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#and by the way the worst thing about this fandom is that y’all refuse to acknowledge how much they were setting up Jackson and viv for

mohluskiepedard · 4 years

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Rating ATLA Characters literally only from what I’ve seen in fandom

or: posts that probably shouldn’t be on my writeblr except I don’t have a sideblog

the context here is it’s half midnight and I have never seen ATLA except I have opinions now apparently so here we go whoop de do-

I’m also not actually rating them like numerically that’s too much work i’m just stating opinions I know I’m a fraud

AANG

- A child? - A son? - he is Baby. but also. he has had It Rough - would make the updog joke - has unspeakable power or smth and everyone says he’s better than the Korra girl who comes after him but honestly tastes like sexism to me - doesn’t kill people because he’s like twelve, right? he’s like twelve so he refuses to kill people - I stan honestly - less twelve year olds should kill people - Some people say his name WRONG and they are BAD but i don’t actually know what the right way or the wrong way is so. have fun w that yall - lived in peace unTIL THE FIRE NATION ATTACKED

KATARA

- She is also like twelve??? - Is everyone here twelve - Cortana?? Katana?? Catbug?? - She has good hair, - Her mother is dead??? her mother is dead n she has a brother but she cares about her mother being dead WAY more than him (or apparently the entire fandom??) - Badass - She seems soft. good. sweet - she’s a water breather or whatever??? her brother is NOT but he is a meme - I love her

SOKKA

- NGL looks like a fuckboy - The meme brother! does not do the water things, but he has an aXe??? - dates BAMF lady - ngl until I talked to my ATLA watching friend I thought he canonically dated Zuko - kinda mad he doesn’t - I haven’t actually seen anything about him except like. in zuko ship posts and also Suki appreciation posts - joined the white lotus not-a-cult by accident??? - dark ATLA tumblr show me more Sokka posts - is his name prounounced the same way as Soccer or isn’t it I need to know - HIS FIRST GIRLFRIEND TURNED INTO THE MOON - (AND THAT’S ROUGH, BUDDY) - He and Suki are a good ship, but also, Sokka Has Two Hands

SUKI

- the BAMF herself - she says STOP in that photo but also to sexism - Rlly all I see of her in fanon is abt her teaching Sokka to drink his respect women juice and I appreciate her doing that but also it’s sad she never gets talked about outside of what she did for a man - I hope she has other badass moments w/o him it would suck if she didn’t - she is NOT the girlfriend who turned into the moon, she is the one who didn’t - I don’t know much else about her ATLA Fandom y’all should appreciate her more

ZUKO

- Look at him... my son... - He has a good redemption arc - he and his sister are evil lesbian and redeemed gay guy??? - has a straight canon ship but should’ve been with Sokka this boy is gay - I Want To Protect Him - That’s literally it - he has a cool uncle and his dad sucks - people ship him with Katara and I Do Not Get It that’s his sister in law except not really - “We don’t trust Zuko’s change of heart” [the next day] “so Zuko is my closest friend now,” - His dad was like “fuck up the avatar to prove your worth to me” and Aang was like “counter argument you already have worth and we should fuck up your dad” and I think that’s beautiful - he becomes the fire man and he’s very good at it - Zuko for President 2020 - in the words of myself, half an hour ago: “ I was like "that kid with the burn on his face seems like a sad but then happy mlm who needs found family" and I was RIGHT” - took too long to find a happy picture of him :( Zuko rights NOW please - His mother’s story got compared to an OC of mine and all I can say is oh no and they deserve better based on that alone - I have had Zuko for five minutes but if anything else happens to him I will kill everyone in this throne room and then myself

TOPH

- She is badass but like also will murder you while laughing maniacally? - for some reason reminds me of Nott from Critical Role, another show I Have Not Seen - Is blind but gets more out of making jokes abt being blind than she would from being able to see - “Sight is just a cheap tactic to make weak benders stronger!!!” - Literally the opposite of Aang and has killed many people?? - She Can Tell When You’re Lying. But I do not know how and Am simply mildly threatened by this - Therapist: Toph’s ability to know if you’re lying isn’t real and can’t hurt you. Toph’s ability to know if I’m lying: - She and Zuko.... buddies??? - if not they should be - tiny sad boy needs friends like toph

AZULA

- Evil Lesbian Culture - [BDG Voice] You committed a war crime! Oopsie! - took be gay do crime too literally - her and Zuko have accurate sibling writin except instead of “you ever want to murder your sibling for breathing in the same space as you,” being a Joke Azula took it seriously - okay but with a name like azula she should be the blue bender this ANNOYS me she should NOT be red bender - AZULa - AZUL - IT MEANS BLUE - She was half of y’alls gay awakenings and it SHOWS - Should have maybe been redeemed too??? Jury is out no one knows - Was she gay for Ty Lee or wasn’t she I can’t tell how much of that Audio is a joke - IS SHE ALSO TWELVE??? IS EVERYONE HERE TWELVE?? IS THIS TWELVE YEAR OLD COMITTING ATROCITIES?

UNCLE IROH

- A Good Man - Finally, Some Good Fucking [Adult Figures] - he has the tea. literally and figuratively - Ozai is like “and I will permanently disfigure my son and throw him out” and Iroh is like “What The Fuck, Ozai,” thus voicing the entire audience’s thoughts - Literally the only adult in this that I trust - I? I love him. this is all I have to say. my love for him is unending. Some1 protect this man from all harm - he’s Zuko’s uncle (and also Azula ig) but he does not seem related to Ozai. is it just a theme in this family that one sibling is chill and one sibling commits horrendous atrocities against your fellow human beings or - something happened to his son???? :((((( I Don’t Want Him To Have Suffered Like This

OZAI

- A BAD MAN - Uh Oh (stinky) - THE WORST OF THE MEN - I do not like him - Bastard man. nasty. committed war crimes and then went “but what if - get this - i also abused my son,” - I would like him to Not Be Like This - by Like This I mean present and alive - :/

TY LEE

- She’s NOT the There Is No War In Ba Sing Se lady and I don’t know why i thought she WAS but until I looked up her photo I thought that was her - She looks like a sweetheart tho - I hope nothing bad happens to her???? - talks about auras??? or smth??? let her vibe - She would talk animatedly to me about warrior cats if she was in my year seven class and I was sat alone and I would understand none of it but appreciate her anyway - if azula bullies her I’ll be :( at Azula and Azula will not care because she has Mommy Issues and therefore is slightly unhinged - She seems like that one kid with no trauma vibing at the edge of [every other kid having trauma] and not really getting it but trying her best - Is she also twelve?????? She maybe looks twelve

CABBAGE MAN

- HIS CABBAGES - fulfills my favourite trope: ordinary person repeatedly has life disrupted by the inconveniences of relying on actual children to save the world - probably has a campaign post canon for letting trained adults fix the worlds’ problems in the future - or sets up the Very First Cabbage Insurance Company - look at him. he loves his cabbages so much. you go you funky lil cabbage man

ALSO THE MOST IMPORTANT ONES MOMO

- LOOK AT HIM HE’S SO GOOD - small. fluffy. big ears - Lord Momo of the Momo Dynasty: his Momoness - a Good Boy...

