#ro ro shipping services

[goldenfreightforwardingmarketing]

RORO Shipping Company in Canada | Car Auction Shipping Services | GFFCA 𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑶 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒂𝒔𝒚! At 𝑮𝑭𝑭𝑪𝑨, our 𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑶 (𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍-𝒐𝒏/𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍-𝒐𝒇𝒇) 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 ensures your cargo rolls on and off effortlessly. From cars to heavy machinery, we make transport smooth and secure. . 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒆-𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝑭𝑭𝑪𝑨! 📞 +𝟏 (𝟒𝟏𝟔) 𝟖𝟕𝟑-𝟒𝟓𝟗𝟒 📧 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒐@𝒈𝒇𝒇𝒄𝒂.𝒄𝒐𝒎 🌐 𝒈𝒇𝒇𝒄𝒂.𝒄𝒐𝒎

[007-nightfire-yakuza-agent]

@horsesource

gosh such a big question. a ship is so much to the sailors she holds. more than just a home - shelter, conveyance, workplace, friend, protector, confessor, and so much more. every ship is different, has her own quirks and traits and personality. some ships are truly on deaths door and you feel bad for them - you feel like they're begging for rest in the way that an old blind and arthritic dog is. like let it sleep bro. be loving. some of them are formidable seawise giants that seem to conquer the waves, but they often lack charm. the favoured ones to me are the smaller ships, like this, the ones that go up against the odds, the ones that need the love and need the affection but will see you through for it... i think it'd be best if i gave a brief account of some notable ships from my time, i shant name names as it's impolite to kiss n tell.

The Ro-Ro - a roll on, roll off vessel that also had capacity to take containers. was enormous - over 300 meters - with a terrifyingly large engine. built around 2015, it was fresh, new, the machinery never really had problems, the engine room was spacious and well laid out, it was pretty, capable, endured rough seas... the ship herself didnt leave much of an impression, but i remember feeling the heartbeat of her engine, dread and terrible, and feeling so small, and so honoured to be held so tenderly by something so colossal.

the tanker- a plucky ship if ever i knew one. not too old, but with many problems - especially the main engine, which destroyed a piston not once but twice - and with many machinery problems due to dealing with tropical heat constantly. the ship was designed with cargo capacity in mind, but unfortunately was a product tanker which meant she often sailed from port to port unloaded by cargo... meaning she floated like a cork in rough weather. her main engine was small, 6 cylinders compared to the ro-ro's 12, but the engine room was laid out in a smart, intuitive way which meant that even with these issues she was pleasant to work on. probably my 2nd fave ship and the only one i wish i could go back to.

the cruise ship - hell on earth. a bloated, sickly beast brimming with sin so mighty it poured out of her continously. like the passengers she carried, she was old, ready to die, but unlike them she embraced death eagerly. EVERYTHING that could fall apart fell apart. she even overflowed sewage while in port. she had, in her midlife, some work done - an extension that made her able to carry more passengers- an act that left her forever scarred, forever limping, like some pitiful chimera dreamed up by an inhumane melder of flesh. i worried abt staying onboard that ship, because i had the feeling that if we did not end her service, she would do it for us.

every ship has her own personality and history and feel, though its interesting how they can grow on you. my current ship felt so meek and in bad condition when i joined. i know now how badly i underestimated her. she's a fighter, a valiant one at that. if i could, i'd sail with her forever.

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

How would the ro’s handle working a customer service job? Like who gets fired first

RO'S IN CUSTOMER SERVICE

THE DEMON —

Fired within the first 30 minutes. Tried to fight a customer. Police were called, Dante had a warrant. Got arrested.

THE ANGEL —

An awesome worker, but please give her a task at a time, or she'll get confused. Usually works alone in the gardening section or the very back of the story.

THE DRAGON —

Slacker. She's there for her specific hours and you won't hear a thing from her. She's a good worker tho, when she wants to be. Men love her and constantly tipping her.

THE ARMADILLO —

Hardworking. Too hardworking. Takes this job a little too seriously. At times a snitch but he means well.

THE WARDEN —

Sigh. A manager but the one you pray isnt working when you are. He's great for intimidation, and you get your breaks and paid time off, but Gods does he run a tight ship. Everything is orderly.

THE KING —

Best Employee. Becomes the manager effortlessly, everyone loves him, everyone's tipping him. He's the most patient and kind and gets the job done. I'd love working for him.

[naminethewriter]

Deciding Darts

It's the one Intruloceit story I always sneak into these ship weeks for Loceit Week Day 6! And of course it's by far the longest 😅 What can I say? Remus demanded to be in this one and then wouldn't stop until he reached his goal... I love him 💚 @loceitweek

Masterpost | Loceit Week 2024 Masterpost | Ao3

Prompt: “We really sold our souls to the devil here, haven’t we?”

Summary: Janus and Logan are on a double date with Patton and Roman when they get interrupted by Roman's twin who's surprisingly back in town.

Content Warnings: Mentions of sex, Remus being very blunt and almost crossing several lines

~~*~~

“…and that’s when one of the tree branches came lose and hit Derrick on his head. Luckily it was just cardboard, so he wasn’t injured but it was pretty funny.”

Janus only half listened to Roman’s tales of his latest theater shows. Patton next to Roman looked as enamored with him as always, even if he was pretty sure he must have heard the story before. Logan was sipping from his glass but politely nodding along. Even if Janus was a bit bored at the moment, he couldn’t deny that the double date had been more fun than he’d imagined so far.

When the idea had first been brought up, Janus had asked Virgil if he wanted to come along but the emo had quickly refused.

“You want me to be the fifth wheel in a loud and crowded bar that probably way overprices the drinks? Over my dead body. Plus, Remy already asked if I could come over that night to keep him distracted while Emile’s out of town and he promised me free drinks, so yeah no dice.”

Janus had rolled his eyes but let it slide. Remy usually was a mess when he was separated from his husband for more than 24 hours even if he liked to pretend to be a loner.

“Just make sure he doesn’t make you too many drinks that include caffein. And don’t drink any of those too late either.”

“Sure thing, mom.”

Janus had lightly hit him on the head for that one.

Suddenly, Janus was pulled back into the present by a loud voice.

“Ro-bro! Fancy seeing you here!”

All four of them looked up to see a man with Roman’s face but slightly off standing in front of their booth. He had the same eyes and features as Roman but sported a mustache and a white streak in his hair. And if that didn’t set him apart from his brother enough, the clothes the man was wearing were probably the opposite of Roman too with ripped jeans, a dark crop top and combat boots.

So that must be the infamous twin, Janus thought as he looked the other up and down once more. What was his name again?

“Remus?!” Roman gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting drunk! And looking for someone to take back to the hotel with me.” He winked suggestively at Logan who simply raised an eyebrow.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Roman almost growled, clearly annoyed. “What are you doing here in town, I thought you were still in Europe.”

“Yeah, some stuff happened and I got back early. I was gonna surprise you at your place tomorrow but this is even better! Nice to finally meet you in person, Patty Daddy.”

“Yes, nice to see you, Remus,” Patton laughed uncomfortably. Remus paused.

“Nickname too much?”

“Obviously,” Roman sighed.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll behave. So introduce me to these fine gentlemen.” Remus grabbed a chair from nearby and plopped down in front of the booth, grinning at Logan and Janus.

“Logan Croft,” Logan spoke up before Roman could interject, holding his hand out for Remus to shake. “And this is my partner Janus Dean. We’re longtime friends of Patton’s.”

“Pleasure,” Janus said simply, nodding instead of offering his own hand. Remus laughed and gripped Logan’s hand tight.

“Remus Kingsleigh, at your service.” Instead of shaking Logan’s hand however, he brought it up to his mouth and licked it. “You taste delightful,” he added with a grin.

“Remus!” Roman scolded, pulling him away from Logan who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He simply pulled his hand back, got a bottle of disinfectant out of his bag and rubbed it into the skin.

“Well then, Remus, how long are you staying?” Patton asked, still looking incredibly uncomfortable and desperate to change the topic. Janus wasn’t surprised. While Patton was very tolerant of other people’s behaviors and believes, he was rather strictly catholic himself and didn’t want pre-marital sex, which Roman was very much okay with. But Patton also was very uncomfortable with the topic of sex in general, so Janus could imagine that Remus, who as far as he knew had made sex and innuendos kind of a big part of his personality, put him on edge.

He was in luck however since Remus was open to the change in topic and started detailing his plans and told stories about his travels which Logan especially appreciated. For the next hour or so, pleasant conversation flowed between the five of them until Patton got tired and asked Roman to drive him home. The two paid off their part of the tab and left.

“Well then, that just leaves us three,” Remus grinned as he slid into the seats his brother and Patton had just vacated. “Are you open to have some fun?”

“You do understand that we’re in a committed relationship, right?” Janus asked, eyebrows raised and trying to inject boredom into his voice. Remus was entertaining, sure, but not all that appealing to him.

“So what? I can take you both.” The grin on Remus’ face was without a hint of shame. Refreshing, Janus could admit but he still wasn’t interested.

“Thank you for the offer, Remus, but we are not currently looking for a third,” Logan answered. Diplomatic as always.

“Currently? So that might change?” Remus was leaning over the table now, his eyes wide and wild.

“Sure. Ask another ten times and we’ll probably say yes!” Janus huffed.

“Promise?”

“No.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

“Then maybe you should seek your thrill elsewhere.”

“How about a bet?” Remus suddenly offered, sitting back in his seat, still grinning.

“I believe we have been quite clear—” Logan started but Remus interrupted him.

“A game of darts for your phone numbers. And a week to change your minds if I win.”

Janus rolled his eyes again, but to his surprise Logan leaned forward, studying Remus’ face intensely.

“You seem quite sure of your skill.”

“I am.”

“Very well. I accept.”

Janus sighed but didn’t argue. Truly, he should have seen it coming. Darts was the only sport Logan was interested in – well, besides chess but in terms of physical sports it was the only one. It relied on dexterity and math, both of which Logan appreciated greatly.

Logan and Remus agreed on a set of rules and Janus was pulled along to judge.

“Don’t you think I’m going to be biased?”

“No.”

“Nah.”

