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777bae · 2 days ago

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PERFECT IMPERFECTIONS LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You finally open up to Luke about a long-standing insecurity of yours

Warnings :: Insecurities (dark circles)

Word count :: 1.4k

The evening has a quiet, gentle rhythm to it, a calmness that feels almost sacred. The kind of quiet that can only come from being comfortably wrapped in the presence of someone you love, knowing that the world outside can wait for a while. You and Luke are on the couch, the soft light from the lamp beside you casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The glow dances across his face as he scrolls through his phone, the familiar sounds of his movements grounding you in the present. You’ve always loved these quiet moments with him—when nothing else matters but the fact that you’re together.

But tonight, something’s different. The sense of peace you usually feel when you’re near him is heavy, weighed down by an insecurity that’s been gnawing at you all day. You can feel it pressing on your chest, slowly tightening with every passing second, even though you’re trying your best to push it away.

You’ve always had these dark circles. As long as you can remember, they’ve been there. When you were a little girl, you’d stare at your reflection and wonder why your face looked so tired, even when you hadn’t done anything to earn that exhaustion. As you grew older, it became something you learned to live with—something you tried to hide, tried to mask. No matter how much sleep you got, no matter how many “miracle” creams or makeup techniques you tried, those shadows under your eyes were always there. They became a constant companion, something you never quite got used to, but had learned to accept.

And yet tonight, they feel more pronounced than ever. Maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s built up over the last few weeks—too many late nights and early mornings, trying to balance everything, trying to keep it all together. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been staring at your face in the mirror all day, looking for signs of something different, something better, and all you’ve found is the same tired reflection you’ve always seen. Your eyes look heavy. You look drained. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it’s written all over your face.

As you sit beside Luke, curled up on the couch, you find yourself unconsciously shrinking away from him, trying to hide the way you feel inside. You pull your knees closer to your chest, folding in on yourself as if to protect the parts of you that are exposed—the parts of you you wish you could change. You try to make yourself small, hoping he won’t notice. But Luke, being Luke, notices everything. He always does.

“Hey,” he says gently, his voice a soft anchor in the quiet of the room. He looks over at you, his gaze immediately softening as he notices your change in posture. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet.”

You try to offer him a smile, but it’s thin, insincere. It feels like a mask that doesn’t quite fit. You don’t want to burden him with your feelings, don’t want to sound trivial, but the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

“I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about my dark circles,” you admit, the words hanging in the air between you, heavier than you’d intended. “I’ve always had them, you know? No matter how much sleep I get, no matter how much I try to fix them, they’re always there. And today, I just… I don’t know. I feel like they’re all anyone would notice when they look at me.”

The vulnerability in your voice surprises even you, and you immediately feel a wave of embarrassment, as though admitting this out loud somehow makes it worse. You brace yourself for the usual reassurance—the empty kind of comfort people often give when they want to make you feel better but don’t truly understand what’s going on inside. You’re so used to hearing it, to hearing people say, “It doesn’t matter to me,” or “You’re beautiful no matter what.” But you’ve always wondered if they mean it. If they can really see you, see the parts of you that feel broken, and still love you just the same.

Luke doesn’t say anything right away. His gaze softens, though, and you can feel his presence shift. It’s almost as if he’s studying you, trying to understand the quiet storm brewing behind your eyes. He moves a little closer, his body turning toward yours. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing over your arm, sending a ripple of warmth through you. But it’s not just the touch. It’s the way he looks at you—as if he’s trying to read every part of you, to reach the parts of you that you don’t even know how to express.

“Let me see you,” he says softly, his voice low but firm with the kind of gentleness you’ve always known him for. He doesn’t push you, doesn’t force you to explain yourself, but his words are a quiet invitation. An invitation to be seen, to be understood. “Look at me, babe.”

You hesitate, unsure if you’re ready to meet his gaze, unsure if you’re ready to let him see all the insecurity swirling inside of you. But when you do, when your eyes finally meet his, something shifts. There’s no judgment there. Only love. Only understanding.

“Those dark circles, the ones you think make you less beautiful? They don’t make you less, anything,” he says, his voice unwavering. “They’ve always been a part of you. And honestly?” He smiles gently, the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve always loved them. I think they’re beautiful.”

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as you try to process what he’s just said. “What?” you ask, your voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. “But they—”

“They’re a part of you,” Luke interrupts, his hands now gently cradling your face, his thumb sweeping softly across your cheek, where those dark circles sit. “They tell a story. A story of you—of everything you do, everything you are. They show your strength, your effort, your heart. They’re not flaws. They’re part of what makes you, you. And I think that’s beautiful.”

His words are simple, but they sink deep. So deep, in fact, that you feel a tear slip down your cheek before you even realize it. You hadn’t even known you were holding it in, but the floodgates open, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the wave of emotion rushing through you. You’ve never heard someone speak to you this way before, never felt so seen in your entire life. It’s as if the parts of you that you’ve always hated, the parts of you you’ve always tried to hide, are suddenly being accepted without question, without hesitation.

Luke’s hands move to cup your face more securely, his eyes never leaving yours, and his forehead presses against yours, as if grounding you in his love, in his belief in you.

“I love you. And I don’t just love you despite those dark circles. I love you because of them. They’re a part of your story, and they make you, you. And there is nothing in this world that I would change about you.”

The warmth in his words wraps around you like a blanket, melting away the harsh edges of your insecurities, leaving behind only peace. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in his words, letting them sink in. When you open them again, you feel lighter, freer, like a weight has been lifted from your chest.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead in the softest kiss, the kind of kiss that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. You let out a breath, a shaky laugh escaping your lips as you finally feel the truth of his words sink deep into your bones.

And in that moment, with his hands gently cradling your face, his heart open and steady, you realize something profound. The dark circles under your eyes, the tiredness that’s always been with you—they no longer feel like something to hide. They’re not a sign of something broken or wrong. They’re a sign of your resilience, your humanity, your capacity to love and work and care.

And Luke loves them. He loves all of you, dark circles and all. And for the first time, you can finally say that you love them, too.

#nhl #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl x you #new jersey devils #new jersey devils imagine #new jersey devils x reader #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #lh43 #lh43 x reader #hughes imagine #fluff

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fernpetals · 1 day ago

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Precious

An extension of THIS ask

More of Yandere John Wick and his dollification-kink

Warning: Stalking, manipulation, hints of infantilization, implied restraining, NSFW, John is soft but dark, tracking,dollification(obviously), a hint of corruption kink

Credit to the GIF owner.

Unedited Piece.

I kind of lost myself with this one. Note that the reader does not understand Russian in this one. So if any of my readers do, I apologise.

Precious. That is what you are to John. He sees you as precious and fragile. Especially if you are a civilian working a regular job. That is the most unfortunate of circumstances for you. Canon John is protective as such. Imagine yandere John—he is paranoid that something or someone is going to hurt you. There is a tracker somewhere in your car, and you are never going to find out. And your phone? He has the right connections—people who have your phone bugged for him.

And most probably, all this happens even before he is ‘officially’ your boyfriend. In his eyes, the proposal is simply a formality, just so that you don’t freak out.

Once in a relationship, it all turns worse. You don't want to move in with him so soon? It has been a month! His patience is now running thin. This might even be the cause of your first major disagreement or serious fight. If you choose to ignore him after that, even for a day, you are only making it worse for you. Suddenly, your home is broken in, thrashed or suddenly, you are locked out of your own home. The lock just wouldn’t open and it’s late at night. But either way, you don’t need to fear, John is just a call away. Or just happens to have been on his way to your place, to apologise, of course.

Sadly, this is just the beginning of manipulation and gaslighting.

Once he has you under his roof, there is no going back. Isn’t it strange? Some of your bathing and beauty products are already lined up in his bathroom cabinet.

“I bought them just in case you decided to stay for weekends. I was thinking of inviting you over.”

It is reasonable but you can see through it. Anyone can—he is trying to ease you into living with him. It’s harmless in your eyes, only if you knew how far he has gone and is willing to go.

John loves it when you put on pretty dresses—your closet is slowly filled with more and more of them. Either it is a dress he has delivered to you, or left on your bed, or he simply appears with a random dress in a bag.

“Thought it would look lovely on you.”

It is incredible how he gets the measurement right, even before you both get intimate. It’s like his hands have a mind of their own, mapping your form even through simple touches.

The truth is, you are all in his mind, every touch, every trace is imprinted in John’s mind. It takes him incredible self-control to not have his hands all over you. His throat dries up when he gets to touch you, even if it seems innocent, a squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand

Expect random trips to a boutique of his choice, he makes you try on as many dresses as you want, and he wants and every time you give him a twirl, he has to remind himself that you both are in public. If he likes a dress a little too much, he will invite you to his lap.

“Aren’t you a pretty doll?” His eyes have the darkness that unsettles you, just for a moment, before you shake it off

John is a gentleman, a true gentleman. A catch really—that is what you firmly believe. At least until you move in with him and the mask begins to fall.

Suddenly, you realise that you barely have time for yourself, your closet is filled with the dresses he likes the most and you never go out with your friends as often. In fact, it has been a while since you have gone out. You are always rushing home after work because John prefers that you do not stay out till late. When was the last time you had a night out with your friends?

But by the time you come to realise all this, it is too late, you are so deep in his lair, entangled in his web. It is not easy to keep a sane mind with the amount of times his head is buried between your legs, or his fingers or both. And let’s not talk about what a silly mess his manhood thrusting in and out of your slick folds makes you.

Like Donaka, John too has a corruption kink. You do not know how cruel the world is, you are a precious angel in this hell on earth. He wants to protect you, he will protect you and take care of you, regardless of what you want but he also gets off at your surprised expression when he bends you to a new position while your pleasure-drunk eyes look up at him. Only he will get to see that, of course.

What would you do without him? You are going to work? He is dropping you, soon, you will see that you do not need to work at all. He is your protector and provider. You genuinely enjoy it? Well, you can continue what you do as a hobby, what is the need to take the pains of going to work every day?

John does not understand that. As I mentioned before, he sees you as something precious and fragile, a sweet doll that belongs to a safe, cosy, soft dollhouse. He makes sure that you have enough sleep, and enough nutrients and that you do not engage in any ‘dangerous’ activity. You do not need to cook, he will happily do that. If you insist on helping, he will let you mix things up, and even stir maybe, but you are staying away from hot oils and knives.

John is also the type who loves to kiss you on the cheeks for some reason, his lips softly touching your skin has a familiar warmth enveloping his heart. Even during intimate moments, he kisses you all over, like his lips tracing your body.

It is perhaps during the passionate, intimate moments that you get to see a glimpse of carefully concealed darkness. The sweet nothings make you blush. he says things in Russian that you have no idea of-

“You are meant to be fucked stupid and sleep soft and cosy in this bedroom, aren’t you? Why even bother stepping out? I have everything here for you.”

“Aren’t you pretty like this? My precious doll, all dressed up for me.”

“You were mine since the day I laid eyes on you.”