APPA

- he looks so soft... - he can fly but he just does it by??? vibing through the air?? motionless??? iconic - I saw that one post about mishearing it as Abba and thinking he was Aang’s dad and he looks like he would be a good stand in dad ngl - he’s so LORGE - a chonky boy - love him

that is everyone I have heard of it and if I left someone out it’s a sign that y’all should talk about em more bc I have no clue they exist put more ATLA On my Dash ig I’ll do Legend of Korra ig maybe apparently that one has canon wlw and i love me some canon wlw

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ichayalovesyou · 3 years

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Why Bones & Spock NEED Each Other (Grief)

So over my tenure in this fandom I’ve seen some one sided stuff about Bones being mean to Spock, and vice versa and I’m like

Thing is y’all: You’re both right, but you’re also both wrong!

Bones is mean to Spock you’re right! But you know what? That’s a good thing!

Spock is mean to Bones because of course he is! And guess what? That’s also a good thing!

They both need it, and they can only get it (safely) from each other! What they have is (in a weird way) healthy! But it’s only healthy for these two specifically because they understand each other so well!

Prime examples? Somebody has died or gone missing (usually Jim)!

Let’s talk about how Spock & Bones grieve!

Let’s address how each character (generally) moves through the 5 stages of grief

Bones: Anger, Denial, Depression, Bargaining, Acceptance

Spock: Bargaining, Denial, Depression, Anger, Acceptance

They are each individually perfectly equipped to handle each other’s grief (or refusal to grieve)!

Bones initial reaction to death is usually Anger, he blames himself and anyone in proximity. Quickly followed by a weird form of denial, in which he doesn’t deny someone is dead, but he denies that other people think the person is gone and that they felt it when it happened because he’s dunked so hard under his own grief his usually high empathy has switched off.

Now, Bones is highly familiar with grief as a medical professional (and having lost his father). He establishes how important and deeply believes in that process in And The Children Shall Lead.

I think Bones is acutely aware of how he grieves, and is equally aware that throwing these feelings out at just anybody could really hurt them.

But Spock isn’t just anybody, he’s a (half) Vulcan, it’s like shouting at a brick wall, Bones knows Spock can take it. I also believe Spock understands that this state is temporary, which is why he handles it with such grace.

What happens when Bones isn’t able to go off at (not truly “on”) Spock is that Bones keeps that anger to himself and gets bordering-on-suicidal (Depression phase of grief). It happens in Miri (self injection), For The World is Hollow & I Have Touched The Sky (trying to stay behind), and The Empath (the whole freakin episode). Jim is good for comfort, but Spock is good for a slap in the face reality check.

They both know that. It’s why they’re still friends despite how much shit they throw at each other

Not only that, but Bones (almost) ALWAYS apologizes, from their worst fights I can rattle off:

“They were wrong, and I was wrong I’m sorry” (Paradise Syndrome)

“Pawns huh? Well if it makes any difference, this pawn is extremely sorry.” (Day of The Dove)

“Spock I- I’m sorry, it does hurt doesn’t it?” (The Tholian Web)

And that’s not including implied/non-verbal apologies.

Bones needs Spock to help him grieve because otherwise he’s gonna take an emotional nosedive toward attempted Martyrdom. Spock’s stoicism punctured by occasional genuiness helps Bones move to the Bargaining stage (making peace with Spock and everything that’s happened) and later Acceptance.

The inverse of this is also true so let’s address how Bones uses his belligerent nature to jump start Spock’s healthy grieving process!

Bones grieving style (and his confrontational nature in general) is uniquely suited to make Spock honor his Human side, his emotions in the matter. Because we know a softer touch (like Jim’s) while more comfortable for Spock, seldom cracks open that wall of emotional repression unless Jim’s in danger.

Bones doesn’t give a shit, and that ultimately a good thing! Both he and Spock constantly need to be directly shoved against their default reactions to interpret things in a balanced way, which is why they’re perfect for each other.

Without Bones, Spock would never let himself grieve, ever. We also know that, more deeply than Spock, Bones understands grief and how to move through it, he’s familiar with loss (which is why I think he’s so quick to accept someone is dead whenever it happens, it’s the reaction of someone whose had to lose a lot of people and is more comfortable grieving than hoping). There’s a lot of evidence for this in Gamesters of Triskellion & Return To Tomorrow.

He also honors Spock’s human half a lot more than Spock does, it’s one of the fundamental power sources for Bones & Spock’s “the racism’s mutual” banter. And it is mutual, I feel like people forget how often Spock compares modern humans to the worst examples of their/his ancestors and treats them as inferior out of internalized hatred and the general xenophobic attitudes of Vulcan culture. Bones of course responds in kind, usually in cockamamy insults, he’s not as well versed in Vulcan history as Spock is in Human. Although I admit Bones does start it a lot, I think arguing accounts as a love language for him lmao.

So when Bones sees Spock trying to stunt and stifle his grieving process, especially since Bones knows he’s at least partly human and it is affecting Spock’s judgement, it hits literally ALL of Bones nerves.

Bones uses reverse psychology to get Spock to admit he is human and he has feelings ALL THE TIME especially where Jim is concerned. Bread & Circuses, The Immunity Syndrome, The Tholian Web & Requiem for Methuselah!

Spock will absolutely refuse to grieve or at least move on from the self-destructive bargaining/denial loop he gets trapped in unless Bones smacks him around a little. Just like how Bones will get self-destructive unless Spock recenters him via logic.

