#she’s orange and blue !!! what’s not to like

[bruisedboys]

second nature — bob reynolds

bob tells you he’s never been kissed. you decide to change that. (post thunderbolts, spoiler free!)

bob reynolds x fem!reader, fluff, friends in love, kissing, thunderbolt!reader (or at least she is implied to live in avengers tower), 1.7k words

“You’re telling me you’ve never been kissed?”

Bob’s face is already hot, but now it burns like a furnace. You’re staring at him like he’s grown two heads.

“No,” Bob shakes his head, embarrassed under your gaze. He looks at his hands instead. “I mean… not properly.”

You must be able to tell he’s embarrassed about it, because you soften.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you say gently. Bob didn't think you meant it like that, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. You twist towards him. “I just meant … I don’t know, you’re cute. How come no one’s ever kissed you before?”

Bob goes a bit blind. He’s already nervous enough, having you in his room like this. You’re meant to be playing his new video game together, but you’d gotten talking about an old high school fling who used to play video games and was, incidentally, a terrible kisser. You’d asked Bob if he’d ever had a kiss so bad it made him want to brush his teeth five times over, and he’d blurted his secret before he’d even considered lying.

“I don’t know,” Bob mumbles. The tips of his ears burn. He wonders if he imagined you calling him cute. “Nobody’s ever liked me that much, I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence. Bob realises he’s made a pretty pathetic image of himself (as if he wasn’t enough of a loser already), and he goes to amend, but you beat him to it.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. You put your controller down on the duvet by your hip and twist to face him. You’re sitting side by side on the end of his bed, legs dangling over the edge. It’s a big bed — it’s a big tower. Bob’s still not used to living in the Avengers old headquarters, and he doesn’t think he ever will be.

Bob swallows and finally looks up at you. You’ve got this look on your face that he can’t put a name to. The forgotten video game glowing on the TV reflects back, colouring your features different shades of blue and orange. You’re really pretty. He’s really nervous.

An awkward chuckle tumbles from his mouth, “Why’s that?” He asks.

You shrug one shoulder. “‘Cos you’re really nice. And funny. You’re handsome too, if that helps,” you say, grinning a bit now.

Bob just blinks at you, flummoxed. Is he dreaming? He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

“Are you making fun of me?” He asks eventually. He doesn’t think you ever would, but he can’t fathom that fact that maybe, you’re telling the truth.

You shake your head vehemently. “No. No, what? I’m serious, Bob, you’re a great guy,” you say earnestly. Then, like an afterthought, “I’d kiss you,” you add quietly.

Bob short circuits. He truly can’t figure out if he’s dreaming or not. Surely, he is. Surely you, the loveliest, prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, doesn’t want to kiss him. He searches for something to say but all that comes out is,

“Oh.”

You grin, not teasing but getting close. “You don’t believe me?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Bob flounders, “I—no. I mean, yes? I… I don’t know.”

Smooth, he thinks sarcastically, then promptly shuts his mouth before he can say anything else stupid. Meanwhile, you’re leaning closer, your thigh pressing into his.

”I can prove it, if you like,” you say in a quiet voice.

Bob’s heart hammers. “Prove … what?”

It’s a stupid question, but you’ve never made him feel stupid and he doesn’t think you ever will. You just smile softly.

”Prove that I want to kiss you,” you say simply. “Can I?”

Bob doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not sure if he’s lightheaded from your proximity, your sweet perfume, your words, or a mix of all three. He finds himself nodding.

“Okay,” he says.

He watches in a sort of trance as your eyes flicker to his mouth and back up again.

“You sure?” You ask.

Bob’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He tries not to breathe too fast. “Yeah,” he nods.

You grin. Now Bob’s looking at your lips, the curve of your Cupid’s bow, your plump bottom lip. The tip of your tongue as it darts out to wet your top lip.

His heart thuds in his chest.

“Alright,” you say. “Shut your eyes, handsome.”

Bob slams his eyes shut and stays very still. He’s so nervous he can feel it in his bones, a warm sort of buzzing deep in his limbs. It’s unfamiliar and strange, but not uncomfortable. He feels you moving closer, and then feels your hand on his shoulder. Jolts of electricity go down his arm.

“You ready?” You ask in a whisper.

You’re so close now Bob can feel your breath on his lips when you speak. Meanwhile, he can’t speak, so he just tilts his chin up in response.

You take the hint. You press your lips to his and kiss him. Bob forgets how to think — your lips are warm, your kiss achingly soft. He doesn’t know what to do with himself but let himself be kissed, his heart pounding so hard now he’s sure you can hear it. You kiss him for longer than he’s expecting, your thumb pressing into the fleshy part of his shoulder. When you pull away, he wants more.

“How was that?” You whisper. You’re very, very close, so close Bob could count your eyelashes if he wanted to. The glow of the TV reflects warm orange in your eyes.

“Not a real kiss,” Bob murmurs. Your kissing has left him feeling braver than usual.

Your eyes glint and you grin, all Cheshire Cat-like. “I was just warming you up,” you say a little defensively. “You want to go again?”

Bob nods. His nose bumps yours. “Please.”

You kiss him again. You’re more sure this time, warmer, like you were waiting for him to ask for more. Your hand migrates to the very top of his back, your arm caging his shoulder as you push up into the kiss. Bob finds himself kissing back, though he doesn’t really know how, he’s just following your lead. Your thigh starts to squash his and he doesn’t care, ‘cos you taste like butter popcorn and something sweet, and you’re kissing him like you’ve wanted to do this about as long as he has.

You move closer, your kisses getting surer, and Bob’s hand starts to move of its own accord, an invisible thread tugging it towards your waist. His thumb skips over your sweater, and his hand aches with want, but he hesitates.

You break away from the kiss.

“You can touch me,” you murmur with a lopsided grin. “Go on.”

You reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing it to your waist. Bob swallows. You’re so warm, and his hand fits perfectly to the dip of your waist, his pinky finger sliding over the bump of your hip. If he’d known touching you would be like this, he’d have done it much earlier.

“S’that okay?” He asks you.

You nod. “Yeah. You can touch my face, too, if you want. Do you wanna try kissing me now?”

Bob does want to, very badly, but he’s afraid he’ll mess it up. “I don't know how,” he says honestly, past caring how pathetic he sounds.

You shrug. “That’s okay,” you say gently. Your hand returns to his shoulder and you push your palm up towards his neck. You lean close until your noses almost touch. “Just do what I did, okay? I’ll help you.”

You let your eyes fall shut. Bob, his heart rampant with nerves all over again, takes that as his sign and moves forward to slot his mouth with yours. It’s messy — his nose squashes into yours, and he’s not sure whether to part his lips or not. His decision gets made for him when your lips part very slightly under the pressure of his kiss.

“That’s good,” you murmur against his lips, nodding encouragingly. “Good job.”

You grab his neck and tug yourself closer. Your mouth is hot, your hand greedy at the nape of his neck. Bob remembers what you said before, and raises his free hand to very gently cup your jaw. You’re abnormally warm under his touch, and when he presses his palm to your neck, he can feel your pulse going almost as fast as his.

He pulls away from you an inch, suddenly concerned. “Are you okay?” He asks, frowning. “Your pulse is a riot.”

He must sound as clueless as he feels, because you give a breathless laugh.

“You’re making me nervous,” you say shyly.

Bob blinks. “Oh,” he says. He didn't know he had the capability to make you nervous.

You giggle breathlessly, lips all swollen and dark pink, and Bob decides he’s in love with you right then and there.

”Yeah, oh,” you echo, smiling like a fool. “Kiss me again, will you?”

Bob doesn’t need to be asked twice. His hand roves around to the small of your back and he kisses you again, and sure, it’s not perfect, but you make up for it by kissing him back so ardently that it’s a wonder Bob doesn’t pass out. Your hand pushes up into his hair, greedy as anything, and now he’s sure he’s gonna pass out. You tug at the strands of hair at the very nape of his neck and Bob makes a sound he can’t help. He whimpers.

He’s about to die of embarrassment when he feels you smile against his lips.

“Feels nice?” You ask, pulling back, but not before giving him a few short kisses.

”Sorry,” Bob says back. He’s almost certain he’s steaming at the ears right now.

You shake your head. “Nothing to be sorry for, handsome,” you kiss the side of his mouth, your fingers curling into his hair like it’s second nature. “You want me to keep going?”

Bob’s not sure he could handle it, but he nods anyway. If the others find him passed out or dead in his own bedroom in the morning, he’s blaming it on you.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[fic-girlie]

Sunshine in pastels

Pairing: Joel Miller x wife!reader Summary: A sunny day in Jackson unfolds with chalk-stained hands and your daughter's laughter. As evening settles, you and Joel guide her through a tender bedtime, ending the day in the soft, steady rhythm of your family. Warnings: pure fluff, Joel and reader has a five year old daughter, set in Jackson, established relationship

The sun is warm but not cruel this afternoon, the way Jackson’s summer days sometimes are—just golden enough to kiss your skin, a slow heat that wraps itself around your shoulders like a sun-warmed blanket. Cicadas sing somewhere in the distance, their constant hum layered beneath the sounds of soft laughter and murmured conversation drifting up through the open front window.

From your spot inside the house, barefoot on the cool wood floor, you watch them through the screen door.

Joel sits on the edge of the porch step, one hand braced behind him, the other holding a piece of bright blue chalk. Your daughter is beside him, cross-legged in a tangle of little limbs, curls bouncing as she leans forward to concentrate on her latest masterpiece.

The two of them are surrounded by a mosaic of pastel colours—stars and suns, a big lopsided tree with a crooked smile, something that might be a horse or a unicorn or both. There’s a rainbow stretching across three square slabs of pavement, your daughter’s name written in looping letters underneath.

You linger there a moment longer, drinking them in. Joel’s hair has gotten a bit too long, curling at the ends, silver glinting through warm brown in the sunlight. He’s wearing one of his softest T-shirts, jeans streaked with pale pink chalk dust where your daughter leaned against his leg earlier. She’s wearing one of her favourite dresses—lavender cotton with white daisies—and her knees are already smudged with green and orange.

You step outside slowly, the screen door creaking a little behind you. Joel looks up first. His eyes squint against the sun, then soften the moment they settle on you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and fond.

Your daughter hears him and spins around. “Mama! Look! Daddy made a dragon!”

You walk down the porch steps toward them, kneeling next to her as she points excitedly at what is very clearly a lumpy, awkward, hilariously shaped creature with tiny wings and fire coming out of its nose.

You raise your eyebrows and look at Joel. “That’s a dragon?”

He gives a small, sheepish shrug, lips twitching. “A very dangerous dragon,” he deadpans, and your daughter giggles wildly, pressing both chalk-dusted palms to her face.

“I helped with the fire part,” she informs you, beaming with pride. “Daddy says dragons have to breathe fire or else they’re just big lizards.”

“That’s true,” Joel nods seriously, nudging her with his shoulder. “You did the best part.”

You settle beside them on the warm pavement, folding your legs underneath you. The concrete radiates heat through your jeans, and the faint scent of dust and summer flowers fills your nose. Your daughter offers you a piece of yellow chalk and declares, “You draw the sun. You do the best suns, Mama.”

You take it from her and begin sketching, Joel leaning a little closer to watch, one elbow propped casually on his bent knee.

“You remember when she used to call it the ‘hot circle’?” you murmur to him, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles under his breath, warm and rough. “I’d take a thousand more hot circles if it means I get this again,” he says softly.

You glance over at him.

There’s something in his face—an expression you’ve seen countless times but still makes your heart stutter when you catch it unexpectedly. It’s a kind of quiet awe, the look he gives you when he forgets the rest of the world exists. His eyes trace the curve of your smile like he’s memorizing it all over again.

“Draw with us, Daddy!” your daughter chirps, tugging at his sleeve with a small dusty hand.

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He shifts closer, grabbing a pink chalk stick, and starts outlining what he claims will be a butterfly but immediately turns lopsided.

“Think I’m better at fixin’ fences than drawin’ butterflies,” he mutters.

“You’re good at lots of things,” you say, voice just low enough for only him to hear.

He glances sideways at you, something shy and sweet flickering behind his eyes. He doesn’t reply out loud, but you see the slight flush in his cheeks as he refocuses on his chalk work.

Your daughter is humming now, some little made-up song as she draws hearts around the dragon. Her curls bounce when she moves, and when Joel leans down to brush a hand over her back, she leans into the touch like she was waiting for it.

The three of you sit like that for a while, surrounded by pinks and purples and streaks of blue, lost in the world of warm pavement and silly drawings and quiet laughter.

When you finally lean back on your hands to stretch, your daughter scrambles into Joel’s lap without warning, curling into him like she belongs there—and she does, every soft and stubborn part of her. He lets out a quiet “oof” and laughs, one arm curling around her back.

“Guess I’m her art easel now,” he says.

You smile as you watch them. She’s tracing something on his arm now with her finger, pretending to draw right on his skin. He watches her with that same open, gentle look—the one that says he still can’t believe he gets to have this. Get to have you.

The sun dips a little lower, casting long shadows across the yard. Somewhere behind the trees, someone’s dog starts barking, but here—on your quiet front path—it’s just the three of you, surrounded by chalk drawings and sunshine.

You move closer, leaning your head on Joel’s shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the top of your hair.

Your daughter, still nestled in his lap, looks up at both of you with a wide grin.

“Can we do this every day?”

Joel’s hand settles against your back. “Far as I’m concerned, darlin’,” he says softly, “we can draw dragons and suns and hot circles for the rest of forever.”

And you believe him.

Because here, in the heart of summer, with your daughter giggling against Joel’s chest and the sunlight catching in his hair, there’s nothing left to wish for.

You already have everything.

——

By the time the sun has dipped below the edge of the sky and the first hints of evening creep into the corners of the day, the pavement outside your house looks like a dream left behind by a child. Chalk drawings sprawl across the walkway and front step—dragons and suns, crooked butterflies, a rainbow that’s already half-smudged by bare feet. You linger there for a moment, collecting the empty water bottles and the discarded chalk box while Joel scoops your daughter up into his arms.

She squeals in surprise but doesn’t protest. She’s sticky with sweat and speckled in dust and colour, arms clinging loosely around Joel’s neck as he carries her inside like a little sack of sugar.

“I’m not tired,” she mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder.

Joel snorts softly. “Sure you’re not.”

You trail behind them, still barefoot, your fingers brushing against the doorframe as you close it behind you. The house is cool and quiet, the windows cracked to let in the evening breeze. That soft golden glow from the fading sun pools across the hardwood, catching in your daughter’s curls as Joel walks her back toward the bathroom.

“You’re leavin’ chalk all over me,” he tells her in mock seriousness, eyeing the trail of pink and orange smudges she’s left on his T-shirt.

“I’m makin’ you prettier,” she insists sleepily.

Joel gives you a helpless look over his shoulder—one of those little smirking half-grins you’ve grown so fond of—and disappears into the hallway.

You head to the bathroom to run the water, twisting the knobs until it’s warm but not too hot, filling the air with the familiar scent of her lavender bubble bath. The room slowly steams as you toss in her favourite plastic duck and reach for a towel.

She perks up a little when Joel sets her down, her bare feet padding across the tile, dress peeled off and tossed into the laundry hamper with one chalk-stained sock still clinging to her ankle.

She climbs into the tub with a splash.

“Careful,” you say on instinct, already kneeling beside her with a washcloth, but her eyes are bright again, second wind kicking in.

Joel stays just outside the doorframe, watching from a comfortable lean against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His T-shirt is untucked, hair mussed from the day, and the lines around his eyes are soft with something sweeter than tiredness.

You wet the cloth and gently run it over your daughter’s arms, scrubbing away the green and blue and yellow streaks left behind by chalky fingers. She chatters about the dragon again—how it’s going to live in the front yard now, guarding the rainbow—and Joel occasionally offers dry commentary from his post like:

“I think it wants spaghetti for dinner.”

Or:

“You better tell it not to eat Daddy’s tomatoes.”

The water turns cloudy with chalk and dust, and when the bubbles finally start to fade, you pull the plug and lift her out, swaddling her in a warm towel.

She clings to you for a moment, heavy in your arms, damp curls dripping against your shoulder.

Joel disappears down the hall and comes back with her pyjamas—one of the soft cotton sets with tiny stars and a button-up top. She holds her arms up for you, yawning openly now, and lets you dress her without protest. When Joel picks her up again, her eyes flutter halfway closed.

“Storytime?” she mumbles.

He kisses her forehead. “Yeah, baby girl. Storytime.”

You follow them down the hallway, past framed photos and Joel’s old guitar propped in its stand. Her bedroom smells like lavender and wood and sunlight caught in fabric. The curtains are drawn, but one corner of the window glows with the faint pink blush of the sunset.

Joel settles onto the bed with her cradled in his lap, legs stretched out in front of him. Her tiny form curls into his side, one thumb creeping toward her mouth out of habit before she remembers and tucks it under the hem of her sleeve instead.

You sit at the edge of the bed and reach for one of the books on the nightstand. It’s one you’ve read at least twenty times—The Little Prince, the spine cracked, corners soft and worn. You open it and begin to read.

Joel listens, chin resting against your daughter’s crown, his hand brushing slowly through her curls in a hypnotic rhythm. She stays awake for maybe three pages. Her breathing slows, her lashes flutter, and when she exhales next, it’s with the soft sigh of complete surrender.

You trail off near the end of the story, watching her chest rise and fall in that steady rhythm.

Joel glances at you over her head. “She’s out.”

You smile quietly, gently closing the book and setting it back on the nightstand. The room is bathed in soft lamplight, casting long shadows against the walls painted with tiny gold stars. You watch as Joel carefully shifts, easing her down into the crook of her pillow with a practiced tenderness that’s never lost its ability to make your heart ache.

He pulls the blanket over her small frame, tucking it just under her chin. She sighs again but doesn’t stir. You both watch her for a moment longer in silence.

It’s not just love you feel watching them—it’s something bigger. Something slower, deeper. Like you’ve stepped into a life you once thought you could only dream of and somehow never woke up.

Joel brushes a hand over her hair one last time, then takes your hand in his, leading you quietly from the room.

You close the door halfway behind you.

Back in the hallway, the soft hush of the house wraps around you both like another blanket. You walk down to the living room where the windows are dark now, the porch lights flickering on, and settle beside Joel on the couch.

Neither of you says anything for a minute.

Then he shifts closer, arm around your shoulders, pulling you in. Your head rests against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and slow beneath his shirt.

“She’s somethin’ else,” he murmurs.

You smile, eyes closing. “So are you.”

His fingers stroke your arm slowly. Outside, the wind rustles the trees. Somewhere a dog barks in the distance. But here, in this moment, you are held. Safe. Loved.

And as Joel presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, “We made somethin’ real good, didn’t we?”—you don’t even need to answer.

Because everything you need is right here.

[starsinthesky5]

in honors of horny hour😛

songbird in lingerie.

What's Joe's favorite color on her? How often does she wear them? Does she have special ones associated with special occasions? does he keep them on or take them off? does he pick them for her? does she wear them around the house “just because” or “because its too hot”? to torture Joe. like I could go on 😩

a/n: ovulation has a STRONG hold on me right now

warnings: NSFW, smut

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh we’re so back for horny hour and joe is suffering (loving every minute of it) because her in lingerie? it ruins him. tears him down to his most primal form.

what’s joe’s favorite color on her?

red, no hesitation. not a soft red, not “valentine’s day cute” red. no, joe loves dark, drop-to-your-knees red. the kind that borders on wine, a little dangerous. it makes her look like a sin he’s dying to commit. she wore it once early on—a barely-there lace number with matching garters—and joe went absolutely silent. all that came out of his mouth was a breathless “fuck,” and then he was on her. didn’t even make it to the bed. had her pressed against the wall, forehead resting on hers like he needed to pray before he touched her. red became his downfall. red means you’re mine tonight. red means he’s not letting her walk the next morning.

how often does she wear them?

not all the time—that’s the beauty of it. she’s strategic. methodical. she knows the power she holds and doesn’t abuse it, which makes it so much worse for joe when she does wear them. sometimes it’s for a reason—a big time game, his birthday, a comeback after an injury—but sometimes? it’s a tuesday night. she’ll come out from their shared closet after a shower in full silk and lace and he’s blinking at her like she just put the final nail in his coffin. she’ll say “what?” like she’s innocent. meanwhile, he’s already palming himself through his sweats.

special sets for special occasions?

oh absolutely. she has a few he knows mean something big. like the custom bengals orange and black lace one she wore after the win against the broncos—he nearly passed out. the white lace robe set she surprised him with on their first v-day, complete with a tiny gold charm of his number dangling from her bra? joe swears that one rewired his brain chemistry.

he keeps one photo of her tucked behind his phone case—a worn little polaroid of her in that set. the one that makes his mouth go dry and his brain go stupid. she’s standing in front of the mirror when he took it, head turned to look over her shoulder at him, lip caught between her teeth, hair a little messy like she’d just finished getting ready—and somehow, still, her eyes are soft. like she’s his, fully. like she wants him looking.

he took the photo half as a joke at first, all breathless and flushed from how good she looked, teasing her like, “i need proof in case i black out from how hot you are,” and then it wasn’t a joke. he slipped it into the back of his phone case that night, right behind an old movie stub from their 5th date (they did a double feature day with barbie and oppenheimer) she wrote “best night ever <3” on in blue pen. he says it’s for emergencies only, but he peeks at it more than he’d ever admit—when he’s traveling, when he misses her, when practice has him in a...mood, when he’s laying in bed alone and needs to feel close to her. sometimes he just stares at it. thumb brushing over the edge, lips twitching in a soft smile. she has no idea it’s still there. but he’d never take it out. not ever.

there’s a navy blue corset with sheer embroidered cups she saves for when he’s been away for a while—lets him slowly unlace it while she kisses down his jaw, and joe has said (direct quote): “i’d go celibate for three weeks again just to see you in this,” she also has a black satin baby doll type nightgown he calls “the end of me.” it’s floor-length, slitted up the thigh, and floats when she walks. he once stood still for a full sixty seconds just watching her cross the room in it.

does he keep them on or take them off?

depends. if he’s needy? they’re pushed to the side. panties barely tugged down, bra cups slipped just enough so the lace frames her tits while she bounces in his lap. he likes seeing it on her. seeing her all dressed up for him, knowing no one else gets to witness it. he’ll groan into her neck, panting something like “keep it on. fuck, baby, you look so good like this,”. but if he’s in his teasing mood—slow joe, smug joe? he’s taking his time peeling it off. inch by inch. dragging his calloused fingers along straps, unhooking things with his teeth, eyes never leaving hers. “wanted to unwrap you like this all day,” he’ll murmur while kissing every newly revealed inch of skin.

does he pick them for her?

sometimes. and it kills him. she’ll let him pick when he’s been especially good or if he’s feeling possessive—“show me what you want me in tonight, baby,” and he’ll pull out the tiny drawer where she keeps the good stuff, fingers already twitching. he picks deliberately—the ones with the most ties and hooks and sheer panels because he knows it’ll make her feel sexy and drive him out of his mind. he’s usually hard before she even puts it on. sits on the edge of the bed, head tipped back, jaw clenched, watching her like it’s a private show.

does she wear them around the house “just because”?

god yes. this is joe’s personal hell. she’ll be in the kitchen making breakfast in a matching dusty rose set with a floor-length silk robe and fluffy slippers like it’s nothing. robe tied just loose enough that he gets glimpses when she reaches for a mug. sometimes she’s in a white set so sheer he thinks it’s a dream. she’ll bend over to grab something and joe’s choking on his water like a teenage boy. “it’s hot today,” she’ll say, acting casual. meanwhile, joe’s silently begging god for strength. he tries to play it cool—sits on the couch, scrolls his phone—but five minutes later he’s yanking her down into his lap, fingers under her straps, growling against her collarbone. “you knew what you were doing. don’t play dumb now.”.

and the best part? she knows. songbird knows the effect she has. knows the way joe gets glassy-eyed and touchy and rough around the edges when she’s all dressed up in soft, delicate things. she’s weaponized lingerie. and joe? joe’s more than happy to be her helpless, aching, utterly obsessed victim. every single time.

how is the sex when she's in lingerie? same as her without it or is it different?

oh, it’s different. so different. when she’s in lingerie, the entire dynamic shifts. joe isn’t just having sex with his girl—he’s unraveling, starving, trying to worship something that feels too good to be real. lingerie turns joe into a man possessed. when she’s not wearing lingerie, the sex is soft and real and needy in a different way. she’s in his hoodie, fresh-faced, straddling him on the couch after a long day, kissing him like she missed him even if they’ve been together all day. it’s comforting, a little messy, full of “baby, I love you”s and “can’t get enough of you” whispered in between kisses and moans. he’ll eat her out lazily with his head between her thighs, one hand on her belly, the other holding her leg open while she tugs at his hair. it’s warm. familiar. the kind of sex that feels like home.

but when she’s in lingerie? no. no. it’s game over. it’s a performance, and joe shows up to play. his whole demeanor changes the second he sees her. breath catches. eyes darken. he’ll sit up straighter, jaw tense, his entire body wired with tension because how the fuck is he supposed to handle this? joe can barely think straight. it’s the kind of sex where he grabs her thighs and carries her to the bed. the kind where he mutters “you dressed up for me?” against her neck before biting just enough to make her shiver. and then? oh, then he takes his time.

he doesn't just rip the lingerie off—not at first. no, he plays with it. fingers grazing over the lace, lips dragging along every strap, watching her squirm because she knows he’s taking mental pictures. he’ll kiss over her hips, mouth her inner thighs, bite softly at the waistband of her panties without taking them off. he’s obsessed with the contrast—her in silk and lace, him on his knees, looking up at her like she’s a goddamn angel in disguise.