“Should keep you here all the time, huh? It’s too dangerous outside.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“You are mine, aren’t you? All you need is me.”

“I could have just taken you, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything…”

If you do manage to put the dots and confront him someday, he will try to manipulate you and if that doesn’t work and you still want to leave…Good luck. Besides, he will have a good laugh watching you trying to fight him. Might even be condescending and mean about it.

#yandere john wick #yandere john wick x reader #keanuverse #yandere assassin #john wick x reader #john wick imagine

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bigfriedbassoon · 3 days ago

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I’m adding my bit because I think while this interpretation of Gertrude’s speech is interesting, it does tacitly discount that this is still Gertrude opportunistically projecting onto Ophelia, freely manipulating her corpse, and rewriting her story, something she does in every interaction she has with Ophelia.

I reject that it is Ophelia’s particular destiny to die; we’re all going to the same dust heap as Alexander, Yorick et al. Bringing predetermination in lets a lot of guilty parties off the hook.

Ophelia is free, and lives to taste freedom. Unlike Hamlet, she is completely liberated by the death of her father. In Act IV she is freer than anyone else, liberated from rhetorical logic and the constraints of the court. She commands the King’s audience at her whim, she can discuss sex and folk knowledge openly without the euphemisms Gertrude has to resort to in the willow speech.

But when Ophelia is dead, Gertrude may assert that she was a victim “incapable of her own distress”, betrayed by “envious slivers” of wood, whose clothes are “heavy with drink” and cannot be shed in time to protect her from drowning.

(Never mind that when Ophelia is dead, Laertes has nothing to live for and becomes even more likely to kill Hamlet despite Claudius’s faint objections that the rage he had to soothe will get to be unmanageable once more. That’s all incidental and would be quite rude to point out.)

According to Gertrude, the whole world seems to have risen up to swallow Ophelia and nobody could stop it, least of all a Queen.

This is a moment which is often characterized as beautiful without real evaluation. When I read this speech and try to divorce it from the 400 years of art that reinforces the imagery of Ophelia’s death, I find it no more beautiful than the King Hamlet’s reporting of his own death and crappy afterlife. I think the willow speech is ugly and cruel, self serving and short. Gertrude reports Ophelia’s death in ninety seconds or less. Gertrude “will not speak with her” in life and only uses this speech to mute her- what songs was Ophelia singing?

Ophelia does not find peace. Who can say she is interested in peace? She is silenced.

From Gertrude’s reporting, We don’t even really know the particulars of Ophelia’s “muddy death” even if we know everything else. Laertes, shocked and reeling after the vivid description of the scene — Gertrude’s purple response to his simple question of Where did my sister die?— has to prompt Gertrude to reconfirm Ophelia is “drowned”, but Gertrude doesn’t explain further. It’s true we don’t know if Ophelia actually struggled or not, though if the “glassy stream” was clear enough to reflect the willow tree before then it seems something must have kicked up silt.

(We don’t know if Ophelia wanted to die. Gertrude implies suicide loudly enough that her death becomes “doubtful” and her burial on hallowed ground is widely perceived as a simony meant to assuage the guilt of the royal family. Would it be distasteful to point out how this supposed mercy keeps Laertes in the King’s debt?)

All we know is “pretty Ophelia” was loud and inconvenient yesterday, but today the “poor wretch” is dead and tomorrow (at the funeral) she might have been a suitable wife for a Prince.

Like everyone else in the play, Gertrude sacrifices this girl and her memory for the sake of self interest. Like all the painters who choose Ophelia as their subject in the next few centuries, her awful death is made into a fascinating symbol to serve someone else’s purpose or meaning. Maybe about hysteria, maybe about the patriarchy, never about Ophelia. Somehow this is beautiful. Somehow this is powerful, but for whom?

The truth is plain; there is no dignity in death and there’s no true escape in it, except for the guilty and beguiled who yet live. Ophelia dies of neglect, without anybody who is willing to defend her before or after. That’s what this speech tells us, no matter how you spin it: your sister’s dead, there’s nothing I could do, she brought it on herself.

And in Elsinore, funeral fare is repurposed to wedding banquet.

just saw the most brilliant version of hamlet i’ve ever seen, and while i’ve already gushed about it to everyone in earshot, i have to talk about Ophelia’s death more. the way this production did it permanently changed how i view the scene, and god it’s good.

in the text, Ophelia sings her songs, hands out her flowers, says good bye, and leaves. Gertrude follows and returns later with the news that Ophelia has drowned. She describes a beautiful image to Laertes of his sister, floating in a river, singing her songs, with flowers all around her (see: my pfp). Beautiful even in death.

but in this production I just saw? Gertrude lies. we get to see the truth of Ophelia’s death. it’s not a beautiful thing, but ugly, clawing, sobbing, drinking, and “drowning” her sorrows in alcohol and pills. And only Gertrude knows. and she spins a tale of comfort, telling Ophelia’s brother of her beauty, making her last moments seem peaceful and perfect.

as women, dragged through the story, expected to be beautiful and perfect, I think perhaps Ophelia and Gertrude found a bit of themselves in each other. I think Gertrude knows pretending to be beautiful and perfect all too well. that she too finds herself in the ugly, sobbing moments. that we see her in these moments. but she knows how to smooth things over and make them look beautiful. so she does.

I always found it interesting how Ophelia was beautiful in death. how her final scene finally let her break and be something other than perfect and graceful, but then her death was beautiful. but if it’s a lie? well, that changes everything. and i love it.

#hamlet #Shakespeare #ophelia #gertrude and Ophelia are not the same #sorry I’m posting like I’m at the castle

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crescenthistory · 3 days ago

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HIIII CARINA!! BIGGEST CONGRATS ON 2K!!! you are so amazing and your writing is so so beautiful!! you are the most deserving of such a huge milestone <333

i was wondering if you could argue regulus black with number 24 from the aus list? he is very dear to me, your honor <33

HIIII SWEET ANON!! thank you so so much, you are just so awfully kind<33 giving you a big smooch and a little bit of reggie xx this will be the "soulmates cannot injure one another" au !

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 24 "soulmate au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: gn!reader, black family trauma, implied childhood physical abuse, acid, somewhat sunshine!reader

wc: 2k (i will write short drabbles she said. they will be less than 1.5k she said. girl.)

Regulus knew he should tell you, and he knew he should do so soon – Sirius had even gone as far as to say he had to tell you.

Regulus knew he had to tell you, but he had no idea how.

Soulmates always felt so foreign to him growing up, some abstract concept he could not apply to the realities he saw around him. Someone who was destined to choose you and to love you, to the extent where it would be physically impossible for them to hurt or injure you in any capacity. No matter what he did, no matter how many nights he laid up thinking it over or how many books he devoured to understand it, Regulus could not make sense of it.

Even years later, when he had at last processed that love in and of itself should mean you could never harm the other, without any cosmic intervention, he had felt as if that was simply not a possibility for him.

Until Potions class.

Until his lovely, warm, capable – though, perhaps a bit clumsy in this instance – deskmate accidentally spilled an acidic potion all over his left hand. Until he was only frightened by the terror in your gasp and not any sensation spreading over his skin. Until he had to shield his hand from view and pretend to go to the infirmary immediately, because he was entirely, wholly unscathed.

Now he has spent an entire week hiding his hand from view lest anyone see his distinct lack of scarring. He has also spent three whole days hiding from his concerned older brother who at last demanded to see his hand and whose eyebrows shot up farther than they should have been able to when Regulus’ hand remained silky smooth.

Regulus knew he had to tell you, but he could not.

Because out of any person he had ever met in his life, you were the one he would have begged at Heaven’s gates to have as his soulmate if he had believed himself to possess one. For the first few days he wondered if you being his soulmate was perhaps the reason why he felt so strongly about it, but that was not fathomable enough for him.

You had always caught his eye, with your laugh and your eyes and your atmosphere. Not once in his whole time at Hogwarts had he walked into a room you were in without noticing you immediately. That could not be chalked up to your apparent soulmate bond; not when your intellect, beauty and aura spoke for themselves as clearly as they did.

Regulus was certain everyone noticed you, because how could they not?

Regulus being Regulus, though, never did much with that warm feeling in his chest. He let you live and admired you from a distance. You once told him you didn’t even know he remembered your name before Slughorn assigned you as deskmates, his face schooled into indifference as always. That never made sense to him either.

As deskmates, whatever connection you had blossomed. Regulus began to consider you a friend, perhaps even one he would dare call dear. You said the same, but he thought you kind enough to embrace everyone as a friend.

It was because of your kindness and his previous determination to admire you from a distance that he felt he could not tell you. It would be cruel, not to mention ironic. He had joked many a time that you should be more assertive of your boundaries, that you should not allow just about anyone into your life – at the time you had both laughed, but he also meant it. Your openness was something he admired, but also feared, for your sake. You might just end up with the worst of the worst because you thought you could rearrange its letters.

Regulus knew his letters needed rearranging, and he feared you would believe it your task just because the universe said so. What did the universe know?

Despite his many minutes of internal monologue trying to gear him towards confessing, he was increasingly deciding not to. The more he let himself think, the further he spiralled, and guilt and selfishness took over his every cognitive ability.

Because if you accepted Regulus’ hand just because you were too kind not to, his heart might break. It would be selfish, but he was selfish, and he could not help it.

“Regulus?”

Fuck.

Turns out when you hide away in the owlery for bordering on an hour to gather yourself and deal with your thoughts, others might catch on. And who else but you would be attentive enough to catch up on his absence and deduce where he was?

Regulus pulled his robes down over his hands and turned his head around towards the door with a half-smile, still leaning against the windowsill with both elbows. “Oh, hi, love. What are you doing here?”

You stood in the doorway smiling brightly, leaning a head against its frame. “I was about to ask you that very same question. I haven’t seen you at all this week, not since Potions. Are you still certain you’re alright?”

You walked towards him as you spoke and despite the sweetness of your words, something about the intensity of your gaze made Regulus feel like he was being cornered. He remained rigid still, following your movements without ever breaking eye contact. You hoisted yourself up into the wide window sill, thigh dangerously close to his elbow.

He pressed his clothed hands further to his chest and held your gaze steadily, schooling his face as much as possible. “Yes,” he almost whispered. “Like I said, I’m alright, I swear it. Pomfrey caught it early. I really don’t want you to worry about it, it wasn’t your fault.”

You bobbed your head side to side and narrowed your eyes at something outside the window. “It was kind of my fault, and as your deskmate I’m all but legally obligated to worry.” You turned your face back towards him with a blinding, almost cheeky smile. “I, uhm, that’s why I stopped by Pomfrey’s too, actually. After. Legal obligation to check up on you with the matron herself.”

If it wasn’t for the fire blazing in his face, Regulus was certain his blood would have frozen in his veins. He didn’t blink or swallow, still as a statue as his gaze settled on the space between his elbow and your thigh.

“She said she hadn’t seen you that day,” you continued, your voice still light and airy. Not accusatory, not upset. Knowing. “Though, you already knew that, of course.”