Again, I think on a subconscious level they both know that, and it’s why they never take each other’s smack downs to heart.

An excellent example, Chekov’s “death” in Spectre of The Gun:

Spock isn’t grieving, but everyone else is, Spock was close to Pavel but isn’t letting himself feel it, which could later backfire. Bones is currently grieving, but there’s no time to grieve because they’re all gonna die in 20 minutes if they don’t find a solution to their dilemma.

Transcript & Breakdown:

Bones: You talk about another man’s [Jim’s] feelings? What do you feel Spock?!

Are you grieving? He was like son to you you’re not acknowledging it, again.

Spock: My feelings are not subject for discussion Doctor.

No, and I’m not going to, leave me alone.

Bones: Because there are are no feelings to discuss!

Well I’m grieving! And I’m gonna reverse psychology your Vulcan ass until you start your grieving process so that I can move on!

Scotty: Mr. Spock Chekov is dead! I say it now and I can hardly believe it, but you worked closely with him! That deserves some memorial!

Bones: Spock will have no truck with grief Scotty, it’s human.

Alright, that first comment didn’t work, maybe “insulting” him will get that thick head of his to acknowledge his feelings.

Jim: Bones! Scotty!

Spock: It’s quite alright Captain, they forget I am half human.

Fine, yes I am grieving for Pavel in my own way. Are you satisfied Dr. McCoy?

Bones: [looks surprised and thoughtful, satisfied with Spock’s answer]

Wow, you said you were human without any disgust this time... huh... good job.

Scotty:[looks ashamed]

The 5 o’clock duel bell rings.

#star trek #star trek tos #spock #bones #spones #grief #tw suicidal thoughts #tos #the tholian web #spectre of the gun #the Empath #Miri #for the world is hollow and i have touched the sky #bread and circuses #the paradise syndrome #day of the dove #meta thoughts #meta #meta analysis

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

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gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.

#atla #zuko #zukka salt #more like zukka shipper salt #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #zuko is not gay coded and im so so tired of seeing that argument in this fandom #it's fine as a hc but it's not canon and was never remotely intended and his arc isn't particularly evocative of a gay narrative #long post #queer things

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deniigi · 3 years

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my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

@blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

Silence.

MM: oh no

Yeah. Fuck.

MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

Two hours. One text.

MM: >:/

Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

GL: good news?

MM: [image]

He opened it.

SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

What.

MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

No way. Siblings were wild.

GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

Miles took a long time to respond.

MM: yeah

Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

Oh, nice. That was a relief.

MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

GL: sure

[GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

That—

Sounded kind of nice?

GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl

That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

#fic #inimitable verse #blindspot #samuel chung #miles morales #ganke lee

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garazza · 3 years

Text

Wow, are people really souring on Robin already? I don’t know about y’all, but if there are literally people accusing this book of stealing the story from another character, then it must be pretty good.

Everyone keeps comparing this book to something else, whether it’s anime or manga or Mortal Kombat, and they get so caught up in the comparisons and references and influences that they forget that this book is its own independent work.

I refuse to call this book the belated sequel to Robin: Son of Batman, because, even though I firmly believe it to be it’s spiritual successor, that would be unnecessarily comparing it to something it’s not and not letting the book stand on its own.

The era of Pat Gleason is over, and as much as I love him as an artist, all good things must come to end, but fear not as we now enter the era of Gleb Melnikov.

I believe what the fandom at large is feeling growing pains. We’re adjusting, just as much as Damian is, to this new, exciting chapter of Damian’s life that only came about because the last chapter of his life ended on such a sour note, an unsatisfying whimper. We’re trying to pick up the pieces. Damian’s trying to pick up the pieces. That’s the meta. That’s the narrative. That’s the point of this story. That’s the point of this book.

To put it another way, gives this book a fucking a chance. Do not become our own worst enemies. It’s an eight issue arc and the first issue alone is better than the last two years’ worth of Damian stories combined, excluding Super Sons. Don’t forget that. Support this book.

#damian wayne #robin #batman #batfamily #batfam #dc #dc comics #joshua williamson #gleb melnikov #super sons

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege�� for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA 6th Popularity Poll Reaction Post - Risky Spoiler-Dodging Edition

hey guys, so seeing as the results from the 6th popularity poll were leaked today, I figured I would do a separate reaction + analysis post this year, rather than piling it in as an extra on top of the chapter reaction post tomorrow. I figure this makes more sense anyway, since they’re really two completely different things. also this way I can write as much as I want lol.

also, just fyi, I am still completely unspoiled for chapter 293. and probably the smart thing to do to keep it that way would be to log off tumblr and hold off posting this until tomorrow, but I apparently have no impulse control today so oh well. anyway, so I’m hoping you guys will keep this spoiler-free if you don’t mind! as always, I would prefer to just jump right in completely unaware tomorrow like Troy returning to the study room with the pizza boxes lol.

okay so this first part is just going to be my predictions. fyi I am writing this part on Wednesday night, and then I’ll add on the results part on Thursday or Friday (ETA: Thursday, apparently, since I am impatient.)

okay so first of all, just as a refresher, this poll was open to Japanese voters from Aug 3 to Sep 30. meaning chapters 279 through 285. meanwhile last year’s poll took place around the tail end of the MVA arc. so between then and now we had Heroes Rising, the Endeavor Agency arc, and the War arc up to the part where the 1-A kids took on Gigantomachia in Gunga, and started battling Tomura in Jakku. so technically only a couple of arcs, but a LOT of stuff going down in them. oh and season 4 of the anime as well

so! firstly, I predict that my truculent africanized honeybee son will hold on to his crown at #1, coming off a year in which he did some internship-boosted soul searching, borrowed OFA in movie canon, and finished out the voting period as the my-body-moved-on-its-own character development MVP. like CALL ME CRAZY lol, but I’m pretty sure his title is safe. and then after him will be Deku and Shouto as usual

Aizawa should hopefully also have a strong showing because the dude had a banner fucking year. reunited with his old dead friend, took on Tomura with his hopelessly inept hero pals, and then chopped his fucking leg off. he had better be in the top 10. his fucking leg died for this, idk what else he has to do

Endeavor also stands a decent chance of doing well given the internship arc and the final episode of season 4. which I’m sure will go down just swimmingly if that does happen lmao. especially if he somehow manages to rank higher than...

