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underacalicosky · 7 months

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20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Yayyy! Thanks for tagging me @grapenehifics 😁 And thanks to @ineffable-snowman for tagging me too! ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

I only have six Obikin fics on AO3, which isn’t a lot, but I’m hoping to write more! I’ve posted fics for a different fandom that I’m no longer active in, but that was a lifetime ago and I don’t monitor those fics anymore.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

AO3 says 107,086. I know that’s not a lot compared to some folks, but it’s more than I thought I’d get to when I started writing again a few months ago.

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, only Prequels/Clone Wars Star Wars, and only Obikin because they’ve taken over my brain. And mainly modern AUs, but I have couple ideas that are in the Star Wars universe.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cruel Summer (Intern AU) - 175

Edge of Greatness (Figure skating AU) - 132

The Next Model (Top Model AU) - 125

Heartbreak Prince (Same age HS AU) - 70

In Good Hands (Hairstylist AU) - 69

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, I always respond to comments! I try to respond within a few days. But yes, I love comments. I’m grateful that someone would take the time to not only read my fics, but to also leave a note or an emoji or wall of text 😭 so I try to show my appreciation by responding. Sometimes I’ll get a comment that’s really touching and I’ll reread it when I’m having a bad day. I love when I get into little side convos or hearing about headcanons in the comments!

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m incapable of writing anything but a happy ending for Obikin. I want so badly for them to find peace and joy together, whether that’s through lots of cuddles and sex or a platonic life-long friendship.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? 😁 I like to end my fics in a way where they’re at a good place, and afterward they run off and have more adventures and I might not know exactly what they’re up to, but I know they’re happy.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not since I’ve written for the SW and Obikin fandom. Everyone here has been wonderful and encouraging and kind of feral in the most amazing way. I can’t tell you how much I love love love the positive vibes.

It wasn’t always like that in my previous fandom and I eventually left. Although, it wasn’t really hate. I started getting comments about how I wasn’t incorporating certain extreme kinks (which I didn’t know how to write), sort of suggesting that what I wrote wasn’t interesting. And there were plenty of writers who did write those kinks so it was a little baffling. I’m a firm believer that everyone should be able to read or write whatever they like without judgment or shame, but it got to the point where my confidence took a huge hit and I wasn’t having fun anymore.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write smut! Soft, fluffy, vanilla smut where they look at each other with hearts in their eyes. If my smut were a cake, it would be funfetti.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I like putting them modern AUs so maybe the Top Model fic is kind of a crossover?

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I didn’t realize this was a thing. How do I know if a fic has been stolen?

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple years after I left my previous fandom, someone reached out and asked if they could translate one of my fics into a different language. It was really heartwarming and humbling to hear that something I wrote resonated with someone enough to make them want to translate it and share it. I said yes, but I’m not sure I ever got the link to the translated version.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I co-wrote a big bang with another author for my previous fandom. It was a lot of fun and someone made a playlist to go with our fic. We had similar writing styles, to the point that our betas got confused over who wrote which chapters.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Probably Obikin. Their dynamic is so intriguing to me. There’s endless possibilities. Plus, the authors in this fandom are so freaking talented and creative and that fuels my love for them.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don’t have too many WIP at the moment. I only have two that have actual words, the rest are ideas that haven’t solidified yet. But I plan to finish the ones I’ve started writing.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I’m terrible at self-assessments. I like to think that I can create a feeling of longing or pining. I love a slow burn, especially a friends to lovers type relationship, and that’s where I like to live with the things I write. There’s that phase where they’re both too afraid to tell the other how they feel. But they stare longingly and wonder if the other’s thinking of them too. And maybe there’s miscommunication or an ill-conceived reason for why they can’t be together that leads to some mild angst before they confess their love and fuck all gentle and sweet.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing anything that has a complex plot or interwoven side plots. I’m very linear and simplistic. I’m always so impressed when I read something and the plot has been intricately planned and the little details tie together in the end. These are truly talented writers. Like, you should be publishing novels and getting paid. If I had more time and brain space, I’d love to try planning something more complex someday.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’m not against it, but I can barely post anything without typos in English so I wouldn’t trust myself to include dialogue in another language.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

X-files, Mulder/Scully. I didn’t post it to gossamer. I just had it on my computer and was too scared to show it to anyone.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

This is tough, and it’s going to be a long and rambly answer.

Definitely the fics I’ve written for Obikin are my favorites. And if I had to pick one of them, it would probably be Edge of Greatness, only because it was the first thing I posted to AO3 in about 12 years.

I started writing fics again a few months ago as a way to do something for myself because most of my life revolves around taking care of my family. I had the idea in my head for about a month before I finally dusted off my old 2008 Macbook and wrote the whole thing in about three weeks. It was such a freeing feeling to be writing again, but I still had that criticism in my head. At that time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it once I finished it, but I also was trying to challenge myself.

I took baby steps. I got a new AO3 account and sat on it for a week before I began uploading the first few chapters. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. My hands were shaking when I posted the first four chapters knowing that they would be out there in the world. I was convinced that no one would read them and I was okay with that because the goal I set for myself was to post and not care what other people thought. But the next morning I saw that I had kudos and comments and had a nice little cry. Some people, like @grapenehifics left comments in every chapter and I can’t put into words what that meant to me. So I’m not sure that it’s my best fic, but it holds special meaning to me and I’ll always love it for that reason.

I’m tagging anyone who writes fics and wants to share! I love reading these types of responses! ❤️

#thanks for the tag!

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toastedkiwi · 2 years

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Ohmygod! How did all the readers react to Chris being sexiest man alive?!

Shy was like “I’ve been telling you this whole time and I knew it. And it took them long enough to realize.” She did make him a cake. A sweater she made him actually made it into the photo shoot and into the magazine. Chris made sure she got credited for making that sweater.

Snowboarder cringed because that’s her dad. He’s a fucking meatball. He isn’t sexy to her. He’s a handsome dude on some occasions but nothing more. She had a buddy film her reaction which is her screaming and launching herself off a cliff. Don’t worry, there’s snow below and she’s already broken her arm.

Traumatized Daughter just had a long sigh. This wasn’t something she was expecting to happen.

Star Wars Actress was throwing him a party and was claiming “THATS MY MAN!” while Presley is like “THATS MY DADDY!”

Roomie sent him flowers with a crown and a little note that says congrats.

Model bought a bunch of magazines. Made some calls to have some of the photos blown up and framed. She’s in the process of making sure that every single one of the properties they have will have said photos. She’s also planning a big celebration on that Friday. She is gonna spoil her golden retriever.

Popstar Evans laughed because excuse me, what? That’s her brother. He’s a handsome man but sexy? That’s fucking disgusting. She does send him flowers. Henry sent him a bigger bouquet and put on the card “you fucking did it, you son of a bitch. I’m so proud of you. xoxo - your one true love.”

Haley Dunphy rolled her eyes.

BFF Kard was like “I FUCKING TOLD YOU AND YOU DIDNT FUCKING BELIEVE ME!” Plus she knew a long time ago. She knew the second he got the call. She was at the shoot. She posed him a couple times. She fluffed his hair. She gave him pep talks. She made him laugh. She composed an outfit.

Love of his life was like “and you come home to me? People’s Sexiest Man Alive?” She couldn’t believe it.

Pageant Star put a crown on his head and said, “there’s my sexiest man alive.” She had a big smile on her face.

Mama didn’t realize until a week later. She had been busy with kids and she’s been working her ass off too. She hadn’t been on social media. Also, Chris never mentioned it to her when they talk nor anybody else. She’s on the Kelly Clarkson Show to promote her latest project when Kelly tells her “congratulations on your husband being crowned the sexiest man alive last week.” Mama said “what do you mean?!” Then the magazine cover is on the screen. She literally said “what the fuck?! He didn’t tell me shit!” She walked off set and got her phone from her manager. She proceeded to call Chris. She was sent to voicemail. Kelly is laughing hysterically. Mama said “you knocked me up. —-First, you wormed your way into my life with Jackie. You then knocked me up. Trapped me! You dragged my ass to Boston to raise your mini-me’s together. You married me. And you mean to never tell me that you’re the Sexiest Man Alive? I had to find out from Kelly on the show. -I’m just done with you. Love ya but good day to you, you meatball.” Mama is just so exhausted.

Rockstar Neighbor sent him a fruit basket and leopard thong.

High School Teacher is dreading going in the next day for school.

Russian said to him “don’t be getting an eggo on me. You still a meatball. My meatball.”

Italian kissed both his cheeks and then lips. “I’m proud you got this title. You deserve it, Bambino,” she said.

Sailor knows she’s going to get shit when she comes back from leave. She can handle the America’s Ass because that’s hilarious. But Sexiest Man Alive? Try the Dumbest— the Lamest— the Boringest- the Annoyingest Man Alive. That’s her big brother, he’s not anywhere near sexy. But she did go out to dinner with him and the Rock with a few others to celebrate his title along with her being back stateside.

Kardashian has shirts made. Everyone is sent shirts. She’s got the pictures blown up and in her office (her mom does too). She surprised him on set with a cake. She humbly put in her Instagram bio “married to the sexiest man alive.”

News Reporter happily made the announcement for those who missed hadn’t seen it yet and bragged that it is her man.

Teen costar took to social media and asked for an immediate recall.

Animator sent him a drawing of Dodger with the sash that says “Goodest Boy Alive.” With Chris standing next to him in his own sash.

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darklinaforever · 5 months

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personally (take note I have never seen the star wars sequel trilogy) I think I could love reylo if I did not love Han Solo so much and want the original trio to have a happy ending and got to grow old together. From what I heard of the sequel trilogy, I won't watch it because of said reasons(also because of how Han Solo was killed off!). Bits and pieces of the trilogy had good points, I just think it could and been written better. And like instead of having the original trio in the series. Leave them alone and make the people who help Rey and friends be descendants from the orginal trio. Like make all the bad things like many years after the trio has died. They won their war. Let them have their happy ending. Also I am totally fine with who Reys related to. It's just how they did it and ended Reys storyline(and kylos) from what I've heard I think is messed up. I feel like this sequel trilogy over all could have been written better if three things: they left the orginal trio out of it. They give better storylines and endings to Rey, Finn and Kylo. Kylo too om find with being related to the skywalkers some how. I just don't like how directly he's related affects the orginal trios happy ending.

In fact, I think it's very good to have shown that those we thought were the perfect and model heroes messed up the education of their only heir. It was a good reflection, I think. The problem is therefore not that the original trio has been tampered with, but quite simply that people are refusing that they could have made mistakes in the future and not been perfectly happy. For example, people were horrified by Luke's current life, but if George Lucas had taken care of it himself, well... he would have had a very similar life too. Same for Han Solo... The actor wanted his character to die, and that was how it was planned in the original trilogy. In fact, it is worth noting that each former member of the trio dies in an attempt to bring Kylo Ben back to the light side of the force, so obviously, by killing Kylo, beyond messing up the latter's entire redemption arc and the Rey's natural arc, where the two had to come together to establish a real form of balance that there was not in the force before, well that also messed up the arcs of the members of the trio for the dosage. They all sacrifice themselves so that Kylo can come back to the good side and potentially be happy, all so that he also dies in the end. The problem with the sequel trilogy was quite simply the last film which did not take on anything from what the first 2 films had brought for fear of public reactions ! (Because a vocal minority of haters hated Kylo) Which is completely stupid... Anyway, all the arcs were messed up in the last film. Kylo, Rey, members of the original trio. Finn who ultimately doesn't bring any revolution to the Stormtroopers... Poe who behaves like a child again instead of the leader in the making that he learned to be in the 8th film... In short. Star Wars 9 was a disaster. It ruined the entire sequel story-wise. But I would still recommend watching it, just to see the wonder that is Star Wars 8. I maintain it, this film is excellent and in my eyes the best Star Wars after The Empire Strikes Back ! If Star Wars 9 had been done well, it would have been the second best trilogy after the original. Because yes... Star Wars 7 and 8 are better in my eyes than the entire prelogy on Anakin / Dark Vador.

Me when I think of the Star Wars 9 massacre :

But if you are interested in seeing a couple like Reylo, I recommend the chinese drama Love Between Fairy and Devil. He really is the Chinese Reylo !

youtube

#star wars postlogy #star wars #kylo ren #ben solo #kylo ben #rey #reylo #finn #poe dameron #the empire strikes back #the last jedi

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hotchscvm · 3 years

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side to side

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: In which you're performing your hit single in front of your fellow Avengers cast-mates and Chris can't seem to take his eyes off of you, catching the attention of a few cameras.

"I'm here with the biggest pop-star of this generation, and she plays the very talented daughter of Tony Stark," the interviewer announced your name, smiling brightly at you as the camera panned your way. The hundreds of thousands of fans at home screaming when your face appeared. "How do you feel with all your nominations tonight?"

You smiled at the camera, giving a small wave at the people watching at home. "Honestly, I'm just glad I was even considered for these nominations. I mean, my girls Taylor, and Billie...they're amazing and I'm so happy to be put in the same category as them."

The lady grinned at you, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe it was her sparkly dress, the fabric nearly blinding you with how it shined under the lights. "If you ask me, you've got a pretty good chance at winning. I mean, your hit single—Side to Side—surpassed, like, a billion views in just a month? That's impressive."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my fans." you replied, winking at the camera.

It was that time of the year again, where every artist, actor, and YouTuber hit the stage for the People's Choice Awards. With your crazy schedule, and the lack of sleep, you had planned to skip the award show until your friend, and co-star, Chris Evans—Captain America himself—convinced you otherwise. Even with the categories you've been nominated for had been more than a handful, but it was the begging and constant complaining from Chris that made you get off your tired ass and put it into a tight dress.

Your hit single, Side to Side, had everyone anticipated for your performance, unsure if you would be performing until the producers had put your name into the advertisement, making fans blow up Twitter. You were sure they had advertised your own song, along with your movie nominations, more than you ever had.

With nominations of Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Action Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Female Movie Star of the Year (Amara Stark), Female Artist of the Year, Song of the Year (Side to Side), Music Video of the Year (Into You), Beauty Influencer of the Year, and Social Celebrity of the Year, you had your hands full, which had only made your manager glow with happiness.

"Of course!" the interviewer agreed, glancing at the teleprompter filled with tiny words. "It was rumored that you wouldn't be coming, and a lot of us were upset, including me. Was that just a rumor or..."

"Actually, it's not that far off. I'm fucking—oh, shit—oh no!" you gasped, covering your mouth before anymore foul words could come out on live television. Instead of correcting you, the lady laughed, patting your arm softly. "Can't say that on tv. My bad. I, uh, with everything going on, I've been really tired, and I haven't slept in a week. I just wanted to chill, and accept my nominations at home but someone convinced me to come. So, if I say or do anything ridiculous tonight, I'm blaming him and my lack of sleep."

She nodded, clapping slowly. "I think that's fair. Is that someone, your onscreen father, RDJ?"

"He was one of the many people who unsuccessfully changed my mind, but no, it was Chris Evans. He promised me a day with his adorable dog, Dodger, and I couldn't refuse." you said, grinning at how his face had changed from hopeless to cocky as soon as he brought up Dodger.

"If I'm remembering this correctly, Chris Evans is that very handsome man you had kissed in your music video earlier this year. Into You, right? How do you feel kissing one of your co-stars outside of the movies your working on?"

"Technically, it was still acting, and I have kissed him before, so it wasn't awkward at all." you answered, glad Chris had accepted the role. Not only had it sky-rocketed the views and streams, but it made you feel better that it was his lips you were kissing and not a random model's. Yet, it didn't feel as professional as it had before when you pulled away after a take.

In scenes where you had to kiss the Boston actor, it was as professional as kicking Anthony Mackie's ass in Civil War but the kisses you shared on the set of the music video was definitely more personal. At the time, you had brushed it off as Chris being recently single, but now that you had broken up with Henry, you started questioning it again.

The interviewer nodded, squinting once more to read the words off the teleprompter before asking you another question that would certainly make the headlines. "I've been reading up on all those juicy tabloids and I've got one question that would satisfy my curiosity. Was Into You written about Henry Cavill or Tom Ellis?"

Usually, that type of question made you change the subject or altogether avoid the matter but this time, you wanted to joke about your failed engagement. "Henry, but Side to Side was written about Tom since I wanted more Grammy's considering the last album I put out won me a few. But this time, I'm gonna do it without an engagement."

The woman faked a laugh, surprised by the blunt honesty of your answer. "Um, you certainly do have a thing for British men, eh? I don't want to keep you up, but one more thing, for the fans. They've been dying to know if there's anything going on between you and Chris Evans. Any tea you wanna spill?"

"There's none to spill. We're just friends but it's always amusing scrolling through Twitter to find these edits of us." you replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your dress. Like usual, you had wondered if you should've worn something less extra but you had let your stylist play dress up with you for the past few months.

"Of course. Well, good luck to you, and I can't wait to see your performance." she said, giving you a little pat on the shoulders before announcing your name once again.

You got off the little platform, immediately taking Chris' awaiting hand, holding onto it as you climbed down the steps in your dangerous stilettos. Sighing, you leaned on him, trying to avoid the blinding camera flashes. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be. You need to get me some caffeine after this is over because there's no way I'm making it to the after show without at least a few cans of Red Bull."

"So dramatic." Chris grinned, childishly sticking his tongue out as he guided you down the red carpet, stopping when told to take a picture. He let go of your hand, only to wrap it around your waist as you posed for the pictures. "Are you going to the after party?"

Posing seriously for a few seconds, you let your smile back on your face, facing the man beside you. "I was thinking about it, take a few photos, and head back home. Aren't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could ditch it and just hang out. You know, I did promise you some time with Dodger and you could waste a couple hours sleeping." he replied, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Flashing you a shit-eating smirk, he nudged you a little, pulling you away from the blinding flashes. "What do you say?"

You opened your mouth to answer only to be cut off by your manager, Alexandre coming out of nowhere to rip you away from Chris' arms. The latin man sighed in annoyance, glancing at his watch while giving you the look you've seen too many times before. "You're supposed to be in wardrobe right now. Get your ass backstage, and change before you miss your own performance. As for you, Mr. Evans, Megan wants your ass in a chair."

"I'll see you after." you say, getting dragged by your manager, winking at the actor before walking towards the changing area, the cameras following you until they couldn't enter the area.

Getting ready before a huge performance always calmed you down, maybe it was the smell of makeup or the feel of designer clothing made especially for you, but something about it made you feel comfortable and cozy. It was like a routine, especially with all the music videos and movies you had to film, the makeup, the hair.

They made you sit back, giving you your phone like a child while they made you even more sparkly than before, making sure you'd stand out against the flashing lights during the performance. A performance you made sure no one would ever forget. Smiling, you let your thoughts drift back to a certain super soldier as you were pampered.

—

"Welcome to the People's Choice Awards!"

The room darkened, the blue and pinks lights focusing on the stage as cameras all turned towards your shadow. Making sure your mic was set properly, tried to see past the darkness, to see a familiar face or two but with the headache coming on from the tight half-ponytail didn't help your case. The music started, the beat vibrating, you flipped your hair, and started.

"I've been there all night

I've been there all day (Nicki Minaj)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Let then hoes know)"

You rode the bike, belting out in your microphone, the attached headset limiting your movements a little. Gripping the handles, you made eye contact at the camera to your left, winking at it as you pedaled.

"I'm talkin' to ya

See you standing over there with your body

Feeling like I wanna rock with your body

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'

I'm comin' at ya

'Cause I know you got a bad reputation

Doesn't matter, 'cause you give me temptation

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'"

As you had sung, your eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlight focused on you, seeing a shadow of the one person you wanted to make you walk side to side. While you had answered the reporter's question, you hadn't been completely honest. Some of the lyrics had been written for the Bostonian; or to be more exact, your sex fantasies. With the chorus coming up, you let go of the handles, trying not to fall on your ass as you clapped your hands above your head, the claps matching the beat.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I..."