Regulus cleared his throat forcefully. “Sorry, lo– just, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, hating not having control in a situation, much less so over his own words. “I managed to heal up rather quickly on my own.”

It was a weak explanation, but he had no idea how to explain walking scot-free away from that situation without a healer. You seemed to agree with him because you laughed a little, bumping into his elbow purposefully to catch his attention.

When he looked up to meet your eyes, mirth was dancing in them, your lips drawn taut. “See, at first, I wondered if maybe we didn’t make the potion correctly – which would have been odd for us, but you know, it can happen to anyone. That it wasn’t acidic enough to actually make any injury. I only noticed when I got back to my own dorms that the splash was larger than I originally thought. I just saw the potion hit your hand and focused on that, but turns out my own robes were all burnt through.” You lifted your right arm to show how your sleeve had scattered holes from where drops of acidic potion hit it. “So, clearly it was effective enough to make some harm. And I was thinking and turning it over, how we possibly could not have been hurt.”

Regulus cut off your speech with the strangled noise that escaped his throat at the confrontation. “Y/N…”

Again, he was not looking at you, but you bumped his elbow one more time. With a deep breath, he rose to his full height to look at you. “Have you pieced two and two together yet?” Your voice was gentle, not an ounce of mockery in it, or even expectation. Just wonder.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Regulus felt as if it was not him saying the words, as if this was happening to someone else. His movements were slow like they would have been when submerged in water, but there was a flame slowly lighting in his chest.

Your expression grew a bit timid, small smile spreading. “Does it? Make sense, I mean?”

He understood what you were asking, but he could not understand why you were. Of all the things to react to in this situation, of all the things to be unhappy about. He wanted to say no, he wanted to say “you deserve better” but none of those words passed his lips.

“I– I think so.” An involuntary upward twitch of the corners of his lips. “Or at least, I hope so.”

“It makes sense to me,” you whispered. “If I’m honest with you, I have been hoping for it for quite some time.”

“Is that why you spilled the potion on me?” Even as Regulus spoke he began to laugh a little, trying to lighten the mood despite being aware that it was mostly his hesitation keeping it down.

You pretended like you were about to kick him for it, beautiful laughter spilling past your lips. “Don’t be mean to me, Regulus Black. Just because you can’t hurt me physically doesn’t mean you can’t wound me.”

He furrowed his brows and took a step closer to you, almost standing between your legs where you were sitting on the ledge. “Aren’t you scared of that?” There was more vulnerability in his voice than he would usually allow, but with you, it just felt right. “That I’ll… wound you? I’m not a good person.”

Your smile turned sad. He had a funny feeling that it was for him and not because of him. “I’m not. There is nothing to be scared of.” You said it so matter-of-factly, as if this was a universal truth. “You don’t get to decide if you’re a good person or not, your actions define that for you. And yours have been nothing but kind.”

When he tried to look down at his feet, abashedly, you stretched your hand out in front of you, an offering for him to take.

Ever so slowly he retracted his left hand from his robes and gently placed it in yours, palm against palm. He managed to just barely catch glimpse of the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of his unscarred skin. You squeezed his hand with your own.

“We don’t have to act on it, if you don’t want to.” The tone of your voice had changed, it was much more subdued, uncertain. “Lots of people don’t. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Do you want to not act on it?” Regulus knew it was cruel to turn the question back to you, to force you to be the first to make such a confession. As previously stated, he was selfish. He knew that, even if you didn’t yet.

You held his gaze unwaveringly and spoke the scariest and most beautiful word he had ever heard: “No.”

At last, a full-fledged smile fought to spread across his face as he huffed a laugh. “That makes two of us, then.”

He would have lived through the terror of voicing his feelings out loud a thousand times over for the pure joy he saw light up in your eyes at that. “Yeah?” You pulled him closer by your joined hands, your smile was all teeth.

“Yeah.” He spoke breathlessly, finally stepping in between your legs, faces inches away from each other. “I don’t know how to do this. But I do know that I want to do it with you.”

Regulus had been kissed before, or at least so he thought. He had never been kissed like this, though, and he never would by anyone else again.

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recalcitrantlycaffeinated · 3 days ago

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I don't write fanfic, but if I did I would write a fanfic for Beauty and the Beast where anyone who enters the castle automatically becomes an enchanted object under the rules of the curse. Including Belle.

Throw out the falling in love part, at least at first. I want a version of Beauty and the Beast where the beast learns to start valuing his servants and Belle for more than their mere utility to him. I want him to start realizing that underneath each of their jobs, all of his orders they obey without (much) question, each of them is actually a person with thoughts and feelings like him. Probably Belle is helpful with this, but not in the saccharine way she is in all the mid-movie stories Disney comes out with. I need her to yell at him and call him a conceited little bitch boy or something.

I want the castle to wake up one day and one of the enchanted objects, with no explanation, is now back to being a person again. Probably it's Mrs. Potts, let's be real, but all her children are still teacups so it's not...great? Everyone is trying to figure out what she did to break the spell, but they don't realize the one whose heart is changing is the beast. All the enchanted objects become obsessed with figuring out the solution, trying a bunch of cockamamie and vaguely superstitious things to become free of the curse as well. This makes the castle much less formal and even speeds up the process of the beast realizing they are more than mere objects in his castle. Lumiere becomes a person before Cogsworth does and lords it over him for a whole day. All of the teacups change back into children at once and take to climbing on top of the beast like he's an enormous teddy bear jungle gym.

It takes a long time for Belle to wake up changed back to her original form. After all, the beast kind of knew all of these other people before, when they were his servants in his youth. But for all he cares, Belle has been a pepper mill since birth. Still, the beast is learning how to listen to people and see their inherent value, and when you give her some respect, Belle has a lot to say.

And in the end, the beast thought he was learning to love other people and respect their humanity as much as he selfishly loved himself, but as he comes to cherish the people who now surround him, he realizes he has never truly loved himself. He cannot become a man until he reckons with the shortcomings of the boy he once was, and how they hurt everyone around him. He cannot become a man until he is willing to see the beast that he truly was all along, and to love not just his humanity but even that beast. It is only when he recognizes that he will be a beast forever - full of failings and sin and mistakes - that he can wake up a man again.

#behold i wrote a thing #i don't know where the fuck this came from today #but you can bet it was at least partially out of a desire not to find the backup pair of beaters from the back of the lazy susan #also peach flavored monster #beauty and the beast #this is so fucking long and also not a very original idea but also like just humor me i hate my lazy susan and my back hurts #disney princesses

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gh0stly-mp3 · 3 days ago

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would you break my heart, oliver?

oliver aiku x teammate male!reader

synopisis: oliver aiku, your best friend, shows up at your apartment at 3 AM after breaking up with his gf cause he cheated, but you get mad at him

tags: bff!reader, center back!reader, reader is lovely, oliver is bad with real feelings, both are secretly in love

warnings: cheating, angst w happy ending, fear of unreciprocated love, pretty gn (like 2 mentions of gender)

Oliver is the typical womanizer (but with all genders) who never dates the same person for more than two months. According to him, he gets bored very quickly, which is why he has a new partner every few months.

You, on the other hand, have always been in long-term, consistent relationships, taking a while to confess to whomever you liked and always wanting to make sure that you both feel the same way about each other.

Even though you were opposites, you were still best friends and teammates for a long time, and you always scolded Oliver for his inconsequential attitudes towards his love life (but he hardly ever listened).

The last straw for you was when he showed up at your house at 3 AM because his then-girlfriend kicked him out after discovering he was talking to someone else on instagram. You were incredulous; you knew he was a scumbag, but you didn't expect it to be this bad; after all, he was there when you got cheated on, something that affected you a lot.

"What the fuck, Oliver? What are you thinking, man? Jumping from relationship to relationship is one thing, but cheating is another level! I can't believe this, dude." - You yelled.

"I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry, it's just..." - Oliver tried to explain himself, visibly nervous about your reaction.

"I don't care! If you stay at my place tonight, tomorrow you'll have to apologize to her and admit that you're an idiot... Oh, and you'll sleep on the couch".

"What? I know i fucked up, but it's cold, man, you always let me sleep with you".

"Not today, cause if you betray the trust of someone who trusted you with their body and heart, why the fuck would anyone else trust you? Grow the fuck up..." - You said harshly, heading for the cupboards and taking out a pillow and a blanket for Oliver. - "Good night, Oliver. We'll talk tomorrow"

As you lay down on your bed, you curled up, clutching your legs. If he could do this to a girl as beautiful as Haruka, what could he do to you? You were just one of his male friends.

You've been friends forever, you were the first guy to talk to Oliver when he joined your team. Your bond was incredible, you understood each other so well, you liked the same things and had the same mindset on a match. You two occupied the same defensive position as center backs, and together you were unstoppable.

But how did it all end up like this? How did you end up falling in love with him? Oliver was incredible at everything except relationships, and the one thing you shouldn't have wanted was exactly what you did want. His love.

You listened to the way he talked about his partners and wished he'd talk about you the same way, but then you remembered what was to follow, a dry and emotionless breakup. How could such a gentleman be such a whore at the same time?

Anyway, there you were, crying silent tears, thinking that if you tried to confess your love for him, you would end up with a heart broken into more than a thousand pieces. While these thoughts were running through your head, you heard footsteps and then a knock on the door.

"Hey... Can we talk? I..." - It was Oliver, speaking in a low, weak voice. "I don't want you to think I'm terrible..."

"Oliver, not now..." - You replied, distressed at the thought of him seeing you cry. - "It's okay, man..."

"Promise you won't hate me?" - He asked, scared. - "I didn't know you'd be so pissed off and... You're the only person I really have, I don't want to lose you over something I did without thinking..." - Definitely something you'd rarely hear come out of Oliver's mouth, he was finally putting his real feelings into something.

"It's not that, Oliver..." - The words, stuck in your throat, urgently wanted to come out. Just say it, three words, that's all. - "I..."

The door handle is pushed down slowly, you see the face of a distressed Oliver, which makes your heart squeeze a bit. You don't hate him, it's quite the opposite actually, but you can't tell him that, can you?

"Look... I was a jerk to Haruka, and besides, I did exactly what you said I should never do. I'm sorry, okay? I just don't want you to hate me, even though I might deserve it... I just want to have someone like you around, you know?" - Deep down, Oliver knew exactly what his problem was, his stomach full of fluttering butterflies was a symptom he'd hardly ever felt. A symptom of this so-called love.

"Would you cheat on me? If you loved me, would you betray me too? Would you get tired of me?" - You asked hopelessly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Never. Absolutely never." - He answered without hesitation. - "You?... only a complete lunatic would cheat on you. For fuck's sake, I've been your friend for years and I've never even been bored around you! I'd give anything to have someone like you!" - Oliver shut up abruptly when he realized that perhaps he had said too much.

"How could I be sure of that?"

"If I cheated on you, I'd give up soccer" - a direct and honest answer, the truth of his heart. Few words would have such an impact on you as those.

