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#no editing we die like men
sonder-paradise · 2 years
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𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭
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◊ characters. venti, kazuha, heizou, xiao, gn!reader
◊ genre. fluff, flustered boys bc i can
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— 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢
naps with the anemo archon always seem so relaxing for the soul. the two of you curled up like lazy cats against the stump of a careening oak tree or hidden beneath the covers was always a warm invitation for venti to admire you.
on this afternoon, in particular, he awoke once more to see you still sound asleep, curled up against him and happily dozing the day away. he smiles fondly, playing with a few loose strands of your hair.
that was until you shift in your sleep, eyes half closed and mind still in your dreams. "venti...?" you murmur, "come 'ere." he's a bit startled to feel your arms around him tighten and pull him even closer to your chest.
the action has him growing pink in the hazy afternoon sunlight. hiding his face in the confines of your figure whilst trying to pretend he isn't absolutely taken away with the way you had called out for him.
— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚
it’s truly a difficulty to see kazuha react in such a way. but you can find it easily when you play with the wandering samurai's hair. his head leaning against your chest while you filter through his pretty white and red-streaked hair. his eyes are closed and you can feel his soft breathing while he relaxes in your grasp.
"kazuhaaa," you croon, poking his cheek. his eyes open and he smiles softly up at you. "something the matter?" he asks.
you comb through his hair once more before shaking your head. "nothing, i was just thinking that your hair looks so pretty." he's taken a little off-guard by the comment; the tips of his ears turning red in the autumnal light cascading through the trees.
"you... you think so?" kazuha mutters, toying with a side piece from his bangs. his face is littered with a heavy blush that you find absolutely becoming of him.
— 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮
bringing you back home after a couple rounds of drinks truly was becoming a bit too much of a routine for the detective. you leaned against his body sleepily, hazy from the drinks and the moonlit atmosphere around you two. he laughs softly at your drunken behavior as you chatter about how sweet he is and how he's too dreamy.
"okok, but you have to promise me something, m'kay?" you hiccup, poking him in the chest avidly. "and what is that thing?" heizou asks, holding onto your hand with a gentle squeeze.
"that you don't... no wait i forgot it," you murmur to yourself, attempting to comprehend what you had lost. he waits patiently, continuing to guide you back home.
"oh, i remember! you have to promise to kiss me tonight!" you lean in close as you scold heizou, despite him not being your lover just yet. the ticked look in your eyes and the severe demeanor have him doubting whether or not you genuinely are drunk.
"got it?" you restate. he nods, half-amused and half-flustered at the straightforwardness he's receiving. "of course. i promise!" the words have him covering his flustered smile with the back of his hand while he feels the cooling wind soothe his rising temperature.
— 𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨
the call of his name has him appearing before you in the blink of an eye. his eyes dart around for a second as if to take in his surroundings. he knew you enjoyed taking advantage of his name and the power it gave you. it seemed this was one of those nights.
"is something wrong?" xiao says, observing the strange, curious gaze in your expression. something told him you had just wanted to see him again.
"ha! i knew it!" at your exclamation, his eyebrows furrow and he gives you a look of adorable confusion. you clasp his face in your hands, a smile on your lips that has his heart racing.
"you really do have gorgeous eyes, xiao." the look of confusion on his face blends in completely with the growing blush on his cheeks. his eyes blinking rapidly and gazing down as if he cannot comprehend your compliment. honestly, you called him here for something silly like that...?
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Taglist: @xo-cuteplosion-xo
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whump-in-the-closet · 8 months
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Hi! I know you’ve written stuff like this before and I absolutely adore it so I have to request some more sidekick whump? Either hero’s or villain’s sidekick, doesn’t matter!
Have a nice day!!
Sure! Went with hero’s sidekick here because of ✨vibes✨
Villain stood over the blindfolded Sidekick, tied to the chair with hands twisted behind them. Their chest rose and fell unevenly, breath freezing in the air.
They were terrified.
Good.
Villain crouched down to eye level with Hero’s Sidekick. “Rise and shine.”
Sidekick jerked back in the chair, straining against the restraints. “Fuck you—” their voice was raw, spent from screaming for help that would not come.
“Ah ah ah, language,” said Villain. “I would have thought Hero taught you better.”
An unintelligible snarl.
Villain leaned close, yanking off the blindfold. They smiled without showing any teeth. “Now for the first order of business.” With a quick, rough gesture, they pulled off Sidekick’s mask.
“Hey!” Sidekick blinked frantically, trying to adjust their eyes to the cold light. Their breathing was shallow. Panicked. “Hero—” they started to say, then broke off abruptly.
Underneath the mask was a cloud of dark hair and tired eyes. No trademark scar. No dye or piercings. Unsettlingly average. Ordinary.
Villain rocked back on their heels. “Hero what? You think he’ll come and save you still? Or were you going to say, Hero’s gonna kill me?” They laughed. “I’m far ahead of him in that.”
Sidekick looked down. Away. Anywhere that wasn’t Villain.
Villain stood and started inspecting the tools laid out on the table. “You do understand this is business, right?” They lifted up a long, curving knife. “It’s nothing personal.”
Wiping the knife off on the hem of their shirt, they spun back on Sidekick. “For purely business matters, you’ll have to give me your name.”
Sidekick’s lips tightened. No. But their eyes were on the flashing steel.
They shrank back into the chair as Villain circled behind them. “Fine. Be difficult,” they whispered, uncomfortably close to Sidekick’s face.
Villain slammed Sidekick’s head into the table.
Stars. Brilliant-white-pain stars.
Villain’s grip relented long enough for Sidekick to register the pain. And then slammed their head into the wood a second time.
Crack.
“Your name?” said Villain.
“You…you should know. Your mom gave it to me—” Sidekick’s biting response twisted into a cry when Villain yanked their head back until their neck threatened to snap.
When Villain drove Sidekick’s head into the wood this time, Sidekick’s vision went black.
Blood stained the tabletop.
Villain shoved the tip of their blade towards Sidekick’s face.
Hovering there.
Sidekick saw double. Everything was ringing.
“Alright then, smartass, what’s Hero’s name? Tell me, and you’ll go home without any scars,” whispered Villain. “Well, minimal scars.”
Sidekick drew back, shuddering. Their eyes burned with unshed tears. “I—” Their voice cracked. “I can’t.”
Villain shrugged and traced the tip of Sidekick’s ear with the blade. At the touch of the cold steel, Sidekick bit back a sob. They did not beg, but they wanted too. Desperately.
“Your loss, really,” said Villain. “I can do this all day.”
The steel cut down, and something sticky and wet dripped down Sidekick’s ear and the side of their throat.
“Can you?”
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nuttynutcycle · 5 months
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Prompt fill for @epiclamer prompt fill game! “Okay I know it was literally JUST posted but what about a switcheroo, tall villain and short hero :]'
“Little one,” he hummed, “Come out of your hiding place.” His grin sharpened as he reduced a pine tree into splinters and broken branches. “I won’t bite.”
That was less than reassuring. The protagonist clutched the stolen plans closer to her chest, barely daring to breathe. 
The antagonist had sneered when he found the empty case, smiled when the protagonist barrelled out of their hiding place through a window and laughed as she ran into the forest. Equal parts leisurely and methodical, the glint in his eyes riveled the one lining the axe.
“Leave the plans behind. Still time to escape.” the antagonist cut down another tree and the protagonist winced. She curled her body and crawled under a fallen tree, moving as quickly as she dared.
After weeks of preparation, three bribed guards and nine bypassed levels of security, leaving the plans was not an option. Her breath hitched when she saw the electric fence come into view. The buzz in the air meant the antagonist had gotten the power back on before she had predicted. Stomach on the ground, she wiggled into a rotting log. Gross, but effective.
“I know your face.”
She unrolled the plans and winced at another tree crashing through the underbrush. Her eyes flickered over the diagrams, committing as much as she could to memory.
“One of my more impressive talents is my ability to find people,” the antagonist said as casually as having a chat about the weather. “And those they care about.” Another tree fell, skewering the moss below. “Can you really protect everyone?”
No, but that’s a problem for later. She took one last look at the plans, counted to three and crawled out of the log and into plain sight. The sticks hurt her hands and the dust made her cough.
The antagonist grinned, eyes shining through the haze. 
“Are these your plans?” She held up the plans in mock surrender. “I thought they were your diary. My bad.”
He twirled his axe. “Giving up that easily is a disappointing end.” 
 “What can I say?” Her shrug did nothing to hide her tremor. “You make very effective threats.”
“One of my many talents. Drop them on the ground.”
“I’d like to make a deal,” She swallowed dryly. “I give you the plans, you turn off the electric fence for the next ten minutes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Counteroffer – I put my axe in your knee and take the plans before your first scream is finished.”
