#this is the fuel that sustains me friends

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Me: anyway i'm actually very very dead inside, i haven't used more than 4% of my capacity for warmth in the last 15 years, and i dont feel like i can, i feel super lethargic and beaten all the time

Fella sitting beside me: you're literally burning the stool under your ass and shooting lava from your eyeballs but okay

#contrast is a bitch #like i'll never forget how i was out with a couple of friends and 10 minutes in one of the guys went #''god you have... so much energy... it's unbelievable'' #and i burst out laughing like ''bro i'm operating at a jittery 5% at all times'' #and this is not a joke by the way like #when i have conversations with others i can feel like how i come across as a kids' party active confetti detonator #but the thing is; i can do //so much more// #i know it i have done it before i want to do it again #but the idea that people already see my 5% as ~so much~ #i'm not sure how i feel about it. there's a sense of grief to it almost #because i know that even a solid 15% would be healing to me but it'd be borderline unbearable to them and would drive them away #and i dont feel my energy as in a vital sustaining life force. More like it's a vintage red car with a heart for an engine #and it burns fuel very inefficiently but the ride of lively and it almost gets you to home #i have met so so many people apologising for having the kind of enthusiasm i do though. and that's even sadder #like yes i can feel very lonely in my warmth but i dont feel ashamed of it #and seeing others apologising for being open and excitable hurts

[cloudslou]

the whole post goes slightly different than i’m taking it but this popped up on my explore page and i rlly like it cus it’s like the easiest explanation of an ~issue~ w any so-called sustainable or eco-friendly products is that it’s always more sustainable to just not create the thing, if it’s not actually necessary. like obviously it would be ideal if sustainable clothing etc replaced like fast fashion but it rarely does, bc the fast fashion doesn’t subside (nor really pay attention to actually consumer demand), so it just adds to the overall creation of clothing rather than taking the place of smth

#like the vast vast majority of my clothes aren’t from so called sustainable brands #all my clothes r hand me downs from friends and sorority sisters #or thrifted #like i would rather wear clothes that were already made and still have life in them #than ljke fuel demand for just. more clothing into existence.

[honeytonedhottie]

starting ur fitness girlie era⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌷

starting ur fitness girlie era is actually super easy! its consistency and discipline where most ppl struggle. i hope this post can help make the sustenance of ur fitness girlie era super easy and fun + some fun working out resources to start ✨

FOR CLARITY ;

when starting anything, the most important thing, although cliche is starting from a place of love rather then hate. it feels better and is more sustainable in the long run.

be clear on your goals for ur fitness girlie era. is this something that u wanna maintain in ur day to day life for general health? do you wanna gain/lose some weight? do you just wanna be stronger?

knowing what ur trying to achieve makes finding workouts that target your goal specifically more easy (the more specific the better)

WHERE DOES NUTRITION COME INTO PLAY ;

you should be fueling ur body properly in order for ur body to function well when ur in ur fitness girlie era. if ur goal for example is to gain weight but u notice that u have a habit to eat very little, make a log.

WIEIAD LOG (NUTRITION CONTINUED) ;

i started a what i eat in a day log for a couple reasons. one bcuz i love lists and documenting things about myself, and two bcuz i wanted to make sure that i was eating well and eating good quality foods. bcuz i notice that when i eat well -> i feel well.

eat to fuel your body, dont eat just to eat

include fresh foods

make sure that you eat healthy portions (calling four almonds a meal is NOT healthy, and calling six pizza pies a meal is NOT healthy)

overall just be mindful of what u decide to fuel your body with. an easy drink that helps to be mindful with what u fuel ur body with is with SMOOTHIES.

im so sick of ppl sleeping on smoothies cuz if u dont like to directly eat vegetables or if u want an easy way to intake fresh fruits and veggies smoothies are the way to GO.

ROMANTICIZATION ;

the fun part of the whole journey, romanticization. made a pinterest board for ur fitness journey aesthetic and make it super pretty. invest in cute workout clothes to motivate urself to workout.

formulate a playlist for ur workout, something that gives u energy and motivates you. find a workout class or a youtube channel that you love. dont make working out BORING. get a workout buddy, make some video diary entries about working out/ur workout for the day.

make a blog that records whatever workout that u did. find fun ways to work out, like dancing or going on hot girl walks. create an atmosphere where u can work out and treat the time that u spend working out as a time to nurture and nourish your body.

PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCE ;

motivation isnt going to get u through a sustainable fitness girl journey, motivation can only get you so far. its DISCIPLINE that gets you the results that you want and consistency.

be patient with yourself even if u fall off ur routine and grind, ur only human so let yourself live. as long as you dont make falling off a habit, you'll be okay.

make sure that u emphasize the mind -> body connection bcuz thats super important. working out is not just about working up a sweat; it's about connecting with your body and embracing the mind-body connection.

FUN AND EFFECTIVE WAYS TO WORKOUT ;

le sserafim workout - i've done the le sserafim workout once or twice and it absolutely destroyed me 💀 but in a good way. its challenging but its also rly effective so i recommend.

dancing - if ur into dancing, find a way of dancing that u enjoy to do. some examples include ; ballet, kpop dances, jazz etc

join a sport - join a sport with a friend to make it more fun! but theres lots of different sports that u can play and not only is it good for ur health, but its also super fun

#advice #it girl #becoming that girl #self care #self love #that girl #it girl energy #honeytonedhottie⭐️ #fitness #wellness girlie #health and wellness #fitness girlie era #girl blogging #girl blogger #pink pilates princess #hyper femininity #princess #dolly #work out #nutrition #green juice girl #green juice aesthetic #resources💬🎀 #le sserafim

[hellenhighwater]

How do you stay creative while working full time? :)

I don't know, I just do stuff. Not art stuff, really! I think sometimes that I have to maintain a base minimum of Stuff Going On to stay above the gravity well of Comfy Bed All the Time No Need To Get Up And Do Things. There's an inertia to stuff, you know? Sometimes when you're busy it's easier to just maintain the momentum of getting things done. I don't always get stuff done as quickly as I'd like--the fact that I'm doing stuff all the time doesn't mean that the stuff I'm doing is necessarily productive. That's a good thing, though, because creativity has to be fueled from somewhere. There's got to be non-creative time for that part of the brain to recharge and rest, so it's not bad to have a job that doesn't demand that kind of thinking.

I did a lot this weekend and almost none of it was creatively productive in a normal sense. I got some pottery done on saturday morning, and then met a friend for sushi, went to my dad's to sandblast and powdercoat car parts and got a milkshake, went for a walk in the woods to pick tiny flowers, met my brother for dinner, and played DnD until midnight before driving back home. Today I planted hydrangea, hauled flagstone into place, dug up grass and tilled it over, and put mulch down. I made a roast for lunch and played DnD in my other campaign for a few hours, then started mixing down the clay slurry into slip for casting, which has to rest for the next 24 hours. In a little while, a friend and I are going to do an online movie marathon, and tomorrow--monday--I've got a board game night after work. Then the next week is pottery tues/thurs/saturday, dinner with my other brother and his wife on wednesday, DnD friday and sunday again.

You know what all of those little appointments with friends do? Force me to manage my time well. Force me to stay on and not just let the day get away from me. I rest when I need to but I also put really concerted effort in to spending time doing stuff that I enjoy.

People often say that they create art from a specific emotion, but to me, in order to make art, to make art sustainably, you have to be happy enough to want to put new things in the world. They don't have to be happy things. But you have to be in the world to reflect it out. Sometimes that's work. Sometimes that's friends.

Work on joy; the art will follow. That's just what's true for me.

#i have never been artistically productive while miserable #and i do like my job so thats a big asterisk on all this #also i make a lot of sad art for a person who is generally pretty happy

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 12)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

You didn't have time to think or react as she lunged towards you, grabbing your hair roughly and yanking you close to her face. Her venomous glare sent chills down your spine, piercing straight through your soul.

"You little slut!" she shouted furiously, enraged beyond reason while Cillian crumbled to retrieve his briefs from the floor. 

"You are going to regret this," she warned before grabbing your hair once more, twisting it cruelly in her grasp as you winced in pain. The harsh pull dragged you closer to her snarling features, causing you to whimper in fear.

"Why do you keep messing with us?" she screeched viciously, raining kicks upon you while you desperately tried to defend yourself.

"Stop, you are hurting me," you cried weakly, recoiling from another blow aimed at your ribcage as Cillian tried to shield you, only partially succeeding until, eventually, he managed to put himself between you and his infuriated wife.

"Danielle, please calm down." he begged earnestly, hoping to defuse the situation peacefully.

However, Danielle remained unfazed, livid and fueled by jealousy. Her eyes blazed with hatred as they bore into yours, leaving no doubt as to how angry she truly was.

You took a breath as Cillian had stepped in, allowing you to gather your clothes while he restrained Danielle by holding on to her wrists tightly. 

"I want this whore out of my house," she yelled and you could see Cillian's conflicted look. The pressure intensified, and soon, you felt suffocated underneath the weight of these events.

Taking advantage of the momentary silence, you turned to address them, seeking resolution amidst chaos.

"Look, maybe we should talk about this later when everyone has calmed down," you proposed, attempting to find common ground where possible. However, your proposal fell flat, as Danielle continued to rail against you bitterly before she finally managed to push past Cillian and throw you down the stairs.

"Danielle! What the hell is wrong with you?" Cillian exclaimed, horrified and bewildered by his wife's violent behavior as he raced towards you, seeing that it was clear that you had sustained a concussion from falling down the stairs.

Danielle seemed unrepentant, continuing to verbally assault you as you lay there bruised and battered, struggling to comprehend the situation. 

"Call a fucking ambulance, Danielle!" Cillian panicked, watching helplessly as blood trickled down your forehead. His earlier protective instincts returned full-force now that danger threatened the object of his obsession as he cradled you up in his arms.

"Can you hear me?" Cillian asked frantically, placing a hand on your trembling shoulder. You nodded feebly, still struggling to catch your breath and maintain consciousness due to the impact. Seeing your condition worsening, he quickly decided to call for emergency services instead of waiting for Danielle to act.

As he dialed the number and, soon enough, the sound of sirens grew increasingly audible outside. Panicking, Danielle walked off, leaving the house in a haste and Cillian did not attempt to stop her, staying by your side.

Soon, paramedics arrived and carefully carried you to the ambulance which then drove away rapidly. Once inside, the medical professionals began examining your injuries and monitoring your vital signs closely. They administered some painkillers to ease your discomfort before asking Cillian some questions regarding the incident. Trying hard to recall the sequence of events leading up to the accident, he explained the situation and they then queried as to whether he was her next of kin.

"No, I am just a friend," he responded truthfully, feeling an unexpected sense of guilt for contributing to her present predicament. 

As us arrived at the hospital, the medics advised Cillian to wait outside as the tests would require privacy.

Feeling anxious, Cillian paced back and forth nervously outside the emergency room, occasionally peering through the glass window. He couldn’t believe what happened – he knew he shouldn’t have allowed things to escalate to such dangerous levels. But somehow, the sexual tension between them proved too strong, consuming their rational minds entirely. How could something so passionate turn so brutal in the blink of an eye?

While awaiting updates on Y/N's condition, flashbacks flooded his memory, reminding him of those tender moments spent between the sheets but, just as he thought about the good times you had, your mother Sarah and Cillian's brother Frank arrived at the hospital.

He greeted them hesitantly, unsure if they knew about what had transpired and it wasn't a big surprise when Sarah started yelling at him.

"You disgusting piece of shit, I don't want you anywhere near my daughter ever again!" she screamed, her anger evident as her hands shook violently in front of her. Meanwhile, Frank, though also upset, maintained a comparatively calmer demeanor.

"Leave, Cillian. Please. Danielle called and told us everything," Frank said coolly, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

Cillian grimaced at the mention of Danielle's name, sensing yet another potential source of conflict. Turning to Sarah, he apologized profusely, promising that he wouldn't allow anything like this to happen ever again.

"Your apologies mean nothing right now, Cillian," Sarah retorted sternly, pointing accusingly at him. "You forced yourself on my daughter when she clearly stated multiple times that she wanted none of it." As tears welled up in her eyes, she added quietly, "It sickens me to know that someone whom I trusted could be capable of such malice and you will hear from the police..." before being interrupted. 

"I did what now?" Cillian interjected in confusion, caught off guard by Sarah's accusatory tone. "Is that what Danielle has told you?" Cillian questioned, surprised by the gravity of the allegations leveled against him.

"She witnessed every bit of it firsthand," Sarah replied vehemently, her tone leaving no doubt that she believed every word Danielle had said.

"I did not force myself on Y/N, Sarah. We were intimate but all of it was consensual," Cillian argued stubbornly, clenching his jaw. 

"She is only nineteen, Cillian," Sarah countered sharply, drawing attention to the age difference between them and the power dynamics involved.

"Yes, she is, and I am not saying that I didn't fuck up, but please consider the context here," Cillian pleaded desperately, trying to explain his perspective, his heart racing anxiously. "She wanted this as much as I did, Sarah. Don't mistake our mutual desire for coercion!" He continued, aware that his argument might fall on deaf ears but unwilling to give up without making his case.

Frank listened impassively, trying to remain neutral during this confrontation despite his wife's obvious distress. Yet, even he found it difficult to ignore the glaring inconsistencies in Cillian's account compared to what Danielle reported. 

After all, how else could Sarah possibly justify Cillian's indiscretions, especially considering his high profile status within the acting community. She held onto this skepticism firmly, determined to seek justice for you but just as she was about to yell at Cillian again, the doctor emerged from your room, allowing only one person to enter.

"She is conscious and only slightly dizzy. She had a mild concussion and needed a few stiches above her left eyebrow due to the impact," announced the doctor as he approached them. "We did not find any internal bleeding and, well, the rest is confidential information," he concluded noncommittally, unable to avoid the topic but reluctant to divulge more specifics before leading Sarah into the room, at which point Frank urged Cillian to leave.