You widened your eyes, wondering if you had actually heard those words come out of Oliver's mouth. He would give up soccer for you? Really? A wave of emotions washed over your body and with an impulse you got out of bed and hugged him tightly.

"Please don't give up soccer... Keep playing with me... And love me." - the most heartfelt words you've ever said, put into play, all your cards on the table. Now it was his turn.

"I already love you, idiot."

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 day ago

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Ah, my urn. My most prized possession. Nothing is more precious to me than my urn. Why should anything be? My cremated remains are in here! I take great solace in seeing my urn in its usual position atop the mantle. If anyone were to tamper with it, well, that would just be incredibly disrespectful! I could never forgive someone who did that. Well, let's lift open the lid and take a peek, shall we?

Oh. Well, that does not look like my ashes. Pesky vermin, always trying to get into my remains! Get out of here!

ANOTHER one? Okay, something sinister is going on here. Who broke into my home and replaced my ashes with squids? And didn't think I would be able to tell the difference? Because believe me, I can tell the difference. This is no longer an ordinary urn. This is a

Name: Bloopurn

Debut: Mario and Luigi: Dream Team

So, we've established that one should not mess with the ashes of the deceased. It's rude. But what's even ruder is messing with the living, such as squids, by cramming them into a dusty old pot! And then further cramming them into the dream of a Luigi. But I guess that last part is fine, because the dreams of Luigi are great and vast.

Bloopurns appear in Dreamy Driftwood Shore, and the Driftwood Shore section in general is unique in featuring many classic Bowser Minions as enemies, due to the point in the narrative! What a bizarre concept. There was a time when I played a Mario & Luigi game, saw regular Goombas in battle, and thought "Wow! Interesting". Then the Mario RPGs as a whole were brought up to sea level from the depths, and imploded. But now they're okay again, I think! Yay. They have finally adjusted to the pressure of our surface world.

The reason I bring that up is, I guess Bloopurn is the way to rationalize having Bloopers appear in battles on land? You COULD have Bloopers just be on land, but, like, it's a little weird. Unless they're the fabled Scoot Bloop! So, instead of simply having Bloopers there right next to Spinies and Piranha Plants on land, they shoved them in a vase. A vase that is the actual enemy, technically, and that even becomes angry! The Bloopers themselves are merely Attacks. But at least the vase has a cool Blooper-inspired design! Look at that ring of Blooper eyes, and the pattern resembling their tentacles at the bottom! Very stylish.

Bloopurn can contain even more... it can contain coins! Mushrooms! Things it will spit out if knocked over by a hammer attack. It is called Bloopurn, though, since the squids are the most interesting thing here, really.

Never once, however, does Bloopurn drop ashes to any degree. It seems they may have been entirely replaced with Bloopers! How uncalled for, but that's the way it is. Perhaps it is a metaphor for what happens after death. Reincarnation is real! At least, in Luigi's mind...

So there we have it! This is what Luigi believes happens when we die. We turn into a potentially infinite number of squids. I think that's beautiful.

#bloopurn #mario and luigi dream team #mario and luigi #blooper #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

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ostrichlady · 2 days ago

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I've watched season 2 of arcane many times now, and that last scene of Viktor and Jayce never fails to amaze me. Once you know exactly what's going to happen after a few rewatches, you start noticing little clues and symbolism across the show which make the scene so much more delightful but that's not even what makes me feel so impacted at the end of it. With all the sincerity I hold in me, this is one of the most beautiful and purest depictions of love I've ever seen.

The scene sequence works so well. It's perfect. It's raw and tender and caring. Overflowing with all the abstraction of what love is.

The artistry is breathtaking. The colours of a ruined world contrasting with the lively shades of flowers against Jayce's stone figure. The clean blue from the sky, the polished and ancient figure of mage Viktor against the rough edges and vibrancy of defender Jayce.

The celestial colours of their bodies detached from any materialistic accessories, Jayce's face being so much warmer in contrast with Viktor's much paler complexion. The gold from the different souls, the thin strands of consciousness gathering at one moment. Galaxy in its most humane form if that's even possible.

Everything is beautifully harmonized to fulfill one goal, which is to frame the connection of Jayce and Viktor.

I can't get enough of looking at Jayce's face throughout this whole scene. His eyes speak for his heart louder than anyone could comprehend. Understandment, care, longing, affection. A need and a want to let Viktor have his love. He's telling Viktor that he's there and he won't leave again, wherever Viktor goes, he will too. And Jayce knows Viktor isn't like him. Viktor won't simply take love and gulp it down.

No, Jayce understands that he has to do it slowly, wrapped in tenderness but full of determination. It stands out to me just how, when reaching for Viktor's shoulder, Jayce's hand hoovers for a little bit before grabbing it. He's giving time to Viktor, but he's also assuring that he's there. For him. With him.

Viktor is confused, is scared, his eyes are desperately looking at what he has done, and what it could've become, how could it be that he had been so wrong? And why was Jayce talking to him about wanting his partner back when Viktor himself doesn't know if he could be anything remotely similar after everything? Why was this man overflowing with so much affection when Viktor was, until a few seconds ago, trying to get rid of it all? Viktor gets taken down from this polished, higher power mindset and is thrown right at the core of human emotions, barely able to hang on to it.

But it's okay because Jayce will hold Viktor until he can stand for himself.

Jayce tells him it's okay. He does it by looking at him dearly. By holding his open hand carefully. By placing the gem in it securely. No matter what happens, it is okay.

The gem is reactive and powerful and holds so much to it. Their lives, their projects, their dreams. Magic in raw form, full capacity.

When both of their hands are placed on what started everything, they both look at each other one final time. This is it. They know what's about to happen. But it's okay. It really is. Because there's nothing else they can do to fight their destiny this time. Because there's really no point fighting this time.

Jayce pulls Viktor, a call for him. I'm here.

And Viktor responds to his call. I know.

They are together. They've always been together, their connection preserved into a small gem stone. Into so many others, across so many other possibilities and timelines. Whether it failed or not, it has always been there. Raw and sincere.

This time, despite the circumstances, it did work. Not everything is perfect, but it doesn't have to be. That's the beauty of it all, as Jayce said himself. The world will keep moving even after they're gone. Broken as always, but never stopping.

Theirs souls are intertwined across what we call time and space. If forever has an ending, then it will be rewritten. Their love is bigger than any terms we might choose to describe it. Their bond is far greater than any anomaly or magic blast.

They're safe, embraced by the deepness and vastness of the universe. Nothing will separate them. It started with them and it finished with them. Always them, only them. Together as partners.

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justastargirlbabe · 2 days ago

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Assurance | R. Cameron

insecure!reader x bf!rafe

Warnings: oral (fem.receiving), reader is insecure of her body, aftercare, i think thats it...

summary: You can always count on your boyfriend to show you how beautiful you are.

Friday night, you and rafe ALWAYS go out on friday night… but instead you're sitting on the floor doom scrolling. Your mind is racing seeing all these gorgeous girls online. Oh how you wanted to be those girls so bad.You've always hated your body, constantly getting those weird subtle comments on it from peers and family, and it didn’t get any better once you started dating rafe. You never missed any of the stares you get at the club pool, or the whispers from kook bitches, or surprised looks from adults when they find out about your relationship with rafe. Of Course you love Rafe with all of your heart but everything has just been getting too much and you hate your body more than ever.

You've been rejecting invites from your friends, completely avoiding going out, and ignoring rafe. *19 unread notifications from: Rafey <3*, your phone read. Turning down the music you throw your phone on the floor,Bringing your knees up to your chest as you start whimpering, and then it all comes out and you're completely sobbing on the floor.

in the middle of your breakdown you miss the sound of your door opening and suddenly here Rafe yelling " Babe where are you?? why are you ignoring me, is everything okay”. he worryingly pushes the door open, you don't move. " baby what's going on, are you okay why are you crying, talk to me mamas” Rafe pleads to you worryingly. " Go away, don't look at me, please just leave I'm fine” you say, wiping your tears, putting on a fake smile. Rafe pulls you into his arms despite your protests, “babe please just talk to me, whatever it is I'll make it better I promise let me help you” Finally you give in. “it's just- it's just why do you even love me when I look like this? all these other girls with their skinny bodies and Rich families and you want me?” you say whilst sobbing, tears starting to cover his shirt . "Oh honey, you're beautiful and I don't care about money or these Other girls, I love you, only you, all right Mama”. he wipes off a few tears and kisses your burning cheeks you cling to him wrapping your arms and legs around his muscular body. he lifts you up and sits you on the bed kneeling in front of you. “Is this why you've been hiding from me all week? dodging my calls and texts because you don't think you're beautiful?” He questions, looking for an answer.You nod your head, “it's all just becoming too much for me, all the people at the club with their opinions and Nasty looks, I guess it just made me realize I'm not good enough for you” you say scared of Rafe’s response. “I'm sorry baby, if there's anyone specifically who's been upsetting you please let me know so I can deal with it. I always want you to be comfortable when you’re with me,ok?” You nod your head again too overwhelmed to respond. Rafe senses your tense body. "you know what baby, let me just show you how beautiful I think you are.” Rafe smirks, your eyes go wide. He slowly lifts off your, his, oversized shirt. you're holding your breath as he kisses your stomach whispering.“ my girl is so beautiful”. Your bra goes next, and suddenly Rafe is sucking your nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud. you push his face into you and throw your head back. “you like that don't you Mama, going to make you feel so good baby”. you moan in response. he kisses his way to the band of your pajama pants, he lifts your hips and pulls down the pants, your panties along with them. he looks up at your speechless face. “fuck honey, your soaking, is that all for me?” he patiently waits for your response. “Yes daddy, please I need you to touch” you blabber. “ ‘m need your special kisses so bad”. “don't worry your sexy little head mama, ima take good care of you bub”. He moves up and kisses you passionately on the lips, taking time to suck on your tongue, pulling away with a ‘pop’. He moves in between your legs and drags his finger through your folds. Muttering under his breath. He places a delicate kiss on your clit, and moves down to your dripping hole. He sticks his tongue in, swirling it around and licks a stripe up back to your clit sucking it into his mouth. making you yell out in pleasure. Hearing how much you're enjoying it, he sucks harder, bringing up two digits to finger your pussy. “Fuck daddy, i dont think i can take it much longer.” you plead. “Shh Mama you'll take what I give you, my gorgeous little slut”. His words make you clench around his fingers. “fuck you're so close. I can feel you squeezing honey”. He pumps his fingers at a tiring pace, only replacing them with his tongue and slapping your clit when he hears your screams.

He comes to hold you, trying to calm your restless body, as you come down from an overwhelming high. Once you’ve relaxed, you grab at his pants to return the favor, your mind still fuzzy. “Uh-uh sweet girl” he tuts, pushing your hand a way pulling you closer. “But”, you protest but you're silenced by his endearing voice. “no baby,let me take care of you ‘kay?”. You allow him to place you on the bed, your body craving his touch when he left to fetch a towel from the bathroom. “Spread your legs baby”. He says sweetly. gently wiping your sensitive pussy, covered in liquids, and gives one quick kiss to your clit, causing you to jolt. He takes his shirt off, knowing you'll need skin-to-skin contact, and lays your head on his chest. You lay there listening to him muttering sweet nothings and giving gentle kisses to your temple and neck. Finally feeling some sort of assurance that you were missing.