“Shame, I was on track to win the ‘Best Legs’ contest at work.” The protagonist slowly backed away.
The antagonist laughed at that, some mirth entering his grin. The tip of the axe rested against the ground. “Alright, have it your way. As soon as my property is back inside, I’ll turn the fence off for ten minutes.”
“…I have your word?” The antagonist was many things, but in their line of work, his word was as close to honourable as you could get.
The antagonist nodded. 
Maybe the protagonist would regret this, but she tossed the plans to the antagonist. The antagonist reached up and casually placed the plans on an overarching tree branch – out of the protagonist's reach. 
“Thank you for returning my work.” The antagonist’s expression shifted, eyes sharpening and smile hardening.
Welp. “This was nice.” She struggled to keep her voice steady as he matched her backward scramble step for step. “But my team is waiting for me, I really must be going-“
“It was foolish,” his hand slammed into a tree beside her, sending splinters and wood chips flying, “to memorize my property.”
The protagonist’s voice faltered. “We have a deal.”
“And as soon as you’re secured in a cell and the plans are in their case, I’ll cut power for ten minutes. I’m a man of my word.” He levelled the axe at the protagonist, and this close, the bloodstains were clearly visible. “Walk.”
The protagonist’s breath hitched as she turned back towards the imposing building.
“Don’t be upset.” The antagonist said from behind, axe twirling. “Desperation suits you.”
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blue-bujo · 6 months
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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader) Chapter Masterlist
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader.
Comment below to join the taglist!
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Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game
Chapter Two: Being Better
Chapter Three: Dual-Purpose Distraction
Chapter Four: Feelings
Chapter Five: First Date
Chapter Six: A Disastrous Date
Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good
Chapter Eight: Roy Kent, Baby Whisperer
Chapter Nine: coming end of January/beginning of February
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feldsparse · 3 months
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There's Nothing Warm Between Us:
Il Dottore (Zandik) x AFAB Reader
(SFW, Fluff)
(Silly little drabbles I thought up in my head of a Modern Girl in Tevyat situation. Don't ask me how they met just know (Reader) was a STEM girlie. Residental lunatic needed an assistant and now they have awkward moments together cause they're both emotionally stunted. That's it that's the premise)
An exhausted animal sits in her little office at the end of the day, the door closed and a blanket around her shoulders. A moments peace usually wasted away by scribbling at reports and schematics. Experiments are more fun, well if you don't mind the rotten work that follows with it. She doesn't, not anymore at least, the blood washes down the drain at the end of the day anyways. There could be better ways at spending time than writing. Sleeping perhaps? Gods what those eyebags under her eyes would give just to get some fucking sleep. The lack of melatonin in Teyvat is a downright blasphemy. Big pharma and American healthcare had its wonderful little perks. Now she works for a man of many faces who you should probably never accept drugs from. Maybe when her courage arises to ask one of the more...softer? Segments for anything akin to horse tranquilizer then maybe. Zeta or Epsilon would probably help she thought, but when one listens the others will no doubtedly start asking as well. Damn Dottore and his connected consciousness. Wait would he help? The assistant tilted her head at the thought before shaking it indignantly. He has enough problems, his segments making up about twenty-four and himself making seventy-five of them. She's not going to be the one that breaks it to a hundred. Forcing her eyes awake and doubling down on the reports in front of her, the clock striking at five when she walks out of her own office and places the papers in a 'Done' folder outside of Dottore's office. A measured knock follows on the door to signify it's delivery, better than bothering him to tell him they're done. A couple segments passing by and nodding at her in greeting, Beta excitedly telling of his latest experiment. Delta notices the exhausted look in her eyes drags him away quickly, a thankful smile given from the assistant in turn. She retires to her office again and props her feet on her desk and leans back in the chair. Despite the futon next to the desk she knows if she falls asleep there she's waking up at 3am feeling like shit. Just for a moment, nobody will probably bother her. She leaves the blanket on the futon and falls asleep, embraced by the cold chill and the arms of the office chair.
POV Change:
A knock sounds at the door, Zandik stands at your office, wanting to go over some of the results from your report earlier. Hoping you haven't gone back to your quarters, or he could always bother you, it's not like you have anything better to do. After no response he checks to make sure your door is locked, surprisingly not. Opening the door slightly he lets out a soft sigh at your appearance. Arms crossed over your chest and head leaning onto your shoulder. He walks into your office quietly and debates waking you up for a moment. Most of his segments have been noticing your decreased energy as of late, a loss of weight as well. He frowns at the idea that you remind him of himself sometimes, though you're not a monster like he is. You've been distancing yourself again, most notably after the 4th anniversary of you appearing in Tevyat.
Should he ask how you're doing?
You'll probably just say you're fine and go back to working. A fools approach to a deer ready to flee at anything unknown. He gently lifts your glasses off your face and sets them on the desk.
Should he move you?
Would you wake up?
He tests his thoughts and leans down to lift up your legs and slides his other arm around the middle of your back. After making sure you don't wake up he moves you onto the futon, startling slightly when you shift around and curl in on your body. The warmth of your body seeps past his gloves and makes him retract his grip from prolonging it's welcome. He eyes the blanket and decides against covering you up, it's much more believable that you wouldn't if you moved yourself. He turns your chair, looks at the scene, and quickly and quietly removes himself from your office. Turning down the thermostat in hopes you wake up cold enough to move back to your own quarters.
Hours Later:
You wake up cold on the futon, looking around confused as your vision was blurred. Looking up to see your glasses setting on your desk, and office chair turned. It wouldn't be the first time you've moved half asleep. As you stood up you put on your glasses, slowly blinking to adjust from waking up you noticed something.
The stack of reports you finished earlier sitting neatly stapled and papercliped. Lying on your desk.
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caker-baker · 1 year
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Peace
“You look beautiful.” The villain murmured, their lips light above the hero’s knuckles before letting go.
“You look hideous.”
It warranted a laugh from the villain, leaving the hero to wonder what was humorous in this situation.
“Shall we?” The villain extended a hand.
And in those fineries that the villain had prepared for them, the hero knew there was no other option than to take the hand, and to dance.
Dance they did, gliding across the floor in a beautiful grace, one might be breathless if they were actually watching.
But the hero knew that they weren’t watching, they were just there, dolls under the villain’s control.
“Do you have to have them here?”
“The other villains and heroes? Yes, I want them to see you.”
“But they don’t see me, not really, not when you’re in their heads.”
The villain made a humming sound, thinking of how best to phrase it.
“Think of it like a trance, they are there, they just can’t move.”
Ah, the hero was wrong. It just made the villain’s ability more horrifying, knowing that their friends were in there somewhere, trapped and waiting to get out, waiting for someone to save them.
And save them they would, the hero just needed to keep dancing.
So they let themselves be dipped, twirled, waltzed around while some lovely orchestra played some lovely song.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to do that to me?” The hero asked. “Rather than…” they couldn’t say it.
“Control the rest?” The villain could say it, of course they could. “I guess it would be. But I don’t want to, not to you. I respect you too much. I love you too much.”
“Don’t say that.”
The lovely song ended.
“What shall I say instead?”
“Say that you’ll let them go.” The hero pleaded. “Say that you’ll end it all.”
Another lovely song began, and the hero, somewhere in the back of their mind, wondered if the orchestra was also controlled by the villain, or if they were just paid handsomely.
The villain didn’t speak for a moment, they simply pulled the hero into another dance.
“I could have taken this whole city by storm.” They began. “I could have each and every civilian in my mind’s influence, and it would be painfully easy. Is that what I’m doing? No. I’m dancing with the person I want, in the place I want, surrounded by people we consider friends, the people who fight pointlessly. I want them to see that I could have stopped them all, that the fighting isn’t a choice so long as I’m here. The city’s greatest enemies in the same room together, and they have no choice but to listen. I’m not a villain, Hero.”
Ok, maybe the villain wasn’t doing the worst thing they could have been doing, but it didn’t make their methods anymore right. It didn’t make this right.
“And you think this is how you get it done? What’s next, world peace?”
“I don’t care about the rest of the world, I care about my corner, I care about this city.”
The second lovely song ended.
“Now what?”
“Now, there’s no more squabbling, they know that there will be consequences.” The villain shot the crowd of heroes and villains a look. “Now, I love how I like, and how I like is with you.”
The hero really didn’t know how to respond, so the villain continued.
“Do you remember fighting me? Back when I could only control one person at a time? The others,” they motioned to the heroes. “always had a group of four, for when I inevitably turned one against the rest. You came alone, you didn’t want to fight your own team, so you faced me by yourself. I knew I couldn’t control you then and there, I would never want to risk destroying the compassion and personality that I so rarely see in the others.”