Dabi, which I don’t think he will btw, but you never know. anyways though, but I’m thinking Dabi’s going to have a stronger showing than in past years (in the last poll he only got 367 votes and was ranked 19th). mostly because of his fight in the Gunga mansion, and his cheekily censored name reveal to...

Hawks, who is also going to rank pretty high here, I think. might be he loses some points for killing off Twice, but his back was basically to the wall there. and he has always been very popular, and I think season 4 will also give him a boost, along with his heavy involvement in the first half of the War arc

Tomura was already in 6th place last year and I think he cracks the top 5 this year. he’s gotten exponentially more popular since the MVA arc, and got a boost in the last poll even though his flashback had only just barely happened, and he hadn’t finished Awakening yet and all that stuff. anyway, so he’s only gotten cooler and more tragic since then so I think he makes a big play here

Kirishima, Momo, Tokoyami, and Mina should also hopefully do well, since the poll opened right in the middle of all that Gigantomachia action, and Toko had just got done being an absolute badass and protecting his birb dad. I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the top ten, but he should

and last but not least, I’m hoping that Mirko will come out and take the polls by storm, although I have no clue how popular she is in Japan lol. she’s clearly Horikoshi’s favorite though. she SHOULD be everyone’s favorite, but I mean, we’ll see how it goes

anyway that’s it as far as predictions! and so now, through the magic of writing stuff at different times, we will fast-forward to the part where we actually find out the results!

OH MY GOD YES, STEAMPUNK KHLKSLLKL. HERE FOR IT. JOLLY GOOD SHOW. 5 STARS

Kacchan looks SO COCKY and SO HAPPY and SO ADORABLE, YES I SAID IT. he is adorable as FUCK. I don’t quite know what it is about this particular Kacchan that just screams “LOOK HOW FUCKING CUTE MY STUPID, LOUD SON IS WITH HIS BIZARRE WINDOWPANE-LOOKING CONVERTIBLE SUNGLASS GOGGLES and his POORLY TIED CRAVAT”, but I think it’s because he looks like if a Digimon character and a FMA character had a baby

anyway, so it looks like most of the people present here are more or less who we expected to see. except that I can’t tell for sure if that’s Dabi or Shindou, and if it’s Shindou I’m going to punch somebody in the face so you will have to excuse me

Iida wearing a TRENCHCOAT and a TOP HAT with ENGINE EXHAUST GOGGLE ACCENTS is my new favorite Iida of all time. take note how there is no possible way he can wear those goggles with them sitting on top of his hat like that. plus he’s already got glasses on. these are just purely for aesthetic and IF THAT AIN’T JUST THE STEAMPUNK WAY

Deku out here speaking softly and carrying a lead pipe. Kacchan you best look out. seems like he’s done watching you take first place year after year while he languishes in the number two spot. your only hope is that he trips while attacking you because his boots are unbuckled

Shouto’s standing over there with the rest of the non-first-and-second-place characters, but what are the odds his results are actually within spitting distance of Deku’s same as always. anyway he doesn’t mind, though. also his outfit is by far the most sensible one here, but if you look closely he’s got some sort of fire extinguisher/jet pack thing strapped to his back that’s got a control switch on his belt. Shouto are you jetpacking or putting out fires

Kirishima out here all “I’m not sure what steampunk is so I’m just going to take off my shirt and pose”

AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH SKLKSDLKFJLSKJLDFKJSLDFFJLDKSJFL:KS. SIR. SIR. also, lowkey furious that Horikoshi refuses to show us the automail leg that he is clearly sporting here but which we just can’t see, SHOUTO MOVE GODDAMMIT

Endeavor has TWO fire extinguisher-slash-jetpacks. THE BETTER TO... WHATEVER. look at you here in the top ten again. you really live for that controversy

HAWKS OUT HERE WITH HIS STEAMPUNK BEATS BY DRE AND HIS WEARING A RING ON EVERY FINGER. nice to see you’ve still got your wings there, kiddo. then again Deku still has both of his arms too so who even knows what is going on

BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IS THIS DABI OR SHINDOU. as if I don’t know the truth deep down in my heart. y’all I am gonna flip lmao. it’s not that I dislike Shindou, strictly speaking. but just... I can’t explain what it is, but if you put him and AFO next to each other and told me “you can only punch one”, I would be having a serious crisis. just, THIS FUCKING GUY, idek. STOP SMILING

Tomura looks like he just wandered onto the set here by mistake and has no idea where he is or what is going on. it’s because you’re wearing a bigass severed hand that’s blocking your entire view, Tomura. just take the hand off your face my sweet murder dumpling

anyway! so I managed to also find a link to the full poll results while somehow managing to avoid spoilers, and then I wanted to compare the results to last year’s poll, and so I made... this

hopefully you can all see this. if you’re on desktop you might be screwed, but on mobile you should be able to click and enlarge it. I mean, assuming you actually give a fuck about boring poll analysis spreadsheets lmao

anyway, so there were actually 13k fewer votes cast this year which is a bit of a surprise. is the series not still growing in popularity? do people apparently have better things to do during their quarantine lol

anyways but despite this, and despite getting 8k fewer votes overall, Kacchan still managed almost twice as many as his closest competitor. well fought, Deku. please put down that pipe

I somehow always underestimate the power of ship popularity to influence these things. but for example, it looks like Present Mic got that Vigilantes Trio bump. ride that wave for all it’s worth my man! hell, you got me on board

Iida fucking Tenya somehow got some sort of POWER BOOST out of NOWHERE which I can’t explain at all lmao, but I’m here for it. NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN

Sero managed to get the exact same number of votes in both 2019 and 2020. clearly the most loyal fans in the business

Mirko being all the way down at #20 is, of course, a travesty, and I hereby nominate her to be the one to punch Shindou in the face

ngl though, the lack of a single female character in the top ten hurts just a bit. it’s not overly surprising, but still. the worst part of it is that even if you kicked Shindou to the curb and moved everyone else up one slot, it would still be all dudes since Mic beat out Momo by a margin of a little more than a hundred votes. hard to stay mad at Mic for too long, though. ah well

Tomura actually lost a bunch of votes which is a genuine surprise to me. I know the villain standom isn’t as dominant in Japan as it is in Western fandom, but still. you can go ahead and punch Shindou too I guess