Janus had expected that answer from his partner but not Remus.

“Lolo here seems to have a bit of a stick up his ass about rules. I imagine he’d be pretty cross with you if you didn’t play fair.”

“You… aren’t wrong,” Janus conceded, surprised by his insight. Maybe Remus wasn’t as aloof and uncaring as he first seemed.

They got some darts from the barkeeper and luckily one of the three boards was still available. They played best of three with Logan easily winning the first one, Remus barely clutching out the second and now they were both in finishing range for the third.

Logan was up first. He hit the triple he needed without difficulty and just slightly overshot the double with the second and took aim with the third. Before he could throw though, Remus stepped up to him and whispered something in his ear that Janus couldn’t hear. Logan glanced away from the board and at Remus for a moment but didn’t answer. Remus laughed and stepped back, letting him finish his turn.

Janus watched as Logan took two deep breaths before aiming again.

He threw the dart.

And it bounced off the second dart that had already missed the target, falling to the floor.

“My turn!” Remus giggled, delighted, as Logan gathered his darts.

“Will you aim for the double 14 and then tops?” Logan asked. If Janus remembered correctly, ‘tops’ referred to the double 20 on the top of the board.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?” Remus grinned and threw his first dart. It landed square in the 18 field. Leaving Remus with a rest score of 50. He needed the bull’s eye to win.

That truly fit with his character.

If he was just slightly off, the math wouldn’t work out anymore and he might not be able to use his last dart to finish.

Despite the high stakes, kinda, Remus looked very relaxed to Janus. As if he had unending confidence in his skills.

He took aim.

He threw.

He hit.

The dart landed in the bull’s eye with a dull thud.

“Congratulations,” Logan said, genuinely. “That were some impressive games.”

“Aw, thanks Logie! Now pay up!”

“I was under the impression that you wanted our phone numbers not our money.”

“That’s what he means, Lo,” Janus explained as he stepped up to the two. “Here.” He held a business card out to Remus that had his name and law firm printed on it. He’d also added Logan’s number on the other side. “Your one week starts now.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Janny! And I promise I won’t send you dick pics immediately!” With that, Remus waved to them and left, handing the darts back to the bartender on his way out.

“We really sold our souls to the devil here, haven’t we?” Janus commented dryly as they watched the door close behind him.

“Well, I always thought the devil had some fair points,” Logan shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

Janus had an inkling that his life was about to get a lot more chaotic.

He found that he didn’t really mind the idea.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

*lightspeed powerwalk into your ask box for the soft OTP prompts* 3 or 10 with Val/Ros, if any of these two strike you fancy? 💕

Thank youuuu @blackrevell for the ask from the soft prompts!

I was sure that I was going to write 10 (getting ready in the morning) then I had an idea and it possessed me and I had to exorcise it. I reserve the right to also write 10 later. ☺️

3- Write about your ship holding hands in a tense moment.

Outside the unbreakable window panes, heavy shadows dance and loom as the wind whips the trees back and forth along the South Lawn. There are at least a dozen Federal Secret Service agents outside blending into the shadows. Inside, the flashing red, white, and blue of the screens reflect off the windows and obscure the darkness, the cascade of colors on the glass mirroring the cacophony behind her. The flashing colors coalesce into her own face, then melt into that of her challenger.

President Rosalind Myers stares out the window, seeing nothing as her thumb presses into the metacarpals of her left hand, digging into the tender muscles. The hand has twinged more often recently. She should talk to her surgeon about it, but a lifetime of repressing weakness makes her reticent. Val wouldn’t approve.

Behind her the door sighs open and a glance over her shoulder confirms the entrant as the only person who would dare interrupt tonight’s vigil, then she returns her attention to the window. A click, and the room darkens and falls silent as Val turns off the screens.

“No reason to listen to that scop,” she says quietly, a gentle hand resting between her shoulder blades.

Rosalind leans back into her touch, and strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her tight. Val leans down, rests her head on Rosalind’s shoulder, and she covers Val’s hands with her own.

“You’re probably right.”

“Probably?” Val laughs and presses a kiss to her temple. “Know I am. Shit’ll rot your brain.”

She hums a laugh and turns to look at her most ardent supporter. Dogtown feels like yesterday, but then she sees the fine spiderwebs gathered in the corners of Val’s eyes, the worry lines that have begun to etch themselves on her forehead, the grey hairs that have started to grow into her always sharp fade haircut. Rosalind doesn’t feel old until she sees the last decade reflected on her lover’s face.

She raises her hand, fingertips trailing along the buzzed hair above Val’s ear to the cold metal netrunner port at the back of her head, then twists and pulls her down for a kiss. When they part, Val turns Ros to face her and links their hands, twining their fingers together.

“Whatever happens, ’m with you. Know that, right?” 

Rosalind nods. Ever her loyal merc.

“After the results...” Rosalind trails off. “If they send someone—”

Val interrupts before she can even finish the thought. “Have to deal with me first. Saved you once before. Save you as many times as it takes.”

Her chest tightens and her eyebrows draw together as she gazes up at Val, at the woman who pledged her heart and life to her. She hopes it doesn’t come to that; she knows they won’t stop coming for her, but as long as they are together....

Chest tightening again, she blinks as she feels the sting behind her eyes. She frees one hand and traces the gold cyberware along Val’s cheek then cups it and pulls her down for a soft kiss.

“You’ve already saved me more than you know.”

[quasi-normalcy]

For all that people complained about how bleak Star Trek: Picard was when it came out, I would say that its depiction of the Federation was just a culmination of all of the flaws that it was depicted as having on Deep Space Nine (and, to a lesser extent, Voyager and even TNG): Earth-centrism, disregard for the rights of artificial persons, and a willingness to regard entire non-Federation species as disposable if their survival is deemed a threat to the Federation (or even if saving them contradicts an abstract philosophical point). It’s a society that has clearly lost its way, and its annoying (at least to me) that the writers couldn’t have instead imagined the Federation getting its shit together, but the thing is: everything that’s wrong with it emerges organically from the Federation we’ve seen, and, most critically, it is problematised. Our heroes stand in opposition to this corruption. Picard, Rios, and Raffi all left or were cashiered out of service over various aspects of Starfleet’s authoritarian turn; Elnor is a survivor of the Federation’s neglect; Seven and Soji are both members of oppressed minorities and Jurati had her academic career derailed, all because of fear and reactionary opposition to cybernetics. And yes, it’s bleak, but it’s also fundamentally hopeful: they are standing up for what’s right, even in the face of bigotry and oppression, and what could possibly be more Star Trek than that? You can argue about whether it was successful or particularly well-executed, but its heart was very much in the right place.

And that’s why, for all that I’m enjoying Season 3--for all that I love seeing the TNG crew together again and paying-off character arcs that I’ve been watching play out over the course of my entire lifetime--it gnaws at me. Because the thing is: the Federation hasn’t gotten any better. The genocidal criminal conspiracy from Deep Space Nine is now considered “a critical division of Starfleet Intelligence.” This “critical” bunch of war criminals keeps a sentient AI comatose to guard its warehouse, and nobody even comments on how fucked-up that is. The captain of the Titan constantly denigrates his ex-Borg first officer and orders her to deadname herself, but it’s okay because he’s *traumatised* and kind of funny in his assholishness. You get to have a heartbreaking moment with Picard saying “I didn’t know...” when he hears the extent of Section 31′s war crimes, but then he and Beverly, in the face of 35 years of consistent characterisation, immediately compound the war crime by resolving to execute Vadic. No, the Federation hasn’t gotten any better; the heroes have just gotten worse.

I love the TNG crew. I love seeing Picard and Ro finally have it out with one another; I love having a lifetime spent shipping Jean-Luc and Beverly pay off; I love that we finally get to see just how deeply Data’s death affected Geordi, and that we finally get to see Data’s relationship with Lore and his “becoming more human” arc pay off in a way that’s so seamless that it honestly feels kind of obvious in retrospect. But at a deep, philosophical level, I would rather see an angsty story about heroes opposing corruption than a happy story about heroes going along with it.

[pavus]

kinktober day 9 : body worship. (yes, i'm behind.) @volotramp's bg3 kinktober prompts. ship : gortash x rosalind. rating : mature. words : 1458.

The kisses that rained down upon his collarbone and sternum burned like holy fire, as if her perfect mouth was the scourge she often wielded against herself. Behind the burn came an ache. Fingers pressed to a fading contusion. Bones cracking and popping and settling again. His chest rose and fell beneath her unfaltering attention, though it was not the only thing about him that stood to attention. 

Gortash angled his hips away from the careless brush of her body to avoid excess stimulation; that was the last thing he needed if she was so committed to taking her time. 

She did not seem to notice.

Instead, Rosalind shifted herself easily to the side, her body curling over his right thigh as she made her tender way across the soft flesh of his chest. The upturned tip of her nose rubbed against the coarse black hair beneath it, and he felt her sigh as she opened her mouth again, a rush of warm breath pouring over his skin before she found what she’d been looking for.

When she shut her lips around his nipple in a hungry suckle, Enver’s thighs spread and hips lifted. There was no other reaction to be had. Anything less would have only been expected of the dead and buried.

“Nnh, there,” Enver sighed, his hand digging deep into the spill of ginger hair that tangled at the nape of her neck. He coaxed her closer, groaning low in his throat when his encouragement hit its mark and the paladin in his bed pulled harder on his chest, pulling with the suction of her mouth and gasping when she could pull no harder. She released him with a wet pop. “Are you finished? How disappointing.”

But she was there again, rolling her tongue around the stiffened peak of his nipple before pulling it in as if she was no more than a ravenous kitten.

Perhaps that was not far off.

The hand that had settled against his waist pulled inward, her callused fingertips swirling through the dense hair that stretched across his stomach only to crawl downwards and disappear into the waist of his trousers. Her nails were blunt things, but they felt good across the sensitive skin of his belly. They had not had much time to steal from each other of late, but every time they did, Rosalind gifted him with this.

Worship. From her, it could only be seen as such.

Her dedication to his pleasure bordered upon zealotry. Enver sank back against the plush stack of pillows behind his head, his eyes falling shut as she moved from one nipple to the other, tasting him all the way, leaving no small amount of kisses behind.