“stay just like that,” he’ll whisper when she tries to move. “i wanna take you apart like this,”. he likes fucking her through it. bra pushed up or down, garters still on, panties moved to the side because he wants her to feel how ruined she’s getting without letting her forget what she wore for him. he’ll growl things like, “this set’s gonna be ruined by the time i’m done with you,” or “you knew i wasn’t gonna be able to control myself,”.

it’s filthier. rougher. slower at first, but then he can’t help it—he gets so turned on by the sight of her in something he loves that he ends up fucking her harder. it’s intense. desperate. the kind of sex that leaves faint handprints and bite marks and lingerie tangled in the sheets by the time they’re finished.

and afterward? she’s still in the scraps of whatever piece she had on, chest rising and falling, lips swollen, and joe’s rubbing circles into her hips with the softest voice like, “you wanna keep that on for round two, or should i pick you something new?”.

he’s obsessed, and she knows it. lingerie sex isn’t just sex—it’s a whole damn experience. a power play. an art form. and joe is ruined by it, every time.

[prettyngeto]

signed, sealed, delivered (i'm yours) - 18+ [prologue]

sukuna x f!reader - series

summary: one night (and one wine bottle in), you decide to sign up for an anonymous pen pal programme at uni. sukuna was given two options - a therapist or a pen pal. you can guess which one he chose. only problem? you hated each other's guts in real life.

content: uni au, anonymous pen pals, academic rivals to lovers, slow burn, bad boy sukuna x fed up reader, forensic sciences student! sukuna, mutual pining masked as academic warfare, sukuna lashes out at everyone except her because yes... he's still a little shit though, eventual smut 🌚

main masterlist || jjk masterlist

series masterlist ⌯⌲ prologue ⌯⌲ chapter one (tba)

Dr Yumi Takahashi’s office smelt like oranges and vanilla - sweet and serene. Ryomen Sukuna hated it with every fibre of his being.

He sat slouched in the annoyingly comfortable seat across her desk, arms folded tight across his broad chest. His gaze scanned the room in quiet disdain before honing in on her baby blue blazer. Then lower - to the enamel pin on her lapel that read: ‘catch vibes, not viruses’. God help him. He fought the urge to scoff, lips curling, tongue flicking over his lip ring - a nervous habit disguised as irritation. The fabric of his black compression shirt stretched over solid muscle and tattooed skin as he shifted, itching to bolt out the door at any given moment.

“So, Ryomen,” Dr Takahashi began, voice eerily soft, placing her mug of lavender tea down to put on her signature pair of lime-green rimmed glasses. “Let’s talk about what happened in Professor Kimura’s class.” 

“I didn’t do shit,” he snapped.

“Language.” She chimed, eyes peeking up at him over the frame of her glasses disapprovingly whilst pointing to the poster behind her that read ‘No vulgar vocabulary!!’, complete with a smiley face in the corner. She opened a purple polka dotted file, RYOMEN SUKUNA, printed out in bold across the front.  

“Let’s get back to the issue at hand. You slammed a textbook so hard you cracked the desk Ryomen.” She paused, hands folded as she leaned forward. “You wanna tell me why?”

He scoffed, irritation growing once more. “He said I was wrong just because I didn’t cite his paper. Sue me for not wanting to kiss his academic ass. Besides, it’s not my fault he wrote a whole load of bullshit. I cited three other papers - all peer-reviewed by the way - was that not good enough for him?” 

Dr Takahashi blinked slowly. Calmly. Deadly. “You have anger issues, love.” 

“Tch, no shit.” He mutters, rolling his eyes. 

She remained silent, ignoring his quiet jab. She simply opened her drawer to pull out a floral folder, sliding it across the desk with the air of someone offering a dessert menu. “Two options.” She hummed, pushing her glasses up her nose, holding up her index finger. “Option one: therapy. Weekly anger management sessions. No exceptions.” 

Sukuna paled, mouth parting slightly in horror. Sit in a room with some shrink and talk about his feelings for the better part of the day? Fuck no. 

“…What’s the other option?” He muttered, tongue flicking out to tap at his lip ring again. 

She smiled. Sweet. Slightly sadistic. There wasn’t much that could scare Sukuna. But Dr Takahashi’s smile? Yeah, that shit made the list. 

She slid across a bright yellow pamphlet, a cartoon envelope taking up most of the page. “Option two: you join the university’s anonymous pen pal programme.” Her smile widened. “Organised by yours truly”

He balked. His eyes flicked up at her. Then at the leaflet. Then, back at her, squinting like she’d just asked him to scale Everest with a fucking toothpick. Hell, at this rate, he’d rather do that.

“You want me to write? Letters? To some fuckass stranger? Like it's 1725?”

“Writing is a powerful emotional outlet, Ryomen.” She explained, with the patience of a monk. “And it’s anonymous, no names, no faces. Just pure communication. I think it could do you some good.” 

“I refuse.” 

Her smile sharpened - no more softness, just pure sadism.

Sukuna shivered.

“Shall I book your first therapy session then?” she hummed, voice sickly sweet.

His eyes flitted back to the therapy form. He imagined someone staring at him, asking him: ‘And how did that make you feel?’ with faux sympathy. It made him want to punch a wall. Or maybe someone. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, seething silently, crimson eyes fixed on the stupid pamphlet.

“....Fine,” he muttered. “Give me the damn pen.”

A FEW HOURS LATER - 2AM, THE GIRLS' DORMS

You sat cross-legged against the headboard of your bed, laptop perched on your thighs as you took another swig of your wine bottle. Yes, bottle - because somewhere around your fourth sip, you decided glasses were beneath you. 

10 Things I Hate About You was playing for what was probably the millionth time in the background, when your laptop pinged. A new email? Who in their right mind was sending campus-wide emails at two in the fucking morning? 

I regret to inform you that curiosity (and alcohol) won this time - you open it.

“Not therapy. Not journaling. But a little bit of both.” ‘Dr. Y. Takahashi’s new wellbeing initiative—connect through anonymous letters!’ 

Well fuck… that was poetic, (according to your wine-hazy brain.)

Naturally, you did what anyone halfway through a bottle of Chardonnay and going through a quarter life crisis would do right now. You signed up.

ᯓ★ notes from star: IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS SERIES GUYS i'm cooking so hard, trust. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated and let me know if you wanna be in the taglist!! mwah <3

PRETTYNGETO© 2025 - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER SOCIAL PLATFORMS

[rosachae]

salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P1

PART ONE click for next part ⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: hello all! if you didn't already know, i hit the 1000 block on my initial post of this here and as such needed to cut a few scenes. so, to get everything out, i'll be splitting the original version into parts. this is part one of the 'saur cut'. ⁍ wc: 18.3k ⁍ warnings: mentions of death, violent depictions. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel never meant to fall for the most disciplined padawan in the temple—it just sort of happened. caught between duty and feeling, two jedi have to decide what they’re really willing to risk.

28 BBY

it was a time of peace in the galaxy. coruscant, the gleaming capital at the heart of the republic, thrived in harmony and precision. senators flowed through the grand halls of the galactic senate, their robes rustling like whispers of diplomacy. above the endless urban sprawl, air speeders traced luminous trails between towering spires, carrying citizens from one bustling sector to the next. and high above it all, quiet and watchful, stood the jedi temple.

but it wasn’t the temple’s architectural majesty that held importance that day, no. the galaxy’s quiet pulse beat a little louder somewhere less dignified. a single, fidgeting thirteen-year-old padawan lingered in a training room on sublevel five.

it was far too quiet for what megan skiendiel had in mind.

pale overhead lights hummed above her, casting long, sterile reflections on the polished floor. metal benches lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming from a fresh polish, and a single training droid stood powered down in the center of the sparring circle, its limbs folded neatly into standby. it wasn’t meant for solo sparring. it definitely wasn’t meant for unsupervised padawans. and it especially wasn’t meant for what megan was about to do.

she’d told herself it was harmless. five minutes. that’s all she had before master gun di came back from checking in with one of the temple instructors. he’d asked her–- specifically told her– to wait and do breathwork until he returned. focus your senses, megan. stay present. five minutes.

but five minutes felt like forever when you were thirteen and impatient and full of static in your bones.

megan bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, lightsaber hilt already warm in her palm. her beige robes, the standard-issue padawan kind with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbows, were creased from earlier drills and stained faintly at the knees. her boots were scuffed, and her padawan braid (always slightly crooked) slipped over one shoulder as she paced. her hair, freshly dyed orange despite her master's complaints, bounced slightly when she dropped into shii cho stance.

“alright,” she murmured to herself, thumb grazing the ignition. “just one round. quick match. no one has to know.”

with a sharp hiss of the sabers ignition, a bright blade flared to life. her saber, much like her master’s, homed a blue kyber crystal. the blue beam lit up the room and shrouded half of megan’s young face in its light. it hummed softly in the stillness, almost akin to that of a speeder's engine. across the room, the training droid lifted its head, sensors activating. it straightened into combat mode with a mechanical whir and stepped into the circle.

megan grinned, but she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that cemented itself on her chest. like she just knew everything was destined to go south before she could even bat her eyes. afterall, she didn’t have the greatest of track records. nonetheless, she bit back her doubts. she already came this far, so why stop now?

 “this is too easy,” she said, rolling her neck. “i could do this with my eyes closed.”

she wasn’t supposed to mess with the settings. but the override console was right there. she glanced back and forth between the training room's door and the placid droid before caving to her own impulses. she stepped to the panel and punched in a quick string of commands, fingers moving faster than they should. the console blinked red.

training override: safety protocols disabled.

her grin widened. “let’s make it interesting.”

the droid lunged.

megan reacted on instinct. her lightsaber snapped up in a clean arc, intercepting the first strike with a satisfying crack of plasma against metal. she twisted away from the follow-up, breath echoing off the walls. sharp, bright, and unbothered, her laughter ricocheted around the empty room. it was predictable. every movement telegraphed, every feint stiff and mechanical. she danced around its attacks with growing confidence, her form loosening, steps quick and daring.

 easy, she thought. i could do this all day.

if there was one thing to know about megan skiendiel, it was that she was reckless. impulsive. when she had her mind set on something, she would do everything in her power to get it done.  she preferred fighting to talking, action to meaningless words. perhaps that would be her greatest downfall.  she was an excellent saber duellist for her age, trained by perhaps the most skilled practitioners of the order. but, she was also clumsy. prone to mishap, however accidental.

in the fastest of seconds, everything changed.

without warning, the droid shifted out of its standard training sequence. its head snapped toward her with eerie precision, servos whining, and before she could recalibrate her stance, it dropped low and drove a carbon-fiber fist straight into her chest.

the impact was brutal.

air exploded from her lungs in a shocked wheeze. pain bloomed across her ribs as she flew backward, limbs flailing in open air for the briefest second before she hit the mat with a solid thud. her lightsaber slipped from her grip and skidded across the floor, disappearing beneath one of the benches in a flickering hiss of light.

for a second, all she could do was lie there. stunned, breathless, blinking up at the harsh glow of the overhead lights.

“okay! okay! too interesting!”

she scrambled up, robes tangled, padawan braid whipping in her face. a stun bolt singed the air an inch from her shoulder. the droid advanced again, heavy and fast. she dove for her saber, frantically trying to channel the force into summoning her hilt back into her hands. instead she sent her own saber flinging across the room, even further away.

panic started to rise in her throat, bitter and hot. she barely had enough time to roll out of the way of a deafening stomp before she reached again. this time when her hand outreached, her saber flew in her direction. her fingers brushed the hilt, just a second away from fully grasping it back in her hand. only she was too late. the droid grabbed it before she could and crushed it in its metal grip.

megan winced. that was her third saber this month alone.

without thinking, she turned and sprinted.

the door hissed open as she barreled into the hallway, heart pounding, boots echoing wildly against the stone.

“this is fine,” she panted, ducking around a column. “this is so fine.”

somewhere behind her, the droid followed. megan tore through the temple corridors like a comet, boots slapping the stone, braid half-undone.

“nope. nope nope nope,” she panted, whipping around a corner. “this is fine. this is fine!”

the droid clanked after her, relentless, firing low-powered stun bolts that sizzled against walls and statues alike. a bust of an ancient jedi, unknown to megan, exploded behind her in a shower of plaster.

“not my fault! that was not my fault!”

__

the jedi temple breathed in silence. 

sunlight spilled gently through the high windows, casting soft bands of gold across the stone corridors. this wing, the archives, was always hushed, even by temple standards. every step taken here felt like a whisper. the marble floors, worn smooth by centuries of robed feet, reflected the past more clearly than the present.

in a quiet alcove tucked between rows of towering data stacks, y/n sat cross-legged at a wide circular table, surrounded by datapads. five in total, each one activated, bookmarked, and carefully arranged in a meticulous arc that mirrored her focus. one hovered slightly above the others, its projection glowing faintly with lines of dense, formal high galactic.

she didn’t fidget. she didn’t shift. she just read, hands folded neatly in her lap.

the soft beige folds of her padawan robes pooled around her, crisp and precisely layered. the darker tabard beneath framed her small, composed figure like an anchor. her boots, immaculately clean, were tucked beneath the hem in perfect parallel. nothing was out of place. not in posture, not in breath.

her lightsaber sat at her belt, silent and untouched. the hilt was a masterwork of simplicity: silver and matte-black alloy, with a subtle curve to the emitter and a grip designed for balance, not flash. she’d crafted it herself last year, under the steady guidance of her master, tera sinube.

he wasn’t far.

somewhere deeper in the archives, sinube wandered the rows with his cane in hand, pausing now and then to examine a scroll or insert a quiet correction into the stacks. he didn’t hover. he never needed to. his presence, like his teaching, was felt in stillness.

he had once told her in that slow, deliberate tone of his, “knowledge guards even those who cannot guard themselves.” and she had taken it to heart, she truly did. the archives were her favorite place in the entire temple. here, there were no drills. no sparring. no noise. nothing to defend against, and nothing to prove. just the soft pulse of history and the gentle weight of thought. the kind of stillness that made it feel like the force itself was listening.

until the silence was broken. a loud bang! her head lifted. one of the datapads flickered. somewhere beyond the sealed archive doors, a loud metallic thunk broke through the silence. then another. and another. faster this time. louder. crash.

y/n blinked slowly, fingers resting lightly against her lap. she waited, anticipating whatever storm was awaiting them on the other side. soon enough her questions were answered.

the archive doors burst open with a hiss and a crash, echoing off the stone walls like a blaster going off. a blur of beige robes shot into the chamber, much like her own, as a short feminine figure stumbled into a skid. her boots shrieked against the marble as she nearly lost her footing.

“nonononono--”

the girl spun around and threw her full weight into the doors, slamming them shut. she stood panting, shoulders rising and falling, half-hidden behind a scorched sleeve.

y/n blinked in quiet disbelief.

the girl in front of her was also a padawan, about the same age. her robes were standard-issue, but looked like they’d been through a battlefield. one sleeve was half-burned, her tunic askew, the wide belt twisted. a thick scorch mark stretched across the front of her outer tunic. her braid, regulation-length but fraying at the ends, clung to her cheek.

she was flushed, breathless, and very clearly in deep trouble.

“…what did you do?”

megan looked up at y/n through her frazzled state and stopped breathing altogether. for a second, the world simply... muted. the pounding of her heart, the shouting down the corridor, the sparking hiss of a very angry training droid trying to override a door lock behind her. it vanished. all of it. just gone.

she almost wanted to slap herself. to open the door then and there and be consumed by the training droids fury. the emotions she felt in that moment were all too confusing. things she had never felt before over her thirteen years in this galaxy. y/n looked at her, and megan couldn’t help but stare back dumbly. 

where most people saw megan as a blur of motion, of noise and half-formed excuses, y/n’s gaze held steady. datapad lowered, brow lifted ever so slightly in calm, unreadable curiosity. no judgment. no immediate reprimand. just quiet, composed awareness. the kind that made megan feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to.

and force, she was beautiful.

the archive room was lit in soft, filtered panels overhead, dim by comparison to the training halls. but somehow, that only made her glow. shadows curved gently beneath her cheekbones, caught the faint sheen of light in her eyes. megan didn’t even know what color they were. just that they were the most incredible thing she’d ever seen.

her stomach flipped. then dropped. then did something complicated and probably against the jedi code.

because no one had warned her about this.

not in meditation, not in lectures. not in those long, meandering lessons about mindfulness. master gun di talked about being present, about listening to the force. but not about the way it could roar to life in your chest. not about the way it could stop time. not about the sudden, overwhelming certainty that something important--fated, maybe--was happening right now.

she was thirteen. filthy, bruised, still breathing hard from sprinting through four levels of the temple. her braid was half-undone, her sleeve singed, her saber broken and reduced to a heap of components behind her. and y/n? y/n looked like peace made real. steady. centered. like the quiet that came just after the chaos. and megan--megan was undone by her.

too late, she realized she was staring. wide-eyed. completely silent. and for the first time that day, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to say. it was because she didn’t trust herself to say anything at all.

nonetheless, her voice fell from her lips in an almost pained whimper.

"uh," she croaked, blinking. "i... might've... started something?"

a distant bang rattled the door behind her. megan flinched, but her eyes stayed locked on y/n’s. even through the smoke, even through the panic, one thing was suddenly, blindingly clear.

she was never going to forget this moment. not in a hundred years. not in a galaxy full of stars.

“technically,” the girl added after a beat, “nothing illegal.”

a low, mechanical clang echoed behind the doors. followed by another.

“you didn’t,” y/n said, eyes narrowing.

“it was an accident!”

a stun bolt blasted through the metal seam, striking the wall just centimeters from a rack of holopads. sparks flew. y/n flinched.

“you brought a live training droid into the archives?!”

“okay, chased, not brought, let’s not assign blame unfairly--”

the doors hissed open behind her. the droid stepped inside, towering and charred, red optics locked squarely on its target. servos clicked as it raised its arm. megan jumped in fright and created a large distance between herself and the door. she practically dove for a table, hiding herself behind it with a sheepish grin.

“uh--hey, you’ve got a lightsaber, right?” 

y/n hesitated for just a breath. just long enough to process the entire disaster unfolding in front of her. smoke curling under the doors. scorch marks on the archives’ usually pristine floor. a war-class training droid standing in the entrance like it owned the place. and crouched behind a table--grinning, hiding, looking entirely too pleased with herself--was megan skiendiel.

y/n knew who she was, of course. everyone did. she was the padawan with a reputation. chaos in a braid. the one who sparred too hard, talked too fast, asked too many questions, and broke things--constantly. she wasn’t bad, not really. just… a lot. and right now, she was very much a problem.

a problem who also happened to be--force help her--kind of stunning.

y/n hated that that was the first word that came to mind. but there it was, bubbling up against her better judgment. even with her robes scorched and twisted, hair frizzed and braid falling apart, megan practically glowed with adrenaline and mischief and something wild and bright that made her hard to look away from.

and now y/n was staring too.

only for a second, though. because the droid was still advancing. and this--this--was exactly the kind of thing she had not signed up for today. master sinube had left her with a stack of holopads, three hours of high republic archive review, and very specific instructions not to let herself get distracted.

and here came megan, all wide eyes and singed sleeves, crashing into her quiet corner of the temple like a walking, talking bombshell.

force, y/n thought, dragging in a breath, she’s going to get me in so much trouble.

but still--dammit--she stood. calmly. smoothly. as if she hadn’t just been handed a catastrophe wrapped in frayed robes and a crooked smile. she reached for the curved hilt at her belt and flicked it loose in one practiced motion. the green blade burst to life. she advanced with clean precision. the droid was far too distracted trying to hunt down the orange haired padawan. whatever string of code megan had entered into its computer, she made herself it’s only agenda.

three steps, then an upward arc of energy that sheared through the droid’s core. metal clattered to the ground as the droid sparked, stilling. y/n’s green blade dismembered it in one quick fluid motion. 

y/n deactivated her saber and clipped it back to her belt. just like that, it was over. she turned to megan, the other padawn peering out behind the table like a child. y/n couldn’t help but scowl.

“what were you thinking?” she asked sharply. “that droid could’ve hurt someone!”

“it wasn’t supposed to be that strong,” megan muttered, scratching the back of her neck as she brought herself out of hiding. “i might’ve turned off the safety settings. just for a second.”

y/n stared at her, stunned. “are you--”

a cough sounded from deeper within the archive. measured. ancient.

they both turned.

y/n felt herself pale. she completely forgot her master was still in the archives, loitering among the shelves. she immediately straightened her posture, shooting megan a very pointed, very displeased glance when the orange haired girl stood stupidly.

master tera sinube was seated in the shadows behind a low data terminal, his walking stick propped beside him, hands folded in his lap. his pale, wrinkled face regarded them with cool calm.

“a jedi,” he said softly, “does not act without reflection.”

y/n knew exactly what he was talking about. her master was a peacekeeper: a well read, wise, and old man of cosian descent. so much of their training together thus far had been him teaching her the importance of negotiation and diplomacy. y/n bowed her head.

 “my apologies, master. i should have attempted a nonviolent solution.”