Trying to be bold, you stared at him, his face in particular. The spotlight had blinded you so much that you couldn't see what his reaction was—or anyone's for that matter—but maybe it was a good thing. After all, his gaze always made you blush no matter how hard you tried not to. Pedaling faster, you threw your head back, hoping the motion would draw everyone's—Chris'—eyes on your chest.

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

With the help of a shirtless dancer, you got off your bike, taking the sheer jacket from him, and putting it on as you walked towards the front of the stage, moving your hips in to the beat of the song. Resting a hand on a shirtless dancer, you positioned yourself so you were grinding your ass against his crotch, throwing back an arm around his neck.

"Been tryna hide it

Baby, what's it gonna hurt if they don't know?

Makin' everybody think that we solo

Just as long as you know you got me

And boy, I got ya

'Cause tonight I'm making deal with the devil

And I know it's gonna get me in trouble

Just as long as you know you got me"

Sashaying to the little balance beam at the front of the stage, you made sure your hips swayed more than usual.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

A few seconds after your note ended, you strike a pose on the balance beam, posing for a few more seconds while the cameras turned their attention away from you and onto the queen of rap herself: Nicki Minaj. The leather, pink bodysuit was identical to yours except for the color, her attitude fitting the badass outfit. She began to walk towards the stage, never breaking eye contact with the camera in front of her while the men pretending to work out to the choreo.

"Uh, yeah

This the new style with the fresh type of flow

Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle

Come through yo, get you this type of blow

If you want a ménage, I got a tricycle

All these bitches' flows is my mini-me

Body smoking, so they call me Young Nicki Chimney

Rappers in they feelings 'cause they feelin' me

Uh, I-I give zero fucks and I got zero chill in me

Kissing me, copped the blue box that say Tiffany

Curry with the shot, just tell 'em to call me Stephanie

Gun pop, then I make my gum pop

I'm the queen of rap"

By the time she had finished her verse, you had caught up with the multitasking of both working out and singing, able to use your full singing capabilities for your high note. Nicki joined you on stage, hyping up the crowd while you built up for the high note, almost every camera pointed at you except for the one focused on capturing the headline-worthy expression slapped on Chris' face.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give em up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all night, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)

I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all day, baby) (Ooh, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)"

Both you and Nicki motioned for the dancers to come towards you, curling your index finger at the sexy men. Singing the refrain, you both made them drop to their knees in front of you, as if they were kneeling at your command.

Just as the last note was sung, everyone clapped, the majority standing up, and more cheered. You noticed Chris hadn't done either, still sitting in his motionless while two camera men pointed their cameras at him. Your eyebrows furrowed, thankfully after the spotlight had shifted over to the miniature stage where the two hosts were babbling about nominations.

You were ushered off the stage along with the queen of rap herself, taking a few backstage photos before quickly returning back to your dressing room to change into your tailored dress. Your mind had wandered to why Chris hadn't applauded—not that he was obliged too, but a little something would've nice, especially with all the days put into the performance.

Taking a deep breath, you entered the big room, filled with your co-stars and other A-list celebrities. Little did you know you'd find out the reason to your question in the morning.

—

The loud ringtone woke you up, the sound obnoxious and borderline abuse to your ears. Beside you, Chris groaned, rolling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of the call with his arm draped over his head. Putting him out his misery, you lazily reached for your phone, pressing the green button with dread, seeing the name across the screen.

"Hello—"

"You're trending on Twitter." Alexandre announced, happy with the results of the previous awards show. While it wasn't something as big as a Grammy or Oscar, judging by the amount of awards you had taken home, you became the people's favorite. "Hold on, lemme rephrase that. You and Chris are trending. Number one, world wide."

Glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you sat up, confused by the information given to you. You blamed Chris for making you stay up so late for your confusion. "Um, why? Did I accidentally have another nip slip?"

"What the hell?" Chris mumbled, rolling onto his back, his arm grazing your bare stomach. He immediately took it back, sitting up to look over your puzzled face. "What's going on?"

You shrugged, putting your phone on speaker so Alexandre could explain. Your manager chuckled, knowing you had stayed the night with Chris. He was just waiting for the day you'd finally have the guts to speak about the growing sexual tension. "Okay, Alex, explain."

"As much as I would love to go into full detail, I have other stuff to do so, I'm going to give you the basics. Chris' reaction to your performance went viral, people are shipping the both of you, and there's been thousands of memes made." Alexandre replied, a smile evident in his voice. "Anyways, I have to go. Got some interviews to schedule. Have fun getting your way out of this, Chris."

Your phone screen went back to the home screen, a picture of your family dog, Buster, smiling widely. Looking at Chris, you saw his eyes widened, his hands coming to rest of his face in embarrassment as he fell back onto the bed with a bounce, his head nearly hitting the headboard. "Oh, fuck."

"Are you going to show me what your face looked like or do I have to scroll through Twitter until I find it? Oh! Maybe they edited it in my performance." you thought out load, tapping on the YouTube app. You hadn't trusted yourself enough to log into your official account, knowing you'd probably make a mistake so you opted for having a secondary account where you could watch cat videos without the anxiety of posting something stupid.

Chris' hand snatched your phone away, tucking it in his pocket, the sweats he had slept in was somehow wrinkled, and his shirt damp from the warmth. "You wanna get some food? I'll cook some bacon but you'll have to make the pancakes 'cause the last time—"

"I wanna see your reaction." you whined, reaching across his stomach for your phone. Chris turned his body away from you, shielding the phone from your reach. "Chris!"

He waved your attempt away, rolling off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before you could fall back on the mattress.You poured, getting on all fours, crawling towards the edge. Chris took a step back, brows furrowing. "It's not important. Let's get you some food."

"Fine." you mumbled, an idea making you light up. Rolling off the bed, you glanced at his phone on the nightstand, exposed and easy to take. With quick reflexes, you grabbed his phone, rolling back on the bed until you reached the other side, making it impossible for him to reach for his phone back.

"Hey!" the Bostonian shouted, launching himself on the bed in attempt to get his phone back. He made a noise as you rushed out of your room, locking yourself in the nearby bathroom, laughing evilly when he threw himself at the door. He yelled out your name, his fist banging on the door. "I'm serious! Don't!"

Ignoring his begging, you opened his phone with your thumbprint. How ironic how much he didn't want you to look at his phone when he was the one who insisted you have the password to it. His arguments became louder as you opened up his Twitter, immediately heading to the trending section, seeing both your names at the number one spot.

"Damn, I look hot." you joked out loud, making Chris silent for a second before pleading for you not to continue. You smirked, scrolling through the tweets, trying to find his reaction. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall on your face or something?"

Chris groaned, banging his head on the door in defeat as he heard your almost inaudible gasp, that quickly turned into little giggles. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would've broken the door down to hold you in his arms. "Oh, no."

Bursting out into hard laughter, you fell into the large bathtub, hitting your head on the wall but you couldn't care less. The expression on his face during your performance had been borderline comical, the wide eyes, the jaw hanging open, the open hand resting on his chin while his eyes stayed strained on you the whole time, never wavering from your body, the sexy choreography making his jeans tight.

Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, tears ran down your cheeks, your stomach cramping from the maniacal laughter. Lifting yourself up from the tub, you stumbled to the door, your loud laugh ringing out towards the whole house. You let Chris in the bathroom, his phone quickly taken from your hand but it was too late. The blush on his cheeks wasn't going away anytime soon. You leaned against him, your head resting on his chest, while you panted out a question. "Why did you look like you were trying to attract flies in your mouth?"

Chris groaned again, covering his eyes with a hand while the other rested on your back. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Oh, God, no." you giggled, wiping the tears away, beginning to calm down. Glancing up at him, you noticed everything above the shoulders was gleaming red, the embarrassment too unbearable for him. "Chris, you looked exactly like the first time we were forced to share a bed together."

"Yeah, you have that affect on me."

"You gonna tell me why you looked so ... shocked? Or do I have to search through Twitter and go with whatever fan theory makes the most sense?" you asked, unable to keep the smug grin off your face. Chris closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't made you come to the awards show in the first place. You raised an eyebrow, fingers itching towards his phone. "You know I'll do it, Evans."

The man raised his hands, taking them off of you as he paced around the bathroom, deciding if this embarrassing moment was the right time to finally confess. "It's just, you know, the dance was so ... sexual and hot that I probably wasn't the only one looking at you like that. You can't exactly blame me for being shocked, watching the girl I'm in love with—"

Chris stopped as you be watched the colors drain out of your face, immediately freezing when he realized what he had said. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, not moving a muscle, barely blinking; the atmosphere so tense neither of you were breathing, waiting for the other to talk. But neither of you wanted to go first, terrified.

It wasn't until you started to feel dizzy that you realized you hadn't been breathing, letting out a huge breath, trying to relax while Chris did the same, his hands shaking, a nervous tick he got whenever he was anxious. You got the courage to speak first.

"What?"

It was better than nothing.

Chris was so nervous he nearly ran out of the room. There wasn't some kind of handbook or script he could read, helping him tell one of his best friends how head over heels he was for her. So, he said what his brain was stewing. "What?"

"What—what?" you replied, unsure if he even said the L word, so lightheaded by the sudden confession.

The actor stilled, eyes widening even further, while his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"Say what one more time, Evans, and I will make nothing but mac and cheese for the rest of your stay." you threatened softly, getting tired of not having an answer to your one-worded question.

Chris took a deep breath, hands trembling as he clasped them together, hoping to find the right words, hoping his inner thoughts would come out clear, giving you the answer you asked for. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"What you were saying before. You know, before you looked like you saw a ghost and almost stopped breathing. I think that would be a good start." you replied, backing up to take a seat on the plush chair. Chris mirrored your actions, putting down the lid to the toilet before sitting down.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out." Chris whispered, his blue eyes trained on the emotions that flashed on your face. Your uncertainty of the situation didn't help his anxiety.

"Okay, um, were you going to tell me in the first place?" you asked, playing with the hem of your shirt—it had been a borrowed Patriots shirt from him. Looking back, you realized all the little things he'd done hadn't been because his platonic love for you. "Or were you just going to keep letting it be this way?"

Fidgeting with his hands, Chris peered through his eyelashes, seeing the hurt flash across your face before you quickly composed it. "Scott was hyping me up, trying to convince me to tell you before you got into another relationship. Do you know the real reason I broke up with Jenny? It hurt like hell when you announced you were engaged. Fuck, I couldn't even pretend to be happy because you were going to have the life I wanted with you, with someone who wasn't me. It was selfish and I got really mad at myself for being a dick."

"But—"

"And then the horrible, horrible relief I felt when you called off the engagement." Chris continued, his heart clenching. "Truth to be told, that was the day I found out I was in love with you, breaking things off with Jenny. Of course, I wanted to wait until you moved on, hoping to be the friend you went to but with my schedule, that was impossible. So, you seemed out comfort in Henry fucking Cavill."

"You're in love with me?" you whispered, hoping this wasn't some kind of cruel dream. If it was, you wouldn't mind staying.

The actor nodded, waiting for you to call him names and rush out. "Yes. You can leave or slap me or whatever you want to do but I love you."

You got up, running a hand through your hair. "Okay."

Chris' heart sank, wishing for any other kind of reaction, wishing you'd do something. Taking a deep breath, he got up. "Is this a goodbye?"

Frowning, you walked up to him, taking his face between with your hands, pressing your lips softly to his. You could feel his heart beat, the little organ beating so hard. You pulled away before he could recover from his shock, before he could kiss you back.

"Hello."

#chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #reader insert #marvel #chris evans x singer!reader #nicki minaj #ariana grande #fluff #side to side #song fic

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

Text

a new header??? it matches better <3 these are the fics I read or reread and enjoyed this month! like last time, i’m separating it into different sections: main list, wips, and non-1d. rereads will be included in the main list and marked with a star (*).

*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 28th only

—

main list ~

✰ Don’t Wait Up by reliablyimperfect | NR | 1k

Without Harry’s warmth next to him, he felt the chill of the air creep over his skin. He tugged the blanket down from where Harry kept one draped over the back of the couch for him, grateful. With the blanket, he instantly felt warmer, but it backfired when his eyes began to droop again. Trying to keep his eyes open was impossible, and he was consciously aware of how long his blinks were becoming. They stay closed longer and longer until, eventually, they didn’t open again.

so soft and sweet and lovely! made my heart feel so warm <3 will return to this for some quick comfort in the future!

✰ my ugly mouth kept running by @hadestyles | E | 4k

Sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

rori’s lush writing + abo + exes to lovers = absolute perfection. my fic cameo gives it a bonus too :’) definitely one of my rori favs

✰ i’ve loved you three summers now honey, i want them all by @softloubabie | M | 4k

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do.

After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

so cute and sweet! their kids were so adorable and the proposal so lovely!! they love each other so much <3

✰ love me in between the future and the past by navigator & quitter | E | 11k

Harry's scared of history repeating itself.

this honestly hurt to read but in such a raw and emotional way?? was mad at harry and then sad for him :( this writer duo’s fics never fail to amaze me!

✰ sunshine on my mind by @raspberryoatss | E | 13k

Louis visits Harry in Portland

this was so sweet and lovely! the perfect addition to this wonderful universe! pip’s characterizations and fluff never fails to make my heart feel warm <3

✰ rapture in the dark by @stylinsonsupporter | T | 13k

Harry Styles is a breakout musician who has shed his boyband label in favor of embracing his inner brooding rockstar. His PR team think that his rebrand is the perfect time for Harry to come out of the closet and have devised the perfect plan for doing so. Enter Louis Tomlinson, up and coming (and very openly homosexual) model whose public image as America's Sweetheart is the perfect foil for Harry's new edge. From a PR standpoint, it's a dream come true - a power couple that can slowly coax the public into accepting Harry's altered image. The only problem? They hate each other.

always love a good fake dating au and this is no exception! and model louis >> really enjoyed this!

✰ Maybe, Baby* by thoughtsickles | M | 16k | mpreg

It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.

You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.

have reread this one quite a bit of times now and it still makes me so happy <3 this Louis and Harry deserve the world <333

✰ Let Me Inside by reliablyimperfect | E | 18k

Louis is Harry’s boss, but Harry is the boss of Louis.

loved this one! really enjoyed the balance between h&l and how they maintained their dynamic in subtle ways outside of the bedroom while also keeping it separate. very much enjoyed the jealousy as well <3

✰ a scintilla of predilection by @dehydratedpoolfics | T | 20k

There, in the far back of the room, next to the only available seat left, is none other than Harry Styles. Harry, who grew up next door to him, who knew all his secrets as a child and played FIFA with him on Saturday mornings after he would spend the night Friday evenings every week, whose curly hair would tickle his nose as they held each other during bitter cold nights that made his room glow a haunting blue.

love ex-childhood friends with misunderstandings!! louis was so cute and i loved his poetry <3 harry too was so stupid but so smitten and lovely :’) really enjoyed this!

✰ Keeping The Flame Alive by @crazyupsetter | E | 20k

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

✰ like it’s a game* by @soldouthaz | E | 32k

There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare.

And Louis.

queen of enemies to lovers! it’s been a while since i’ve reread this but too absolutely no surprise, it’s just as amazing as always <3 sarah never misses!

✰ Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2 | M | 35k

Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

really enjoyed this as per usual! exes to lovers is my jam and the added angst of Louis dating someone else at the beginning... love <3

✰ Some Things Take Root* by navigator & quitter | E | 50k

Louis' ex doesn't get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.

stumbled upon this randomly and decided to reread on a whim... ended up staying up to read it in one sitting! so good!

✰ Safe and Sound (You’ll Always Be) by @all-these-larrythings | E | 58k

When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break.

i don’t know how i’ve never read this before??? it was absolutely amazing though! perfect blend of humor and fluff and tension and angst <3

✰ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) by @youreyesonlarry | E | 74k

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.

the slow burn in this fic killed me - which is to say, it was perfect! loved how they progressed from working together to being friends to something more and how much they genuinely cared for each other! the hockey was so fun too!

✰ Call Out My Name by frenchkiss | E | 102k

Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.

Harry Styles begs to differ.

ellen truly knocked it out of the park with this one!! had everything i could ever want: abo, famous/non-famous, fluff, humor, angst, drama, and more! i loved it from beginning to end!

wips ~

✰ ‘cause all our tomorrows lead the way by @loubellies | E | 64k | 7/11

So maybe Louis’ in over his head.

He had signed up for the Bachelor on a whim after his second bottle of wine and well, here he is. He’s just been announced as the twenty-sixth Bachelor and his ass is sweating. Like, literally sweating. He’s positive that if he was to turn around, the entirety of Bachelor Nation would get a nice peek of his ass sweat.

am thoroughly enjoying each chapter!! it’s been a wild ride so far and although things are currently calm, i am still on edge!! but i trust mar with my life <3

✰ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by @lwtisloved | E | 83k | 8/16

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

caught up last night! still really enjoying every chapter and can’t wait to see what happens next!! things are *happening* with h&l and answers are being given!! (love the jealousy too!)

non-1d ~

✰ Keep Me Close (I Need Your Faith) by @princelouisau | E | 23k

Somewhere along the way he had fallen in love and in doing so, had broken the one rule he knew he couldn’t come back from. As quickly as he realised, he decided that he must never dare speak it. He resigned himself to loving Draco in silence.

first foray into reading drarry... and, to no one’s surprise, i loved it! beautiful writing as always and beautiful atmosphere! it’s really not a shock that i fell for these characters and their story when danielle is behind it <3 it had me entranced from beginning to end!!

finally, i myself actually posted a fic this month:

my fics ~

✰ yesterday came suddenly by me | E | 49k | mpreg

Harry the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.

If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

#my fic recs #fic recs #28th appreciation #march recs #2021 recs #march 2021 recs #scheduled

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pkg4mumtown · 3 years

Text

Signs of Attachment (Ch. 3)

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

Taglist: @trash-dino-5000

A/N: Thank you, again, for everyone who’s read. This is the tentative end, but I may add an epilogue at some point!!

Just a reminder:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 3 - Falling

I mulled over a data pad in my examination room, counting down the seconds until I could run to the mess hall for lunch. I felt an all too familiar signature approaching my door, making me look up before it had even opened. It had been a couple months since that spar with Obi-Wan, but we had both enjoyed it so much that we made a habit of it at least once a week. Though, not as intensely as that first one that left both of us rather sore the next day.

“Good afternoon,” Obi-Wan signed immediately upon seeing my eyes fixed on him. His voice rang out melodically, so I basked in it before it would inevitably become muddled.

My eyes widened when I saw his hair, “You got a hair cut?”

He paused, embarrassed because I’d noticed.

“Yes, yesterday,” he ran a hand through his hair, which was brushed over to the side, his mullet long gone.

“It looks good, I love it, Obi-Wan,” I complimented, his cheeks tinting pink almost immediately.

“Have you had—lunch?” He asked, stumbling over the sign at the end.

“No, not yet,” I stood and stretched.

“Come with me,” he nodded his head toward the door with a bright smile.

“What are you up to?” I squinted my eyes at him.

“You’ll see,” he winked.

I followed him, impressed with his progress every day. Obi-Wan led us away from the direction of the mess hall, toward the entrance to one of the gardens.

I smacked his arm to get his attention, “Where are we going? The mess hall is that way.”

“Patience,” he smirked and patted my shoulder. He led me with his hand still firmly on my shoulder while we entered the gardens. We weaved our way through to the back until we stopped at a sort of clearing. I felt him tap my shoulder before he dropped his hand.

“My Master and I used to—have mid-meal here often,” he explained.

“It’s beautiful, Obi-Wan,” I sighed in awe at my surroundings. I had been in the gardens hundreds of times but never in this specific spot, hidden just for Obi-Wan and his Master. I looked down, seeing a small blanket, just barely big enough for us to sit on, and lunch already spread out for us, my head snapping to him in question.

“You planned this?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he signed, then waved his hand for me to sit down. “An excuse to get you alone, nothing compares to conversation.”

“I agree.”