With great difficulty, Cillian obliged, turning around to exit the ER, already beginning to contemplate the future - one that held uncertainty, shame, and regret for having indulged in their forbidden love affair.

Meanwhile, behind closed doors, Sarah sat beside you and patiently waited for you to regain composure.

"Danielle told me what happened, sweetheart," she whispered gently, reaching over to stroke your hair comfortingly. Her presence alone instilled calmness throughout your body. 

"What, she told you that she pushed me down the stairs and punched me in the guts?" you said as you tried to sit up, groggy from the drugs.

"She said it was an accident," Sarah reassured, stroking your head tenderly. 

"She is full of shit. She threw me down the stairs on purpose because..." you began but stopped, too afraid to reveal the truth to you. 

"Because you slept with her husband?" Sarah guessed correctly, furious upon learning the true nature of your relationship with Cillian. 

"She said that he forced himself on you and she tried to intervene...but failed," she explained haltingly, her voice filled with anger and disappointment. 

"What?" you gasped, astonished and confused by her revelation. 

"No, Cillian didn't...oh my god..." you began to say, raising your concern. "Mum, he didn't force me to do anything. In fact, I was the one today who initiated our encounter," you confessed, feeling weary and defeated, finally admitting the truth aloud. 

"So, you are saying that this has been going on for a while and that it was consensual?" Sarah questioned incredulously, attempting to reconcile the information provided by Danielle with yours. 

"Yes, it has been going on for about a month now and absolutely all of it was consensual," you confirmed softly, cringing internally at the idea of hurting your parents further. However, knowing that the truth must come out sooner rather than later, you pressed on. 

Sarah's face turned paler as she processed the disturbing reality. The very notion of her beloved daughter engaging in illicit affairs with men old enough to be her father infuriated her beyond measure and she was furious not only with Cillian but also with you.

"I can't believe your audacity, to think that you would betray your own family like this. Cillian is not only a man with a family, but he is also Frank's brother!" she exclaimed bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Didn't I raise you to respect and honor others above selfish desires?" She demanded, struggling to maintain her composure amidst her raging frustration.

Stung by her harsh condemnation, you cowered under her wrath, feeling guilty for bringing shame upon your family. 

"I am sorry, mum. I made a mistake," you admitted painfully, looking deeply into her eyes. "This entire situation sucks, and my decisions weren't exactly smart," you conceded but your honesty no longer mattered.

"Once you recover, I expect you to move out. I cannot have you living with Frank under these circumstances, nor do I wish to see Cillian again either," declared Sarah resolutely, her words carrying weight. You nodded silently, understanding the severity of the situation and acknowledging the need for some distance both physically and mentally. Your relationship with Cillian had become absolute, and your bond with your mother seemed strained too.

"But where am I going to go? I am about to have exams," you asked, suddenly struck by the sudden change in your life's course.

"You are old enough to sleep with a married man, so you are old enough to look after yourself. You will figure it out," Sarah stated bluntly, her tone lacking compassion. Unable to argue back, you agreed submissively, accepting responsibility for your mistakes. But deep inside, fear consumed you – the kind of fear that leaves a pit in your stomach and makes you feel hollow. 

With this fear consuming you, soon after your mother left, you called your best friend Emma for support. She always knew when something was wrong since childhood and when she found out that you were in hospital, she raced over immediatly.

Emma arrived at the hospital breathless, her frizzy red hair disarrayed around her flushed cheeks. Clutching a bouquet of flowers, she burst through the doorway and ran straight to your bedside, unmindful of everyone watching her.

"How bad is it?" She asked anxiously, her blue eyes brimming with worry. Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed your hand tightly, sending a silent message of solidarity and friendship. You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her loyalty.

"Not too serious, thankfully. Just a bump on my head and some bruises. Plus they put five stitches near my eyebrow," you explained briefly, not wanting to dwell on your injuries too long. Emma nodded sympathetically, placing a gentle hand on top of your cast.

"At least it wasn't worse, right?" she offered tentatively, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled faintly, trying to forget the incident but Emma wanted to know what exactly had happened to you.

With a heavy heart, you recounted the events surrounding your relationship with Cillian and how it came crashing down. When you finished, she looked at you in horror, taking in the magnitude of the betrayals committed against you. "Oh, Y/N! Fuck!," she exclaimed, visibly upset on your behalf

Your tears threatened to spill over once more, but you managed to hold them back, knowing that expressing sadness openly would make you seem even more vulnerable than you already felt. You remained stoic, hoping to demonstrate resilience instead.

"So Cillian and you, it's over?" Emma asked thoughtfully, carefully studying your facial expressions. You paused momentarily, contemplating whether to admit another facet of your involvement with Cillian. Ultimately, you decided to disclose everything, trusting Emma's ability to handle sensitive matters responsibly.

"Yes, we're done," you answered honestly, meeting her gaze with sincerity. Emma frowned, clearly troubled by the gravity of the situation.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?" she ventured, sensing there might be more to the story. Feeling exposed, you hesitated briefly before confirming her suspicion.

"Yes, I fell in love with him, Em." Your voice quivered, a mixture of sorrow and defiance coloring your tone. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way, but it did."

Her expression grew grim, mirroring your own feelings. She reached over and placed a gentle hand on yours, offering a token of sisterly support. "Look, maybe it won't turn out so badly after all. We could work through this together, help you get past it."

"I wish it would be that easy. My mother just kicked me out of the house, all this shit is probably going to end up in the tabloids and, well, there is something else..." you let out a long, exhausted sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

"I am pregnant," you blurted out, unable to hide the fear etched across your features any longer.

Emma's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For several moments, neither of you spoke, absorbing the enormity of the revelation.

"How the fuck did this happen?" Emma asked in disbelief, still processing the news. "When did you find out?" She queried, concerned about your well-being both physically and emotionally.

"Just earlier, when they were running some blood tests," you replied quietly, glancing away momentarily. A single teardrop escaped your eye, trailing slowly down your cheek. 

"Does Cillian know?" Emma questioned gravely, her brow furrowed with concern.

"He doesn't and he won't need to. I am not going to have a baby right now," you responded solemnly, feeling immense guilt about concealing such crucial information from the person responsible for creating this predicament.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillianmurphy #cillian murphy x y #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

[milkb0nny]

Our Secret Spot

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Comfortember Day 5: Treehouse

Summary: You shared a secret friendship with Ivar during your childhood. Your parents had forbidden any contact with the Ragnarssons since they didn't want you to get involved with violence. After you finished to build your own treehouse to be independent and live alone, Ivar surprised you out of nowhere.

Note: At first I was a little stuck with this prompt but I figured it out. I'm very satisfied with it, but I didn't proofread it yet.

Warnings: overprotective parents, lonely childhood

word count: 1.044

You were a child who wasn’t taught to fight or have success in wars. Your parents had strived to ensure you lived a peaceful and joyous life, far from the clutches of bloodshed. Their utmost care and concern for your well-being came at the cost of your friendship with the Ragnarssons. Any interaction with them was strictly forbidden, and you'd receive a scolding if they ever caught you conversing with the brothers. In spite of your compliance, you could count your true friends on one hand.

Despite your loving family, the children of Kattegat often ridiculed you for your pacifist upbringing. You couldn't wield a weapon or engage in combat, making you an outsider among your peers. Your inability to partake in their games and activities only fueled their exclusion of you.

Over the years, your closest companion was a fellow girl who, regrettably, often made fun of your innocence. Her company was welcomed, though you felt empty fulfilling the dream your parents wanted you to achieve. Your only strength was your talent in building steady constructions. Floki was your secret aspiration and you desired to become as important and skilled as he was. Since you were a child, you had observed him closely, meticulously noting every detail of his work.

In the past year, you'd undertaken a secret project that no one else knew about. Knowing that your parents would soon arrange a marriage for you, you decided to seize your independence and create your own sanctuary away from Kattegat. In this endeavor, you began constructing a treehouse, a personal haven where you would learn to sustain yourself, free from the expectations of others.

It was your declaration of independence, a rebellion against the sheltered life your parents had envisioned for you. You had failed many times to build it this high up in the trees and of course, you had fell down more than once. The pain and effort was worth it though as you watch your craft coming together.

The only things lacking were some furniture, pillows, and your personal belongings. You had already transported some of your belongings to the treehouse, making it a livable space.

As you rolled out a rug on the floor of your new sanctuary, you heard rustling leaves on the ground below. Curiosity piqued, you gazed down, only to discover two legs sitting beneath your treehouse. You cautiously descended the ladder and found Ivar, a mixture of surprise and apprehension flashing across your eyes. Your interaction with the Ragnarssons was strictly forbidden, and you knew engaging in conversation with one of them could lead to disaster.

“Hello there, y/n,” Ivar greeted you with a soft smile, his presence both unnerving and intriguing.

You swallowed nervously, stepping down form the ladder and watching him in silence. You yearned to break free from the constraints imposed by your parents, yet you felt choked with anxiety at the prospect of talking to Ivar.

Ivar noticed your reluctant behavior and said, “You can talk to me. Your parents are nowhere around.”

You raised an eyebrow and scanned your surroundings warily. Fortunately, no one was nearby to witness your interaction, but the risk was undeniable.

“How did you find me here?” Your soft voice asked him fiercely, demanding an answer from him. Ivar looked at you with his blue eyes.

In truth, you had often chatted with Ivar while venturing through the woods alone. As children, you both had sneaked away to play and enjoy each other's company. With the passing years, your feelings toward Ivar had evolved, but your parents' suspicions had intensified. They had correctly surmised that something had transpired between you and one of the Ragnarssons. Although they hadn't discovered the full truth, your last interaction with Ivar had been months ago.

“I've been watching you for a while," Ivar confessed calmly. "I thought we could talk here.” A calmness normally not usual for the man.

You nodded, sighing in distress. "I'd love to talk to you, Ivar, but my parents are constantly monitoring my every move.” You replied, coming a little closer to Ivar.

He looked at you with a little disappointment. His eyes examined you and he wished it would’ve been easier to get closer to you.

“Do you think we can get me up there?” Ivar asked, looking at you earnestly. Your gaze widened in surprise, and you chewed on your bottom lip, deliberating.

“I don't want to hurt your legs while helping you up,” you protested silently, as you knew how fragile his legs were. He shook his head, disagreeing.

His voice, which you greatly missed, reassured you, “You won't. Let me feel like a normal human. I've never been in a treehouse.”

Your heart ached at his desire to experience normalcy, and you agreed to assist him. You helped him climb the ladder, pushing him up carefully. Ivar grabbed onto the ladder with a strong and firm grip, whereas you pushed his legs up carefully. With some help, he managed to crawl up to your new home. Though the space was limited, it housed a bed, a small kitchen, and a tiny bathroom. Yet, your project was remarkable as you practically made it on your own. He looked around, admiring your talent.

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” he whispered, smiling at you as you entered through the bottom door.

“Thank you, Ivar,” you responded, pulling up the ladder and closing the door to maintain your privacy. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, I do. I like it even more with you inside it,” he flirted with you, which obviously worked.

A hush of blush rushed over your face. A slight smile on your lips. Your heart ponded fast, you hoped Ivar wouldn’t notice your awkwardness as much. Whenever you were alone with him, your deepened feelings came to the surface, drawing you closer to him.

“You can come whenever you like,” you mumbled shyly.

A flush of warmth crept over your cheeks, and you smiled shyly, feeling the intensity of your emotions as you stared into his piercing blue eyes. It pained you that your parents denied you the love of a Ragnarsson. Yet, it was a secret you were determined to keep from them.

Your shared treehouse, a sanctuary for your hidden desires.

#ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #vikings x you #vikings x reader #vikings

[dust-and-grave]

hng, i am so frustrated by this whole watcher tv situation. i've been chewing on it ever since i watched their announcement video yesterday + i've been looking around online at other fan reactions. i'm having a lot of thoughts so i guess i want to throw my two cents in + hope it'll make me feel better to talk about it a little.

i think we all agree that creators should be paid fairly for their work; however, not all work is created equal, right? if i commission an experienced (and thus high-demand) artist to do an oil painting of my cat, they might quote me $500+ to do that + it would be fair. if an artist with substantially less experience (and thus in lower demand) spends 30 seconds on a crayon rendition of my cat, should they also received $500+ for their work? i think most people would agree that would be ridiculous.

in some ways, this is what it feels like the watcher team is doing to us right now, imo. we know that shows like ghost files or puppet history are expensive to make because travel costs (in the case of ghost files) + production costs, but we can see the effort put into the work. we feel that what we give for the show, whether that's turning off ad blocker while watching or buying show merch or supporting via patreon, is going toward making the product that we are asking for. these shows are the oil painting in the metaphor.

i don't agree with how mean + rude some people are being about steven lim rn, but frankly, his shows are the 30 second crayon drawing of the watcher channel. anyone can look at the view count on their channel + see that his shows consistently have performed worse than shane + ryan's shows. additionally, we can see that he blows huge amounts of money on his shows ("$913 seafood tower", "$1027 fried chicken") that may leave a lot of viewers feeling as if they're aren't getting as much bang for their buck.

frankly, i think people are valid for being upset that they're expected to directly foot the bill for steven's "i fly all over the world + eat expensive food while you watch" project. while youtube has a shit ton of problems (like, say, not paying their creators enough), one of the cool things about it is that you can gauge directly the amount of the interest in a project (and how many resources you should dedicate to said project) by how many eyes are on it. unfortunately for him (i guess), steven's shows just don't garner enough attention to justify the expense of making them.

which is why i see this shift to watcher tv as such a problem. this feels very much like using shane + ryan's success on the channel to force fans to fuel steven's pursuit of his glory days on worth it. it feels even more strange when they say that they're making the switch because the company isn't currently sustainable, but steven has just hired his friends from buzzfeed + continues to push his series that just don't seem to be making back the cost of production.

to be totally fair, shane + ryan don't get out of this clean either. some of their shows don't deserve to be behind a paywall either. too many spirits is filmed in ryan's parent's backyard with content submitted by their viewers. are you scared is just ryan reading creepypastas/fan submitted content on a minimal set. survival mode is just them playing games like any other streamer or gaming youtuber does. i love all of these shows, but are they on par with puppet history or ghost files? absolutely not.

this is where i think the disconnect is coming from. they're taking everything including the lower production shows to a streaming service where you have to fund them directly (rather than indirectly through ad revenue). they're forcing funding into steven's projects despite them just not doing well enough to justify the cost. they're coming across as disingenuous with their reasoning because their stated reasons for doing this don't align with their actions rn.

i feel like it would've made so much more sense to crowdfund new seasons of shows (which gives them feedback from the fans about what they want too) or put higher cost shows like ghost files or puppet history on patreon or channel membership. i would gladly fund mystery files, weird wonderful world, ghost files, puppet history, etc. with my own money, but i'm one of the ones who isn't really interested in funding steven's quest to eat all of the gold-plated kobe beef when i'll never be able to afford to eat at a restaurant that even serves it.