“indeed,” sinube said, voice slow but firm. “while your action was swift, you could have tried a shutdown command, or--perhaps--addressed the matter before your blade was drawn.”

y/n nodded, chastened.

the doors behind them opened again, and in walked another figure. tall, broad-shouldered, with warm brown skin and sharp eyes. the iridonian’s horns was the first thing anyone saw, sharp.  megan turned, and her stomach flipped sideways. master gun di stepped into the archive like a shadow cast by order itself--tall, composed, his blue eyes scanning the wreckage with a quiet precision that made megan want to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. his presence was solid, always had been. not loud, not dramatic--just there. steady.

his gaze found her.

“…megan.”

she winced like she’d been physically struck. “master,” she said quickly, half-attempting to brush ash off her sleeve, failing miserably. “i was just--”

“testing your limits,” he finished, his voice level. not sharp. not angry. but not gentle, either. it was the tone he used when he was disappointed. which, somehow, was worse.

she hesitated. swallowed. “yes.”

gun di stepped closer, surveying the scorch mark on the floor, the still-smoking wall panel, the disabled training droid slumped in the corner.

then--he sighed.

it wasn’t a frustrated sigh. not exasperated, either. it was the kind of sigh megan had come to recognize over years of mistakes and sparring matches and long walks back to the temple infirmary. a sigh that meant he understood, even when he didn’t approve.

“i asked you for five minutes,” he said, finally looking down at her.

“i know,” she whispered.

“you lasted two.”

“i know,” she said again, voice smaller.

gun di studied her for a beat longer, then reached out and gently adjusted the fold of her scorched sleeve--his touch steady, grounding.

“you have potential, megan,” he said, soft but unwavering. “but you won’t find the edge of your limits by sprinting past every boundary.”

her throat tightened. “i just wanted to see if i could do it.”

“i know,” he said again--so calm, it made her chest ache. “but the force isn’t a thing to prove yourself to. it’s something you listen to. trust. that takes time.”

she nodded, staring down at the floor. her voice was barely audible. “sorry.”

he gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “we’ll talk more later.”

and somehow, despite the wreckage, despite everything, megan felt a little less like she’d failed. not completely.

gun di turned to sinube and offered a respectful bow. “master sinube. i regret the disturbance.”

sinube inclined his head. “a lesson was learned. though perhaps not the one either of them intended.”

“i’ll ensure it’s remembered,” gun di said. then his voice softened slightly. “she’s still learning.”

“as they all are,” sinube murmured.

when gun di turned toward the doors, sharing a brief bow with the man who was once his mentor, megan fell into step behind him at his very pointed stare. she stole one last glance over her shoulder.

y/n stood in the soft library light, saber clipped back at her belt, datapad tucked under one arm. she wasn’t saying anything. just watching. in that brief moment, their eyes met. just a moment. just long enough for the breath to catch in megan’s throat again, for her steps to falter.

y/n’s expression was unreadable. still and composed, like always. but something had shifted in the way she looked at her. a curiosity, maybe. or a question not yet asked.

megan didn’t look away. not this time.

she followed her master out of the archive, heart thudding unevenly in her chest--and every step echoed with the same thought, over and over again. force help her, she was in trouble. the real kind. the kind with pretty eyes and a calm voice and the ability to throw her completely off balance without lifting a finger.

and megan had never wanted anything more.

silence reclaimed the archives like a long exhale after chaos. the datapads flickered softly. the air still carried the faint scent of scorched metal. master sinube shifted only slightly where he sat--his long robes unmoving, his cane resting beside him like a third limb. his ancient, pale eyes remained half-closed, his breath slow and even.

“impulse,” he said, as if to the air itself, “is the first hurdle every padawan must learn to weigh. to leap before reflection… is to fall.”

y/n bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment. her hands settled over the datapad in her lap, but she didn’t look at it yet. not right away.

she let the silence settle fully this time. let the hum of the archive systems smooth the edges of her pulse. and still--somewhere in the back of her mind, the sound of skidding boots and wild breath echoed on repeat. that girl had been chaos in its purest form. loud. reckless. impossible to ignore. and she had left a mark.

y/n didn’t think she’d ever forget her.

not anytime soon.

22 BBY

megan skiendiel was not great at meditating.

she could stand on one hand for an hour. she could break apart and rebuild a lightsaber blindfolded. she could land a stun bolt on a moving target from fifty meters out. but ask her to sit still in a quiet room and “reach for inner stillness,” and her brain went sideways faster than a speeder in a rainstorm. today, it was especially hopeless.

she was lying flat on her back in the sublevel seven sparring chamber, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. it didn’t. it just buzzed softly overhead, humming its low, mechanical hymn under rows of white panels. familiar. quiet. annoyingly peaceful--unlike her.

her heart had been pounding for thirty-two minutes.

six years. six years since the archives. six years since a training droid nearly flattened her, and a girl with impossibly steady hands and an even steadier voice deflected it like it was nothing. six years since that same girl levelled her with frazzled eyes, as if  megan was the real hazard in the room. eyes that lived in megan's mind everyday, the only thing she saw when she tried to sleep at night.

and somehow, she still hadn’t shut up about it. not out loud. that would’ve been embarrassing, no. she knew better than to be open with her confusing emotions, especially as a jedi. she kept it all up here: spinning circles in her brain like a malfunctioning astromech. 

y/n this. y/n that. y/n, the picture-perfect padawan. calm, brilliant, controlled. she hadn’t seen her since they were thirteen, but the memory had only grown sharper with time. her saber technique. her clipped, unimpressed tone. the way her robes sat just so as if the Force had ironed them for her.

megan groaned into the silence and covered her face with both hands.

she didn’t even know what it was that got to her. maybe it was the reputation. the way people talked about y/n like she was everything a padawan should be. always composed. always polite. good with younglings. a favorite of the council. the kind of jedi who probably meditated voluntarily.

and then there was megan: late to morning lessons. always moving too fast. laughed too loud. probably had crumbs in her robes. a walking ball of kinetic energy and half-formed thoughts. gun di liked to say her mind burned brighter than most. sometimes she wondered if that was just a kind way of saying chaotic.

part of her was jealous of y/n. the other part--traitorous, ridiculous--just wanted to see her again.

would she still be that calm? would her voice still make megan feel five inches tall? would she still be as pretty?

megan’s ears burned.

“this is not the jedi way,” she muttered to herself.

“correct.”

megan yelped, scrambling upright. master gun di stood a few feet away, hands behind his back, expression unreadable. he’d been there long enough to hear more than she wanted.

“master,” she said, trying to sound calm. it came out somewhere between sheepish and strangled.

“you’re fortunate i didn’t attack. lying in the middle of a training room is a poor defensive posture.”

“i was--uh--meditating.”

he raised one dark brow. “with commentary?”

“it’s a… new method.”

gun di stepped closer, his voice quiet. “you’ve read the briefing.”

she nodded, trying not to fidget. she’d read the file debrief her master sent her at least ten times over the very minute it chimed on her datapad. 

“we’re being assigned to senator avanzini. we will be stationed on her homeworld, polaris minor, for extended protection detail.”

“and?”

“and we won’t be alone.” 

gun di tilted his head slightly. at this point he could read his padawan like a book, even without her voicing whatever was on her mind. he levelled her a knowing look, probing. 

megan exhaled. she knew what he was after. she rocked on the balls of her feet, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “and… y/n’s coming.”

silence stretched. she kept her eyes on the floor.

“do you feel ready?” he asked.

“of course,” she said, too fast. then again, quieter. “i mean… i don’t know.”

she finally looked back at her master with a sigh. she continued after a beat. 

 “i haven’t seen her since we were thirteen. but i’ve heard about her. a lot. she’s… perfect. basically. and i guess--maybe--i’ve been thinking about her too much. which is dumb. i know it’s dumb.”

gun di’s voice was low and steady. “attachment is not a crime. but it is dangerous.”

megan winced.

“you are not in trouble,” he continued. “but i must remind you, megan. we do not serve our feelings. we serve the Force.”

she nodded, ashamed.

“emotions are natural,” he added. “but you must observe them. understand them. not let them dictate your path. whatever thoughts you are having about this girl--”

“i’m not--” she tried.

“--must be examined carefully,” he finished. “because if left unchecked, they will grow into something else. and that path leads to fear. to obsession. to loss.”

she looked down. “i didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“few ever do.”

he paused, then gentled his tone. “you are strong in the Force. you are reckless, yes--but your heart is good. which is why you must guard it fiercely. especially now.”

“…yes, master.”

“this mission will test you. it will test your discipline. your composure. and i expect you to meet that test with clarity.”

“even if she’s still pretty?” megan muttered before she could stop herself.

gun di sighed. “especially if she is.”

megan groaned into her hands. “i hate everything.”

“good,” he said, turning for the exit. “it means you know right from wrong.”

and she followed him, footsteps heavy, heart somehow heavier still.

she was going to see y/n again.

if she wasn’t careful, she’d come apart. she knew it already. 

__

the very moment their t-6 shuttle emerged from hyperspace above the system of polaris major, megan felt her mouth open slightly ajar. even as the shuttle descended towards one of it’s two moons, polaris minor, she was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the moon above orbit. 

from orbit, polaris minor shimmered in cool tones. deep slate-blue oceans curling around pale green highlands, with long ribbons of mist trailing over the mountain spines. the clouds never fully cleared, shifting in soft layers of silver and gray, veiling the surface in a constant, gentle motion. it was a quiet looking world. private. self contained. like it had no interest in being watched. it almost reminded megan of alderaan, a planet she had only visited once before. 

the air on polaris minor was crisp, touched by the scent of damp stone and pale wildflowers that grew between flagstones. rain fell often on this moon, master gun di had told her on the journey over. it was never harsh, but steady. the city itself was carved into the highlands, all sweeping arches and glass-covered walkways, gleaming softly beneath the low clouds. from the landing platform, the peaks beyond looked blurred at the edges, softened by mist and the gentle hush of falling water.

megan descended the transport ramp slowly, hood pulled halfway up. her padawan braid clung to her cheek, still damp from the shuttle, and her fingers tightened around the strap of her gear bag like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. her new robes, deep navy with a dark maroon tabbard, clung heavier than she was used to. different weight, different cut. nothing like the light, standard-issue tan she used to wear as a child. back when her hair had been bright orange and she hadn’t thought twice before jumping headfirst into chaos.

now her hair was brown. her natural color. like her master had once said--you’re allowed to change your mind. it’s how you know you’re growing.

but force, the second she saw her, every ounce of that grown-up composure unraveled.

y/n stood at the far end of the platform beside senator avanzini, back straight, chin lifted, calm as ever. the same beige robes as always, but they fit her differently now. tailored, refined, like the force had smoothed every line until it all settled just right. her sleeves curved neatly at her wrists, the hem resting perfectly against the wind. the kind of quiet elegance that didn’t ask for attention, just commanded it.

her presence hadn’t changed. still centered. still unshakable. but something about her was sharper now. older. as if time had been kind to her in ways it rarely was to anyone else.

y/n turned, and their eyes met.

megan’s breath caught, too fast and too high in her chest. she felt the old jolt--sharp and immediate, like a saber brush against bare skin. all at once, her body remembered everything her mind had tried to forget. the archives. the droid. the way y/n had looked at her back then; cool, unreadable, and somehow still the only person in the entire temple who ever really saw her.

and now? she looked at megan the same way.

megan gritted her teeth, tried to stand taller, straighter. she was still a padawan, and admittedly just as (if not even more) reckless. but she was different now. she’d grown. she’d changed. her robes were darker, her steps quieter, her saber steadier. but standing there, staring at y/n across the platform, she still felt like a girl with soot on her sleeves and her heart beating too fast in her throat.

because the truth was, she never really stood a chance. not then. not now. y/n was everything megan had never been able to touch without setting herself on fire. on one hand, y/n made her feel small. inferior. like everything she did was half-formed chaos next to her well-measured calm. on the other hand, megan wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone so pretty in her life.

and gods, she’d never stopped loving her.

“you’re thinking too loudly,” master gun di murmured beside her.

megan startled, yanking her gaze away. “what?”

he gave her a look. the kind that said i’ve known you since you were twelve. don’t lie to me.

“whatever that expression is,” he said quietly, “you might want to lose it before you approach the senator.”

megan huffed, tugging her cloak tighter around herself. “it’s not an expression.”

“no?” his voice was light, teasing. “looked like a crisis of identity to me.”

“i’m fine,” she muttered. “i’m… just surprised to see her.”

gun di raised a brow. “surprised?”

“not like--okay, not surprised. i knew she’d be here, obviously. it’s just--she looks--”

“focused,” he offered. “disciplined. well-prepared.”

megan frowned. “smug.”

gun di didn’t laugh. he didn’t smile, either. instead, he touched her elbow gently and spoke with quiet weight. 

“padawan. remember what we talked about.”

megan’s heart sank.

“i know.”

“attachments lead to fear. fear leads to impulse. you can respect her. you can even admire her. but you must not allow those feelings to cloud your duty.”

megan stared down at her boots, rainwater pooling around the soles.

“i won’t,” she said. but it sounded like a lie.

gun di, mercifully, said nothing more. he gave her a nod, and together they stepped forward to meet the senator and the girl megan had spent six years trying--and failing--not to think about.

senator daniela avanzini was far younger than megan expected.

she couldn’t have been much older than herself. she stood with practiced poise, her skin soft and luminous beneath the clouded polaris sky. her robes shimmered in the light, thin silk layered in sweeping tones of violet, edged in silver. a golden circlet crowned her head, half hidden beneath a fall of dark brown curly hair. her eyes, a beautiful shade of hazel brown, watched them approach patiently. despite her youth, there was a quiet steel in her eyes, the kind that came from surviving too many senate sessions. if megan wasn’t far too enamoured by the jedi flanking her, maybe she would’ve combusted on the spot. daniela avanzini had no business being so pretty for a senator, megan decided. 

she greeted gun di first, nodding with the ease of someone used to jedi company.

“master gun di,” she said graciously. “your presence is most appreciated. the threats we’ve received are credible and unsettling. i’m relieved the council responded so swiftly.”

“the honor is ours, senator,” gun di replied, bowing at the waist. “we are at your service.”

then her gaze shifted to megan. megan straightened. bowed. tried to remember how arms were supposed to hang.

“padawan megan skiendiel,” gun di said, with a hand on her shoulder. “she will assist me on this mission.”

daniela’s smile was kind. a little tired. “well met, padawan skiendiel.”

 then she turned to y/n.

“and of course,” she said warmly, “padawan y/n has already proven invaluable. i have felt much safer since she arrived.”

megan’s stomach twisted. right. y/n was here without master sinube.

no chaperone. no guiding hand. no quiet, hovering presence to correct her form or recite temple scripture or nudge her back on track when she got distracted by a butterfly or a cute girl.

megan tried not to sulk. she really did.

but y/n stood there with that perfect stillness, like she’d always belonged on important missions with important people. and megan--well, megan still had her master hovering three paces behind, just in case she said something embarrassing or accidentally force-tripped on a staircase.

and worse--worse than the jealousy, worse than the sudden jolt of inadequacy--was the fact that y/n still hadn’t said anything.

not a ‘hi, a nice to see you again’, not even a ‘wow, didn’t think they’d send you, of all people.’

just that cool, unreadable gaze. arms tucked into her sleeves. serene. unimpressed. megan wanted to punch a wall. or maybe throw herself off one of the spaceport bridges.

gun di, ever the diplomat, stepped in again.

“shall we escort you to the capitol, senator?”

“of course,” daniela said. “we’ve arranged accommodations for your stay. and i believe my staff has a full briefing prepared once we arrive.”

she turned toward the waiting transport, and everyone followed. y/n falling into step beside the senator, megan a little too close behind, and gun di trailing silently at her back like a shadow.

rain slicked the cobblestones. the clouds above swirled low and heavy.

__

the first week was… rough. megan had thought maybe y/n would ease into things. maybe the ice would crack. maybe they’d fall into that easy banter she always imagined in the quiet hours of temple dormitories, when she couldn’t sleep and her brain wandered places it probably shouldn’t.

but y/n was distant. polite. professional. maddeningly calm.

megan, in comparison, was a tornado. a fidgeting, quipping, restless storm of limbs and noise and too much energy that had nowhere to go. she poked and teased and made dumb jokes when no one laughed. she tripped over her words, her robes, her own feet. she tried to impress daniela’s guards by juggling datapads and got scolded when one cracked on the floor. gun di cleared his throat behind her at least three times a day.

“maybe don’t throw things in government buildings, padawan.”“maybe speak when you have something to say, not just anything.”“maybe just… breathe.”

he didn’t sound angry. never did. just patient. always patient. endlessly, frustratingly calm in the way only a jedi master could be after years of watching his disaster of a padawan try to sneak sugar cubes out of the mess hall or hide tooka kittens in the dormitories.

still, megan caught the way he sighed behind her back. the way he pinched the bridge of his nose during her third attempt at distracting y/n with an unsolicited force-powered pebble duel during a senate security briefing. y/n, of course, didn’t even blink. just kept taking notes on her datapad like she didn’t notice the pebble ricochet off her shoulder and straight into her tea.

megan almost screamed.

she didn’t want to be mad at her. she didn’t even know why she was mad at her. well. that wasn’t entirely true.

maybe it was the way y/n never cracked. never stumbled. never got yelled at or fidgeted in meetings or said the wrong thing at the wrong time. maybe it was how effortlessly she moved through rooms full of important people, how she listened without interrupting and bowed without tripping and made being a padawan look like something noble instead of… whatever mess megan was.

or maybe it was the way y/n’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long when she thought megan wouldn’t notice. megan always did. 

one particular night near the end of the first week, megan found herself wandering the halls of the polaris palace. the last thing she expected was to run into the very girl who had consumed her thoughts relentlessly.

the courtyard was quiet, save for the low hum of distant traffic weaving through polaris minor’s capital. high above, the second moon orbiting polaris major cast silver light over the polished stone floor, still damp from the day’s earlier rain. vines clung to the outer pillars, and small droplets clung to their leaves, catching the moonlight like glass.

y/n stepped into the open space with her hands clasped behind her back, her boots clicking softly against the tile. she took a long breath in. held it. let it go.

it was late. senator avanzini had retired for the evening, and the guard rotation was stable. megan was off patrol for once, probably off being… whatever she always was. loud. kinetic. a little too much. which was fine. y/n didn’t need distractions. not that night.

she reached for the hilt at her belt and ignited her saber with a quiet hiss. the green blade hummed to life, throwing soft light across her robes. she began to move. carefully. deliberately.

form iii: soresu.

the movements were circular. tight. inward-focused. she traced the patterns master sinube had shown her from holorecordings. deflect, retreat, reposition. let the enemy wear themselves down. he’d offered to find her an instructor. someone who could guide her through the form properly, step by step. but y/n had declined, perhaps too quickly. she didn’t need help. she just needed time. practice. discipline.

she turned, lifted her saber again, parried an invisible blow from the side, just to falter. again. too wide. too slow. y/n exhaled through her nose, shoulders tense. she reset her stance, gripping the hilt tighter than she should.

she wasn’t a bad student. she was precise, focused, diligent. she excelled in strategy, in ethics, in diplomacy. but this? this she had to work at. the only problem was that there wasn’t time anymore. rumor had reached them that morning--quiet, unconfirmed, passed between guards on break--that there’d been another attack. this time, a senator from naboo. details were thin. y/n didn’t know the name, and she didn’t ask. it wasn’t her assignment. her mission was daniela.

concentrate, she told herself.

the saber hissed through the air again. another parry. another falter. she bit the inside of her cheek.

“tighten your elbow.”

y/n turned sharply, saber still raised. the sound of the familiar voice had her internally rolling her eyes. the familiar voice belonged to the very chinese girl who seemed to make it her personal goal of annoying y/n at any possible chance she got. she was insufferable. loud. cocky, despite all of her clumsy mishaps.

megan stood in the archway, arms crossed, shoulder leaning casually against the stone. her expression was unreadable, somewhere between amusement and challenge.

“you’re dropping your left arm too much in the second sweep,” she added. “you’re exposing your entire side.”

y/n frowned. “i didn’t ask for commentary.”

“you didn’t have to,” megan said, stepping into the courtyard. “the form did the talking.”

y/n extinguished her saber with a tight flick. “shouldn’t you be on rest rotation?”

“i was.” megan’s boots tapped lightly on the stone as she approached. “couldn’t sleep.”

of course she couldn’t.

megan never stayed still for long. even now, y/n could feel the energy radiating off her--barely contained, like lightning in a bottle. her new robes, darker than the ones she’d worn as a padawan, gave her a sharper silhouette. the navy-blue tunic fit close across her frame, offset by the deep maroon tabbard hanging loose down the front. grown-up armor. she looked older. calmer. but she was still very much herself.

“you’re trying soresu?” megan asked, gesturing toward the saber hilt in y/n’s hand.

y/n nodded stiffly. “master sinube recommended it.”

“and you didn’t ask for help?”

“i don’t need it,” y/n replied, a touch too fast.

megan tilted her head. “mm. maybe. but it’s a lot to teach yourself from holos. i could help you, you know.”

“i learn better alone.”

“clearly,” megan said, glancing at the puddle where y/n had almost slipped two minutes ago.

y/n narrowed her eyes. “what are you trying to say?”

“just offering a duel,” megan said with an easy shrug. “practice, if you’re serious about improving.”

“you use djem so. that’s not comparable.”

“sure it is. you want to learn to defend? learn what you’re defending against.”

y/n hesitated. that was all the confirmation megan needed.

this was her chance. the first real opportunity she had to spend time alone with the girl. it made her feel giddy. megan took a step closer, questioning.

“come on. one round. you might even like it.”

y/n stared at her. at the glint in her eye. the cocky tilt of her mouth. everything about her was the opposite of restraint. and yet, there was something honest in the offer. something warm beneath the bravado. something that had her heart fluttering in her chest despite all of the warning signals which blared within her, telling her to relax and let go.

but then y/n sighed.

she turned the hilt once in her hand, thumb brushing the ignition. the green blade hummed to life, casting a soft glow across the damp courtyard floor.

"fine," she said, not quite meeting megan's eyes. "one round."

one turned into two. then three.

their sabers moved like light and shadow through the courtyard, green and blue clashing in sharp arcs. the mist from earlier rains still clung to the stone, gathering in the dips between tiles. megan’s strikes came strong and sure, each one deliberate, clean. she wasn’t rushing, but she didn’t hesitate either. it was a rhythm y/n couldn’t quite match. y/n tried to keep her footing, tried to remember everything she’d studied. keep the blade close. circle. deflect. conserve.

but megan never gave her the room. every time y/n tried to reset her stance, the next blow was already coming. her wrist twisted back to parry, arms shaking from the pressure.

"you’re clenching again," megan said, breath even. "you’re locking your wrist."

"i’m aware."

"you sure? because you keep doing it."

y/n parried hard, their sabers sparking between them. “djem so isn’t the answer to everything.”

"it’s better than standing around waiting to get hit."

"djem so is brute force."