We sat facing one another so signing would be easier, our legs crossed and knees nearly touching each other. The food was off to the side of us for us to grab. As we dug in to the food he had brought, my involuntary sigh of happiness at finally being able to eat made him laugh softly, something so much easier to hear here where it was relatively quiet and low distraction. I waved my fingers up and down at him to get his attention as he looked off elsewhere.

“Obi-Wan, did you make this?

A laugh bubbled from his lips and his head shook, “Stars, no, ask Ana—kin, I can’t cook.”

I felt a smile tug my lips as I watched him stumble over fingerspelling, “That’s not good!”

He just shrugged, “He survived.”

“How is your Padawan?” I wondered, not having seen him in a couple weeks.

“He was knighted,” Obi was signed, mimicking the cutting of a Padawan braid with his fingers behind his ear.

My eyes widened in shock, “That’s amazing, Obi-Wan, congratulations!”

“Thank you,” he signed, then bowed his head.

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, “What does this mean?” He asked and mimicked a sign I had just used.

My cheeks burned a little at having to explain it, “It’s your name.”

“But, my name is signed,” O-B-I- — -W-A-N? He finger spelled his name.

“Yes, you’re right, but see how long that took?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

Yes, “It was a lot,” Obi-Wan half signed and half spoke.

“Of course, if it’s okay with you, I shortened it to that. It’s just your hand making an ‘O’ and a couple swipes to your jaw,” I explained and demonstrated it again.

“That’s so much easier,” he repeated the sign. “Why here, though?” He asked, gesturing to his jaw.

“Um, your…beard,” I stuttered slightly.

“Interesting,” Obi-Wan murmured, running his hand over said beard.

I stared at the way his fingers sifted and twisted in the hair. I snapped myself out of a trance and continued on explaining.

“Usually, personal signs like that have your initial and something distinctive about you. Something you wear, your favorite animal, your occupation…”

“I see, so what would Anakin’s be? Because spelling his was exhausting, too,” Obi-Wan chuckled. I smiled involuntarily at the sound of his laughter, not always able to hear it so clearly in our brief passings.

“You’ll get better at it in time,” I nudged his knee with mine and finger-spelled “Anakin” quickly.

“That’s not fair,” he nudged back.

“Well, Anakin has a scar, right? That’s identifiable, so maybe this?” I made an “A” and drew a line down over my right eye with my thumb.

“That’s…genius, how did I not think of that?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“It can be hard to come up with them sometimes,” I shrugged.

“What did you use for Master Plo?” Obi-Wan wondered.

The words decided, then, to muddle together making me look at him strangely, Repeat, I signed to him.

“Sorry, what sign did you use for Master Plo,” he repeated and added sign.

“I made a ‘P’ with both hands and did the gesture for teacher, pretty much,” I demonstrated it for him. “It got the point across as him being my teacher. Similarly, he made my initial and did the gesture for student for me.”

“Clever, though you’re not my student, so what would you use now?” His hand made its way back to his beard, letting his fingers smooth over the chin area. And he wondered why I chose that area for his name.

“Mmm…the closest thing we have to ‘healer’ is ‘doctor’ so maybe…” I trailed off as I formed my initial with my dominant hand and tapped the inner part of my wrist on my non-dominant hand with that palm facing up. “I’d never really needed it before, but that works pretty well.”

I watched Obi-Wan repeat the sign a few times to commit it to memory.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he signed.

“Nice to meet you, too, Obi-Wan,” my shoulders jumped with laughter.

“How long do you have left on—your break?”

“Thirty minutes,” I answered after checking my comm for the time. I groaned and let myself fall backwards, my feet unfolding to land on either side of Obi-Wan. Most of my body was now in the grass behind me, not that I minded.

“Hey, you can’t nap, I can’t sign if you’re laying down!” Obi-Wan protested at my dramatic gesture.

“Relax, Obi, you’re doing well,” I rolled my eyes.

“But I’d like to get practice in!”

“We’re you a master’s pet? Because you sound like one. Oh, who am I kidding, of course you were,” I closed my eyes and rested my hands on my stomach.

I felt Obi-Wan move next to me and lay down, “I resent that.”

“But, was I not correct?” I opened my eyes and turned my head in his direction, seeing his head propped on his hand and looking down at me.

All he did in response was squint. Obi-Wan huffed and laid on his back, playfully bitter about not being able to practice, as if he hadn’t set up a whole lunch date. His hand fell into the grass, softly picking at the blades while the other rested on his chest.

“Obi, huh?” He commented turning his head slightly to raise an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry,” I murmured back, letting a hand slide off my stomach and fall into the grass, my pinky landing on his.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Your name is just so tedious that I have to shorten it in speech and sign,” I stressed the “and” by poking the back of his hand with my index finger.

“Yes, well I didn’t choose it, dear.”

“‘Dear’? How old are you?” I snorted.

“Our Temple Days are only five months apart, don’t insult me!”

“Says the man with gray hairs,” I mumbled.

“You’re insufferable. It’s a wonder I don’t have more, now,” he ripped a few blades of grass and used the force to fling them at me.

“You’re the one who invited me,” I sent the grass back at him, hearing him bat the grass off his face with his other hand.

I felt his hand shift under mine, taking it as a sign for me to move my hand, but as soon as I did his palm turned up and grabbed my hand back. I felt a blush rising up my neck, that I could probably pass off as a reaction to the grass, but probably not well. I could feel the contentment he was pushing through the force where our hands met, only making my blush rise faster.

What in the world was he doing?

He settled his hand when he was sure I wasn’t going to take mine back and let his fingertips barely pass through mine. Enough so, that if I squeezed my fingertips together just slightly, I could feel his next to mine.

“Why are you learning BSL, Obi-Wan?” I blurted out.

I did my best to shield my feelings, especially since we were touching, but I couldn’t help wondering why he was doing this. In the back of my mind, I knew it was for me but the fact of the matter is he was a model Jedi. He had no business growing so close to me these last seven months, learning a whole new language for me, and quite literally holding my hand in this moment.

I was too nervous to turn my head all the way but saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed anxiously. I could no longer feel contentment though his hand, but a nervous, vibrating energy instead. Obi-Wan’s fingers slipped entirely passed mine, lacing our fingers together purposefully.

I could read into it without him saying anything, but I was not going to be the reason one of the Order’s greatest Jedi would be expelled, or worse, fall to the dark side. Not that I was entirely without fault here, either. I had definitely fallen victim to attachment toward him, as well; hard.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t d—,” I moved to sit-up, but Obi-Wan sat up faster.

Please, wait, he let go of my hand very briefly to sign.

“Not now, I—.”

Please.

I could see the urgency in his eyes and hear it desperately in his voice as he plead with me, so I paused my hasty exit.

You’re—important to me, he signed slowly, foregoing speech because of the topic, trying to figure out what he wanted to confess as he went.

This isn’t good, Obi-Wan, the Council—

—Can’t understand BSL, he interrupted.

No, but they can read the force. You forget my old Master is also on the Council, I let my arms flop down in frustration.

I’m on the Council, too, now, or have you forgotten? He challenged with a playful twinkle in his eye.

Regardless, they are very set in their ways and my shields aren’t as impeccable as yours, my signing was more erratic than normal, his eyes tracking everything and trying to understand as quickly as possible. If I wasn’t so terrified, I would have said it was good practice for him.

I’ll help you, he took one of my hands in his tightly.

I scoffed and shook my head, No.

I quickly stood up, dropping Obi-Wan’s hand, only to be stopped by a single string of signs.

I’ve fallen in love with you, he finally signed, almost defeatedly dropping his hands in his lap. His eyes were downcast, my entire body frozen as I stared down at him sitting on the blanket. That’s why I’ve kept learning, because I…, he trailed off.

I didn’t even try to pretend that I didn’t feel the same way in that moment, he was just brave enough to say it first. I stared at him for ages, in tune with how his signature had wilted ever so slightly during this extended silence. I finally stuck my hand out to him, to which he looked at and then up at me. I waved my fingers impatiently, so he grabbed my hand and pulled himself up.

We stood almost chest to chest, neither of us moving. I held his gaze, trying to bring myself to sign but my hands were shaking next to me. Obi-Wan brought his hand up, brushing his thumb along my cheek. He didn’t rush me but seemed content to just watch my nervous face. Finally, I brought my hands up, his eyes immediately focusing on them out of habit.

I—I’ve fallen for you, too, I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t feel like this, we shouldn’t…, I looked down, feeling guilt wash over me like a tidal wave.

“No, no, no,” Obi-Wan murmured, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Never be sorry, not for this.”

I allowed myself to sink into his arms, the guilt barely subsiding at the contact. At least until Obi-Wan metaphorically opened the floodgates and pushed through the feelings he had kept hidden from me. I gasped against his tabards, a warmth surrounding me and taking my breath away. I pulled my head back to look at him, running my hand over his beard and smiling as he nuzzled into my palm. Obi-Wan let go of me with one hand, taking my hand in his own so he could bring it to his lips. With his eyes closed and a desperate kiss to my knuckles, he let my hand go and dropped his other from around me.

Can I kiss you? He signed shyly, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

Pleas—

He barely let me finish the full sign before he was pulling me back into his arms. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his shoulders as his mouth descended on mine.

There was nothing complicated or urgent about it, just a simple, exploratory meeting. I pulled away first, the location of this scandalous occurrence suddenly hitting me.

“I need to get back to the Halls of Healing,” I sighed as he pressed his forehead against mine.

“Let me walk you.”

I nodded, allowing him to hold me close as we walked until we got to the busy hallways. In the semi-safe enclosure of my examination room, Obi-Wan pulled me close and kissed me again. This time, more urgently than before, his tongue swiping along my bottom lip and making me clutch his tunics tighter.

I smiled into the kiss but pushed him back by his chest, You’re getting too excited.

Sorry, he replied shyly.

I’ll see you later, I signed, punctuated with a quick kiss.

I’ll be waiting, he stepped backwards toward the door until the door swooshed open. I love you, he signed with his back to the hallway.

I love you, too.

With that, Obi-Wan left the doorway, giving me a passing sign for “ILY” while waving with that index finder at the same time.

#obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #gn!mc #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #hard of hearing reader

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

NO REFUNDS

Words: 5.1k :))

Rating: E, baby

Warnings: Smut (surprise surprise), bad words :0, masturbation, a biiiit of praise kink, face fucking, cumplay? let me know on the comments, etc. etc.

a/n: Happy Star Wars day!! The first few lines of this are an attempt at dumb comedy, but humor me a little and you’ll get a reward (smut) along the yellow-brick road

Finally, the lanky kid behind the counter stops air drumming with two chicken bones gnawed dry and trails his dopey eyes from the gloved fist on the table, up a bracer, and along a flexed arm, until they settle on the Mandalorian helmet staring him down and waiting for an answer. The employee removes the music bandeau from around his ears and settles it down, its noise so loud Mando can hear it from where it lays. The kid scratches the whiskers of facial hair growing patchy on his cheeks and thoughtfully nibbles on one of the bones, trying to figure out what one does when a client shows up.

“Uh, what?”

“I need to speak to the owner,” the Mandalorian repeats slowly.

“Oh, uh.” Mouth gaping like a fish too stupid to know it should fear hooks, the kid calmly turns his attention to the four walls of the hardware store, searching for guidance in the fluorescent signs hanging around the room and dictating the store’s rules like they’re ancient scriptures:

NO CHILDREN

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

NO IMPS

NO REPUBLIC OFFICIALS

NO REFUNDS

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

“You, uh,” the kid continues, lingering on that last stanza and flicking open a dusty agenda that probably hasn’t been touched since the war ended, “you got an appointment, uh, sir?” He drags a greasy finger down the planner, squinting at nothing and pretending to read the page that Mando can clearly see is empty.

The bounty hunter sighs, holding on to the last reserves of patience that hang precariously on the cliff of his self-restraint, threatening to let go and leave him to his own anger. “No. But she’ll see me.” You better. You better fucking see him. “I was sold equipment here a few days ago, some of it faulty. I need to speak to her.”

The navigator. The fucking navigator. Of all the bunch of overpriced, black market scraps you’d somehow convinced the Mandalorian to buy from you last time, it just had to be the navigator. He still has his old blasters. Pumps are cheap. Even the deflector shields he could’ve done without for a couple of months. But the fucking navigator. The lack of droids on the Crest means that Mando relies solely on the navigator to set coordinates. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way out of a system, let alone make hyperjumps. Even worse, the model is so old, its glitching isn’t recognized by the control panel, so he had to hover around the atmosphere of this damned planet for three days before figuring out what it was, throwing off his schedule and losing track of two bounties in the process. All because you sold him a damaged version of the one part he can’t do without.

But your gaping-mouthed kid worker seems too unused to visitors to really care about Mando’s request, too entertained nibbling on a bare bone and eyeing the costumer in front of him as a knowing smirk cracks his lips and he says, “I dig it.”

“You…you ‘dig it’? I don’t…”

“The whole, y’know.” He draws circles in the air with the bone, signaling the beskar armor while he wipes the sauce around his mouth with a sleeve. “The, uh, Mondolarian vibe you’ve got going on. Very retro, dude. I dig it.”

Mondo…? Bewilderment overshadows irritation for a second, and Mando focuses all his energy into searching the kid’s vacant eyes for a sign of intelligent life. “I…I am a Mandalorian.”

Fucking stars above, it’s never easy with you. If not your endless teasing, it’s the exorbitant prices, your unwillingness to compromise, or your scurrying around so he’s forced to play cat and mouse with you. Your latest impossible challenge for him to tackle is, apparently, getting a straight answer from the obtuse employee you must have handpicked from a catalogue of idiots to torture Mando. Maker, he’s surprised your store hasn’t gone bankrupt yet. He can’t imagine anyone else in the galaxy putting up with your whims. And he only does it because…well, because…

After dedicating a couple of seconds to crafting the perfect response for what appears to be his very first client, the kid muses, “Well, shit, what do I know.” He flashes a toothy smile as he rereads the dogmas on the walls. “Says nothing about Mondolarians here, but, uh—”

“—Look,” Mando bargains with your gatekeeper, trying to level the exasperation escaping the vocoder, “I only have one faulty part. Let me talk to the owner, and—”

“—Shit. I bet it was the microvalves.” Your staff of one hangs his tuff of hair in shame, swaying it limply from side to side, before staring straight at the visor apologetically. “My bad, dude, I’ve been trying to get them right, but I always fuck them up. It’s hard, y’know? Red with red, white with white. Why not red with white? Or—”

“—No. What? No. Listen to me. You sold me a busted—”

“—I sold you?” the kid scoffs, his eyes suddenly snapping wide and offended, ignoring Mando’s clenching fists, which usually make normal people cower. “Excuse me, mister Mondolarian sir, but I don’t, uh, don’t recall selling you shit, in fact—”

“—Not—not you personally, the store, look, just—”

“—in fact, I’ve never even met a Mondolarian before and you’ve, uh, no right—no right— to judge my microvalves that I worked hard on—”

“Let him in.” Your voice carries its usual amusement as it cuts between the Mandalorian and the kid, breaking off the bickering from both ends and drawing their attention to the melody’s source. You lean on the doorframe leading to your workshop, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a wrench in the other. Grease is smeared on your face, where teeth bite down on a playful smirk and the twinkle in your eyes speaks of terrible intentions—like always. You tilt your head back to the room behind you. “C’mon, Mando. Let my receptionist work.”

With a sigh, the hunter moves towards the separate room, not before glancing back at the receptionist, who throws him one last disapproving look and wraps the bandeau that never stopped blasting music around his ears.

“Why do you keep him here?” the Mandalorian grunts as you push yourself off the doorframe to move inside your studio.

You shrug. “It’s him or droids.”

Mando trails after you inside the cramped workshop, filled to the brim with piles and piles of sensors and motors and all the other scraps from dubious origins you collect, fix, and resell. He closes the door behind him and pushes a large tube hanging from the roof to the side to walk closer to you.

Facing him, you plummet on your wheeled chair with a sigh, your arms dangling off the armrests, still holding the wrench and the pliers, like you’re the monarch of your little kingdom of junk granting him an audience.

There, Mando finally gets a good look at you, and—much to his annoyance—you’re as lovely as always. Glistening and greasy, you’re still beautiful with oil stains on your skin and fat droplets of sweat trailing your temple. You beam at him from your squeaky throne with that faint grin that attracts nothing but trouble. Maker, no wonder you always manage to talk circles around him. But not this time. This time he won’t fall for your little games. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t. Tonight he’s walking out of here with all of his money, no matter how much you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

The Mandalorian squares his stance and straightens his back in a futile attempt to intimidate you, strutting ahead firmly and pointing an accusing finger at your face.

“You sold me a—”

“—a busted navigator.” You roll your eyes and push yourself to your legs abruptly before the hunter can get any closer. He stops dead on his tracks. You wave the wrench and the pliers in the air like the conductor of an orchestra. “I sold you a busted navigator.” The vowels are dragged out with an exaggerated tune to make fun of him. “Yeah, I heard you the first four thousand times, Mando.”

Without looking, you drop the pliers to the side. They land dead center on an open storage box. Perfectly. Almost rehearsed. Something clicks. The Mandalorian suddenly finds the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t know needed solving, and he feels his shoulders deflate and release some of the anger that drove him to your store in the first place.

You peacock closer to him, one foot in front of the other and swaying your hips as you look down to the wrench in your hand. “But, you should know by now,” you murmur once you find yourself only inches away from the beskar, your voice morphing its earlier mock exasperation into the tone you only use whenever you two aren’t talking business. You look up at him, failing miserably at masking the mischief in your eyes. “I don’t do refunds.” You lift the wrench and grin as it taps the beskar breastplate lightly with a tink.

And before you can blink, Mando’s hand flies to your wrist to clutch it roughly, squeezing without hurting you, but with enough strength to force your fist open. Just like he knows you like it. The wrench falls to the floor with a bang that makes you jump. It’s Mando’s turn to smile when he pulls you by the wrist to press you closer against him. The cocky glint in your eyes dulls into confusion.

“I never said it was the navigator,” he informs you lowly.

You tense under his grasp and shift your jaw. “You knew I’d come back,” he continues, encouraged by your grimace. Staring at your feet, you half-heartedly try to wriggle away from his grasp, but he grabs your other wrist instead and holds you flush against the cold beskar. “Okay. I’m back. Now give me my money.”

But his satisfaction is short-lived, because if there’s anyone in the universe who knows no shame, that’s you. So you simply bite your lower lip and move your head from side to side to shake hair and embarrassment off your face. When you look up at the visor again it’s with that brazen insolence that secretly gets the Mandalorian going like nothing else in the galaxy.

“A girl gets lonely in here,” you purr. Your wrists relax, and make no attempt to pull away. “Can you blame me for wanting you back a little earlier?” Your plush lips curl into the perverse smile of someone who’s holding all the cards, making heat rush involuntarily to his crotch. And it drives him fucking insane. He could have you tied, shackled, or bent over, and you would still sneer at him like you had him wrapped around your finger.

At his silence, you wedge a leg tightly between his thighs and massage it against the bulge between. Your gasp in fake surprise when his length hardens at the first hint of a brush, too unused to any sort of physical contact to remain neutral to your bold caresses. He bites down hard on his lip to suppress a moan. He won’t give you the satisfaction.

Mando’s learnt, though, that his restraint only feeds your audacity. Only makes you taunt him more. His lack of response spurs you on, and you crane your neck forward to lick a slow line along the beskar of the chest. You blink at him playfully as you go, stuffing your tongue back into your mouth once you reach the top edge of the breastplate.

You must find it funny. How his ribs expand and contract in anticipation. How he tends to roll and unroll his fists in an attempt to suppress the instinct to throw you on top of the table so crowded by clutter that he can barely see the surface beneath and fuck the smirks off your face. How he always gives in. How he stiffens both scandalized and impossibly aroused every time you introduce him to some newer, filthier act. You must think it’s so fucking funny.