The hero frowned. “The others have personality, compassion, kindness. That isn’t unique to me.”
In turn, the villain stared. “I’m in their heads, Hero. You shouldn’t lie to me on their behalf. I know the things they think, the anger they have, especially towards you.”
That made the hero step back. “Towards me?”
“They assumed I held my punches when it came to you. It didn’t matter if every other villain didn’t, because I did, and that was enough to earn their…hatred isn’t it, but it’s turning to hate now, as they see you with me, not stuck like them.”
“I didn’t ask you to let me go free.”
“Did you hear that?” The villain said, the message directed towards the frozen crowd, all the while still looking at the hero. “They didn’t ask for my affections, nor did they ask me to do this to you.”
The hero didn’t want to ask, but they wanted to know. “Do they still hate me?” And then another thought crossed their mind. “Or are you lying to me so that I’m swayed to your side?”
“There are no sides, Hero, that’s my whole point.”
They held out their hand for another dance, but the hero refused.
“Let them go, please.”
The villain cast a sweeping glance towards the crowd.
“And you will stay with me?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is as you wish.”
The crowd began to move again, some in marionette like movements, jerky and delayed, others more fluid, jumping back into the motion denied to them like an old friend.
But no one attacked each other, no one went towards the villain or the hero, no one dared to cross the one who could easily take control like that again.
“My gift to you, peace in the city. And now, we dance.”
The hero took the villain’s hand.
A third lovely song began.
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abronzeagegod · 1 year
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Eldritch Tech Support 3
more eldritch tech support stories
You work very hard to not have any prejudices or emotional baggage or negative thoughts when working with any clients. It's bad form and if you're working for eldritch beings and some of which can sense intentions or something, it's not wise. Therapy and lots of breathing exercises help with that. Yet, all the deep breathing and centering yourself doesn't help you hate going to the Space Between the Stars any less.
You've got to put on a large and clunky space suit in order to get out there and trying to do all the technical work in the bulky, life saving equipment is just mildly infuriating.
But that's the job.
You double and triple check all your equipment, suit up, and get blasted into space. It's always weird aiming away from all the bright lights and moons and planets.
There in the deep darkness, the kind of darkness that is a void, empty, formless, and so far away from any light sources that the human mind cannot simply cannot conceive of it, you find your client. One of the Beings in the Darkness Between the Stars. They're a shadow of a shadow, a piece of darkness more dark than the void you find yourself in.
They communicate via silence and empty space. It's a lot and it's weird, and it's unfortunately something you've trained for.
Also the translation software is helpful.
You knew it was a server problem, but the Being explains it more fully and leads you through the void to the cold darkness where the server is set up.
You politely explain that you're going to have to take apart the server and run some tests on the individual parts. All of the remote tests proved that there was something absolutely wrong, but couldn't isolate the problem without direct access.
"There's going to be some light," you say. "If that will bother you, I can work alone and let you know when I'm finished."
All of the best camera equipment and sensory tech couldn't simply beat a flashlight.
The Being gestured with invisible hands and spoke without words or sounds.
"Would you like something to drink or something to eat?" the translation software told you.
"No thank you," you say, not explaining that you can't eat anything while you're in this bulky suit.
The shadow slinks away.
You wait for an extra few moments to make sure that you're not going to grievously injure a being of pure darkness and void with your flashlight. You turn it on the dullest setting, and hood the light so that it becomes extremely directional.
Getting into the server takes you several minutes and you start testing components.
As your testing things you place a call back to headquarters.
You put in your ID number and get transferred to someone back at the office to help out.
"Tessaly," they say as an introduction. "What you got for me?"
You explain the situation as you ask for her to check on the back-end stuff.
"Ugh, better you than me," she says.
For the better part of an hour you test individual components and find nothing wrong, but that also means that you've started to narrow down the potential problems. Which are starting to look like they might be the kind of problems that are very complicated and very expensive.
You're about to start climbing into the guts of the server to get at some of the more complicated parts of a server designed to run things for a being of darkness and void, when the proximity radar chirps.
You quickly shut off your light sources. Your client doesn't greet you and the silence isn't the kind that communicates their language.
Instead you feel something brush against your space suit and there's a grumble like the background radiation of a black hole.
There's a chill that radiates from your spine and you try very hard to not react.
"What's up?" Tessaly asks.
"I think our client has whatever the void equivalent of a cat is and it's brushing up against me right now."
"Oh no. Do you know if it's the cute kind, or the tearing things to pieces kind."
"Probably both."
A moment later the darkness gets a little more dark. A void of noise reaches out to you.
The translation software picks it up. "Sorry. Hubble likes people."
The client picks up the void pet and leaves the room. But not before asking how it was going, how you were doing, and a variety of other questions.
You do your best to answer, but the problem is that you don't know what the problem is.
They leave and you continue your work.
"If I didn't know any better I think that Being is flirting with you," Tessaly says over the phone.
"Shut up," you say. It's not uncommon for clients to flirt with tech support agents, but this is a thing that could never work because you have physical form and they exist in the vacuum of space. "Also I'm kind of dating someone."
"Starring at someone from across the office creepily and asking them dumb questions in the break room is not the same as dating," Tessaly says.
Instead of responding with words you respond with a "Euhgh!"
"Sorry, I didn't think that was going to be a hard hitting truth," Tessaly responds, concerned and confused.
"No. I think I found the problem," you say. Your hand went right into it. "I think somehow the void cat thing got into the server, which should be impossible, and left a little treat."
"Do void cats have hairballs?"
"Not that kind. I think it killed something and left it here. For a few days or weeks. It's mostly goo now, and I can already tell it's going to smell."
Tessaly tried to sound sincere, "Oh that sucks for you."
You do your best to clean it up, getting some supplies from your client and then replacing the part that Hubble unintentionally ruined. You can still feel some silence praising the black hole of a pet as being a brilliant vicious hunter.
With the mess cleaned up and the components replaced with ones with less viscera you reboot the server and run some diagnostics.
"Everything looks good on our end," Tessaly says.
"I'm going to check the local connections and everything," you tell her.
Using your work computer you check the server, the connections, and that the various hosting services it does are working. Which is something you immediately regret.
But everything was fixed and you put everything away and inform the client that the job is done, if they have any more questions to call tech support and they will assist however they can.
They offer you some more stuff as thanks, but you politely decline as you really want to get home to light and gravity and noise.
You return to the office and sure enough you smell bad. Even aside from the smell of cosmic radiation, whatever dead void creature was in the server was extremely smelly.
"Wow you smell terrible," Tessaly says as way of a greeting.
"It's not the worst part," you say.
"How could there be something worse?"
"They were using the server to host human fetish videos."
"Oh my gods! Tell me everything!"
"Well what is the kinkiest thing for a being that is mostly void?"
"I don't know, whips, nipple clips, pet play?"
"No. They don't have super corporeal forms."
"Don't tell me."
"Yup. Missionary."
Tessaly laughs very hard.
"That's the worst part, is that it isn't even interesting."
"It's interesting to someone."
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corvosattano · 3 months
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— condolences
word count: 463.
warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, depictions of ptsd/depression/survivor’s guilt, death of a loved one that is not so much mentioned but danced around heavily.
notes: hi. hello. yes. i am arriving to the function with the world’s shortest babyfic i wrote in half an hour as a character study. this is set immediately post mw19 — less than a month since the end — as a way for my little pea brain to get a good grasp on where lily is pre-graves. i listened to this and this on repeat for ✨atmosphere✨btw.
tag list (ask to be added here): @queennymeria @chuckhansen @risingsh0t @nightbloodbix @shellibisshe @confidentandgood @leviiackrman @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @shallow-gravy @blissfulalchemist @cptcassian @socially-awkward-skeleton @roofgeese @gwynbleidd @marivenah @thedeadthree @loriane-elmuerto @macs-babies @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @belorage @simonxriley @strangefable @faarkas @henbased @arctvrvs @cloudofbutterflies92 @captastra @harmonyowl @delicateweapon and @onehornedbeast
17 missed calls.
She’d cleared it yesterday — or was it the day before? As November dragged into the early chill of December, Lily couldn’t be too sure. The halls of her apartment lay silent, an oppressive blanket of nothingness only ever giving way to the soft echo of her footsteps as she made the bed-to-bathroom-to-couch circuit in the early hours before circling back when the sun began to hang low over the DC skyline.
It was a monotonous routine — sleep, shower, scroll long-overdue reports, rise, repeat. She was fine, at least according to the agency mandated therapist Kate had ushered her to no less than three times a week since she’d been home. It’d been a month — or, rather, not quite a month, she noted — since she’d been pulled from the field. Her superiors had concerns, not-so-subtle fears over her mental stability after what she’d been through.
What she’d been through, she echoed bitterly, fingers curling around her phone in a tight clench before placing it face down on the coffee table once more.