"no, it’s control. just not the slow kind like soresu."

y/n stepped back to breathe, saber raised. her chest rose and fell, sweat starting to gather at her temples. she felt the ache already forming in her shoulders. she hated that megan made it look easy. hated the way her feet barely seemed to touch the stone when she moved. hated, most of all, how beautiful she looked in motion.

not that she hadn't wondered before.

since they were kids, megan had carried that edge of chaos like it was part of her uniform. there were stories, passed from padawan to padawan in quiet corners of the temple--half-whispers, muffled laughter, always a little incredulous. one in particular that always stuck with y/n was rumors of a duel with grandmaster yoda that left her and another padawan, manon, in the medbay for a week. 

people didn’t mock her for it. they told the stories with awe. with admiration. megan didn’t ask for permission--she just was. bold. relentless. unapologetically herself.

y/n had never admitted how much she admired that. not aloud. not even to herself. but she remembered the way those stories stuck in her mind long after the laughter faded. she remembered thinking it took a different kind of strength to burn that brightly and not be afraid of who saw it.

she hadn’t seen megan since that day in the archives when they were children. not in person. but the stories had always found her. and she’d never doubted them, not for a second. because some part of her already knew they were true.

and now that presence, fierce, unyielding, real, was no longer just a story. it was here. in front of her. and it was aimed directly at her.

megan feinted left, then pivoted sharply. y/n caught the motion too late, stumbled over a slick patch near the edge of the garden tiles. her foot slipped and she lost balance.

megan lunged forward on instinct, reaching to catch her, but y/n’s momentum pulled her down too. they hit the stone in a tangle of limbs, breath knocked from both their chests. megan’s hands landed on either side of y/n’s shoulders, pinning her in place.

they froze.

the moonlight made y/n’s face glow. her braid was mussed from the fall, lips parted just slightly. her saber had rolled out of reach. her eyes locked on megan’s, surprised. breathless.

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just looked at her, heart thudding hard against her ribs.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly. without irony. without defense.

y/n blinked. once.

for a moment, the courtyard might as well have disappeared. there was only the space between them, charged and thin. megan wasn’t laughing. she wasn’t trying to win anything. she just meant it.

y/n's fingers curled slightly against the tile. her eyes flicked away. she nudged megan off of her and sat up slowly, brushing her palms on her robes.

"don’t say that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"why not?"

"because we are jedi."

megan didn’t answer. she knew what she meant instantly. the jedi code lived in their minds like a mantra that confined them. y/n didn’t wait for her to respond. she stood, collected her saber, and turned away. her shoulders were square. her steps steady. but something in her chest felt pulled taut.

behind her, megan stayed on the ground, watching her walk into the night. the air felt colder without her in it. she let her head fall back and groaned.

__

the second week was even worse. they didn’t talk about what happened in the courtyard.

megan hadn’t expected anything to change. if anything, she was afraid she’d said too much. afraid that her words had cracked something too fragile to fix. maybe she’d ruined the awkward, unspoken friendship they were just starting to build. maybe she’d imagined it was even that much.

truthfully, y/n didn’t know what to expect either. when she walked away from megan that night, her chest was so tight it felt like her ribs might snap. sinube’s teachings echoed in her head with every step. 

still, nothing had happened. no attempts on senator avanzini’s life, no signs of escalation. just long patrols, security briefings, and shared silence. enough quiet to pretend nothing had shifted between them.

but y/n still felt it.

the council chamber wasn’t grand, not by coruscant standards. but it held a particular polaris elegance. tall windows, soft indigo light, a long table of polished stone that caught the glow of the overcast sky. rain tapped gently against the glass panes. it was all very calm. very quiet. y/n stood near the head of the room, just behind master gun di, who was mid-briefing via holocall. master sinube’s translucent form flickered steadily atop the console beside them, nodding slowly as updates rolled in.

“--security rotation has doubled,” gun di said, voice measured. “no direct threats since the transmission intercept. but we’re not taking chances.”

y/n stood still, hands folded behind her back. she tried to focus, she truly did. but she couldn’t. she felt so unlike herself. she felt so alien in her own mind and body, and it all started the very moment megan waltzed back into her life. 

her gaze kept drifting.

at the far end of the chamber, megan was laughing. senator avanzini stood close, her hand lightly resting on the back of megan’s chair as they looked over a shared datapad. something about a travel schedule. megan said something quick and half-mocking, and daniela threw her head back in laughter. her hand brushed megan’s shoulder on the way down, lingered for half a second longer than it needed to.

y/n’s chest went tight. her jaw clenched before she could stop it.

it was stupid. it was nothing. just a senator appreciating her guard. megan was charismatic, impulsive, ridiculous--and people liked her for it. of course they did. but still, y/n couldn’t help but taste bile rising in her throat as she watched them.

she wanted to pinch herself. to slap herself silly, and wake herself from whatever resentment she felt in that moment. but she just couldn’t help it. afterall, it wasn’t even two days ago that megan had called her beautiful. her heart was beating at a million miles per minute. all of sinube's teachings echoed through her mind. she felt dirty. wrong. all she had done, everything she had learned as his padawan, she could feel it slipping the more time she spent  in megan's orbit. 

they had a code to abide by. and yet, megan calling her beautiful made her vision foggy. the way megan looked at her, those brown eyes deep and sensitive, as if she was at the center of her world in that very moment– it made y/n swallow. she was confused. completely and utterly perplexed. these were unfamiliar emotions. each one just as dangerous as the next.

and now she was here, watching as megan laughed like nothing had happened. she knew it was silly. she was the one who walked away, afterall. left megan by herself in the courtyard to pick up whatever pieces of her dignity she’d left broken. but it bothered her nonetheless.

 how could she pretend like the courtyard hadn’t shifted anything between them? like y/n hadn’t lain awake two nights in a row trying not to think about the look in her eyes?

she felt as if she was thirteen all over again, staring at a reckless, infuriating girl who made her feel like the floor was moving.

“you’re distracted,” master sinube said softly, his voice gravelly through the holodevice. y/n knew he was talking to her almost immediately. sinube always had a way of knowing when something was amiss, even when they were many moons apart.

y/n flinched. her eyes snapped back to the holocall. “apologies, master.”

“hm,” sinube murmured. he didn’t sound upset. just observant. “the force is loud today.”

gun di gave y/n a brief glance in the corner of his eye but said nothing.

the briefing wound down soon after. daniela thanked the jedi for their vigilance, gun di bowed, the holocall faded. the others dispersed in quiet pairs, datapads tucked under arms.

but y/n stayed rooted in place. she wasn't even entirely sure why she felt so bothered. senator  avanzini was a lovely, intelligent, well meaning woman. and yet her smile didn’t reach her eyes when the senator passed, a friendly expression etched across her young face. 

y/n thought her smile was believable. nothing out of the ordinary. nothing worth batting an eyelash about. 

but of course, megan noticed. she always did. 

megan doubled back as the room emptied, feet light against the tile, expression unreadable. she stayed silent for a moment as gun di motioned for them to follow him, and she didn’t miss the way y/n seemed to stiffen at her mere presense. she didn’t bother hiding the look of confusion fighting its way across her face. 

they hadn’t truly spoken since their duel. if anything, they almost seemed to avoid eachother. y/n, in her emotionally guarded way. and megan in a way meant to respect her wishes. and yet, here they found themselves now: megan trying desperately to decipher the aura surrounding the other girl. 

“you good?” she finally asked, tone deliberately casual. low but loud enough for only the two of them to hear. 

y/n didn’t answer. she simply let her feet carry her as they followed gun di, his strides purposeful. she wasn’t too sure where they were heading, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. megan’s words hung through the silence. it’s not like she pointedly meant to ignore her. truthfully, she just didn’t know what to say. some part of her almost felt petty. 

megan squinted at her after a beat. “you’ve been weird all week. is it because of the courtya-?.”

“i haven’t.” y/n cut her off before she could even mention it, voice a little sharper than intended. 

of course it’s about the courtyard, she so desperately wanted to say. but she didn’t. she couldn’t. 

megan sighed. she folded her arms as she walked alongside y/n. “you have. don’t make me list examples.”

y/n finally looked at her. that familiar padawan braid, the smirk that always danced around her mouth like it lived there. the same look she’d worn in the archives years ago. the same one she wore in the courtyard. but softer, now. less teasing. more curious.

but perhaps that was her undoing. 

in the split second her eyes met megan’s, megan was able to detect every minute emotion she felt in that very moment. it was almost scary how easily she could do it. how within the short amount of time they’ve been around each other, megan somehow just knew how to read her. a flash of recognition crossed her face, then confusion, and then something unrecognisable. 

megan’s hand reached out to gently grasp y/n’s elbow, effectively pulling them both to a stop in the long hallway. she pulled her to the side, waiting for gun di’s figure to disappear behind a corner (unaware they were no longer trailing him). and then she spoke. her voice was quiet, tentative, gentle. 

“you’re jealous.” she deadpanned, not quite a question.

y/n felt her ears burn. she instinctively yanked her elbow out of megan’s grip, crossing her arms over her chest.  

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

y/n stood stiffly, weighing her thoughts in her head. she opened and closed her mouth, searching for the right words. and then she settled on the few she wished she could take back immediately. a confirmation of megan’s suspicions. 

“it’s unprofessional. we’re here to protect the senator, not flirt with her.”

“i wasn’t flirting,” megan said. “we were going over her travel logs.”

“you were touching.”

“she touched me.” megan leaned in, voice dropping slightly. “do you always get this jealous, or am i special?”

y/n turned sharply, but megan frowned. 

“look,” she said, voice quieter now if possible. “if you want to pretend the courtyard didn’t happen, fine. i’ll follow your lead. but don’t get mad at me for doing my job.”

y/n stared at her. her mouth opened. then closed again.

megan didn’t press. just tilted her head and added, “why are you so bothered anyway? i thought being a jedi meant more than that to you.”

“did you mean it?” yn found herself asking. her insecurity was laid bare. 

megan didn’t need to ask her what she meant. she just knew. 

megan looked at her. truly looked at her. as if it was the silliest question known to man, like the answer was as simple as asking for the time. second nature. a fact. 

“i will always mean it.”

she turned and walked away before y/n could respond.

and force, y/n hated how much her heart stuttered.

neither of them had said a word in the following days. by the end of the second week, their tension had started to grate on everyone. the senator’s guards were eyeing them with thinly veiled suspicion. daniela herself had gently suggested they “perhaps find a moment to align their strategies.” gun di had started making megan meditate twice a day just to get her to sit still.

megan lasted three minutes before falling asleep in lotus pose. but then something shifted.

it happened on a rainy afternoon, high above the city in one of daniela’s quieter chambers, when megan found herself alone with y/n once again. no masters. no senator. no guards. just the hum of distant thunder and the two of them, seated on opposite ends of a narrow bench, pretending to read through patrol rotations.

megan tapped her stylus. then her knee. then the bench.

“are you always like this?” she blurted.

y/n didn’t look up. “like what?”

“all stiff and perfect and… and cold.”

there was a pause. then y/n slowly lowered her datapad. “are you always this loud?”

megan’s jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

“okay, wow.” she folded her arms. “i see you’ve been spending time with the senator’s security detail. they’re rubbing off on you.”

“they’re professionals.”

“they’re boring.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“you’re--!”

silence. they stared at each other. megan could hear her heart thudding behind her ribs, quick and loud and embarrassing.

“you always do that,” she muttered.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “do what?”

“make me feel inferior. do you get some kind of kick out of it while you’re sitting on that high horse of yours?”

y/n, for the first time in probably forever, felt her composed facade crack. her eyebrows knitted together, a deep furrow cementing itself across her face. she shook her head and peered at megan with incredulous eyes. 

“you’re impossible, did you know that? so uncivilised, and rough, and meandering.” she trailed off for a second, clicking her tongue against her cheek. 

megan wanted to jump in, to defend herself, anything. however y/n’s next words stop her. 

y/n scoffed an empty laugh, humorless. the fire in her eyes was replaced by something tired. “do you even realize how lucky you are?”

this time it was megan’s turn to frown. she tilted her head. “lucky?”

“yeah. lucky.” y/n’s shoulders visibly deflate. “you come in with all your noise and your laughter and your questions and your… your everything. and suddenly everything feels louder. harder to ignore. but i don’t get these same luxuries that you do, megan. i don’t get to fool around.” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, before settling on a defeated sigh. “do you think i want to be pressured into being the ‘perfect padawan’? is that why you hate me? you call me beautiful one second, and then basically call me stuck up the next? god, you’re confusing.”

something cracked in megan’s chest. she shook her head frantically, mind running at a million miles per minute as she digested y/n’s words. 

“i’m confusing?? you walk away from me like i’ve split your world in two, then get jealous when you think i’ve found interest in someone else. i thought you hated me! you can’t be serious,” megan stammered. “you walk around all perfect, and pretty, and mature, and you smell nice, and--“

she cut herself off, embarrassed. nonetheless, her next words fall from her lips before she can stop them. 

“and i’ve thought about you every single day since we’ve met.”

y/n opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, not sure how to respond. this was the second time megan had said something in the heat of the moment. y/n wasn’t sure whether to believe her. she knew though, deep down, that a large part of her wanted nothing more than to take her word. in some way it almost felt vindicating to know that megan had thought about her as much, if not more, than she’d thought of her. 

the silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft patter of rain against the window and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. y/n looked like she wanted to say something. anything. her mouth moved, then stopped. her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the datapad she was no longer pretending to read.

megan waited, pulse hammering in her throat.

when y/n finally spoke, her voice was quiet. uncertain in a way megan had never heard before.

"why are you saying this now?"

megan blinked. "because it's true."

"but why now?"

"because if i don't say it, i'm going to explode," megan said, almost helplessly. “because you keep pretending there’s nothing here. and i--i can’t do that.”

y/n’s gaze dropped. her hands folded carefully in her lap.

"megan..." her voice trailed off, caught on something that wasn’t quite breath.

"do you feel it too?" megan asked. not pushing. not demanding. just asking, like she needed to know. like the question had been burning inside her for years and she finally had a moment to speak it aloud. "even a little?"

y/n inhaled slowly. her throat bobbed with the effort of it. she didn’t answer right away. and then, she sighed.

"yes."

megan felt the breath knock out of her.

y/n wasn’t looking at her. she stared ahead, eyes fixed on the far wall like it held her together.

"i’ve felt it for a long time," she admitted. "but feelings don’t matter when you’re a jedi. not like this."

"that’s unfair.” megan’s retorted firmly. she wasn’t quite sure when she moved, inching closer to y/n on the bench. one second the gap between them was large enough to fit a hutt, and the next she leaned in so close that y/n could see the utter sincerity in her brown eyes. megan continued after a moment with a shake of her head. 

“y/n, i don’t know how else to spell this out for you, but i think i’ve longed for you from the moment i met you.” her voice in that moment was so tender. cautious. her eyes darted back and forth between y/n’s own, desperate for some kind of inclination that what she was feeling wasn’t one sided. “ever since we were thirteen, i’ve lied awake at night waiting for the day i’d get to see you again. you’re always in my dreams. haunting me. and now that you’re here, real right in front of me… it breaks me. torments me. please, tell me what i’m supposed to do.”

y/n’s mind raced. megan’s words settled on her like a heavy blanket, weighing down on her in the most cathartic-- and bittersweet-- way possible. she sat there in that moment, looking back in megan’s eyes and seeing only want. need. still, the guilt that pronged at her was stronger. she pursed her lips. 

"we’re not allowed to want it," y/n said, shaking her head. "you know that."

"yeah, i know the code," megan muttered half heartedly, fleetingly dismissive. "i’ve had it quoted at me my whole life."

"then don’t ask me to break it with you."

"i’m not asking you to break it," megan said, voice low, steady now. "i’m asking if you feel the same way."

that was the moment. that fragile, splinter-thin beat between truth and denial. between what was safe and what was real. y/n stared at her for a long time. her eyes were glassy. unreadable. her face still carried that perfect composure, but it was faltering around the edges now.

"i do," she whispered.

megan’s heart surged. but then y/n looked away.

"and that’s why this has to stop."

"y/n--"

"don’t." her voice was firmer now. not harsh. just final. "please don’t make this harder than it already is. jedi aren’t supposed to marry. to love. we swore an oath to the order. even if there was something more to this-- to us. we could be expelled. is that truly something you want?”

megan’s jaw tightened. she looked down at her hands, at the datapad still useless in her lap. the bench felt too narrow all of a sudden.

“we could keep it a secret.”

“then we would be living a lie. could you truly do that?”

a pause, and then megan sighed. 

“no. it would destroy us.”

outside, the rain kept falling, soft and endless.

neither of them spoke. and megan thought, quietly, that no war could ever feel as painful as being this close to the thing you want most in the galaxy, and not being allowed to reach for it.

the jedi code, a mantra engraved into their minds since day one, had never felt so distant. 

__

the third week on polaris minor was when everything came to a standstill. 

megan had finally learned how to stay still during meetings. gun di’s patience was wearing thin, but the senator was busy enough with security and her advisers that she didn’t notice the quiet tug-of no-war happening between the two padawans.

there was a subtle difference between them. megan noticed it first. not just in how y/n’s posture had changed or how much more tense she seemed-- if even humanly possibly. but also the small things. the way y/n didn’t seem so focused on her datapad when they were in a room together. the brief moments when their eyes would meet, and neither would look away immediately. but they always did eventually. megan had laid her heart out bare and y/n had fearfully refused to take it. 

it was confusing. maddening.

megan wasn’t used to this kind of tension. she was used to feeling like she had to fill the air with jokes or ridiculousness just to break the silence. but with y/n, the quiet felt different now. suffocating. 

whatever moment of peace they had didn’t last when the alarm finally blared. 

it was only a matter of time before it happened. if she were being honest, megan was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. she’d just stepped out of a strategy briefing with gun di when the comm crackled. urgent. panic laced the voice. 

“assassin has been sighted. senator avanzini has been targeted--main courtyard.”

megan didn’t think. she ran.

by the time she reached the courtyard, the air was thick with tension. guards were shouting, crowd dispersing. smoke rising from a thermal charge. and in the middle of it all, she saw the one thing that had her eyes blowing wide. she tried desperately to force herself through the crowd, her hand already reaching for her saber hilt. in the moments she struggled to reach the center, all she could do was watch. 

y/n stood in the middle, blade drawn, the green beam lighting her up in its earthly hue. her saber deflected blaster bolts from a shady figure perched on a nearby rooftop, just narrowly missing senator avanzini as she and her guard ducked behind a wall. the guard raised his blaster, peering out behind the wall and zeroing his sights on the sniper. but he fell just as quickly. the assassin’s bullet pierced through him, a loud plasma bolt that left smoke rising off his body. still, despite it all, y/n stood steady. calm. even as the assassin scaled down the building, as they unsheathed a vibroblade from where it was strapped to their back, y/n waited. 

across from her now, cloaked in shadow, stood the assassin.

they were fast. blaster in one hand, vibroblade in the other. they moved like water, slipping through guards, aiming straight for daniela. but y/n was faster.

she intercepted the strike, her saber crackling as it met the blade. their duel was a blur--light and shadow, hiss of metal and hum of plasma. megan stood frozen for a second too long, heart lodged in her throat.

when the assassin narrowly avoided a strike and rolled away just out of view to seek cover, it happened clear as day. they threw a stun grenade. perhaps y/n didn’t see it. perhaps there was too much happening all at once, too much to keep up with. the spherical grenade rolled right under y/n’s feet. 

megan shouted a warning, but it was too late.

the blast caught y/n off guard. she stumbled backward, vision disoriented, arms scrambling for balance. the grenade exploded with a burst of electricity. not strong enough to kill, but enough to have her falling unconscious. her body went limp, her saber beam retracting as her hilt dropped from her hands and rolled across the floor. the assassin raised their blaster then, straight for the limp jedi. even as the senators guards and gun di closed in behind megan, even as the assassin was soon to be outnumbered-- they aimed for the fatal blow mercilessly. 

megan moved before she could think. she pushed through the last of the dispersing crowd, fear and frustration pronging through her. 

her own blade ignited mid-sprint, and she threw herself into the path of the shot. a large jump infused by the force that had her standing between the blaster and y/n within a split second. the bolt grazed y/n’s cheek as megan deflected it, just briefly scraping the surface and instead ricocheting to the floor beside her head. too late to stop it completely, too fast for it to do any real damage. 

for a moment they stood, megan’s eyes trained hard on the assassin with a mixture of foreign emotions coursing throughout her. the knowledge that y/n lied unconscious on the floor besides her had her chest aching, her grip on her saber tightening. the assassin stared back at her. at some point during the fight, their helmet had been knocked clean off their head. it was a changeling, its upturned nose flaring as it stared back at her with vehement disgust. the assassin looked like it wanted to move, to land it’s next blow– but it stopped itself. the very second master gun di entered the fray, blue saber drawn and commanding in his stature, the assassin cursed. throwing one last smoke-like grenade, it vanished. escaping from the courtyard while it was still possible.

part of megan wanted to chase. to take off into a sprint after the changeling assassin, to get answers. but when she was reminded of the girl beside her, her attention shifted. she sheathed her blade and dropped beside y/n, gently nudging her shoulder. y/n murmured incoherently, an unintelligible sentence stringed together. but it was enough for megan to release the breath of air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

she barely registered her master kneeling down just slightly to check on y/n before he stood back up. he barked orders, said something about following the assassin, about taking y/n back to the medbay. but all megan could see was the blood on y/n’s face, the scar slowly forming just under her eye. megan had seen it as clear as day. the way the bolt had nearly struck her temple. if she’d been just a second slower, if she hadn’t ricochet the plasma shot in time... perhaps it would be a different story.

all she could feel was her own heartbeat. and fear.

the medbay was sterile in a way that made megan’s skin itch. light pooled in too-white sheets across the walls, soft and clinical, casting long shadows beneath the edges of the diagnostic panels. it smelled like disinfectant and recycled air. too bright. too clean. too quiet.

she sat curled in the corner of the room, elbows braced against her knees, fingers knotted so tightly her joints ached. the medical droid moved with practiced efficiency, gliding between consoles and the bedside, running quiet scans, smoothing bacta strips into place, adjusting vitals with soft, mechanical chirps. everything was stable. everything was under control. it said nothing concerning.

but megan couldn’t take her eyes off the bed.

y/n hadn’t stirred since they carried her in.

her saber hilt rested on the side table, untouched and silent, the metal catching the medbay lights in dull glints. her hair, normally so neat, was a tangle-- gently brushed back from her face where the droid had treated the wound. megan could still smell the faint singe of ozone and burned cloth clinging to her robes. a sharp, metallic echo of the blast.

just beneath her eye, where the bolt had grazed her, there it was. a thin, raw line. pink and swollen, not deep but angry. a reminder. too close.

megan stared at it like it might vanish if she willed hard enough. like she hadn’t seen the whole thing unfold. like she hadn’t watched the shot line up, hadn’t felt the force scream in her chest until she moved without thinking. until she threw herself in front of it.

she rubbed her hands together once, slow and aimless, as if friction alone could bring sensation back to her skin. but her fingers stayed cold. distant. unfeeling.

it had been hours--at least she thought it had--since gun di told her to bring y/n to the medbay. time had gone strange since then. at some point, a palace guard had slipped in with news. the assassin had fled, chased off-world by gun di and the senator’s patrol ships. a temporary solution, nothing final. the danger wasn’t over, not really. but the senator was safe. the immediate threat had passed.

she was supposed to feel relief. she was supposed to be happy, overjoyed that she could leave the planet and head back home to coruscant. but she wasn’t. it was a two pronged assault on her mind. not only would going home mean that she would be away from y/n again, but it would mean she couldn’t track down the assassin that almost ripped the very world from underneath her.

she should’ve chased them. she could’ve. she’d seen the path through the smoke, had felt the force stirring at the edge of her senses, pulling her forward. it wouldn’t have taken much. just a step, a leap, a push of will--and she would’ve done it. cornered them. ended it.

but she didn’t. she stayed, and now that choice sat heavy in her chest. the truth was simple. she hadn’t stopped it. she’d hesitated.

part of her hated herself for even thinking it. for letting the idea take shape, sharp and unspoken, behind her teeth. she was a jedi. she wasn’t supposed to crave retribution. wasn’t supposed to mourn the absence of a final blow. she knew better.

but the thought lingered anyway--heavy, unshakable. a quiet hunger for resolution that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

and she was almost certain gun di had felt it.

she could still picture the look he gave her--brief, wordless, when he knelt beside y/n in the courtyard. it was a look she ignored at the time, but one she now couldn’t shake. not scolding, not cruel. just steady. a quiet warning in his eyes that said: stand down. let it go. she hadn’t needed a lecture. that one look was enough.

still, shame curled in her gut like smoke. shame for the thought, for the still-burning impulse. for the fact that, even now, a small, dark part of her wished she’d followed through. not out of duty. not to protect the senator.

but because it hurt to see y/n like that. limp. silent. fragile in a way megan had never imagined possible.

the fear hadn’t left her since. no amount of jedi training could quiet the way it gripped her now.

the door hissed open behind her, tearing her from her thoughts.

senator avanzini stepped in, arms wrapped neatly in her long shawl. her pace was quiet, deliberate, eyes scanning the room until they landed on megan.