I think this is kinda bad, because it is my first time writing...But please let me know if there's any ways i can improve, and feel free to send requests!!

#obx fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x plussize reader #plus size!reader #outer banks fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

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black-cat-luck · 2 days ago

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Can u pls do Tim and Bruce father son activities ( i love ur writing!!)

YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR MY TIMMY BOY

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

• Tim and Bruce have a very hard relationship. It took a very long time for them to have anything father/son related, and when they did reach that point, it was uncomfortable and awkward for both of them at first. They try, once they get to that point of care for one another, they do try. Tim knows Bruce is trying, and it means a lot to him, so he’s happy to reciprocate, to have this parental relationship in his life.

• Their first father/son moment is after Tim breaks his skateboard. He’s not necessarily upset, it’s just a sight inconvenience, but he’s tired, he’s been really stressed, and this pushes him past a breaking point. Bruce finds him sitting next to the broken board, and wordlessly manages to get Tim to get in the car and go with him. Tim doesn’t ask how Bruce knows what board shop he frequents, or the exact way to get there without directions, but Bruce even goes inside with him, asking questions here and there as they browse, and complimenting everything Tim picks and buys. Tim has credit cards, he has his parent’s money, but Bruce buys it all without blinking before the boy can even try and dig his wallet out of his pocket. It becomes a thing for them, Bruce always finds time to take Tim to the board shop when he wants to go, and always watches him with that same warm smile, just enjoying seeing Tim happy over something a boy his age should enjoy.

• Tim really likes baseball. He doesn’t let anyone know, not since Jack Drake never picked a glove back up or bothered to show up to a T-Ball game after Tim hit double digits. It’s fine, Tim bought himself gear and nets so he could play on his own in his backyard. He stopped playing on a team, and just tossed a ball to himself. He hasn’t had an itch for the sport in so long that when it comes back he doesn’t think twice to dust off a glove and practice his pitch. When Bruce finds him, it honestly makes his chest hurt to see all of the things the boy owns, to see how long he’s spent alone. There’s an extra glove, Tim always had a few of everything. Bruce is a bit rusty, but he’s adamant to make sure Tim never feels alone again, to know he has a home and a father that will play catch with him. Tim cries himself to sleep that night, and Bruce promises he won’t ever be alone again.

• Tim’s one true love is always photography. When he feels secure enough with his relationship Bruce to show him, Bruce is a bit horrified to know such a small boy was hiding on rooftops just to sneak pictures of him, but it’s a bittersweet feeling to know that little boy was so starstruck, that he adored Batman so much, and if Bruce would’ve known about him before, maybe he could’ve met Jason, maybe Tim could’ve had a father sooner. Bruce takes him to museum’s that have traveling photography exhibits, some with local artists getting displayed. Tim admits a few are his he submit under a pen name, and Bruce makes sure those photos are displayed permanently. He encourages Tim to never give up or let anything ruin his love for his art. Bruce spends early mornings and beautiful middays with Tim, watching him in his own element, more so than Robin, or an act put on for the elites, Tim Drake is a photographer.

• Tim likes to crochet. It started as a small hobby he learned from hours of watching his mother do it, he was always nervous to try himself, but when the nights got lonely he did it as a way to feel close to his parents. He fell in love with it and Drake manor is covered in all kinds of colorful creations of his. He has his own crocheted Batman sweater that he made before merch of the vigilante ever existed, and he still wears it happily. Bruce thinks it’s adorable, and Tim’s first ever gift to him, is a matching one. Bruce adores it, and wears it all the time around the house, and Tim continues making him things. Sweaters he can wear in public (which he does happily), a plush Robin bird that sits above the batcomputer, a tiny Alfred to keep him company when he’s having a hard day. He even makes Alfred small versions of Bruce, and all his kids. He gets a hug, and sees both of them cry when they’re given them. That Christmas everyone is given matching sweaters, and Bruce happily sits with Tim as he crochets, encourages him to pick up his needles when he’s getting antsy during a debrief, or watches him tiredly twist the yarn around his fingers as he waits for Bruce to fill out the mission report before they’re allowed to go to bed. Tim tries to get Bruce to crochet with him, but it becomes a bonding time for them to just sit together, and Bruce always compliments everything he makes, just happy to be with him.

• Tim likes to make cakes. He thinks they’re fun, and there never needs to be a reason to enjoy something delicious, so when they’re both benched for a week after a rough mission, Tim drags Bruce down to the kitchen, and makes him help make one. There’s no occasion, no reason. Tim just wants cake, and he wants the enjoyment of making one. Bruce is just happy to spend time with him, and helps with every step. Tim makes the frosting himself, and shows Bruce all the different shades of colors they can make by adding certain amounts of food coloring, so they can have four different shades of pinks and blues for the cake. He’s almost too good at it, like he is with everything, and Bruce feels bad he’s making it look bad, his cursive is sloppy in frosting, and no matter how he holds the spatula, the border is still lumpy, but Tim thinks it’s perfect, and refuses to let Bruce stop helping. It’s a bit messy, leaning a bit to one side, but Tim loves it. He takes pictures, and lets Bruce cut the first slice, smiling wide as they share the piece, commenting on how good it tastes, and how perfect it is because they made it together.

• When Tim has to move on from Robin and become his own person, it undeniably puts a strain on their relationship. They try not to let it, but Tim needs time, and Bruce allows him it. Tim can’t find enjoyment in making cake, or playing baseball by himself anymore, a dreaded feeling that he finally knew how it felt to really be loved, and lost it. He’s still a kid, he’s on his own again, he’s too prideful to be the one to make the first move. A box is left on his doorstep, his Robin training says not to trust it, but the way his name is written, in cursive that it much better on paper than a cake, he finds a small plush bat inside. It’s lopsided, messy crochet barely holding together. It’s from the same tutorial that taught him how to make the plush Robin he put in the cave for Bruce. Batman needs a Robin, he always reminded him. Bruce needs his son, he was being reminded. And Tim knew no matter what, he needed him too. Tim never expected to find a family among the manor and the people he now loved that were inside. He never imagined he’d get to have this relationship, because no matter what, Bruce showed him what it felt like to be loved by a father. Bruce didn’t just love him as his son, Bruce loved him as Tim Drake.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

Tim my beloved I want to give him the entire world

Thank you so much for requesting I hope you liked it!! Thank you for loving my work, I hope you enjoy all my future writings just as much. ᡣ𐭩

#dc batman #batfam #batman #batman and robin #good dad bruce wayne #bruce wayne #dc headcanon #red robin #red robin headcanon #tim drake #bruce and tim #dc robin #robin tim drake #blackcatluck request

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 2 days ago

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@sir-tater-of-the-tot Just for you!

Lucifer wasn't sure what was going on at the Heavens Embassy, whispers had been swirling around for a couple weeks now since the last extermination day. Rumors that the embassy has been taken over by a mass of new sinners that want into heaven.

Rumors of course...... But as King he had to find out if there was any truth. The problem was, anyone who got too close or went inside never came back. So they were likely killing all who entered.

He could take them and he would.

Lucifer opened a portal and went right down there. He was shocked to see the state that the embassy was in. The place still glowed its holy golden light from the heavens, but from every end of it was covered dripping equally golden honey, there were flowers now bloomed out front and spears with angelic spear heads pointing out as if to keep people away.

There were two bee looking sinners with spears guarding the front door, scowls on their faces yet also neutral looks at the same time. Lucifer could easily blast his way in but something told him to be discrete.

So he used another portal to get in and holy shit the honey! It was everywhere, either just dripping or in honeycombs or vats of it everywhere. Also many beautiful flowers. The sound of buzzing caught his attention and there were so many bees and wasps flying around doing so many things.

And they are all women. Weird.

Lucifer: The fuck is going on?

Then he saw it, the biggest Bee in the hive walked into view with her lovely curves, crown on her head and an egg in her grasp.

This must be their Queen.

Adam: Okay here, put this little one with the others to hatch.

Adam!?!

........

Oh this changes things.

Worker bee: For you my Queen.

She brought him some lovely flowers that smelled amazing.

Adam: Thank you my dear.

He took them giving them a deep smell, the fragrance was intoxicating and the pollen tickled his nose in the best way. The little worker bee seemed so happy to have her Queen accept her gift, she bowed and buzzed away happily.

Lucifer decided to make his presence known when Adam placed the flowers near his throne.

Lucifer: Adam?

The hive became silent and the bees turned towards the King of Hell, the Exorcist Bees brandished their spears and pointed them at him, the wasps extended their stingers ready for a fight and the worker bees held back to protect the eggs.

Adam: Lucifer? What a lovely surprise.~ It's okay ladies, for now anyway.

He walked towards Lucifer and the spears lowered a little.

Lucifer: What is all this?

Adam: My kingdom. And you know, I'm actually glad you're here. You can actually be of service to me.~

Before he could react, Adam picked him up and threw him into a nearby meeting room landing on the table, he ended up in some honey that was making him stick to the table.

Adam walked in and closed the door, a smirk on his face. He needed to grow his empire more and to do that he needed more little babies that lived longer than 6 weeks to 6 months.

Adam: Do you remember the promise you made me back in Eden, Luci? The one about us having a big family?

Adam pulled Lucifer's pants down to his ankles and smiled at how hard he already was.

Removing his own panties, Adam stepped out of them and crawled on-top of Lucifer, bringing out his second set of arms to keep the King in place.

Adam: Because I never forgot and it's time to make good on that promise.~

He lowered himself onto Lucifer's dick and moaned, fuck he felt good. Dick made for a Queen.

Lucifer gasped as the warm wet heat enveloped his cock.

Lucifer: I-I-I didn't forget, I just didn't think you'd want it anymore.

Adam: Of course I do. A King has to fertilize his Queen after all.~ And I AM the new Queen around here.

Adam leaned down and kissed him as he started to rock his hips, he pulled away when he really got into riding Lucifer.

The mating need was there and since no worthy males were around he's been having little bees asexually like a damn flower.

But not anymore, he's got the ultimate nectar now.

Adam rode him for hours, even after Lucifer had already cum a few times inside of him painting his walls white with his seed he wanted more, needed more.

It wasn't until he felt absolutely full and satisfied did he stop milking Lucifer for all he's worth.

Adam: Mmm, that was amazing.~

Lucifer, breathless: Yeah.~

Adam covered him up to give him some modesty just in case and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

Adam: Thanks for round one.~

Lucifer: R-round one?

Adam hummed: Mmmhmmm, I gotta go wait for these eggs to develop so I can lay them. I'll be back in a little bit. Thank you handsome.~

He walked out blowing Lucifer a kiss with a wink, he knew their babies were going to be strong and beautiful.

Lucifer rated his head on the table: You're welcome honey.