And as much as the bounty hunter wants to shove you back against your crumbling wheeled chair, he knows you’ll only enjoy it more. So he simply lets go of your wrists and steps back.

“I’m only here for my money,” he lies.

The vicious grin grows wider. “Oh, so you’re making me work for it tonight.” You step back and lean against a table with your arms crossed over your chest, purposefully pushing your tits against the cleavage. Mando shifts in his place. Licking your lips until they glisten, you give him a once-over. You study him inch by inch, and an uncomfortable rope knots in his stomach when he realizes that this is how his bounties must feel when he watches them wordlessly.

Your eyes settle on his visor, and a decision seems to cross them as you walk over to sit on your creaking chair. “Or maybe you just want to hear me beg.” You part your legs wide and clutch the armrest with one hand while the other disappears under the waist of your pants. The contour of your hand shifts up and down slowly inside the crotch of your trousers, and your lips crook into a full O as they release a deep, foul moan. “Is that it?” Your eyes are glossy and malignant, trained on his visor. “You want me to beg for your cock?”

His leather gloves ball into fists, trying to coax blood into his head and away from his…well, his other head.

Yet you hold him in place with that sinful stare and the lewd whimpers that you know get him off, and yes, fuck yes, he wants to hear you beg and sob for him all night as much as he wants to clog your throat with his shaft and make you swallow your teasing.

But he can’t let you win. You can’t scam five thousand credits out of him and expect him to throw himself into your arms no questions asked. He wants to put an end to your little tyrannical rule on his cock. And he wants his fucking money back.

So the powerful Mandalorian watches helplessly as your hand quickens under your clothing and you throw your head back in ecstasy. That fucking smirk doesn’t leave you, though. Even less so when your palm picks up some speed and you hear his breath hitch involuntarily at the visual, loud enough to override the vocoder.

“C-come on, Mando, don’t—” Your hand sinks deeper into your pants and you hum at the adjustment. “Don’t you wanna teach me what—what proper cos-costumer service looks like? Huh?”

His cock jumps in his pants when you say his name in a wanton gasp, and Mando can see you’re sweating and moving your hips faster against your palm. He’s so hard it hurts.

Your smile falters and you frown impatiently as the pent-up tension threatens to snap in your body.

“Don’t cum,” Mando blurts before he can stop himself.

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t give you what you want.”

Your movements halt on command, and the hunter almost envies the control you have over your own body to be able to backtrack on the very edge of your release. You hold your hands up in triumphant surrender as you watch the Mandalorian approach and stop just a breath away from your body. He stands tall before you, crowding you with his size and turning down the volume on the nagging voice that reminds him that he’s letting you win.

Eyes on the prize ahead of you, you lick your lips and snake a hand beneath your sit. You pull a lever and the chair plummets a few inches until your mouth is directly in front of the rigid tent growing in his pants. Expert fingers undo his belt and lower his fly, but, stars, nothing is fast enough when Mando already feels the veins of his cock growing thicker and thicker. Skipping all formalities, your hand sneaks inside, cups his balls, and pulls all of him outside. He groans when you grab his shaft and squeeze hard from base to tip, your bare palm catching awkwardly on his equally dry skin. Mando melts into the sensation all the same, but you seem displeased with your palm’s lack of fluidity.

“Fuck. Hold on.” A pair of fingers disappear into your mouth and down your throat as far as they’ll go. You choke on them dramatically and your eyes water slightly, but they shine when the two small intruders drag outside your mouth, pulling a thick string of elastic spit with them and dropping it on his shaft, pulsing with anticipation. You lean forward and look up through your lashes as you unroll your tongue slowly and more gooey saliva dangles from it. It’s too dense to spill onto its target, so you pluck the heavy ropes from your mouth and smear it manually on his cock, while a thread of it hangs on your chin.

“Fuck.” Your tiny clenched fist wakes up every nerve in his body as it drags up and down his shaft, obscene and perfectly lubricated. Mando’s hips buck into its grasp involuntarily, so suddenly that you flinch at the unexpected jolt. It’s a small comfort for him, to see that he can also surprise you. But then you’re giggling again, locking him in place by grabbing the buck of his belt with your free hand.

“Eager,” you remark. You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on the tip that digs into his spine. Maker, it was barely anything, but he’s so hard and your mouth is so close. “Aren’t Mandalorians,” you tease, “supposed to have self-restraint?”

Mando’s only answer is a low groan and a gloved hand that tangles on your hair and pushes you forward. You resist, though, instead wrapping a fist around his base and dragging your hot tongue up his underside, stopping just before the tip. A tortured whimper echoes around the helmet, and the Mandalorian is not sure if you could hear it because his muscles pull tighter, drawing his attention to his cock and your mouth and the fact that the latter is not wrapped around him for some reason. As if you could read his mind, you suddenly engulf him whole. Spit gathers on the edge of your lips as you suck on his length, swallowing around the tip and swirling your tongue around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking g-good at this.” You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft that make his knees buckle. He always forgets how good it feels with you. He forgets that you take him perfectly like all your holes were made for him to fuck. That you make his blood run hot with every swing of your tongue and every spasm of your cunt and every insolent remark that escapes your lovely mouth, now busy pleasuring him.

You settle on his head and suck on the bulb, hollowing your cheeks to let him feel the delicious inside of your mouth. Mando grabs handfuls of your hair with both hands, still trying to extinguish little whimpers before they leave his throat. And you can tell. He knows you can tell because determination clouds your eyes as you yank him closer by the belt. You drag your tongue in a circle around the ridge of the head, before dipping into the slit on the tip and finally earning a punched out groan and some beads of precum as a reward. Somehow, you moan and chuckle at the same time, opening your mouth as strings of spit fall to the floor.

“You’re hard, Mando,” you coo, pumping his length while you rub it on the side of your face, “throbbing and so, so hard. You should’ve come to me sooner, baby. You’re desperate.” You suck on the head again, and the Mandalorian’s grip on your hair turns to steel, pulling you into him and no longer asking. Moaning, you let him, taking him as far as you can and wrapping a fist where you can’t reach. Your other hand releases his belt and snakes down to your lap, fumbling with the waistband of your pants.

Somewhere in the swamp of sensations drowning his thoughts, an idea flashes in Mando’s head, and he holds on to it before you can suck it out of his tip. One glove lets go of your hair and quickly grans the hand lowering into your heat to resume touching yourself. His cock still in your mouth, you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and a silent question.

“You can’t c-cum,” he explains, forcing words out of a throat that right now only wants to moan, “un-until you give me my—my refund.”

You groan and roll your eyes, taking your mouth off him with a pop. “Fuck no,” you breathe as you pump him faster and harder, almost making Mando lose his resolve. Almost. His hold on your wrist tightens. “It’s store policy.”

“Y-yeah?” You continue sliding your fist along his shaft, as you lean forward and lower your face to start lightly licking his balls. The room spins around Mando, and his grip on your hair pushes you into him until you suck on one ball gently. “Is—is it store p-policy to—ngh—to f-fuck your clients?”

You chuckle against his taint. Your head straightens to set your attention back on his tip, where he’s leaking an almost embarrassing amount of precum. A thumb brushes over his slit, gathering the pearls and bringing them into your mouth to taste him. The way you rub your core slightly against the chair is sneaky enough, but the Mandalorian catches the movements and tugs your hand and hair tighter as a warning. Your shoulders slump. “I’ll give you half,” you offer.

Mando guides your hand lower and curls it around his swollen cock, silently begging for your attention. His hand wraps over yours as he squeezes your fist and drags it along his shaft at a pace of his liking that sets his insides ablaze. “Eighty.” The helmet falls back as he revels in the wet sounds of your hand sliding back and forth his cock and giving him a nice enough memory for when he inevitably goes back to the Crest and is forced to take care of his needs himself.

You let him guide you, cupping his balls with your other hand and swirling your tongue around his darkening tip. Mando’s chest trembles with a long moan at the toe-curling feeling of your warm spit and your clenched fist working so hard for him, until you drop him from your mouth and answer, “Seventy.”

“N-no, I—”

“—Seventy,” you repeat and twist your hand away from his grasp, leaving his seeping cock throbbing and abandoned, “or you don’t cum.”

Fuck, he was close. He was so fucking close, before you turned the tables. Like fucking always. A part of him cradles his already bruised pride, shaming him for—yet again—not being able to hold it together around you. But his cock tugs harder. More insistently. It pulls every fiber in his body and screams at him to give you whatever the fuck you want.

“Fine.” He nods his head once, before his better sense can convince him otherwise. “Seventy.”

A full, beautiful smile that almost makes Mando forget he’s getting scammed graces your plump lips. You waste no time shoving your hand inside your underwear again and moving your arm frantically as you give him a couple of throaty whines. You open your mouth as wide as it’ll go and blink up at him, inviting him to take you however he so pleases. He tangles his fingers on your hair and shoves you against him as you wrap your lips around his cock and muffle your mewls on it.

The Mandalorian starts fucking your face, getting his money’s worth as he moves you back and forth. Your eyes water and you gag with every shove, but you work earnestly for him, hollowing your cheeks and moving your tongue and pulling just about every trick on your toolbox to make Mando’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

And stars, even through your pants and his helmet, he can still smell your arousal. He hears the wet squelching of your fingers working your pussy fast and if he could only get a look. One look is all he needs to cum, he’s sure, one fucking look at your clenching cunt and he’s done.

“F-fuck, l-let me see,” he pants, “let—let me s-see you—see your p-pussy cum, just—fuck—just a mo-moment, please, j-just…”

Tears from all the gagging fall out of your pretty eyes as you open your mouth and stand up, taking your trembling hand outside to fumble with your trousers. Your thumbs are hooked under their waistband and push down slightly before you suddenly stop and stare at the Mandalorian gulping all the oxygen he can get and waiting for you. “Sixty,” you say carefully.

Too intoxicated with you and too focused on the blood beating hard on his cock, Mando couldn’t care less. He doesn’t give a shit about percentages or money or parts or whatever half-forgotten excuse he had to come here tonight. All that matters and all that’s real is whatever he needs to climax, and if it means letting you win, so be it. “S-sixty. Yes. Whatever. Just—just take your fucking pants off.”

One swift movement and your pants and underwear pool around your ankles. Yanking hard on the hem, you manage to pull the right leg off your boot. You don’t bother with the other one, letting it hang on your left leg as you climb back on the chair, spreading your legs and hooking one thigh over the armrest to offer him the best view possible.

Mando’s cock threatens to spill at the sight. You’re fucking soaked. Your folds are blushed and slick and swollen with all the blood accumulated on your cunt. Three fingers rub your aching clit and everything around it with messy strokes, as you stare at the bounty hunter with raw lust and moan for him loud and clear, and this. This is worth the fucking navigator.

As soon as his shaft ghost over your face you lean into it and reach for him with your mouth. Mando takes your head between his hands and resumes his previous brutal pace, his eyesight now directed at the way your cunt spasms and seeps more juices with every circle you press against your lips. And, fuck, you’re taking him like you’re hungry for his cock. Pushing harder and further and faster despite the gagging, you’re making Mando see blotches cloud his vision and feel how his muscles turn into hot, thick magma. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t hold it in anymore. His balls start pulling up as a warning and you’re sucking harder and mewling around him.

“I—I…I’m gonna—I—”

Mando can’t find enough words to put together for the life of him, but you nod and manage a chocked “Mhmm” and bob your head to the pace of your quickening fingers and stars oh fuck—

The wave of his climax hits him hard on his back and makes him curl around you. He braces himself against the top of your chair and the change in position makes his cock slip outside of your mouth, but his vision goes completely black and all he can feel is the rush of pleasure crushing his bones into dust. Maybe your name is falling from his lips, but he can’t be sure. The never-ending spurts of cum falling somewhere hoard most of his attention, and he focuses on that thick and heavy release, so rare for him that he puts his mind into savoring every second.

It’s not until the echoes around his ears dissipate that the Mandalorian hears you’re still whimpering. Hunched over you, he opens his eyes just in time to see you gather some of the seed that he spilled on your neck and bring it down to smear it over your bundle of nerves, rubbing it one, two, three, four times, before you’re sobbing long and loud. Your hole tightens around nothing, your forehead resting on his cuisse, and Mando thinks he could get hard again just from the image.

You both stay like that for a while, curled into each other and panting in turns, until Mando gathers all the energy left in his system to pull himself upright and shove his softening shaft back into his pants. It’s only then that he sees just how much of a mess he made: Cum landed everywhere. It hangs thick all over your face, on your neck, on your hair, on your clothes. He blushes darkly and he’s about to open his mouth to apologize, but you sense it. Somehow. You wink and brush off his shame with a smile and a wave of your hand, standing up to get dressed. But Mando’s quicker. He kneels in front of you and gently raises your underwear until it hugs your hips, wishing for a fleeting second he could press a kiss on the supple flesh there. You grab his pauldron for balance to sneak your foot into the pantleg that Mando holds open for you.

For once, it’s he who breaks the silence. “I…I do want my sixty percent, you know.”

“Of course.” You smile sweetly at him, reaching back to your work table to grab a clean rag, rubbing it against your face and neck. “I’ll even throw in some free microvalves for good measure.”

—

Taglist of two so you can keep each other company :) : @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon

#the mandolarian #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando smut #star wars smut #star wars day #his fucking microvalves that he worked hard on

1K notes · View notes

caspianjames · 3 years

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BONUS Up And Coming: Julie and the Phantoms

Up and Coming: Julie and the Phantoms Jennifer McCreedy, Junior Correspondent

On this month’s issue of Up and Coming I had the privilege of sitting down with one of America’s biggest up and coming bands, Julie and the Phantoms. Julie Molina (17), Reggie Peters (18), Alex Mercer (17), and Luke Patterson (17) began rapidly gaining popularity as YouTube stars last fall. They created music videos for songs they wrote themselves, editing them to appear as if the band were ghosts “popping in” behind Julie. Don’t understand what I mean? You can click here to check it out for yourself!

The band has a strong air of camaraderie, and it’s the first thing I notice when I walk into the room with them. They’re all piled on our big interview couch, Molina and Mercer are pressed together whispering. Patterson is bantering with Peters and flicks him in the forehead. They’re like any group of teenagers bordering on adulthood, excited and eager to please. It’s immediately apparent that to all of them, the band has a deep meaning of friendship and support.

Of course, the first topic of conversation was about the band - what inspired the structure of their music videos, how they got their name, and which came first - the ghost music videos or the ghost band!

“Since my mom died, my brother has really been into ghosts,” Molina explained to me. “It was actually his idea for the band to pop in like that. My dad does videography as his job, so he was able to help us film and edit. My best friend, Flynn Taylor, came up with the band name.”

The boys all laugh when I ask if they liked the name right away or if there were discussions before they went public with it. “Flynn doesn’t do discussions,” Mercer smiles at Julie like there’s an inside joke there. There probably is, seeing how close these four are. “They came up with the name and made us posters, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter before even asking us what we thought.”

“We loved it,” Peters is quick to jump in. “And we love Flynn. She knew we’d like it, or they wouldn’t have gone ahead with everything.”

Flynn Taylor, Julie’s best friend, doubles as the band manager - she is on tour with them, but opted not to be present for the interview.

Since beginning their tour with Panic! At the Disco, all their videos have amassed over one million views each on YouTube and their music has been released on Spotify with startlingly quick success. Molina, I discovered, is actually the newest member of the band, although I would never have known from watching the four bandmates interact. She is also the youngest by a year, having just had her seventeenth birthday as the boys are all turning eighteen, but she holds herself with a quiet confidence that all the boys seem to look to. Even this early into the interview they defer to her to answer questions and look to her for reactions to their own answers.

This made it especially surprising to find out that the band existed before Julie joined it, just under a different name. Sunset Curve. Clearly, it did not have the popularity that Julie and the Phantoms has even a few months into their creation. “We played a couple school shows and stuff,” Patterson told me, “but nothing clicked until we met Julie.” Luke Patterson carries a humming energy with him that comes across in his words. In true rocker fashion, he struggles to sit still, tapping his fingers on his thighs and softly bouncing on the couch.

Unsurprisingly, Molina used similar words to describe the band’s first meeting. “The first time I sang with them at school we just clicked,” she says, smiling at Luke.

Of course, given their success, I had to ask the question everyone wants to know. How did they end up opening for Panic! At the Disco, despite being relatively unknown outside the Los Angeles music scene previous to their debut at The Orpheum?

“We’ve seen some wild theories,” Mercer confides to me with a small smile on his face. He is arguably the most subdued of the group and generally seems content to watch his bandmates answer my questions. Don’t be fooled, though - not only is he a phenomenal drummer, he also sings backup vocals for Julie and the Phantoms. “My favouirte theory was one that caught a lot of steam on Twitter about us using ‘ghost powers’,” he adds air quotes with his hands and laughs, “to hide the scheduled opener’s tour bus and then pop into the venue in their place at the time they were supposed to perform.”

The whole band laughs at this - clearly it is a favourite theory amongst them. Peters adds, though, that it was clearly an unfounded theory given that “Julie doesn’t have any ghost powers, anyways. That’s why it’s Julie and the Phantoms. But I’d kill for ghost powers in real life.” When I ask what he’d use them for, though, he seems stumped. “I think it would just be cool to walk through walls.” We’re with you on that one, Reggie!

But what actually did happen to get them into the coveted opening spot at The Orpheum? Molina gives me a modest smile when I ask. “We were honestly just in the right place at the right time,” she explains.

Patterson picks up the story from there with a little bit more flair, telling me that the opening band had actually gotten food poisoning - “from a street dog vendor, believe it or not” - and the manager of the Orpheum happened to be familiar with the Julie and the Phantoms YouTube page.

“Since we were local,” Peters explains, “It was just a phone call. And then suddenly we were on stage doing a proper professional soundcheck for the first time in our lives.”

“Everything moved so fast after that,” Patterson adds. Each of his bandmates nod in agreement as he speaks. “We blinked and we were on a tour bus, suddenly.”

It seems that the band is handling the change well, though.

“It’s definitely different,” Molina tells me. “We have to be responsible for our own school and make sure we’re turning in assignments on time. There’s a lot of driving and a lot of time to kill. We can get on each other’s nerves quite a bit, but there’s always a lot of time for songwriting, too.”

When I prompt her about who gets on who’s nerves, the whole band turns in tandem to look at Luke. He laughs and shrugs at me. “I’m an early riser,” he explains. “I like music in my hands twenty-four seven. I always have my guitar, but it isn’t always appreciated.”

“We’ve had to compromise,” Mercer says with a long-suffering sigh. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was the oldest of the group. “Luke isn’t allowed to start playing music until eleven in the morning the day after a show.”

As for being on tour with Panic!, none of them seem all too bothered by the fame of the headliners. “They’re really cool,” Peters explains to me. “They’ve been doing this a long time and they always have advice for us which I think we really value right now.”

Otherwise, though, the band seems to keep to themselves. When asked about their favouirte hobbies, Peters speaks at length about Star Wars. “I can’t watch the prequels before bed,” he says. His bandmates groan and shake their heads, although he seems unbothered. “Jar-Jar gives me nightmares.”

Other than Star Wars, “We try to make sure we get time and space for ourselves every day,” Molina says. “It’s a lot of us in a small space, and if we don’t get away from each other for a bit we argue a lot more.”

When I ask each of them who their favourite bandmate is to live with, all the boys say Julie and then turn expectantly for her answer. “I suppose Flynn doesn’t count as a bandmate,” she said with a sigh. “Probably Alex, but we live together normally so it’s not something that’s new.”

Mercer confirms this piece of information with a nod and a smile. “I prefer sharing a room with your brother to sharing a bus with you, though,” he says to Julie. She just rolls her eyes.

When pushed, Mercer elaborates a little bit. “I’ve been living with Julie’s family for my senior year. It’s a better environment for me and is much closer to our school than where I lived. My parents are happy that it gives me more time to focus on school.”

Since I have Mercer’s attention now, I ask him a question I’ve been dying to know the answer to. Does he know what a role model he is to gay and questioning children and teens that get to see him be himself so publicly?