With her mouth otherwise occupied, his drive for more left him reaching for her wrist.

He coaxed her hand downward, hoping to bring it between his legs, but found that she would not budge.

“I want more,” Ros pleaded with him. She slowed her assault to peer up at him, the pale gold and gray of her eyes shining in the morning light. Though he could see little of her face, he knew she was smiling. He felt the shape of it on his chest. “Allow me more time with you.”

Allow me.

Enver bit back another moan that threatened to slip its leash.

She laid another two dozen kisses along his ribs and stomach, exhaling shakily as she lingered above his navel, her thumbs massaging into the curve of his waist where his trousers pressed sharply in against his body. She touched him and marveled at him, and he watched all unfold before his very eyes, half-surprised, half-deserving.

Never before had someone taken their time the way she had. Quick fucks were preferable with noblemen, while the women had a strong preference for being adored, no matter the lip service being paid. There was crossover in either direction, but Rosalind was a first. Not the first, but a first.

Just as he’d been for her.

Toying over the hair that gathered against her cheek as she rested her head down near his thigh, Enver watched her. 

At fifteen, he’d wanted nothing more than to claim her as his. At twenty, he’d thought she owed him no less. At twenty-five, he’d pursued her like he pursued all others. At thirty, he’d attempted a different approach. At thirty-five, he’d cut the wanting out of his heart. At forty, he’d let it back in, no matter how strangely it settled amongst the scarring. At forty-five…

At forty-five, he’d given up entirely.

At forty-six, the sudden loss of her dredged up everything he’d put aside in an instant. He’d done anything he could to bring her back to him, only to discover that she stood as his foe.

And now, Enver watched as she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down over his hips, past his thighs and calves and off entirely. A glow burned in her cheeks, as if her delight at having him at her mercy was enough to light her from within. Her tired eyes sparkled, somehow, even with such a weight weighing upon her. Circumstance was not enough to dim her, he found.

He believed that nothing could.

Letting himself rest back against the mattress, the corner of his mouth curled. His expression arranged itself into something familiar, some half-smirk that she’d claimed was dangerous when they were both barely old enough to know any better.

“Is that it, then?” he teased. “Are you quite done?”

He could not sound frustrated with her if he tried, not as she laid down between his legs, knees bent and ankles crossed, her pink toes curling eagerly as she found her place.

“Not yet,” Rosalind said, squirming down into the bedding until she found absolute comfort. “Unless…”

Enver arched a brow. “Unless…?” he echoed.

His precious paladin chewed on her lip, rocking the swollen thing back and forth between her teeth. She didn’t want to elaborate; he could see that much in the quick dart of her eyes and hear it in her hesitation. If she said nothing, he could not agree.

“Unless you’d rather I stop.”

They hadn’t spent an abundance of time together since their first night, but he could recall every moment as if they all still happened to him, pleasure layered upon pleasure in every thought and every memory. He knew what her mouth felt like. He knew the rough skin of her palm and her gentle grip. He’d taken her cunt and her ass and anything else she offered him.

But she had not been given enough time to do this. This was new, and this threatened to take his breath away, as if he was some sexual novice rather than a man with more practice than most of Baldur’s Gate.

“Curiosity demands otherwise,” Gortash ventured. The low gravel of his voice made her toes curl again. The sight turned his smirk to a smile. “No, no, I do not want you to stop. Have your way with me, hero. I would love to see what you plan on doing next.”

The points of her ears darkened. She shifted, fitful and flushed – the way she always did when that word rose to his lips.

Hero.

“Well? Go ahead.”

His cock ached against the pulling fabric of his underwear, but his discomfort waned as she lowered her lips to the soft, hairy muscle of his thigh. Her breath was a sweet thing, something that almost tickled despite the heat that poured through him when he felt her mouth pressing again and again against his flesh. She kissed him there once, then twice, then three times, each higher on his thigh than before.

And then, she moved. She shifted her attention to the other, one arm curling beneath the hook of his knee to keep him stable and keep herself still.

As she moved, her mouth brushed against the straining arch of his cock, but only for a moment.

Only long enough for him to bite out a particularly nasty curse.

“Would you like me to stop now?” Rosalind asked. 

Her voice went quiet and malleable at its edges, and when she glanced up at him from between his legs, her pupils were pools of black. They were endless things, as if he might truly understand the infinite if he continued to stare down into them. 

She was teasing him. If not teasing, then coaxing, urging, hoping. Had she always craved validation so much? Had everything always hung on one precarious point?

Yes, she had.

As had he.

“Don’t…” The word splintered on his tongue. He swallowed hard and shut his eyes, head tipped back and fingers curling tight into the bedding. “Don’t stop.”

[gammaraydeath]

So, Ro. Do tell us/me everything you want to tell. Or to be more specific, tell me five facts that you think one should know first.

omg yes hi!!! this is exciting :D thank you so much for asking! this is very long bc i love to talk about ro. this got very long so i'll have to break this up into two posts, i'll add the remaining facts in a reblog!

she has the spacer background. born on arcturus station. it does have a permanent population and i assume the space equivalent of on base military housing. hannah took maternity leave but couldn't stand being idle, and didn't take to motherhood as naturally as she had hoped. rose's father, placeholder name chuck, wound up being her primary parental figure. once rose was old enough to qualify for daycare/education services on larger noncombatant alliance vessels, around 5 years old, her parents sold their arcturus apartment and she was henceforth spacebound. dad took the career hit - hannah kept climbing the ranks and taking postings that rose could not board for. as a consequence, rose was closest with her father. naturally, he tragically perishes, leaving hannah in a tough spot. grieving, busy, and now with even more pressure to succeed in her career to provide for her child, she sent rose to earth to live with relatives, finishing her education in a more traditional high school setting. rose, ro to her close friends, had always had a bit of a rebellious streak though. having lost her father, feeling unwanted by her mother, cut off from the only life she had known and the unease of being planetside, she leaned fully into the shitty punk teen act. she plays a futuristic bass/synth instrument in a garage band. they play in dive bars. she gets her hands on all sorts of things she shouldn't, courtesy of her older "boyfriend". she doesn't go to school. she makes her poor gramma's life hell. her relationship with hannah is at its worst and most fractured, and although they will get closer (they do love each other), there will always be some distance between them that neither knows how to close. a series of misadventures culminates in ro committing a bit of light treason - given a choice between charges being pressed or her skills put to use for the alliance, she enlists. anderson is a personal friend of hannah's, and although he doesn't have a ton of weight to swing around at this point, he's got enough clout that when hannah calls in a favor he vouches for her daughter, and it's enough. ro takes her second chance extremely seriously, knows that she's starting with a disadvantage, and works hard to prove herself.

she also has the war hero background. i have this whole idea for how elysium goes for her - she's a second lieutenant, which is a bit of a high rank for her age, but hey she becomes commander at like 29 so whatever lmfao. she's rapidly rising the ranks, we'll just say that. she serves on the SSV Denver (placeholder ship name that also might just be kept) and mostly keeps to herself. she's known for being very serious, by the books, and studious. huge departure from her personality before enlistment. most are intimidated by her demeanor, and she feels unable to make friends. she's not yet the charming and personable commander that can befriend a whole crew. she does, however, have 1 friend - allison hartley. kid genius, only 19, intelligence specialist. allie comes from a rich family, skipped over high school, had full ride scholarships into the most prestigious universities, participates in community, sports, clubs, is kind, and is just an all-around good person; she stays humble despite her privilege. and she sets her sights on ro, the dour, quiet goth girl and works very hard to break down her walls to befriend her. and it works! and one day she convinces ro to take leave with her to visit her family's ski resort in illyria on elysium. and it all goes so very wrong, but not immediately! first, they do get to enjoy their vacation for a few days. they wind up meeting a veteran named louise, who is bitter about a recent divorce (get her drunk enough and she'll start opening up about her ex wife but anything less and she's a brick wall), and a bartender named audax (possibly the only turian who likes the cold; he's fond of skiing in his free time) that ro is a little bit taken by. all that time in space and she's never really met an alien before. these two, along with allie, will form ro's "squad" when shit goes down. ro is responsible for forming the plan to rally civilians to take back their city - block by block, they push back against the invaders, and they're gaining momentum. it really seems like they're winning, and the pirates all pull back like a tide going out. turns out they were clearing the area for an incoming orbital strike. allie is among the casualties. when the invaders return in force, ro pulls herself together enough to direct survivors to safety and hold the line until backup finally arrives. ro, louise, and allie's parents on her behalf all accept the star of terra award. audax receives his own dues, and has his moment of fame for being an exemplar of interspecies cooperation. ro gets a memorial tattoo of allie done in her honor - this will later be wiped by the lazarus project, and is redone as a pair of black bands around her bicep; one for allie, one for kaidan.

[anathemafiction]

Love your latest Q&A! Theyre fun to read. Made me wonder what kinds of jobs or hobbies the ROs would have in modern life?

So glad you liked the Q&A! They're so fun to write! 😄

As for your question, hmm… I think Hadrian would do some type of work where you use your hands. So a handyman or an electrician or something. He could also be drafted to some professional sport, although I can't really see him enjoying that life too much.

Lance would be tied to music in some shape or form. Ideally, as an artist, but it's a tough world, so if that failed, he'd try to be a producer or lyricist. He'd also write poems, but outside of music, I don't see him seeking publication. Maybe if a friend pushed him, but yes. Music. Lance would study and work in the music industry.

Alain would be a rich kid, and as such, he wouldn't have to work a day in his life, but if he stuck to his studies… he'd be a biologist.

Ysbaella would go to law school, but although it would genuinely interest her, her real passion would be politics. She'd use her degree (and money) to advance within her political party and thus begin the real work.

The Pirate King would be tied, somehow, to the sea. Depending on his life's trajectory, I could see him as a high-sea fisherman, a deep-sea explorer, or a marine geologist, but in all of them… he'd be a ship captain. He'd always have his own ship and spent more time on the ocean than on dry land.

I can't see Neia in anything but the army. She'd be deployed to the most dangerous or active warzones, and I don't think she'd live long enough to face retirement.