Closing her eyes brought back the embassy, the steely tip of a knife digging into the warm flesh of her throat just above the artery as she squirmed uselessly in the grasp of her attacker seamlessly melting into the warm spray of his blood gracing her cheek as her rescuer arrived in the nick of time. She’d been lucky, truly, and she knew it. “Lucky to be alive” wasn’t something she cared to ever hear again, but there it was over and over again falling from the lips of colleagues and friends. The words couldn’t help but feel heavier each time she heard them, shifting from a relieved sentiment to something more accusatory.
You’re lucky to be alive. Aren’t you grateful? You could’ve been killed. Wouldn’t that have been terrible? I don’t know what I would do without you.
You should thank him.
She’d paused then, swallowing back the tears and the bile and the sickening grief as it clawed its way from her stomach to her throat, gnashing against her clenched teeth. It was well meaning, an innocent sentiment from someone who wasn’t buried under layers upon layers of clearance and bodies on their conscience.
She should thank him.
Lily straightened, nails kissing her palm until tiny starbursts of pain bloomed across the soft skin. The steady drone of her phone vibrating sounded from the table, inching it closer and closer to the framed photo propped nearby before finally colliding with a dull thud. Lily’s eyes followed the noise, lingering on the two bright smiles in the frame — her’s and Alex’s, his arm tight around her shoulders at her mother’s wedding reception a few years before.
You’re lucky to be alive. You should thank him.
18 missed calls.
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"This is Sophie, by the way. Sophie Green. Call me back."
Captain Lieutenant Sophie Green from @pasitheapowder , everyone.
(Alt caption: this is why I should stick femmes alskdjcndn)
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waywardxsouls · 1 year
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Forest god
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Next
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The deity buried his face into your hair, inhaling deeply.
"I can't release you from my spell without coming to an agreement, my sweet."
"I can't!" you sobbed, burying your face into your hands, "I can't stay here forever!"
The deity's chest rumbled, "You know the rules, my sweet. Anyone who remains in my forest as the sun sets forfeits their freedom to me."
You sniffed, turning to look at him with tears brimming in your eyes, and Fierce felt a twinge where his heart used to be.
"And you're going to sentence me to death for trespassing?"
"No." he said firmly, "I may be a war god, but I do not see the point of needless death."
You looked confused, but he continued.
"However, I have been lonely and without company for a long time. Perhaps you can help with that."
The hope in your eyes almost made him smile, almost.
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A/N: this was my attempt at flash fiction lmao.
So basically, there's this forest that people go missing in if they stay beyond sunset and Y/N accidentally stayed too long.
Fierce deity is the deity of old that inhabits the forest and he's been lonely for so long... Won't you stay a little longer and keep him company?
(he got infatuated as soon as he saw Y/N and there is no way in fuck she's getting out)
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meowhoonz · 1 year
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cheerleader - sjy
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pairing: athlete boyfriend!jake x cheerleader!fem!reader
genre: fluff
no warnings , hardly proof read
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Loud. That was the only way you could describe your surroundings in the moment. 
Sound carried itself from the stadium to the change room where your cheer team was changing for the final game of the season. 
Your heart pumped excitedly inside of your chest as you tapped the slightest hint of navy blue glitter onto your eyelids. 
You knew your team would win, of course they would. There was no doubt about it, especially with Jake playing. 
Jake. Shit. 
At the thought of your boyfriend, you quickly adjusted the golden bow holding your ponytail, and ran from the changeroom, pom poms held firmly in one hand. 
“There’s my girl!” Jake huffed a laugh, his arms extended in an invitation which you took without a second thought, wrapping your arms around him. You didn’t let go for some time, your head resting against his shoulder as his arms held on to your waist like you’d run away. “For a second I was worried you wouldn’t come out in time.” He hummed softly, his fingers skimming the exposed skin of your back, toying with the hem of your top before you finally pulled away from the hold. 
As if on instinct, his hand moved to hold your free one, focused on lacing your fingers before he looked back up at you. Jake looked ecstatic. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, raking the flesh between them in the way he does before every game. His jersey hung loose on his frame, the number 05 written on the dark blue fabric. His hair was already messy, too, a thin line of sweat forming just below the line from their practice beforehand. 
“Nervous?” You questioned, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back of his hand. Jake shook his head, barely giving you time to finish the word. “Good, you’ll win, I can feel it.” At that, a cocky look started to form on his face, his head tipping slightly to the side. “C’mon, of course we will.” He said playfully. “Plus, have you seen their team? So nervous they can barely pass the ball around in practice.” He gave a mocking pout before a laugh broke from his lips. You hadn’t seen the team, but you took Jake’s word anyway, his laughing bringing out a soft one of your own.
You continued to chat, nothing of significance leaving either of you until Jake’s teammates started to call for him. “I have to go now,” Jake complained, a pout on his face as if the thought of leaving you for the next hour and a half was just too painful for him. You couldn't stop the frown that formed on your lips, either, and you had half the urge to convince him not to leave yet, when from the corner of your eye you spotted your team leaving the changeroom. With a sigh, you quickly gave him what you’d dubbed a ‘pre-game good luck kiss’. “Win for me?” You asked, half teasing his first attempt at flirting with you nearly two years ago. “Always do.” He gave a flirty wink before running off to his team.
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aestherians · 5 months
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Exploring my gnollishness in-depth is difficult because of the immense longing and sorrow surrounding it. I simultaneously gained and lost something when I awakened as a gnoll. I gained knowledge of a new culture and bonds to people in other worlds (real or not; I want them to be real, but I won't let my wanting delude me). And I lost a part of myself in that other world. My heart was split in two, between my loved ones on Earth, and my people far far away. Far away, and yet I feel a warmth in my heart when I think of them.
If that world is real, and if I ever go there, it would feel like no time had passed. I'm know my mate's singsong voice, the laughter of the hunting party, and the much different laughter of my strange new friends, despite never having heard them with my ears. I can describe the smell of our village, in summer or winter, as vividly as any Earthly smell. I have watched the sun rise and set behind the mountains countless times, despite only seeing mountains in my present life twice. It's all so unbearably real to me.
And that is why I don't talk about it as much as I used to. The more my gnollside has developed, the stronger the longing has grown. I tell myself I could never leave my partner, my mom, or my friends behind, but I somehow feel like I already have. If I was given the opportunity to live out my gnoll life... I feel like I would leave behind my loved ones by staying on Earth.
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seasinkarnadine · 1 year
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Thanks @luckyfirerabbit​!
“Alright c’mon baby, bring papa the big money, big money–” Chetney tosses his dice. “YE-ES! Take that you little shit!” He thrusts a gnarled finger at the poor dealer. 
“Be nice, now,” Orym scolds gently.
“Oh, this one’s hot! Hey, is this table free?” A young elven man squeezes in at Imogen’s side as Chetney scoops up his winnings. 
“I was here first!” A woman nearly knocks into Imogen trying to secure her own seat.
“Watch it!” Someone else snaps, even as their elbow nudges against Imogen’s. The contact sends static slithering up her forearm.
“Fuck off,” she snarls. “There’s other tables.”
“Lady all the other tables are full, and you’ve been here for an hour.” What? No–oh. So they are. So they have been. The crowd’s really picked up at the Lakecap Skyport since she last looked up. That’s–that’s a lot of people. 
“You okay?” Orym’s voice is gentle but it still manages to cut through the hum of the crowd.
“Mmhmm.” She nods with what she hopes is conviction. Her chest is tight. She inhales deeply tin an attempt to loosen it up some. Maybe it’s the alcohol. She’s had two more of those “lavender martini” things that Ashton brought. Her head’s certainly buzzing. She raises a hand to press against her temple. Orym’s saying something.
“Yes, feel free. We’re heading up.” 
“What? No! There was– oh. Oh! Okay. Yes, ah, um, keep the table warm for us, we’ll be back in the morning!” Chetney adjusts his vest with an air of self importance.
“Wait, what? No.” They think they’re being subtle, do they? “I’m fine! Let’s go play that card game–what was it? Stork of the Storm?” She slides off of her seat and bumps into a half-orc whose drink nearly sloshes out of his hand.
“Hey!”
“S-sorry,” she stammers. It feels like her whole side is staticky from the contact. A burst of nausea rolls over her. She clamps it down and grits her teeth. The Stuck of the–Stork— Storm game. With the cards. It’s over in the corner. Gods where even IS the corner? There!
‘Fewer people, see?’ She points it out to Orym and Chetney. ‘See? I’ll be fine.’
‘It’s getting kind of late. I’m ready to go to bed. I think the others are wrapping up.’ 
