#im gonna post this on ao3 too i think

[the-holy-ghosted]

congrats 2 henry peglar for being the only bitch confirmed as to be Fucking That Old Man

[kentopedia]

i do not anticipate being on here much in november but just know i miss you all and i love you 🤍

[rat-rosemary]

To come back to your arms, to lay warm once more

It's always odd to see Dream lounging like this, to find his God (because this is his God. No matter how much the castles scream and tear and twist, this is his God) laying on a sun beam, casually leaning against a rock.

When Karl read about other gods, when he heard people talk about theirs, they were always untouchable by mortals, living far away on their golden palaces. Not like Dream, with paws stained of dirt and scars. A being made of flesh and blood like any of them.

He wonders if those devouts can hear their gods' heartbeat.

"Are you trying to look poisonous?"

Karl snapped back into attention, focusing back on Dream's face from where his eyes had drifted to the God's... other features.

"What?"

"You have color splashes all over your back. Are you trying to look poisonous Karl?"

Did he? He hadn't noticed, but the in-between has a habit of trying to shove it's hands into Karl's form, trying to reshape him.

(Somewhere under the fog in his mind something shuttered, something that could remember screamed at the mere idea, at the implications. Karl was too tired to listen to it.)

He took of his black and white hoodie, walking to a nearby stream and looking at his reflection in the water.

Truly, there were splashes of color on him, looking like someone had violently slammed a paintbrush against his ribs.

"You don't look poisonous Karl. The colors are too muddied, they make you look sick."

Karl jumped. He hadn't noticed Dream getting up from his sunbeam and following him. That was two times that Karl wasn't paying attention and got startled, and from the look in Dream's eyes he hasn't pleased with that.

Oops.

"You did such a better job with your hair before, I don't know why you decided to change to this. The grey looks bad, makes you easy prey," Dream said, one of his hands sliding over Karl's scruff, covering the back of his neck, "let me fix it for you."

And then there was warmth flooding Karl's body, flowing into him from Dream like fresh blood as the other forced a transformation, shifting the form of his devout.

Karl felt cleansed. Exorcised of an evil that settled on him bit by bit, consuming him like a frog on boiling water.

Like waking up from a long terrible dream, like falling asleep in a warm bed after a long terrible chase.

Belatedly he realized there were tears sliding down his face as his mind cleared and sharpened, and it took a bit until he could see his reflection on the water of the stream again.

The ends of his curls were once more filled with color, less vibrant then he would personally have but such a relief after spending so long not realizing that they were gone that Karl's eyes almost blur once more.

The ugly muddy splashes across his skins have become a light brown pattern, just slightly darker then his skin, spanning down his back and on the tip of his nose like a deer's fur.

Karl laughs, desperate and fearful as all at once he feels all he has done, remember all he has forgotten, and as he feels Dream hesitantly pull his hand away Karl slams his own on top, keeping the God's hand in place.

"Karl?"

His laughter becomes maniac, his eyes closing as he curls up on himself. Shaking his head like he shake away the memories, turn everything he went through into a bad fever dream.

And then he starts sobbing, throwing himself into Dream's arms and praying that he will somehow hold him together when that being (because whatever the inbetween is, it is not a God. Karl will not give it that tittle) was trying to rip his devout away from him.

His prayers are answered and Dream pulls him closer, letting Karl hide his face on his shoulders as he sobs, the fur there growing wet in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, after what feels like eons, Karl feels himself calm, a natural exhaustion settling deep on his chest at the same time a pounding headache settles behind his forehead.

Distantly he realizes he has shifted once more.

He stops clutching Dream like someone will come drag him away, glancing down and finding colorful spots like confetti on his skin and ears floppy and long against his back as he takes shape of a rabbit, mimicking Dream's favorite form, his real true form, not the showy and impractical angel that he uses to scare away outsiders who expect something else of him.

Karl's eyes are heavy and this time he let's them fall with no fear of where he will wake up.