Rafael… probably still involved in something illegal 😄. Cyber security breaches, heists, and robberies. I could see him as an independent, third-party thief that would work with organized crime or whoever paid him well enough for his services. No violence or death, though.

Alessa is the hardest one. I can't imagine her as anything else but a mercenary. Maybe she'd still be one? A modern mercenary, but not one for hire. She'd work either for an organization or a person in particular. A head of security, perhaps? I can even see her as a detective. Something along those lines.

[vi-does-stuff]

Got my Heart in a Headlock

Sith!Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!reader

Tags protected piv sex, oral sex f!receiving, miscommunication quickly resolved, mild mutual pining, light angst and fluff

Word count 7.9k

When the Sith Lord in charge of the Star Destroyer takes an interest in you, you're oddly confused. You're even more confused when you develop some kind of friendship with the man, and return that interest. But the ending date of your contract with the Empire is drawing closer and closer, and there are complications that come with this kind of relationship with a Sith... can anything really come from your newfound feelings for him?

ao3

You’ve been terrified of him ever since you came onto this ship for your most recent job. As a decently skilled droid technician, you were hired by the Empire to help service and upgrade some droids after a recent incident led to quite a few of them getting damaged, with the possibility of getting a long-term job there if your work is satisfactory.

You know that you’ll turn down the opportunity of a job if it’s offered to you, however: no job is worth the fear that comes with living on Darth Keleus’ ship. The only way you’d continue to work for the Empire would be if you weren’t in the same place all the time — you hate the idea of being trapped within these ship’s walls for the rest of your life. So as soon as your contract is up, you’re planning on hopping off this Star Destroyer and finding a job on the nearest planet. The pay almost certainly won’t be as good, but you can live with that. And it’ll be worth it if you never have to see Darth Keleus again.

Darth Keleus had been there on your first day on the job, walking around in his pure white robes. Just seeing him had set you on edge, and when he turned, letting you catch a glimpse of his golden eyes? You got chills. It was odd; he’d been walking around and having what seemed like a humorous conversation with his accompanying officer, a smile on his face as though everything was alright, but everything felt all wrong as you sat there, stealing glances up at him from behind the droid you were working on.

And then it all shifted. The expressions on his and the officer’s faces changed, only Keleus’ was to anger and the officer’s to complete fear. You couldn’t hear what they were talking about, due to the way you were hidden away in the corner, but the sudden change made you feel sick. A sickness that deepened as you saw Keleus’ hand move out in front of him, fist clenching as the officer’s own hands went to his neck, grasping at nothing as he began to choke.

Crippled with fear, you could only watch as Keleus choked the man to within an inch of his life, before letting him drop to the floor and crossing his arms. There were only a few other people in the room with you, and they were all focused intently on their tasks, scared to look up. As Darth Keleus turned away from the unconscious body on the floor and walked away, you looked back down at the droid you’d been working on, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself.

If you’d looked back up, you’d have noticed the curious look with which Darth Keleus fixed you as he left the room.

After that first day, you didn’t see Darth Keleus very often. You certainly weren’t complaining, as any extended amount of time in the same room as the man put you right on edge. There were a few more incidents like the one with that poor officer; every week or so you’d find yourself unable to look away as Darth Keleus laid into some poor individual who’d messed up in the smallest way.

And then one day, the worst thing you could’ve ever conceived of happened. After tossing aside another unconscious officer who’d put a foot wrong, Darth Keleus looked over to you in the corner, as you worked on another droid. You didn’t have enough time to avert your eyes, and for the first time, you found yourself looking directly into his piercing yellow eyes.

And he smiled.

You couldn’t even blink as you watched him sweep out of the room, and it took you much longer than it should’ve to collect yourself and go back to work, your heart racing in your chest.

After that incident, you’ve managed to steer clear of Darth Keleus for a little while longer. Things are a little better; you’re getting closer to fixing up (and improving upon) the droids you’ve been paid to do, and you’re beginning to somewhat get used to life on this strange, cold ship. You’re looking forward to getting off it, though, and being able to step outside and take in a deep breath of fresh air once more. Yes, after this, you think your first stop will be some cool, not overly populated planet with clear, breathable air. Hopefully there’s one close by.

But of course, things can’t run smoothly for long.

You’re alone (aside from a few work-in-progress droids) and putting some finishing touches to one of the protocol droids you’ve been tasked with upgrading when you hear the door open. Looking up, you freeze as you realise that you’re now alone in a room with Darth Keleus.

“Good afternoon,” he smiles. “I trust your work is going well?”

You blink. “Yeah, it is. My Lord,” you just about remember to add, having been briefed upon arrival about how to address the Sith if you ever came into contact with him.

“Good. Just as I’d expected. I hear you’re quite the gifted technician.”

He knows who you are? Kriff, this is not good. “I- I’m not sure whether gifted is the right word.”

Darth Keleus laughs. “Based on what your superiors have been saying, it seems to be. I hope you’ll stay on in a full-time position after your contract expires; there would be plenty of opportunities within the Empire for someone as skilled as yourself.”

“I’m not sure that I will, my Lord, but thank you.”

“Why not?”

Kriff. How are you meant to answer that? Why did you offer up that information in the first place? “I… I don’t like to stay in the same place for too long.”

Darth Keleus makes an odd huffing noise. “This is a ship. We don’t stay in the same place, that’s the point.” He pauses. “But I suppose I understand. Hopefully, I will be able to change your mind before the contract is over, however.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, you choose to stay silent instead of possibly angering the Sith. He looks at you for a few seconds more, before speaking again.

“Well, I have duties to attend to. You should consider staying.” He smiles again, before turning and going to leave.

And you’re alone again.

What are you supposed to make of that interaction? What would the Darth Keleus want with you, and why did he come here to talk to you all alone like that?

Things only get weirder when, a few days later, you’re summoned to Keleus’ personal quarters to work on his own astromech droid. When you’re nearly done, you’re joined once more by Darth Keleus himself, who comes over to look at what you’re doing.

“Droids were never exactly my thing,” he says. “I had a friend who was very good with them. I suppose you’re a bit like him — although he was less tense around me than you are.”

“I-I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“Don’t apologise. You’re hardly the only person scared of me.”

You put your tools down, meeting Keleus’ gaze. “May I ask — why are you speaking to me? I don’t understand why you’re trying to get me to stay on the ship.”

Keleus just grins. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life speaking to military officers and stuffy politicians. I thought I’d branch out. You’re my first test run.”

Wow, what an honour, you think to yourself, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes slightly. But that still doesn’t explain — why you specifically? You don’t want to keep asking questions and possibly annoy the man, however, so you say nothing.

“So, have you thought more about staying on the ship?” he asks.

You swallow. “A little. But I’m still not convinced. I don’t think I could get used to life here.”

“A while ago I would’ve said the same thing,” Keleus says. “But it’s not too bad.”

“Maybe not when you’re in charge of it,” you point out before realising what you’re saying — would he still have this idea of befriending you if you argue with him?

“Good point,” Keleus says, sounding amused. “My quarters are admittedly better than most others on the ship.” Okay, so at least he isn’t angry at your comment. “But I’m sure that if you stay, better accommodation could be arranged.”

“Are you bribing me with the chance of a better room, my lord?” you ask, the question coming out more wryly than you intended.

“So what if I am?” He smiles at you, and you find yourself unable to look away from his piercing golden gaze. When you found out you were working for a Sith Lord, you’d never expected that he’d be so attractive, but there you go. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it with R4. Take good care of him.”

“I will, my lord.”

You begin to see Darth Keleus around more and more frequently. You know that he’s decided that he wants to make friends **with people, but you weren’t exactly expecting anything like this. Whenever he comes across you while you’re working, he greets you with a nod and a “good day”, and stopping for a chat is also becoming more common.

It’s odd: he’s still certainly the terrifying man you’d seen on your first day — you still see him jump to choking those he had an issue with — but when he speaks to you? You can see something close to affection deep in his expression and in the way he talks to you. And, over time, you start to almost enjoy your interactions with the man.

This isn’t without its problems, though. People start to notice when the man in charge of the Star Destroyer decides to speak to a lowly droid technician, no matter how skilled they’re reputed to be, and (of course) people talk. It isn’t long before someone asks you point-blank whether you and Keleus are sleeping together, and they clearly don’t believe you when you tell them that no, you aren’t.

You hadn’t exactly had many friends on the ship before, and upon realising your association with Darth Keleus, nobody else is jumping at the chance — people typically just avoid you. There’s only really one other person you speak to, another technician called Nat, from Ryloth. He empathises with you, recognising that there isn’t too much you can do if you want to avoid being on the receiving end of Darth Keleus’s rage.

It isn’t long before you’re invited to Darth Keleus’s quarters for a meal. The message comes up on your comm while you’re working on a power droid, and for a second, you can’t believe what you’re reading. When you get on your break, you show Nat, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Did you accept it?”

“What else could I do?”

“True.”

“I just don’t know why. It’s so odd.”

Nat gives you a smile then. “Hey, the mind of a Sith Lord is always mysterious. You’ll get to enjoy the fancy food, at least.”

“I’ll try.”

You hadn’t been sure what to expect when you arrived at Keleus’ quarters, but it certainly wasn’t the Sith Lord himself wearing a crew neck jumper. You’ve never even considered him ever wearing something aside from his dark robes, and it makes him look almost normal. Aside from his yellow eyes, he could be any old person right now. You feel odd in comparison, still wearing your slightly grubby work clothes.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says with a smile.

You look around the main room. “Much nicer than my room, I have to say.”

In the centre of the room is a table with a few chairs around it, and Keleus pulls one of them out for you. “Please, sit,” he says.

“Are you sure? I can help with something if you’d like.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Everything’s pretty much done anyway. And you are the guest, after all.”

“If you insist.”

You sit down as Keleus retrieves a bottle of something that looks alcoholic and pours you a glass. “Just some Alderaanian wine,” he explains.

You raise your eyebrows. You don’t drink much, but you know just enough to be aware of the hefty price tag that Alderaanian wine is associated with. “Wow.” Taking a sip, you try to mask a grimace — it may have been expensive, but wine still isn’t your thing.