‘I’ll just tell em to meet us at that table, it’s fine,’ Imogen replies. She won’t let them stop having fun on her account. Not even if her head is screaming with each word sent. There’s all kinds of voices pressing in on her. Needles, needles, ice picks, knives. One foot in front of the other, Temult.
“‘Scuse me,” she murmurs as she pushes past a dark haired man.
“You’re excused!” If her head were in better condition she might psychic lance his rude ass. No, no–no harming civilians, Imogen. She’s still heading for the corner table. Right? The world’s going a little blurry around the edges. The world tilts. 
Someone’s yelling. What? My drink all over–arrested for being drunk and disorderly–Skycap shouldn’t let so many people–Please dice please dice please dice— That woman is absolutely wasted–If I roll once more I’m sure it’ll turn out– Should I call security –PERFECT ROLL!--Kind of behavior— intolerable—
Stop, stop, stop. Quiet. Can you not yell? I can hear you just fine, you don’t have to–
‘Imogen.’ The thrum of a cello slides right through the clamor. She knows that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere.
‘Laud?’ She swallows. ‘Where are you?’ There’s a dozen faces in the crowd all directed at her but they won’t stay still. It feels like someone’s stabbing her eyes. 
‘Can you open your eyes?’
‘Light’s too bright.’
‘Okay. Can you feel me?’ There’s a pressure against her palm. Something cold, even through the leather. The string quartet of Laudna’s mind swells and the nails-on-chalkboard of the crowd fades.
‘Yeah. Yeah.’ She squeezes. The leather squeaks. ‘Chetney wanted to…we were gonna play cards.’ It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
‘Tomorrow, hmm? We’re all a bit tired. Let me take you to bed.’
‘You gotta–’ she hiccups. ‘You gotta buy a lady dinner, first.’ She feels Laudna’s mirth through their connection more than anything else. Imogen thinks maybe she laughs, too.
‘How about breakfast?’
‘Yeah. Breakfast sounds nice.’ She keeps her eyes shut, trusting Laudna to guide her through the crowd. They can always play cards tomorrow.
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velidewrites · 10 months
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Obi-Wan’s heart darkens.
It has done so too many times since the War started—that grip on his chest. He knows it is the Dark Side clouding the Force—clouding his judgement, tempting him to do things a Jedi should never even think of. Violence, control, power—Obi-Wan always resits it, even when it takes all his strength. There is something peculiar about that strange tug, though—the very darkness itself. It is nothing like the light, blissful before the War and blinding throughout it. Lately, it seems that no matter where he looks, he cannot see the right way.
The darkness promises clarity.
OR
The Clone Wars (2008) S5 E16 reimagined.
Note: This fic is a birthday gift for the wonderful @melting-houses-of-gold!
Warnings: Spoilers for The Clone Wars (2008), Graphic depictions of violence and death, NSFW
Read on AO3
PART 2/2: The Beginning
Obi-Wan’s hot breath clouds the glass wall.
They are exposed here, much too exposed, but there’s an excitement to it—the risk of getting caught. It would be the first tine—they’ve been a lot more careful in the past.
Right now, there probably isn’t a worse place in the entire galaxy for this type of…meeting. Satine would’ve snorted at the ridiculous term had her mouth not been otherwise occupied.
After all, this is no more than a secret hookup.
One of many and very few at the same time—she and Obi-Wan have been sneaking those moments every now and then, but she finds that they always leave her craving more. No matter how many times she feels his lips on hers, his body pressed against her own, it is never enough. She can never get enough of him.
But Obi-Wan isn’t hers to take—and he never will be.
She doesn’t let those thoughts dwell, though—not now, now when his strong hand on her waist tightens. She can feel the calloused skin on the subtle slit in her gown—roughened, she guesses, from all those years carrying the lightsaber. He has scars, too, peppered all over the back of his palms, thin and white and almost invisible to the average onlooker. But not to Satine. Satine always notices.
She tries not to worry about the latest one she’d spotted—still healing, which means he must’ve got it while protecting her. It the same hand that now rests on her cheek, that angles her jaw slightly to give him better access to where his mouth traces slow, sensuous kisses over her neck.
A tinge of guilt still tugs on her heart, though, so she turns her head an inch to brush her lips over his open palm. The move seems to surprise him as his breath halts, if only for a moment. Satine kisses him again, more boldly this time, and Obi-Wan straightens, his blue gaze darker now as it meets her own.
“Satine,” he whispers.
She wraps her arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”
Obi-Wan does not need to be told twice.
But then, just as she can practically feel the softness of his lips again, something beeps quietly in his pocket, and the moment shatters like glass.
Obi-Wan allows himself one, frustrated huff before he reaches into his robes for the commlink.
“Yes?” he asks somewhat grumpily, and Satine suppresses a chuckle.
There is a brief pause before Master Qui Gon responds, his voice slightly modulated through the device. “Did I wake you, my young Padawan?”
Obi-Wan glances at Satine. “Something like that, Master,” he says, and she finds that she agrees. All of this—him—has always seemed like a dream.
“Well, my apologies. Now that you’re awake, I need you up on the bridge.”
Satine’s brows furrow, and perhaps that’s why Obi-Wan asks, “Is there something wrong, Master?”
Another pause gives Satine worry. An intruder? On a royal ship? No, scratch that—a Mandalorian ship?
“A disturbance,” Master Qui Gon finally says, as if that explains everything. “In the Force.”
And perhaps it does, because Obi-Wan nods—to the commlink, as though it were his Master standing right in front of him. Satine can’t help but smile at that.
Obi-Wan casts her another glance, something like apology hiding behind his stare.
Go, she mouths to him.
He closes his eyes for only a moment before he speaks again. “I’ll be right there.”
***
Obi-Wan Kenobi did the one thing a Jedi should never do.
He dropped his lightsaber—allowed it to fall to the ground, discarded.
Without it, he’s…
He’s not sure what he is anymore.
And, despite his greatest enemy now standing before him, that scares him the most.
***
Obi-Wan drifts to a simpler time.
They are on Satine’s royal spacecraft again, her body caged between his arms, pressed against the glass wall. In that moment, nothing else exists but them—but the sweet taste of her skin, the soft touch of her lips on his palm.
Satine is all that exists.
She is time and space and life, glowing deep inside his chest, his soul. She is the only light he needs, Obi-Wan realises as she gazes at him from beneath long, blonde lashes. She’s the only light he’ll ever need.
The Jedi would call this attachment. Obi-Wan would call it a simple truth.
After all, there is no attachment—there is only this moment, one of so very few that he almost suspects it’s some cruel dream his imagination cultivated. But Obi-Wan has never been much of a daydreamer, which means that the soft lips on his skin must be real. Which means that she is real, as real as the perpetual tug of the Force on his heart.
Obi-Wan fears that one day, he’ll be forced to choose.
He fears, because deep down, his choice has already been made.
***
The throne room feels cold.
It’s the first thing he feels as he blinks back into consciousness—the piercing sting of hate, of years upon years driven by it. He couldn’t believe it at first, but, in a much more real sense, Obi-Wan has always known. Has always known that, one way or another, it would come to this—him and Maul, until the very end.
Satine kneels.
Her legs hit the stone, and Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches. He isn’t sure just how much Maul knows about her—about them—so he makes an effort not to look in her direction, forcing himself to look into those hateful, yellow eyes instead.
He should’ve known this was a plot—a sick, twisted plot to get to him. He doubted Maul cared about Mandalore at all, about the warriors under his rule—all tools to get what he was truly after. What he’s always been after.
He tries not to feel any guilt—that would only be handing another tool right into Maul’s hands. He tries not to think that, had it not been for him, Maul might have left Mandalore in peace—might have never even invaded the system in the first place. This is no time to dwell in such thoughts, no time to feel. 
For Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, there is never time.
Maul speaks to him from the throne—from Satine’s throne, and once again, Obi-Wan swallows the darkness that fills his chest at the sight. “Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you,” Maul drawls, “and your Duchess.”
Your Duchess.
Satine gasps, and Obi-Wan’s eyes dart to her immediately.
She floats a few inches above the stone now, her hand clasped around her neck as she tries to breathe again. She tries to yank free from a hold that doesn’t exist, from another dark, gloved hand that crushes her throat despite not even touching it in the first place. Maul knows—knows what she means to him, if only to an extent.
He’s going to kill her, Obi-Wan realises. He’s going to kill her because of what she is to him. At last, he’ll have his revenge—at last, he will leave Obi-Wan Kenobi in true, infinite darkness.
The only thing Obi-Wan has ever felt for the Zabrak Sith is pity.
But now, as his iron grip tightens on Satine’s neck, Obi-Wan feels everything.
“You should have chosen the Dark Side,” Maul hums, seemingly noting the turmoil thundering in Obi-Wan’s chest, “Master Jedi.”
Perhaps he should have.