#rachel says #watcher #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #also it really bothered me that they dangled weird wonderful world over our heads to convince people to use the streaming service #it regularly got more views than all of steven's shows save dish granted #but they never picked it up again despite that #it just adds to the sense of betrayal that a lot of us are feeling rn i think

[handoneohone]

What would happen if the reader meets Yandere Alastor after the fight with Adam? Like Alastor was in denial about his love ( obsession ) for the reader... But now something has broken and Alastor is perhaps more dangerous ( I'm trying to talk about the last episode, when Alastor goes to his radio tower which is broken )... And reader tries to be a good friend so he goes looking for alastor and finds him in this scene...

Bonus: imagine the reader delicately rejecting alastor's love, because he only sees him as a friend

you dont know how much i loved that scene 10/10 request tyyyy word count:1513

Y/N stands amidst his allies, his body aching from the excursion and injuries sustained during the fight. Despite the victory, concern covers his features as he scans the area for a familiar face. Alastor

"Where is he? He was fighting Adam and just… poof” He muttered to nobody 

Ignoring the calls from his companions to celebrate, Y/N’s concern for Alastor overrides his pain. He remembers the moment he noticed Alastor's disappearance, a sudden drop in his stomach, fearing the worst may have happened.

With a grimace, Y/N pushes through his injuries, a singular thought moving him forward: Find Alastor.

The journey to the radio tower is taxing, more so with his injuries. Y/N's determination doesn't falter; if anything, it toughens with every step he takes away from the battlefield and towards the looming structure in close distance

As he approaches, the damage to the tower becomes apparent—shattered windows, broken antennae, a testament to the battle's reach. The sight fuels a mix of emotions in Y/N; worry for Alastor's well-being, confusion over his sudden departure, and an inexplicable fear of what he might find.

Climbing the debris-strewn stairs with a limp, Y/N’s breaths come in short gasps, his injured leg protesting with every step. Yet, the thought of leaving Alastor in whatever state he might be—potentially hurt, or worse…—drives him onward.

Reaching the top, Y/N pauses to catch his breath, steeling himself for what's to come. He calls out, his voice echoing in the broken silence.

"Alastor? Are you here?"

There's a moment of nothing—no response, no movement, nothing but the whistle of the wind through the shattered remnants of the tower. Then, a shift in the shadows, and Alastor emerges, his usual poise disturbed by the visible signs of distress.

Y/N 's concern deepens at the sight, the relief of finding Alastor alive quickly overshadowed by the realization that the demon is not himself. The cheer, the confidence, the unshakeable demeanour—all seem to have cracked under an unseen pressure

Y/N, limping and visibly injured, pushes through the debris to find Alastor standing amidst the ruins, his back turned, staring at what used to be his source of power.

"Al... I was looking for you. Are you alright?"

Alastor spins around, a facade of cheer on his face, but his eyes betray a storm of emotions.

"My dear Y/N! Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be? Though, I can't say the same for you. That looks quite nasty," he says, nodding towards Y/N’S leg.

Y/N wincesas he puts a little pressure on it "It's nothing. I was more worried about you. You disappeared during the fight."

"Worried? For me? Oh, Y/N, you do care! More than you should, perhaps." he glances away briefly.

"We're friends, right? Friends look out for each other." you reason, why shouldn't you worry?

"I... I'd like to think we respect each other, that we can be friends on equal footing."

The moment the words leave Y/N’s mouth, Alastor bursts into laughter. It's not the warm, infectious laughter Y/N has grown accustomed to; it's cold, and mocking, and it chills Y/N to the bone.

"Equals? Oh, my dear Y/N, that is rich! You, a mere sinner, and I, a being of immense power, equals?" He wipes an imaginary tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Your naivety is endearing, truly. But it's also a silly illusion. We are not, and can never be, equals."

Y/N feels a sting at those words, a mix of embarrassment and hurt. He'd always known Alastor was different and powerful- But Y/N’s hopes of finding common ground seemed to dissolve under Alastor's scathing amusement

"you see, in my world, power dictates one's standing. And I... I am on a level all my own. But don't feel bad, Y/N. It's not a slight against you; it's simply the way of things~ And in many ways, it's why I find you so... fascinating."

Y/N’s heart sinks as he realizes the depth of Alastor's conviction. The disparity in power, in their very natures, had always been there, but Y/N had hoped their friendship could bridge that gap. Now, faced with Alastor's laughter and pointed words, that hope flickers and dims.

"I see. I just... thought there was more to us than power dynamics,"

There's a dangerous gleam in Alastor's eye as he steps closer, his demeanour shifting subtly.

Alastor, his smile turning sharp, replies, "Oh, but we are, Y/N. You're a puzzle to me, a delightful anomaly in my world of predictability. That's why you're invaluable, not as an equal, but as something rare and fascinating to possess and protect. And that, my dear, is why you will always be mine."

Before Y/N can protest or even register that last part, Alastor is at his side, gently yet firmly examining the gash on Y/N's leg. His touch is cold, sending shivers up Y/N's spine.

"You've done a number on yourself. Hold still, now."

As Alastor tends to the wound, his fingers accidentally press against the tender flesh, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Y/N.

"Al! That hurts!"

"Oh, does it? My sincerest apologies. I'm only trying to help, after all. You do realize the precarious position you're in, don't you, Y/N? You're hurt and you came to me all alone. Who knows what could've happened if I didn't find you"

Y/N attempts to pull away, but Alastor's grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his control.

"Alastor, I... I appreciate your concern- and now i know youre okay! I think I should get going..."

Alastor's mood shifts then, his smile faltering as he releases Y/N's leg and stands up to full height, a shadow of his full demonic form flickering in the moonlight.

"Going? But we've only just started, Y/N. You see, I've been thinking about our future together. There's so much I want to show you, teach you. You could learn to love it... love me."

"Alastor, you're my friend. But that's all I can offer you. I don't feel the same way." Y/N confessed.

Alastor laughs a sound that sends chills down Y/N's spine. "Oh, Y/N. Sweet, naive Y/N. Do you think you have a choice in this? I decide what happens next. Not you."

He steps closer, his transformation beginning to take hold—his form growing, limbs elongating, and eyes darkening.

"You see, I enjoy the chase, the struggle. It's so... exhilarating. But every game must come to an end. And you, my dear, belong to me."

Y/N tries to back away, but Alastor's now elongated arm wraps around him, pulling him close. Alastor's touch is gentle yet possessive, his transformed face inches from Y/N's.

"You'll see, in time. You'll never have to be alone again. I'll take care of everything. All you have to do is say yes."

"I... I can't. Please, Alastor. Don't do this."

Alastor's grip tightens, his other hand cupping Y/N’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Oh, but Y/N, you've already said yes. Every time you smiled at me, every time you sought me out for comfort, for friendship... you were leading me on. And now, you're scared? That's on you, not me."

“Al- I'm sorry i didnt… i didnt mean to! i-” you feel terrible that you may have accidentally led him on.

Y/N, caught in Alastor's gaze, found himself momentarily unable to resist as Alastor leaned in, his lips pressing against his in a possessive kiss. It was a clear assertion of dominance, a claim rather than an act of affection. Y/N pushed back, finally breaking free from the kiss, his heart racing. feels trapped, realising Alastor's power and possessiveness, closing in on him. He's terrified, understanding now the depth of Alastor's obsession and the danger it represents.

"You won't leave me, Y/N. Not now, not ever. We're bound together, by fate, by choice, by necessity. You'll see. I'll make you see."

Y/N is left shaken, realizing the full extent of Alastor's power and the lengths he's willing to go to not just possess but own him. He knows now that rejecting Alastor isn't just dangerous—it might be impossible.

"Now, let's go back to the hotel- or whats left of it… They are probably wondering where i've been!" he says cheerfully, like nine of that just happened.

Y/N follows, not because he wants to, but because he understands the peril of refusing. Alastor's arm around his shoulder isn't just an act of affection—it's a shackle.

I really like this one.. Since Alastor is an Aroace cannon, I feel like he wouldn't be sexual even with his obsession. He views the kisses as more of an act of dominance rather than getting any pleasure out of it, maybe idk if that makes sense how I phrased it. Im making a list of rules tyoe things soon for request. tysm for requesting

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere character #yandere alastor #alastor altruist #Yandere #Requested #requests open

[pastel-charm-14]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ masterlist/intro post ♥

(INACTIVE)

﹒──── ✩！ᶻz ⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜ㆍ﹒

◞ ★ ︉﹒hi!! i'm pastel︔

ᨳ i use she/they pronouns ﹕

◞ ★﹒i'm a demigirl︔ ︉

ᨳ i'm bi ﹕

◞ ★ ︉﹒ ︉i like anything pink, sanrio, soft girl stuff, helping people︔

ᨳ i dislike racism, homophobia, misogynism, pedophilia ﹕

◞ ★ ﹒i speak spanish and english, and i'm so happy to meet you all!! let's be friends!︔ ︉

this post is a list of all of the posts i've created thus far. i'll try to update it as often as i can, but please tell me if i miss anything!

﹒──── ✩！ᶻz ⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜ㆍ﹒

q&a is open!

important announcement

romanticizing series:

intro to romanticizing

romanticizing school

romanticizing work

romanticizing your routines

romanticizing friendships

health/wellness/self-care masterlist

personal development/mindset masterlist

beauty/fashion

curling your hair effectively

eye makeup guide

applying lip gloss and lipstick

soft girl minimalism

find your signature scent

soft girl makeup bag essentials

how to do your hair

the art of layering

how to be a soft girl

diy manicure - step-by-step

treasure hunting: a guide to thrifting

embracing pastels

styling your school uniform

creativity/art

nostalgia poem

all too well lyric analysis

journal prompts

bullet journaling

cosy book recommendations

pink poem

pink-themed DIY project

hobby ideas

how to organize your room and keep it that way

aesthetic tips + ideas for your phone

relationships/social

nurturing effective communication

friendship

how to say what you mean and mean what you say

miscellaneous

taking care of succulents

starting a garden

top 10 sanrio characters

editing aesthetic photos

pink velvet cupcakes

floral tea recipe

navigating financial wellness

eco-friendly living

the history of hello kitty

aesthetic YouTube channels to check out

sustainable aviation fuel

how to make a vision board

volunteering

the difference between "i love you" and "love you"

notes

dear diary

what i'm manifesting rn

note: i'm so sorry i had to make a couple more masterlists; the post was getting so long it started glitching when i tried to edit it :)

#masterlist #self care #that girl #it girl #pink #pink pilates princess #clean girl #coquette #just girly things #vanilla girl #cute #master list #masterpost #navigation #this took way too long #this took so long #this took forever #aughhhhhhhhh #pastel dreamer✨

[keroppimelon0]

๑ -- 'ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ ꜰʟʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟꜱ' ᴇʏᴇꜱ'

ɪ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏɴᴇ ʙʟɪɴᴅ.. <3

๑ – synopsis : luka is your best friend. he is probably, if not, the best fighter in the underworld you know too. however, as of late, it seems he's been getting a bit too distracted in the cage, causing for some.. less than sightly injuries that you normally patch up without a second thought. you can excuse it maybe once or twice, but almost every single time he's in a fight? you need to find out what's up with this blockhead yourself.

๑ – notes : tbh, luka hasn't really come out yet and it's kind of ironic that i'm posting this right after the 1.2 livestream soo.. ehe. however, i took one look at him in his drip marketing and i fell in love♡ btw, reader is kind of mean in this but it's just cuteness aggression or whatever :P

๑ – relationship : luka x reader

๑ – w/c : 1085

"hold still, idiot."

"ow! hey, i'm trying- why're you being so rough?!- oww!"

LUKA whined as you huffed in annoyance, pulling harshly at the gauze you were wrapping around his heavily bruised arm. "you weren't complaining when you let yourself get beat up in the cage, were you?"

the redhead beside you pouted, letting you tug his arm around as you skillfully wrapped up the area where he had been rammed into by an automaton spider, and your gaze quickly flits to the second wound he sustained - a deep gash in his side, caused by an automaton grizzly's blade.

"i didn't let them beat me up, i just.. y'know, got distracted." luka averted his gaze, sweat-dropping as he saw your irritated glower in the corner of his eye. "got distracted, you say?"

you cross your arms, raising a suspicious brow as you look him up and down. luka's fiery locks are disheveled, void of the hair tie that keeps it up. his bright cerulean eyes are now tinged with the slightest hint of embarrassment, and similar to his hair - his face is flushed bright red.

"uh.. yes..?" he almost questions, and you let out another exasperated sigh, lightly flicking his mechanical arm and earning a small thnk noise as you do. you continue to pepper small talk and scoldings as you return to the task at hand, reaching to your side to pluck the bottle of rubbing alcohol off the floor, applying a generous amount to a small cotton pad before starting to clean off the cut.

luka winces, but falls silent, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your head as you work. once his wound is clean, you press the gauze against the gash and get to work yet again, meticulously wrapping up the wound and making sure it's tight.