“how is she?” she asked softly, nodding toward the bed.

megan stood halfway, clearing her throat. “stable,” she said. “just… stunned. the blast wasn’t lethal.”

daniela crossed to the bed, her expression shifting as she took in the sight of y/n--still, quiet, her padawan braid slightly undone from the scuffle. her gaze lingered for a moment before drifting back to megan.

“you stayed behind for her,” she said gently. “when you could’ve chased the assassin.”

megan didn’t answer at first. her eyes flicked to the floor, jaw tense. “i made a choice.”

“not the one your code would’ve dictated,” daniela said, final. 

megan’s posture stiffened. her mouth opened, then closed again. her eyes snapped up towards daniela in silent disbelief. daniela simply stared back at her, calm but perceptive. 

“you don’t have to say it. i already know.”

megan swallowed hard. “you don’t,” she said, quiet and tight. “and even if you did… you shouldn’t.”

daniela tilted her head. “you’re afraid I’ll tell someone.”

“if you did, it would mean consequences,” megan said. “real ones.”

the silence hung between them like a drawn curtain, and then daniela stepped closer. not looming. not confrontational. simply present.

“no one will hear it from me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “i know what it means to carry something the system says you shouldn’t. and i know what it is to keep something sacred out of reach.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t breathe.

daniela’s gaze softened. “i’ve come to care about both of you, over these past few weeks. perhaps more than i probably should. but i’ve seen the way you look at her. and i’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching.”

megan’s shoulders dropped slightly, but she didn’t respond. daniela glanced back at y/n, her expression unreadable for a long, quiet beat.

megan sat back down, gaze dropping to her hands as she finally caved to the truth. something about the senator had her resolve crumbling. the words slipped out before she could stop them.

 “i told her. before. how i felt.” she let out a humorless breath. “she’s better at pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“because of the jedi code?”

megan nodded.

daniela sat down in the chair opposite her. the silence lingered for a beat before she hummed. 

 “i’ve spent half my life trusting in institutions. codes. rules. the systems meant to protect us. and today, all it took was one assassin and one moment of hesitation for everything to almost fall apart.” her voice softened. “life isn’t always fair, megan. and it certainly isn’t always long.”

megan didn’t respond. her throat felt too tight.

daniela glanced at y/n once more. “i don’t presume to know what’s right for the jedi. but i know what i saw today. you didn’t hesitate when it mattered. you chose to stay. and sometimes, that choice... it means everything.”

she stood. “thank you, megan. for saving my life.”

and then she left, as quietly as she’d come.

the door hissed shut behind the senator, and the room fell back into stillness.

megan leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees again. the words daniela had said echoed in her chest, loud where her thoughts had gone quiet.

she looked at y/n.

she should’ve chased the assassin. should’ve done her duty, followed through, ended the threat properly. but she hadn’t. not because she was afraid. not because she was weak.

because she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind.

her eyes burned, but she blinked hard against it.

“you scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

y/n didn’t stir. didn’t answer. but her breathing was steady now. real. alive.

megan let out a slow breath.

“i swear,” she said softly, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket near y/n’s hand, “i won’t let it come that close again.”

__

the assassin had been chased off-world. the danger, at least for now, had passed. and with the immediate threat neutralized, it was time for them to move on.

y/n had woken sometime before dawn, her brow furrowed with pain as she stirred. she didn’t say much--just a quiet, strained sound when she tried to sit up, her body still reeling from the lingering shock of the grenade. megan had been at her side in an instant, hand hovering just above her arm, unsure whether to touch her. unsure what was allowed.

“don’t move,” she murmured, barely above a breath.

y/n didn’t argue. she just blinked slowly, the exhaustion carved deep into her features.

that was all. no dramatic reunion. no words of comfort. just quiet, shared breath and the space between them filled with everything unspoken.

and then, too quickly, they were gone.

one moment they were on the palace steps bidding senator avanzini farewell beneath a gray sky. the senator stood with her hands folded, a slight smile hidden beneath tired eyes. her goodbye to megan had been brief, but meaningful--an unspoken nod that said remember what i said. to y/n, it had been gentler. familiar. fond.

the next, megan had barely stepped back aboard the t-6 shuttle before the holoterminal lit up. an urgent transmission, flagged by the council. they were needed. immediately. she hadn’t even taken her cloak off.

as the stars began to blur beyond the viewport, the polaris system shrinking into the vastness behind them, megan sat motionless in the co-pilot’s seat, her thoughts still caught somewhere on the marble floors of the palace courtyard. and yet, beneath the dull hum of hyperspace and the weight of everything left unresolved, a small part of her felt… relieved. they weren’t going home. not yet.

she still had time. 

as master gun di input the coordinates into the navicomputer, his fingers moving with calm precision over the control panel.  megan sat besides him, still and silent, trying not to let her thoughts spiral. the soft chime of hyperspace calculations echoed around the cockpit, and somewhere beneath the mechanical hum, her heart was pounding.

geonosis.

the name alone made something twist in her chest. whatever waited for them down there--whatever the council had deemed urgent enough to summon them directly from polaris--it wasn’t going to be simple. it wouldn’t be clean.

she could already feel it in her bones.

her palms had gone clammy. her breathing uneven. she tried to center herself, to reach for that internal stillness that master gun di had spent years trying to instill in her. but it slipped through her fingers like water. the force echoed with her nerves, loud and raw, thrumming in the air around her like a struck chord.

she didn’t miss the glance he cast her through his peripheral. a silent check-in. not invasive, not reprimanding. but she felt the message all the same: breathe, padawan.

she dipped her head in acknowledgment and stood from the copilot seat, turning on her heel before he could say anything aloud.

the shuttle's corridor was narrow and dimly lit, the quiet hum of hyperspace folding around the space like a blanket. megan moved down the aisle with soft steps, her boots barely whispering against the floor. at the back of the ship, in the co-passenger bay tucked just out of sight of the cockpit, she found her. y/n sat cross-legged on one of the cushioned benches, back straight, hands resting lightly in her lap. her eyes were closed, face calm– at least on the surface. but megan could sense it in the air between them, thin and electric. meditation didn’t quiet emotions. not entirely. it just held them in check.

her padawan braid had been freshly re-tied, neat again. her robes had been pressed, the creases sharp in the low light. but the scar remained. a thin, vivid line beneath her eye, still healing but settled now. permanent.

megan stood in the doorway for a moment, not speaking. just looking.

it would never fade, that mark. no matter how many healing sessions she sat through, no matter how many years passed, it would stay--a reminder of how close things had come. of what could’ve happened. what almost did. and still she was beautiful. not despite the scar. rather, because of it.

megan stepped into the room, slow and measured, careful not to startle her. they were alone. gun di was piloting, and he couldn’t see them from where he sat. just the two of them now. a pocket of privacy.

“hey,” she said quietly.

y/n opened her eyes, drawn back from meditation by the weight of a gaze she knew too well.

megan stood nearby, not speaking, just watching her with a quiet intensity that made y/n's chest tighten. there was nothing judgmental in her expression--just a soft, searching focus. and yet, it was enough to stir every old insecurity buried just beneath the surface.

self-consciousness crept in before she could stop it. her fingers twitched, and then slowly, instinctively, she raised a hand to her face, as if to shield the angry mark that lived there now.

but she didn’t get far.

megan moved before she could flinch away, her own hand catching y/n’s gently, carefully. not forceful, just certain. she guided it down and held it there, warm and steady between them. then, slowly, her other hand reached up. fingertips brushed just below the scar, feather-light. a reverent touch, as if she were tracing a constellation across fragile skin. careful. intentional. like the scar was something worth memorizing.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. she didn’t move. didn’t blink.

megan’s voice came quiet--low and certain, a truth she’d already decided long before she spoke it.

“it suits you.”

y/n blinked, startled by the softness of it. “what does?”

megan’s thumb barely grazed the edge of the scar.

“the scar.”

y/n didn’t respond at first. her expression stayed still. unreadable. but her eyes searched megan’s face, like she was trying to figure out if she meant it.

she did.

megan shrugged, eyes still lingering on y/n’s face. “it makes you look… real.”

y/n tilted her head, brow faintly furrowed. “i was real before.”

“yeah,” megan said, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth--soft, but weighted. “but now the galaxy sees it too.”

outside the shuttle’s viewport, the stars blurred on in silence, streaks of light bending toward the horizon. geonosis loomed ahead, just beyond reach. but in here, the world felt momentarily still. megan’s hand lingered by y/n’s cheek, gentle and unmoving.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly, like it was a fact, not a risk. “always.”

the words landed like a blow softened by velvet. familiar, but no less piercing. the same words she’d spoken in the senate hallway a week ago. and still, somehow, they hit just as hard. she uttered them as if she was still just as sure. as if it was fact, still just as true.

y/n didn’t respond right away. she couldn’t. something in her chest ached with the weight of it. of all the things she’d kept buried under duty, under silence. the look in megan’s eyes unraveled every wall she’d spent years building. and yet, the only thing louder than her heartbeat was the truth pressing at the edges of her ribs. 

she still felt it. she always had. perhaps, she always would.

it felt fragile. whatever existed between them in that sliver of privacy, somewhere between confession and restraint.  outside, the stars streaked past in pale blue ribbons. megan had only just started to breathe again when the shuttle lurched out of hyperspace.

they were finally over geonosis.

“prepare for descent,” gun di called from the cockpit. his voice was tense, clipped--sharper than usual. “we’re being diverted straight to the surface. no time to brief. something’s happening.”

megan and y/n exchanged a quick glance. they didn’t ask questions. there wasn’t time.

the shuttle broke atmosphere, rattling as the turbulence kicked in. sand blew in waves beneath them, red dust curling like smoke over jagged rock formations. then the arena came into view. massive, ancient, crumbling. and full. megan stepped to the edge of the ramp as it opened mid-hover. her boots hit stone before the ship even settled, and for a moment, she just… stared.

hundreds of beings filled the towering balconies. geonosians. thousands of them. their wings fluttering with agitation. the air was thick with tension, and beneath them, on the arena floor, a spectacle had already begun. dozens of jedi. lightsabers ignited. clashing against lines of battle droids.

megan froze in place. they were standing in a warzone.

megan’s chest tightened as her eyes swept the arena again. figures she recognized, jedi she'd trained beside at the temple. all fighting, bleeding, shouting orders over the chaos. they hadn’t been briefed. hadn’t even been told what to expect. but this wasn’t just a mission.

this was something else.

and then--up near the high podium, framed by geonosian guards--was a man with a red saber, his blade clashing against purple. the color alone made megan's stomach turn.

they’d only been on polaris minor for three weeks. twenty-one days. and somehow, the galaxy had fractured. a blaster bolt snapped overhead, breaking their daze.

gun di was already on the ground, saber ignited, calling out to them. “move!”

instinct took over. megan leapt into the fray, blade flaring to life in her grip. y/n moved with her, fluid and fierce. together, they carved through the battle droids with a rhythm honed over years of training. megan, reckless but precise--flipping over collapsing debris, driving her saber into circuits. y/n, calm and tactical, covering her blind spots, intercepting fire with clean, perfect deflections. they were two halves of the same strike. seamless. brutal. unstoppable.

and then the sky cracked open. ships roared overhead, laat gunships that pierced through the haze. lines of soldiers descended from them. white-armored, faceless, organized in ways the republic had never been. they landed in formation and opened fire on the droids.

for a heartbeat, megan thought she was dreaming.

“who are they?” she shouted, panting.

y/n ducked behind a pillar, deflecting incoming fire. “i don’t know--they’re not jedi. but they’re on our side!”

republic insignias gleamed across their chestplates.

megan didn’t have time to process it. didn’t have time to ask how or why or what had changed. because in the periphery of her vision, cutting through the chaos like a dark flame-- she saw it. a cloak. black. fast. a glint of a vibroblade, and a long barreled sniper rifle.

the assassin.

megan’s heart seized. before she knew it, she was already moving. she broke from formation without thinking, legs moving before her mind could catch up. y/n turned sharply behind her, confusion flickering across her face.

“megan!”

but megan was already chasing the figure, weaving through crumbling archways and shattered debris at a dead sprint. her heart thundered in her ears. the assassin moved ahead of her like a shadow cut loose from the battlefield--silent, fast, slipping between the bones of the arena with terrifying ease. but not fast enough. not this time.

not again.

y/n was just behind her, breath coming sharp, her boots slamming against the ancient stone floor as they dove deeper into the arena’s underbelly. it was quieter here. no war cries, no blaster fire. just the echo of their footsteps and the scent of dust, rust, and something older. something dry and dead. here, there were no guards. no senator. no backup. just the two of them and the thing that had almost killed her.

they rounded a collapsed archway, and that’s when megan saw them. the cloak. the glint of the blade. the assassin had slowed, thinking they’d lost their tail, pausing to slip into the shadows of a narrow corridor. only megan didn’t slow. she leapt.

her saber came down in a blur of blue, crashing into stone as the assassin twisted away just in time, sparks flying from the wall where her blade struck. the figure hissed and spun, backing away with inhuman grace.

a curse rang out in huttese, low and guttural, though megan caught the words.

“should’ve stayed on polaris.”

the assassin’s mask turned toward her, vibroblade sliding into a ready position with a resonant hum.

“you don’t give up, do you?” the voice said now in basic--distorted, modulated, but undeniably mocking. “or is it the girl you’re really chasing after?”

megan’s saber snapped back into a guard position. “you’re not getting away this time.”

the assassin lunged.

metal clashed with light, blades screaming against each other in a flurry of motion. megan struck fast and hard, her anger fueling every move. but the assassin was relentless--slipping under her swings, deflecting with practiced flicks of their blade, countering with bone-shaking kicks and sweeps that kept her off balance.

y/n joined the fray, saber flashing into the space between them. her timing was clean. but even with both of them pressing in, the assassin held their ground. megan gritted her teeth. she was faster. stronger. trained. but nothing landed. every time her saber carved through the air, the assassin was already gone, turning, ducking, slashing back. one blade caught her shoulder, too close. she barely blocked the second.

“you’re supposed to be better than this,” the assassin growled, twisting around y/n to drive a blade toward megan’s side. “jedi are supposed to be better.”

the words stung more than the blow. megan blocked it just in time, but her footing slipped. the frustration burned hot in her chest.

y/n lunged to intercept, but the assassin pivoted, spinning low, and kicked her square in the chest. y/n, still rather new to soresu and definitely not as adept as she should have been, had no time to react. she hit the wall with a sharp grunt, saber clattering from her grip. she crumpled to the floor, dazed, one arm curling protectively around her ribs.

megan’s heart snapped. everything inside her surged. there was no thought. no discipline. no training.

only fear.

her hand lifted before she even realized what she was doing, and immediately the force answered.  violent and raw. it surged through her like a storm breaking loose.

the assassin froze mid-lunge, their body snapping upright, limbs trembling as an invisible grip closed around their throat. their boots scraped helplessly against the stone floor, trying to dig in, to breathe, to move--but megan held them suspended, her arm extended, fingers curled tight like a vice. her breath came hard. her muscles shook. her thoughts--her training--had vanished, replaced by one singular, pulsing need. 

make it stop.

her saber buzzed low beside her. her other hand rose, slow and deliberate, as she stepped forward.

“you don’t get to hurt her again,” she whispered, voice low and shaking.

the assassin clawed at their throat. their mask turned toward her. eyes wide. the vibroblade slipped from their hands, clattering uselessly to the floor.

megan didn’t release them.

the grip she had--it felt good. for a split second, it filled the hollow in her chest with heat. with power. the way their body convulsed, helpless, suspended midair--there was a part of her, small and buried, that reveled in it.

a cruel part. a frightened part. and it terrified her.

but she didn’t stop.

with a breath that trembled like rage, she tightened her hold then drove her saber forward. the blade burned through armor and flesh.

the assassin's body jerked violently, the grip breaking as they collapsed in a heap. the mask slipped from their face and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop in the flickering light. the changeling’s mouth hung open, eyes still wide. still staring.

and they were dead.

because of her.

megan stood over the body, frozen. the hum of her saber still echoed through the chamber, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. the power she’d just wielded still clung to her skin like a second layer--wrong, heavy, dark. she staggered back a step. looked down at what she’d done. she felt her stomach drop.

the hum of her saber faded as she deactivated it. the light was gone. so was the noise. only silence remained.

megan stood there, trembling. the force still churned in her like a storm barely held back. her breath came in short, shallow bursts. her hand--still outstretched--slowly lowered.

behind her, y/n stirred. she pushed herself to her knees, wincing. blood trickled from her brow.

megan didn’t move.

“megan,” y/n said gently, voice rough, “you did what you had to do.”

megan shook her head.

“no,” she whispered, backing away from the body. “i-i panicked. i saw your face. i saw the scar. i saw you unconscious in the meday. and i thought--you’d die. i thought--”

her voice cracked, and she sank to the ground beside the body, hands trembling in her lap.

“i should’ve ended it then. i had the chance. i could’ve. but i didn’t. and now--”

y/n crawled toward her through the dust and blood, each movement labored. pain rippled down her side, her ribs aching, her limbs sluggish--but she didn’t stop. not when megan looked like she was about to shatter.

not when she needed her.

she reached her slowly, knees scraping against the stone, and lifted both hands to cup megan’s face--dirt and ash smudging between her fingers. her thumbs brushed gently over tear-streaked skin, grounding her.

“you saved me,” she whispered.

megan flinched like the words hurt. her gaze stayed low, locked on the space between them.

“i wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” she choked out, barely audible. “i wasn’t supposed to care. we’re not supposed to--” the sentence caught on the edge of something sharp. something ancient and sacred and breaking.

“but i can’t,” she said, and this time her voice cracked. “i can’t see you die. not now. not ever.”

her eyes burned, breath catching in her throat. the weight of it--the grief, the fear, the truth--finally crushed through her chest.

she sobbed.

“i love you, y/n.”

the words came out broken, raw and unguarded, a truth dragged up from the deepest place in her soul.

y/n stared at her.

her heart thundered against her ribs. this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. not here. not like this. not after blood and death and war. and especially not with megan--silly, infuriating, soft-hearted megan, whose laughter filled every quiet space and whose loyalty ran deeper than anyone she’d ever known.

but none of that mattered now.

because this was real.

and y/n had spent so long pretending it wasn’t.

so she did the one thing she’d forbidden herself from doing.

she leaned in--and kissed her.

it was soft at first, uncertain. her lips barely brushed megan’s, like she was afraid they’d both break from the touch alone. but megan breathed in sharply and reached up, hands trembling as she caught y/n’s face like she was something precious, like the only solid thing left in the galaxy.

the kiss deepened, slow and desperate and reverent. pain and fear and love poured into it, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

it was raw. it was wrong. but it was real.

when y/n felt megan kiss her back, her hands warm and shaking against her skin, she didn’t think about the code. or the council. or what would come next. she only thought of her. everything else--jedi, droids, blood in the sand--faded away. maybe it was dangerous. maybe it would destroy them.

but here, in the burning heart of a dying arena, it was the only thing that made sense.

__ the clones had names.  that was what stayed with her, long after the battle ended, long after the shuttle lifted off the blood-red sands of geonosis.  they weren’t just serial numbers printed on armor or shouted across comms--though they answered to those, too. ct-8214. cc-2224. ct-6507.

 but they had names. names they’d given themselves. some sharp, some ridiculous. a quiet rebellion against the order they were born into.

megan remembered one in particular: jex.  he had a scar down his chin that looked almost deliberate, a crooked grin that didn’t match the bruises across his jaw, and a way of sitting like he’d been through this all before--even though, by every definition, this was the first time any of them had stepped into war.  he offered her a ration bar and called her “ma’am” with a kind of teasing lilt, like he already knew she hated it. like he knew she didn’t feel any older than him, any more in control.

he talked with the guards like they were old friends. laughed too easily. and when he looked at y/n, he gave her the kind of nod soldiers give each other after surviving something terrible.

y/n didn’t nod back. she just watched them, silent and still, as rows of identical faces filed off the gunship. they all looked the same, but somehow, none of them did. white armor gleaming under the hangar lights. polished boots. unreadable expressions. every one of them carried a blaster. every one of them carried a fate that had been decided for them.

“they’re clones,” master gun di had said earlier, voice calm and grave. “grown for combat. commissioned by the republic. we’ll be commanding them.”

“commanding,” y/n had repeated under her breath, the word sour in her mouth, like it didn’t belong to her.

they hadn’t said much since. not on the shuttle ride back to coruscant, not while the bruises on megan’s shoulder still ached from the last skirmish, not while the hum of the hyperdrive filled the space between rows of quiet, waiting soldiers. gun di sat near the front of the transport, arms folded, eyes closed in meditation--or something close to it. the clones took up the back, their helmets tucked beneath their arms, or clipped to their belts, heads bowed in a way that didn’t feel like rest.

it felt like ritual. it felt like they were waiting to be used again.

megan didn’t look at her master. she didn’t look at the clones, either. she looked at y/n.

she watched the way y/n kept her hands folded in her lap, perfectly still. the way her posture remained rigid, even seated. the way her gaze never rested for long. she looked like a statue built to withstand the storm, only megan could feel the cracks beneath the surface.

they never told anyone what happened with the assassin. officially, the senator was targeted. a padawan neutralized the threat. some reports named y/n. some named megan. no one clarified. no one needed to. they didn’t lie. they just… didn’t correct anyone. they were already hiding one thing. what was one more?

she wanted to say something. anything.  but nothing felt right. not until the shuttle began to descend, until the familiar spires of coruscant broke through the clouds, rising like jagged silver towers in the dusk.

the city pulsed beneath them. the temple’s lights blinked on, one by one.  and before megan could think better of it--before she could stop herself--she pulled y/n aside the very second they were alone.

“marry me.”

it slipped out like breath. like truth. like it had been sitting on her tongue for hours, days, years. not planned. not dramatic. just real.

y/n’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “what?”

megan didn’t flinch. she just shrugged, like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile balance between them. like this wasn’t the biggest thing she’d ever said in her life.

 “i’m serious.”

they stood side by side on the landing platform now, robes catching the edge of the night breeze. the shuttle’s doors had opened, the others already filing off. clones. jedi. gun di, walking ahead with calm, purposeful strides. no one noticed them lingering.