“Your emotions betray you,” he continues. “Your fear, and…yes…your anger.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes.
Maul growls, “Let your anger deepen your hatred.”
But, the way he always has been, Maul is mistaken—and Obi-Wan almost smiles.
For there is no fear—no anger, no hatred, simmering somewhere in his soul.
There is only clarity.
This is what Maul wants—for Obi-Wan to spiral the same way Maul had a long time ago, for them to stand against each other as equals, two broken souls, fighting a war they never should have been part of in the first place. He wants Obi-Wan twisted and wretched by the Dark Side the way he had been, alone and without the Jedi’s Light to hold on to.
But the only light Obi-Wan has ever needed is right here, offering the balance he’d been searching for ever since he first bowed before the young Princess of Mandalore and sworn to be her protector for as long as she needed him. She’ll be the light while he’ll be the darkness—one unable to exist without the other, the way it was always meant to be.
Obi-Wan no longer fears the Dark Side—he welcomes it like an answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask until now.
Maul wants to fight him—to kill him.
Obi-Wan wants to kill him, too.
When he opens his eyes again, he can see the victory glowing in Maul’s eyes—can feel the ecstasy lighting his veins. Obi-Wan almost feels pity for him again.
But then he notices the weapon strapped to his side—a trophy to commemorate an enemy he hasn’t even yet defeated— and Obi-Wan allows himself a smile.
He reaches into the Force and finds a new ally within it—not that bright, blinding light promising to show him the Way.
No, he finds himself.
The weapon cuts through the air before it lands in the hand of its Master—old and new at the same time. Changed.
Somewhere far away, he can hear his own name, pushed breathlessly past Satine’s lips. 
Obi-Wan ignites his lightsaber.
In his eyes, it already burns red.
***
For a man so deeply rooted in his upbringing, change comes quickly for Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Satine watches it with her vision blurred, still adjusting to the cool, crisp air returning into her lungs. She’s kneeling again, propped up on her hands and with her mind spinning, but for this, Satine will fight through the overwhelming heaviness trying to swallow her whole.
So Satine watches.
The transformation is so minor she might have missed it had she not spent every night in the past, countless years picturing him in her mind. Even his posture seems different—he stands straighter now, more confident, as if the weight of the world has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. His hold on his weapon has always been steady but relaxed, allowing him to swing and deflect with ease. Now, though, the lightsaber lays firm in Obi-Wan’s hand—the stance of an attacker, of an opponent hardly expecting any resistance.
Whatever reaction Maul had hoped to elicit from Obi-Wan was not this—not the calm, collected warrior, simply waiting for the first, reckless strike. But Maul doesn’t seem to notice this—doesn’t even look at Obi-Wan’s body, his attention entirely somewhere else.
No, Maul is focused on his eyes.
They used to shine a lovely cobalt—the kind that reminded her of the sky, bright and gentle at the surface but dark and troubled deep beyond, with only the stars left to navigate it.
Now, Obi-Wan’s eyes shine a gold that could rival the very sun itself.
They are nowhere near the same as Maul’s—the Sith Lord’s eyes are tarnished with hatred, with anger—soon, perhaps, with fear.
But Maul only sees what he wants to see—a reflection of himself that he could kill.
So Satine keeps on watching.
The guards raise their blasters and point them at Obi-Wan’s back—ready to strike as soon as the order is given.
They should know better than that. Even Satine, though her foggy vision and spinning mind, can see that this…this is personal.
“Leave us,” Maul snarls, and his own weapon springs to life—the Darksaber that never should have gotten into his hands. Satine has never much cared for it, but she knew her people have—and, no matter the outcome of this fight, this weapon will forever be tainted. Mangalore’s legacy, poisoned by Maul’s hateful touch.
The guards obey and begin backing out of the room, though their blasters stay aimed at Obi-Wan, who doesn’t even turn or flinch—he only stands, meeting Maul’s gaze directly, those golden eyes catching some of the light from the heavy chandeliers above.
Another guard enters then, his voice echoing through the large space. “Intruders at the landing platform, my lord—”
Satine almost cries with relief. Bo Katan—her message did get through despite the ship’s ruined transmitter.
“Go,” Maul orders, his voice dipping so dangerously low it is but a rasp carried through the air.
Slowly, he steps down the dais, the clank of his metal feet scraping the stone beneath. He’s forgotten all about Satine, now, a predator focused fully on his prey, ready to strike. The dark glint of his saber casts a long shadow trailing him like a pet.
She tries to pull herself up—to stop this, somehow, knowing it can only end one way. She’s never wanted this—this death, this bloodshed. Not on Mandalore—not anywhere in the galaxy. But her body is too weak, perhaps it, too realising, that, just as there cannot be light without darkness, there can be no peace without war.
And Obi-Wan has to win it.
He has to.
Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber over his head—a stance she’d seen him do many times—the blue hue doing nothing to hide the gold shimmering in his stare. Maul’s eyes narrow, the Darksaber twisting in his hand—one weapon answering another.
It’s a language Satine understands yet has spent her whole life refusing to speak. Wishing for it to die out, as all things do, and make way for another.
She understands now that sometimes, some wishes do not come true. So she wishes for another thing—for Obi-Wan’s warm touch, for his soft lips on her own. She wishes for him to survive—for him to win.
Everything happens too quickly.
She is still too dazed, perhaps, too weak and breathless to truly grasp the speed with which Maul moves as he lunges. At some point, Obi-Wan has managed to shift—to adjust his stance to something else entirely, lowering the lightsaber so swiftly she hadn’t even registered the move.
Neither had Maul.
With the Darksaber aimed for Obi-Wan’s head—where his weapon has just been, casting a bright glow over his face—Maul swings the Mandalorian blade, about to cast the finishing blow.
But Obi-Wan is faster. Smarter.
His lightsaber plunges into Maul’s chest, a small smile touching his lips.
Deadly.
Maul’s arms still hover over his head as Obi-Wan thumbs the hilt, and the weapon switches off, free from the burning hole in the red-black chest.
And then, the raging Sith Lord, the poison of Mandalore, drops to the ground with a loud thud.
“You,” she can hear his rasp, choked from a breathless throat. Some cruel part inside her thinks it ironic. “You have no idea what you’ve become.”
Obi-Wan only stares back.
Maul chuckles, the sound immediately cut off by a strained, hoarse cough. “You truly are alone now, Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan looks at her then. Golden eyes meet a pair of blue—sun and ice, balance, as it was always meant to be.
“No,” Obi-Wan hums. “I don’t think I am.”
***
Satine sits on the throne, looking out to the bustling city below. She can still hear the cheering in the streets—she has a feeling the celebrations will continue well into the night.
She’d spent the entire day in the medical wing, every cut, bruise and swelling looked over multiple times until, hours later, she decidedly announced she was fine and practically recovered. She was needed somewhere else.
Now, as the evening beings slowly melting into dusk, she finds that she truly is fine—Mandalore is free once again, and with new allies. For now, there will be peace.
For now is the only thing she has. She will worry about the future later.
Later, because one of her guards has just announced another petitioner. The word makes Satine’s lips curl into a smile. “Petitioner,” she chuckles. “Please send him in.”
Obi-Wan Kenobi strides through the grand door, the Mandalorian armour he’d stripped off of one of Maul’s warriors still adorning his strong frame.
It shouldn’t have that much of an effect on her, but it does. She’d only ever seen him in Jedi robes before—and, well, she’d seen him out of them, too—but this…to see him like this, in her home…A pleasant wave of heat rushes through her, no doubt already flushing her cheeks.
Red suits him.
Obi-Wan bows deeply when he reaches the dais, though his gaze remains on her own. “My lady,” he says in a greeting, and she knows there’s a smile hiding behind that formal voice.
“Leave us,” Satine commands, and the guards promptly hurry out of the hall.
Only when the door shuts behind them does Obi-Wan ask, “I trust your discussion with Bo Katan was…productive?”
He already knows the answer to that—has seen Satine’s sister seamlessly fall back into her old role, mobilising the army to capture Maul’s traitors and keep the skies over Sundari at peace. Still, Satine says, “It was.”
A single ah escapes him, and she uses that brief moment of silence to search those eyes with her own. She isn’t sure what she’d expected—but they are still golden, still blazing with that same clarity she saw while he was facing Maul. More importantly, she’d half expected him to be gone by now—to hurry off to Coruscant, the way he always did. They way he always had to.
And yet, Obi-Wan is still here. Still wearing those golden eyes and red armour. Still looking at her as though nothing else in the galaxy mattered.
“What happened?” she asks quietly. She doesn’t have to specify—they’ve always understood each other, one soul bridged with another, their thoughts and feelings flowing freely between them both.
“I made a choice,” Obi-Wan says.