"so, tell me what you were distracted by." you start to speak, and his eyes widen, blinking almost dumbly. it'd be cute if you weren't annoyed with him right now - how many times this week has he gotten distracted in the middle of a fight?

"h-huh..? what do you mean?" he chuckles, still not meeting your eyes. his avoidance of confrontation somehow fuels your irritation, so you gently reach over to pinch his cheek, redirecting his gaze towards you.

"you heard me, luka," you lean in closer, studying his bandage adorned mien with a critical eye, and you swear his face seems to glow brighter at your proximity. "what distracted you this time?"

luka tries to pull his head away, but you only tighten your grip, and causes his face to scrunch up as you squish his (strangely smooth) cheeks. "o-oh, you know, the usual stuff.. the lights were pretty bright- t-the noise!-" "luka."

at your commanding tone, luka's eyes flicker to yours - once, twice - before his adam's apple bobs, and he clears his throat. then, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, akin to that of a man in a desert with no water. or, well, in his case, a man suffering from insanely fast heart palpitations. you sigh heavily at his bulging eyes and panicked expression. "luka, if you don't want to tell me-"

"you. i was distracted by you."

...

the silence that follows is thick enough to slice with a blade, and he's stopped trying to meet your now dumbfounded gaze. "it's stupid, i know," luka sighs after a moment, looking like a kicked puppy. "sorry for making this so awkwa- mph!-"

you stop his incessant rambling by squishing his cheeks slightly harder, and his lips twist as he gives you an incredulous look. "..you idiot.." you mutter, voice uncharacteristically gentle as your eyes soften at his expression.

"i'm sorry." luka pouts slightly, and you swear, nothing's holding you back anymore. the next moment, you've leaned even closer, and you've planted a small kiss on one of the bandages on his stupidly adorable face. luka's bright pink, but the sulk that had once adorned his face had now turned into the biggest, dumbest grin you've ever seen in your life.

"whatever," you roll your eyes, but luka can see the slight blush that tints your own cheeks, and the fact that you can't hide your own small smile either. "you know, if i was distracting you while you were in the cage, you could have told me. i would have stopped coming so you could focus."

now that gets luka's attention, because just like a switch was flipped, he's back to whining playfully, and his mechanical arm reaches over to grab your wrist. "and have my lucky charm miss out on me absolutely kicking ass in the ring? no way!"

you deadpan. he really has a way of confusing you - going from droopy puppy to a golden retriever in seconds. he notices your look, and his grin turns cheeky, nudging your side. "i never said being distracted by you was a bad thing. i would lose all my fights if it meant seeing your pretty face every second of the day."

you blink, a little stunned by his confession, but you shake it off with a sigh. well, it seems he was all patched up, and judging from his flirty comebacks, he was feeling well again.

"you seem better already. i guess i'll take my leave, then-" "not yet!"

luka's grip tightens on your wrist, and you wince as the metal digs into your skin. he notices, and quickly lets up a little. "you still haven't given me an answer." now this confuses you even more, and your brows furrow. "wha-"

luka cuts you off by pressing his own kiss to your cheek, and now it's your turn for your face to turn the color of his hair. you stare at each other, his eyes glinting with mischief whilst yours reflect utter confusion.

and then, luka gets a roll of bandages to the face.

"ouch! come on, (y/n)!"

"shut up, you moron."

and even as luka whines about how you've 'injured his heart,' and that 'you'll need to heal him again with more of your sweet kisses' - you can't fight back against the affectionate smile that spreads across your face.

luka pauses as he sees you, openly smiling at him instead of hiding your face, or glaring at him as he normally sees you doing. so, he matches your look, and leans in to gently nuzzle your cheek with his nose.

"see what i mean? you're way too pretty to not be a distraction."

⋆ 𓏲 𓂅 ๑ 𓍼 𓏲 ⋆

hope you enjoyed reading!! likes + reblogs are greatly appreciated. feel free to drop any requests too!! but i'm still learning how tumblr works so (╥ᆺ╥；)

#๑ -- kerokero's works #hsr luka x reader #luka x reader hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai luka #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hello!

I just want to say that I have no idea how I even came up with this but I’ll like to have your thoughts and opinions on it. Thank for listening.

So here it is: Primus or the other Original Primes possesses Optimus.

Like when it was discovered that the Earth was Unicron and the Team had to find a way to stop him for awakening, Primus or The Primes grind out what Optimus was gonna do and were like “NOPE! NOT GONNA LET OUT SON/LITTLE BROTHER DO THIS!” And like possesses him through the Matrix.

The Matrix was used to communicate to the Primus and The Primes, so why not it like do something like this too just for kicks.

Examples Include: Big Sister Solus possessing her little brother from doing something dangerous while she and Wheeljack create this big hammer to just knock Unicron out. I feel like Solus and Wheeljack would be like the bestest friends.

And that’s all. I’ll like to have your thoughts on this. Thank you and I hope you have a great day!

This is literally one of the best ideas ever, so thank you for gifting me with it. Now excuse me while I write until my fingers hurt.

Guardian Angels

The Matrix is ancient and capable of not just forging Primes, but connecting the Primes of old to the current one. Primus himself was too old and far too out of touch to interact with his chosen, so the burden fell to the Primes long since gone from the living realm. Of course they were largely limited in their ability to intervene, only capable of whispering knowledge and wisdom during times of need in the beginning.

During the height of the war there were moments were Optimus found his attacks guided by grace he knew not to be his own, however those were few and far between, often coming when times were dire. Aside from those small moments, the Primes that resided within their realm kept out of the affairs of the living, only soothing and guiding gently when required for the sake of their brother. However upon Optimus's arrival to earth and the subsequent issues that came from that, they became more active.

Even then as a general rule they tried to not act, but there were just some cases where they couldn't help it.

The scraplet incident that ended with Optimus and Arcee stuck in the Arctic led to Prima temporarily taking partial control of the frame of his younger brother. It wasn't much, but with Prima's touch Optimus's frame was kept from sustaining serious damage until help could arrive. During that time he did nothing but mutter assurances to his freezing brother, doing his best to distract Optimus from the chill that froze the energon in his fuel lines.

The moments where the human children were in harms way often ended with Onyx taking up a place beside Optimus when it came to control. They worked together, often with Optimus not even realizing it to get the children away from Decepticon attackers. It wasn't obvious to others, but the way in which Optimus moved and his heightened senses when Onyx offered his aid spoke loud enough for anyone looking carefully to note something was off.

Solus made her appearance whenever there was a particular threat to Optimus that he was ignoring. Unlike her brothers, she was not gentle when she took control, often ripping it away from Optimus to get him away from whatever near lethal situation he was marching into with that stoic resolve she both loved and hated. Usually this meant having the team retreat, but when pressed she was not afraid to pick up the nearest hammer shaped object to beat the scrap out of whatever the threat was on her brother's behalf.

The other Primes occasionally gave their input or offered their assistance when something caught there interest, but it was never as often as Prima and Solus. Quintus was fond of making himself known whenever Optimus studied the happening and creatures of Earth. He worked alongside Optimus as a second mind, increasing Optimus's processing speed drastically when studying that particular subject matter. Micronus offered light hearted commentary now and then, sometimes taking partial control to lessen the tension around base with a joke that fit well enough with Optimus's personality to not seem too out of the ordinary. Liege didn't do too much largely because the other Primes did not allow it, but when he was offered an opportunity, he helped Optimus see through lies and spin half truths of his own for his team when required.

Optimus for his part allowed the possession without complaint. It was odd at first and rather jarring when Solus stripped control from him, but the Primes were his siblings. They protected him and guided him, even going so far as to take upon themselves some of his pains when it became too much. Sometimes he would even willingly offer them full control of his frame so that he could mentally rest while they kept things in order. While it was never stated outright, the team and most of the Autobots were well aware that whatever else was living in the Matrix sometimes made an appearance but "it's fine, Optimus will come back soon enough".

Of course this rather rare event of the Primes taking control was completely thrown out the window after Unicron began to wake. At that point they watched on in horror as Optimus stood against he avatars of the Unmaker himself and then rushed to his aid the moment the avatar took a swing at him. Their combined wrath led to all of them scrambling for control, each trying to lash out and fill Optimus with what power they could before Megatron launched his attack and eliminated the avatar.

Megatron offered his aid, but by that point all the Primes were in such distress that Optimus was shoved back until Prima could wrestle his way to the front and take control.

Megatron: His blood flows through my veins! I can lead you to him!

Optimus/Prima: You would lead us there, but how can we be certain you will not betray us?

Megatron: You want to save this world and I wish to rule it. Neither of us will get what we want if Unicron wakes. So until this common threat is annihilated, does it not make sense to combine our strength?

Optimus/Prima: ... You will guide us, but we will see to the success of this mission.

Upon returning to base the Primes kept up their control for a while before Optimus made his displeasure known. None wanted to back off, but Optimus was there brother, and so they adhered to his wishes thinking he had a plan. He most certainly did have a plan, one that the moment they deciphered what it was led to Solus putting her pede down and refusing to let it be.

It took a moment, but as soon as Optimus began offering the key to vector sigma to Jack, Solus snatched control away and shoved the key right back where it belonged. The team were startled, the children were concerned, and Megatron was left in complete confusion as Solus put her hands on her hips and loudly proclaimed her beliefs.

Optimus/Solus: No! We are not doing this!

Megatron: Don't tell me you are backing out now Prime.

Optimus/Solus: Not at all, but I will not allow my dear brother to go forward with his foolish plan. We have fought the Unmaker before with blade and blaster, there is no need for him to risk it all in this manner.

Bulkhead: Optimus, are you alright-?

Optimus/Solus: Oh, he's not here right now. Don't worry though, I am just as competent.

There was little for the team to do as Solus marched over to Ratchet' workspace and forged herself a hammer from what materials she had available. All the while Megatron and the team watched on in ever growing confusion as she finished and waved it triumphantly. The team didn't stop her when she took those able to fight down into Earth's core, nor did they stop her when she took a wild swing at Megatron the moment they entered Unicron's spark chamber. The Warlord was sent sprawling, and with the collective aid of the rest of the Primes, she was able to use the power of the Primes and channel it through her makeshift hammer to once again seal the chaos god with yet another swing.

Not a spark knew what to do when standing proudly was Optimus Prime, or rather whoever was inhabiting his body with a hammer that really shouldn't have been able to do half the scrap it had. Megatron didn't even bother trying to pick a fight and booked it. The team simply stared for a while until Optimus dropped like a box of rocks and came back to awareness groggy and exhausted muttering something about "Solus" and "his plan being totally viable".

Questions were forced to wait as Optimus recharged for a solid week afterwards and was too exhausted to think right for nearly an additional week after the matter.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #megatron #the thirteen primes #possession #the ghostly primes are bored and want to help their baby brother out #he may be an adult #but older sibling habits die hard

[youjustwaitsunshine]

seb to wec is actually pretty realistic for multiple reasons including:

- much less races

- remember the clean fuel convention thing he was in last year during the summer break? I don't know if he asked rocky or rocky asked him (not rb rocky, endurance rocky) to take part but there was also the presentation of the hydrogen wec cars etc

- a lot of the successful drivers and former drivers there are his friends/like him/would probably not be opposed to working with him and helping him settle in (ex drivers like mark, mr le mans tom kristensen himself, current drivers like kamui kobayashi, loïc duval, mike rockenfeller,...)

- he's been seen hanging with porsche boss guy at the porsche tennis cup in stuttgart. he's been testing that audi at roc. something is brewing. german manufacturers want him sooooo bad

- wec is way further into sustainable fuels and sustainability in general than f1

- an fia super license and previous status as a factory driver award him platinum driver status (fia ranking system for driver ability, platinum is the highest rank), for hypercar this doesn't matter as much since there are no silver/ bronze driver requirements (and bronze drivers, often gentlemen drivers, not permitted) but still putting it here

- amazing fan atmosphere (biased but wec is so much more fun to watch live on track than f1 yall)

- triple crown babyyyyy (fr tho look at seb and tell me he wouldn't be the type to pursue a historic mark of a true champion)

#wec seb has been giving me brainworms for MONTHS #i really hope if he actually does wec he'll do a full season and not just le mans #partly because i want to see him race at spa partly because wec champ seb is really hot yo #sebastian vettel #also i absolutely love the driver ranking system btw. so hot especially in gt and lmp2 where theres forced bronze n silver drivers #and bronze and silvers are the ones who make a difference

[claireelizabeth85]

Come home to me - part 1

This is my first John Egan fic. It's a bit of an unusual take but please bear with me. I kind of know where this is going but I need to see where my John Egan infected brain is leading me!!

John Egan x OC Female!Reader Summary: When the idea of a past life isn't just an idea or something that is only for dreams. Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, possible military inaccuracies (but I am a geek, so I've tried to do my research!)

Please let me know what you think, either in the comments or if you would prefer, shoot me a message.

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

Lizzy had been haunted by nightmares from the past, reliving the harrowing experiences of flying during the war. These nightmares had been intensifying lately, becoming increasingly vivid and distressing.

“Red flare. I see a red flare. Get the ambulances ready!”

“Lizzy! Wake up!” Sarah's urgent voice jolted Lizzy from her torment.

“How many came back?” Lizzy's voice trembled as she regained consciousness, her eyes searching for reassurance.

“Sarah?” Lizzy blinked, disoriented, as she scanned the room. Her best friend and flatmate, Sarah, was perched on the edge of the bed, concern etched across her face.

“You were dreaming again! What happened this time?” Sarah's voice was gentle, yet filled with concern.

“There was another mission, another run and we lost…” Lizzy's voice trailed off, haunted by the memories of loss and tragedy. “I don’t know what’s happening to me! These dreams… they feel so real. It's like... when I sleep, I'm transported back to those moments. But now, being awake... I feel lost.”

Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, Lizzy headed for the bathroom, her mind still reeling from the lingering echoes of her nightmares. “Am I crazy?” She asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

Leaning against the door frame, Sarah tried to offer comfort through the closed door. “Are you crazy? No. These are just dreams. Look, I’ve been doing some reading - you know, to see if I can help. There are stories of young children, even as young as 3 or 4 years old, who have vivid memories of events they shouldn't remember. Like planes crashing and finding fallen soldiers. Perhaps your dreams are something similar.”

“But this feels different, Sarah. They’re not just dreams, they feel like memories... I feel like I know those people. I remember the roar of the planes, the mix of love and fear for them. I feel like I'm losing my mind.  Please tell me I’m not” Lizzy's voice wavered with uncertainty, her eyes pleading for understanding.

Sarah couldn’t bear to see her friend in such distress. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go.”

Lizzy yanked open the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, staring at Sarah as though she had suggested something absurd.

“What?”

“Let’s go. Let’s get in the car and go wherever you feel drawn to. I'm not saying you're crazy, but if it helps you cope, we'll go.” Lizzy's embrace was tight, grateful for even the smallest gesture of acceptance from her friend. She might not find all the answers, but at least Sarah was willing to try. 

As Lizzy stared at herself in the mirror, toothbrush in hand, she couldn't help but notice a faint scar in her hairline. Its presence seemed to defy explanation, appearing suddenly in the same spot she had dreamt of being injured. Closing her eyes, she was transported back to the aftermath of another intense bombing run. The memories flooded her senses, overwhelming her with vivid recollections.

The acrid scent of aviation fuel filled her nostrils as she sat on the tarmac, the chaos of the scene unfolding around her. The cacophony of voices, the urgent shouts for medical assistance, all merged into a disorienting symphony of noise. Trembling with adrenaline and pain, she clutched an untouched cigarette in her fingers, her shoulder and head throbbing from the injuries sustained. In that moment, she felt disconnected from reality, a bystander in her own body as she was ushered into a waiting ambulance and whisked away to the infirmary.

Lizzy could hear his footsteps before he came rushing through the double doors. His voice cut through the chaos of the infirmary. 

"Lizzy!" Concern etched across his features as John hurried to her side, disregarding the calls of the on-duty Matron. Reaching her bed, he exhaled in relief at the sight of her safe and conscious.

"You scared the shit out of me!" John's concern melted into teasing as he observed Lizzy, still in her white tank top with her flight suit folded at her hips. She chuckled, a mix of amusement and discomfort, as the nurse tended to her shoulder.

"Have to keep you on your toes, Major. Can't make things easy for you!" Lizzy retorted, her tone playful despite the pain. However, John's expression grew serious as he gently grasped her hand. "You weren't supposed to be up there. DeMarco should have been on that mission, not you," he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

She flinched as the nurse finished the sutures. Collecting her equipment, she coughed quietly to get their attention. "You have 10 minutes Lizzy and then the Matron is going to come looking for the Major." Giving her thanks, the nurse drew the curtain, leaving her alone with John.

He gently brushed stray hair away from her face, his touch comforting as he cleaned away the blood. Lizzy winced when he caught the graze in her hairline.

“Benny is still recovering from the last run and I’m just as good of a pilot as any of you boys. So, I spoke to Chick and he said yes.” Lizzy’s words carried a hint of defiance, tempered by the vulnerability in her eyes. John held her face with both his hands, looking into her blue eyes, committing every freckle and now scar to memory. 

“You mean you told Chick you were flying and left before he could say no.” John whispered, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.   

"I would never presume to tell a senior officer what to do!" Lizzy feigned innocence, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. 

“Is that so, Lieutenant?" John whispered with a sly grin. "Well, I know for a fact you're not shy about giving orders to senior officers. If memory serves me right, you were quite commanding the other weekend, telling me to do all sorts of things..." Lizzy pressed a finger to his lips, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes, as she stifled his words. A soft chuckle escaped John's lips as he noticed the delicate pink blush spreading across her cheeks. John’s mischievous tone faltered, replaced by a sombre frown as he voiced his fears. 

“Liz, I can’t… I can’t lose you.  I won’t get through this if you…” Lizzy placed a finger back against his lips and gently hushed him. “I’m alright John. I’m here, I came back, just like I promised.”

#john egan fanfic #john egan #john bucky egan #john egan fic #john egan fanfiction #john bucky egan x reader #john egan x female reader #john egan x oc #masters of the air fic #MoTA

[tickle-her-senseless]

Cursed Number Roulette

Hey everyone!

Recently got back from Hysteria, where I had the best time at a community gathering I’ve ever had 🥰 While thinking about fun things to do with my friends ahead of the weekend, this game popped into my head.

The idea of putting friendships to the test via tickle torture by pitting people against each other has been powerful fantasy fuel for me since I read a story back when I was a kid figuring all of this stuff out. A lot of people scoff at the idea of games in sessions, and they’re not suited to every occasion - but I’ve always enjoyed the fresh twists they can add to a good time with play partners.

Sadly I didn’t get to test this one, as I ran out of time with the 2 lees for whom I invented it. Hopefully I’ll be able to try it soon, but if anyone does play it I’d be interested to hear how it goes and if there are any unforeseen issues! Anyway, here it is…

You will need:

1 ler

2 lees (ideally with a pre-existing friendship/relationship)

1 double bed or larger

2 sets of under-bed restraints or fancier gear if you have it

Rules:

1. The lees are restrained side by side, with the ler in between.

2. The ler makes a written note of a set of numbers, eg. “multiples of 6” or “numbers ending in 3 or 5” or “square or cube numbers” or “primes greater than 7” - whatever. I’d suggest around a 15-20% hit probability (see later) but you can adjust this as desired. The note is kept secret for now but shown to both lees at the end of the game.

3. The game begins as the ler tickles both lees at once, one hand on each. (The ler should switch hands regularly so that one lee doesn’t end up getting their dominant hand all the time.)

4. Either lee may call out a whole number between 1 and 100. At this point sequence A or B may play out:

A - the number is not in the “secret set”. The ler transfers both hands to the lee who did NOT call out for a full minute (a timer may be used) and steps up the intensity. A particularly effective tool could be included here if desired. This mechanic can be used by either lee as a way to take a rest or royally screw their friend over. Teasing/mocking one’s friend about their predicament while “safe” is in the spirit of the game and heartily encouraged! Two caveats:

- A number, once called, cannot be used again.

- A lee being tickled with both hands cannot call a number of their own until one hand is back on each lee - they must endure the full minute.

B - the number is in the “secret set” and is CURSED. Calling one of these numbers results in LOSING the game. The ler quickly releases one hand of the lee who did NOT call the cursed number, so that they can get to work freeing themselves. They then unleash hell on the lee who DID call the cursed number - both hands, mouth, tools, oil/lotion, potentially NSFW forfeits if you’re into that, whatever’s been agreed - for a sustained period of time at maximum intensity, with the winning lee helping to ruin their friend as soon as they get loose. After a solid and lengthy gang tickling, provided the losing lee is still conscious, both lees are shown what the cursed set of numbers was - and play again with a new set if they dare to tempt fate a second time!

#tickle community #tickling #1 ler 2 lees #1 vs 2 tickling #tickle scenarios #tickle games #tickle content #tickle sessions #tickle session

[mamawasatesttube]

happy wip wednesday thursday!!!

tagged by @deadchannelradio ty monty ily :D i'll tag... who do i know that writes. @misspickman @loisinherlane umm... im definitely forgetting some friends sorry for not having a brain but est quod est and all that. if you wanna pretend i tagged you feel free tho wahoo!

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Kon rests his arms atop the back of the pilot’s chair, leaning forward to peer at the yoke in Tim’s hands. The ship is flying steady for now, but the several red, flashing alerts on the screens make it pretty clear that’s not gonna hold forever, not with the damage they sustained getting the hell outta Dodge.

Kon rests his chin atop Tim’s head. “Think we’re gonna make it?”

Tim grunts. “Mn. We’re steady for now, but we don’t have more than maybe… two hours, before that last fuel pump gives out in engine three.”

Well, damn. Those Denebian space pirates just had to hit the engines, huh?

He can feel the struggling fuel pump, shuddering on the fringes of his TTK aura. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot he can do for it, even with his telekinesis; sure, he could pump the fuel through to the converter himself, but without the rotating component from the back of the pumps that completes the circuits, power won’t go through the engine, and the thrusters won’t actually ignite. So he can’t just try to pump the fuel himself to give the overworked last pump a break, and the other two that are supposed to help it are already toast.

“Well, worse comes to worst, I can always get out and push,” Kon offers, only half-joking.

Tim quirks a tiny half-smile at the front window. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, but good to know it’s an option.”

Cassie, leaning in the doorway, sighs and rakes a hand through her hair. “So then, what’s the plan? Did you find somewhere we can stop and hopefully get some spare parts to do repairs?”

“Yeah.” Tim points at the navigation screen to his left. Kon peers at it, then out at the stars. “Planet in the Goldilocks zone in orbit around Albireo.”

“Oh, Erysimon.” Kon nods in recognition. “Yeah, cool.”

“You’ve been?” Tim quirks an eyebrow.

Kon shakes his head. “Nah, not me. Heard a lil about it from Kal. He fought off Brainiac out in the Albireo system a few years back—apparently there was some time travel bullshit, you know how it is—and the Erysimians were real grateful to him for it. He said they’re a nice bunch.”

Cassie snorts. “I mean, not to doubt you, but I think he’d say that about most people. Even ones I’d wanna punt.”

Bart suddenly appears at Kon’s side, shoving past him to plop onto the armrest of Tim’s chair. Tim makes a mildly disgruntled noise but makes no true effort to dislodge him, and Bart rests his elbow on Tim’s shoulder, peering at the navi-com. “Who are we punting?”

“Nobody, Bart.” Kon lightly flicks the back of his head. “We’re talking about landing on Erysimon so we can get some scrap and fix up the third engine.”

“Oh.” Bart hums. “Yeah, we should do that. No point in me having a space-chauffeur if my spaceship is broken and won’t fly.”

“Space-chauffeur?” Tim repeats dryly.

“That’s what I said,” Bart agrees.

“You don’t even pay me.” Tim taps something on the navigation screen, then sits back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. “How am I in your employ?”

“Classic Tim, being a space capitalist. I should’ve expected this, but it’s still disappointing.” Bart shakes his head. “Obviously I pay you in love, friendship, and taking extra fries off your hands so you don’t have to worry about them. Duh.”

 Kon can feel Tim’s shoulders shaking ever-so-slightly with repressed laughter. “Oh, right. my bad. Obviously.”

#rimi writes #its core four space adventures time babey!!!!! #core four #itll be a While til i publish any of this one but. there they go

[vibrantbirdy]

Hey lovely!! Could you do a Cassian Andor x (f) reader? I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers. I like the whole “you annoy me and piss me off” relationship that ends up in a situation where they are stuck together for something and end up in a fight where they suddenly realize they have feelings! I love allowing creators to have their own space to create, so if you wanna do something else entirely, please feel free too!!

❤️ take care of yourself

Thank you SO much, this is a great request! I am a sucker for enemies to lovers too. I hope you don't mind, but I had a similar Cassian request from Anon at the same time about Cassian x Reader having to go undercover to Canto Bight as a couple which I thought would work well with yours so I merged them. (Anon, I also hope you don't mind the merging and that you can find this ok as I don't know if/how I can reply to two asks in the same post?)

Also, I want to thank everyone who has interacted with my writing so far.

Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Keep 'em coming.

-Birdy

Title: Charade Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Between Andor and Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Enemies to lovers; Action/adventure; Fluff Warnings: Moderate sexuality; moderate swearing; mild violence/peril; brief mentions of loss of family/friends by Reader. Pairing: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 10k (oops)

Summary: You and Captain Cassian Andor have to negotiate your personal differences and difficult history when you are both assigned to go on an undercover operation to the Galaxy's playground for the super-rich, Canto Bight, as a married couple.

Prologue

Your first mission as a spy for the Rebel Alliance has taken you to Carida. The objective; to infiltrate and sabotage the Imperial Naval Yard there then get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

As it turns out, the mission is doomed from the outset. An Imperial mole who somehow dug their way into the very heart of Rebel Command on Yavin 4 has alerted the Empire to your plans.

Your team of six hardly made it five kilometers from the rust-bucket of a ship Rebel Leadership had assigned to you when you were intercepted by an Imperial patrol.

The firefight was brief. The Stormtroopers were green, even more so than you. You wondered with a pang of unexpected sympathy whether they'd come fresh from the Imperial Academy which was also based on Carida. There were far more seasoned combatants amongst your own unit and the fight was over before it had really began.

Still, that's when you'd lost poor Lily to a Trooper's blaster bolt. You're not even sure he was aiming at her. She'd fallen against you and you'd twisted your ankle as you'd spun to the ground following a futile attempt to hold her upright as if that would negate the fatal injury she'd just sustained.

Now, as you limp up the ridge of the hill you feel a swell of relief as you see that you are almost back to the clearing where the ship is stowed. But as you catch a glimpse of the hunk of old metal, you realise with horror that you are not out of the woods yet.

The Empire uses decrepit shuttles just like this one for for training cadets at the Academy. That's why High Command had insisted you take it - to blend in. You'd nicknamed it Tenacity because the old girl just wouldn't die and the name had stuck.

The ancient vessel doesn't do anything quickly until it's up in the air. Then she's sharp as a razor. But she has a complicated manual override for emergency take-offs whereby the crew need pump fuel round the engines a few times using an externally stowed generator.

Good for training Imperial cadets for problem solving and how to make the best of old tech. Not so good for spies who need a quick exit.

You're the engineer, it should have been you who hooked the ship up to the generator. But with your injury you are too slow and so the others went on ahead to start without you. You are sure you gave correct and clear instructions, but in his panic, it looks like Rogdul has connected the ports up all wrong. Dangerously so.