It isn’t long before Keleus serves you your food, taking a seat opposite you. The food is really nice, almost surprisingly so, and halfway through you find yourself asking if Keleus made it himself.

“I did, actually,” he says.

Damn. “You’re a very good cook, my Lord.”

“Thank you. During the war, well, sometimes I’d have to throw together some of the barest essentials. It gave me a new appreciation for good food, and when I got back, I started to put more time into what I eat. I’m glad you like it.”

“Do you cook for yourself all the time?” you ask.

“Not all the time. But I try to do something a few times a week, at least.”

When you think about it, your current situation is very odd. You are sitting in the personal quarters of one of the most important men in the galaxy, a man who puts fear into the hearts of many, and talking about cooking.

“Do you ever cook?” Keleus asks.

You shake your head. “Rarely, if ever. Here, with the canteen, I don’t need to. When I’m on a planet, though, I typically get something from a street vendor or eat at a tavern. Cooking isn’t really something I’m good at.”

“Well, anyone can learn.”

“True.”

After your main course, you’re surprised to see that Keleus has also prepared some dessert. “You really pulled out all the stops for this, huh? I’m flattered.”

He laughs. “Well, I thought that if I am doing this friend-making thing, I may as well make an effort.”

“So we’re friends?”

“I don’t know, do you prefer the term ‘treasured acquaintance’?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “‘Friends’ is fine.”

“Good.”

Even after you finish your food, you and Keleus keep talking for a while, and you find yourself actually having quite a nice time. After the first few sips, it turns out the wine doesn’t taste too bad, and that helps you feel a little less awkward.

After referring to Keleus as ‘my Lord’ at the end of a sentence again, however, he stops you.

“You don’t have to say all that ‘my Lord’ stuff when it’s just the two of us. It’s too formal.”

“Oh, okay. Well- what do I call you instead?”

He pauses, as though deciding whether or not to tell you, before revealing his real name: “Obi-Wan.”

Meals with Obi-Wan start to become a weekly occurrence, as the end date of your contract draws nearer and nearer. Every meal, he makes something new that you’ve never had before, some cuisine from a planet he’s visited once or twice, and the idea of being friends with the man is no longer as scary as it once was. You almost begin to look forward to your weekly meetings, a fact which makes you feel mildly guilty.

Bit by bit, you learn a little more about Obi-Wan himself outside of his role as one of the leaders of the Empire. He tells you he was born on Stewjon, although he’s never visited since being taken from the planet when he was three. After a while, he tells you about a few of his old friends, like the one who liked droids and was also apparently a gifted pilot — it seems that your similarities with the man ended with your shared love for droids.

But when Obi-Wan tells you about these friends, there’s always an air of sadness in his words. You don’t know much about his past, about his life before the Empire, but it isn’t hard to gather that all of those friends of his are dead and gone now. Part of you wonders whether Obi-Wan himself was responsible for those deaths — is there an edge of guilt to his tone, or are you reading too much into it? — but you never ask. Sure, Keleus is your ‘friend’ now, but he is still very much an incredibly powerful Sith Lord who you definitely don’t want to push too far.

Rumours continue to be spread about you. One evening, after your meal, you’re walking down the corridor back to your room when you see two officers talking at the end of their shifts. You’d stayed a little later this evening, having gotten invested in a conversation about a holodrama you and Obi-Wan used to watch, and you try to avoid making eye contact with the two in the corridor, especially after seeing the smirk on one of their faces.

“Did you have a good time with Lord Keleus?” one of them asks. Kriff.

You don’t reply, and just keep walking past them both. As you open the door to your room, you hear the other laugh quietly and say “Some people will do anything to keep their jobs.”

You’d hoped that over time, people would stop paying attention to your friendship with Keleus, but it seems that they haven’t gotten sick of gossiping about you yet. If anyone says anything to you when Nat is around, he stands up for you, but it’s at times like this that you hate it the most. You don’t expect anyone to understand, but it would be nicer if people didn’t treat you like some kind of gold-digging seductress when you very much are not.

Things reach a boiling point two weeks before your contract is due to end when you’re speaking to your supervisor at the end of your shift. You’re meant to go directly to Obi-Wan’s quarters afterwards, due to a combination of having a long shift and Obi-Wan inviting you over a little earlier, so you don’t want to stay too long at the end.

“Only two weeks left, huh?” your supervisor says, and you nod. “Wow. You’re a good worker, we’ll miss having you around. Surprised Lord Keleus hasn’t convinced you to stay yet, though — he seems like he could be very persuasive when he wants something, especially with your little relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” you say dully. “And we aren’t sleeping together, either.”

Your supervisor just smiles. “Alright, honey, whatever you say. You don’t have to hide anything from me, though, I think you’ve got to get ahead however you can,” she says.

“We’re just- he says we’re friends, that’s it, and it’s all I’d take from this,” you sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your upset mood is clear to Obi-Wan when you enter his quarters, be it on your face or through those magic powers of his, because he looks at you with an expression of concern on his face after you say hello.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asks. My dear is something he’s taken to calling you, recently, and you still aren’t sure how you feel about it. Well, beyond the way it makes your insides flutter, at least.

You take a deep breath. “I’ll be fine. Just- people gossip about me. About us. And, well, it’s hard to deal with.”

“People talk about us?” Obi-Wan asks, pulling out a chair for you to sit down.

“Yeah- people know I come and visit your quarters, and they jump to conclusions. I mean, why else would I be here?”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrow. “Well. Is there anything I could do to get them to stop, do you think?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. They’ll get bored with it in time, and, well, I’m due to leave in two weeks, aren’t I? I won’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Still sure about leaving, then, I see.” His tone is unreadable, but there’s an edge of disappointment to his words that you can just about place.

“I’ve explained to you before. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at the walls of this ship, I’m sorry.”

“I understand. I’ll stop bringing it up.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and Obi-Wan smiles right back at you. There is still something so odd about the way he smiles, perhaps in the way it is so different from that terrifying look you’ve seen time and time again, but you find yourself loving it when he does nonetheless.

Your food is served soon after, and Obi-Wan sits down opposite you. You get into your usual conversation, and what with the delicious (as per usual) meal, your mood improves substantially by the time you’ve finished eating.

After you wash up — you’ve insisted on being able to help in some way, and this is all Obi-Wan lets you do — the two of you sit down on Obi-Wan’s sofa with a drink.

“Can I ask…” you say. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it- but what were you before the Empire? What was your life like?” You’d wanted to ask that question for so long — your curiosity about Obi-Wan’s past only ever seemed to increase, especially with what he’d tell you about his old friends — but only just worked up the courage to do so.

You carefully watch Obi-Wan’s expression after asking, looking for any indication of anger. He just takes in a shaky breath and looks at the wall for a few seconds. “Have you heard of the Jedi?” he asks.

“Yeah.” When you grew up in the Outer Rim, you’d hear about them being some peacekeeping force throughout the Republic, not that they’d ever visited your planet. You only ventured into Republic space a few years before the war started, and it seemed that the more time passed the more people seemed to be sick of them. And after the war, they were scorned as terrorists who hated everything the galaxy should stand for.

Obi-Wan meets your gaze. “Well, I used to be one of them.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. My beliefs at that time were- different. I was naïve. And misguided.” He swallows. “Eventually, I realised the truth, and that’s when I took on the name Keleus. It was hard at the time, finding out that everything I was raised with was wrong, but- I’m glad they’re gone.”

“And your friends you told me about…”

“They were Jedi too. Most of them.”

You couldn’t imagine that; everything you’d grown up in and around being exposed as a lie, as wrong. Your friends unable to recognise the faults with the system, and you needing to leave them behind.

You try to picture Obi-Wan as a Jedi and find it hard. You’ve only ever known him the way he is now, as a Sith, and it’s difficult to think about him as anything else. Would he be as intimidating as he is now? Once as a child, you remember, someone new had joined the small school you went to, and the two of you became friends. Over lunch, you were talking about what you wanted to do when you were older, and your friend had said with excitement that they wanted to be a Jedi. They’d seen one once, they explained, when they lived on Coruscant, with their special robes and their lightsabers. Had Obi-Wan ever caused that level of awe in someone when he was with the Order?

He must have, you conclude, if the awe you still feel for him now is any indication.

“Do you- do you have a lightsaber?” you ask.

Obi-Wan nods. “I do.”

“Could I see it?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan reaches out his hand, summoning something from across the room. A second later, it lands with a soft thump in his hand, and you have a quick look at it. You aren’t really sure what the cylinder is — is this the weapon with which the Jedi were supposed to defend the galaxy? — but watch anyway as Obi-Wan shifts it a little. “Be careful,” he says. “And, well, this goes without saying, but don’t touch the blade.”

You exhale in surprise when a large red burst of light erupts from the cylinder, crackling a little in the air of the room. It’s warm, very warm, and you dread to think of the kind of damage that could be done when fighting with it. You look back up from the saber to Obi-Wan to see that he’s been watching your expression, his face cast red from the light the blade is emitting.

“What do you think?” he asks quietly.

You swallow. “I- I think it’s beautiful.”

He smiles. “Yes, I suppose it is in a way. Beautiful, but could kill anyone with one well-placed strike.”

You look at the blade again, thinking of Obi-Wan taking someone down with this. You hadn’t thought it was possible to make him seem even more terrifying, but here you are. And he’s showing this to you, just because you asked.

There is still a small smile on his face when you meet his eyes again, and you suddenly become very aware of how quickly your heart is beating in your chest. You and Obi-Wan are sitting even closer than usual, and there is an odd intimacy to being shown this weapon. Does Obi-Wan feel it too? He certainly seems to, with the way he’s acting around you, but…

The room becomes quieter again for a millisecond as Obi-Wan deactivates his lightsaber, the red hue vanishing from his face, before he leans in and captures your lips in his. You’re taken slightly aback, but kriff, you can’t deny that you want it. Your hand goes to his hair as he slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and you let out a quiet moan.

“Please stay,” Obi-Wan whispers, when you pull apart. “Stay. Please don’t leave me.”