He is back home, in his den, safe from the claws of the hunt.

It's time to rest before the next day, before his next chase.

🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇¤🐇

Inspired by this fanart I found on pinterest

The artists is @/mama gingerale but I can't tell you if they're from here or twt or if they're even active anymore

ALSO BTW IF YOU EVER SEE THIS I THINK THE MARKINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL SORRY FOR CALLING THEM UGLY AND MUDDY BUT ANGST

[moreclaypigeons]

No like seriously ARE we ready to talk about the misogyny in fandom spaces

[calamitoustide]

Did I just get an email that you just uploaded 53 fics to A03??? Bless 🙏

i mean uploaded is a strong word i reuploaded them because a) i only planned on keeping them down for a week to begin with and it's been longer than that and b) i started rereading some of my fics and found so much love for them again so i don't mind having them up

that being said if anyone is mean or gives me stupid comments again i will in fact be taking them down again i don't even care

[solarpunkani]

Minor W for the solarpunk zombie story, we finally reached the front gate of the town GOD BLESS

Already shoving other OCs into the project as minor characters

Now the problem.....

I am overthinking EVERYTHING

[jakemarcmepls]

A Thousand Deaths

Blood is gushing down his forearm and he’s breathing through it. Through the pain in his mind, more so than physical and Jake slips close enough to the front to feel his pain but not close enough to be felt. Eager to feel Marc’s pain as his own. For the blood coursing through Marc’s veins to be his. In his mouth, on his soul, on his body. Marc’s eyes are closed so he allows his head to tilt back and expose his throat, an act of submission for a man that is unaware of his existence. 

Khonshu may have been worshipped by humans for centuries but Jake would only ever fall to his knees for one man. He exhales roughly and catalogs the many red hotspots dancing on his  consciousness. A bruise on Marc’s hip where he stepped back and hit an edge, a bullet in his abdomen that Khonshu hasn’t healed yet burning the brightest, purpled and angry scars at his throat where he was choked to the point of unconsciousness, broken shin swollen and bruising weird. So many delicious little points of pain on Marc that he could soothe and bite and lick. Run his tongue over, again and again until the pain was gone, until Khonshu stopped being angry enough to remove the scars, remove the resilience of Marc’s will from his body, of all his strength and proof of his life from his being. 

He hears a stuttering breath, choked and surprised and his eyes fly open, seeking Marc’s and seeing his alarmed gaze on himself. Jake’s breath catches a little but he doesn’t disappear, draw back, make any movements because it’s not often Marc sees him, they’ve locked gazes three times in their entire lives and each time Marc thought of him as someone else. “...Steven?” Marc asks quietly, unsure, Jake adds it to the tally—four times now he’s been mistaken for someone else. A bitter, sharp pain rises in his chest and he inclines his head, doesn’t say anything. Acknowledges nothing. Marc’s eyes narrow and the tension returns to his shoulders, “...Who the hell are you?” It’s said harshly, with all the steel of a former military and all the dread of a troubled youth. 

Jake runs his gaze down his bare chest, catalogs fresh bruises and old ones alike. Before Khonshu, with Khonshu. Some left behind as punishment for things beyond Marc’s control, some for Jake’s own disobedience. Those anger him the most, and sometimes he imagines driving his hands through that beak and breaking it apart with his bare hands, for all the pain and all the idiocy Khonshu has put Marc through, for all the manipulations and all the anguish. Manipulation is fine, Jake does not care much for it nor does he respect it, but he would never be manipulated so even if Marc was naive enough to fall for something, he would be there, in the back of his mind, ready to kill for him and to save him. 