“megan,” y/n said, her voice low, tired. the kind of tired that lived in the bones. “don’t.”

“why not?”

“because we don’t have time for this,” she said, and there was no anger in it--just exhaustion. “not now. not with all of this.”

megan didn’t step closer. didn’t reach for her. just stood still, watching her.

“that’s exactly why i’m asking,” she said, softer now. “because we don’t have time. we never did.”

and that–- that-- was what made y/n pause. for a moment, the city felt distant. the whine of starfighters overhead. the distant glow of senate rotunda windows. the murmur of guards and mechanics and transport crews. all of it blurred.

megan said nothing more. she waited, like she always did when it mattered. y/n looked down at her hands, fingers curled at her sides. then she looked back at megan.

and finally, up--toward the sky, where a heavy cruiser passed low over the cityscape, its shadow sweeping across the platform like a stormfront rolling in.

“not now,” she said, quiet but certain. “but if we wait just a little longer--my answer would be yes.”

megan’s chest tightened.

“you’d marry me?” she asked, almost like she couldn’t believe it.

y/n nodded slowly. “yes. i would. but not while the whole galaxy’s still falling apart. not while there’s so much we don’t know. not with war on our heels and the council breathing down our necks. just… give it a little more time. please.”

megan’s breath left her in a slow exhale, like she’d been holding it for days.

“okay,” she said, and the word felt warm in her mouth. “i can wait.”

y/n stepped in just close enough that their sleeves brushed, a single fold of fabric grazing another. not quite touching. not quite safe. but real.

“just don’t ask me again,” she whispered, “unless you really mean it.”

megan huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “i always mean it.”

“i know,” y/n said, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled. small. fleeting. but there.  “that’s what scares me.”

above them, the cruiser’s shadow passed over the hangar. and beneath it, two girls stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of everything, armed with nothing but a ‘maybe’, a promise, and the quiet understanding that no one was coming to save them from what they were already feeling.

at the end of the day, they both knew. the worst was yet to come. but at least now they’d face it together.

PART ONE click for next part

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ i sleep so i can see you. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff and a hint of angst but MOSTLY fluff

୨ৎ content: implied homophobic family but they're not in this. this is honestly one of my favourite things i've ever written, they're so soft (and also at the beach I LOVE THE BEACH). swimming. just read and find out im giggling while i type thisssssss

୨ৎ note: MAJORLY based off sailor song by gigi perez <3 also heavily based off true blue by boygenius feeling very lesbian today.

୨ৎ wc: 2.6k

you and billie loved each other so truly, so deeply. you were two halves of a whole and you fell together perfectly. if soulmates existed, that was what you were. the connection between the two of you was electric and heartfelt and you could never wish for anything more. it made sense—very few things in your life had made sense until you met billie, and then everything seemed to click into place. 

the sole problem was the world you lived in. the cruel, cruel world. you had accepted that you liked women long ago, and although it was hard with the family you had, you knew very well that you couldn't change a thing. it didn't help that you got the same homophobia from others everywhere you went. you couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

when the two of you came out as a couple, there was a lot of support, but there were also the repulsed reactions of others—it reminded you a little too much of your parents, exactly what you’d tried so desperately to escape from. it was strange, being gay, after being raised to believe it was deeply wrong. you were making it through, though. with billie by your side, perhaps you could make it through anything.

you were currently on tour with billie, and you had a few days between shows. so, the two of you naturally found your way out to the beach, where your heart felt at home.

it was a small, secluded little cove you'd found, the tree coverage sheltering the two of you from any unwanted attention. it was peaceful, as the two of you sat together, the waves lapping at your feet. one of your hands was intertwined with billie's, and the other was fiddling with some dainty seashells. your heart felt at peace, here with her.

your nails were painted a pale yellow, which she had picked out for you, and hers were painted a light summery green. that had been one of your pastimes in the hotel room, painting each others nails. billie adored doing anything like that for you, be it skincare, nails, makeup, you name it. she just loved taking care of you.

your  head rested on her shoulder as the two of you  sat by the water, the peaceful sounds of the waves gently lapping healing your heart.

the sun was just beginning to set over the water, painting a soft golden glow over the bay,  and you have a small picnic basket of food to eat. these kind of dates, where it's just the two of you—where you’re  normal people away from the view of the world… these were your favourites. it was healing in a way nothing else ever could be.

billie’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against her side. she watched you as the setting sunlight gave your skin a warm glow, highlighting your features. the way the orange light played over your skin felt somewhat like a song to billie—a song she could write, perhaps one that you’d hear coming softly from her guitar in a week or two, a voice note to be recorded. a voice note that could be released, or could just stay as your song. the two of you had a lot of those. 

leaning down, billie  pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before resting her chin on your shoulder. “beautiful,” her voice came as a soft murmur, as if she were scared of disrupting the peace the two of you had created so perfectly. 

“you are,” you whispered back, pulling your eyes from the gently lapping tide to look into her eyes. 

billie’s lips curled up, “i mean the sunset.” 

your lips twisted upwards into a smile, and you hummed, “sure, love.” leaning in, you pressed a kiss to her lips, revelling in the way she leaned in as you pulled away, chasing your lips. 

the smile on billie’s lips was permanent, a feature you felt so blessed to see as often as you did, “both you and the sunset are beautiful,” billie hummed again, not hiding the way she was still leaned in slightly, gaze drifting between your eyes and lips, “is that better?” 

you laughed softly, “ much better.” 

for what felt like hours—and possibly was, time had no meaning with her—the two of you just sat together, your head rested on her shoulder while you ate bits of food from the picnic you’d packed. after a while, she pulled you to your feet, hand reaching for your waist to steady you when you stumbled slightly on the rocks. she gestured towards the water with a grin, “wanna swim?” 

“obviously,” you hummed in response, pulling your top over your head and hanging it over a low branch. both of you stripped down to your bikinis, billie grabbing your arm before you headed towards the water, pulling you in for a quick kiss. 

the two of you stepped into the water, and you tensed slightly at the cold, hand snaking down to squeeze billie’s as you shivered slightly. she laughed at your reaction, but you could see the way she practically recoiled from the cold, stiffening up and tugging you closer. the two of you waded in ever so slowly, feeling like you were making progress, but in reality it had taken you five minutes for the water to reach your mid thighs.

billie’s hand let go of your own, and you barely had time to glance back at her in confusion before she’d pushed you forward into the water. you fell backwards, the water muffling the laughter you would have heard leaving her lips, the coldness enveloping you. a few seconds later, you’d resurfaced, water dripping down your skin, the remaining glow of the sunset illuminating your skin—and you saw the way billie faltered, that lovesick look in her eyes that you were so familiar with. 

you took her pause to your advantage, reaching forward, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her into the water after you. her hands grasped for you as she plunged into the water, and she gasped when she rose again. she ran her hands through her hair that was dripping with water, attempting to tame it slightly, but to no avail. 

“bitch,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words. lifting her hands, she splashed water towards your face, drawing giggles from you. you took in the way her dark hair looked sticking to her skin, the way the water dripped down her skin. 

shivering slightly, billie whined, “i’m coooold.” tugging you towards her again, she wrapped her arms around you, clinging to you as she buried her head into the crook of your neck. 

she stays like that for a long moment, just nuzzled into you, before her hands travelled down your waist to your hips. her thumbs moved in soft circles, the repetitive touches soothing you slightly. your arms moved, draping over her shoulder as you stepped the two of you backwards, deeper into the water. 

the two of you stayed like that for a moment, before billie spoke softly, “baby?”

“hmm?”

“does it bother you? the things people say, i mean.”

you looked at her, thinking for a brief moment. “i mean, sometimes. a lot less than it used to.” pausing, your eyes travelled to the the last remains of the sunset before you continued, “i don’t think it matters when i’m with you. like, the happiness cancels out everything else.”

you saw the way her eyes lit up at those words, they way her whole body seemed to relax, “yeah,” she murmured. “yeah, same.”

billie gently lifted her head up so her chin was resting on your shoulder, and she nuzzled her face into your neck. the water was starting to grow colder, a soft bite to the chill of the cold night air, and billie let out an involuntary shiver.

“cold?” you whispered, hands moving to her arms, rhythmically moving up and down to warm her up slightly, feeling the muscles of her biceps under your touch. 

“yeah.” billie sighed, “don’t wanna go in though. i like it here, with you. i don’t feel like i’m billie eilish with you, just bils.”

 your lips twitched up, the same smile that had lit up her face earlier, “you’re always just bils with me, you never have to worry about that.” your gaze moved up to the sky, where the sunset had fully disappeared, replaced with the darkening blue sky. “it’s late, though. we should head back soon, we can cuddle.” 

billie smiled softly, “can we come back here?” 

“of course.”

the coldness of the night was more obvious once you were out of the water, and you shiver, reaching for a towel, passing a towel to billie as well. the two of you started to dry yourselves off in a gentle silence, the chill of the air becoming more apparent with each second that passed. billie glanced over at you as she put her towel in the bag, pulling on her jeans and hoodie over the bikini, and she took a second to appraise you as you dried yourself, her eyes roaming over your body in the dim moonlight.

your eyes flickered up, catching the lovestruck way she stared at you and feeling your lips twitch up into a grin—someone loving you as much as billie did was a blessing, truly. 

“see something you like?” 

“obviously.”

still grinning, you pulled on your jeans and another one of billie’s hoodies, grabbing your bag in one hand and her hand in the other, “let's get back to the car, i’m freezing my tits off.”

billie giggled, letting you pull her back up the winding, tree-covered path to the car, the flashlight on her phone lighting the way. you got to her sleek black car, opening the passenger door and slipping into the seat, instantly turning on the heater. 

turning on the playlist that you and billie shared, the drive passed fast, with the music you knew and loved, billie’s hand on your thigh for most of the drive. soon enough, you pulled into the place where you were staying, which was just the tour bus for the night because it was a short overnight stop before you kept driving. 

the two of you were still holding hands as you entered. finneas, maggie, and patrick all look up when the door opens, maggie and patrick together on the couch and finneas in the kitchen area. billie’s family adored you. truly, they all knew that there had never been anyone better for their daughter, and you were a part of the family. 

"where'd you two disappear off to? we all got a little worried when you suddenly took off." maggie spoke, her warm smile on her face. 

ÿou smiled softly, "we went down to a little cove by the beach, had a picnic. fucking freezing."

patrick let out a laugh, "ah, to be young and in love."

finneas turned around fully, leaning on the kitchen counter, “you guys make me want to throw up.”

scoffing, you spoke. “please, you can't  talk. have you seen you and claudia?"

finneas rolled his eyes, “i hate you—” he didn’t hate you, of course. he adored you. he knew you made his sister happier than anyone else ever could, and that was more than enough for him. “i’m going to bed, y'all are annoying.”

it didn’t take long for the two of you to also head to bed—a small room at the back of the tour bus, which only really  had a bed and some storage, but you and billie had made it feel cozy and as homey as you could. photos stuck up on the walls, fairy lights, the one potted plant that could survive the travel. 

clothes shed to the floor—her eyes lingering on your body in a way that was simply appreciative, perhaps adoring. the two of you had your fair share of sexual intimacy, but tonight was not one of those nights. the two of you peeled off your slightly damp clothes, billie unable to stop her smile at the sight of you pulling on one of her oversized t-shirts. 

before you knew it, the two of you were curled up under the blankets, limbs intertwined and her head resting on your chest, your fingers brushing through her hair soothingly. breathing synced, eyes shut, the two of you just lay together. you would be forever grateful that this was how all your nights ended, tangled up under the sheets with the girl you loved more than anything in the world. 

nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, billie’s lips gently brushed the skin of your collarbone where the t-shirt had slipped down ever so slightly. you breathed softly, not opening your eyes when you spoke. 

“I wanna marry you one day,” your voice was barely audible—tentative, but not scared.

not missing a beat, billie hummed in sleepy agreement, while her lips curled into a smile against your skin. “mhm, one day you’re gonna be my wife.”

and just like you’d said you would, the two of you had returned to that cove.

around a year later, once you’d been home in los angeles for a few months, you’d suggested a holiday. a getaway from all the work things billie had going on, some time for just the two of you. billie had instantly brought up returning to new zealand, where the cove from that blissful evening a year ago had been.

so soon enough, the two of you had made your way there. new zealand was refreshing, in a way. it was as if billie wasn’t a celebrity, people would stare in awe for a second, perhaps approach her once, but then they’d move on with their days. it was the contrast you needed when you lived in los angeles, where billie only had to walk down a street with shark for two minutes to have the paparazzi in her face. 

a year after that swim, a moment that you felt had been one of your favourites of your entire relationship with her. a year after those sleepy words, a year since the idea was seriously planted in billie’s head. a year later, the same cove, another sunset, another simple picnic. 

it was straight out of a movie, the soft breeze, the painted sky, the image of the two of you sitting there together, your head resting on her shoulder. 

it was like billie had planned it all out, the way you reached into the picnic basket for another piece of fruit, only for your hand to fall on a small box. you faltered slightly, pulling your hand from the basket and looking at the box in your hand for a long moment. 

“open it.” billie’s gentle voice broke the silence. 

and so you did. in the box sat a ring—a ring you could’ve sworn you’d mentioned to your best friend before. it wasn’t too extravagant, too flashy, it wasn’t a statement. it was just a gorgeous ring, one that you stared at in a trance for a long moment. 

when you looked up, billie’s eyes were fixed on you. she had a slightly nervous look about her, and was fiddling with her hair, lips pursed slightly. still, she was smiling. a soft, small smile, eyes glued to you as she watched every single reaction you had to unboxing the ring she didn’t speak yet, letting you process the sight of the ring on your own. you could practically see the way her heart was racing, the way she was hoping with every fiber of her being that you'd say yes.

“will you–” 

she didn’t need to finish her sentence, you already knew your answer, a smile lighting up your features as you stared at her for a second. you almost felt as though you were about to cry, and you reached out to take her hand that had been fidgeting with her hair. 

“yeah. yeah, i will.”

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @b1lli3sgirl @giababyyyishereee @bitchesbrokenpromises @foliverfalls @cantlandonmyfeet

[blueheron15]

there’s no place like the beach (or you)

paring: jj maybank x cameron!reader

warnings: smut, but mainly fluff

a/n: based on this ask! may have gotten a lil carried away

you were in the midst of riding a wave when you accidentally lost your footing, taking a tumble into the clear blue water.

you resurfaced, unfazed, spitting out the salty tang in your mouth as you caught your breath, pushing your wet hair back.

“you good princess?” jj called from where he sat on his board, waiting for a good wave to come.

“fine!” you called back, hopping back up onto your pink and teal board, paddling over to him. looking at his blonde locks, drenched from the ocean, swept back over his head. his gorgeous eyes. the way his face lit up with excitement, biting his lip to contain his grin and he flipped around on his board, stoked and ready to surf the swell.

“let’s go then!” he hollered. “yeah baby!”

you made your way to the shore, surfing till the wave died out. jj did his flip off of his shiny, waxed board, before dragging it to the sand. he collapsed onto the ground, arms and legs out like a starfish as he panted.

“you guys!” john b called from where him and the rest of the pogues were packing up the twinkie. “we wanna head out!”

“no way!” jj pouted. “i don’t want to leave yet.”

pope rolled his eyes, but you caught your sister sarah’s eye with a fond smile. “you guys go.” you offered, waving your hand in dismissal. “i’ll stay with him.”

“you sure?” sarah questioned. “dad wanted us home for-“

“no, i’m sure.” you interjected. sarah hesitated. “just go, it doesn’t matter.”

“see yall later then!” kie said before the twinkie engine sputtered as they drove away.

you plopped down next to jj, your knees to ur chest and your hand behind your back as you relaxed, face tipped to face the sun.

“i like this tiny lil thing on you.” he murmured, taking the strap of your white bikini adorned with orange flowers between his fingers. he pulled it and let it snap back against your skin.

“hey!” you whined in protest, playfully shoving him off of you.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at the ocean. your gaze lingered on him for a little while longer, smiling at him.

“how’s your dad been?” he questioned, breaking the silence as he kept his gaze ahead.

you had a rough relationship with ward. although you and sarah were technically both the middle children, you were more of the cliche middle child. - younger than sarah but older than wheezie - forgotten as a kid, rebelled against as a teen.

you hated your fathers ideals, what he stood for, and how he behaved. actually, when you defied him, it was the only time he gave a shit about you.

“prolly about the same as yours.” you joked, looking to the water, watching a pelican dive down.

he grinned lightly, making a noise of acquiescence.

your presence calmed jj. you had the kind of relationship where you could say nothing and yet everything at once.

when sarah started hanging around the pogues because of john b, you eventually joined in, too. she knew you’d get along great because of your common interests - the beach, and surfing especially.

and, surprisingly, jj didn’t hate you. he hated your brother rafe, of course, but that was to be expected. you pretty much hated him too.

jj maybank made you feel seen. in a world where u didn’t matter, he saw you and heard you. he even called you the kook princess, and didn’t even mean it as an insult. you were perfect in his eyes.

of course, he didn’t know about your feelings, and you didn’t know about his either. but you had grown to be best friends. he loved to tease you, especially poking fun at the fact that you never seemed to have any game.

it was because you only wanted him.

you stayed at the beach for a little while longer before heading back to the chateau. despite its unusual calm and quietness, you hopped into the out door shower, scrubbing out the sand that had filled the nooks and crannies of your bathing suit.

“all good in here?” jj questioned, a smirk on his face as he peeked his head around the wooden wall.

“jj!” you squealed, jumping and turning around. you glared as he chuckled. “i could have been naked!”

he shrugged casually. “i don’t see why that would be a problem.”

“ugh. you perv.” you grumble, secretly liking the attention, raking your fingers through your fizzy hair.

you continued about your business, ignoring jj who was still standing there. before you could ask why, he took a step into the water with you.

“jj.” you repeated in a mumble, cheeks flushing. “what are you doing?”

“showering.” he responded dumbly, placing a large hand on your waist and lightly pushing you out of the stream of cool water.

“showering, or trying to cop a feel?” you tease, placing your hands in your hips.

he shamelessly looked you up and down, a smirk growing on his face, naughty thoughts undoubtedly swarming his brain. “well…” he muttered, ruffling his hair, the water running down his body and chest. “i’ve never gotten with a kook before.”

you sputtered. “w-what? you seriously- wait it doesn’t matter. i was o-obviously kidding, i-“

he looked at you, taking a breath. or a gulp? he seemed a bit nervous as butterflies swarmed your stomach. he took a small step forward. “i wasn’t.” he said.

you look up at him, also stepping towards him, standing on your tip toes as he breath fanned over his face. “you’ve never? gotten with a kook before, i mean?” you whispered playfully.

he shook his head no. “you’d be the first.” he replied huskily, tentatively placing his hands on ur hips.

“so… why me?” you asked, your noses nuzzling against each others.

“because i’ve always wanted to.” he breathed, leaning in and pressing your lips together.

you got a tingling sensation from the feel, the butterflies erupting in your stomach and making their way to your heart.

you felt the need to grip something, to ground yourself, so while one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the other reached behind you and gripped the faucet handle, leaning backwards as his passionate kiss pushed you further.

you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips as his tongue ghosted over your lower lip. his hand ghosted over your ass cheek, squeezing it, eliciting a louder sound from you.

“jay…” you breathed, slightly breaking the contact. “the others… my sister, they’re-“

“not here.” he finished for you, massaging the flesh of your backside, head lowering to rest in the crook of your neck, pressing kisses there like he’d always dreamed of. “they left a note.”

“oh” you nodded dumbly, head falling back as he sucked a bruise into you skin.

he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall. you felt the hardness beneath his swim trucks and involuntarily bucked your hips against it. “oh!” you repeated, eyes falling shut.

a strangled noise escaped his throat as he bit his lip, but he forced himself to speak. “open your eyes.” he said softly. “look a’me.”

they fluttered open, staring at his ocean blues which were now practically black.

“tell me.” he breathed. “are you sure you-“

“jj.” you interrupted. “i’ve always wanted this, too.” you confessed.

he looked at you for a moment before his lips crashed into yours again, his body rocking into yours, causing your core to pulse.

“mmf!” you whimpered, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, your head falling to his shoulder.

his coarse hands gripped your hips impossibly tighter, grinding and guiding them against his cock. “fuck” he cursed, willing his knees not to buckle.

you pawed at his biceps, your breathing growing heavy as you rubbed yourself up and down against him. your pussy was burning with desire, but you were honestly desperate for any kind of release after ogling at him all day and his relentlessly flirting. your back arched off the damp wooden wall as you mewled.

“tell me what you want, princess. ill give you anythin’” jj groaned, pleasure taking over his senses.

“i-i wanna cum, like this, please! jay!” you moaned.

“i gotchu, baby. i got you.” he panted. his thumb began swiping over your clit, covered by your bikini bottom. “feelin good?”

your mouth was dropped open in a soundless moan as you nodded. “h-harder” you breathed, your hips taking over as you bounced up and down.

he put more pressure, rubbing rough, small circles over your bud.

“ah! yes!” you yelled, feeling his dick throbbing beneath you. “shit- oh, jj”

“c’mon, cum for me,” he whispered, his mouth against your ear, gazing downward, watching your hips hump against each other praising you. “prettiest girl i’ve ever seen. please. needa see you let go for me.”

little “uh uh uhs” left your mouth as you chased your high, nails digging into jj’s shoulder as you let out a loud moan, cumming over his ugly checker patterned bathing suit.

and, later, after yall actually showered, as you lounged in his self proclaimed bedroom in an over sized hoodie and your hair in a high pony you ignored the buzzing of your phone.

ward: Young lady, I told you to be home.

ward: Why out of all my children do you disrespect me so much?

ward: You’re an awful daughter.

ward: Whenever you get home, meet me in my study.

you placed it away from you, cuddling up into jj’s arms.

“you sure you don’t gotta be home?” he asked, his chin resting against the top of your head.

“i do.” you sighed. “but i’m not going to go.” you glanced up at him with a smile. “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be”

his lips broke into a cheeky grin, pushing you down against the bed as he kissed you, fingers making their way to your little shorts.

you snorted at his eagerness, but you didn’t mind it.

you had wanted each other for forever. it was time to make it official, anyway.

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

Jedi Knight Jaune Arc having to duel Pyrrha because she fell to the dark side and became a sith sometime after he turned down her feelings so he could adhere to the Jedi code, but still values her friendship, which obviously given this prompt, wasn't enough for her.

I’m sorry I didn’t get this out sooner everyone. Not only missing Star Wars Day this year, but LAST YEAR as well. I finally got motivated to just start it and post it this year, even if it is still late for Star Wars Day on May 4th. I just need to get over trying to post things on specific days I guess.

I do hope you all enjoy it though! I love Star Wars, so this Ask was awesome to get! But there are a few things I would like to change just because I think it'll fit better. Pyrrha becomes more of a Dark or Gray Jedi, not really a Sith. Basically, she won't adhere to any group or abide by a side's force teachings. It's more like she will be self focused, only doing what she thinks is right and just needs the power to do so. She won't be totally corrupted by the dark side, so think that she’s like Asajj Ventress a bit.

Also, she "falls" not just because Jaune doesn't reciprocate her feelings, but also because she sees many flaws in the Jedi way and the Order as a whole. I just think that would be more fitting and interesting rather than her just being a Yandere.

It was passing dusk in Vale, a warm orange light falling over the kingdom. As night approached, the streets were growing quieter. However, the streets were no place of importance at the moment. No, it was in a run down starship factory where there was currently an exchange happening, one that would alter many lives in the future. 