You swallow. He said he’d drop this. You’re leaving in two weeks, and yet you’re doing this with the guy who runs the ship? You need to stop.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t…” you say, finding it in yourself to pull away. “I can’t stay here forever, I can't do that to myself.”

He stiffens. “Why not?”

“I’ve told you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at these walls. And even if I did stay for you… who’s to say how long you’d want me around? I know I’m just an experiment. I don’t want to give up any more opportunities just to be cast off in favour of the next experiment that comes around.”

“You really think I see you as just an experiment? Really? Do the past few weeks mean��nothing to you?” he’s raised his voice a little, and you start getting a bit worried. When Obi-Wan tries to take your hand, you flinch, and he looks down in realisation. He moves away and puts his head in his hands. “It- it might be best for you to go back to your quarters. We obviously won’t make much progress with this right now.” His voice sounds dull, and you hate it.

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak right now, and stand to leave. Your hands are shaking as you walk back through the corridors, and there is a sick feeling deep in your stomach. Part of you wants to stay — kriff, you’ve found yourself really caring for Obi-Wan recently — but you know you’d only regret it. The kiss has complicated things, with the new knowledge of the way he apparently feels for you, and you feel disappointed that the evening had taken such a sour turn, especially with how close you are to leaving. You’d wanted your last few meals together to be nice ones, and yet here you are.

Unsure of where else to go, only knowing that you don’t want to spend the rest of the evening holed up in your room, you find yourself walking to Nat’s quarters.

He opens the door almost immediately after you press the buzzer, and you walk in. Your upset mood must be evident on your face, as his own becomes concerned as he takes you in. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is it-?”

You just wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug which he quickly returns. “Sorry about this,” you say, “it’s just- Keleus really wants me to stay, but I can’t, and he didn’t like that so we sort of fell out. But we kissed, and I care about him, and I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Nat pulls away, putting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s okay. Breathe. You don’t have to know what you’re “supposed” to do right now. I don’t know if there even is anything you’re supposed to do. Do you want to sit down?”

You nod and take a seat in the chair by Nat’s bed. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never going to bother me,” Nat says. “I just want you to be alright. The last thing I want is the twat in charge of this ship to add yours to the list of lives he’s ruined.”

He’s not that bad, a part of you wants to say, but you have to admit that he is. Kriff, Keleus has killed people and here you are upset about him hardly raising his voice. You feel yourself laugh a little, though. “Thanks, Nat. He won’t ruin my life though. I won’t let him. And- in this weird way, I think he really cares about me. And that’s why he didn’t do anything awful earlier.”

“You know how faulty that logic sounds, right?”

You laugh again. “Yes. I do. Kriff, I feel ridiculous. I’m nearly crying because I kissed a Sith Lord.”

“How many people can say that, huh?” Nat says. “I’m sure that, if you give it time, he’ll come around. He can’t keep you here against your will, even if he is one of the most powerful men in the universe. Especially not if he cares for you in the way that you think.”

So give it time is what you decide to do, even though your contract’s closing date is ever-approaching. You don’t see Obi-Wan at all for several days as you work, and you wonder whether that’s on purpose — he’d told you that he could feel people’s presence in the Force, so why shouldn’t he be able to feel and then avoid you?

On the fifth day after the argument, you are on your way to do some routine maintenance work on some astromech droids, and you have to pass through the ship’s bridge to get there. Just as you step onto the bridge, however, your eyes are immediately drawn to Keleus, who is in the middle of bending down to pick something up for a pretty, smiling, naval officer to whom he must’ve been talking. He fixes them with a dazzling smile of his own, giving them a pat on the shoulder as they walk away, and you can’t help the way your heart raced in your chest at the sight of it.

You keep walking, however, trying desperately not to display any emotion on your face, something made significantly harder when you make eye contact with Keleus himself for a second before tearing your gaze back to the floor. His facial expression doesn’t change at all, his fiery eyes betraying nothing to you, and you swallow.

He’s already replaced you.

It really does seem that the kind words he’s said to you were false, and just a way to get closer to a random technician that he never truly cared about. You’re glad that you hadn’t given in and decided to stay with him; the prospect of you leaving in a week is much more something you’re looking forward to now. The only downside — aside from the likely pay decrease on-planet — is that you’ll no longer be able to see Nat if you aren’t on the Star Destroyer.

As you work, you try not to think about Keleus, but it’s difficult. You’ve spent so much of your free time with him lately, and you feel hurt. You want to believe that he cares about you, but seeing him so comfortable around someone else less than a week after you fell out only makes you feel like he doesn’t. And he’s a Sith Lord, after all; surely lying is in his very nature.

When your shift ends, you see a notification on your commlink summoning you to Keleus’ rooms for tea, but you really don’t want to go, so instead, you choose to eat in the canteen with Nat. You tell him you’d declined the invitation to eat with Keleus as you stand up to leave, and he winces before wishing you luck.

After you put your tray away, you walk back to your room, not really wanting to be with anyone else this evening. You sit down on your bed, pulling up a holonovel and trying to distract yourself until you’re tired enough to fall asleep. The distraction works, somewhat, and you manage to get invested in your book for a while.

Until you hear a knock at your door. Guessing that it’s Nat coming to check on you, you go over to open the door, surprised when you are instead greeted with the handsome face of Lord Keleus.

“May I come in?” he asks, and you nod. You can’t exactly turn him away when he’s come all the way to your door. You move to the side, and he steps into your room, looking out of place inside, what with his fancy robes and air of authority that it always seems impossible for him to shake off. “You didn’t come to my quarters this evening.”

“No, my Lord.”

He sighs, a look of frustration appearing on his face for a second before he smooths it away. “Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it.”

“No, Obi-Wan.”

“I just wanted to explain and apologise.”

“For what? Is it the pressuring me into staying you want to apologise for, or the replacing me so quickly?”

“I didn’t replace you, I could never replace you. I felt your upset in your Force signature, but that was all completely innocent, I assure you. I was just picking up a pen.”

You blink. “But- why didn’t you speak to me if you haven’t replaced me? You only talk to me again after five days and I see you with someone else, what am I supposed to think?”

“I know that sounds bad, but I wanted to give you your space. And- I truly am sorry for pressuring you into staying here like this. It’s just that since knowing you, you’ve become a really important part of my life, and the prospect of not seeing you ever again- it scares me. The fact that you could consider yourself replaceable baffles me, my dear.”

You look up into Obi-Wan’s golden eyes, his expression seeming so sincere. “I just- I panicked. I care a lot about you-” you pause, swallowing, unsure of how he might respond to that confession- “and I immediately worried about the worst.”

“Aside from apologising, I did have an idea I wanted to talk to you about regarding your contract.”

“Yes?” You find yourself stiffening — you don’t want to fall out again so soon after reconciling — but decide to hear Obi-Wan out.

“Well, I understand that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life on one of these ships. But I was thinking, and, as you’re no doubt aware, we have plenty of Imperial bases on the planets we travel past, and it’s not as though they don’t need technical help, especially with your skills. How about I sort out a job for you where you primarily work on our ground bases, with plenty of time to explore, and then between jobs you can come back to the Star Destroyer? And that way, you won’t need to take the pay cut that will probably come with non-Imperial employment.” And you can still see me, seems to be silently added on to the end of that proposition.

“Obi-Wan…”

“You can think it over for a while. And please don’t feel as though you have to, or that I’m pressuring you into this — it’s an open offer. Just remember that it would be really nice to continue to be able to see you, and-” he looks around your room- “my previous offer for better accommodation is still there too if you’re here with a more permanent arrangement.”

You can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Obi-Wan, I really appreciate that possibility. And- I don’t really see any reason why I shouldn’t take you up on this offer. It sounds good.” It really does: it would be ideal for you to be able to have both Obi-Wan and the freedom to see other planets in your life.

He smiles, then, too; it’s bright and genuine, and your heart jumps in your chest to see him like that. “I- that’s wonderful. I’m really glad.”

“Thank you for thinking of me like that.”

“Part of it was rather selfish on my part — I really don’t want to see you go forever — but I want you to be happy, my darling. The last thing I want is to trap you here on this ship, unable to travel as you so clearly wish.”

For a few seconds, you just look at each other, still standing near your door. Even in the few days that you haven’t seen him, you’ve missed being able to take in Obi-Wan’s gorgeous face, missed just being around him. Eventually, he speaks up again, with somewhat of a nervous edge to his voice. “I’d really like to kiss you again, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’d really like that too,” you say, and Obi-Wan seems pleased, before placing a hand at your jaw and leaning in to kiss you. Though at first it’s quite chaste, the part of you that wants even more of this newfound closeness with him slides your tongue into his mouth, and Obi-Wan responds by sucking lightly on it as he pulls you closer to him. When you come apart, you are both breathing more heavily, taking in each other’s air due to how close together your mouths still are. “Can we- do you want to-?”

Obi-Wan seems to catch onto what you’re implying. “Are you asking me to fuck you, darling?” There’s that confident, smooth edge to his voice again like he knows exactly what you want and are trying to say.

“Please.”

He grins. “Happily. Do you have protection?”

You nod. “In the bathroom cabinet.”

He presses one more kiss to your lips — as though he can’t bear to leave you for even one second without touching you again — before walking into your en suite. While he’s looking for the condoms, you begin to take off your clothes, so that Obi-Wan doesn’t have to deal with the more annoying part of your technician’s jumpsuit. When he comes back, you’re just in your undershirt and trousers, sitting on the edge of the bed.

With a grin, he sheds his thick white cloak, and you realise that underneath, he’s only wearing an undertunic and his trousers. You raise your eyebrows as he takes the tunic off too, leaving him shirtless.

“I didn’t come here just to seduce you, darling. I’m just not dressed up because the working day is over and my robes aren’t exactly the most comfortable thing to wear.”

Part of you takes that in, but most of you is focused on the way Obi-Wan looks without a shirt on. He is gorgeous, so clearly very strong and with a glorious smattering of chest hair that you want to feel against your skin, and you’re rendered speechless. You look from his chest to his arms, thick with muscle in a way that you just can’t see under his robes, and when you glance back up to his face you can see his smug grin. “Like what you see?”