Anguish? Not even Stevie could save Marc from that pain, and that is unacceptable. That deserves death. It deserves years of torture, of blood running down the drain as he finds new places to open up and shock. Unfortunate, that his enemy is so otherworldly, and Marc may be jewish, not practising but stubborn enough to try and hold onto his traitorous family any way he can and Stevie may be fully believing, fully ready to castrate himself and use his time to think of worthless things but Jake has no need for that. It serves him no purpose, and it has never saved his beloved Marc from his pain. Humans are the reason Marc has suffered so much but Khonshu is the reason Marc continues to suffer and Jake will ensure he kills him, if it is the last thing he does. 

“...Are you listening to me? I asked who the hell are you! answer me!” Marc’s voice, and Jake looks up through his lashes and smiles. Soft, and sweet, like he has seen Stevie do so many times.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Then he sinks, the last thing he sees Marc’s indignation and laughs to himself. Marc is so fun. He’s so touchy, so sensitive.

[compacflt]

uhhh i don’t know how this works, but, in case i haven’t specified, my writing requests are open! idk, send me an ask, idk, i literally don’t know, and it DOES NOT have to be in my specific AU, im down for anything!!! I have some more free time now & this is a good exercise!! if u want me to write stuff, 🫡 here i am!*

* no promises i get to ur ask. But I will try my best.

[samsno1]

I GOT A COMMENT ON AO3 ASKING FOR ME TO WRITE A P.2 TO HONESTY SHOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IN SACRIFICE IM SO HAPPY I CANT EVEN

AND THEY COMPLIMENTED MY WRITING

IM GONNA BURST INTO TEARS 😭

[conivolos]

lil ficlet thing i wrote in literally twenty minutes

directly inspired by @peachy-shark's tumblr post (idk how to properly link it lol)

uh fic under the cut. yup.

encore

and- pearl’s falling. 

why is she falling?

it feels like it should happen.

she should keep falling.

she knows it will end.

she knows she should keep falling anyway.

a shooting star, she thinks bitterly.

as the ground gets closer, she wishes. 

wishes things were back the way they were. wishes she was still made of copper. wishes she didnt fall. wishes she was more careful. wishes she was-

--

Encore, the universe shouts, encore!

--

Pearl's no longer falling, but the feeling lingers, even as she sits back up in bed.

she’s still small, swamped in her covers (she hasnt been able to find a bed that fits her yet).

shes not still a star, she can tell that much, and an inspection of her arms yields the realisation that she's made of copper.

oh. everythings the same as it was.

pearl huffs, damning the universe, and goes to collect her things.

later, when she catches sight of her reflection in brand new, shiny copper platings, she has a small star atop her antennae.

[weirdopponent]

Today she is red. Glazed in impatient strokes of mine, a gift, red like cremation, like the still-living coals.

She bows her head, a lamb, and allows me to touch her face. She shakes, but is not flinching. "I don't have to do it like this."

Grace does not say anything. Grace pushes into my hands, till they curve under her jaw. Till I can feel the shape of her skull. Till I can time the pace of blood running through her heart. She knows it was a lie - no one else will be able to love her like this, as she is, as she will be.

I break her into pieces.

I dismantle her. I smash her with my open palm until she becomes a formless crumple, blood blooming slowly with each strike. Her dark hair I hack off with safety scissors like gravestones crumbling in bad weather. Her clothes I burn in the industrial furnace - nothing I can keep, so ash it all will be.

The rest is all artifice - I do not change her skin. I open it, step inside it, wearing it, I become her. I wear a too-tight sports bra that makes my ribs ache, each breath restrained against the form, precious. And with the right shirt - it almost looks like me. The memory of her lies crumpled at my feet, an unceremonious death. It hurts like nothing else could hurt, to outlive your daughter. But that's no problem of mine.

Today I am red. My nail polish is chipping, stains the cuticles like blood. Mother looks at me like it is blood, like Grace's body lies crumpled on my feet, instead of in the lines of mine. "I am the only way she could be."

[hailsatanacab]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 (jk U can only do one 😂)

If he were to see the monstrosity that is the Fentonworks building in Gotham, there wouldn’t be a doubt in his mind that that right there is a villain’s lair.