As all the boys have been doing, he looks to Julie before answering. “I don’t think about it much, to be honest,” he says candidly. “If people think I’m a role model then I’m glad, but I’m just me. And being gay is part of me, a part of me that’s always been completely accepted by my band, just like my drumming or my singing.”

There was no tension, the band members explain, upon finding out about Alex’s sexuality. “No one was surprised when Alex came out,” Patterson adds. “We were only, like, twelve when he came out to us, anyway. It’s just a fact about who he is. Like, Alex is gay and hates mornings and I play the guitar and love mornings and we’re best friends.”

“Plus, I’m bisexual,” Peters adds, “So it would be hypocritical to have a problem with Alex.”

“I’m pansexual,” Patterson pipes up again. “And Alex being himself helped me figure out that part of myself.”

Molina doesn’t seem to have much to add. “Alex was already out when I met him,” she says. “It was never a surprise and someone’s sexuality shouldn’t be something that causes tension or makes people upset anyways.”

When I point out that it has seemed to cause some tension among fans, they all sigh. For unaware readers, the band has been stirring up quite the debate on Twitter and Instagram amongst fans and haters alike as to who is dating who. Patterson and Molina confirmed their relationship before going on tour and have been dating since before their band became popular. Recently, a Twitter user attending a Julie and the Phantoms meet and greet noted the closeness between Molina and Peters, causing fans to speculate that Molina is cheating on Patterson with Peters. When I ask if they'd like to address it, however, they all nod.

“Luke and I have been dating for a few months,” Julie says, “very happily. Neither of us have cheated on each other, nor would we ever. But we’re both also dating Reggie.”

When I ask for clarification, Peters adds, “I’m dating Luke and Julie, just like Julie is dating me and Luke and Luke is dating Julie and me.” Although it doesn’t sound clear, it does seem to be clear for them.

“We’d like people to give us our privacy, although we know that probably won’t happen,” Molina says. “We’re allowed to define our own relationships in the way that works for us, we don’t have to hold them up to anyone else’s expectations or preconceived notions of what a relationship should look like.”

When I ask if there’s anything they’d like to add before we wrap up, Patterson pipes up with a confident “Yes.”

“We’re Julie and the Phantoms,” he says, prompting Peters to follow up with “Tell your friends!”

Tell your friends, indeed. You can find Julie and the Phantoms everywhere that Panic! At the Disco is playing for the next four weeks.

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#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #jatp smau #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #flynn taylor #flynn lolastname #willie nolastname #jukebox #rukebox #juke #ruke #flarrie #willex

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

Note

yak who this is 😘 So ani and reader are undercover on a mission, and there’s some mutual pining, and they have to play a couple for this and i’ll let you decide from there

I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS HAS SIT HERE FOR AS LONG AS IT HAS.

It’s also like 4000 words for which I offer up no apologies.

No warnings apply. @workitholland

“The two of you will be sent to Corellia,” Mace Windu said without room for argument.

“Spy on the locals, you shall. Learn about the secret ship trading, you must,” Master Yoda said gravely.

You cast a glimpse towards the Jedi Knight beside you. “If we are to spy, we cannot be seen as Jedi, I’m assuming.”

“No, you are not,” Mace replied, folding his arms.

“Undercover, you shall go. The cover story, up to you it is. Find the information, you must. Details, we need not ask for,” Master Yoda said.

The Council stared at you in silence for a moment.

“I know this goes without saying, but your mission is secret. Tell no one,” Mace said in a serious tone.

“Yes, Masters,” you replied, bowing politely before excusing yourself from the room along with your new partner.

You studied him as you exited the room, remembering how close you had been as padawans, having drifted since the war started and put you on different paths. That didn’t mean you hadn’t kept up with the man’s lucrative career. He was a Holonet star in his own right by now, a fact that was not lost on you.

“How are we going to go about this, Master Skywalker?” you asked, turning a keen eye on him.

He seemed to wither under your scrutiny for a moment before regaining his bravado, “You mean our cover stories?”

“We could be siblings,” you proffered.

“Or lovers,” he said with a sly smirk. “We could be on Corellia for our honeymoon.”

“It isn’t a very romantic destination,” you replied. “Pirates and thugs everywhere.”

“Romance can happen under any conditions,” he replied as he got to the transport that the Council had prepared for you.

“Very well,” you sighed, but you couldn’t help the slight tinge of blush on your cheeks.

The two of you made your way up into the craft, settling in to pilot it. In order to remove suspicion, you were to make a series of jumps instead of flying straight from Coruscant. While in hyperspace, you found civilian clothes and changed. It felt strange to be out of your robes. They were as much a part of you as your lightsaber in a way, an outward expression of your devotion to the order. Looking in the mirror, you turned this way and that trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness you felt.

“You don’t look as bad as you think you do,” Anakin said.

You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to see him leaning against the doorway behind you. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t always wear the robes.”

“No, but I find that the robes sometimes strip us of our individuality,” he replied, coming over to stand behind you. Gently he turned you back towards the mirror, resting a hand on your shoulders, “It downplays beauty and handsomeness in order to safeguard against pride. There is nothing wrong with the way you look.”

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, the moment felt charged. His hands on your bare shoulders were hot, making you wish for the layers of your robes to protect you from the intimacy of it all. “How long before we land?”

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace soon,” he replied, dropping his hands from your shoulders. “From there it’ll just be a short while until we touch down in the capital.”

You nodded, “Aren’t I lucky to have a husband who is such a good pilot.”

A playful smirk flitted across his face at your teasing. “Listen, angel, your husband is not just good. He’s the best.”

“A change of clothes for you could never hide your pride,” you shot back with a chuckle.

Anakin shrugged, the smile dropping from his face at your remark as he thought about how many times he’d been chastised by Obi-Wan for saying such things, “Many have tried.”

You watched as he walked out of the room, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror before joining him just as the ship dropped out of hyperspace.

The space in front of the planet was cluttered with ships.

“It’s almost as if they have a battle of their own,” you murmured as Anakin guided the craft through shipping lanes.

“It’s one of the busier ports in the galaxy. The fact that it’s also responsible for building a lot of ships probably doesn’t help the clutter,” he explained as he took the ship into the atmosphere.

You’d never been to Corellia before, and therefore didn’t know what to expect. It was as if there were a little bit of everywhere in the galaxy on one planet, visually. Having spent most of your time on Coruscant while you were growing up, it still felt odd to see cities that sprawled out instead of up.

As if it were almost second nature to him, Anakin gracefully landed the ship in a busy space port.

“Are you sure its safe to leave the ship here?” you asked as you glanced around at some seedy people eyeing up your ship.

“Well, unless you have a better idea,” he shot back as he got out of his chair.

A grimace settled on your face. “Just.... lock the ship up after we leave.”

Anakin rolled his eyes as the two of you left the ship and went towards town.

Your senses were overwhelmed when you stepped out onto the busy street. There were so many sights, smells, and sounds, not to mention people bustling and jostling you every which way. Anakin reached out to take your hand when the crowd started to separate the two of you.

“Stay close,” he said. “I don’t want to have to go looking for you.”

“R-right,” you stammered as you felt how warm and safe his hand felt around yours. “We should find lodgings.”

Anakin nodded and started to tug you down the street towards an inn. You were lucky enough that they had one room left. As you settled in for a meal, the two of you listened closely to the discussions around you.

“The group in the corner,” you murmured.

“What about them?” Anakin asked, tilting his eating utensil slightly to see the group in the silver.

“They’re pirates, talking about smuggling crafts. I heard them when I passed by earlier to use the refresher,” you murmured. “They also mentioned a race. It’s a front. The Hutt who sponsors the race takes possession of the winner. The fastest racer is then given a new ship and told to fly to a neighboring planet for a race that never happens. The pirates intercept the ship and sell it on the black market and the racers are never heard from again. The Hutt tells the people that they left Corellia to race in better places and were killed in a racing accident.”

Anakin’s eyes squinted as he studied them, “How often does this happen?”

“Once a year,” you replied, taking a sip of your soup. “If they did it any more often, they’d get suspicious.”

“And I’m assuming the ship the winner receives is whatever the latest model is from the shops,” Anakin murmured darkly.

“With the newest technology,” you replied. “Presumably it’s then sold to rival manufacturers who take the secrets and make their own versions. The Hutt is then sold the new ships at a cheaper price than what the Corellians would have charged, as well as given a bit of a bonus as a thank you for doing business.”

“Intellectual property theft isn’t exactly a crime we concern ourselves with,” he said thoughtfully.

“It is when the ships are currently being sold to the Separatists,” you shot back.

“When’s the race?” Anakin asked in amusement.

“Tomorrow,” you replied. “Why?”

“That should be enough time,” he said with a nod, getting up from the table.

“Enough time for what?” you asked incredulously.

He gave you a smile and a wink before leaving you alone at the table.

You sighed, “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

After gulping down the rest of your soup, you rushed back to the room the two of you were sharing and gave your report to the council.

“Very good,” Mace said. “See if you can find out more information about this year’s model, that way we can hope to figure out what new advances the Separatists will have. Then come home.”

“Yes, Master,” you said, bowing as the call disconnected.

The early morning rays streamed in through the window. You’d missed your opportunity to sleep, and Anakin was still missing. You sat on the only bed in the room as you contemplated how you would go about finding that new information when Anakin returned.

“Why are you covered in grease?” you asked as he headed towards the refresher.

“I was working on a ship,” he shrugged.

“There’s nothing wrong with our ship,” you said, getting up to follow him.

“I said a ship, not our ship,” he replied as he started to strip in front of you.

You turned to the side to give him some privacy, your cheeks getting hot. “Anakin, what are you doing?”

“I can’t race without a ship,” he said as he stepped into the steamy column. “I can’t use ours in case it gets damaged.”

“You’re not racing, period,” you replied.

“I already paid the entrance fee,” he replied.

Your mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can win,” he shot back.

“That isn’t the point!” you replied with a groan before slamming the door shut and returning to your room.

Your feet were insistent as they paced back and forth along the room waiting for him to come back out. When he finally emerged, you were all roiled up.

“Anakin, you cannot race. I forbid it!” you said finally.

His eyes narrowed at you, “Oh, you forbid it? Well, then I guess I’ll just stay here!”

You scoffed. “It’s dangerous, not to mention it’s not part of the mission. You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s racing, of course I have to! I’ll be fine. I’m doing this,” he said, pointing at you, “and you... you’re not my actual spouse. You don’t get to decide this. ”

“Of course I’m not your actual spouse,” you shot back, “Like this farce of a relationship could actually work out in the real world. You’re too impulsive and you don’t think about any of the consequences of your actions. Or who you hurt.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Anakin looked as though you had stricken him. “The race is in an hour. I don’t expect you to come, and I don’t need you to,” he mumbled before walking past you and out the door.

As the door closed behind him, your knees gave out and you sat on the bed. That burst of outrage was so unlike you, and in truth, you weren’t actually angry. You were worried. You held your head in your hands, unsure why you were so worried. Anakin was a great pilot. He was more than capable of handling himself, and yet you didn’t want him to race. Was it because it went against your mission’s directive? Or was it out of concern for his safety? Or... perhaps... you wondered softly, if it was something much deeper.

What you did know was that you couldn’t just sit in this room and not know what was happening. With a sigh, you went to the races. At the very least, perhaps you’d find out more about this new ship while you were there.

The crowd was charged as they waited for the race to begin. You scanned the line of racers to find Anakin, eventually catching sight of him towards the middle of the pack. Taking a steadying breath, you let yourself fade into the background. You were just an innocent bystander. Nothing to see, but unbeknownst to all, listening to everything.

Anakin tightened his hands on the controls, feeling a bit of anger bubble in his chest. At the root of it all, though, was hurt. Hurt that the one person who’s opinion mattered the most didn’t support him, didn’t believe in him. He looked out towards the crowd, hopelessly looking for you. When he found you hidden between some Wookies, a smile came to his face.

They came, he thought. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned his attention back to the race. The track wasn’t large, at least, not by Tatooine’s standards, but it was still formidable. He flexed his fingers as he waited for the countdown, connecting with his machine like he used to with his pod racer. The lights flashed as engines revved before finally, it was showtime.

Now this is pod racing, he thought as he shot out from the starting line.

You heard the people around you talking about the new ships, having entrenched yourself in a group of shipbuilders if their uniforms were to be believed. Soon enough, you knew everything you needed for the council. Turning your attention back to the race, you saw Anakin weaving dangerously in and out of the crowd of racers.

It was as if your feet moved on their own accord, running towards the boundary until you pressed flush against it, your eyes tracking every movement he made. Your hands tightened on the rail in anticipation when one racer cut him off and sent him into a tail spin.

Anakin quickly recovered, muttering Huttese under his breath as he course-corrected. His eyes found you and saw your nervous face. He sighed, feeling guilty at how upset he made you. He wanted to be the hero, the winner, to prove he could do it. But... he also knew what was more important: you. He didn’t have to prove anything to these people about his flying skills. He had to prove to you that he didn’t mean what he said earlier. He did care what you thought. So, he did something that shocked you. He threw the race.

As he pulled into the finish line, you hopped the barricade and ran towards him. Your arms encircled him and held him close. He crushed you back.

“You’re an idiot!” you said as tears of relief stung your eyes.

Anakin let his shoulders relax as he held you close. “I’m sorry.”

“I got the information we need,” you sniffed. “Let’s just go back and get some rest. Neither of us got any sleep last night.”

He slowly released you and followed you back to the inn.

You kicked off your shoes next to your bag and disarmed yourself before getting into bed as he walked towards the bathroom to freshen up.

Slipping into the sheets, you buried yourself under the blankets hoping to find a false sense of security, or at least a rationalization for your feelings. When Anakin had almost gotten hurt earlier, it felt as though your heart had dropped into your stomach. You should unpack that, but you couldn’t. Not right now, at least. Instead, your mind drifted to all the late nights the two of you shared as younglings, talking about your hopes and dreams. You remembered talking about what kind of Jedi you wanted to be. With a wistful sigh, you realized it was nothing like the Jedi the two of you had actually become.

The bed shifted softly behind you as a warm body slipped into it.

“Credit for your thoughts?” he murmured.

“How’d you know I was still awake?” you asked.

“I could feel your uncertainty from across the room. Anyone feeling like that isn’t sleeping,” he replied, propping up on his elbow and turning towards you.

You turned back, pleasantly shocked to find yourself staring at his bare chest. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“I get hot when I sleep,” he shrugged.

You swallowed and nodded, trying to settle your gaze anywhere but on the set of abs in front of you. “Do you ever think about what we wanted to be when we were younger and how we turned out?”

Anakin’s brow furrowed, “I was a slave and I dreamed of seeing the galaxy. I got my wish.”

“Not that young,” you said with a slight smile, reaching outs to smooth his brow. “Remember when we were padawans and we talked about what we wanted to do?”

“I remember you talking about how badly you wanted to work in the library with Master Nu and me calling you boring for not wanting a life of adventure,” he teased.

“Well, I doubt I’ll ever cease having adventures at this point,” you sighed.

“War changes a person,” he said solemnly.

“I don’t know if I’d ever be content to hide in the library again,” you admitted, “Not when I know everything that’s out there. All the pain... cruelty... things we should be working towards getting rid of.”

“You can’t save the galaxy,” he said sadly. “Sometimes you can’t even save one person.”

“Never hurts to try,” you replied, laying back down on your back.

He looked at you then, dragged his eyes down your face. Gently, he reached over to caress your cheek. “Is that what was keeping you up?”

You leaned into his touch, shutting your eyes. “No.” Keeping them closed, you murmured, “You’ve turned out to be remarkable.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he teased.

Your eyes opened, “I’m serious. I always admired you when we were younger. You were, are-” you corrected- “fearless. You were never afraid of doing what you wanted. I wish I had that same instinct.”

Anakin swallowed, looking down at the space between the two of you. “If you could do what you wanted, what would you do?”

Your eyes trailed his naked chest before making their way up to his face. You took in the slight stubble from the long day he had had. Then, your fingers reached up to touch. He looked up at you through his lashes, blue eyes like the endless sky that made you feel like you were soaring within them, falling up into the heavens. Gently, you traced your forefinger down the pink flesh of a scar long healed. He sucked in a breath as you let the hand trail down his face. Your thumb settled in the divot of his chin as the rest of your fingers reached up to settle on his cheek. Feeling bold, you let your thumb slide up to run across his bottom lip as your eyes settled on them.

“If I were fearless,” you said, softly, barely above a whisper, “I would kiss you.”

Hesitantly, you brought your eyes up to meet his to find his searing gaze holding you in place. There was a torment behind his eyes as you dangled a forbidden possibility in front of him. Your heart clenched at having done this to him, having burdened him with the knowledge of your affections. It wasn’t your fault that you felt this way, and it certainly wasn’t his.

“Good night, Ani,” you murmured before letting your hand fall from his face and turning away from him.

“No,” he said shakily, sliding his arm around you to turn you back towards him.

“N-no?” you stammered in confusion.

“You don’t get to just say that and then turn away as if nothing has happened,” he said, feeling impassioned. “You can’t tell me how you feel, touch me as tenderly as you have, and then give me a cold shoulder to calm your own conscience. Not...”he trailed off, licking his lips, “not without giving me the chance to respond.”

You felt frozen in place, fearful of the rejection you were sure would be coming. The chosen one, Anakin Skywalker, surely could never want someone like you, could he? His victories inspired hope. He was the face of the Republic while Master Kenobi was the face of the Order. You were a nobody in comparison.

“I used to always be so tired when we were younger,” he explained, “but, I was also homesick, too homesick to sleep. I always felt so far behind all the other padawans because I hadn’t grown up in the Order, going so far as to train every night. Yet, everyone always treated me like I was above them, like I was untouchable because of what I was, not who I was. Everyone except you. Do you remember when we first met?”

“You were going through the basic lightsaber forms and I told you that your footwork was wrong,” you replied.

“And then you taught me the actual way to do things,” he replied. “You trained with me when no one else would approach me. You were one of my first friends.”

Friends. Your heart sank into a sadness of knowing that this was how it should be, and that you were foolish to get your hopes up.

“And then we drifted and I realized how much I missed you,” he added. “More than I’ve ever missed a friend. I’d see you across the Temple when were both there and I couldn’t meet your eyes because I knew I’d lose myself in them. You always think you can just slip into the background and hide from even yourself, but you don’t with me. You are all I can think about when life gets dark. You’re my light. When I think a battle is hopeless, I remember that I’d rather have you read about my victory instead of reading my name on the list of those who have fallen.”

You swallowed, turning your head away to hide the emotion in your eyes.

He reached out with the metal hand he so despised and tenderly turned you back to him. “Thoughts of you consume.”

In that moment, you came to the realization that the star that was Anakin Skywalker not only burned ever so brightly as to illuminate the entire galaxy, but that he burned for you.

Your mouth went dry.

“I’m not a hero without fear,” he admitted, “I have so many fears, but my biggest fear is losing you.”

Your eyes softened as you reached up to cup his cheek, “You’ll never lose me, Ani.”

He leaned into your touch, slowly closing his eyes to savor the moment, “But... I’m not afraid to do this,” he said before pulling you close. His lips pressed firmly to yours and you felt like your bodies were in tune with each other. You molded yourself into him, feeling the force flow freely between the two of you. All were connected through the force, but this rivaled anything you’d ever felt before. Electricity danced over your skin as his touch sent sparks down your spine. Your hands explored the flat planes of his chest, as his hands slipped up your arms, just as warm as earlier. His heat enveloped you as you lost yourself in him until you didn’t know where Anakin ended and you began. In the back of your mind, you knew that this wasn’t something you should be doing. This wasn’t the type of Jedi you should be, but it was the type of Jedi you had become.

War changes people.

The thought echoed in your head.

War reminds us what’s really important. War shows us what we are afraid to lose. War shows us how far from our ideals we’re willing to fall in order to win.