((That's all I got. Did I say something small? Lol))

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #Queen Bee Adam Au #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #adam x lucifer

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nininikki · 17 hours ago

Text

𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒾 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓂

⨾༊󠀺 summary: a beautiful socialite and a starving artist come to terms with what their love really means.

⨾༊󠀺 warnings: angst (sorry), class differences, arguing/yelling, reader is a spoiled brat and eren loves her anyway (lmk if i missed anything!)

⨾༊󠀺 author’s note: just a little something i wrote 🙈 nikki write something happy challenge GO

⨾༊󠀺 word count: 2.5k

8:17 PM

“this is the last time i’ll tell ya, (y/n),” the penetrating force of your father’s voice coupled with the strangled squeak of chair legs against the hardwood floor made your spine tense. as though someone had reached into your back and pulled it taut. “i don’t want ya seein’ that boy.”

was your head about to explode? could that be the reason for the ringing that filled your ears? the sudden heaviness of your tongue? as he rose from his seat, you couldn’t help but notice how utterly cloaked you were under the shadow of his stature. “why, daddy?” you hardly registered the force with which you pushed your own chair away from his desk as you stood. “‘cause he’s poor? ‘cause he’s not goin’ to yale? ‘cause he doesn’t have a membership at the club? ‘cause he actually wants to somethin’ worthwhile with his life?”

“tch, worthwhile.” he scoffed as he breached the exit of his study. “the boy wants to do art. he draws pictures, for crying out loud!”

“you’ve seen his paintings, daddy. they’re beautiful.” you staunchly defended, hot on his heels through the hallway and nearing the stairs. “and his name is eren.” the single, thin string of gold around your neck seemed to grow warmer and heavier with the mention of his name.

“i don’t care if his name was picasso,” your father spat, “you’re not seein’ him again, and that’s that!”

tears welled in your eyes, but refused to fall. a sob lodged uncomfortably within your throat. “but, daddy, i love him.”

for the first time since the topic arose, your father’s eyes met yours. halfway down the stairs, with the vein in his temple pulsing incorrigibly, he turned to look at you. “you don’t know what love is.”

an incredulous scoff escaped your mouth, and that is when the tears began to trail down your cheeks. not from despair, or heartbreak, but anger. “and you do?” you retorted, gingerly making your way closer to him. “you haven’t loved anyone since mom.”

“i have loved you,” he jabbed his finger in the direction of your face, stopping less than an inch away from the bridge of your nose. “and that has been enough.” his scotch scented breath fanned over your face in the most infuriating, condescending way imaginable. “since your mother died, i have given my life to loving you. protecting you!” you had never heard him sound so eerily vulnerable in your entire life. “and this is the thanks i get? you running off into the sun with dr. seuss?”

you took a step backward up the staircase, your chest heaving rapidly and face surely streaked with sloppy lines of mascara. “how could you say that, daddy? he makes me so happy. how could you say that?”

“well, the things that make us happy hardly ever benefit us, do they, honey?” you caught him chuckling beneath his breath, as if the idea of you having your own opinion was something so funny. “you don’t see it now, but one day you’ll thank me for this.”

then, he circled around you like a vulture, loosening his tie as he ascended the stairs and ventured in the direction of his room. “you’re not seein’ ‘im again. that’s final.”

in the last bit of protest left in your lungs, you shouted, “you can’t make me!”

his hoof-like footsteps came to a halt, but he hadn’t even turned to look at you. “if you love this boy more than your trust fund, i guess i can’t.”

11:27 PM

hey

talk didn’t go so well

can i come over in like 30

the texts had hardly delivered fully before you were yanking the pajamas off your body and shoving your limbs into the fancy fabric of a stray, hanging dress. a pair of sandals was next. then, eren’s leather jacket. then, your purse. your body was on autopilot as it pried your window open and climbed down the trellis outside of your room. as you pulled your bmw from the driveway and didn’t stop it until you were outside eren’s apartment.

only then did you finally stop to look at your phone. through blurred vision you made out a text that said, just knock when you’re up.

***

eren was beginning to really detest the smell of cigarettes. he had a smoker for a father, and the smell clung to him like a second skin growing up. so it wasn’t as though it was unusual. resentment would be a more fitting word, he concluded.

the first time he brought you to his place, you sneezed violently upon reaching his floor. his neighbor was an avid smoker, but he wasn’t aware the smell was strong enough to warrant any bodily reaction past a slight gag. it wasn’t your fault, he knew that. he had taken you all around the city that day, and your delicate nose had not agreed with any of it. “i’ve got some zyrtec inside, if you want.” he offered.

“it’s fine, ‘ren, seriously. this is, like, my third sneeze all day.”

it was actually your ninth. he had been counting.

so, yes, resentment was probably the best word.

as your signature triad of knocks sounded against his door, eren couldn’t help but hope his neighbor had up and kicked the habit. if not forever, then just for this night of all nights.

talk didn’t go so well

he mentally recounted the text as he braced himself against the doorknob. didn’t go so well could have meant any number of things, and he would have no way of knowing for sure until—

another set of knocks disrupted his train of thought, this time accompanied by a wet sniffle.

eren had barely gotten the chance to look at you after nearly swinging the door off its hinges. he could feel you crying. the uncontrollable spasming in your arms and shoulders, choppy breaths turned to weak coughs, your mouth frozen agape in a muffled scream, forehead burrowing itself into his wishbone.

“hey, talk to me,” he whispered, trying to pull your face out of his shirt, hoping it would give you room to breathe if just for a moment. what little he could see of your face was soaked with tears tinged with tension. “it’s gonna be okay, baby, just talk to me.”

it took a couple minutes, wherein eren had led you into his bedroom, freed your shaking shoulders from his jacket, and just barely managed to get you to produce coherent sentences.

“i’m sorry, eren.” you sighed in what seemed to be utter defeat. your feet swinging to and fro off the side of his bed, bare after you kicked your sandals off. “i tried to make him understand, but he’s never gonna.” at the last word, you let your forehead collapse onto his shoulder with another deep sigh.

as another tear fell from your eye and rolled into the groove above your top lip, eren began to wonder exactly what it was your father had said. he was the very embodiment of foreboding. they had met only once, and eren couldn’t recall him conveying anything resembling approval or even warmth. not in his eyes, his demeanor, or the half-grunts he had substituted for speech.

“hey, hey, look at me.” gently, he took your face in his hands, coaxing your eyes in his direction whilst thumbing away stray tears. “what’d you tell me a couple days ago, hm?” you batted your eyes in a way that made his heart skip before petulantly rolling them. with your face bunched up so delicately in his hands, your fluffy lashes casting soft shadows against your wet cheeks and eyes swimming in vulnerability he could see his reflection in, eren felt for a moment the two of you could transcend all those superficial labels that made loving one another such a challenge.

you were not rich, nor was he poor. there was no yale pre-law track in your future, and he was not an artist struggling to support himself. when you gazed into each other’s eyes with such soft yearning, you were just a man and a woman.

“nobody had to understand but us.” you muttered under a sniffle, momentarily closing your eyes as though the act of optimism physically pained you. just when eren thought he was about to smile, you spoke again. “but, ‘ren, it’s worse this time. he said he didn’t wan’ me seein’ you anymore. or else he’d take away my trust fund.”

in the latter bit of your sentence, your voice became eerily resolved for someone vocalizing every rich kid’s nightmare. the sudden calmness frightened him eons more than your crying. because try as you might to hide it, eren knew you loved being rich. you wore your gold and diamonds like a second skin, almost like a coat of armor. he knew you loved horseback riding, as well as excursions on your father’s yacht. you very scarcely discussed it with him (out of respect, he assumed), but he had become content with the fact that you would choose your money over him every single time.

“i won’t ask you to choose me.”

“what?” your voice cracked over the word. “eren, that’s what i came here to do.”

“well then stop it,” the words flew from eren’s mouth almost instinctively, as though something in his very biology felt that you were too good for him. although there was no denying that as the truth. everything about you—from the heavenly sound that was your laugh to the stack of golden cartier bracelets adorning your wrist. you were better than him, so much so that there wasn’t even a way to describe it. “please, (y/n), just stop.”

you scoffed, dipping your hands into his as incredulity knitted itself within your eyebrows. “stop? stop? no, eren, you don’t get it.” you shook your head vigorously, face straightening out as though you were regaining sense with every movement. “i came here to tell you that i’m choosing you. you’re what i want.”

he studied the curve of your trembling lip, silently wondering if you had gone mad and forgotten exactly what world you were living in. you spoke with the easiness of a girl who never had a worry in her life. eren loved that about you, even now when you sounded more foolish than anything.

“and you know i can’t let you do that, right?” eren massaged the center of your palm with his thumb in an attempt to remain grounded. he knew it would be all too easy to let himself fall face first into your little fantasy, if only to keep you just a little longer. if he were a more selfish man, he would have. “i won’t let you do that.”

“won’t let me?” you pulled one of your trembling hands away to wipe the fresh tears spilling on your cheek. “please, eren, you’re startin’ to sound like my daddy.”

“well, maybe if he couldn’t talk some sense into you, i can.”

even as eren watched you process each word from his mouth, he was still shocked when you yanked your hands out of his altogether. “don’t tell me…” shakily, you got to your feet. “y-you’re turnin’ me away? you’re sending me back to him?”

“if by him you mean your father who loves you—”

you wasted no time at all interrupting him. it wasn’t exactly hard to tell that you were still grappling with the idea of being told no. “—oh for fuck’s sake, eren! how could you even say that knowing—”

“—and wants the best for you, then yes—”

“—how he feels about you? about us—”

“then yes, i’m sending you back to him!” the words erupted from his mouth and filled the air like poisonous smoke. he was standing now, towering over you, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation through a facade of dominance. had he ever screamed at you before now? the answer was written all over your face in big, wet eyes and a mouth contorted open in a silent cry.

“why?” a sob wracked your body. “i mean, why, eren? i thought you loved me.”

“more than anything, baby. and that‘ll never change. but sometimes love just isn’t enough.”

“love is the only reason i’m here! do you think i would be giving up my entire life if i didn’t love you?”

“and you think i would just let you do that if i loved you?” eren breathed as he fixed the strap of your dress that hung loosely off your shoulder. he tried his hardest to concentrate on how beautiful you looked, and not how he would never be able to afford to buy you anything this nice. “i won’t let you ruin your life so you can play house with me, okay? i care too much for you.”

you crossed your arms over your chest, and said something eren never imagined he would hear you say, “fine.” you said it with such an obvious facade of resolution that eren knew it was too easy to be real. “look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to go away.”

“don’t ask me to do that.”