From the Mistaken Jason wip!

send me a🌹for a random sentence in a random wip!

[imogenkol]

Pairing: Imogen Kol (oc) x Bix Caleen Word Count: 2,941 Rating: Mature (18+) Warnings: casual sex implied, jealousy, possessiveness Tags: Repressed feelings, angst Read it on Ao3!

Summary: A former Imperial Inquisitor struggles with the deepening feelings she has for a mechanic from Ferrix.

Imogen Kol sauntered into the salyard as if she owned it. The cold, misted breeze of Ferrix blew through the elegant wave of her light brunette hair. Scrappers paused to watch her pass by like they always did when she paid the planet a visit. Their fear rippled through the Force to prickle at her senses and she hid a smirk. Perhaps it was the look in her stormy gray eyes – the perpetual scowl that creased her brow. Or the way she carried herself. Nothing else about her stood out, she made sure of it. Her mechanical leg had been hidden by dark layers of clothing and knee high boots. No one had ever seen her touch the blaster at her hip, much less wield the blood-red saber hidden in her tattered cloak. Yet they all knew exactly how dangerous she was. Her pace turned casual just to bask in it a little longer.

Following the distinct sounds of crackling sparks, Imogen found the mechanic right where she expected her to be. Bix crouched beside a suspended engine, face hidden behind a welder’s mask as she tinkered with the massive piece of machinery. Imogen took the opportunity of distraction to silently wander around her workshop. She picked up random spare parts or inspected tools with varying disinterest, taking her time and sneaking glances at the other woman.

“Do you have my parts?” she finally asked.

“Do you have my credits?” Bix replied like she knew Imogen had been there the entire time. She didn’t even bother to look up.

Her smirk may not have been hidden this time, but luckily Bix was too busy to notice. Imogen enjoyed the snarky game they played with each other – the challenge the mechanic always presented her without the trepidation everyone else showed. “You know I do.”

Bix straightened and pulled her mask off. Her dark hair had been tied back in a couple of messy braids, though a few loose strands fell over her tanned features. An apathetic expression met Imogen, which only privately amused the bounty hunter even more. “Then follow me.”

Imogen did as she was told, trailing close behind as Bix led her out of the garage. “You kept me waiting.”

“Moving contraband takes time,” Bix said plainly, as it was a sentence she’s had to repeat several times in the past.

“This is a salvage yard,” Imogen grumbled. “How will they miss a few extra parts?”

Bix threw her an annoyed look. “You don’t want circuits and regulators, you want combat modules modified to be installed in a custom yacht. That kind of order can tip the wrong people off.”

“I also requested a new microvalve.”

“At my suggestion because yours is defective. It takes time to gather a bundle of Imperial-grade parts without getting caught or –”

“Alright, I get it,” Imogen snapped.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you pay for,” Bix assured her.

They arrived in a musty storage room where countless large containers overflowing with scrap were placed and stacked seemingly without any rhyme or reason, but Bix knew exactly which bin to approach. She flipped open the lid and nodded at its contents.

“Everything’s in there. Let me know if it’s to your liking.”

Imogen stepped forward to inspect the parts she intended to purchase. Bix hadn’t been lying, she’d get exactly what she paid for. Imperial tech was top of the line and the brand new shiny parts reflected the pompous arrogance of the Empire. If they wouldn’t settle for less than pristine equipment, then why should Imogen? Especially since they’d been pestering her more often. She would make that their problem now.

The sound of an intruder caused Imogen’s head to snap in the direction of the whooshing door. A man with close cropped light brown hair and stubble entered the room, his longing gaze immediately locked on Bix. “Oh, there you are.”

Bix didn’t look half as irritated at the interruption as Imogen. “What do you need, Timm?” she asked. “I’m doing business.”

Timm eyed Imogen, but shrugged off her glare. Fool. “A few of us are gathering at Cavo’s later to watch the pod races. I was wondering if you wanted to join. There’s bets going around.”

