nose is brown-black. He has two scars on his face, the larger spanning diagonally from above his left eye to the center of his nose bridge, on his right. The second scar is smaller, crossing diagonally left to right over his nose bridge. /End description.]

[Image 2 description: A drawing of Guinevere as a cat with reddish brown fur with white highlights (best described as coffee, brown rock, and cream). She’s smiling lightly. She has a dark dorsal stripe, above-eye markings, short cheek stripes, and a series of irregular spots from cheek to cheek and approaching her dorsal stripe. Her inner ears, the edges of her stripes, and some white specks in crevices of her spots are white. Guinevere’s eyes are greyish brown. Her pupils are brown-black, matching her nose. The tip of her left ear is split, and her cheek fur is slightly longer than could be called short, and spikey. /End description.]

[Image 3 description: A drawing of Lancelot as a cat with orange and brown fur (best described as clay, copper, and dust). He’s smiling, but looks concentrated. He has dark false eyes (on ears), above-eye markings, below his eyes and extending down to the bottom of his cheek fur, and his nose bridge, down to his chin. His inner ears, muzzle, between his eyes, and framing his below-eye markings are lighter in color. Lancelot’s eyes are yellow-orange. His pupils are brown-black, matching his nose. He has fairly long cheek fur, pointing downward, as well as some longer fur on his chin. /End description.]

[Image 4 description: A drawing of Ygraine as a cat with purple-ish brown fur (best described as pinecone, liver, and reddish almond). She’s smiling neutrally. She has a dark dorsal stripe, above- and below-eye markings, nose bridge, two chin stripes, ear edges, a U-shaped marking between her eyes, and flowy cheek stripes. Her inner ears, along the above-eye markings and ear edges, in the middle of the U-shaped marking, between the chin stripes, and between her cheek stripes are lighter in color. Ygraine’s eyes are bright yellow. Her pupils are slightly yellowish black, matching her nose. Her ear tips are tufted, and she has long, fluffy cheek fur. /End description.]

[Image 5 description: A drawing of Mordred as a cat with brown fur (best described as pinecone, walnut, and brownish stone). He’s frowning, and seems worried. He has a dark dorsal stripe, markings connecting between his nose bridge, under eye-, and over eye-markings, a broken V-shaped marking between his eyes, wavy cheek stripes, and a dark stripe on his chin. His inner ears, between his cheek stripes, along the ear markings, framing his chin stripe, and between his interconnected nose, eye, and forehead markings are lighter in color. Mordred’s eyes are pale yellow-orange. His pupils are brown-black, matching his nose. His right ear tip has a jagged split, and his cheek fur is relatively long, fanning out downward and slightly outward. Mordred has a scar on his left cheek, bisecting his long fur, and reaching to the edge of his nose bridge. /End description.]

[Image 6 description: A drawing of Morgan as a cat with blue-black fur (best described as dark gunmetal, Baltic, and comet grey). She’s smiling thinly, and looks focused. There are bags beneath her eyes. She has dark cougar-like markings (above-eye and circling muzzle) and false eyes (on ear backs). Her inner ears, center of her muzzle, part of her false eyes, and her nose bridge are lighter in color. Morgan’s eyes are light blue-grey. Her pupils are blue-black, matching her nose. She has moderate-length cheek fur, and a three-pointed scar (one point toward her forehead, and one on either edge of her nose bridge) on the bridge of her muzzle. /End description.]

[Image 7 description: A drawing of Gawain as a cat with tan fur (best described as martini, sandstone, and pale slate). He’s baring his teeth in a snarl, glaring. He has dark, thin, and angular cheek stripes (reaching to the bottom of his eyes), over-eye markings, dorsal stripe, nose bridge, and false eyes (on ears). His inner ears, part of his false eyes, chin, and between stripes (as well as part of his nose bridge) are lighter in color. Gawain’s eyes are apple green. His pupils are slightly greenish black, matching his nose. His fur is short and spikey, and he has two scars on his face; one is along the right side of his nose bridge, and crossing over the top. The other scar is diagonal from the center of his forehead to above his right eye. /End description.]

[Image 8 description: A drawing of Galahad as a cat with black and white fur (best described as deep brownish black, dust, and ash). He’s frowning, and seems frustrated or worried. His ear backs and face are white, with a few light grey markings (ear edges and tufts, above-eye markings, nose bridge, down the center of his muzzle from his nose, and one stripe pointing to each of his eyes). Galahad’s eyes are pumpkin orange. His pupils are oil black, matching his nose. He has long fur and tufts at the tops of his ears - both hanging down heavily. /End description.]

Some notes on the designs’ details:

Guinevere's facial spots (and white highlights thereof) are meant to mimic stars as a nod to a line “Blood and Whiskey” (“Guinevere, you’re my stars [...]”)

Arthur’s circular markings around his eyes, muzzle, and forehead are meant to seem moon-like as a nod to a line in “Blood and Whiskey” (“[...] Arthur, you’re my night”)

Lancelot’s markings were (lightly) inspired by those of a bearded vulture (Gypaetus barbatus)

Mordred is meant to look similar to Arthur and Ygraine (for obvious reasons)

Galahad’s markings aren’t really possible as “normal” markings, but they do resemble some vitiligo patterns