Despite the stupid line, all you can do is nod as he steps closer, crossing the short distance from the bathroom door and sitting down on the bed next to you. He pulls you close for another kiss as he pushes up the hem of your shirt, and you help him get it over your head when the kiss is over. He takes a second of his own to rake his eyes down your chest, and you feel blood rushing to your cheeks at the open way he’s looking at you.

“Gorgeous, darling.”

You scoff. “Says you,” you say, running a hand along his bicep. “Were you carved from dolomite?”

“Now, now, I never liked you for your flattery,” he says, but he seems pleased. Next, his hands go to your trousers, undoing the button and zip. You move so he can pull them down alongside your underwear, and then you’re completely bared for him.

Obi-Wan moves you up the bed a little, and due to the small nature of the bed, you find yourself close to the wall as he sets about removing his own trousers. “Next time, we’re doing this in my quarters,” he says.

Though your heart flutters a little at his certainty of there being a next time, you laugh. “Next time, I might be in my nice new accommodation I seem to recall you promising me if I stayed, right?”

He laughs. “Of course. And-” his face takes on a level of earnestness, to contrast with the fact that he’s just undone his fly- “would you like it if those quarters were closer to mine?”

You smile. “I would.”

“Wonderful.”

His trousers are off then, and your eyes are immediately drawn to his cock, half-hard and already looking so big. You’ve been with people before, but it’s been a long time — the life of an imperial mechanic isn’t usually one filled with lots of sex — and you’re already desperate to feel it inside you; your mouth or your cunt, you don’t care either way.

Obi-Wan seems to catch that thought and grins. “Save that for next time.” Next time. The future already seems so much lighter, now that there’s no longer an impending end to your relationship. “Can you get on your front for me? Want to take it from behind?”

You feel yourself clench at that, and obey, twisting over quickly to bare yourself. He laughs. “Good girl. Eager, aren’t you?”

Perhaps you should have expected the effect that his voice would have on you in bed, given the effect it has on you every other time he speaks. But the swooping sensation it elicits in your stomach is completely unexpected, and all you can do is push your hips back towards Obi-Wan, hoping he’ll catch the hint.

He does; the next thing you feel is a hand at your hip before he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, barely inches from your cunt. The feeling of his beard against the sensitive skin makes you suppress a shiver, and you moan as he sucks at your thigh for a few seconds before finally pressing his mouth to your wet cunt.

He licks at your folds and hums softly, the vibrations increasing the already intense sensations. Then, he delves his tongue into your hole, beginning to get you ready for his cock later on, before finding your clit and sucking at it. You push your hips back against him, wanting more pressure, and moan again as he puts a finger in your cunt and curls it. He finds that ideal spot inside you quickly, targeting it again when he adds another finger, and you find yourself approaching orgasm much quicker than you normally would.

You moan again, pushing your hips again for more, but Obi-Wan removes his fingers, pressing one quick kiss to your clit before pulling away. “Obi-Wan, please…” you get out, and he laughs.

“Oh, darling,” he says, mock-pityingly, and you hear him open the condom wrapper and roll it down his cock. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Fuck me, please,” you say. “Wanted to for so long, Obi-Wan, please-”

You’re cut off by the feeling of him pushing inside you in one strong thrust, your voice trailing off with a desperate moan. You feel so full, so quickly, and you hear Obi-Wan moan too as you clench around his length.

After a few seconds to let you get used to the feeling of him inside you, he starts to move, soon finding his pace. He holds onto your hips, moving you alongside him so that he can reach deeper inside you, pulling you back hard against him each time.

“Feel so good around me, my perfect girl,” he says. “Can’t ever let you go now.”

“You’d better not,” you manage to say. “Stuck with me forever.”

“Good. Kriff, you’re wonderful.”

You’d laugh if you didn’t feel as though you were on fire. Obi-Wan apparently decides that he needs more contact with you, and moves so that his back is against your chest, hands supporting him right by your own. You’re caged in, and picturing the way the two of you must look right now draws another moan from you. He can reach even deeper at this angle, and the combination of the condom’s texture and the feeling of him against that spot inside you is pushing you closer to the edge.

His thrusts are powerful, but not too hard, and it feels wonderful, better than you thought sex with Obi-Wan would feel. You feel his pace begin to lose rhythm, though, as though he’s getting close to coming as well.

Obi-Wan reaches back, and pinpoints your clit, rubbing against it. “Are you going to come for me, darling?” He asks, and finds that perfect level of pressure, making you moan loudly before the fire in your abdomen takes over, and you push yourself as far back on his cock as you can while you come.

He thrusts once more before you feel him pulse inside you, wrapping an arm around your chest and pulling you close to him as he goes over the edge. He moans as he does so, before pressing a kiss to the juncture of your neck. “Kriff.”

“Kriff indeed.”

Obi-Wan pulls out, removing and quickly disposing of the condom. “Can I stay here tonight?”

You turn over onto your back, looking over at him as he stands near your bin. “Of course. Just let me-”

You go to your en-suite, use the bathroom and brush your teeth before going back to bed, sliding in next to Obi-Wan who must have gotten under the covers while you were gone. He pulls you into his arms, smiling softly at you as he does so. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he says once you’re settled in his embrace.

“So am I. I’m sorry for thinking that you replaced me.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for giving you any reason to doubt me. I could have been more upfront with you.”

“Hey, at least we talked about it before I left forever. That wouldn’t have been great.”

Obi-Wan presses a soft kiss on your cheek. “Not at all. Come on, I should sleep. Meetings tomorrow. Need to sort out things out for you, too.”

“Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“Good night, darling.”

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed — i would apologise for uploading this instead of learning you however i have been writing this since sept 2021 (maybe it shows lmao) so i am going to apologise instead to this fic for taking so long to finish. i am not entirely happy with how the relationship between obi-wan and reader played out but i hope you liked it anyway! <3

just in case anyone is interested, the name keleus comes from a mixture of ancient greek transliterations: κήλεος (kḗleos), meaning blazing in epic greek κελεύω (keleuō), verb meaning to command and κήλη (kēlē), meaning a tumour celeus was also a mythological king but forget about him lmao

my masterlist

[pixiedane]

I have been emotionally compromised by Star Trek Picard

MANY SPOILERS BELOW. Also rambling and rabbit holes into my psyche.

I've explained often that Ro Laren is the first Star Trek character that represented ME on screen. That the reason Voyager is my Trek is it's a whole shipful (and showful) of Ro Larens. And that is also why Picard owns my soul. From the beginning it's been ABOUT rebels who exist within and without the confines of Starfleet and how they navigate between the two.

I was told last April an appearance by Ro Laren was a likelihood in Picard S3 and since it had wrapped at that point, I believed it. I've been carrying around the potential for a Picard/Ro reunion for nearly a year and I got it and it was glorious. EXACTLY what I wanted from that scene, that conversation. It was painful and angry and yearning on both sides and could even be seen as shippy if you are a me. It was even perfect that it was in Guinan's bar.

And then minutes later she sacrificed herself. And I knew that would happen, too. Not because it was suggested to me, it wasn't. Because that's what happens to the characters I relate to the most. They are never the protagonists (I call myself after the manic pixie dream girl trope for a reason) and they never win. They barely ever survive and when they do they disappear, they are forgotten, or they turn into something unrecognizable from what I related to in the first place.

Ro gave Picard closure. She reminded him not to conflate duty with honor. She showed him he could be a good parent if he saw his child for the person they already are in addition to the person he imagines they could be. She connected his past to his present. And then she died because her purpose was fulfilled.

I actually quite like the idea of Picard as the deconstruction of the Great Man. It's more satisfying than the far more widely seen and (mis?)understood hero-turned-wise-mentor trope. JL tries to be a wise mentor but he fails at it more than he succeeds. And he hasn't given up being the hero. He hasn't given up being the rebel. He knows his name is in the title. He's still trying to prove himself to me. To me.

I sensed that Ro Laren was going to die the same way I sensed that Katrina Cornwell was going to die and I preemptively protected myself against my feelings about it by choosing not to feel. Kat died four years ago and to this day my main emotional reaction to it is the lack of an emotional reaction. I'm numb about it.

That said, Kat's death broke the narrative. It didn't make sense in the context of her character. Kat's entire arc was one of survival, the survival of self and the survival of Starfleet, and her sacrifice was a misread of that. It doesn't make sense. Katrina Cornwell is a survivor.

Ro's entire arc actually is about sacrifice. From introduction it was about the things she had to give up. Her father, her freedom, her faith, her ideals, her career, her mentor. She gave up everything over and over and over. I don't want her death and it was not necessary but it makes sense in the context of her character and in service to the reconstruction of Jean-Luc Picard. That second part may be a slap in the face but that first part is validation.

Was Ro Laren fridged? Yes. Am I happy about it? No. Am I angry about it? Intellectually yes, emotionally I'm numb. Do I hate this episode the way I do "Such Sweet Sorrow" and tbh the entirety of Disco S2? No. It breaks my heart but not my brain. The Picard/Ro scene is perfect. The part about being seen was a message to me, to the girl who wanted to be seen in/by her favorite show and wasn't until Ro showed up. With the exception of the death this episode is Anika catnip, Anika cocaine.

Jack Crusher is the most made for me character in the history of characters made for me or anyone else. The only thing different between him and every original character I've ever created for any reason is he's a boy and I love him so much I can't hold it against him. In fact, I see my boy mom relationship with my son in his relationship with his mom and I actually really needed that.

And Ro Laren was sacrificed for Jack Crusher in every possible way one character can be sacrificed for another. My emotions are literally everywhere.

[short-wooloo]

I really hate that the fucking human pet guy keeps popping up on SW tumblr

and he has some of the most irritating takes too

like how the Galaxy joining together to fight the sith in ROS shows that centralized government is unnecessary

never mind how the fleet from all over the galaxy was gathered and lead to exegol by Lando, aka was organized by a central leadership and didn't just show up on their own

And never mind how the first order rapidly conquered the galaxy precisely because they wiped out the central government, and in the absence of said central government many worlds adopted "look out for themselves" stances, which only further guaranteed the first order's successful conquest as those worlds had little chance of resisting alone

and that's just one thing, centralized government is needed in SW at the very least for dealing with common threats

threats such as...