Overhead, you hear the scream of Imperial TIE fighters and you launch yourself into the nearby undergrowth. You count them. Four. They are searching the valley for you. They pass, but they'll be back in less than a minute. It's impossible that they haven't spotted the ship in the forest clearing.

From your hiding place you hear the ship's engines burst into life. Inside, you imagine Rogdul and Anya carrying out hurried pre-flight checks. Baslin is probably taking up position in the gunner's hatch, hoping to see some action.

No, you think. Not like this.

But you can reach the ship and fix the problem. You know you can. The whole thing will blow if you don't and that's not an option.

You dart out towards the Tenacity, but someone intercepts you, slamming into you with a body tackle and dragging you roughly back to cover through the mud. Soon, you're seated up against them, your back pressed into their chest, their arms and legs wrapped around you like a vice.

It's Captain Cassian Andor, you realise, your superior officer and the lead operative on this mission. You'd completely forgotten that he was even further behind the hasty retreat than you, taking up the rear and keeping watch for more Imperial patrols on your tail.

You don't care who it is. You struggle and writhe furiously against him, desperate to get away and stop the impending disaster you can see unfolding before your eyes. But Andor holds you fast against him as if you were a child having a tantrum.

"Let me go, I can fix it!" you scream over the howl of the returning TIEs.

"You can't, it's too late!" Andor shouts back into your ear.

As if on cue, the generator connected to the side of the ship starts to spark wildly, just as you knew it would. You watch helplessly as the fuel cells hidden within the Tenacity ignite with a deafening bang and whoosh of flame as the ship goes up in a hellish fireball.

A second later, the TIEs make their second pass. There's no need for them to bother firing their weapons. The devastation from the explosion is catastrophic.

They do it anyway.

Two years later

You are on approach to Canto Bight, Cantonica's capital city - the Galaxy's playground for the wealthy.

Captain Cassian Andor is in the pilot's seat, following instructions from the flight control tower. You'll sit down in a moment, but right now, you are desperately trying to sort the sticking-up collar of his cream shirt which is made of expensive looking silk.

Irritated, he tries to bat your hand away, but you are persistent.

"Kriff's sake, Andor, just let me do it," you mutter.

"I'm not a child," he says petulantly, but he relents.

There. Now he looks the part in his fine clothes. He's tidied his short beard and moustache so that the stubble is cropped neatly to the sharp contours of his chiselled face. His dark brown hair is neatly parted at the side, although it's perhaps still a little long...

You don't look too shabby either, bedecked in a knee-length silk day dress of sky blue, accompanied by a cloak of dusky purple which is draped elegantly across your shoulders. The Rebellion went to great lengths to fund this operation and they certainly didn't skimp on the provision of suitable attire. It's essential that you fit in.

"I look fine, you look fine, stop fussing," Andor says dismissively, noticing as you smooth out a couple of annoying wrinkles in your dress and swish out the skirt to make sure the fabric is lying properly.

"I think you look lovely," K-2SO, Andor's droid and almost constant companion, pipes up from the co-pilot's chair, "and that Cassian looks like he's swallowed an Endor fire hornet."

"You don't think," Andor retorts, "That's just circuits misfiring randomly in your head..."

K-2 turns to you with a mechanical whirr, and if he had the ability to conjure expressions, this one would read:

See? I told you.

You stifle a laugh and drop down into the passenger seat behind the droid.

The first time you'd met the hulking re-programmed Imperial security droid had been that fateful day on Carida. You and Andor had shivered miserably in silence for hours by the wreckage of the Tenacity as the rain lashed down, making little difference to the fearsome fuel-accelerated flames which devoured the ship. The Empire, in their arrogance, didn't bother to send out a patrol to check the site.

Then, late into the night, K-2 had finally arrived in Cassian's own ship under cover of darkness. With your injured ankle having swollen to twice its usual size, the gargantuan droid had lumbered over, scooped you up, and carried you with surprising gentleness into the vessel. Ever since, you've always enjoyed his company and his sardonic wit.

Your relationship with Andor, on the other hand, has been tumultuous since its inception. He's always been frosty and stand-offish with you. You sometimes wonder if your presence reminds him of the disaster on Carida the way his does to you.

Whatever his reasoning, his uncompromising demeanour has always brought out your worst qualities when you're around him, especially your stubbornness and your dislike of being told what to do. You've never gone so far as insubordination under his command, but when you disagree with him, you have a unique knack for finding your own way to interpret his orders. This always has the infinitely satisfying effect of winding him up.

Anyway, this time won't be like Carida. And despite your personal differences, you and Andor have worked together successfully - though admittedly never harmoniously - many times since.

Your objective is simple enough. You're looking for a business man, Dreylan Balgo. He's not yet thirty, but he's the biggest supplier of Imperial weapons in the Galaxy. You need to obtain his biometric signature and transmit it back to Alliance High Command. They'll then use it to access the designs and blueprints of the weapons his company is designing for the Empire and eventually send agents in as factory workers to sabotage various key elements.

As Andor and K-2 make the final approach to Canto Bight you look out the window. Below you, the dark sea glitters and ahead, the shining spires of the beautiful city glow golden in the evening sun.

You close your eyes as a flash of a childhood memory dances across your brain. You came here with your parents once when you were nine or ten. That's partly why you've been chosen for this mission. You used to move in these circles.

K-2 drops the shuttle neatly on to the landing pad which juts out over the water.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," the droid quips as you exit.

It's winter on Cantonica. As you step out onto the platform, the breeze is chilly but pleasantly fresh and you can hear the steady crash of waves against the cliffs below you.

At the entrance to the structure, you pause a minute to take in the monolithic doors, ornately carved and inlaid with beautiful coloured glass which catches the light of the setting sun with dazzling beauty. The doors open and you and Andor step into the elaborate marble halls of Canto Bight's most luxurious resort as newlyweds Mr and Mrs Race Pax.

**************************************************

The suite you are staying in is as lavish as the rest of the place, but it is small. The coiffeurs of the Rebel Alliance do have their limits.

"What are you doing?" You ask, suddenly stopping your own unpacking to observe Andor throwing an assortment of pillows and blankets onto the ground.

"I'm taking the floor like a gentleman."

"Don't be stupid," you snort, "What if the maid comes in and sees this..." you gesture to the collection of blankets on the floor, searching for a fitting description "...gentleman's pillow fort?"

The most important thing on this mission is that your cover needs to be believable. And, perhaps tantamount to that, if Andor is tired, he'll be even grumpier than usual and you don't think you could deal with that.

He straightens and sighs, repeatedly slapping the cushion he has been plumping with unnecessary force.

One thing you and Andor have never been around each other is shy. Having spent weeks at a time together in miserable, hastily erected camps, cramped transports, and underground bunkers in the service of the Alliance, the necessity of living in close quarters with him stamped that out quick. You've learned to move in each other's personal space with ease and usually without any awkwardness, so you can't fathom why he's making a meal of it now.

He looks at you defiantly for a moment longer before accepting defeat.

"Fine," he says, as he starts to pick up the elements of his makeshift camp bed and throwing them back on the bed, "Fine, but if you snore, I won't hesitate to kick you out."

"If I snore?!"

That was rich.

*******************************************

You and Andor are attending one of Canto Bight's seemingly infinite evening soirees for the rich and powerful. A colourful sea of people in lavish dress are engaged in polite conversation and enjoying expensive beverages in one of the grandest ballrooms you've ever seen.

Dreylan Balgo is here, somewhere. Tonight is a chance to observe his behaviour, get to know his habits and make an initial introduction if possible. Anything that could help you create an opportunity to obtain his biometrics over the next few days.

You are wearing a teal halter-neck gown, a drink in one hand while the other rests elegantly on top of Andor's arm. The silk of his plush evening jacket is smooth under your fingertips and you absent-mindedly fuss with it as you scan the crowd for your target.

Someone says your name. Your real name.

Andor stiffens next to you.

Trying to keep your composure you turn and relief floods through you as you realise it's one of your mother's oldest friends, Lady Sen Prya. It's been years since you've seen her and she must be in her eighties by now, but she hasn't changed one bit. She is adorned in the most grandiose yellow satin gown you've ever seen, complete with matching gloves. Her long white hair falls, twisted in an elaborate braid, all the way down to her waist.

Quickly, you take her gloved hand and squeeze it gently, a subtle message you hope she can read.

"Oh I'm sorry you must be mistaken," you say politely and introduce yourself as Mrs Pax.

Understanding flickers across Prya's face. She always was sharp as a knife and time doesn't seem to have dulled that characteristic one jot.

"Ah of course, child. Forgive me," she says tactfully with all the grace and ease you remember from your childhood, "You look very like a dear old friend of mine. It's nice to meet you. I am Lady Sen Prya."

She reaches a hand up and touches your cheek affectionately with a twinkle in her golden eyes. Then, she reaches out to Andor who brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses it gently.

"Race Pax, it's a pleasure," he says, and there is a genuine warmth in his voice.

He appears to have relaxed somewhat and you are sure it's because he probably recognises Prya's name. She has been funding various elements of the Rebellion for years.

"Now, is there anyone you need an introduction to, before I retire to bed like the old woman I am?"

Prya stresses introduction as if its a code word. And it is.

You look up at Andor questioningly. You hate to ask his permission for anything, but he is the senior operative here. He nods once in ascent.

"Dreylan Balgo," you say.

Lady Prya's eyes light up and you can tell that she is delighted to learn who your indented mark is.

"Well then, follow me, young lovers."

Andor gives that rare smile of his, the one you see so infrequently which reaches all the way up to his eyes where they crinkle at the corners. He likes Prya. Everyone does. That's what makes her so dangerous for the Empire.

You wind through the crowd, following Prya as if she is golden star leading you to your destination. You're suddenly nervous and although you'd never admit it, there is something comforting about how Andor's large hand entwines with your own as he follows your lead through the busy party.

"Dreylan! My boy!" Prya's voice is clear as crystal and cuts through the party hubbub with ease.

Balgo turns from a conversation he is having with several other men. He is a handsome man, dressed in an evening suit of black velvet. He is tall and elegant with piercing blue eyes and a mop of sandy blonde curls.

"Ah! Lady Prya! What a delight to see you," he says gregariously, stooping low to kiss the older woman's cheek.

"And you, my lad," she replies with gracious ease, "Now, I want you to meet a couple of newly weds, Mr and Mrs Pax. I'm certain young Pax here would be interested in discussing business with you boys, although I, for one, find it all very dull."

There is a ripple of smug, amused laughter from the circle of men, and you join in only because you know Prya could negotiate most of these idiots out of any of business asset of theirs she chose to.

Balgo turns his attention to you first, appraising you thoroughly before taking your hand and kissing it with an elaborate flourish. You let out a silly little laugh, ensuring your voice carries an appropriate blend of affluence and air headedness.

Less than a minute you've been in this man's company and you can already read him like a holo novel.

He then greets Andor with boisterous joviality.

"Congratulations, Pax, what a stunning creature you have caught in your net."

Andor chuckles amiably, shaking Balgo's hand.

"It's good to meet you," he says warmly.

This time, his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and you notice that his hand, which has been sitting lightly round your waist, shifts down to just under your hip.

Lady Prya retires to bed soon after, flashing you a wink and a dazzling smile as she sweeps from the room, an ageless vision in yellow.

The conversation and drinks flow. All night, you sense Balgo's eyes on you. Alliance High Command don't officially approve of so-called "honey-traps," and neither do you, but you see no harm in cultivating Balgo's delusion if it opens another window of opportunity. You don't discourage him, directly meeting the furtive glances he casts your way when he thinks Andor isn't looking.

Throughout the evening Andor proves why he is so good at his job. His ability to observe and imitate behaviour is uncanny. He adopts with ease that careless, raucous affectation that only young, wealthy men seem to possess. He hasn't taken more than a few sips of his wine, but he mirrors Balgo's increasingly boisterous body language and bawdy humour expertly.

By the end of the night the two are stomping around the dwindling party with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, swaying and laughing and singing like idiots.

The night has been a success. You've created a rapport with Balgo.

*******************************************

"Prya was a friend of your family's?" Andor's voice comes unexpectedly from the darkness, "What happened to them?"

It's very late - or early, depending on how your look at it - and you and Andor have just fallen, exhausted, into bed.

You are resting on your left side, as always, and you hear him roll over beside you, so that he is looking at your back.

You are surprised by how accurately Andor has read into the situation with so little information. You don't see any harm in telling him.

"My father owned an agricultural engineering works. One day the Empire came to his factory and asked him to design and build components for some machine they were building, probably a weapon. He refused. They executed him on the spot and took the factory anyway. I did my best, but we struggled and my mother died a few years after of a broken heart. That's when I left to join the Rebellion."

Andor shuffles, the bed shifting beneath you both and you can tell that he's propped himself up on his elbow. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

"You've never told me that before."

"You never bothered to ask," you reply defensively, "I know what you think, what you all think. That I'm a rich brat who ran off to join the Rebellion just to piss off her wealthy parents."

There's a silence.

"Turns out you're only half right..." you finish with a rather bitter self-deprecating chuckle.

To your surprise, Andor puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You hesitate for a moment, before you reach across your body to place your hand on top of his, just for a second.

"Goodnight, Cassian," you say.

You rarely use his first name and it feels odd, but not unnatural on your tongue.

"Goodnight."

He rolls back over and is soon snoring softly. You don't fall asleep for a long while, not until you hear the birds begin their morning chorus and the light of dawn starts to creep through the open window with the sea breeze.

********************************************************

You and Andor spend the next morning trying to locate Balgo but he's nowhere to be found. You suspect he is probably in his bed nursing a very sore head.

The last place you try is the Fathier racetrack, although you know there are no races on today. You are glad. You can't stand to see these magnificent animals forced to run like that.

Even so, you are unable to refrain from grabbing Andor's hand in excitement and dragging him over to the nearest pen where a mother and foal are resting in a patch of sunshine.

"A baby," you find yourself saying, stupidly.