“Do you regret it?” She doesn’t think she would’ve survived if he said yes.
Obi-Wan takes a step toward her, his handsome features softening into a smile. “Of course not.”
She bites into her bottom lip—an old habit she can’t seem to let go of. Obi-Wan’s eyes trail the movement, and she tries not to think about the way his eyes darken as they settle on her mouth.
Not yet, at least.
“So what happens now?” she asks him, already dreading the obvious answer. “You go back—to keep the peace.” It doesn’t even come out as a question anymore—he is about to leave her again. She might as well state it as a fact.
“You mean to the Jedi,” Obi-Wan says.
“Are they not the same thing?”
His chin dips. “I thought so, once. I’m…not sure anymore. I don’t know if I ever want to find out.”
Satine isn’t entirely sure she is breathing as she starts, “But you are—”
“Not a Jedi,” Obi-Wan interjects. “Not anymore.”
There is no sadness in his tone—and perhaps that is why Satine asks, “What are you, then?”
He looks up to meet her gaze again and holds it long enough that she is not sure he even plans to answer.
But then, Obi-Wan steps up the dais and kneels.
“Yours,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”
She reaches for him, then—for his handsome face, her thumb grazing over his beard. She relishes in it for a moment before she tells him, “I always have.” Her thumb brushes his lips now. “I always will.”
There is a second of silence—as though the world has paused around them—before Obi-Wan’s chest falls, and his hand captures the one on his face. Before he presses his mouth to the pads of her fingers, kissing each one slowly.
That familiar heat swirls through her again, settling somewhere deep inside her—pooling at her very core.
When his hand drops her own and moves to rest on her knee, Satine dares to tangle her fingers between his hair—to pull him closer.
She doesn’t wan’t him far away from her ever again.
“Then allow me,” Obi-Wan starts, his voice lower now, darker, “Allow me to live out my life in service of you, Duchess.”
“Obi-Wan,” she breathes.
“I’m yours,” he agrees, then slides a hand down her leg.
Satine would be lying if she said her choice of a gown tonight hadn’t been purposeful—Obi-Wan seems to have found the slit in the silky fabric quickly, now pulling it upwards and revealing her smooth skin. She can’t help but shiver at the feel of his hand on her bare skin—it has been so long since she felt that fire, his fire, setting her body alight.
When the hem of her dress finally reaches her thigh, Obi-Wan leans down and presses a kiss to her knee.
Satine looses a shuddering breath. It makes him look up—look up and smile as he notes the flushed expression on her face, the slightly parted lips. She knows what he wants, now—has never wanted it more badly herself.
She only gives him a nod before losing herself in him completely.
Obi-Wan’s mouth moves up her leg now, tracing her inner thigh, the kisses more open, more wet as he reaches closer and closer to where she aches the most. Satine can’t help but shift slightly, her body already desperate for friction—for him, filling her entirely, their bodies joining as one the way they were always meant to be.
Obi-Wan chuckles lowly as he notices her desperation—her impatience. He braces his other hand on her other thigh, now, curling his fingers around it, holding her gently yet firmly in place. It crosses her mind now that anyone could walk into the throne room, or fly past the large, wall-length windows, at any given moment—and find their Duchess spread open on her throne with a former Jedi’s face buried between her legs. They’re exposed here, too exposed, and—
Obi-Wan seemingly senses this—or perhaps she said those words out loud—and chuckles again, the rumble of the sound reverberating into her skin. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Satine laughs then—though the sound melts into a moan as Obi-Wan’s mouth hovers inches away, right over the apex of her thighs, and she can practically feel his smile as he understands her plot at last—as he realises that she is, indeed fully bare under the gown he’d so eagerly opened.
“Clever,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his breath tickling her hot skin.
Somehow, she still has half a mind to tease. “You know me.”
He hums. “Indeed I do. Though perhaps,” Obi-Wan says, pressing a kiss to her clit that makes her gasp echo through the walls, “Now is a good time to get, ah…reacquainted.”
Satine swallows. Hard. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The golden glow of his eyes is her only warning as Obi-Wan’s tongue drags clean up her centre.
Satine’s head rolls back, resting against the solid rock the throne is made of, and the city beyond seems to disappear entirely—there is only her and Obi-Wan now, Obi-Wan and his blasted tongue as it takes another taste.
He licks into her like the world is shattering around them—like there is nothing left that matters but the feel of her cunt fluttering around him. She peels herself off the stone headrest to look at him, to take him all in, and the sight makes everything tighten inside her—she needs him now, hard and fast, for all the years they’d lost that they could’ve had together.
Obi-Wan’s fingers move then, travelling down her to her entrance, a small groan escaping him at the slickness there. He licks her again, long and wet up her cunt, before two of his digits move inside her, thrusting in and out until she is breathless and all she can see are stars.
Satine cries out his name, then, overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s coaxing from her as his fingers curl up against the roof of her walls, hissing as she tightens around the touch. He, too, is panting now, his tongue swirling over her clit, swollen from the attention he’s been giving her, from the look of pure, unrestrained hunger upon his face. He licks her like a man starved, like he lives for the moans and the raspy breaths she’s offering him, mindless from the feel of his long fingers pumping in and out of her in a quickening pace.
She’s practically shaking, now, her blonde hair a sea of waves falling messily all over her face. Her grip on his own hair tightens—she is so close now, with her heart thumping loudly in her chest and lightning coursing through her veins. Obi-Wan doesn’t stop though, his tongue flicking at her clit, determined to see her come apart. To see her belong to him just as much as he does to her.
When his mouth closes on her clit and sucks, Satine comes with a strangled cry.
The only sound she’s able to make is the gasping chant of his name as he continues stroking her pulsing walls, riding her through her release. His mouth presses slow, gentle kisses to her clit now, ones that reduce her to nothing but a shuddering mess around him.
His eyes seem brighter than ever when he pulls back at last—like the brightest light in the darkness. She realises then that, perhaps, that is what the two of them are—have always been—to each other. No longer the Duchess and the Jedi, but Satine and Obi-Wan. He has always been hers, the same way she has always been his. For her, he will lay himself bare and become the man he thought he’d never get to be. For him, she will make sure he gets to remain that man forever.
They will fight for each other.
And that will always be enough.
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blue-bujo · 4 months
Text
Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter Five
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Five: First Date
(2k words)
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of sexual expectation
Summary: The long-awaited date night arrives, and you and Roy both consider the self-doubt that comes from having been alone and the hope of being alone no more.
Roy had waited four very long days for his date with Splits. He had restrained himself from texting too much with her, although he was still texting a few times a day, just to ask a few introductory-type questions, and to set the actual plan for the actual date. He hadn’t called, or shown up again at the fucking bowling alley, despite how much he’d wanted to, because he didn’t want to scare her off. And he didn’t think he’d let on how excited he was for the date in their short texted conversations. He had established himself as a proper dweeb by saying he’d meet her after work – like some idiot who worked in an office park or some shit – but Roy felt that was his only mistake so far.
He was so nervous to do things wright. He’d thought he had with Keeley – fuck, he’d thought she was the one – but he obviously hadn’t. Or worse, he had managed it, but he still hadn’t been enough. He wanted to be enough for someone, so fucking badly. He got to the restaurant almost an hour early and sat in his car listening to an old pump-up playlist; he was that intent on doing things right.
When it was fifteen minutes until the agreed-upon date time, Roy summoned his nerve, got out of the car, and stood by the door of the restaurant to wait for Splits. People looked at him as they walked past, double-taking at seeing the manager just standing there. At five minutes until date time, he started getting nervous. He should have offered to pick her up, but he hadn’t wanted to creep her out by asking for an address. Why hadn’t he offered? Why was he such an idiot??
But then, at three minutes until date time, she was there, walking around the corner. She had taken “casual” literally, thank fuck, and opted for a green jumper and plain tan pants with black boots, but she was a vision. No extravagant hair or makeup, no dress that he wouldn’t be able to touch without breaking. She was the first non-celebrity he’d ever asked out, but she looked better than any of them. She looked like a real person.
Roy knew, right then and there. He was in trouble.
Splits smiled and waved when she saw him, and Roy smiled back. She seemed genuinely happy to see him, he noted with satisfaction.
“Hi, Roy,” she greeted shyly as she walked closer.
He nodded, smiling nervously. How was a man supposed to act on a first date with a normal girl he actually liked? Why hadn’t he thought to look it up beforehand? Why did he even care? He just had to be natural. What thoughts were coming naturally?
“You look really fucking nice,” he said. His body was moving of its own accord; he only realized a split second before it happened that he was going in for a hug. She leaned into it, thankfully.
“Thank you. I didn’t know where we were going, so I didn’t want to overdress. Which restaurant are we going to?”