Bix nodded. “Sure.”

“Fantastic. See you then,” Timm said with a much too fond grin for Imogen’s liking before leaving the two women.

“He likes you,” Imogen stated flatly.

“I know.”

She studied the mechanic’s face at the sound of her lightened tone. Bix’s features softened every so slightly in the direction of the door. Disgust boiled in Imogen’s chest as her upper lip twitched. “Do you like him?”

Bix’s rich brown eyes met Imogen’s. She studied her sharp features, the scowl creasing her brow, and eventually flicked her gaze down to her lips. The mechanic’s mouth flashed the briefest smirk – so quick and subtle that Imogen would have missed it if she blinked. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments.”

Every muscle in Imogen’s body suddenly coiled with rage. “Careful,” she whispered dangerously.

Bix took that as a challenge and invaded Imogen’s space. “There’s no such thing with you.”

“I haven’t been a Jedi for fifteen years.”

“You still have that lightsaber on your belt.” Bix reached a hand out towards her waist.

Imogen snatched her wrist hard. “It is not a Jedi weapon.”

Bix stared into the steel cold eyes of a ruthless hunter, yet she didn’t so much as flinch. “No, you used it to kill Jedi. But you’re not an Inquisitor anymore either. So, why keep it?”

If she still had any claim to that occupation, this line of questioning would have caused Imogen to cut the mechanic down without a second thought. However, just like the constantly shifting circumstances in the galaxy, Imogen changed as well. She utilized unpredictability to not only survive as long as she has, but to thrive. No matter how bold Bix became, Imogen realized she preferred her alive.

“Your credits are on my ship.” Imogen’s tone became calm and measured as she released Bix from her grasp. “I’ll pay you extra if you help me install the parts.”

“Don’t bother.” Bix glanced down at Imogen’s mouth again. “I’ll do it for free.”

“Free? ” she asked incredulously.

“What, you think I’d let you do it? After your botched job last time? The Huntress is as much mine as it is yours for all the work I’ve put into it. It kills me to see what you do to her while you're away.”

The implication that any of Imogen’s efforts were less than perfect stirred her anger once more. “If you dropped everything and ran to the other side of the galaxy, I’d be able to find you in less than a week.”

“Exactly,” Bix remarked and turned her back on the former Inquisitor. She shot a beckoning look over her shoulder, utterly unbothered by the simmering expression that pierced through her. Imogen followed again. “You’re good at hunting. I’m good at fixing ships. Let’s not get our roles mixed up.”

When she started in the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, Imogen rolled with a gunship just slightly above scrap. The guns jammed. The hull creaked. The tracking modules were inaccurate. She traded it in for scrap the first chance she got. One of her higher end bounties owned a space yacht – modest than most and perfectly unassuming. It took a few years, but with Bix’s help, she managed to customize it to hold bounties, cargo, and both defensive and offensive capabilities.

Colored a silver chrome with red accents and nothing but sleek angles and graceful wings, the ship had been dubbed The Crimson Huntress.

Whenever Bix did work on the ship, she refused to let Imogen do much other than pass her tools. Relinquishing control of her property provoked Imogen’s ire more than anything else, but the mechanic had a way of disarming her. Perhaps it had something to do with the view Imogen got to sit back and appreciate. Watching the deft confidence of Bix’s hands as they switched wires and attached screws admittedly fascinated Imogen. That and the loose strands of hair that Bix gave up on brushing back a while ago. They caressed her cheekbones and just barely brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You know I don’t like it when you watch me work,” Bix complained without looking up. “It’s distracting.”

“You should be grateful. I can be a lot more distracting than this,” Imogen quipped. She reached out from several feet away and flicked her fingers. An invisible force plucked a soldering tool out of Bix’s hand.

Her eyes rolled with her head as she snatched it out of the air. “Do you want me to get this done or not?”

“I’m in no rush,” Imogen answered nonchalantly. “But you do have a very important pod race to get to, don’t you?”