Andor laughs quietly at the ridiculous, breathless joy in your voice. You wonder if he's making fun of you, but when you turn to him his eyes are sparkling with a mischievous light.

He gestures to a nearby handler, adopting Pax's air of arrogant entitlement with frightening ease.

"My wife would like to see the animal."

"Of course, sir."

The handler coaxes the foal over and it's tall enough already to reach other the fence. You pat the creature on its nose and between its ridiculously long ears and it nuzzles sweetly into your hand.

"Mr Pax?" You say as you turn to Andor and realise he's hovering a few feet back from the fence.

You gesticulate to him to come over. When else will he get the opportunity to interact with such an animal?

"Oh no, I can see fine from here," he replies with a shake of his head.

Surely not, you think, and you feel your mouth twist into a devilish smirk.

"Are you scared?" You tease.

You sidle up to him and entwine your arm in his before stretching up to whisper into his ear so that only he can hear you.

"Captain Andor?"

Unable to resist your direct challenge he offers you his hand with a resigned, slightly nervous grin. You take it, leading him back to the fence. You guide his palm up to the baby Fathier's nose and the creature sniffs it curiously. You then press it gently against the animal's long forehead. When you let go, Andor continues to stroke the animal softly, his face lit up with an expression of childish wonder.

"Thank you, husband," you say when you both turn to leave.

He gives you a subtle wink and you feel a sudden rush of something close to fondness for him.

********************************************

That afternoon is spent sneaking around the resort's service corridors. You are right at the top of the building and the corridors are narrow and low. It's ridiculously hot and you feel stupid carrying out serious espionage in yet another one of the seemingly endless supply of dresses you've been provided. This one is a horrible pink colour that clings all over and you hate it which is why you've chosen it for this dirty, sweaty work. You know you need to wear something suitable for Canto Bight's grand halls in case anyone sees you on your way to or from the job, but it just feels so unnatural.

Hopefully this shouldn't take too long. All you need to do is wire in a small signal booster to the resort's communications lines. Then, when you obtain Balgo's biometric signature, the data pad can send a transmission to a commandeered, disused Republic satellite to confirm that the sample has been collected successfully.

Actually transmitting the scrambled data to the Rebel base on Yavin 4 needs considerably more power which means, at some point, you and Andor are going to have to hike out to Cantonica's main transmitter mast and send the signal manually from there.

You'd flown past the huge pylon on your way in to land at the resort. It's a monumental thing and you feel a rush of nausea at the very thought of having to climb it...but that's a problem for another day, you decide.

Your head is buried in a control panel, and you're trying to explain to Andor why you need to use a slightly different width of cable than originally planned but he interrupts you mid-flow.

"Can you do it, or can't you?"

"I can do it," you snap back.

"Then just do it, I don't care how."

Charming as ever, the morning's hard won truce between you apparently forgotten. He's nervous and so are you, so you try not to hold it against him. He just wants to get out of here quickly.

There's a sound, and with horror, you realise it's the service elevator doors hissing open. A stern male voice follows soon after.

"Lars, If you're up here slouching again, I'm going to dock your pay."

You and Andor both freeze, staring at each other like Loth cats caught in the headlights of a speeder. Then, without warning he grabs you at the back of your knee, hitching your leg up to rest on his hip, his hand travelling further up the underside of your thigh and underneath your dress as he shoves you against the wall and pushes his body firmly against yours. The other hand flies up to your face, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

Your gasp of surprise is muffled as he crashes his lips hard against yours. It takes you only a millisecond to understand what he's doing and you kiss him back, twisting your fingers tightly through the locks of dark hair at the back of his head.

At this, a soft groan resonates in his throat and you are almost certain this is unintended. You feel a flash of satisfaction that you've managed to affect him in such a way, then scold yourself for being unable to refrain from point scoring with him, even now.

"Get out of here," Andor growls at the hapless employee, pretending he has only just noticed the man's presence.

His voice is low and husky. As he speaks, you feel his fingertips press into the flesh your thigh. Suddenly, the combination of his proximity and his heady, masculine, familiar scent is overwhelming, and you feel something hot and fierce coil in the pit of your abdomen.

Andor - Pax - has broken away from your lips to berate the man, but he hardly deigns to turn his head to look at the unfortunate employee. You take a moment to study the fine details of his face up close. His pupils are dilated, making his dark eyes gleam like midnight. His nostrils flare slightly with heightened breathing. An uncharacteristic blush is travelling up his neck into his cheeks. You can feel his heart slamming against his chest and your own.

"Oh, uhh... yes...of course," the poor employee sounds terribly embarrassed and all the previous managerial authority has vanished entirely from his voice.

"My apologies sir..."

The man actually stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck to see your face through the tousled mess you've made of Andor's hair before addressing you directly with a courteous nod of his head.

"Madam."

You raise your eyebrows at him politely and give him a ridiculous little wave with your free hand, the one that's not woven through Andor's hair.

You hear the employee blundering off back to the service elevator and the machinery clunks as the doors close and he disappears.

Andor's forehead is gracing your own and neither you nor he move for a moment. It's just long enough to catch the slow glint of recognition in each other's eyes that something new has passed between you and you both know it.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he finally breaks away, running a hand through his hair as if to sweep away the feel of your fingers there, "I didn't have time to ask nicely."

"It's fine," you say, smoothing your stupid dress down and clearing your throat, "Good thinking."

He leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed, as you return to your work in silence.

*******************************************

Evening has fallen and Andor and Balgo are talking animatedly at the bar. The resort is hosting another of its grand parties. You sit with Lady Prya at a nearby table. You don't talk about your new life and she doesn't ask, but the conversation is easy and comfortable and you feel a rush of gratitude that your paths have crossed again.

Once Balgo has left to mingle with other guests, you give Prya an apologetic smile and cross over to the bar where you drape yourself around Andor's shoulders. You lean in to kiss him on the cheek. To anyone else, these merely look to be the actions of a young couple.

In reality, you are providing cover as Andor works quickly with Balgo's empty glass. Earlier, he'd lined the outside of the receptacle with a special gel that picks up biometric data. Once settled on a surface, it is almost imperceptible to the touch.

Andor attaches, then tears away the transfer strip from the glass and quickly places it down on the data pad's receiver. A rather sad and weary boop from the device confirms that it hasn't picked up Balgo's fingerprints.

"Kriff," Andor curses quietly in frustration, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"Give it," you hiss.

Uncertainly, Andor passes the various components of the device to you. You snatch them from his hand, shoving the bits and bobs into your pockets and stride away before he can stop you. The satin of your dress swishes a melody to the click of your heels. You hear Andor swear under his breath.

As you walk, your eyes scan the room, searching for your target. There. A flash of golden hair at the other side of the room. You stalk Balgo through the crowd, waiting for the right moment.

You make your approach, taking out a small mirror from your pocket and quickly squeezing a blob of the clear transfer gel onto your finger before making a performance of patting the strange substance on your mouth like lipstick. You snap the mirror closed and move in for the kill.

"Oh Mr Balgo, I am so sorry!" you exclaim, feigning embarrassment as you collide with his shoulder, jolting him arm so that he spills red wine all down the front of his pristine, white suit jacket.

"Please, Mrs Pax, it's no matter, really," he says as he stays your pawing hands and swoops down to greet you with a peck you on the cheek.

"I really am sorry, Dreylan, I will pay for the damage."

"Nonsense," he scoffs amicably, his chest visibly puffing out as you address him familiarly by his first name, "Now, where has your husband of yours got to? The fool surely hasn't let you out of his sight in that dress?"

Balgo is right, it is a nice dress. Your favourite so far in fact. It is tailored in beautiful crimson satin with a full skirt, off the shoulder sleeves, and a plunging neckline.

"Oh, he's around somewhere, I'm sure."

You lean in and whisper in his ear.

"But he's not here."

He smirks back at you and you see his icy blue eyes light up.

"Shall we get some air on the balcony?" He suggests.

Well, what an unexpected turn of events, you think sarcastically as you accept the proposal with an external show of flirtatious grace.

Out on the ballroom's grandiose veranda with Balgo, you look across Cantonica's seemingly endless, dark waters. The sea breeze is cold, and the businessman drapes his jacket round your shoulders. You laugh at the right times, interject an asinine comment here and there as Balgo talks about business, and allow him to explain things to you that you already know without complaint.

When the timing feels apt, and the balcony is otherwise deserted, you reach up and plant a kiss on his lips. He returns it, placing his hands on your hips. Balgo is attractive enough, there's no doubt about that, and the kiss is far from unpleasant... but it's only a means to an end. There's no passion to it, and you can't help but compare it against the ardent fervour of Andor's embrace. The heat of it.

As you pull back from Balgo with a suitably flushed smile, the gossamer curtains behind him shift in the breeze and over his shoulder you catch a glimpse of Andor across the cavernous ballroom.

He's so far away, but you see him clear as day. His eyes are searing holes in Balgo's back before meeting yours with a look of disdain. He downs his drink and slams the glass on the bar's marble counter-top, stalking off towards the elevator.

You suddenly feel a pang of irrational guilt which makes you furious with him. You're doing your job. The one he failed to do.

Balgo's self-satisfied look of victory does nothing for your vexed and flustered disposition. He offers to go and source a drink for you both. Keeping your composure - you are a spy after all - you smile sweetly at him and agree.

When he is gone, you make sure no one else is around before you take out the transfer paper from your pocket and subtly dab it on your lips. Surreptitiously, you whip the data pad out of your other pocket - thank the stars you'd insisted on dresses with pockets - and press the paper against the reader.

You wait, visualising what the signal might look like if it was something tangible and visible. A little bolt of lightning, perhaps, arcing to the closest service hatch, climbing its way up wires and cables, escaping out into the cold night and up into orbit and the decrepit Republic satellite.

Finally, the device gives you a cheerful bleep and lights up green.

Success.

You'd like to see Balgo's smug face fall when he returns to find you've disappeared, but you don't want this to go any further than necessary. You've got what you need and your sudden absence can easily be explained away as a young wife's crisis of conscience. You leave his jacket on a nearby chair and make your way up to your suite.

*****************************************

When you get back to the room, you can practically feel the heat radiating off Andor as he rips his shirt over his head dramatically in the process of undressing for bed.

Trying to ignore his silent seething, you turn away from him and lift your hair away from the nape of your neck. He automatically moves behind you to help you unzip your dress and, despite his clear agitation, his hands are gentle. The red gown drops to the floor, leaving you standing in your flimsy under-slip.

You turn back to look at Andor, taking in the familiar outline of his body. He's not a huge man, but the muscles are strong and taut in his torso, back and arms. Littered here and there are scars, testament to a hard life lived dangerously. The moonlight streaming through the bedroom window gives his tan skin an ethereal glow and illuminates the sharp, handsome features of his face.

It's not that you don't find each other attractive. You both know that there's always been some unspoken tension between you. But the tempestuousness of your personal and working relationship has always prevented you from falling into anything that might be a mistake.

You are suddenly keenly aware of the obviousness your own form as your underdress clings to the curves and planes of your body. You can sense Andor's eyes roaming across it in a way you're sure they never have before.

You think - maybe - something changed with that kiss you shared this afternoon. An embrace which began as a charade and ended as something else.

"That was a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing to do!" he finally explodes, interrupting your reverie and bringing you back down to reality with a thud.

"It was a calculated risk," you retort, furious with him and internally embarrassed by your silly romantic notions.

"And," you stretch across to the nearby dresser to pick up the data pad where Balgo's biometric data is safely stored to brandish it under Andor's nose, "And it worked."

"In case you'd forgotten, Balgo thinks you're here with your husband..."

"That's why it worked!" You exclaim, "By the Force, men know so little about their own species..."

"You could have blown our cover, the whole operation!"

That riles you. Why can't he just congratulate you on a job well done? You've just saved this damn operation. You have what you need now. All you need to do is transmit the data and you can both get out of here.

"I know what this is," you say, your voice rising in chorus with your anger.

"Oh please, please enlighten me."

"You're jealous."

There's a heavy silence.

"Jealous?!" Andor scoffs finally, but the strength of his conviction has faded from his voice, "Of what?"

"You can't stand that I kissed him."

Andor steps towards you, brows furrowed, eyes alight with something that's not quite anger.

"He's welcome to you," he seethes, "The last thing I need is some highly strung rich girl playing at being a spy."

The words sting, especially after you opened up to him about your parents the other night. Even as the vague idea of restraint flashes through your mind, impulsion compels you to raise a hand to strike him across the face.

He catches you by the wrist as you lash out, pulling you even closer to him so that his sharp nose is almost touching yours.

"And so what if I am?" He continues and the change in direction is so unexpected that you are rendered speechless.

His tone is low and dangerous and his deep, brown eyes are wild, roaming your face desperately for an answer that never comes.

"What if I am jealous? What if I don't want his filthy, Imperial hands all over you? So what?"

Andor's face suddenly softens, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression of genuine turmoil. It's a display of vulnerability you've never seen from him before. His grip on your wrist loosens slightly but he doesn't let go.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper.

"What difference does it make to you? Ever since Carida... You despise me."

It's not true, you suddenly realise. It's never been true. Not really.

You want to tell him you've never blamed him for what happened on Carida. The actions of the mole? Not his fault. The failure of that sorry excuse for a ship? Not him either. Somewhere along the way, your perception of him became warped and refracted through the prism of your own feelings of guilt.

You know he saved your life that day. He must have gone through hell in the aftermath too, dragged up in front of various different elements of High Command to explain why only two of his six operatives made it back alive over and over and over again.

More than this, you want to explain that while you were kissing Balgo tonight, you were thinking only of him. You want to say how when you took a shower earlier and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you'd seen the faint, red imprints of his fingertips still lingering like little tattoos on your skin and that you hope they never fade.

But you're just so angry with him for always having to be such a stubborn, patronising, hard-nosed bastard. So you say none of these things.