“it’s the only way you’re getting me out of here.”

eren took a moment to look into your eyes. he had become so good at drawing them that he could do it blindfolded. he brought his hands to either side of your neck and felt your pulse begin to thump at the contact. he wished he could sketch that sweet sound and keep it tucked so close to his own heart that the beats began to synchronize. god, why did you have to make this so hard?

he kissed you before he could even stop himself. he wanted to curse himself for being so weak, but he was hardly in his right mind whenever he kissed you. he savored the taste of your tongue and the softness of your lips. he kissed you until he could taste the bitterness of your tears. he kissed you so deeply, so passionately that he almost forgot why he was kissing you in the first place. almost.

eren broke away, and did his very best to keep his eyes trained on yours. “(y/n),” a mascara-colored tear streak stained the side of your nose. it’s not fair, eren lamented, holding your face in his hands as steadily as he could. “please go. go live your life, and don’t come back here.”

“you want me to leave?” you whispered as though you were saying some horrible curse word. “is that what you’re saying?”

“yes,” he took his hands off you and moved back a few paces, more for his sanity than yours. “i want you to go.”

silently, you moved across the room to slide your shoes back over your feet before exiting the room in a flurry of ferocious clicks against the floor.

eren trailed awkwardly behind you, hoping to see you out despite knowing it would only twist the knife deeper inside him. “you’ll thank me for this one day.” he called out as you swung open his apartment door.

without even turning to face him, you sniffled, “fuck you, eren.” before slamming the door behind you and disappearing down the hall.

#nikki writes ✶#eren jaeger #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan #aot x black reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jeager fanart #snk angst

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totallyunidentified · 3 days ago

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Finally Home

Word count: 3433

After years of searching Cody finds Obi Wan…or does he?

This has taken me months to finish and I don’t even know if I fully like it but here we go. I love codywan and they are endgame and I miss them and that’s all.

In all the years that he had been searching, Cody had never once thought that it would end like this. Under twin suns on a desert planet that he truly should have known to check first. After the Death Star had been destroyed it became a little easier to travel, the Empire losing so many men meant that their control relaxed more as you got further from the inner core worlds. The spaceport on Tatooine was a bustling hive of different species and creatures all just trying to get through the day. Cody looks for a place to rest for a moment, it was a long and tiring journey to get to Tatooine. He knew he could have stayed with Rex, Wolffe, and the rest of the rebels for a little longer but he knew that it was time to finish his search. He passes shop after shop before stopping at a little tea shop down an alley. It looked a little dusty, maybe even a little sketchy but appearances aren't everything. The tea shop is the first in a series of stops in what seems to be another wild goose chase. No one will give Cody an answer—without credits of course. Credits that Cody was in short supply of. He asks day after day until finally, someone tells him. There had been a Kenobi on Tatooine. “Had” being the key word. Cody had missed him by mere weeks.

“You must mean Old Ben, the human guy with a Coruscanti accent? Always wearing these heavy robes till the day he left with that Skywalker kid and two droids,” said one of the locals. Cody had not wanted to believe the next farmer he asked when the man had said that old Ben had never returned. If he was honest he had begun to lose hope anyway. After 17 years or so of searching one has to give up sometime right? Cody hadn’t, he had known he'd find Obi-Wan somewhere someday. Technically, he had, he was just too late.

The farmer he had spoken to was kind enough to drive him out to where “Ole Ben Kenobi” had lived for a small fee of course. The house is on an overhang looking out over the sands of Tatooine. An outpost with unobstructed views, the high ground. The farmer leaves him at the base looking up at the several flights of stairs. Cody groans knowing that this is not going to feel good tomorrow. Walking into the humble home that Obi-wan had kept for himself, Cody quickly gets a sense of how he had been living. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, it had been a while since the owner was home.

As he walks through the doorway, he notices a mirror behind the door and stops for a moment to study the man in the reflection. He realizes that even if he had found Obi-Wan, he might not have recognized the bearded and slightly longer-haired clone he had become, the wrinkles across his face didn’t suit someone who wasn’t even 34 yet. Cody notices a cloak haphazardly lying on the floor of a closet doorway. He can't help but chuckle as he is reminded of all the times he had picked up Obi-Wan’s cloaks before.

“General! It appears you lost something again!” Cody grins beneath his helmet as he watches his Jedi pause and whips his head around searching for his robe.“My dear I never lost it, you knew where it was the whole time did you not?” Obi-Wan flashes that smile that makes Cody’s heart skip a couple of beats. The smile that he is sure that if anyone fighting just looked at for more than a second, could end the war. “Really? Guess I can add robe collector to my official job description then.” “Oh no, nothing so menial as that you must not forget to add lightsaber collector to your resume also.” Obi-wan jests and despite the dirt covering his face, Cody swears that he has never seen someone so beautiful. “Maybe I could turn this into a part-time gig, the other Generals must lose their things all the time.” “I’m afraid not, dearest Cody. I fear I shall have to keep your particular skills to myself.” Obi-Wan takes the robe from Cody with a wink, their fingers brushing ever so slightly, and even through his gloves, Cody can feel the connection.

Cody smiles at the memory, groaning as he picks up the cloak. He carefully hangs the robe up in the closet, cleaning up after Obi-Wan once again. The Jedi had become a bit eccentric in his old age, the messy house a polar opposite to his former quarters at the Jedi Temple and on the cruiser where his room had been kept tidy. Just from where he stands at the front of the house he sees this is no longer the case. Obi-Wan had other things on his mind.

He moves further into the house, the clutter coming just short of disarray, He sees glimpses of the man he loves as he moves further in. Little details about the life that he should have been a part of. Tables stained with rings, little dents in the walls, scuff marks on the floors, proof that this house had been a home. The kitchen is difficult, there are scratches on the floor under the table and chairs. There are marks on the countertops and water stains near the sink. This kitchen had been lived in. Cody looks for some kind of food, something to help with at least some of the empty feelings. Looking through the cabinets he opens one and is overwhelmed by the scents that almost attack him. Throwing him back into yet another memory.

Obi-Wan had said it would be easy to find the droid. It should have been but the damn thing ran into a marketplace.

Undercover, Obi-Wan and Cody were in disguise, playing the couple who were simply at the market, searching for tea. While Obi-Wan was comfortable wearing a simple slightly worn-down robe, Cody was without his armor. The loose civilian shirt and pants have no weight nor the protection that his armor provided and he was only allowed a blaster on his hip. As they got ready Cody reminded Obi-Wan,

“Sir—I have the most recognizable face in the galaxy, how are we going to be inconspicuous?”

“You see my wonderful Cody. I did think of that. I grabbed this for you.”

Obi-wan brings his hand out of his robes holding—a hood? Cody can't exactly see what it is before Obi-Wan steps closer and puts the fabric around Cody’s head creating a hood.

“Genius as always sir—but this doesn't cover my face. It Isn't much of a disguise.”

Obi-wan takes the end of the fabric holding it up and across the bottom half of Cody’s face. Only his dark brown eyes can be seen.

“It is if you do this” Obi wan says grinning as he secures the fabric. They realize seemingly at the same time how close they are standing. Obi-Wan’s hand was still over Cody's shoulder and their faces were inches apart. He feels as if he is frozen in time as he stands close to Obi-Wan. For a moment he can imagine that this is real, that they truly were a couple simply out at the market for essentials. If they were, would they hold hands? Would they stand this close comfortably? Without care if they were allowed this one piece of sunshine in the darkness of a war?

Would Cody’s teasing about the endless tea that Obi-Wan collects end in a kiss on the cheek instead of a polite chuckle? These thoughts are all destined to be dreams, never reality. Cody clears his throat and looks out of the alley they had been hiding in. Now disguised as the couple–the pair continue down through the market. Eyes roaming the stands and crowds of people. Obi-Wan walks beside him, his arm hooked on Cody’s own.

“Wouldn't want to lose you”, Obi-Wan explains with a satisfied smile as Cody is glad that the redhead can't see the blush hidden by his mask. Surrounded by people and creatures from around the galaxy there are so many things to see, hear, and smell. Passing shop after shop the pair come upon a shop filled to the brim with different colored boxes and tins full of herbs and different teas. Cody looks over at Obi-Wan who is already grinning at him.

“Sir we don't have the time-” He tries to start but he is practically dragged into the tea shop by the Jedi general.

“Come now Cody, there is always time for tea. We haven't collected one for this mission have we?”

“No sir we haven’t,” Cody says, shaking his head but smiling. Obi-wan immediately begins to pursue the store, moving and investigating pile after pile of tea. Cody watches as Obi-Wan meticulously chooses a type of Deychin tea, one that is both of their favorites. They pay the attendant and Obi-Wan grabs Cody’s hand this time.

“Just to stay together,” Obi-wan reassures him. Cody wishes that he wasn't wearing gloves, cursing them the whole time they continue through the market. He wishes he had listened. That they had stayed together.

The cabinet Cody had opened contained one of every tea that Obi-Wan and Cody had collected over their years on different planets. Cody’s favorites remained untouched as if waiting for someone to appreciate them. He wonders if they are even good anymore. They had to be nearly two decades old by now. Yet, Obi-Wan had kept them. Simultaneously comforting and a little disquieting the scents come with the memories of times long gone, missions long finished. Obi-Wan had saved them, hoping that Cody would find him and that they'd be able to drink the tea together.

The stains on the counters, and dishes in the sink, just are further signs of the life that had occupied the house. Standing in the middle of the space, Cody can imagine himself finding Obi-Wan preparing tea and wrapping his arms around his waist to pull him in for an impromptu dance in the kitchen, their foreheads together no care in the galaxy but for the man in front of him. Again these would remain dreams wishes for a time that had passed without the chance to arrive in the first place.

From the kitchen Cody ventures into the bedroom, unlike the barren quarters he had held on The Negotiator, there are shelves of books and a small cot against the wall. Cody inspects the bookshelves, wanting more of an understanding of who the man he had loved became. Cody remembered how Obi-Wan had preferred using flimsi, claiming the datapads could hurt his eyes if used excessively. Upon closer inspection, one of the books on the shelf sits at an odd angle and Cody pushes it in; he hears a mechanical noise and takes his blaster out aiming it at the newly revealed shelf in the wall that holds several more books that Obi-Wan had not wanted found. Cody grabs one recognizing the little notebook Obi-Wan had carried around for most of the war.

It had been a harsh battle, scars would marr the landscape and soldiers alike for years to come. Cody finished talking to a group of shinies still shaken after their first fight before noticing a figure sitting under a tree alone. He nods to the troopers dismissing them with a hand to a shoulder, a handshake, and a salute as he tells them to get some rest. As he gets closer he realizes that Obi-Wan is asleep, a notebook just about to fall out of his hand.

Cody picks up the notebook, his heart sinking as he recognizes the names within. After every battle, Obi-Wan, his sweet kind hearted general, wrote every fallen vod’s name. No matter how long they had been with the 212th, every single man they lost was in one of the many journals Obi-Wan had filled out. Name after name filled the pages, even from the battles that Obi-Wan wasn't with them for. He flips back several pages looking for a specific name. Cody had entered it himself after they had left that hellhole of a planet. Umbara had taken up almost half a notebook.