Tokoyami lowkey doubled his vote count over the past year while hiding down there at #18. he is slowly becoming more powerful. biding his time

anyway so I think that’s it! I mean not really, but I’m getting kind of tired lol. so just, you know, insert the usual gripes at Overhaul’s ranking here, although we can be happy about Magne making her way onto the list (r.i.p.), and Mineta and AFO taking a very satisfying slide down (all the way out, in AFO’s case; good riddance you bum). Hadou also got a huge boost which is awesome. Mustard’s persistent ownership of the #36 spot will forever remain a mystery to me, but oh well

anyways, this was fun. and I really do feel like everyone is looking away on purpose so that when Deku brains Kacchan with that pipe in about two seconds from now, there will be no witnesses, oh my fucking god

#bnha 293 #bnha popularity poll #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #aizawa shouta #shigaraki tomura #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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bi-outta-cordonia · 4 years

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I’m glad folks are talking more at length about the way Black people and characters in this fandom and at PB are treated but I keep seeing people fail to mention how Lily Spencer was treated as a character—

Lily is one of four LIs in Bloodbound’s entire run, a Black, bi, nerdy girl with a killer sense of humor and an alternative appearance that specifically called to me when I first started playing the series. Throughout, I found her character to be great in book one since she shared a tight camaraderie with MC and even though my MC drifted off to another character, I really liked her a lot and looked forward to seeing what they were going to do with her in the sequel books.

And then those books came and I—

To say I was shocked would be putting it too lightly because the truth was I was appalled. It’s true. PB has been sidelining Black characters for a long ass time. They’ll introduce them to the story for the sake of diversifying the cast but when it comes to actually doing anything with them, they drop them by the wayside and refuse to give them anything meaningful as far as their story is concerned.

But Lily, and this is just my personal opinion, Lily was the litmus test for how much they actually could get away with. Book 2 of BB literally was the worst ride for anyone who seriously romanced Lily. She got maybe two exclusive scenes throughout the whole book that were just about her and in book 3, if she got an exclusive scene she’d have to share it with someone save for maybe one or two scenes. Throughout the entire run of BB, she never got a single tapestry exclusive except for in the Christmas special, which was the only tapestry exclusive she got in the whole run of the series.

And the last act of BB3 was just—out of all four vampires you can be with in BB, only Lily and Jax were up for being sacrificed at the end of the book and it highly depended on factors I’m still not entirely sure of. I romanced Jax so in my run, Lily died while Adrian and Kamilah were perfectly safe from being killed off, and after running through a whole series that reduced Lily to being your team comedian who you could sometimes be in a romance with, it really felt like a punch to the chest seeing her die and not in a good way.

She gets selected for sacrifice after the team effectively shoved her to the wayside, stopped giving her exclusive scenes save for a handful, most of which you had to take her and someone else along with—now fast forward to OPH2 and please name the character who they are doing the exact same thing to despite initially presenting him as an LI.

Lily’s treatment was something a lot of Black fans tried bringing up before BLM started trending and PB released that statement but by then, most of the fans had already made up their mind about Lily as it was. I saw a lot of people calling her annoying even though her personality is the same as Maxwell’s and y’all love him. Most people brushed off the criticism Black fans were raising. A lot of y’all decided that since Kamilah got content, you didn’t have to think about what was happening to Lily or her fans. To most of y’all, you just accepted what PB was doing and in return, PB had no qualms killing off Lily and continuing to sideline her despite her being an LI throughout the whole series.

And tbh I think this mess with Rafael Aveiro stems a lot from this—PB has in the past completely butchered Black characters for the sake of dumb plot devices, so it doesn’t shock me that they did the same to Rafael. The only difference between Rafael and Lily though is that his fans were a lot louder and eventually his mistreatment was something a lot of people outside of his fan base also started calling attention to, which forced PB’s hand and made them pull OPH2 for a bit.

And like I’m glad that happened, I’m glad Rafael still hasn’t a chance to have some meaningful content coming for him and hopefully, if he was originally planned to die, he’s now going to live but like.

Where was this energy for Lily when folks were calling it out back then? Where was this backlash when people were lamenting what PB had done to her? Where was the outrage on behalf of her and the collective movement to get PB to own up to what they did to her?

When you talk about Black characters getting sidelined to hell, keep Lily’s character in mind because a lot of you blatantly ignored her and Black fans when they were trying to talk about it when it was happening.

#playchoices #choices #bloodbound #lily spencer

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captainficspace · 3 years

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Spring Fever

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Klaus and Ben Hargreeves

A/N: I got bored on a break at work and it turned into this. I love my sweet boys more than I love having an actual setting in mind for this story. Hope y’all enjoy

Even though he couldn't feel the sun, Ben didn't say no to tagging along with Klaus on a garden meditation session. It was one of the warmest days so far judging by the budding flowers and his brother’s shorts, and he could see the wind muss the grass and rattle the windchimes, things he could see and fear but not feel. He thought about the sound as he sat beside Klaus on the ground, shutting his eyes and trying to regulate his breathing. How was he going to clear his mind when he was so already blocked off from things? The grass didn't even bend beneath him.

When he opened one eye, he saw Klaus facing the sun, eyes shut and peaceful. The light looked so warm, so welcome after the cold and dark of the winter. Ben tried to think about the warmth, to calm his mind and think about what he could be feeling. It felt nice to at least be with someone. He shut his eyes again and tried to think of more things he could be grateful for.

Something around him twitched, like someone had thrown a punch and barely missed him. Like the feeling of someone watching you sleep. Something cold? Not cold? Moving. He opened his eyes again, seeing the wind shake the tree branches. But he wasn’t just seeing. He was feeling.

"What-" Klaus startled, taking in what was happening as well. Ben reached out and grabbed a handful of grass, grinning at the cool, damp feeling of the ground and the sun on his face.

“Are you doing this?” He asked.

“I don’t know…but it’s a good day for you to feel things, right?” The wind picked up and Ben laughed at the feeling as it passed through his hair, throwing his coif off-center.

"Do you know how often I've wanted to mess up your hair?" Klaus asked. "What?"

"It's just been...obnoxiously perfect and it hasn't moved a strand out of place for thirteen years, man. I've wanted to mess it up so fucking bad."

Another gust of wind passed through, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Klaus. "Still not messed up enough."