What if the first order regroups and keeps fighting?

What if the mandalorians start conquering again?

What if we get another separatist type situation where a bunch of mega corps make a sham government that says its about democracy and self determination but really is just a corporate-military dictatorship?

What if Kanjiclub, the Guavian Death Gang, or other crime factions want to rank up from criminal organizations to actual territorial powers?

in a similar vein, what if the Hutts decide now's the time to make a comeback?

speaking of the hutts, If there’s no centralized government how do you effectively combat slavery? How do you keep slavery illegal?

What if one of the highly aggressive alien species from legends like the Ssi-ruu, the Yeventha, or the Yuuzhan-Vong get brought into canon?

what if the Chiss decide to give galactic conquest a try?

what if the Chiss start conquering worlds to harvest resources to fuel there wars against the Grysk, Vagaari, or other unknown regions powers?

what if the Yinchorri (big aggressive mind-trick immune turtles) start attacking like in legends?

which btw, was only stopped by a collective effort organized by Chancellor Valorum

Or what if stronger planets start bullying/conquering weaker planets, thus encouraging planets to create tangled webs of alliances between each other, and that in turn creates a WWI-type powder keg where a minor dispute between two planets drags their varying networks of allies into a galactic scale war?

Central government would be good for preventing that

it would also be good for enforcing a ban on superweapons and preventing the spread of that technology

very important in the post-ROS galaxy, as planet killers can now be mounted on smaller ships and mass-produced

(Not mine) The villains' plot in *The Phantom Menace* is only possible because Palpatine *takes the central government out of the picture*

and the backstory of SW is the centralized government has worked for several thousand years

so why does a few decades of it being deliberately sabotaged discount the entire concept?

Because they don't like the concept that's why

They are so obviously libertarian

I mean, their whole thesis comes down to "centralized government is unnecessary because if the collective people need some service or task done then people will just do it"

Textbook libertarian crap, the stuff that gets a town taken over by bears

And all the above is just the more dramatic exciting stuff

A central government is essential for mundane things like maintaining a universal galactic currency

Trade agreements

Consistent tax rates

saftey ratings being the same across the galaxy

Maintaining travel and communication infrastructure (eg hyperspace routes, however comms work)

exchange rates for more archaic currencies

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[leianaberrie]

One thing I noticed is that when a ship has two white characters/actors and gains a huge fanbase the writers/producers will find a way to shoehorn a random romance/sex scene.

Even if the writers don’t care much for the ship or didn’t intend for the ship to become popular. We seen it with Klaroline how they got their hookup in the woods and then a reunion on The Originals. We seen it with Reylo. There was zero romantic indication between those two characters in TFA but the fandom of course can’t help but ship a white villain with the white heroine so Rian Johnson basically made TLJ a bad Reylo fanfic. And ROS shoehorned that kiss.

But then when it comes to a ship that has a person of color especially if they are not white passing then the ship doesn’t even get crumbs, at most the writers will just fanbait. Bellark from The100 is a perfect example of this. (Spoiler alert) That ship had a huge following but the writers didn’t budge.

I don’t ship Bamon at all but I have no doubt Bonnie and Damon would’ve hooked up if Bonnie was white. Bonkai would’ve had hate-sex, and Kai would’ve called Bonnie beautiful and danced with Bonnie at the wedding. Enzo would’ve pursued Bonnie since season 5 etc. i could go on here.

There are so many other instances of white ships getting fan-serviced by writers while a ship that has a Black character or POC could have the same dynamic as a white ship but the writers would refuse to go there.

If Rey was Black or a woc would Reylo have happened? Would Reylo even have become a popular ship? I read somewhere that if Zendaya was white, people would’ve been crackshipping her and Andrew/Peter.

Smh.

This is sooooo true! I literally have nothing to add.

[aurelim]

Echo

The Siren

❝What is it? What do you want now?❞ ❝Ugh, Poseidon above, why do I love you?? You are such a idiot! Lovable, but an idiot all the same.❞

Age: ???

Race: Siren

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: They/them

Physical Appearance: Echo has the wings and feet of a large bird. Their wings are brown and soft to the touch, and in addition to wings they also have arms. Skin is dark tanned and they have short black hair. Their most distinguished physical trait are their bright yellow eyes with slitted pupils. It's hard not to notice them. Height presumed short. Echo does not have a human appearance.

Trope(s): Oblivious to love, unrequited love, last to know, insecure

Echo has been helping your family with hunts for the past eight months, but despite this they have never talked about themself before. While you do not know much about them, you do know that they keep push away at any personal questions with a cold response. Echo acts as a spotter, looking out for ships and helping with luring humans off those ships during said hunts. They have really sharp eyes, able to see thousands of miles ahead.

Beyond the cold defense mechanisms is a sensitive siren who is afraid of getting close to others. They consider themself ugly—an abomination of a half-winged half-human creature. Nowhere is safe for them; not even a tree can protect them from the wrath of humans. Echo feels so much insecurity about everything and so they don't trust easily at all in case someone betrays them. That does not stop them from helping your family out, though.

You first met them during the worst hunt of your life. You were spotted by humans and our brother was injured in the process. Echo swooped in with a distraction, and you and your family were able to make a quick escape. In thanks for their service, your parents allowed them to join you on your future hunts in case trouble like that occurs again. In return, they would get a portion of the energy you collected.

Echo remains silent for the most part, speaking with a sharp tongue when they must. Siren wings are impossible to hear, so you never know if Echo is trailing behind you. Besides the faint noise of cutting air, their presence can remain largely unknown.

A trait they likely gained in their years alone; before they met you.

Fun Facts About Echo:

Your official unofficial guardian "spirit"

"Ancient guardian spirit" as K likes to call them

Echo is demisexual, so it will take them a very long time for them to realize they have feelings for you. Demi overall

This is why Echo's romantic route has the most slowburn. They likely won't realize it until the last second

tired. just tired.

Sirens sleep though! They get sleep, but Echo gets very little since they suffer from frequent nightmares and insomnia

Stonecold to a lot of things. This includes murder and puppy eyes

Their yellow eyes glow when they sing. It allures their prey and creates a cloud of confusion, allowing them to sweep in before their victim realizes what's coming next

Echo left their nest when [REDACTED]. They were alone for six years by themself before meeting your family

Has tried human food before when they managed to get a chance. Would eat fish and fruit, but vegetables are the ban of their existence. Do not even try to put it in front of them

Loves humming a tune about a depressed man whose lover was lost at sea, presumably dead. Awfully sad, but it is their favorite

Nervous tick of theirs is when their feathers ruffle up. Same tick if they are pissed. So really you never know if they are nervous or ticked off

Faster than any existing birds. Yes, this means Echo is faster than the peregrine falcon (who can reach up to 240 miles per hour). While sirens are fast, Echo is faster than most. Much faster

You will want to keep your eyes on this RO for...many reasons.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

WIP Wednesday/Whenever

Tagged by @rosapexa, thank you! Tagging in turn with the usual disclaimers: @cybervesna @shimmer-like-agirl @dustymagpie @theviridianbunny @butchsquatch @medtech-mara @streetkid-named-desire

Modding

A couple of casual outfits for Ros, using wing's shoes and cubfan's jeans recolors (skinny bitch has her own tight jeans mesh). Shirt on the left is an existing variant of Wakako's that I really liked; right is Denny's that I'm recoloring for her.

Working on importing a jacket for fem V (yeah okay, it's really for Ros). I'm tweaking the mesh now so it works with Veegee's suit, then it's onto normals and textures

Writing

I've had a couple of drabbles that morphed into ideas for photoshoots, which in turn expanded into full scenes I started writing. This is one such drabble-turned-scene because of the pic below. Kinda long so putting most after the cut.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me?” Her brow furrows as she pauses to look at V, as if considering something for the first time. “Of yourself?”

Anxiety flooding her chest, V feels the familiar urge to jump ship at the first sign of trouble and wants to let go, to retreat; but Rosalind squeezes her fingers and holds her gaze, her eyes serious yet soft, keeps her grounded, and V lets out a long breath.

“Maybe not, but be a gonk move to let you leave ’thout saying something, wouldn’t it?”

“Constantly surrounded by Secret Service. Say goodbye to any privacy once media and screamsheets find out, not to mention all the fanatics and anti-government zealots.” 

Rosalind looks at their hands while V wonders what to say. She’d thought about media and screamsheets but hadn’t considered the constant need for security. What would the logistics even look like for dating a sitting President? Maybe this is the gonk move.

“Then there’s the job.” Rosalind meets her eyes again, brow furrowed and lips tugged downward. “The country is first, always. I am always the President.”

That she had expected, and she chuckles softly. “Of course. Look, know what your priorities are, never gonna change. The rest?” She shrugs. “Deal with it as it comes.” 

The flirting earlier today and during dinner bolstered her confidence, but now it deflates under the penetrating stare that has laid waste to politicians, generals, and corpos alike, and she looks away.

“Alright, V,” she says at last. Trying not to betray the surprise she feels, V looks up to find her watching with a soft smile. “Let’s see where this ride goes.”

She feels light enough to explode and she leans forward, kissing her hard.

“And the bedroom?” she asks with a grin when she pulls away.

“That’s up to the FSS,” Rosalind answers with a smirk. Frowning, V tries to decipher the answer while Rosalind's eyes light up as she receives a call, and the smirk grows wider as she listens. “Yes? Thank you.” The light disappears as the call cuts off. “They just gave the green light.”

The frown deepens as she finally gets it. “Wait, you swept my apartment?”

“Of course. I warned you about the Secret Service. Did you think they’d let me wander off to an apartment in Heywood without inspecting it, as well as ensuring a private entrance?”

V scoffs. “You had them sweeping it before I asked you to spend the night.” Rosalind’s eyes crinkle and she purses her lips in a vain attempt at holding back the ever-growing smirk, but it only exaggerates it further. “Planning on spending the night all along.”

Rosalind shrugs, the smirk replaced by an elegant smile, but her eyes remain warm and crinkled. “What can I say? I’m a politician; I like to keep my options open.”