The condescending remark caused Bix to toss her tools down on the floor of the ship with a few metal clangs. A devious smile came across Imogen’s face as she watched the mechanic advance towards her. Their lips crashed into each other in a sudden and fervent cadence. Like always, it sent Imogen’s mind spinning and awakened a craving that utterly consumed her. A craving she felt the first moment she laid eyes on Bix. It tugged at her impulses and desires in a similar way to the Dark Side – only, surrendering herself to the temptation of this woman didn’t turn Imogen into anything other than herself.

Bix abruptly pulled back to hiss “This is the last time, you hear me?”

“I’ve heard you every time you’ve said it,” Imogen mused. Her hand came up to caress Bix’s cheek, her thumb charting a course from one lonely freckle to another. Then her fingers slowly dragged down to the woman’s neck where her hand wrapped around her throat. Imogen gave her a gentle squeeze. “But that one sounded like an order.”

“I’m serious this time,” Bix told her with uneven breath as she reached for Imogen’s belt.

Imogen hummed and pushed her against the wall she had been working on. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you go to Timm after we’re done.”

The weapons belt clattered on the floor next to the discarded tools. “He’s sweet.”

“How boring,” Imogen murmured and turned Bix’s head to expose her neck.

If Imogen had to give up her mechanic to a man, then she’d be sure to leave her mark. With a persistent, possessive hunger, she parted her lips and planted them on the spot where Bix’s pulse drummed the hardest. Imogen pressed herself into her and raked her teeth across the sensitive skin, relishing the quiet whimper that graced her ears. Bix had her own methods, plunging an assertive hand down the front of Imogen’s pants. The two of them writhed in tandem with each other, their shared noises of pleasure filling the cabin of the ship.

Some time later, they found themselves sharing space on the ship’s comfortable cot, totally spent. Imogen silently admired the marks she left on Bix’s tanned skin. The most noticeable formed just above the base of her graceful neck. Imogen never considered herself affectionate, but she couldn’t stop from reaching out to brush the back of her fingers down the slope of Bix’s neck and across her shoulder. It felt odd to indulge in such a candid touch, but Bix released a hum of satisfaction that filled Imogen’s chest with a slightly warm sensation.

But Bix’s gaze seemed determined not to meet Imogen’s. “You didn’t answer me.”

“About what?” Imogen asked.

“The lightsaber.”

Imogen’s eyes drifted to where it sat on the floor still attached to her utility belt. Its sleek handle caught the light, beckoning its wielder to put it to grim use. “It’s an effective weapon.”

“It’s a beacon,” Bix corrected. “For someone who likes to hide, you sure do make a name for yourself.”

“It’s a delicate balance.” Just like everything else, Imogen thought. Light. Dark. Shadows. Exposed. Wrathful. Merciful. Whatever suited her needs. Whatever she felt like, really.

Off in the distance, a bell rang to signal the end of the work day. Bix finally stirred out of the cot to retrieve her few stray articles of clothing. “I need to finish up here.”

“Or I could get a room at the hotel,” Imogen suggested as she propped her head up on her hand. A huge part of her believed Bix when she said this would be the last time. It dawned on Imogen as she watched the mechanic prepare to leave her that she actually hated the concept. And she wasn’t one to surrender anything easily. “I’ll go to Cavo’s with you. I may have credits I could burn on bets, not that I’d lose.”

Bix scoffed humorlessly and shook her head, still refusing to look at the other woman.

Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“If you wanted me to be yours, you should have asked a long time ago, Imogen.”

Here she thought only force users could sense intentions. Imogen scowled deeply and got to her feet, her movements measured. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone showed interest in me and you now can’t stand it,” Bix accused as she shrugged her vest on. “For the first time, you’re jealous. Instead of admitting to it, you want to act like you own me.”

“So what? You’ve never had a problem with that before.” Imogen grabbed her belt from the floor and strapped it back into place on her hips. Having the saber where it should be fortified her confidence. “I have never forced you into anything.”