"Klaus, don't!" It was too late. His brother had already pounced on him and took matters into his own hands, ruffling his hair and pushing it into his eyes until it about stood on end. Ben swatted at him uselessly, still not properly used to making physical contact with another person. He tipped back in trying to get away, propped up on his elbows and looking up at his brother, backlit by the sun

"Asshole. I can't even see my face in a mirror to fix it either."

Klaus pouted in mock-sympathy, reaching out to muss up his hair one more time. "Bastard." "I mean I could also mess up other things..."

"Haven't you done en-ACK!" He had decided that wrecking his hair wasn't enough and that his hoodie needed to be rumpled as well, running his hands over the surface and bunching up the fabric, occasionally sticking a leaf down his collar for good measure.

"You know you haven't changed this hoodie in over a decade? And I'm the gross one?" He went to jam a handful of grass down his back when Ben sputtered out a giggle, scrunching his shoulders and shaking his head.

"What?" Klaus knew exactly what he was doing, but still wanted to hear Ben say it. The second he had made contact with the back of his neck, his smile had turned devious.

"Nothing!" Ben’s neck was still all bunched up and his cheeks were turning pink. He tried to crawl away but Klaus was back on top of him again.

"No!"

"Yes!" He finished shoving the grass down his collar with one hand and skittered behind his brother's ear with the other, making Ben curl up on the ground in an attempt to defend himself.

Klaus' hands tickled and the grass tickled as it went from his neck down his back and rolling around just made it tickle worse. He couldn’t stop a few more giggles from bubbling out of him. When he lifted up the hem of his hoodie to try and shake some out, he realized he made the biggest mistake of all.

"Aww!! I couldn't forget about that of course!" And now he was fucked, showing off his worst spot to Klaus in the most corporeal state he had been in ages. "No! Not there. Please not there."

"Pathetic little Benny, already begging."

"Please." He didn't care he was whining. His hair was never going to look right again and he had grass down his shirt. Any dignity he has gone outside with was obliterated.

He was trying to pull the hem down and cover his bare stomach but Klaus already had his arms pinned to his chest.

"Not there!"

"Not where?"

"There!"

"Here?" Ben bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to give his brother the satisfaction. If he looked Klaus in the eyes he knew he would start laughing, really laughing, and wouldn't be able to stop. His nerves were on fire from the grass and the wrestling and his brother's evil hands.

"Tickletickletickle!" He drummed his fingertips right at the waistline of his jeans, teasing him. Ben only squirmed, biting his lip but his mouth still turning up at the edges. Little snorts and choked sounding squeaks escaped him from his attempts at holding it in. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, at least as long as he could help it.

"No!!"

"Yes!"

Klaus must have gotten bored with teasing because he slowly started making his way up his torso, the touches more scratchy, more tickly.

Ben tried to kick him off but Klaus was already across his legs, their limbs hopelessly tangled as they rolled around in the yard. Klaus kneaded at the soft parts around his sides and it was driving him wild, his reserve finally breaking and uncontrollable laughter finally taking over. He hadn't even been able to feel the wind five minutes ago and here he was feeling everything. His body was oversensitive and he couldn't even fight back properly if he wanted to.

Maybe he didn't completely want to. There was a small part of him that was glad this was happening. He missed the feeling of his nerves standing on end, of laughing so hard his entire frame shook and his ribs smarted. He threw his head back against the ground and covered his face, letting Klaus win this round because he knew it was a rigged game from the start.

"Come on...let me hear my little squeaky toy." Ben curled up on his side away from his brother, still not going to give in to him completely if he could help it. He couldn't help his gasps and muffled giggles or the squeaks that escaped around his hands, but he wasn’t going to give Klaus complete surrender.

"I have ways, Ben-Ben." Ben tried to sass him, but his laughter choked out his words. Klaus' hands found their way right around the sides of his portal where he knew he was the absolute worst, pinching up and down the sensitive bare skin.

Ben spasmed, rolling onto his back and flailing in any direction he could just to make the sensation stop. Klaus was laughing too now, the bastard. The sound of the two of them wrestling like children could probably be heard from the house, the mingling of his squeaks and Klaus’ snorts. The touches were scratchy or solid or unbearably soft, different enough each time that he could never adjust to the feeling.

"I hate you," he gasped out when Klaus finally gave him a chance to catch his breath.

"You love me. You love this." He made his hands into claws and vibrated them against his belly, throwing back his head and cackling as Ben let out a particularly silly sounding screech. "Liar!"

"Oh really? What was that, Bentacles...or should I say Ben-tickles?"

"You're t-the HA-worst!" Klaus rubbed his knuckles down the front of his ribcage, just gently enough to send him into a new wave of hysterics.

He finally got his fill of tormenting his brother shortly after, climbing off him and laying by his side in the grass as they caught their breath.

Ben sniffled and wiped his eyes, still unable to stop the giggles from bursting through him. He felt completely ridiculous, but he felt somehow lighter in this corporeal form if that was possible. When was the last time he and Klaus had felt so carefree? Even for a few minutes? His body was alight with endorphins and he still had that dizzy, loopy feeling coiled in his stomach. It felt like there was nothing but sunlight and grass and evil hands attacking his belly and ribs.

"Did I break you?" Ben had to try and start his sentence a good three or four times, something good and sassy to really show him what torture he had gone through. However, there was a disconnect between what he wanted to say and what his body was capable of doing. He sputtered and squeaked around his words before finally giving up and hiding his face in Klaus' shoulder as he cried with laughter. He was officially tickled stupid and they both knew it.

"I can't breathe, asshole." He said at last.

"You don't need to breathe. Your face was getting super red though, giggles." He pinched Ben’s cheek and he tried to scowl at him around that stupid smile that refused to leave his face.

"I don't giggle."

"Do you know how many tickles it takes to make you giggle? Ten-tickles." He laughed at his own joke and reached for Ben's ribs.

"No more!" He pulled back, hugging himself as Klaus tried to get his hands under his hoodie once again.

"No, more?" Ben curled up on his side, ready to fight if need be, but he was already giggling again with the anticipation, begging in-between hiccups as Klaus loomed over him, fingers wiggling. He aimed for his neck and Ben squeezed his eyes shut out of reflex, but Klaus just ruffled his hair one more time and flopped beside him, tucking his hands behind his head.