War shows us where love can be found, because the opposite of war is not peace.

The opposite of war is creation.

The opposite of war is love.

The trip back to the Temple was easy. Living with the knowledge of what had transpired on Corellia was not.

As you walked down the ramp, his hand brushed yours, barely holding it. The Council would be waiting for you in the tower spire looming above you. You’d debrief and then you’d be sent on your separate ways.

A small smile settled on your face as Anakin beamed like a god of the sun. His warmth radiated through you and you knew.

Physical difference wouldn’t alter the emotional closeness you’d found on Corellia. You would always be with each other.

#Anakin Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker x Reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #Anakin Skywalker x you #star wars #anakin imagine

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Oh, can I please ask for one of your folklore prompts? “And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want/just not home” my tears ricochet For a young Tony, maybe? It doesn't have to have a pairing if you don't want to. :)

A house and a home are different. Tony did not know this until he was in college, much to his surprise.

A house is somewhere you live. A central place that you come back to in between visits to other people or places or countries or anything else. It is not personal. It is something you use until you no longer see the need or the desire. You can move to a lot of them.

A home lingers. A home is where you smile late at night over drinks. It is where crumbs reside from last night’s takeout, and you spend lazy Sundays.

(Tony also didn’t know what that was either.)

He’s lived in a lot of houses. He has a lot of houses. There’s the one in New York that is looming and lonely and probably would be his least favorite except it’s in New York, which earns it its redemption.

There is sunny Malibu with its beaches and great views. There are a few others.

None of them are homes. It’s just a place to rest for a couple of months or a year or until Howard decides it’s not enough.

He gets to MIT and gets a dorm room, same as everyone else. It is pitifully sad, he gets sun only in the mornings, and that sucks. He kind of hates it. He guesses that’s the college experience.

He also has a roommate. Jarvis had told him it’d be good for him, and Tony had had to talk Howard out of about twenty-seven different legal documents that basically said “if you ever breathe a word of anything to anyone, you’re being legally sued.”

James Rhodes. Literally studying to become a rocket scientist, has questionable taste in posters, and waves at Tony when they meet each other.

“Call me Jim.”

“...Jim. Are you eighty or something?”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say. It definitely is the wrong thing to say by Jarvis’ raised eyebrows and down-turned frown.

But James Rhodes takes it in stride.

“You can call me something else if you want, but it has to be good and I have to approve it. Can’t be my last name, can’t be Jimmy. Anything else is fair game.”

Different reaction. That’s...that’s weird.

So Tony shrugs, smiles as Jarvis leaves, and realizes that he’s alone and Howard doesn’t really have an influence--except he does, god he does--and Tony asks James Rhodes if he’d like to get pizza.

“You know anywhere with good pizza?”

“Wanna find out if Hemingway’s is any good?”

“It’s either going to be artisan hipster or the worst. Hell yes.”

It’s artisan hipster. It is bad, and James laughs as he tells a story and burns his tongue when he’s reenacting his mother is chewing him out, using his full name, and:

“Rhodey,” Tony gasps out.

“I told you that you couldn’t use my last name!”

“It’s technically not your last name, sugar plum,” Tony mocks, using one of his mother’s nicknames against him. “You are forever now Rhodey. Forever.”

From there, friendship progresses. Tony’s never actually had a real friend before, not that he tells Rhodey that. Besides, Rhodey probably knows. Tony just automatically assumes he’s paying for everything, and he’s not sure what to do with genuine affection for a couple of months.

He looks at Rhodey with such love and affection. He does, really. Rhodey has created a whole new world for him.

And then, the holidays.

Thanksgiving is Tony’s least-favorite-holiday for a variety of reasons. It’s all a fake kind of gathering. “Coming together to celebrate gratefulness” is the biggest goddamn crock of bullshit he’s ever cooked in his life, and for once his family isn’t doing a PR stunt, so his mother has announced that he’s welcome to be back home, but they won’t be there.

Howard is taking Jarvis with him on a trip to England to visit Aunt Peggy and probably talk shop about Cap and ice and stupid fucking theories about the degree of alive he’ll be when he’s found.

(When. What pretentious bullshit.)

Tony doesn’t want to be alone in the house, because that’d suck shit and MIT would be better. At least he could make shitty ramen and cry and only get a noise complaint instead of one of the cleaning staff members saying that he probably needed therapy.

“You are not staying in the dorms, what the fuck man,” Rhodey says. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Now darling, I thought you said we weren’t going to be forward about this whole thing,” he purrs, putting on an old Hollywood accent. “Are you finally coming up and seeing me?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be as forward as I want,” he decides, and Tony wishes he wouldn’t say things like that, because that seriously get’s a man’s heart rising. “Besides, I told you that you need to have my Aunt Kendra’s rolls, and that’s a promise. So, Thanksgiving is now with the Rhodes’ family.”

Tony doesn’t know if they know that he’s coming. He also doesn’t know the dress code, and Rhodey is absolutely no help.

“What do you mean by casual?” Tony squawks. “Is it business casual? Dressy casual? Jeans casual?”

“What do any of those mean?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to look like a failure at this shindig. Your mother will die over her cooking because I’ll pull out of the wrong wardrobe and be a fool. I’ll die, and you’ll have to bury me, and you won’t even know which outfit I’ll want. God, this is going to--”

Rhodey shuts him up, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Just wear your red turtleneck and your dark jeans or whatever. That looks nice.”

“You noticed?”

“You don’t give me as much credit as I deserve,” Rhodey grunts. “Early wake-up on Monday. I’ll supply coffee as long as you give me gas money.”

“I’ll give you anything for coffee. I’ll give you my hand in marriage for coffee.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhodey teases. “I might actually do that.”

God, I wish you would.

Rhodey’s house is a nice place, a wire fence bordering with a porch swing covered in a light dusting of snow, and swinging slightly with the wind that blows through the neighborhood.

There are quite a lot of cars parked in the driveway and in the street, and Tony can see at least six people inside the house, which is more family than he actually knows on either side.

It’s all warm and yellow, and Rhodey moves with an ease that Tony didn’t know happened outside of those cheesy family shows.

He throws open the door and there are shouts of joy and happiness and “Jimmy-boy!”

“I didn’t know Jimmy-boy was on the table,” Tony remarks dryly. “And here it’s been for months, Jimmy-boy.”

Rhodey groans.

“This is worse than Rhodey,” he mutters.

A woman who could only be his mother steps forward, grinning.

“Call me Mama, darling. And what’s this I hear about ‘Rhodey’?”

“He burnt his tongue on pizza while telling me about a time he got a well-deserved talking-to by your own graceful words, Mrs. Rhodes,” Tony says. He’s charming. Oh, he’s very charming.

She giggles.

“I said mama, but I can’t say I’ll mind too much when you talk like that. Jim, you should’ve had us meet earlier.”

“You see I would’ve, but I happen to value myself,” Rhodey says.

“You do?” a man says. Mr. Rhodes, tall and a smile that could put any of the fake veneers in Hollywood to shame. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Rhodey gets pulled into a hug, and he laughs, and Tony has the Distinct Memory that He’s Never Been Hugged by his Father.

Well, isn’t this a time to realize family inadequacies!

“Rhodey, light of my life, where am I setting up my suitcase?” Tony asks.

“Come on up with me. We’re sleeping in my room, hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, and Tony smiles when he sees Rhodey’s room.

He loves it. It’s decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a peeling Star Wars poster that has most definitely been needed to be thrown away for more than five years (but won’t be), and a few trophies from soccer.

Tony’s never had his own room decorated with anything but the current trends, his mother hand-picking his comforter and the decorations in his room. And they all say he’s so “fashionable” and “keeps an eye out for trends.”

(Ha.)

It’s odd for him to see a house look so...lived in.

“Welcome home,” Rhodey says. “I haven’t grabbed it yet, but I’ll use a sleeping bag and you can take the bed.”

Tony snorts.

“No way, honeybee. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’ve shared a bed before, this is no different.”

"Only if you’re sure,” Rhodey says, smiling at him. “This is a bit different than both twin beds being crashed together because we wanted more space for the fridge.”

“This time we don’t have the fridge,” Tony quips as Rhodey laughs.

“Come on, let’s head downstairs. Mama’s probably gonna have us wash dishes or something. Maybe set up some more chairs.”

What actually happens is that their laundry machine has gone rebel-mode, and is currently trying it’s best to fling the door open and spew laundry everywhere.

“Shit,” Mr. Rhodes says, looking at it. “Another call to the repairman this month...”

“He won’t get here until a week after Thanksgiving,” Mama says, sighing. “How much do you mind your jeans freezing up a bit?”

He smiles a bit at his wife.

Tony’s never seen that. But he likes it.

“I can fix it,” he says. Family turns to him. This is all quite embarrassing. “I, uh, I’ve taken apart some washing machines before. I think I can figure it out, if you don’t mind me poking around.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Mama says. “Jimmy, I like this one.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll go get the toolkit for you. Need anything?”

“Towels and you, honey-pie.”

“You get one out of two of those options.”

“You treat me like a vagrant,” Tony declares. Rhodey laughs as he heads to go get supplies.

The night goes on. People occasionally check in, and Rhodey assures them that it’s going well.

“Instruction manuals are such bullshit,” Tony says. “Half the time they’re written by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it themselves. The other half, no one uses them.”

“Well when you take over your company, write better instruction manuals,” Rhodey says. “Pass me a towel, things are about to get sudsy.”

Forty-five minutes later, the washing machine is probably doing better than it was even at production, and Tony gets a kiss on the cheek and cheers all around him.

“This calls for cookies,” Rhodey declares. “Tony, let’s go get some.”

They sit at the kitchen table, and Tony learns so much about Rhodey’s family. He sees him laugh and relax and tell the funniest stories about when he was little and got stuck in a tree.

It’s home. That’s how he finally understands it. Home where you keep on going long after, with people you love.

He doesn’t have one of those.

He thinks, maybe, that he could make a home of his own. Maybe he could have AC/DC posters lining a wall, or have the pictures of friends and vacation in the kitchen.

And Rhodey would be there. For now, he’s going to enjoy his hot chocolate and try to get more embarrassing stories about his best friend from his family.

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #the difference between a house and a home #mit era #rhodey #tony stark #jarvis #anyways yeah i don't think tony would actually know what a home looks like #he's Deficient

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Past Memories.”

This idea came to me this morning and I just couldn’t resist getting a start on it.

Darkness seeped in through the viewing window. Little pinpricks of light seemed cold and distant in the darkness, as stars glowed billions of lightyears away, like fireflies trapped in ink. Admiral Vir sat at the helm of his ship bleary eyed and exhausted. At his feet, Waffles yawned dramatically all 42 of her shiny bone-white teeth.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” he muttered, rubbing the side of his head with one hand.

He turned to look towards the communications officer who had made the decision to wake him up at two in the morning with cryptic words about some sort of signal. He learned forward in his seat, “Please tell me you woke me up for nothing and I can go back to bed.”

The Comms officer shook her head sadly, “Sorry sir, but that isn’t going to be an option.” She pressed a button, and before him, his screen lit up with an eerie blue light to wash over his face.

A weak signal pinged just outside their range of detection, a range that was rather far thanks to the Finnari reverse engineering Gnar’lak technology and adding it to the ship.

“It’s a distress signal, sir.”

A cold shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the last time the crew had answered a distress signal.

“Alright.”

He turned to look down at the ship controls, and tweaked their course just slightly to head in the direction of the signal.

“Tell me if you get anything else.

“Do you want me to hail them, sir.”

“Yes.”

She turned back to her console, “Unknown vessel this is the UNSC Omen, please respond.”

When she let off, there was only static over the line. A distant rushing that made the shiver return to him. A cold hand seemed to grip him from behind, and he couldn't help but turn only to find nothing.

She continued t try.

“Sorry sir, they aren’t answering.”

He cursed under his breath. He had seen this before. He remembered how it ended and it wasn’t good.

It took thirty minutes before they made visual contact with the vessel. Looking out the window he could see that it was dark, foreboding. None of it’s engines were running, but it continued to spin slowly through space suggesting that it’s stabilizers were shot.

“Get Alpha team up and prepare a boarding shuttle.”

“Yes sir.”

He stood from his seat, ordering one of the night lieutenants to take command for him as he moved down towards the cargo bay. He didn’t like this at all

A distress signal out in the middle of space, a seemingly derelict ship.

He didn’t like to think about what that could mean.

He reached the docking bay about the same time as a couple of bleary marines. None of these men were new to the ship, as the Alpha team consisted of some of his oldest and most trusted soldiers, Ramirez, Maverick, Jackie, CJ - to name a few.

Ramirez -- team leader -- jogged forward boots clattering over the floor, “What’s going on. We heard something about a distress signal.”

Admiral Vir nodded, reaching into his designated gear locker and pulling on the black and grey ACUs over his thin nightclothes, “Distress signal, derelict ship, and no response over comms.”

Ramirez and Maverick both frowned,

“Does that sound familiar to anyone, or is that just me.” Jackie muttered from behind.

Admiral Vir sighed and retrieved a rifle from the locker. The weapon looked the same as it might in any other human equipment locker except for at some point the Celzex had gotten a hold of them and now they were gravity stabilized, locked with the targeting systems on the helmets, and could potentially vaporize someone if you moved them to the right setting.

Off on the deck, the docking crew was readying a shuttle for them.

He switched his comms channel over to the Bridge network and asked if they heard anything from the distress signal. Of course they hadn’t which didn’t exactly bode well.

“What kind of ship is it?” Ramirez asked.

“Looks like a Kree model to me.”

“Are we authorized to work with the Kree after the debacle with the burg war?”

He sighed, “Technically we are authorized to help Satan if he decided to show up and ask for help fixing his engines.”

“Anyone want to take a bet on what we are going to find on the ship.” Ramirez said dryly, “Ghosts, cannibals, zombies.”

“My bet is on vampires.” Maverick interjected, “Because that is exactly what we need in our lives right now.”

Admiral Vir Rested the rifle against the Tac sling as he walked towards the shuttle, “Let's get this over with.”

Ramirez chuckled as the marines followed him onto the ship, “You know, you are the Admiral, which technically means that you are above these sort of missions.”

“The day I give up field work is the day I shoot myself out the airlock.”

The group of marines laughed, though it was a rather forced laugh as the admiral took his seat in the pilot’s chair. A few of them tried to take up another line of conversation, but the attempts soon died out, and the shuttle went quiet except for the rattling of metal and the vibration of the engines.

Admiral Vir slowly approached the derelict as it spun through space. There was no sign of life as far as he could see, and so he continued forward, using sensors to scan the hull. It showed no activity in the engines though the life support was still running. Or at least there was still some sort of atmosphere inside the ship.

IT only took him one try to dock their little shuttle against the Kree ship, and they connected to the airlock with a soft cachunk.

Still silence.

He tried to shake off the feeling of being watched, though the darkness outside the shuttle seemed to deapen. He took a deep breath.

He was over that part of his life, there was no reason for it to come back to haunt him again, though as he turned around to look at the others, he noted the expressions on their faces seemed to suggest that they too were reliving the last time something like this had happened.

He motioned towards the door, and with the practiced ease of a group of people who had done this one too many times, they moved over towards the airlock door. He moved with them keeping to the back of the group as Ramirez pulled on his gas mask.

The scans told them that there was atmosphere and pressure inside the ship, but whether the air was breathable or not was another question. The masks should filter the air they needed for long enough to figure that out and get back to safety if they had to.

With his position at the back of the group, he kept an eye on the life support readout as the door opened. The change in pressure hit them as a great gust of air, though there was only a slight change in atmospheric reading on his implants. The interior of the ship was dark, like he was staring into the bowls of some long forgotten cave.

“Any lifesign readouts?” Ramirez whispered

“Not that I’m getting.” Adam said glancing down at his implant as flashlights flicked on around him. They swept their beams of light over the interior of the ship, but found nothing.

They had done this before.

From where he was at the back of the group, he could see the hair raising on the back of the marine’s necks as they moved forward into darkness. Despite knowing that the only thing behind him was his own shuttle, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder towards the receding darkness at his back.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t good.

A distant buzzing began in the back of his head as he moved forward.

His heart hammered in his chest inching him ever closer to panic. None of the other marines seemed to feel it.

“Clear.”

They kept moving forward, and it didn’t take them long to clear the small Kree ship.

He remained in the hall with Maverick as the others cleared the second to last room.

He stood watching the doorway, but something caught him out of the corner of his eyes. His head flicked sideways assuming that he had seen a figure pass by him in the darkness, but as he did the figure was gone.

He glanced over at Maverick who was looking at him with concern.

“Did you, see that?” He wondered

Out of all the people on the ship, he knew Maverick would be able to tell.

She inched across the hall to stand next to him and leaned over in his ear, “I felt something.” She whispered, “But… not like…. You know… that other time.”

She was right of course, this was nothing in comparison to that day on the civilian transport, but still there was something familiar about it.

The rest of the marines filed out of the room and they began their journey up the hall.

Light rolled over the steel doorways until, “Admiral, we have a body.” Ramirez said from the front

“Shit.” He muttered, ‘What kind.”

“It’s kree, I think.” HE stepped forward to let their team medic take a look. He knelt on the floor as Ramirez shone his light forward, “I've got a couple more bodies over here, sir.”

The medic looked up from where he was working, “It’s Kree sir, but not one of the voiced or the voiceless.”

Admiral Vir moved forward slightly to get a look himself, and looking down at the cold, unmoving body he could see the marine was right. This creature was a Kree, though it had no wings like it’s other counterparts. They had met this type of Kree once before in conflict, though they had not met since then.

“Is it dead?”

The marine shook his head and then nodded, “I don’t know much about Kree anatomy sir, but it, well it isn’t breathing, and I am feeling no vascular movement below the skin, so I would say yes.”

“Someone stay back beside the door.” he ordered motioning Ramirez to continue further onto the ship.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up again. The feeling that rose inside him was the kind you get when seeing a snake hissing through the grass, or hearing a noise in your house at night when you know you are alone.

Every nerve in his body was buzzing.

“More dead over here, sir. Looks like the whole crew.”

That may have been what it looked like, but he was very wary about assuming someone was dead without actual proof. He may have gotten over the last incident, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.

“Any idea what they died from?” he wondered

“No idea, sir.”

“Well, call back to the ship, and get a hazmat team and a DECOM station ready. If this was some sort of alien virus, I want to make sure that we aren’t going to spread it to the rest of the ship. Have one of the docking bay prepared to have her brought on board, and call in to get the morgue ready.”

“You want to bring them on the ship, Sir.”

“We have to figure out what happened here, it’s our job. But we will be taking every precaution.”

THey nodded in agreement, yes sir.”

They turned to leave towards the shuttle, him still in the back, paranoid more than ever.

He glanced over his shoulder.

And thought he saw a familiar pair of blue eyes wink at him from the darkness before vanishing.

***

He stared out the observation window frowning, arms wrapped around his chest. He had spent the last few hours overseeing the kree ship as it was brought into the docking bay and secured. The entire docking bay had been sealed and sterilized before the ship was brought in, anyone who had come in contact was immediately sterilized and tested for any contaminants before being released. The bodies were sealed in HAZMAT bags and they sprayed down before being brought to the morgue which was also sealed and decontaminated.

Until they determined the cause of death it was going to stay that way.

He continued to stare into the window looking at his reflection in the glass. A single green eye staring back at him.

Adam.

He nearly leaped out of his skin jerking violently to the side as he thought he saw a face appear in the reflection beside him. He turned but saw nothing there.

A cool breeze washed over his skin.

Hair stood up on the back of his neck.

He took a deep breath in and counted to seven before slowly releasing it.

At his feet Waffles had her head lifted and was staring off into the center of the room with an intense expression that only German Shepherds tend to have.

“See something, girl?” He wondered

But she only groaned and rested her head back on the floor.