“It’s perfect. I really like it,” said Roy in reference to the sweater. Then he took a few steps, grabbed a door, and opened it for her. “I’m bringing you to my favorite fucking place. Do you like kebabs?”
“I love kebabs.”
“Good. Hus makes the best kebabs.”
Allowing her to go in first before following, Roy grinned a brief grin to himself. He then got his face back under control and led Splits to his usual booth and sat down. She took a moment removing her purse and then sat across, which confused him a little bit, until he realized she had done it to give him her full, uninterrupted eye contact.
She had fucking warm, kind eyes. Roy felt himself getting lost in those eyes through the course of the date, and was vaguely aware of how much he was smiling, even laughing.
Yep. He was very much in trouble.
Fuck.
Roy Kent wasn’t what you’d expected.
He went for the hug, for instance. You found yourself enveloped in the smell of his cologne and the embarrassed warmth of his embrace. He was nothing but respectful, and gave you his full attention as you got to know each other. You kept catching him blinking intensely, like he was forgetting to take his eyes away from you.
The man was funny, too. You kept finding yourself laughing as he talked. He was so blunt. And that laugh! You didn’t know if it was because he was trying not to laugh, or if it was just naturally like that, but he laughed like the Ernie character on Sesame Street. You told him so without meaning to, and got a smile out of him for it.
“That’s a great compliment,” he announced. “I fucking love the Muppets.”
You giggled. “That surprises me!”
“Why? The Muppets are the peak of humor. Nothing is as funny for kids and adults at the same time. Do you know how many shit children’s programs I had to watch when Phoebe was younger? Sesame Street and the Muppets were the only ones that didn’t make me want to claw my fucking eyes out.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” you teased. The shop owner came to the table with the bill before you could say more, and you automatically reached for your bag. It was a move made out of habit, but Roy saw it and held out a hand for the check while shooting you a glare.
“The fuck are you doing? What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for your food? You’re my fucking date, and I’m paying for you.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just been on my own for a while.”
When you looked up at Roy, his jaw was clenched.
“Don’t apologize. That was a prick move, and I’m sorry. I just… I’m enjoying myself tonight, and I hope you are, too. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting anything out of you.”
That was more encouraging than anything else he could have possibly said. You hadn’t gone out with someone in a long time, partly because of how much modern men seemed to expect out of women on first dates. Your last first date, nearly two years ago, had expected you to carry the conversation and allow all of his advances. He’d said he hadn’t wanted anything from you, but his conduct had said otherwise. When he’d tried to worm his way into your apartment for a hookup at the end of the night, you’d seen your way behind your locked door and blocked his number. Roy’s behavior up to now was backing up his claim that he didn’t expect anything out of you, and you felt very safe around him.
He was signing the check and putting his credit card away, looking anywhere but at you, and you realized you hadn’t responded to his incredibly sweet statement. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, his eyebrows creeping together.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “For?” It seemed he’d been stuck in his head, too.
Shrugging, you replied, “For dinner, and not expecting anything, and for being so kind. I’d sort of given up on dates because a lot of men aren’t. Kind, I mean.”
Roy grunted. “A lot of men are pricks. I should know, I coach a bunch of them. Shit, I used to be one. It’s taken me a long fucking time to start to change, and it’s sucked most of the way.”
“Well, thank you for doing that work on yourself,” you murmured. “I’ve had a great night.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, treating you to another small, close-lipped smile. Then he slid out of the booth and motioned for you to follow him. “But we’re not done yet, if you’re okay with that?”
You could hide your excitement at you jumped out to follow him out of the restaurant through the door he held for you. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing fancy. A walk in the park, maybe?”
“That sounds great. Is there a park nearby?”
“No, we’ll have to drive. Are there any by you?”
There was, about two blocks from your flat. You told Roy as he opened the passenger door of his G Wagon for you, and was familiar with the area. You laughed as he cursed out the poppy music that blasted out of the stereo when he turned the key, teasing him for creating a pump-up mix and listening to it before a date. He surprisingly didn’t rebut you and admitted it was dorky.
You were very quickly at the park, and did a few slow laps of it together. Roy kept a respectful distance from you and kept his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, although you did notice that he kept putting himself between you and anybody else in the park. He asked questions with the intention of listening and learning more about you, and made you feel like the center of attention. When you tried to do the same to hm, he somehow steered it back to you with minimal effort.
When it started getting dark, you navigated toward the park exit, back to his car. He was quiet once more, obviously thinking. You hoped it wasn’t about how bad the date had gone compared to one with, say, a supermodel. You were happy with how things had gone, but your benchmark was pretty low.
“It’s getting dark, Roy. We should probably think about wrapping up.”
He nodded with a grunt. “I suppose. You said you lived close?”
Pointing at an older block of flats in the distance, you replied, “That’s me over there.”
“Hmm. That’s fucking close. Walk you home?”
Your heart soared as he fell into step next to you. He wanted to walk you home! It was a quiet walk, but it was a nice one with this handsome man at your side. You reached your building all too soon.
“This is me,” you said, unsure of what to say further. “This was fun.”
“It was,” agreed Roy.
Smiling, you quickly went to fish your keys out of your purse. As you did, you had a brief argument with yourself. You like Roy. You really liked Roy. But you didn’t know how ready you were for him. The polite thing to do would be to invite him in, but was that too much too soon? You weren’t that kind of girl. But it would be rude not to. How would he react, either way?
Only one way to find out.
“Would you like to come up?”
To his very great credit, Roy looked surprised. Then he thought about it, bouncing his head back and forth for a second before shaking it.
“No,” he answered. “I’m fucking flattered, but I want to do this right.”
A small part of you was relieved. “Okay, then. Well, thank you for a lovely evening. I had a really, really nice time with you.”
Roy nodded. “I did, too.”
You went to unlock entrance to your building, when Roy Kent closed the distance between you. He had the softest expression on his face, his hands still in his pockets.
“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.
Breathless yourself, and unable to speak due to how heavily your heart was beating in your neck, you could only nod. Roy leaned down and tilted his head to place a chaste kiss on, surprisingly, your cheek. Then he straightened and took two steps backwards. He looked up at the sky, and you could see him flashing that dazzling smile once again, just for a second, before he looked back at you.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” you echoed.
With one last grin, he turned around and started the walk back to his car. You went upstairs to your humble little flat feeling as though you were flying.
Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh
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whump-in-the-closet · 10 months
Text
13. How it's Done.
previous.
cw: forced to hurt, knife cuts, torture, inhuman whumpers
You look at the knife and then at Valian.
They stay silent.  
The eyes of all three agents are on you, watching with a calculation that hides exactly how much they’re enjoying this. 
There’s no way out of this. The horror leaves a taste in your mouth like death. But what can you do? You can try not to step on the blood as you cross the grass. So you do. The walk is over far too soon. Before you know it, the knife is glinting in the light, hovering over Valian’s back. 
Valian is shaking, forehead pressed into the tree. Braids fall around their face and you find that you’re grateful you don’t have to look them in the eye as you do this. 
A small mercy. 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 
Steel and blood. 
No answer. 
You trace a thin line down Valian’s shoulder with the blade. It’s enough to draw blood, but more of a scratch than anything. 
Behind you, there’s a hiss of displeasure. 
So you drive another line into Valian’s skin. 
You hear a hiss that’s more of a growl. The sound echoes like it comes from a cavern. 
Another scratch. 
“Stop.” 
You freeze, and a drop of scarlet blood rolls down the edge of the blade. It continues on its path down your wrist. Down your wrist, along your arm. 
“You have failed to show your fealty to us and to the Council.” You’re pretty sure it's the leader who’s speaking. Her voice doesn’t echo, or burn. It’s deeper than both of the others. You’ve heard stories of the god of death as a child and you think this is what death would sound like. 
Monotone. 
Horrifying. 
A creeping warning in every one of her words. 
You turn slightly, clutching the blade with sweaty hands like it’s a lifeline. Why are the corners of your vision darkening? 
You’re not that scared. 
Yes. Yes, you are. 
The agents stare down at you. Judge, executioner, and jury. All with four arms. The leader waves Solis forward and she takes the knife from you. 
She grabs the knife by its blade, and though it cuts her, there is no blood. She smiles, showing all her teeth. 
“Let me show you how it's done.” 
It happens so fast, it's a blur. The knife is a flashing blur of steel and Valian’s back is nothing but red.
Your vision is red. And black. You can’t watch this. 
Solis rips open Valian’s back. Shreds it like its paper. A whip couldn’t inflict more damage than Solis with the knife. 
You’re vaguely aware of Valian’s choked cries. The roaring in your ears muffles most of the screams. 
Behind you, a voice echoes. “Watch this. Do not look away. After Solis is done, your own suffering will commence.” 
taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/ removed!)
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