You know how much it must have taken for him to admit feelings for you, no matter how clumsy and ill-timed the execution. This man who always holds his cards so close to his chest has shown you his hand. He's given you ammunition and all you can think of in this moment is shooting him down with it.

"That's right," you say, leaning in close and whispering spitefully into his ear, "I despise you Cassian Andor."

You regret it immediately. Andor drops your wrist as if he's been burned. As he steps away from you, he looks completely lost. His eyes are cast down at the floor, full of humiliation and hurt. By the time they return to your face, they have darkened like storm clouds.

"Then, I'm glad we understand each other."

You open your mouth to say something, to take back your words and undo the damage you've wrought with your temper. Nothing comes out.

As Andor turns away, you reach out for him, try to catch him by the elbow. He shrugs you off angrily and storms out of the room.

He doesn't come back until late. You pretend to be asleep as he quietly slips into the bed beside you.

********************************************

When dusk falls the next evening, and with Balgo's biometric stored safely on the data pad in your pocket, you and Andor set out for Cantonica's main transmitter.

You want to use the journey time to explain yourself, to apologise to him and admit your own feelings. But you are so ashamed of your careless words the night before that you don't even know how to begin.

Continuing the trend of the day, you walk the ten kilometers together in almost complete silence, trudging in single file along the rocky coastline.

Even so, being out in nature and away from the city feels almost healing to you. Most tourists only see the rugged countryside of Cantonica from the confines of a shuttle. It has a wild, mountainous, windswept type of beauty that you find exhilarating. After days stuck inside the gilded cage of Canto Bight, it is wonderful to be out in the elements, even if it is rather cold and damp.

Night has decsended by the time you reach the transmitter. It is set precariously on the cliff edge, so close to the tumultuous waters below, it seems like a freak wave could wash it away at any moment.

It looks even more imposing than you remember. A huge durasteel spike with a narrow, fragile looking caged ladder stretching up into the sky leading to a high metal gangway which looks just as ancient.

You go first, and as you climb higher, your hands and feet start to feel fuzzy and your breathing becomes rapid, escaping through your lips in short, sharp pants. You've never been good with heights.

The icy wind starts to whip unpleasantly around you and you grip the ladder fiercely with each laboured step. The damp air has made the metal slick and you gasp as your boot slips on one of the rungs.

You catch yourself before you fall, but even so, you are relieved when Andor comes up behind you and positions himself so that his solid chest presses reassuringly against your back as you take a moment to steady yourself.

"Take your time," he says and his tone is gentle, "You're ok."

You nod and exhale deeply. Steeling yourself, you continue your ascent. You can do this.

You finally reach the top of the ladder and crawl up onto the round platform which encircles the pylon of the transmitter to provide access to where the mechanics of the structure are stored.

You think for a moment that this experience is going to be marginally better than the climb up the rickety ladder. That foolish hope is soon proven mistaken. The durasteel grating beneath your feet feels precarious. There are rusted gaps in the metal here and there and your stomach flips every time you look down. The wind is stronger up here, wild and blustery, and you feel horrendously vulnerable. You just want to get the job done and get down from this death trap as soon as possible.

Andor helps you lift the heavy panel off the front of the control box. You sigh with relief. It's a standard set up, one you've seen hundreds of times before and it's easy to bypass. You set to work infiltrating the system and once you're done, you wait in suspense as the data pad blinks text at you.

TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING....

TRANSMISSION SENT.

"It's gone!"

Instinctively, you turn to flash a smile of triumph towards Andor, and you are relieved when one corner of his mouth twitches upwards ever so slightly in return. You wonder if, on the way back to the city, you might find the courage to try and make amends for your rough words the previous night.

Your hopeful thoughts are rudely interrupted when, without warning, the gangway you are standing on shifts violently under your feet. The whole structure lets out an ominous and eerie metallic groan and you realise with dread that the platform is tearing itself away from the pylon.

You have no doubt that you and Andor are the first people up here in years, and that your presence has disturbed the structure from its hibernation and reminded it of its decrepit, fragile state.

You grab at one of the rungs affixed to the main pylon intended for servicing the internal mechanisms, but Andor is too far away to reach. As the walkway peels away, he falls with it. The huge hunk of metal stops suddenly at a right angle to the structure, and the now horizontal guard railings catch Andor as he slams into them with a sickening clang.

There's a brief moment of relief when you think the worst is over, but then the structure jerks violently again as another metal bolt fails, and it tilts just enough to send Andor somersaulting over the top of the railing.

Desperately, he scrambles for something to purchase, and he manages to grasp at the guard rail with the fingertips of one hand as he rolls over it, leaving him dangling helplessly over the roaring water below.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself drop down towards him and your body hits the metal railings agonisingly hard. You ignore the pain and, praying that the railings will hold you, you scrabble to grab at Andor, your hands clutching at a handful of material at the front of his shirt just as his own grip fails.

Unexpectedly finding himself suspended in the air, Andor looks up at you in abject surprise. He assesses the situation and his eyes lock on to yours in alarm as he understands what you've done.

Your shoulders feel like they are slowly pulling themselves out of their sockets and your fingers, numb and white, are twisted up painfully in the material of Andor's shirt. You can't breathe properly, the air in your lungs being crushed out of you as you are pressed into the railings by the pull of Andor's bodyweight below you.

You are terrified that at any moment the guardrail will collapse and you'll both plummet together into the angry sea which seems to wait with open maw like a predator beneath you. But you don't know what else to do, and you refuse to let him fall, so you cling on to him in utter desperation.

"Let go!" Andor shouts up at you, and you can tell it's an order.

"No!" You yell back.

Suddenly, the front of his shirt rips and he drops away so that he is now hanging, almost literally, by a thread. The abrupt and unexpected motion causes you to lose balance and you have to let go of him with one hand to steady yourself on the railings and stop yourself from almost flipping over them to join him.

Andor's eyes are wild and fraught now, flicking between the failing structure and your overwrought face.

"Damn you," he growls with renewed urgency, "let go!"

Your whole body is screaming at you to do as he says, but you won't. Tears sting your eyes, whether from pain or fear, you're not sure. You clench your jaw and shake your head at him.

Andor snarls with effort as he reaches behind him and into his back pocket, pulling out his flip knife. He wrenches it open with his teeth.

"Don't you dare, you stupid bastard!" you scream down at him as you realise with what he intends to do.

He looks at you for one final moment and the world seems to stop. His expression is completely open and readable to you, perhaps for the very first time. His dark eyes glint with a fear that you suddenly realise is as much for you as it is for himself.

Then, he sets his face into a mask of grim determination and with one swift motion, he severs the flimsy cord of fabric tying you together and cuts himself loose.

"Cassian!" The vague outline of his name is torn ragged from your throat in an incomprehensible shriek of despair.

Helpless, you watch as he falls, limbs flailing, down, down, down, until he hits the water below with a sickening crash and disappears into the black, unforgiving waves.

*********************************************

Unbeknownst to you, the Rebel Alliance have successfully received Dreylan Balgo's biometric signature and K-2SO is already on his way to extract you and Cassian from Canto Bight.

By his calculations, K-2 should reach Cantonica in twelve hours, twenty-nine minutes and seven seconds. Plenty of time to mull over the conversation he'd had with Murdo the flight technician before he'd left the hanger.

"Maybe this time, eh K-2?" Murdo had quipped as he unhooked the re-fuelling nozzle from Cassian's ship.

"Maybe this time, what?"

"Maybe this time they'll finally have admitted their feelings for each other."

"That is a ridiculous observation," K-2 had said confidently, "They dislike each other immensely."

Murdo had laughed and made a comment about the droid having a lot to learn about human relationships which K-2 had thought was quite rude.

But as he barrels through the hyperspace lanes in Cassian's ship towards the Outer Rim and Cantonica, K-2 has time to mull things over.

He thinks about how on missions when the unit has to set up camp on some remote world, Cassian always leaves your meat rations on the fire just a little longer than everyone else's because he knows you like them so crispy that they're almost burnt.

Then he thinks about how whenever he and Cassian return from a mission you're not assigned to, yours is always the first face the droid spots in the hanger when they arrive back, and that once your eyes land on Cassian, you always walk away without a word, seemingly satisfied.

Now that K-2 really uses his circuits to process it, Murdo's conclusion doesn't seem quite so ridiculous after all.

"Humans," the droid muses to himself with an exasperated shake of his mechanical head.

**********************************************

Somehow, you manage to descend the transmitter, climbing and clambering down the structure in a daze. You don't bother even trying to mask your shouts of distress and frustration as your feet and hands slip on the blasted, kriffing, cursed metal all the way down.

You stagger the ten kilometers back to Canto Bight in something resembling a fugue state. When you reach the resort, you sneak through the back entry port you and Andor left through and wind your way through the maze of service passages and elevators back to your suite.

You are as bedraggled looking as you are distraught and you are glad that the corridors are as deserted as they were when you departed. You don't feel you could negotiate your way out of anything right now, despite all your training.

Once you've climbed out of your damp and dirty clothes you fall into bed. Andor's absence beside you is a stark, raw reminder of what's just happened and you finally allow yourself to cry. Somehow, at some point, as you wallow in your anguish, fatigue takes over and you fall into a torrid sleep.

When you awake, it's still dark and you have the distinct impression that you're being watched. There's someone else in the room with you. You bolt upright and almost cry out as your eyes take in the silhouette of a person in the moonlight.

The ghost of Cassian Andor is standing at the foot of the bed.

Except he's not a spectre, you realise. His outline, though swaying, is solid. He's flesh and blood. He's alive.

Once you've recover from the initial shock, you don't think you've ever felt relief like it in your whole life. You leap up out of the bed and fly to him, just as he starts to crumple to the floor. You grab for him, but too weak to moderate his own movements, he drops like a stone and his momentum pulls you crashing down on top of him.

He's all sand and salt and seawater and he is shivering violently. His eyes are heavy, like he's struggling to keep them open. You touch his face and his skin ice cold. His clothes are wet through and you're suddenly struck by the urgency of the situation. You need to get him warm. Now.

With great effort, you manage to half drag, half shove Andor towards the shower room. He's so exhausted and disoriented that even this appears to be an insurmountable task for him.

When you finally get him there, you bundle him into the shower, fully clothed. He slumps against the wall as you turn the warm water on. You start peeling off the sodden, freezing layers of his clothing.

He hisses through his teeth as you remove what remains of his shredded shirt and you see that the skin on his torso and back is blossoming here and there in vibrant shades of black and blue. You're not surprised, a fall from that height, these are probably bruises from hitting the water hard. You try to be more gentle.

Once he's free of all his clothing, you slide down behind him so that you are against the wall, and he's sat between your legs with his back pressed against your torso. You guide him to bring his knees up to his chest and he wraps his arms around himself pliantly, curling into a tight ball. He's still shaking uncontrollably.

You ignore your own discomfort as the warm water plasters your nightdress to your body like a second skin.

Trying desperately to aid the shower in its work of returning some of his body heat to him, you rub his back, his arms, and his chest vigorously. Every so often he rests his head on the bridge he's created with his forearms across his knees and you have to coax him gently to sit up.

"Stay awake," you plead, "You need to stay awake for me."

Finally, his shivering subsides and you sit in exhausted silence as the warm water continues to pour over both of you. Your chin is resting on his shoulder.

"Cassian," you finally say into his ear, tucking a stray lock behind it as if that will allow him to heed your words better.

He leans back into you, tilting his head up towards your face, to show he is listening.

"I don't....I don't despise you, I don't..." you trail off, silent tears suddenly mingling with the spray from the shower as they start to fall from your eyes.

Slowly, Cassian turns to you. He rolls on to his knees, and sits upright on his heels. You mirror his movements so that you are face to face and your foreheads come to rest against each other's.

"I know," he whispers, bringing a hand to your cheek, his expression soft and full of tenderness, "I know that."

He trails a series of soft kisses down your face, touching his lips to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally down until they reach your own. You melt into him.

This kiss is not like the first you shared, hasty and hurried and fuelled by external forces. This is deep and languid and deliberate, as if you are the only two in existence and you have all the time in the Galaxy to spend in this moment.

One of Andor's hands tangles up in your wet hair, the other presses against the small of your back as if willing you closer to him. You can feel his urgency increasing now. His movements are definite and purposeful as he caresses and kisses your skin.

Selfishly, you want him to continue, need him to never stop. But you also know this might not be the wisest way for him to recover.

"Cassian..."

"You told me I need to stay awake," he argues as if he already knows what you're about to say, now tracing kisses along your collarbone, "I'm awake."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind..." you protest weakly, but the breathy desire in your own voice betrays you.

"Liar," he mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck and you feel him grin against your skin.

The movement of his lips makes his short beard tickle your flesh and the feeling forces a raucous laugh from your chest. It's a loud, unrestrained, joyful sound.

Cassian pulls away to look at you, wearing an expression of wonder. You realise he's probably never heard you laugh like that before. In fact, you can't remember the last time you heard it yourself.

His eyes crease at the corners and dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiles widely at you. That smile, the one you realise you've adored all along. And this one is only for you.

"You're infuriating," you scold, but your voice is light and full of heady exhilaration.

You wrap yourself around him and kiss him hard, realising, finally, that it is impossible to deny yourself the joy of him any longer.

**********************************************

You and Andor step off the landing platform of the resort and up into his ship. K-2 wastes no time in piloting the vessel up and away from the city.

Compared to the sumptuous surroundings of Canto Bight, the interior of the ship looks admittedly a little dreary by comparison, but you won't miss life within those opulent walls. Not when you now know just how many of its inhabitants are within the insidious clutches of the Empire.

"Well, I hope you two behaved yourselves," K-2 greets you as you both enter the cockpit.

You and Cassian exchange a glance. He winks at you and you actually giggle, the internal glow of happiness you feel manifesting itself in an embarrassing little laugh.

"I'm taking that as a no," K-2 says, "Murdo will be pleased."

"Who the hell is Murdo?" Cassian asks and he drops into the pilot's chair beside his faithful droid.

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