He turned back to the window rubbing his hands over his arms. The soft hiss of the door opening nearly scared him out of his skin and he turned around to See sunny step into the room. He took another dep breath, and she eyed him.

“You look pale.”

He turned his head back to the viewing window, “You heard what happened?”

“Yeah, kind of strange.”

He nodded his head, arms still folded over his chest.

A hand gently slipped around his waist and he felt a tiny bit better as he was pulled up against Sunny’s side.

“You alright?”

He sighed, “Sunny…. Am I, Crazy?”

“Yeah.”

He looked up at her.

“Super crazy, like absolutely insane.”

He frowned, “I mean it sunny.”

Seeing the look on his face she stopped her teasing suddenly looking concerned, “Why do you think that.”

HE sighed and pressed a hand against his temples, “I…. Its nothing, I just… ever since I… ever since the incident with that civilian transport I…. sometimes I swear I see things, and every time I think its gone, it starts up again.”

She was silent for a moment. He rubbed his temples harder with one hand.

Gently she reached over and took that hand lacing her fingers through his, stopping his nervous rubbing, “I see, and what exactly do you see?”

He shrugged, “I…. well for the first little while I was seeing him everywhere.”

“Him?’

“The captain from the civilian transport. I would look in the mirror and see his face, see him in reflections, in the windows.”

She was quiet, listening.

“And then one night…. It was that night you came in and I…. I had just seen him again, but that time it felt, so real. He, it was like he was actually there talking to me, telling me to let go.”

She seemed surprised, “And you never told me?”

“I didn’t think it was important, I thought it was some sort of whacked out stress dream, and after that it… well it seemed like it stopped. I havent seen or dreamed about him in ages but…. Today just now I thought…” She pulled him closer wrapping both of her right arms around him.

“Adam, if you are really worried, there is always Dr. Adric.”

He grimaced a little, “You know how-”

“How you feel about psychiatrists, yeah I know, but if you are worried that seems to be your best option. However, in my unprofessional opinion….”

HE waited.

“I think its normal to be backsliding a bit. This whole incident reminded you of that. You are Stressed and paranoid, and the human mind likes to play tricks on you. I’ve spent enough time around humans to know that.”

He turned his head to look up at her, “You think so?”

“I do, but don’t use my opinion as an excuse if you are still worried.:

He sighed and nodded his head, “Alright…. Maybe I’ll get some sleep tonight, and see how I feel in the morning.”

It seemed reasonable enough, nothing had gone wrong, and everything on the ship was quiet.

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humandisasterskywalker · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Whump, Angst, No Beta We Die Like Clones, alternative universe - different masters, Miscommunication Series: Part 5 of Whumptober 2021 Summary:

Whumptober 2021

Day 5 - I'VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

betrayal & misunderstanding & broken nose

“What was it you said about him. That he was a ‘nuisance that trailed around your Master like a lost Tooka.’ That you’d ‘drop him back off on Tatooine if you could’. Don’t worry Obi Wan I’m sure all of us would be resentful about your Master’s supposed chosen one if we were in your position.”

“I’m just gonna go,” said a small voice.

Of Course Obi Wan had resented Anakin at the start. His Master had tried to throw away their new bond to take on Anakin instead. But he'd grown on him over the years. They had grown close. Not that Obi Wan had told his other friends that.

Obi Wan was sure he would never enjoy being in the council chambers. As an initiate when he feared not getting a master at all they were a place of potential failure. A place where his dreams could die. Where he would be rejected.

When he was a Padawan those very fears had become true within this chamber. His Master had been willing to throw away their new bond for the nine-year-old slave boy they had found on a mission to Tatooine. The council had rejected the move, reminding Qui-Gon Jinn of the responsibilities he had undertaken when accepting Obi Wan as a Padawan but he had never forgotten the feeling of rejection. Of his despair when he felt he was being cast aside.

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, Knight Kenobi, you may rise."

A Lightsaber flared and with a swing, his Padawan braid fell to the floor.

Obi Wan reached forward, picking up the braid before standing. The council was arrayed around him. They were smiling, Master Yoda in particular looked pleased, almost smug. As if some sort of plan had been seen to fruition.

Qui-Gon was stood in front of him, looking uncharacteristically emotional. Obi Wan smiled at him before presenting him with the braid. As difficult as the early years of their apprenticeship had been, as much as their relationship had never truly been repaired from that mission he could not help but appreciate that his Master had stuck with him ever since. That he had fulfilled his promise. That he had seen him through to Knighthood.

“You may go Knight Kenobi.” Master Windu said with a knowing smile. “I can sense your friends are already outside ready to celebrate.”

Obi Wan bowed to the council before turning and leaving the chamber.

As suggested there was a crowd of Senior Padawans and young Knights waiting just outside the door.

“I can’t believe you’ve done it!” Bant squealed, throwing her arms around him.

Obi Wan raised his eyebrows. “Did you have that little faith in me going into the trials?”

She pulled back, hitting him in the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it!”

Obi Wans face broke into a smile.

“I only meant that you’ve been self-deprecating ever since you became a Padawan and I am over the moon that you have finally proved yourself wrong.”

“You have subjected us to multiple monologues about how you were never going to be good enough to be a Knight” Greef agreed ruffling Obi Wans hair. “It did seem that you were you’re own worst enemy. None of us ever thought you’d have a problem, you always worked harder than any of us did.”

“Speak for yourself!” Bant laughed. “None of you have to spend hours on the wards in the Hall of Healers.”

Greef grinned at her “I apologise greatly Bant, please ensure that I still receive top notch treatment when I am dragged in after a mission.”

“You would be better off not having to come into the chambers at all.” She retorted.

Quinlan threw an arm around his shoulders. “Where are we going to celebrate then. I owe you revenge after the state you got me into after my Knighting.”

“I think you only have yourself to blame their Quin, no one said you had to do shots of all the spirits in that bar.” Obi Wan laughed.

“You issued it as a challenge. I do not say no to challenges.” Quinlan said his arm tightening around Obi Wans neck.

“And that challenge,” Bant interjected “Resulted in all of us back in the temple within hours with both of you making acquaintances with the fresher floor. Can’t we have a slightly quieter one this time?”

“Never! Quinlan crowed before tilting his head considering, “But then again, if we stayed out longer it might be possible to see what happens when you get beyond a couple of drinks Bant. No, I’ve changed my mind. We’ll do it your way.”

Obi Wan smiled as they began to bicker. It had been too long since they had all been at the Temple together. He had missed it.

“Congratulations are in order I hear.”

Obi Wan winced, turning towards Bruck Chun.

“Thank you Bruck”

“You must be very happy, not to have to put up with that brat from Tatooine trailing after you anymore. You can get away from him now that your not with a Master that cares more about him than you.”

“Piss off Bruck!” Greef growled.

“What, I’m just saying I’m impressed. It must be difficult to get knighted when your Master is more interested in someone else's apprentice.”

He smirked.

Obi Wans friends had gone quiet. Grey-faced.

“What Obi Wan, not willing to remember everything you complained about him. How you wished he was never found and was left in slavery.”

“I never said that!” Obi Wan snapped. “Yes I said I resented him, yes I said complained. I may have wished we never went to Tatooine and that I never met him, but I never wished he was still a Slave.”

Bruck looked triumphant.

“Obi-“ Bant sounded pained.

“I’m just gonna go.” Said a small voice.

Obi Wan whirled round. Anakin was standing off to the side, he hadn’t noticed him after he left the chamber, mobbed as he’d been by all his former creche-mates. Anakin's face was carefully blank. Obi Wan had never seen him display fewer emotions. Obi Wan could normally read him like a book, but now he couldn’t tell anything. It was like Anakin was shutting down.

He turned to leave, slipping behind the crowd and walking down the corridor.

“Anakin, Ani wait!”

Obi Wan pushed through the crowd, Brucks voice echoing behind him.

“Looks like you’ve managed to ruin another relation there Obi, what is it with you being unable to maintain any sort of connection.

“You absolute dick!” Quinlan shouted jumping at him.

Obi Wan ignored the sound of the scuffle, trying to chase down Anakin.

He had walked quickly, the door on the turbo-lift already closing. Obi Wan caught sight of his face before the door closed. It was like a knife being driven into his heart. Anakin had never looked that upset before, even in the early days when he was homesick. And it was all because of him.

Anakin was nothing if not predictable, and had a small list of places he tended to go when upset, so Obi-Wan had assumed he would be able to find him quickly.

He was wrong, Anakin wasn’t in his quarters and Master Koon had not seen him. He wasn’t in the quarters he shared, well used to share with Qui-Gon. He wasn’t in the Speeder or Starfighter hangers. He wasn’t in the mechanics' office. He wasn’t in the small area in the basement where the Temple kept their mouse droids.

He couldn’t find him.

Obi Wan let his feet take him towards the Room of a Thousand fountains. Anakin wouldn’t be there, he had always hated meditation. That was one of the things he used to complain about. When Anakin had first come to the Temple he used to disrupt Obi Wans attempts to meditate all the time, but over the years he had grown almost fond of the disruption. He expected it. Not that he’d ever told anyone.

He headed towards his favoured spot, an area near one of the waterfalls.

It was already filled.

Anakin sat with his back to him. He was sat in a meditative position but Obi Wan knew he wasn’t meditating. His body was vibrating with repressed tension.

“Was it true?” Anakin said without turning to him. “Was what Brock said true, did you say those things about me?”

Obi Wan sighed. He sat next to Anakin, staring into the water.

“No… It wasn’t… That. That is not how I said it!”

Anakin closed his eyes before nodding.

“So that's a yes.”

Obi Wan felt constricted as if he could barely breathe. He felt like something was collapsing, that he was losing something significant. A bond that he had never truly accepted, but was now being ripped away from him.

“Anakin it was years ago.” He said frantically, “When you first came to the temple. I was hurt from what my Master said and I took it out on you to my friends. It wasn’t true!”

“I thought you were a superhero.” Anakin said dully, “I worshipped you. I thought you were the ideal Jedi, the role model for me to aim for. You were the one person here who I knew. The one friend I had. And all that time you were complaining about me. Laughing about me to your friends. Resenting me.”

He looked at Obi Wan. For the first time, he saw the passion that Anakin was so often caught up in directed at him. It wasn’t just sadness it was deep anger.

“Was I truly that oblivious? That the whole time I spent following you, trying to get a small part of your attention you were hating me. That you didn’t want me around. That I was making your life worse.”

“Anakin-“

“You could have told me to back off. I would have done it. I would have done anything you asked me to.”

“You can’t mean that.” Obi Wan said desperately.

“I do,” Anakin said with such surety. Like it was something that had never been questioned. That it was a simple fact in his life. “Well, I would have done, before.”

Obi Wan couldn’t accept it. This couldn’t be true, he had to find a reason why this wasn’t true.

“Anakin you were only nine when you came here, surely you can’t commit yourself so sure when you're that young.”

“Why Not? Clearly, you committed yourself to how much you resented me. You never told Bruck otherwise”

“Come on Anakin, I was thirteen years old being bothered by someone four years younger than me that would never shut up. How was I not supposed to be resentful!”

Obi Wan regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. They were harsh, not at all what he meant. Why couldn’t he talk to Anakin? Why could he only hurt him?

He wasn’t shocked when the first connected with his nose. He would have done it to himself if he was able.

Anakin left, storming out of the room shaking his fist.

Obi Wan stayed sat, holding his nose to stop the bleeding. He felt bereft. Like something had been irreparably broken.

This had supposed to be the best day of his life. The day that he finally achieved all the dreams he had ever hoped for. But it no longer felt like it.

He felt adrift. It was far too quiet. He felt desperately alone. And the worst thing was, he knew it was entirely his fault.

#whumptober 2021 #no.5 #betrayal #misunderstandings #broken nose #obikin #fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #look obi wan you inly have yourself to blame this time #angst #i mean they do get together in the end #after years of knighthood rivalry #when anakin finally realises obi wan did care after all #it will be very fluffy #eventually #look i write

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thewritewolf · 4 years

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Losing Their Marbles

Summary: With Alya and Marinette out of town, it is up to Carapace and Mister Bug to watch over Paris! But the greatest enemy they face isn't an akuma but loneliness. :(

Entry three of four of my Adrien Augreste one shots! This one had Mister Bug as the week prompt, and Bugaboy, No Girls Allowed, and Plagg as my selection of daily prompts.

@adrienaugust

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Patrol was quiet.

Maybe it was because Chat Noir and Carapace rarely patrolled together - especially since it wasn’t exactly Chat Noir on patrol tonight. Sure, it was still Adrien under the mask, but with Marinette out of town for a couple weeks, someone had to wear the spots. And who better than her partner and boyfriend?

Thinking about the fashion event again, that was probably the real reason the two of them were in a funk. After all, it’s not like Adrien was a stranger to hanging out with his best bro Nino, masks or no. But neither of them had gotten to see their respective girlfriends for the past two weeks since both of them had made that trip to London together - Marinette to participate and Alya to report for the news outlet she was working for these days.

It also helped that Hawkmoth had been surprisingly quiet for the past couple weeks. There really wasn’t anything to distract them while they patrolled and the city was oddly quiet. And not just in the masks too - most of their friends seemed to be out of town.

Luka had gone on tour with Jagged Stone, leaving his Snake miraculous behind. Kagami had gone back to Japan because of some family emergency. With Marinette and Alya in London, almost the entire hero squad was out of action.

“Ugh!”

Mister Bug lifted his head off of the metal railing to look around for the familiar disgusted voice. He found Plagg watching them from a satellite dish, his black fur making him practically invisible except for his big green eyes looking down on them.

“What’re you grippin’ about now, cat dude?” Carapace said, crossing his arms at Plagg and leaning back against the rooftop railing. “Your fancy feast not up to your expectations?”

“My camembert isn’t the problem, shell boy,” Plagg shot back. “It’s you two moping around yet again just ‘cause your girlfriends aren’t here for you to make goo goo eyes at.”

Mister Bug rolled his eyes. “We aren’t moping!”

“Kid,” Plagg said, staring him down, “you might be able to lie to each other and yourselves, but I know for a fact you’ve been cuddling your new Ladybug body pillow every night since she left.” He tossed his wedge of camembert in the air and ate it in one gulp. “Just admit you’re lonely and save us all the trouble.”

“No we aren’t!” Carapace lied.

“Yeah?” Plagg said with a lazy yawn. “Then prove it. Do something else besides mope.”

Mister Bug and Carapace gave each other uncertain looks before Mister Bug shrugged.

“So, how’s the mixing going for Jagged Stone?”

“Good enough.” Plagg disappeared into Mister Bug’s yoyo.

After a moment of silence, Carapace shook his head. “It’s not going half bad. Not exactly what I thought I’d be doing working for the legend himself, but I love the work and it gives me plenty of time for fun projects.”

“Fun projects like your movie script?”

“Definitely, bro! Though I’ve gotta say the writing and the mixing and putting out original music… creatively, it is super exhausting.”

“I bet! Sometimes I get exhausted just looking at your soundcloud.”

The two of them shared a laugh.

“What about you, my dude?” Carapace lightly punched Mister Bug’s shoulder. “I know you ain’t a slouch. Especially now that you aren’t working for someone’s else’s dream but your own.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Mister Bug sighed and turned around, leaning his back against the railing. “I still have to do some modeling if I want to get my flower shop off the ground but…” He looked up at the moon hanging bright above Paris. “...I’m getting there. My happily ever after.”

Carapace snorted.

“Got a problem with that, shell boy?”

“Nah, just thinking that you and M are perfect for each other is all.”

“Good,” Mister Bug said with a huff. “Because we are.”

Their conversation was cut off there when the sound of something large crashing suddenly drew their attention. They exchanged looks of surprise before they ran off towards it.

Just like they suspected, it was an akuma. After a two week dry spell, it came as a bit of a shock. Did Hawkmoth finally notice that most of the heroes of Paris were missing? Or did their theory that Hawkmoth was a part of the fashion world suddenly gain some credence? After all, many of the designers who presented early in the event would have headed home by now. Maybe Hawkmoth was among them.

For now, all Mister Bug and Carapace needed to do was worry about the akuma. They could figure out the implications of their enemy’s disappearance and reappearance later.

Tonight’s akuma wasn’t anything incredibly special - someone in the flowing robes with stars and moons sewn on them of a magician’s costume floating around the city. The magician cackled with delight at the devastation they caused, gesturing with one hand to pick up objects, no matter how massive and tossing them around. Cars and buses were thrown just as easily as mailboxes and benches.

But it was what was in the akuma’s other hand that caught Mister Bug’s attention.

“Do you see that spoon?” Mister Bug said, pointing toward the akuma.

“Weird choice for an akuma object, but I’m not about to complain.”

They winced as a car went through a building. It was an empty office complex, but the next one might not be. If they wanted to keep the magician from doing more damage, they needed to act now.

“Hey, weirdo!” Carapace shouted as he tossed his shield, the two of them leaping down to the streets below while it went spinning towards the akuma. “Catch!”

The shield suddenly froze in midair as an aura of purple energy surrounded it - the same energy that rolled off the magician akuma in waves. She smiled malevolently, her hand held out in front of her in a stop gesture.

Carapace held his fist up, his forearm right in front of his face, which was screwed up in concentration. The smile immediately vanished from the akuma’s face as the shield was jerkily pulled towards Carapace in small and quick jumps. She focused even harder to maintain her control, her hand clenching into a fist that she shakily pulled toward her.

Eventually the miraculous proved stronger - either that, or the akuma didn’t want to get stuck in a tug of war. The shield slammed back onto Carapace’s arm.

“Shelter!”

No sooner did the green force field go up than the barrage began. It was slow but steady as the akuma repeatedly made one handed throwing gestures with cars responding in kind. Through it all, Carapace held firm with a steely look of determination on his face as he watched cars hurtling towards them, only for them to break upon his impenetrable shield. Not once did he flinch.

After a few seconds of this, he shouted over his shoulder at Mister Bug, “Got any plans, Spots?”

“No clue.” Mister Bug poked his head around his friend, squinting through the debris raining down on them to look at the akuma. “Maybe a lucky charm will help?”

“Prolly can’t hurt, dude.”

“Lucky Charm!” Mister Bug held out his hands for whatever would come down. Secretly he hoped for a net launcher or a tranquilizer dart. Something nice and straightforward.

A bag of marbles (red and black ones, naturally) landed in his hands.

Mister Bug sighed.

“What’re we working with?” Another car shattered against the green dome.

“Marbles, looks like.” A park bench burst into pieces. Mister Bug stroked his chin and stared at the heavy bag. “What can we do with marbles…?”

“Trip the akuma?” A street lamp bent against the shield.

“Bro, she’s floating.”

“Ah, right.”

“What if we just… get a sock, fill it with the marbles and just wail on her?”

Carapace shook his head as a bus bounced off his force field. “If we could get in beating sock range, we could just punch her.” Carapace frowned. “How about flicking the marbles at her as a distraction?”

“She’d just catch them.” Mister Bug’s eyes lit up as an idea came to him. “Unless…”

Mister Bug gently tossed up the bag and caught it a couple times, getting the feel of its weight. His other hand grabbed his yoyo and got it ready as well. He waited for the right moment, watching the oncoming traffic carefully until…

Now!

He threw the bag with all his considerable might at the akuma. The yoyo was sent right after it. His timing was dead on and just as the akuma reached a hand to stop the bag, the yoyo connected with it, bursting the bag and sending a storm of marbles against her. In wide eyed surprise, the akuma reached out with both hands to stop it.

“She dropped the spoon!” Mister Bug excitedly slapped Carapace’s back and pointed at the spoon in question. “Run run run, get it!”

Under the cover of the shield, they bolted for the spoon. By the time the akuma realized what was happening, it was too late - Mister Bug held it triumphantly in his hands.

“So… how do I…?” Mister Bug glanced at Carapace, who shrugged. “Do I just bend it…?”

As soon as the spoon was bent into a right angle, the akuma came fluttering out in a panic. Carapace caught the falling de-akumatized woman as Mister Bug purified the butterfly. Scooping up a bunch of marbles, he tossed them into the air.