"Don't worry. I'm done. For now." The two of them finally relaxed side by side, feeling the sun on their faces and buzzing with happiness, Ben still letting out the occasional wheeze as he pulled himself together. He couldn't even look at Klaus or he would start laughing all over again, so he and his brother settled for watching the clouds. Meditation was great, but what they needed this time was to be loud and silly and feel every part of the day they could.

"You're so dead." Ben said once he had recovered. He honestly felt like he could have fallen asleep right there and then after that tickle attack, but his need for vengeance was giving him a second wind.

"No, you," Klaus countered, though maybe not giving the response as much thought as he should have.

Ben looked at Klaus in disbelief before rolling his eyes and pouncing on his brother as he shrieked out apologies in-between cackles, giving him his own chance to be overwhelmed with the sillies. He could have settled for a relaxing afternoon, but now it was time to make his brother pay. Ben had a feeling he had been asking for it and it just felt so good to make contact with anyone again. Especially when he got to mess up Klaus' hair as well.

#tua tickle fic

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ilovefandoms102 · 4 years

Text

Part 10- Shape of My Heart*

Pairing: Rudy Pankow x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Falling in love with someone you can never have is the worst feeling in the world...

Taglist:

@jeyramarie @drewswannabegirl @sexualparkour @teamnick @jiaraendgame @agirlwholovescoffee @outerbongs @jaxxandcomet @velyssaraptor @baby-pogue @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @must-be-a-weasley-92 @kaitieskidmore1 @ma10427 @ifilwtmfc @lasnaro @justcallmesams @judayyyw @lonely-kermit @gviosca @iamaunicorn4704 @jellyfishbeansontoast @fernweh-fangirl @runway-to-my-aid @eb15 @hurricane-abigail @tangledinsparkles @fandom-phaser @sunwardsss @http-cherries @bibliophilewednesday @evaporatedrosepetals @thetomatosaucee @tomatosauceagent @redosmo @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @obx-direction-sos @mxltifandoms06

Part 9 Part 11

Note: Thank you all so much for the comments, reblogs, and submissions! I appreciate every single one of them! It makes me so happy to see them and knowing that you guys love this as much as I do! I have a lot planned for this story so stay tuned!

===============================

I frowned as soon as my alarm went off....

Rudy groaned loudly, rolling over to snuggle into me. I breathed in deeply, stretching my arms and legs. I threw my arms around his neck, kissing the top of his head. He cracked open his eyes, pouting at me. I pouted as well, not wanting to leave him or his comfy bed. I huffed as my alarm went off again, turning to silence it.

“I don’t want you to go.” he whined, his deep morning voice sending chills down my spine.

“I wish I didn’t have to, but as soon as I can I’ll be back or you can come see me.” I smiled softly.

He crawled on top of me, leaning to crush his lips to mine in a bruising, searing kiss. My hands flew to his hair, my fingers weaving into his messy blonde locks. Rudy moved his kisses down my neck, trailing his hand down my naked form. I gasped quietly when his fingers met my heat, and I had to admit I was a sore from last night.

I moved my hand to feel his hardness, marveled at the silky smooth skin. He entered his fingers into me, using his thumb to spread the wetness around. I squeezed his member, moving my hand slightly. I brought my thumb back up to rub the seed that had slipped out for lubrication so I could move my hand better, a choked moan leaving Rudy’s lips.

I whined when he began to move his fingers faster, my hand trying to copy his pace. He stopped suddenly, moving to enter me with his hardness. We both groaned at the feeling, his lips coming back to meet mine. He moved slowly at first, sensually moving in and out. I hummed lightly, my hands smoothing down his sides.

He picked up his pace, slamming into me. I threw my head back as I moaned loudly, my nails digging into his sides. I wrapped my legs around him, causing him to hit that spot he did last night. I cursed loudly, Rudy’s head coming to my neck. He hummed in my ear, whispering filthy things that turned me on even more.

“You like it babygirl? Hmmm, you like feeling me inside of you?” he panted.

“Yes, so good.” I whined, smiling as my eyes closed.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” he groaned, his fingers digging into my hips.

“You do too handsome,” I gasped.

He moved up on his hands, changing his angle to pound inside of me. A squeal flew out of my lips, my hands coming to grip his forearms. He threw his head back, letting out a loud moan into the room. I stared in awe as his muscles began to flex harder, the veins popping in his neck. He moved one hand to rub me mercilessly, I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Scream my name baby, I want to hear who’s making you feel this way.” he grunted, burying himself to the hilt as he rammed his hips into mine.

“Oh my,” I choked.

I let out my scream, his name babbling from my lips. I didn’t think it was ever possible to feel this good, it made me want more. My whole body started to shake, my muscles twitching of their own accord. I gasped his name a few more times before the coil broke, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I scratched down his abs, red welts coming to the surface. My back arched up from the bed, Rudy’s head moved to take one of my nipples in his mouth, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.

Rudy stilled inside of me moments later, spilling his seed into me. He watched himself pull out of me, seeing the mix of his and my cum falling onto my thighs and the sheets.

====================================

We arrived at the airport, my heart clenching in my chest. I could feel tears surfacing, but I pushed them away. I didn’t want to ugly cry in front of Rudy, it would just make the both of us more upset. Rudy helped me lug my stuff in, waiting in line with me for my boarding pass. We stayed close, my head not leaving his chest as one of his hands stayed on my waist. Neither of us really talked, both of us just smiling sadly if we caught the other’s eye.

Rudy carried my carry on as we met our other friends in front of the security check. Both Maddie’s crushed me into a group hug, their tears falling on my shirt. I pulled away from them, smiling at them.

“You guys are acting like you won’t ever see me again.” I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s gonna be weird not seeing you everyday kiddo.” Chase sighed, pulling me into a side hug.

“I’m sure y’all are glad to get me out of your hair.” I joked.

“Don’t say that!” Maddie C huffed, throwing her arms around me again.

“I think we’ll have to come see your place when we can.” JD smiled, taking me into a bear hug.

“There’s not much to do where I live, but I’m sure we could stir up some trouble.” I smirked, all of us laughing.

“Well we better get going, be safe y/n. We’ll make plans for a visit!” Maddie B called, walking away with the rest of our friends. We all exchanged goodbyes, leaving just Rudy and I.