Inside the dim interior, a bright sapphire blue lightsaber clashed with a duller emerald green one. Where the blades of energy collided and locked, a flash of light erupted from the two lightsabers clashing, illuminating the faces of the two wielders. The body holding the blue lightsaber was Jaune Arc, a recently made Jedi Knight. His blonde hair looked messy, matted with a mix of sweat, dust, and other grim found around the abandoned factory. His Jedi robes were dirty and a bit tattered in places, singed in others. 

Across the locked lightsabers was the wielder of the green blade, Pyrrha Nikos. In contrast to Jaune, she looked relatively clean and unbothered. Despite all the fighting she’d been doing, her crimson hair was still neatly done up in her ponytail. Her own clothes only had sparse flecks of dirt. She had forgone her traditional brown and white robes that she usually wore like Jaune. Instead, she was now wearing a dark red and black jacket over a simple red shirt. Around her waist were a pair of tight bronze pants and a small red sash tied around her waist that she usually used to hide her lightsaber more. This woman was once Jaune’s comrade and friend. 

Now, she was his adversary... 

As Jaune struggled back and forth in the saber lock with Pyrrha, he thought about how it came to this. Trading blows with his best friend? Someone he had gone into battle with, trained with, grew up with!? He’d never imagined this being possible. As the blades were pushed back and forth, illuminating both of their faces, Jaune thought of how quickly things had come to this.

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

Jaune had just gotten back from a training session when he had heard what happened. Pyrrha had suddenly lashed out at the Masters before abandoning the Beacon Jedi Temple, escalating to fighting her way out at some point and gravely injuring Master Ozpin in the process. When the Master’s finished explaining everything, Jaune didn’t hesitate to go after her. He needed to see what was wrong with his friend. There had to be some kind of explanation for all of it! 

He ran to the temple hanger, hopping into his starfighter and took off. It was only thanks to a secret pair of transponders he and Pyrrha shared that led him to her location. They had exchanged them long ago, back when they were only padawans, so that they could always find each other if they ever needed to. Only Pyrrha had ever had to use hers… this was the first time he had used his. The transponder showed Pyrrha’s ship just outside the kingdom at an old Corelian starship factory. 

When he arrived after speeding through the orange hued skies, he immediately saw Pyrrha’s ship on a raised landing platform outside. It was easy to recognize as it looked identical to his own, aside from being red and bronze instead of gold and white. He landed as carefully as he could next to her fighter.  and got out. He spent a brief moment checking her ship for any sign of her. He also before sprinting off into the factory.

As he jogged through the dust and rust covered halls, he kept calling out to Pyrrha. Then he finally caught up with her, or more accurately, she caught up with him. As he ran through a storage hanger, Pyrrha had suddenly dropped down from above behind him, showing that she had known Jaune was following her the whole time and was just waiting for him. 

Jaune certainly hadn’t expected it though and spun around sensing a presence behind him, igniting his lightsaber as he did. When he saw it was Pyrrha however, he actually smiled and stowed his weapon, clipping it back to his belt and moved to hug her. A hug she happily returned.

After a few seconds of embracing, they separated, and Jaune just unleashed all his questions at once. Was she okay? Did she actually fight through the temple guards? She didn’t really try to kill master Ozpin, did she? What was going on?!

And to Jaune’s shock and disbelief, she admitted to it. All of it. Right down to fighting and almost killing master Ozpin, but instead only left him with a missing leg. She then stunned Jaune even more as she stated very plainly that she was leaving the Jedi order. The only thing that was more unbelievable to Jaune was her reasons for doing so. 

“I’m tired of being told how to feel and live! I’m sick of being told to ignore my emotions when they’re a part of who I am! I’m fed up with being told I’m not supposed to try to control the force certain ways, but then watch as all the “masters” keep trying to rip the balance of the force in their favor! Drawing countless innocents into a millennia old war and their order! All the leaders of the Jedi are just misleading hypocrites! But… but not you Jaune. You truly believe in everything you say you do, you see such good in everything and everyone. That’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you… You are one of the few people I have ever met that just are how they seem. You are who you say you are, you do what you say you’re going to do. No lies, no half truths, and no manipulation to control others. Just a caring, sweet man, doing what he believes is right and helping whoever he can.” Pyrrha tenderly placed a hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb along his cheek bone softly. “I love you Jaune, please… let's leave the Order together.”

When she asked him that, Jaune stepped back, leaving Pyrrha’s hand outstretched where she had been caressing his cheek. “Pyrrha… y-you can’t be serious. The Jedi, they’re good people. They’re the ones trying to keep peace and order throughout the galaxy!”

Pyrrha’s outstretched hand slowly closed, clenching into fist like she was trying to grab hold of Jaune even though he had moved. Then she threw her arm down out to her side, looking at Jaune angrily.

“Why can’t you see what the Jedi really are, Jaune!? They're all hypocrites! Saying that all life is sacred and connected through the Force, but the council is happy to force us to be isolated our entire lives, never allowed to feel everything that living creatures are supposed to feel! They’ll let some people fend for themselves, but risk everything to save others! They’ll spare criminals and monsters time and time again in the name of ‘mercy’! They’re idea of peacekeeping is going to ruin them and this galaxy sooner or later…”

Jaune stepped back closer to Pyrrha, this time not to hug her but to question her. “Pyrrha, what’s gotten into you!? Why are you thinking like this? You’ve always believed in the good the Jedi do, you were one of the best students of the temple! You know more about the Jedi teachings than any I know! What’s causing you to change all of a sudden?”

Pyrrha let out a humorless chuckle as she began walking around Jaune, circling him slowly. “What changed Jaune? Only the fact that I realized we were just becoming soldiers in a war for the Order, trying to ‘keep the balance of the Force’, but by tipping the scales in their favor any chance they get! I heard that there were refugees from Vacuo unjustly being held prisoner and by some council member in Vale, so I had to help them. When the Masters heard what was happening though, they ordered me not to intervene! That the possible crimes of politicians weren’t a high priority! They were more concerned with Ysalamiri being smuggled onto the planet and told me to go investigate that instead!” Pyrrha stopped her pacing, her teeth now grinding together as she remembered how dismissive they had been. “They were fine with just letting those people suffer and die! And when I defied their orders and went and found the prisoners anyways, there wasn't enough evidence tying the council member to it, so they got away with no justice for the people that he was holding captive and planning to sell into slavery!” Nearby, a metal crate was crushed down to just a large clump of metal, showing Pyrrha’s rage was flowing through the Force.

“Pyrrha, just calm down!”

“NO!” Jaune felt an invisible force shoving him back, his feet skidding along the ground as he slid back a good distance back from Pyrrha. He was rather fortunate that is all that happened though, because other objects like old hover carts and loose floor paneling went flying away from her. “Don’t tell me to calm down! Not when I had to then be lectured by Master Port upon returning to the temple. He and Master Branwen went on and on about how I need to handle situations like these more diplomatically, how I only endangered lives by rushing in and confronting them all with aggression... all while that slaver scum got to walk free!”

Jaune felt a pressure building up around him in the stale factory air. He had never even seen Pyrrha angry before, but he was now seeing her furious. He felt both the Force and his instincts telling him he was in danger, but he suppressed them and kept his hand off his lightsaber. He didn’t want to escalate the situation before he had to…

Before he could think to start moving closer to her again, Pyrrha continued. “That’s when I decided… I’m just going to leave. The Jedi, their code, and the Order are just not what I want with my life anymore. I’ve been thinking this over time and time again since the war broke out. I saw time and time again the flaws and mistakes of the Jedi. That lecture was the last straw for me. So I told the Masters that I was leaving… and you know what they said?” An eerie calm tone was in Pyrrha’s voice. It unnerved Jaune so much that he didn’t speak up to answer her, even though it was rhetorical anyways. “They told me that I was just letting emotions cloud my sense of reason and judgement… that I should just go meditate to clear my mind… that I WASN’T leaving. They spoke to me like I was just a youngling, not a warrior that had seen battle. And they acted like I didn’t have any say in how I got to live my life! So I said they were welcome to try and stop me… and they chose to try.”

Pyrrha took a deep breath, trying not to calm down, but to just focus back on the current situation. “That’s why I fought my way out. They tried to stop me. It isn’t MY fault.” Pyrrha looked up into Jaune’s eyes. “Please Jaune, leave with me… we could do so much more good in this Galaxy on our own than the entire Order could together. And… we could give us a chance.” She reached out a hand to him, begging him to take it and go with her.

Jaune stared at Pyrrha, wide eyed and mouth agape. He had no idea what to say. This wasn’t the first time Pyrrha had told him she might have feelings for him, but it was the first time she had declared it. Now… she seemed so desperate. So finite in her confession. Other times she had seemed unsure and they both just brushed it off as confusion or simply very close camaraderie. Now she was asking him to leave the only life he had known for almost two decades behind him?! And he couldn’t get the image of her confessing to almost killing Master Ozpin out of his head. What she did  was wrong, he knew it was. Or he thought he did… 

“Pyrrha… I’m sorry, but I can’t just abandon the Order. It’s been my entire life. And… you know that Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments. It always leads to suffering in the end. I… I don’t want to risk that happening with us”

Pyrrha’s hand lowered to her side. Her heart filled with sorrow, but her eyes were the only part of her that she let show it. “I see… well then Jaune. This is where we part and go our separate ways. I wish you the best with following the Jedi. If there is anyone who will still be able to do good amongst their ranks, it’s you… May the Force with you. Hopefully it will guide us back to each other again one day.” Pyrrha turned away from Jaune, and Jaune watched her start to leave. As he watched her leave, he quickly thought back to everything she had said.

Then he remembered her admitting to what she did at the temple, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Wait!”

Pyrrha stopped mid step and spun back around, a smile growing on her lips as she looked at Jaune expectantly.

Jaune swallowed hard, knowing what he was about to say would be hard. “After everything you did at the temple… I can’t just let you leave either.” The hopeful smile growing on Pyrrha’s lips died quickly and Jaune could see her fist clench, but he made himself continue. “I-if you come back peacefully… w-we can get you a trial. I’m sure that w-”

“Jaune…” Pyrrha’s cold tone stopped his plea instantly. “If you try to stop me like they did… I’ll deal with you like I did them…” Pyrrha slowly reached down to her hip, the hilt of her lightsaber flying off her belt and into her hand. A beat passed, but then Jaune slowly drew the hilt of his own lightsaber off his belt and stared her down. He had cemented his choice.

Pyrrha looked at Jaune, troubled and uncertain. But after a moment, her face and nerves steeled, and Pyrrha ignited her blade. The bright emerald green blade that once reassured Jaune, now unnerved him greatly. Jaune’s only comfort was that she only ignited one of her blades, not both…

Then, dashing that small comfort to Jaune’s even further surprise and dread, Pyrrha rushed him.

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

And now they were here, locked in a fight that Jaune knew he absolutely couldn’t win. Pyrrha was more skilled than him in every way. He had fought and trained with her long enough to know that she outclassed him in pretty much everything. Her agility, strength, endurance… they were all so much greater than his own. Even her connection to the Force, despite all the mental and emotional turmoil that she was going through, was still stronger than his. 

She showed this by using the Force to push his leg out from under him, causing him to lose his balance and fall forward. Pyrrha capitalized on this immediately by using the hilt of her lightsaber to hit Jaune in the temple. The metal struck true, but Jaune managed to lessen the blow by rolling with it and getting some distance from her again, but his head was still throbbing from it. Jaune rolled up to his feet, ready to defend himself, but she held back. 

She could have effortlessly killed Jaune with that move if she really tried too. It would have been too easy for her to turn on the other side of her lightsaber and impaled his entire head. 

But she wasn’t trying. 

Jaune wasn’t sure to be thankful or frustrated, but he knew Pyrrha was just toying with him. Countless times she could have ended their fight. But instead of completely cutting a limb or running him through with her lightsaber, she’d only graze him with the side or tip. She’d then let him recuperate before continuing. She was being merciful. Or was it arrogance now that she seemed so much more aggressive?

Either way, she wasn’t trying to end the fight. She was trying to make Jaune give up. And Jaune refused to do that. No matter how many times she slashed him with her lightsaber, Jaune gritted through the pain and got right back up. His robes were plenty of evidence of that. The cuts, singes, and dirt from all her pulled attacks and knocking him down to the filthy factory floor kept piling up.

But Jaune still had to keep trying. He couldn’t win, but if he held her off long enough, other Jedi could possibly have tracked his ship and might be on their way to help him! Maybe even Master Goodwitch or Branwen! He just had to keep getting up and keeping her occupied.

Jaune finally pushed through the pain in his body and stood up, but his legs were shaky. “Pyrrha! Stop this! I don’t want to fight you! We can talk through this if you'll jus-!” 

Pyrrha sighed, shaking her head and stopping Jaune from speaking any further. “Oh Jaune… you're still just trying to be the perfect, textbook Jedi. Peaceful resolution this, nonviolent solution this. You’re always trying to avoid conflict whenever you can. Well sometimes…” Jaune could almost hear Pyrrha’s grip clench on her lightsaber tightening as she paused, looking down at her hand. Sometimes violence IS necessary! Sometimes, aggression is what is needed to protect others! And the Jedi are too arrogant and stuck in their ways to see that! And you chose their side… so now you’re part of the problem.”

Pyrrha raised her hand, her palm facing Jaune. The Jedi knight soon found that there was no longer any ground beneath his feet as he was picked up by the Force. He struggled feebly as Pyrrha got closer, not even looking like she had to concentrate to hold him aloft.

“Even now, you still impress me Jaune. I knew you were stubborn, but you’re also not foolish.  It took me a while to figure out what you were trying to do, why you kept getting up despite knowing you can’t win. I can’t let this fight continue and let you buy the Jedi more time to track me down. I’m sorry Jaune… but I have to end this now.”

Pyrrha pushed her palm forward, sending Jaune flying back into a wall. Or rather, through one. The factory walls were old, rusted, and this one in particular wasn’t bearing any kind of load. The metal gave way easily as Jaune smashed into it. He was sent sailing into a big, dark room, void of any source of light other than what was coming through the same hole he just had. 

Jaune slammed into the floor, rolling to a stop as the wind rushed out of his lungs. He came to a stop on his back, gasping several times before finally being able to get air in. He took in deep breaths of the old air before he started coughing. Both from the dust and what felt like very damaged ribs.

He struggled and tried to stand up, but was unable to find his footing. His body hurt too much. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was starting to feel all the bruises and singed cuts Pyrrha had covered his body with. Not to mention the likely broken bones he now had from being thrown through a blasted wall!

Jaune heard a light thud behind him. It took all his strength, but he managed to roll over onto his stomach and look behind him. He saw Pyrrha had followed him down into the darkness, now both ends of her lightsaber were ignited, illuminating a fraction more of the space around them, mainly themselves and the floor beneath them. Jaune felt panic settle in as he saw her approach. 

That’s when he realized his own lightsaber was no longer in his grasp. He did his best to look around in the darkness, despite the fact that every movement of his head made his whole body hurt. He didn’t see anything until Pyrrha got a few steps closer. In the dim green light approaching him, he saw the shine of his hilt, on the opposite side of him that Pyrrha was. He knew there was no way he’d be able to crawl to it in time. It was too far.

Jaune looked back at Pyrrha, seeing that she was still approaching him. He swallowed hard, and started to try and calm himself. He looked back to his hilt and slowly propped himself up on his arms. He reached out with his right hand, even though it was shaking. Pushing his mind clear of the pain and exhaustion, he reached out to the Force, beckoning it to bring his lightsaber to him. 

At first, nothing happened except Pyrrha’s footsteps getting closer, but Jaune soon felt relief as he saw his hilt start to wobble. It’s wobbling picked up speed and the hilt scooted a little along the ground towards him. He reached out harder, trying to connect to the Force even more so. Finally, with one last desperate mental plea from Jaune, the lightsaber took off from the ground. It sailed through the air at a fast speed towards Jaune’s outstretched hand, and Jaune almost cried when he saw it.

It was only when his hilt flew past his hand that he realized something was wrong, and it was much too late to stop it. The hard metal hilt collided with his forehead, a deep gash being torn into his face just under his hairline. The impact was so strong, Jaune was sent flopping back onto his back again. And the hilt kept flying past him afterwards right into Pyrrha’s own outstretched hand.

Even though Jaune couldn’t see anything in the dark room, it still felt like it was spinning around him. A wet warmth ran down his face. He knew he was bleeding, and badly as well. But he felt too nauseous after the blow to his head to focus on anything other than trying not to throw up. His damaged body was too exhausted and wouldn’t move anymore. Everything he had, he’d spent.

“Jaune… I am so sorry…” Pyrrha knelt down next to the defeated man, placing both their lightsaber’s down next to her. “I… I didn’t want this. Any of it. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Please, I hope you can forgive me…” Pyrrha fell silent as she just stared down at the man she loved while his head bled from the wound she had inadvertently caused to him. She reached down to her red sash and removed it from her waist. Then she gently went about tying it around Jaune’s head as a bandage, feeling even more guilt as he groaned when she tied the knot into place. “I… I have to go now Jaune… I’m sorry it ended this way… I had hoped we could have left together, found another path through life guided by our own morals and the Force, not the Jedi’s dogma or the master’s orders.” Pyrrha went to stand back up, but paused. She looked back down at Jaune, and lent down once more to his head, placing a gentle kiss on his temple opposite his wound.

Without another word, she grabbed both lightsabers and stood up, fully this time. The once Jedi  turned around and walked away, leaving back through the same hole she had come through.

Leaving the Jedi, their code, the Order, and Jaune behind her.

/////////////

Pyrrha looked down at Jaune’s lightsaber hilt in her hands as she stowed her own back on her belt. She had so desperately hoped for things to go differently when she decided to leave. But one thing after another kept going wrong. First, the council belittled her decision to leave. Then they tried to forcibly stop her from leaving. She got through them all, but while trying to leave the planet, she decided to wait for Jaune to ask him to join her. Jaune… then turned her down… then their duel… 

It had all happened so fast! Just yesterday she had wished Jaune a good training session in the forests of Vale before leaving for her own duties! Now… now she was no longer in the Jedi Order, had to fight her former masters on her way out, and… had to hurt Jaune in ways she only ever had nightmares about… and then left him injured and alone in some old factory!

But that was already done. She couldn’t go back and change anything she did. She had to go ahead with the path she had already chosen.

She walked out onto the landing platform where her ship was, and stopped when she saw that Jaune’s ship had landed right next to her’s, the cockpit still open. A matching pair, easily identifiable.

Another swell of guilt rose within her as she walked up to Jaune’s ship. She looked inside, and quickly found the controls needed for communications. She sent a simple message to the Beacon Temple. Then, for good measure, she made the communications relay start sending out a distress signal over as big of a range as possible for help. 

She waited until she was sure that she heard the pinging start, showing that the signal was being broadcast, before she lent back out of the cockpit. There was no way that the Jedi at the Beacon temple wouldn’t see the message or the distress signal. Honestly, any starships near the planet might be able to see the distress signal. But as long as it got Jaune help, she didn’t care.

With her attempt at helping Jaune one more time finished, she jogged over and hopped into her own ship. Before the cockpit closed, she reached down and ripped out the transponder beacon she and Jaune shared. She looked at it for a moment, before lifting it out of her hand and crushing it with the Force. The metal and circuitry shattered and crumbled into a misshapen ball. She then let it go sailing away off the landing platform and closed the cockpit. 

Her ship started up, the engines roaring to life. She placed Jaune’s lightsaber down by her feet and took the controls. With one final deep breath, and one lone tear trailing down her cheek, she took off, flying off into the now dark skies and into space.

Sorry I didn’t do much for the Jaune and Pyrrha fight scene as a whole. I had a whole sequence of events thought up for it, but I’m not too experienced with those and this Ask was already long enough without it. I can try a more detailed recounting if anyone wants in another Ask.

[nixariel]

Glad you liked! And oo, VERY nice base for the floor plan - so between the main hall/atrium and the possible Cleaners' living quarters, is that the auditorium where Brunt does her ground rules lecture?

Because I couldn't find a direct visual to the atrium like with the faculty room, but there are those corridors/deep doorway openings (behind Black Sheep when she's at the exam results board, red arrows in second image)

that could be entrances (and I think it's fairly standard for any decently-sized lecture hall to have at least two entrances at the top of the room), and putting a big-group room like an auditorium at the end of a communal space like the atrium would make a great deal of sense to me.

I think that that's what you have diagrammed already, but I thought I'd confirm because it's been a while since I had to read a technical drawing. ;)

I'd also thought about maybe VILE having repurposed Dexter's old classroom into the auditorium, because he had a bit of stage set-up too

but I think it would make more sense for VILE to have always had the auditorium, and then I don't know what they did with Dexter's room. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

However, I'm fairly certain it was not turned into Shadow-san's classroom because the back of his room looks to be all window instead - and, specifically, a window facing these two mountains/hills (red arrows; blue arrow is putative location for Shadow-san's room)

because the pattern of trees on those two hills matches the ones seen through that giant window (orange to orange, green to green).

And while parts of those patterns of trees definitely get reused in other places (or even the same place when the angle was different enough to need a new background instead of merely adapting the lighting like for images 7 vs 9)

those two hills seem to be the best-to-only match for both tree patterns and general hill shape that I've been able to find (and I am feeling extremely nerdy over having noticed this XDD).

I will admit that having Shadow-san's classroom at the far end of the academy doesn't quite fit with Black Sheep and Graham having been on their way there in this screencap ("Don't wanna be late for Stealth 101.")

because they'd have to be in either the right corner heading towards the atrium window (red arrows) or in the left corner heading towards the short side of the academy (blue arrows), both of which are in basically the opposite direction

but I don't know, maybe they wanted to swing by the library's vending machine (and why there is a food-containing vending machine in a book-containing library, I still Do Not Get XD) for a snack or something. XDD

Speaking of the library... I'd definitely agree that putting the cafeteria on the ground floor makes the most sense, and based on the transitions between locations during Black Sheep's theft of the hard drive, having the library on the ground floor would probably also be the closest-to-canon arrangement... but if you're running out of room, I'd be very tempted to put the library on the second floor just because that's the feel I get from it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

One other thought I had is that blowing up the academy really took A Chunk out of the mass of the island itself - as in, more than I would expect from destroying a nominally-superficial structure, even if VILE was trying to be Really Thorough about it. Plus there was that elevator Cookie Booker took down to the servers that a) seemed to take a while to get there and b) had an awfully big button panel.

So instead of Maelstrom having a Really Big Aquarium... what if his classroom is actually underground and those are underwater windows instead? Underground (or drilled into the mountain ;D) could also be where the more criminal-empire/less academic parts of VILE HQ are hidden as well, in order to minimize the building's footprint as a whole to any passing planes/boats/satellites. Then the destruction of those sub-levels would explain why the collapse was so extensive, because the bedrock there wasn't solid to begin with.

I have a few more screencaps of the atrium at various angles (albeit none as clean as the ones already posted here and here), as well as a few other odd locations, but if there's specific shots you're looking for, let me know and I'll see what I can find.

anyone wanna help me theorize and map out the inside of vile academy??

cause i have only this pic of the outside and the circled area is where i think the faculty viewing room is

suffice to say i'm not looking forward to mapping out the area by myself XD

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Hermit-A-Day Day 18: Favorite Build

This one is going to have a more normal fic formatting and is not related to my Glitch universe. Instead, it's related back to a post I made a long time ago on my main blog before I even made this one about Season 9 Pearl being over taken by an alien plant parasite. It is also somewhat inspired by "Can you tell I have no floor?" by allbluestarling on AO3 which is just a really cool fic you should read if you haven't. If you couldn't guess from the banner of this blog, my favorite build is Pearl's season 9 base.