“Miraculous Mister Bug!”

The city was set back to normal. Mister Bug and Carapace shared a grin. Ladybug and Rena will be so proud of them when they get back!

#Miraculous Ladybug #Mister Bug #Carapace #Plagg #Adrienette #DJ Wifi #AdrienAugust #ml fanfiction #my writing #AdrienAugreste #Losing Their Marbles

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queerchoicesblog · 3 years

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Epilogue: Underwater (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series)

As promised, here the epilogue of the Zetta x Adele Series, folks.

This is the very end of a project that meant me quite a lot to me and got me through the last terrible year. Thanks to all those who supported it: hope you enjoyed it and will enjoy this ending.

In case you were wondering, this song inspired the whole series, particularly the last chapters:

youtube

I will skip the tag list for once since it’s pointless anyway.

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15 , Ch. 16, Ch. 17

_________________________

Almost a century after the sinking of the RMS Titanic and to celebrate Canada becoming the first country outside Europe to legalise same-sex marriage, the Canadian Film Institute decided to work side by side with several LGBTQ+ organisations across the world to put together an exhibition focused on the early queer cinema and the many queer stars who were forced to hide their true selves in the Golden Age of cinematography, spanning from 1890s till the aftermath of Second World War. "A testament to the role the LGBTQ+ community played in the history of cinema and that we have always been here, even if people hardly saw us" as a journalist wrote on a queer magazine. After the recent discovery of some private documents, the curators were overjoyed to include an icon of the 1900s - 1910s cinema like Zetta Serda into the retrospective and cast a new light on her extraordinary career sadly soon forgotten after the advent of the sound era. Yet, the silent picture star was mentioned as a model and 'endless source of inspiration" by many queer movie stars like Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Greta Garbo all part of the retrospective. Rumor has it that as soon as she landed in America, Marlene Dietrich demanded his agent a meeting with Mrs King.

A curator drove all the way to Montreal to meet the last known heir, a certain Mrs. Julia Nowak, who greeted him on the threshold of a cosy downtown apartment. She offered him a coffee and a slice of a Polish sweet bread: the recipe was a family heirloom, she explained, beaming. She was in her late fifties, a therapist, she said. Her hazel eyes gleamed when she added, in a pleasantly soothing voice that betrayed a hint of excitement: "I must confess I am so incredibly happy that you contacted me about the retrospective. I adore the idea and I will make sure to attend it. Also" she nodded to a wedding picture hung to the wall "did you know that my wife is in politics? She campaigned for the legalisation...yes, Madeleine Fournier: see, you know her! We got married right after the law passed. If anything, your call and project made me twice as happy". She took a pause, smiling over her coffee in remembrance. "Anyway, back to the matter of your visit...yes, as far as I know, I am Zetta's last heir. As you probably know, my family wasn't officially related to her but she stated otherwise in her will". She moved to the couch and gestured the curator to follow her as she opened up one of the boxes and chests piled into the living room and picked out an old album, the leather cover worn at the edges. Dust waltzed in the air as she opened it with caution and gentle care. She showed him a slightly discoloured black and white picture of a young couple kissing for the camera in front of a church. Another wedding picture, from a different era. "Nana Hileni and Papa Maciej's wedding picture. I still remember them even if they both died when I was barely a teen...as if one couldn't bear to live without the other. Or so I like to think. She would help me with the homework, mathematics particularly, and he baked this bread for me till he was too weak to do so. He always claimed that he won Nana's heart with his pastries but she always denied it laughing". She passed another picture of the same couple proudly standing in front of the Nowak family bakery in Hoboken. "Frankly, I believe that Papa's broad shoulders and Marlon Brando smile are more likely to blame for this coup de foudre" she laughed. "And he knew how to deal with her no-nonsense attitude and vice versa. They...balanced each other, if you wish". She picked another picture and handed it to him. A woman was looking down in tender adoration and awe to a baby nestled in her arms looking up at her, outstretching a tiny arm in an attempt to touch her face. "There! This is Dad" she pointed at the baby before turning the picture where someone wrote 'Alex meets Auntie Adele'. Turning it again, she pointed at the woman. "This is Adele Carrem. Or Auntie Adele as I've always heard calling her. Nana's sister and Zetta's publicist and companion" Putting it back into the album, she carefully picked a bunch of other old pictures. "You surely know who this one is" she smiled, handing out the one on top. The photo was rather grainy but you could still recognise the same kid, slightly older, around two, sucking his thumb, cuddled up in Zetta's lap. The actress had aged a little but her features were unmistakable and it was endearing to see her sitting by the fireplace to read that kid with the sleepy face a bedtime story. "Sadly, I have never met them. I wish I did, oh you have no idea...but stories of them lived through in our family" Julia continued. "My Dad loved his Aunties - as he called them - dearly and by what I've heard and read, they loved him in manner as if he was their own. He knew little of them or Zetta's career back then...to him they were just the sweet ladies who would buy him ice-cream in Central Park or take him to see his favourite pictures over and over again at the movie theater. He said he will never forget the afternoons he used to spend with them in a Manhattan cafe that no longer exists around Christmas: Nana and Papa worked like crazy as the festive season approached and the glorious cup of hot chocolate with an elegant puff of cream on top with the Aunties became a tradition to him. He kept it alive somehow as he did the same with me". She handed the curator a bunch of other pictures: Zetta cleaning up Alex's face smeared with jam, the both of them laughing; Zetta posing with Maciej and her Dad at a table in the Hoboken bakery. He eventually mirrored her smile seeing a five years old Alex at the beach all engrossed in building a sandcastle with Hileni and Adele, and he standing at the water edge hand in hand with Miss Carrem, looking out into the distance. "These are family pictures. I'll show you the Zetta's private memorabilia we cherished". Julia searched a little, opening an old chest and handling every item inside with tender care. When she found what she was looking for, she showed the curator an elegant set of smaller boxes containing letters, dried flowers and photos. "I have already received an offer to get these published. I'm still pondering it. Before agreeing, I want to consider throughly if this is a thing they would have wanted, even if they're no longer here" The curator nodded as she kept searching. He skimmed a few letters and smiled as his eyes fall on the photos hidden away in those boxes: the two women sitting together and chatting at Hileni's wedding, Zetta's reading a script, lazily sprawled on a chaise long in her apartment. Some had short lines handwritten on the back, like a promotional picture with "Missing you" written by Zetta herself. The curator showed another to Mrs Nowak: a visibly excited Miss Carrem proudly showing to the camera a document announcing her voter registration. On the back, in Zetta's penmanship: "On the way to vote...my sweet Adele won!". "Oh you didn't know? Auntie Adele was a suffragette! I couldn't believe it when I first heard it! Nana told me that she was in and out jail when they lived in London because of protests. You know, like those suffragettes you read about in history books but less famous. Yet she fought for women's rights and kept fighting for them even in America. She was quite disappointed though by some major decisions of some feminist movements and eventually joined a socialist Union 'more rightfully welcoming working class individuals, immigrants and black brothers and sisters'. It's all in those letters but yeah, you couldn't possibly know. So little is known about her outside family". A little smile drew on her face as she put back the photo. "That photo was taken the day of the first election open to women. I checked the date. I suppose Zetta wanted to immortalise the moment...it was sweet of her, huh? Auntie Adele must have been so proud and overjoyed that day! You know, my Dad was born in 1920 when women's right to vote was legalised nationally and Nana once told me that Auntie commented the lucky coincidence saying she was incredibly happy her nephew would get to live in a fairer world. She was a true force of nature...she never talked much of the sinking of the Titanic just like Zetta and Nana actually but when one day Dad asked...he was barely a child and probably found an old article about the tragedy...Auntie Adele minimised but Nana assured him that her sister saved her life that night, risking her own to go down to the belly of the sinking ship to bring her to safety. Auntie simply shrugged, saying that it was what sisters do and that they made it to the lifeboats only thanks to Zetta, who shouted protests to stubborn officers and eventually found them a spot on a boat. I cannot even bring myself to imagine how scary that must have been: I cried so much when Madeleine took me to see Leo and Kate...to think they were there and it was all real!" She picked a few other objects out the box: a Shakespeare Sonnets book in a leather cover with golden engravings, with a little handwritten dedication 'To Adele, my sonnet 116. Happy birthday! With all my love, Zetta'; old scripts with annotations, a framed photograph of Adele and Zetta slow dancing barefoot in the living room of a gorgeous Long Island mansion. "These have a sentimental value" Mrs Nowak noted, her voice betraying the flicker of emotions as she picked it up. She took a deep sigh and continued. "I remember the day I told Dad I was gay as it was yesterday. We had always been quite close so it came natural to tell him first. We were in his car, he had come straight from college to pick me up at ice-skating practice. I..I dropped it in the middle of a conversation, bracing myself for the worst. I heard so many bad stories about coming out to your parents I was terrified of the consequences but I couldn't hide it anymore. I mean, yes, in public: bullies get even nastier if they know and I didn't want people shouting me "dyke" at school. But I needed to get it out of my chest...with someone at least. He kept quiet for a moment and I felt like drowning in shame. But then he spoke". A nostalgic tender smile formed Julia's lips. "He said he had two amazing Aunties that contributed to make his life a wondrous adventure. It was thanks to them that he, the son of a baker, could attend a prestigious college, for instance: they offered to pay for it without asking a penny back. They also helped him write his first romantic letter to his childhood sweetheart and consoled him when the little girl turned him down. But his Aunties had a secret, he added. He said: to my kid eyes they were no less a couple than Mom and Dad and at home we all treated them in manner but one day Mom made me promise to behave differently when we were in public. In public I would refer to her sister as 'Auntie Adele' but call Zetta by her name. He didn't get it and it took some getting used to. He soon noticed that even the Aunties behaved a bit differently out in the sun: they wouldn't hold hands or use endearing words in the street or when other people were around. They simply behaved like good friends did. He understood it later when he, as stubborn as a mule, asked them directly". Julia gently grazed her fingers on the glass of the framed photograph, caressing it. "And they told me everything, he said. That they were in love, just like mom and dad were, but people out there could be uncomfortable and extremely rude to women loving other women and men loving other men. That they kept their companionship a secret in public because those people had no problems with women being friends and they didn't want to have bad words or worse happening to them. I remember asking him what he thought about it. He smiled. 'I cried. Since Auntie Zetta mentioned people claiming that women like them were sick and would burn in hell, I actually started crying. I sobbed desperately in her arms, crying that I didn't want them to burn in hell, I loved my Aunties and I was happy they loved each other. Eventually they explained me it was just a vile lie spread my malignant people. But I got quite a scare and kept staring at them with puffy red eyes and my face wet with tears for a while. It required lots of cuddling to bring a smile back on my face'. He shook his head, laughing of his endearing naivety. Then he pulled over and looked at me. He continued: 'I still don't get why people keep spreading those mean lies but I know for sure that my Aunties weren't sick and didn't end up in hell and so won't you. Don't believe bullshits like that for a split second, okay? And I also want you to remember that it doesn't change a thing for me and mom too. You will always be my little girl, our little girl and we love you'. We shared a long hug before driving back home. On the way back he insisted to buy my favourite chicken and waffles for dinner, saying mom's veggie soup could wait. For my birthday, a month later or so, he asked me to follow him to the attic and showed me this chest. To meet the Aunties that 'would have surely been there for me'". She tipped away a tear. "I told you I married Madeleine right after the legalisation of same-sex marriages. My wedding was also the last public event Mom and Dad attended together before his health worsened irremediably. He passed away last year". For a moment she looked on the verge of tears but she recovered quickly. "Sorry...anyway, that day Dad insisted on walking me down the aisle even if he was getting weak. He beamed with pride when a friend fixed a rainbow ribbon to his jacket. Later at the lunch he read a speech he had written for the day, his hand shaking. He shared the story of his Aunties. He said that despite the hardships their situation forced upon them, they had quite a happy life together, a happiness carefully hidden from the world. He wished us to find something similar to what they shared without needing to hide anymore. He said Adele and Zetta would have been so happy and proud to celebrate with all of us that day" Mrs. Nowak picked the Shakespeare Sonnet book and gave him a fond look. "He brought this to the wedding. And he read for us the sonnet 116, the one Zetta mentioned in her dedication. You know, the one that starts with 'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments..." ----------------------- A few months later the exhibition on old Hollywood queer cinema and artists opened. Each artist had a room that soon filled with a crowd of enthusiastic visitors. In the first half, in a room arranged as a turn of the century nickelodeon with velvet chairs, all the memorabilia of Zetta Serda's public life: panels explaining the various stages of her career and the birth of her myth, promotional pictures of her performances, articles about her and a copy of a gazette announcing her wedding with the director Richard King. On the wall, on a screen her entire filmography rolled up in loop, bewitching spectators after a century. In display cases: the gorgeous sapphire necklace she wore on her last night on the Ship of Dreams and at the movie party of Surviving the Titanic, and a replica of her Cleopatra costume. The aging Queen of Egypt with a tragic love and destiny immortalised by Shakespeare was her last role back on the theater stage before retiring from the scenes. Old scripts with her personal annotation were displayed with photographs taken on sets and mundane events. The wall hosting the motion-picture screen cut the room in half. On the other side, the hidden half of her life. Her life with Adele no one suspected back then. A life kept secret that now unveiled in front of the eyes of the visitors. The curators discovered that finding public pictures of Miss Carrem was nearly impossible, true to the nickname she acquired as time went by: The Shadow. She stayed at Zetta's side until and even after she stopped acting, showing rare loyalty and devotion, but ever surrounded by this mystery allure. No one, even the most stubborn reporters managed to know anything about her and she was soon dismissed as a Titanic survivor, possibly a fan, who worked as Zetta's secretary and somehow gained her respect. Little they knew about the depth of their relationship and what stacks of secret letters and family memories revealed of the life of Miss Carrem. A panel finally told her story and her secret achievements: Adele, or better Adal, kept fighting for a fairer world and society her whole life and marched for women's right to vote on the famous parade in 1915. She also passed the teaching of Edith Garrud to her American sisters. The only pictures of her came from the Nowak family, except for one. The only photograph of a public appearance of Miss Carrem as well as the only known public appearance of Zetta and Adele. An old grainy photo accurately framed showed Adele shaking hands with The Unsinkable Molly Brown on a podium. In her free hand a shiny medal and a few steps behind the mayor of New York. According to the panel, the survivors' committee founded by Mrs. Brown decided to award Miss Carrem a medal for bravery and a generous check "to help her and her sister starting a new life in America". With great surprise, Miss Carrem received the medal and the check, thanked the board but refused the honors. Instead, she asked to deliver them both to the family of a certain Charlie Stoke, a stewart that lost his life in the sinking to save her life and those of many passengers. She added that her friend expressed the desire to study naval engineering one day and she wished that the money kindly offered to her would be enough to establish a scholarship for boys like him across the ocean. In another picture, Miss Carrem and her sister chatted with Moll Brown in company of Zetta. Eventually, other philanthropists and wealthy socialites signed checks for her cause so that the Stoke family received a generous contribution too. And today, as another picture confirmed, the faculty of naval engineering of the University of Newcastle hosts a marble engraving of Charlie Stoke: to his memory a scholarship had been instituted one year after on the anniversary of the sinking. Since 1913 it has been helping students of poor background to get an education and improve their life. Zetta herself became a philanthropist during her Renaissance and ever since. The first act of her new phase of her life was joining the Moll Brown survivors committee to provide help to the second and third class passengers families and survivors. Some said that the tragedy she witnessed touched her heart, other claimed that it was to be attributed to the influence of her publicist. Jokingly, she used to say that after all, she had too much money yet all she could have wished for in her life, so why not doing some good with it? A considerable donation under her and Mr King was received by the main hospital during the Spanish flu pandemic; she was particularly active in providing financial help to struggling neighbourhoods and female education institutions. In the middle of the room, a long glass display hosted the Shakespeare Sonnets opened at sonnet 116 and a selection of the private correspondence between Zetta and Adele. My darling, You will receive this letter tomorrow morning when I'll be already off to Chicago. The suitcases are ready and packed, this is a goodnight note scribbled the night before leaving you to remind you how much I love you and care about you. How much I'm going to miss you even if - thank God! - we won't be parted for long... Do not forget you promised me to write every day! Write to me, Adele, write to me whatever thought crosses that gorgeous mind of you: you know I could you rambling for hours without getting tired of the sound of your voice, of your sparkling wisdom. I wanna know everything. So don't be shy: I'll be waiting your letters with tender impatience. Can't wait to be in your arms once more. Adoringly yours, Zetta - Dear, dearest Zetta, I went to Central Park today with Hileni. It was a gorgeous spring day, sunny, a gentle breeze blowing: 'simply too beautiful to be wasted inside' as my sister put it. Did I tell you that she's still exchanging letters with the delivery boy from the hat shop? I thought they were over but apparently he invited her to the nickelodeon next week. Anyway, walking in the park with her I suddenly realised how I wanted to share that spring wonder with you. When are you coming back to New York? Tell me soon, please. And even 'soon' won't be soon enough: you're always on my mind since you left. But yes, tell me soon so I can make you promise we will go for a walk before the weather becomes too hot. Do you think I can wrap my arm with yours? Is it professional enough for a publicist? Even just for a few steps: oh you have no idea how I would love that! Or maybe you have? I hope so: it'd mean you miss me as much as I miss you when we are apart. Oh, I almost forgot: all settled with that magazine you mentioned before your departure! I negotiated a two pages long interview, plus pictures. And a cover mention. Hope I did well: you have already fired me as your secretary, I must prove you I am just what you're looking for in a publicist... Can't wait to see you again! Loving you always, Adele Only one letter was copied on a panel of its own on the main wall side by side with a blow-up of the picture of Adele and Zetta slow-dancing barefoot and free, for a blessed moment immortalised in a discreet shot. Adele pressing a tender kiss on Zetta's forehead, drawing a soft smile on the acrtress' lips. Many visitors commented it was heartwarming to see such a photograph that conveyed the intimacy and the warmth of affection radiating from the dancing couple. Some said that Zetta was even more beautiful like that: free, hair slightly askew and genuinely happy, loved. What stole their hearts away though was the letter attached to it. It was no surprise that the curators decided to name the retrospective Underwater. Dearest Adele, Forgive me for the tone of this letter. I am writing it down in bed while I cannot sleep and my mind runs back to you as if we could meet halfway between the miles separating us, in a world of fantasy of our own. It's ridiculous how much I miss you! I want you near, I need you near all the time. Take tonight: if you were here with me, I would be heavenly sleeping in your loving embrace. Most unfortunately, you are not and I'm lying here, insomniac, thinking of you. And about my life. No, don't frown. I am not getting all sad again. It's...bittersweet. And - I'll spoil you the ending so you will stop worrying, hopefully - it gets better the more you proceed. Have you ever felt trapped underwater? I did, my whole life. Always hiding, always measuring words, gestures, gazes not to let them see, not to let them know...so little time to go up and break the surface. Drop the mask and breathe. In, out. Once, twice. In my lowest moments I repeated to my myself: how are you gonna survive? One day an acquaintance with a remarkable passion for the sea explained me and the other bored commensals that you can keep someone alive by breathing oxygen into their mouth underwater. Pretty much like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation helps an unconscious person to regain consciousness. I found it interesting but doubted his words. Then I met you, Adele. My dearest, wondrous Adele. And I learnt that yes, you can't breathe if you're constantly underwater...but you won't drown if you have the right person swimming by your side in those deep waters. Put your lips on me, Adele. Touch me, hold me in your arms. And I can live underwater. With your love, I can live underwater. We can live underwater. I love you. I want to cover a full page of these three simple words: I love you. I want to cry them out and entrust them to the winds, to the night. But what for? Who cares if the world knows or not? I'll whisper them over your lips when we will be reunited. So you can breathe underwater. Counting down the hours separating us, my love. Eternally yours, Zetta

#titanic storyscape #sc titanic #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

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