Waxer had always helped Obi-Wan remember and gather the names of the journals. Now, the men all knew to bring the names straight to Obi-Wan or Cody, sometimes they even passed the journal around so the men could enter their brother's names themselves. Remembering their brothers who had marched on. Immortalizing those who marched forward. If you asked Cody, the ones who marched on weren't the ones who had fallen. It is the ones left living who have fallen behind. The ones left who wished that they could just march with their brothers again. The ones who stayed were cursed to hear their lost brother’s voice every day and yet they'd never hear them laugh again. Many had never had the chance to hold a photo of their brothers who marched on but would always see their faces. Cody looks past the journal smiling softly at his general asleep against the tree. He grabs the pen that Obi-Wan had been using and sits next to the sleeping Jedi. Setting his helmet beside him, He continues the list from where Obi-Wan had left off, two heavy pages later his own eyes start to droop as he yawns and settles back against the tree. He closes the notebook, sets it beside himself, and slowly lets himself relax enough to fall asleep next to Obi-wan. He startles awake when He feels Obi-Wan’s head rest on his shoulder. Looking at the clones who had also congregated around the pair leaning against their trees or their brothers he hoped none had noticed. His face burns with a blush as he looks down at Obi’s peaceful face he shrugs it's not like his brothers are oblivious, they often tease Cody about his affection for Obi-Wan anyway. Letting his head lean against Obi-Wan’s, Cody accepts his fate and falls back asleep.

Cody picks up the notebook sitting on top of the shelf, it’s the least used of the batch but it’s still about a third of the way full. He recognizes the names in this book as those of the Jedi, young and old. Names that Obi-Wan had grown up with, the names from the stories of Obi-Wan’s childhood. Stories told over fires and late nights over holo tables. He remembers the first name that Obi-Wan had put into the very first notebook, the name of his fallen master, now joined by his Jedi brethren.

The pages went on and on, as he flipped through the pages there were more spots where it seemed that a tear had fallen and landed on the page. He reaches the end and his heart stutters reading the names Ahsoka, Padme, Anakin, and Rex.

The last name is several blank pages later like Obi-Wan had wanted to give the name its own space. His name sits in the middle of the page, Cody. Alone, even in remembrance. His heart sinks seeing the stains surrounding the name.

The paper is warped around his name, evidence of the sorrow Obi-Wan had felt writing it down. Turning to another page he almost drops the notebook when he sees a letter addressed to him. His hands shake as he holds the notebook and as he reads, tears already begin to fall leaving identical marks to the ones his partner had left.

Dearest Cody, I don't believe that you will ever read this but on the odd chance you do, I have probably moved on. Not a day has passed that I haven't thought of you. From the second the suns rise to the minute the moon sets my thoughts are of you. I haven't felt your presence since that day on Utapau, perhaps whatever it was that caused the clones to turn and take you from me also blocked your presence from the force. I hope that should you ever find this, that you understand I never blamed you. I only wish that we could have had more time. I often wonder why the force would have brought us together just to tear us apart. I often try to find solace in the fact that you wouldn’t be alone. While I lost my family, you would always have your brothers. While we have been separated I have found solace in the fact that I will always have you. The memories we shared could never be erased from my mind, nor could they grow foggy with time as I regularly revisit them to see your face. I treasure the time we had together and only wish that we could have had more. I do hope that someday you find my humble dwelling, not home–not yet, not without you. For you know what they say, dearest Cody, home is where your heart is, but my heart was never here. I never said it aloud but just know I thought it every day, I love you, Cody. I think from the very first time we met. I continue to live and shall end my days with the hope I shall see you again, be it in this life or next. All my love, Obi Wan Kenobi

Cody can't help but stare at the letter for several more minutes. Re-reading and analyzing every single word on the paper. Throughout reading the letter, many of the warped places on the page were joined by twin marks right beside them. Cody had been mourned. That should bring some comfort, shouldn't it?

It doesn't. He hadn't been there. This house wasn't his, the chair on the front porch sat empty beside its partner. If he closes his eyes he can imagine what could have been, mornings beginning with tea out on the porch waiting for the pitter-patter of little feet to shatter the quiet of a peaceful sunrise. Cody knows Obi-Wan was good with kids, he raised Anakin and practically raised Ahsoka, if everything had gone the way it should have, would that have even been in the picture? Cody had never allowed himself to wonder. They would have adopted, of course, found children who needed a home.

After finishing the letter and replacing it in the wall with the others, He doesn't spend long in the bedroom; the sight of the robes still in the closet and the single wilted sunflower on the bedside table promise nothing but more tears.

Stepping back into the main room, the house now fully explored, Cody stands alone. Not an uncommon occurrence, but now the feeling is greater than ever. He had missed his chance at life. The years he had been given were short and most had been spent searching for what could never be found. However as he looks around the house that still sits in slight disarray he realizes that whatever the next years will bring, Obi-Wan has made him a home. Albeit unknowingly he had prepared this space that felt lived in and loved and cared for and now Cody will live just as Obi-Wan did, alone but with the knowledge that his partner had left him a haven. Away from the galaxy and the fight, no need to search any longer, for Obi-Wan is not lost and neither is Cody.

Now done with his search and feeling more at peace than he had in well his entire life, Cody makes his way back to the front of the house with a cup of tea in each hand. He sets one down next to a pot holding a newly blooming sunflower, reflecting the rays of the suns finally setting. Still holding the other, He sits in the rocking chair on the left looking out upon the planes of desert sand. He puts his hand on the armrest of the other chair and for one fleeting moment, he feels another hand on top of his. As he closes his eyes and finally relaxes, he does not know about the blue figure beside him that tells him "Welcome home dearest."

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan #obi wan kenobi #Codywan deserved better #star wars #the clone wars #star wars fanfiction

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theambitiouswoman · 2 days ago

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Do you have relationship advice for a woman in her mind 20s whose never dated? I have Muslim immigrant parents, social anxiety, trauma and some body image issues which has led me to just never try. I've been on one date that never went anywhere despite being 25. I want to start trying to date more seriously but I feel like I'm too old to start when everyone around me has been dating since they were teenagers, and some are even married and have kids. I feel like my lack of experience will be a red flag to people, and even if I lie about my experience, they'll probably figure out I'm lying once they see that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

Dating at 25 might feel late, but it’s not—everyone’s timeline is different, and starting now means you’re likely more self aware and intentional. Your lack of experience isn’t a red flag; it’s just part of your story. I know a lot of social circles where your limited relationship history basically makes you a trophy, a unicorn. So it is all about perspective. Any person who's interested in you wont look at this negatively, at all. And that is if they even care about your past history. The right person will value your honesty and authenticity, so there’s no need to lie. Instead, embrace vulnerability and say something like, “I am focusing on myself." I phrased it like that for a reason. You don't want to be an over eager girl anyway. Men love the hunt and a woman who is focused on herself is only going to make a guy more interested.

Start small to build confidence—practice conversations in low-pressure settings or join activities where you can meet people naturally. I would focus on casual, low pressure dates to avoid feeling overwhelmed. Not thinking about it going anywhere, just getting to know people. I say this because I am worried that with your limited experience, you might fall for mens lies or wont know how to navigate certain situations. Wouldn't want you to get hurt. This doesn't mean not to take yourself or your desire for relationships seriously!!!

Don’t compare yourself to others. Many who started dating young may not have the emotional clarity you’re developing now. Everyones journey is different. If i could do it all again, I would have 1000% waited to date later (was actually thinking about this a week ago). Focus on what you want in a partner and take your time. Dating is a skill, and every step—even awkward moments—helps you learn. You are beautiful, special and unique and not just anyone is worthy of you, so you shouldn't be in a hurry to make anyone your boyfriend either!! They have to earn you! :)

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wynnshxfts · 3 days ago

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hello!

i found ur page and wanted to ask more about aizawa if u dont mind!! like what does he look like and whats he like and does he have a gf omg what was that

ֺ ۪ 　　𝜗𝜚⠀　come into the water ..

━ aizawa in my dr !!

ֺ ۪ APPEARANCE : He has dark brown eyes with hazel highlights. When his quirk is activated, they glow yellow. You can't see the glow with his goggles on, but I think It's beautiful. His eyelashes are really pretty, It's something that always stood out to me about him. He has a nice facial structure. There are bags under his eyes, I wish he'd let himself rest more. Actually, I'm surprised Mic doesn't have bags under his eyes too with all the work he does. He doesn't care much for his appearance, which is a shocker because he looks so.. anyways. His hair is usually messy, but he does in fact comb it - It's just thick (if that makes sense). His eyes are tired and cold. I'm not sure if anyone else notices, but I love when they soften. His lips are dry, and Mic will leave chap stick on his desk sometimes. He has no clue who's doing it and sees it as an insult. He's always wearing his scarf - and he looks naked without it. One time I blew on his neck while It wasn't on and he freaked the fuck out. He likes wearing black, but he isn't restricted to it. Mic and me try and take him out to shop but he absolutely hates shopping. Cannot blame him because I do too. Mic on the other hand loves it. He also has horrible taste in shoes, sorry bud. He smells comforting. That's the best way I can describe that. When we drifted apart briefly after high school, I had a hoodie of his and I kept it. Very sad day when it stopped smelling like him. He has big hands, at least, bigger than mine.

ֺ ۪ HABITS : He scratches at the scar under his eye a lot. I can never tell if It's actually itchy or a nervous habit. One time I caught him doing a grounding exercise, tapping his fingers against his thumb and counting back and forth. I notice he scratches a lot - his hand, his palm, his neck, his head. He doesn't have long fingernails. Odd detail I wanted to add. When he's annoyed he taps his heel like an angry bunny. If you point it out, he'll stop.

ֺ ۪ ABOUT : He's very sweet, don't let his tough exterior fool you. He's so caring. He doesn't let himself get close to people, so his relationships mostly consist of those who do put in that effort. He has a big heart, he always has. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if quirks didn't exist, would he let others in? Anyways, he is single. I don't think he's ever been in a relationship, actually. He tried dating someone once in high school, but I don't think that counts. He's very unsure when it comes to that stuff. He's always to the point and doesn't stand for any nonsense. It's funny, because in high school he wasn't much of the voice of reason. He usually got just as caught up in shenanigans as others. He does small acts to show he cares, like letting people he's comfortable with fall asleep on his shoulder (which isn't as romantic as it seems. it hurts like hell afterwards.) and .. well, It's hard to explain when you don't experience it in the moment. But he has a softer look to his gaze when he does acts of kindness. He also is actually very bad with eye contact on occasion. Like when he's doing something sweet he'll keep his gaze off of me. Unsure if he does this with others.

ֺ ۪ He isn't much different than canon. But then again, I might be forgetting to add stuff because I already view that as apart of him that everyone knows. If you have any more questions, ask away! Also a small note, but him being single is a running joke Midnight always brings up. She also likes joke shipping him with others he's even slightly kind to together. Bi icon, ily Midnight. Oh, he also has some scars on his chest. Do not ask how I know this.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #desired reality #shifting blog #reality shifter #shifters #reality shift #shifting realities #shifting #shifting diary #mha shifter #mha shifting #shifter #mha dr #shifting antis dni #anti shifters dni #poc shifter #wynnsposts

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