@hermitadaymay

CW: Parasitism (not vividly described or gory but if that wigs you out in general I wouldn’t read it)

It Wears Her Skin

It's been weeks since Gem has seen Pearl. Weeks since anyone has seen her, really, but Gem is her best friend and so it makes absolutely no sense why Pearl won't respond to her messages. Generally, Gem has tried to give her some space. Pearl is an introvert who gets overwhelmed sometimes and needs to be alone and Gem respects that. It's just... she hasn't seemed right all season. She's a perfectionist, sure, every builder is. Gem gets lost in her builds too, has had days this season working on the castle or the tree where she forgot to eat or sleep until she was reminded to do so. But the last time she had seen Pearl- well it just wasn't right. So three weeks after the last time anyone has seen Pearl, Gem decides to hop over the river and bother visit her at her base.

The ground sinks slightly under her feet. It's all wet moss, Gem had watched from her side of the bridge as Pearl placed thousands of moss blocks by hand. The terrain rises up around her in deliberate shapes, molded over days and weeks of work. Custom trees litter the landscape, in vibrant colors that should not work together and yet do, oranges and pinks, blues and yellows. Creeping purple vines claw their way out of the ground and sway in the wind. All of it made of blocks that were so deliberately chosen for tone and texture that it isn't until you get right up next to one that you would notice it isn't actually organic. And that's just the landscape. Looking up, Gem watches the swaying petals of the two massive plants that tower over Pearl's base, one a massive flower and other shaped vaguely like an animal's head. It's all gorgeous, a beautiful display of creativity and design, of form and color.

Then there's the contrast of the buildings. The industrial grey and red blocks placed on the landscape like they don't belong, like something alien and jarring. They work against the land rather than with it, so different from the way Pearl usually tries to wrap her bases in with her extensive terraforming. The "human" part of the build, Pearl had said. Gem knows that below her feet is the tunnel with its rotting vehicles and flickering lights and stained medical bay. For just a moment, Gem stands in awe, staring at her friend's work.

"What are you doing here?" A familiar voice asks from behind her in a very unfamiliar tone. Gem turns, startled. Pearl stares at her, blue eyes icy and expression unyielding. She laughs awkwardly, not quite sure what to do.

"What, I can't pay my best friend a visit?" She tries to tease, forcing a grin, "I miss you, it's been too long and everyone else is boring me,"

Pearl grunts in acknowledgement but turns away from her, staring at a patch of mossy ground that's still empty. Her eyes narrow, a deep line forming between her eyebrows. Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she stares at what looks to Gem to be nothing.

"You planning something?" Gem tries, getting closer. She puts a hand on Pearl's arms and Pearl flinches away like she's been burned. Gem snaps her hands back to grip the fabric of her dress. Her and Pearl are normally both open with things like casual hugging or touching. It's not like Pearl to reject it like that.

"I just need to-" Pearl cuts herself off with a horrible sounding cough. She reaches into her overalls for a small notebook with jerky and frantic movements, hands shaking as she grips her pen. "There's something that should be there- there was something there. There was something there, there was something there, there was- there was,"

She's borderline hyperventilating as the sound of scribbling fills the air. Gem approaches carefully, like she would a wild animal. If Pearl didn't want to be touched before she surely won't want to be now. But she isn't quite sure what to do here.

"Okay, we can put something there then," Gem tries to sound comforting, to sound calming. But Pearl is still scribbling and muttering, not even seeming to remember that she's there. She takes the moment to really look at her friend. Pearl is clammy and too thin, dark circles bruising under her eyes. Her nails are bitten and jagged down to the nail bed and the skin around them is torn and red like she's been ripping it. Wait her hands. Her hands which are still sketching fervently. Something catches in Gem's throat. "Since when were you ambidextrous?"

Pearl stops suddenly, turning to look at her. And she drops the pen. From her left hand. She stares straight into Gem's eyes and how had Gem not noticed before that the blue is all wrong? They're less cerulean and more cyan, bordering on green. They glow, just slightly, in the shade of the giant flower. They're the same color as it's petals.

"I'm not ambidextrous. What are you talking about?" Pearl questions defensively. It's like she thinks staring hard enough will make Gem forget what she just saw. Gem lifts her head up, resolute, and meets her gaze.

"Can I see the sketch, Pearl?" She keeps her tone light, kind. "Must have been something really impressive to have inspiration strike like that?"

Pearl barks out a laugh that is not Pearl's laugh. "Yeah, sure yeah. Inspiration. Sure, I don't see why not, I guess," And with obvious reluctance, she hands the notebook over to Gem. She can identify the unfamiliar tone from earlier, now that she's heard Pearl speak more. It's like someone who isn't used to Pearl's voice is trying to speak with it.

Her suspicions are only confirmed by the drawing. The lines are thick and short, roughing out another industrial building, a signal tower maybe, in the space. Pearl's designs, even the quick ones, even the blueprints, have thin lines. She never pushes her pencil to the paper too hard, she typically builds shapes on top of each other rather than the choppy lines she's just done. This doesn't look like anything Pearl has every drawn that Gem has seen.

"Who are you?" Gem asks the thing using Pearl's body. She (they? it?) startles back, blinking rapidly. A nervous smile (not Pearl's smile, too crooked, their mouth is closed. Gem has spent so long encouraging Pearl to smile with her teeth) spreads across their face.

"I'm Pearl!" They insist. Gem just stares and their smile drops. They look.. scared? "I swear I am, really,"

"No, you aren't," Gem reaches to her side, wrapping her hand around the hilt of her sword.

"She gave me permission!" They shout suddenly, hands going up in surrender, "She wanted to help me!"

"What did you do with Pearl?" Gem growls, drawing the sword. The thing that is not Pearl backs up.

"I didn't do anything! She's still here she's just... letting me use her body for a while!" They insist, "When I'm done I'll give it back!"

And it... admittedly sounds like something Pearl would agree to. Especially if she really felt like whoever this is needed it.

"Why?" Is all Gem can think to ask. And the thing that isn't Pearl tilts their head, like somehow they hadn't been expecting that question.

"Why Pearl or why do I need her body?"

"Both, I guess,"

"I met Pearl in the void between worlds. She floated with a group. I stuck myself to her, tore a hole in her suit to touch her so I could speak to her," They've dropped trying to imitate Pearl's pattern of speech at all. Gem can't tell if it makes it more or less unnerving to hear this stranger’s cadence coming out of her best friend's mouth, in her voice, in her accent. "I told her my plight. I am lost. Humans had been to my world and they had disappeared. I was curious about what happened to them so I wanted to find some. I found Pearl,"

"She's not a human and even if she was she wouldn't know what happened on your planet," Gem interrupts. She can't tell what she's feeling right now. Her body is just cold.

"Yes, I found this out. Her being a shapeshifter is actually what made this possible. I asked her what the humans had been doing on my planet and she had no answer for me. But she agreed to help me recreate where the humans had been so I could do my research when she arrived in her 'next season'.” The thing using Pearl's body takes their right arm out of their black long sleeved shirt and shows Gem where, presumably, they had burrowed in. A cyan flower, maybe the size of the palm of her hand, grows out of Pearl's bicep. “I burrowed my way into her and she allowed me to use her knowledge of this world and it's resources to rebuild my memories. If she were a human I would not be able to use her form like this and leave her alive. I’ve melded with her code,"

The skin around where the flower sits is slightly discolored purple and just under the skin Gem can seen the spreading of dark blue roots. It isn't as gross as she expected it to be. It doesn't look super painful or super invasive even as she knows that this is some kind of parasitic plant using Pearl's body. Maybe they tried to be gentle.

"Is she gone?" Gem is afraid to ask the question. The alien puts their hand on Gem's shoulder reassuringly.

"No, she isn't. I am not always in control, only when I am working on this. When she comes to your meetings, that is Pearl. I am only borrowing her body for this. She is still speaking right now, even. She helps me know what materials to use, she guilds me in my building. I will leave once I've figured out what happened to the humans and my work is done," They slip their arm back into their shirt as they speak. Gem feels better, at least, knowing that Pearl is still there.

"So why haven't I seen her in weeks? And why do you look so worn down?" Gem questions. The alien blushes, looks down at the ground in shame.

"I am of singular focus, often. I don't always recognize how long I've been working. I forget that Pearl's body has needs, like sleep and food. My species photosynthesizes," They admit. Gem tuts, putting her sword away finally.

"Honestly, every builder gets like that sometimes, even those of us that know how an animal body works. But that's my friend's body you're using there. You should take better care of it," Gem insists.

"Right, yes," It agrees. "I will."

"Maybe try some soup. It's good, I promise,"

[disco-troy]

What if I said Rose Wilson Flamebird protector of Bludhaven... what if...

[a-lilyinthevalley]

As the sprites murmur and clamor around the new dusty blue fragment, the one who holds the orange one hangs back. They hold the memory gingerly, careful not to let it slip.

A scribbled hand on their shoulder makes them jump so badly that they almost drop the shard. They manage to catch it, but a deep gouge is drawn across their hand as a consequence.

They turn around.

It's a Sleeping One. And it's not moving away as the sprite looks at it. There is a crown of zinnias over where its eyes would be - they seem to be keeping the entity calm.

It points at the shard, drawing some sort of shape in the air. Due to the nature of the entity's body, the sprite cannot make out whatever it is the lost soul is trying to convey. The One... huffs, despite its apparent lack of lungs, and grabs the shard.

"Hey-!"

Static emanates from the figure. Eventually, after a long moment, it morphs into, "S̶o̴r̸r̶y̴."

Raising it above its head, it speaks in a voice softer than the anon thought it would, "Lo̶ok̶ ̵a̵w̷a̵y i̵f ̸yo̷u c̶an̵n̷ot̸ sto̸m̶a̵c̴h̴ ̷h̵e̵r ̵lo̵we̵s̴t p̶o̶i̴nt̵." Then, with no other warning, the figure hurls the memory on the ground and it shatters into hundreds of pieces of glass.

The shards don't fall, instead remaining suspended, glinting as they slowly turn in the air.

The surrounding area fades to a... familiar white. A shade they had seen with Silverbell, had heard about from what little bits and pieces they knew of Lily's time there.

The Sleeping One stands beside the sprite, silently looking at a small figure sitting in the middle of the box.

[CW: non-consensual body modification, mild body horror, suicidal ideation, rough rough rough rough very bad mental state oh fuck, gore (but cookied???), just generally a Bad Time]

--Day 56--

It was quiet in the box.

She hadn't moved for quite some time, the echoed sounds of shuffling grating to her ears after hearing it again and again.

It is quiet in the box when he arrives.

White Lily had seen the shades before, had had one-sided conversations with them as they said the same lines over and over again. Baked to serve, baked to convince her she was wrong~!

The shades never let her touch them -- always staying just out of reach. So when Elder Faerie's shade moves to stand in front of them, eyebrow creased and eyes - he had pupils, he had eyes - filled with worry, they recoil. Instinctively, and without much thought... but he notices. He always does.

"Lily..?" he asks, a bit hesitantly, "Are you alright?"

They almost bark a laugh at the audacity of this shade. A new strategy, how fun! 'Was she alright?'

No Of course~!

"I'm fine," they say, smiling. Their face ached.

He places a hand on her knee, and that is the first sign White Lily has that something is truly wrong. Because the shades are just that -- shades. Ghosts of memories in a white box.

"...Elder Faerie?" she manages to choke out, whisper sounding far too loud as it echoes back in her ears.

No, Lily. You aren't going to cry in front of him.

The old Guardian's brow furrows, and a second hand goes up to her forehead. It's blissfully warm, and White Lily almost melts right then and there. They restrain themself, though, blinking back tears to examine their old friend.

He looked tired. One too many sleepless nights, perhaps? Thinking of ways to seal the Beasts now that she had abandoned the project.

"Really, Lily..." he pauses, and she braces for a lecture.

Only for her eyes to widen as familiar arms wrap her in a hug. Warm, and safe, and Witches, they had missed feeling something like this, something other than a perpetual chill.

"Don't scare me like that," Elder Faerie says, voice hoarse.

"...What..?" they whisper, hands finding their place on the older cookie's back as they hug him back.

"You died, you idiot," he says, voice hollow, "You went and crumbled yourself because- because of those damn butterflies."

White Lily's first thought is that's wrong, quickly followed by warmth and something other than silence, thank Witches--

"It wasn't their fault," they mumble into his shoulder.

Elder Faerie scoffs, because of course he does, "Then why was it that after you went to talk with them privately, you decided the best course of action was crumbling yourself?"

"That was my fault. My... penitence."

They feel the other Guardian's body stiffen. Perhaps they had gone too far, but she couldn't have him blaming the butterflies. If they were still alive, he would be in charge of them now. He needed to take good care of them. Which reminded her...

"Elder Faerie -- you said I died," they say slowly, "So how am I here?"

He pulls away after a long moment, and White Lily mourns the loss of his warmth. The faerie steadies his breathing, and she nearly sees the cogs at work in his brain.

"I may have pulled your crumbling soul into the nearest suitable vessel, which just so happened to be me..." he says, not making eye contact.

He what.

"That's black magic," is all she can muster, stupefied. They watch as Elder Faerie takes their hand into his own, keeping his gaze trained on their entwined fingers.

"...I know. But I couldn't lose you, too. Not again."

"You've gotten through worse-"

"I am not going to bury my d- your body," he bites.

"How incredibly sweet of you," she deadpans, "But thank you for caring enough to try."

The two sit there for a moment, staring at the white walls.

"...You're going to leave again, aren't you?" she mumbles, gaze far away.

He sighs, "Yes. But you'll be out soon. This is one of the final parts of bringing you back."

"How soon?"

"Another week, at most. It's only been four days, Lily, I think you can wait a little while longer."

Her heart freezes in her chest.

"Four days," they echo.

Fifty-six days on her end. Eight weeks. Compared to his four days, the number felt enormous. They would laugh, but quickly find that they can't breathe. Why can't she breathe-?

"You can't," they whisper.

"Don't you want to go back to living? I'm trying to help you, you don't understand--"

"No, you don't understand! You cannot expect me to stay here for another two, three months-!"

Elder Faerie grabs her arm, snapping her into clarity as she turns to look at him. But they couldn't wait for him. They were tired.

"I'd-- I'd rather die again. Kill me, please, just crumble me and let it be over."

"Let me rest."

"Please."

"I can't," he chokes out, "I can't-- You can't ask that of me."

"Then you never really cared for me," she says, backing away entirely. Their hands hit the walls of the mental box holding their soul. They feel like crying. Or screaming. Or both.

She didn't have a weapon, nor anything else that would be able to end her. He wouldn't offer that mercy himself, and they were far too weak to challenge him like this.

"Please," they say again, the word echoing in the air around the two. A plea, a prayer, a desperate bid for some form of mercy.

He does not grace it with a response.

"I'm sorry," Elder Faerie says instead, and White Lily's world tilts. She can't balance properly, instead falling to the cold, hard ground. There's a faint buzzing in her ears, and her back is starting to ache.

"You're not strong enough to get out, yet. This next part... is going to hurt."

With those final and definitely-not-ominous words, he blinks away.

Coward.

They almost shout for him to get back here and explain when they feel it. A mounting pressure in her shoulder blades. She tries to roll onto her back, only to hiss at the effect it had.

It had hurt. Enough to make her see stars. Dread curls in the pit of her stomach.

Her growing panic is magnified tenfold between one second and the next as she feels movement underneath her dough.

What the fuck, is all they manage to think before another rolling wave of pain hits her. Stronger, this time. Some sort of strangled noise makes its way out of her throat.

It feels like fire, eating at their back and coalescing in their torso. They can't breathe, something must be pushing at her lungs, it isn't right, she can't think, and their body won't stop aching.

Another ripple of pain shoots down her spine, and she screams, long and loud, unable to catch her breath. They claw at the ground, fingers scratching against the stale tile hard enough to draw jam.

She feels sick, the only thing stopping her from vomiting being the simple fact that there was nothing in her stomach.

She thinks, briefly, that she's dying.

Pain. Scream. Breathe. Rest. Repeat.

Over, and over, and over, until

something

gives.

The cycle changes, and something sharp is pressing against their dough.

Trying to get out.

The pain builds, and White Lily thinks rather hysterically that she would rather be re-baked again, consumed by Witches, and broken into crumbly little bits instead of feeling the all-consuming agony that rips itself through her back and down into her stomach, and the sharp thing is under her skin, and there are things where there shouldn't be, and then--

Her dough splits open, jam splattering somewhere next to her head, and the scream that escapes their lungs is born of nothing but pure, primal, agonizing pain.

It hurt, it hurt, Witches, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-

but

it

didn't.

There is a sick, wet, squelching sound coming from behind her, not unlike tearing paper, and she digs her hands into the stale biscuit tile below her and screams loud enough to drown it out.

Their throat gives in, the sickly-sweet taste of jam filling her mouth as she chokes on the ruined remains of her vocal chords. With that final straw, White Lily slips, falling into some sort of fuzzy half-consciousness, the claws of suffering drawing deep gouges into their dough as they curl up into the darkest parts of consciousness.

They don't know how long they stay there.

Only that each moment felt like an eternity, each ripple of pain tortuous through the thin string of thought wrapped like a noose around her neck.

Until the pain receded into that same dull ache it was before, and they are unceremoniously dragged back to the waking world.

She can't think.

Hyperventilating, they manage to turn their head enough to glance over their shoulder and don't register what they're looking at.

Because that is a wing. Coming from her back.

They can't even muster the strength to laugh hysterically.

Maybe she's hallucinating again, only she knows what hallucinating feels like, and this was far too real. Details too horrifyingly accurate, even things that they would never have thought of when dealing with a wing ripping itself out of them.

Judging by the writhing movement coming from the other side of her back, she was about to have two.

They grit their teeth, fangs biting into her lip and drawing more jam.

Feeling it once wasn't enough to prepare them for round two. They don't slip into that strange half-state again, the only mercy coming in the form of it being faster.

She tries to scream again, only sending more jam into her mouth and down her throat to choke on. No sound comes from their chest, but their body screams instead.

Their lungs seize and their limbs tremble, and she can't help but hear every movement of the second wing as the clawed tip catches upon her dough and that same sickening rip is sent echoing through the box.

All at once, it's over.

The only thing left in its wake is silence, broken up by silent sobs and quickened breaths that feel far too loud in her ears.

They have to get up, sit up, something. But she can't move more than her head.

It takes a long, laborious moment of effort for her to shift enough that she can properly inspect her wings past the jam spread across them.

It was... strange. Disorienting to look at, knowing that the thing in front of them is now one of their limbs. The nerve endings are raw, each minute brush against them bringing a new round of suffering to her attention.

It isn't as bad as how it had felt for her dough to be ripping, splitting, falling apart at the seams- No.

No.

Nothing could be as bad as that.

But the strangest thing wasn't the wings themselves- It was their shape. Curved and leathery, clawed tips gleaming in the non-light of the box.

Not faerie wings, but dragon wings.

Of course fate itself had to get in on the cosmic joke, now. Look at Lily, they corrupted after learning about the truth of the world!

They are warm, if nothing else. She wraps them around herself the best she can, letting their warmth seep into her dough in an attempt to stop her shivering, uncaring of the jam sticking to them.

They can't speak, or make little noises to scare off the shades. Their ruined throat might not even heal, here in this place where reality is nothing but suggestion.

At least with the silence, they didn't have to listen. They could just fall back into their head... and pretend.

Pretend that there is grass at their fingertips and a breeze brushing through their hair, that Salt is off somewhere chasing a cat. That Silverbell and Mercurial Knight are chatting amongst themselves nearby, that Silverbell is getting teased about Black Sapphire again... Pretend that her back is whole, that the other Ancients are sitting next to her, that she isn't alone.

She pretends for a very long time.

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[TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED WORDS. FOR FUCK'S. SAKE.] [Umm, feel free to scream at me in the Discord Server, if that makes you feel better.]

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The Nebula Highlands, 3 weeks after White Lily's death:

As the group heads up the hill, the air grows quiet. Still. Devoid of any murmurings or dancing stars.

Just... silence.

The ground begins to clink under their feet. When the group looks down, they see thick pieces of glass, all vaguely triangular in shape, covering the ground.

They've made it to the top of the hill.

[Mod Note: Hi again! These next polls for this thread will work differently. Instead of it being One Action, all actions will be done, as long as they are voted for. The more votes for a specific action, the more successful an action will be. Happy choosing!]

[Mod Note 2: There's also a time limit, in the form of asks/reblogs made. Y'all's have a time limit of 20-25 reblogs/asks. It sounds like a lot, but... um... you'd be surprised.]

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[shoot-i-messed-up]

Hey is there any way to do a sympathetic or even good-aligned Orange Lantern? We’ve had sympathetic/good red lanterns, yellow lanterns, star sapphires…I feel like orange is next, but how can avarice/greed be good? Maybe a character with a god complex is so bad it wraps back around from being a flaw to a virtue—like, maybe they’re so greedy that they think of the entire universe as being part of their possession, so anything that threatens the universe is something they would fight against. Like the same kind of vibe as a dragon that thinks of an entire village as their hoard, so they protect the village. Or maybe their greed manifests itself as greed for knowledge or greed for worship or greed for friends/allies (as, perhaps, types of “power”), so even if they’re not like fully heroic necessarily, they can still be complex and complicated and can play off of the other Lantern Corps in interesting ways.

[heyitsdrawey]

DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ANYONE ELSE OR AM I COOKED 😭😭😭

How they met.. I think they get off on the EXTREMELY wrong foot (or wheel in this case x3). Conflicting autisms </3 they learn each other better overtime and get over the miscommunication but GOD drawey fucking sucks at romance/aff

It's not even like it's a random assumption either. Almost NOBODY trusts her around this time ( :c ). She's probably somewhat used to it at this point... which only makes Drawey feel worse </3 they don't want her to feel so excluded, but they are unfortunately scared of women </3silly

They say cabdraw soothes the soul... (im they. i say it :3)

can everyone on the planet promise to @ me when cabby gets restocked if she EVER DOES. i check creatorink literally every day. PLEASE i do NOT care how much we know each other. I don't care if we're complete strangers otherwise please just ping heyitsdrawey when cabby comes back I NEED HER IN MY HOME......

[birdmenmanga]

A while ago I received a beautiful painting of Eishi in the mail from @kitsoa!! I've been meaning to post pictures of it but I so rarely have physical objects I wanted a proper photoshoot to do it justice <3

When I first saw this I was absolutely blown away by the colors. These magenta-maroon hues aren't ones I associate with urban cityscapes at all and yet it's beautiful and dreamlike. There are a lot of poignant moments of loneliness in this series and this piece really captures that feeling, in my opinion. I almost feel like crying when I look at it sometimes. Kitsoa just has a way with color I can never hope of coming close to; I often look at her artworks and think, "Ah, her brain's just wired in a fundamentally different way from mine." (NOT a lamentation btw-- I consider it a blessing that we are put on this earth to show each other pictures of that which the other could not conceive of)

I have it up on my wall with sticky tack (didn't want to put tape on the front in case it got damaged when I inevitably have to move away) and I look at it all the time. I love it so much!! Thank you!!

[adriartts]

this network of mycelium