“No. You haven’t. I’m admitting that.” Bix closed the distance between them, finally piercing the bounty hunter with an intense stare. Imogen went as still as the statues she used to pass by in the Jedi Temple as a child. “You know what I see? I see someone tripping over the roots of their past while trying to run from them.”

The ship rumbled with Imogen’s fast rising fury, but her voice was eerily calm. “You do not know me.”

Yet again, Bix stood unfazed when faced with one of the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy. “I know you better than anyone alive, I bet. You want more than this? Take it. And be honest about it.”

Imogen got the impression Bix wasn’t only referring to herself. Jedi. Inquisitor. Bounty Hunter. No matter how many titles she claimed, Imogen still felt a void within her. In fact, the emptiness seemed to grow more vast in her chest over the years. As a child, fear governed the void, and it was fear that allowed others to control her. Once fear got too tedious, Imogen replaced it with rage and learned that the more she stoked the fire of fury, the more she could control fear – not just her own. But the void remained. Always remained.

Did she want more? Yes.

She studied the mechanic from Ferrix. Bix’s eyes were as rich and warm as darkly brewed caf. Her smooth-skinned features decorated with a sporadic sprinkling of a few beauty marks. Full lips pursed in the stubborn glare Imogen had grown so familiar with. Something akin to pain pinched Imogen’s gut as she realized she couldn’t recall what her genuine smile looked like.

Yes. Imogen wanted her, too.

With the most gentle touch she was capable of giving anyone or anything – more gentle than even she thought she could be, Imogen reached up and rested her hand against Bix’s cheek. Miraculously, the glare gave way to parted lips, and a delicate breath graced Imogen’s skin. She finally allowed herself to feel the warmth seeping into her palm. That warmth traveled up her arm and into her chest. For a single heartbeat, it felt like the void shrunk the smallest amount.

“You don’t want this,” Imogen whispered softly.

“You’re wrong,” Bix replied, her hand carefully wrapping around Imogen’s wrist like she feared the other woman might disappear.

Imogen loved to take. Whether it was money, ships, bounties, or lives. Taking was second nature to her by now. The Jedi forced her to give everything she had up until the moment she plunged her blade into her own master. She never thought to give willingly. She didn’t know if she had it in her. Bix had a puzzling emotion in her expression that took a few moments for Imogen to decipher, but she soon saw the vulnerability on display for her. That is what giving is – surrender. Weakness. These were utterly foreign notions to Imogen.

Maybe she could try for the sake of her desire. Maybe that would finally reduce the emptiness.

She tilted Bix’s head down enough to place a chaste kiss to her forehead. Imogen held them there to soak in the sensations of such a strange form of affection. She found she liked everything from Bix’s scent to the heat against her lips.

The void hadn’t grown smaller, she noticed. It was filling up.

Imogen took a deep breath and pulled back to rest their foreheads together. “Finish up your work here… and then you will never have to see me again.”

“Imogen,” Bix gasped. The hurt in her voice cut through the former Jedi more than expected.

She needed this very moment to understand it. Imogen couldn’t bring herself to give any more than she could bring herself to take from the mechanic. But she had it in her to be willingly selfless for the very first time in her life. Just this once. Imogen broke all contact with Bix and stepped away. “You’ll thank me later.”

[fenharel-babe]

I looked through ALL my drafts on tumble for solavellan fanfic links.

Like all my drafts and found many good ones bUT NOT THE ONE IM LOOKING FOR😭😭😭.

[izzy-b-hands]

Random blackhands (with an steddyhands ending) came to me after my shower and I physically could not get myself to sleep until I wrote this so

Usually warning to give this one a skip if you're avoiding s2 spoilers rn bc it does pull from a big scene in s2 at one point. Otherwise please have at and hopefully enjoy!!! I'm going to try and actually sleep now lol

[eudico-my-beloved]

waugh