Rudy sat my bag down, taking me in his arms. One look in his eyes and I started to ball like a baby, clutching at his shirt. I loved seeing his handsome face, hearing his laugh, his goofy faces, the adoration in his eyes when he looked at me, our jam sessions, his stunning blue eyes...I...I loved him. It may be too soon to think so, but I don’t care.

“You’re breaking my heart baby,” Rudy mumbled, kissing the side of my neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m being a baby.” I blubbered, pulling back to look at him.

“First weekend you’re off, I’m coming to see you.” he promised, wiping my tears with his shirt.

“I wish you could come with me now, or that I could stay.” I sniffled.

“I know, but like you said, we still have your spring break. Then it’s summer and you’re all mine.” he grinned, planting a kiss to my lips.

I held his face to mine, savoring the taste of him. I didn’t care that people were watching, or that there might be paparazzi having a hay day taking pictures od us. It felt like it was just him and I, like we were on top of the world. We pulled away, leaning our foreheads together.

“Better get going, security takes a while and I don’t want you to miss your plane.” he spoke, handing me my carry on.

“I don’t want to say good bye, it seems too permanent. So, I guess I’ll see you later.” I spoke.

“I’ll see you later sweetheart.” he whispered, kissing my lips one last time.

===================================

My life became so frustrating the moment I stepped off that fucking plane. I was bombarded with work from school, my boss refused to cut my hours, and I barely had anytime to talk to my friends and Rudy. I was on the verge of a breakdown.

My very first assignment in one of my classes was a fucking five page paper with eight sources that couldn’t come from the millions of articles the Professor had given us to read. I wanted to pull my hair out, it was all becoming too much.

Rudy was such an angel, he didn’t get angry or upset that we couldn’t talk as much. He understood that I was busy as so was he. He sent me little gifts every other day, from flowers to a book he thought I would like. He was the best boyfriend and I was so lucky to have someone like him in my life. He was my rock, my shoulder to lean on.

I was currently huddled in my room, papers strewn everywhere. I was trying to get an assignment done when my boss kept blowing up my phone. He said that they were short staffed and that he needed me to come in. However, he only wanted me to come in so he didn’t have to.

It was ridiculous honestly, but I continued to ignore the calls and texts. I had too much due within the next few days to stop and go to work. It wasn’t until I saw a text from my coworker who is pretty much my only friend here that I broke down.

I hear our assistant manager talking to the boss about finding a reason to write you up, I guess to scare you into doing whatever they want.

“For fucks sake!” I screeched, throwing my papers down harshly.

I couldn’t stop the tears from gushing down my face, wracking sobs leaving my lips. My phone started to ring, I picked up immediately when I saw Rudy’s came appear. I couldn’t even say hi because of how hard I was crying.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Baby talk to me, what’s happening?!” Rudy exclaimed.

“Sorry I just...I’m so tired Ru. I hate my fucking job, and I have so much work to do. I feel like everything is falling apart and I don’t know what to do.” I sobbed.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“My coworker said that they are trying to find a way to write me up because I wouldn’t come in to cover a shift. I’m up to my neck in class work and I told them that I could not work this much because of my capstone classes.” I sniffled.

“You need to quit, that’s so fucked up y/n.” he spoke.

“I can’t quit Rudy I have bills to pay.” I sighed.

“What bills do you have?” he inquired, I didn’t like where this was going.

“It doesn’t matter, I just need to get another job. I’m sorry for worrying you.” I mumbled.

“Well I called because I wanted to tell you something.” he sighed.

“I hope it’s something good.” I chuckled.

“Um, yes and no? I...I got offered to start on this short film, so I won’t be able to come this weekend.” he said nervously.

“Honey that’s awesome! I have a shit ton to do so we wouldn’t have been able to do much.” I shrugged, forgetting he can’t see me.

“I still would have liked to spend time with you.” he mumbled.

“We’ll work something out, but I do miss your face.” I giggled.

“I miss you so much baby, you have no idea.” he groaned.

“It feels weird not having you sleep next to me.” I pouted.

“You’re a good cuddle buddy when you aren’t taking up the whole bed.” he teased.

“Excuse you, that is definitely YOU that hogs the bed sir.” I griped.

“Ooooh sir, I like it.” he purred.

“You’re gross,” I laughed.

“You love it.” he commented, I could imagine his little smirk on his lips.

“I guess so or I wouldn’t be getting all these messages from your fans about how I ‘stole their husband’.” I quoted.

“They’ll get over it, they aren’t true fans if they can’t see how happy I am.” he said.

“Are you really happy though?” I questioned.

“Of course I am, I landed the woman of my dreams. What more could I ask for?” he scoffed.

“A model, I don’t know.” I mumbled.

“Stop it, you know how I feel about you. That’s not going to change, probably ever.” he claimed.

“Ever? I don’t know if I can put up with you for that long.” I teased, a chuckle coming from Rudy.

“You’re hot as fuck baby, and all mine. You are stunning just the way you are, now no more talking bad about yourself ok?” he reassured.

“Ok,” I whispered.

“I’ll let you get back to work, call me tomorrow.” he sighed.

“Alright honey, bye.” I said.

“Bye baby.” he murmured, hanging up.

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years

Text

The Internet is Forever Part 1

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T (vague mentions of sex, but nothing explicitly described)

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Once more, y’all have The Gay Guard gc to thank for this lovely crack. It’ll be in three parts, with this one focusing on Joe and Nicky, Part 2 will focus on Andy and Quynh, and Part 3 will focus on Booker and Nile. I’ve never actually streamed or posted videos on YouTube, so I apologize for any inaccuracies, but... this is crack, so... you should kind of be expecting that at this point.

Tags: @the-chaotic-virgo, @hi-short-for-hello, @immortalwarriors, @the-killer-queenie, @roses-are-red713, @acolorandafeeling, @bookersebastien, @fetchmeabook, @ikilledtheducks, and @goalkeepernerd I blame every single one of you for this cursed fic. They all contributed to this AU so they ALL get credit for encouraging me to write this.

Also @perropascal!!!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please consider liking and reblogging! I love the feedback!

You know the saying, “The internet is forever?” It’s true. It’s incredibly difficult to remove anything once it’s posted on the internet. That’s why Copley had been able to find all the evidence of Andy, Joe, Nicky, Booker, and Quynh from over the years. No matter how hard they’d tried to scrub their backgrounds, a few things always fell through the cracks. And now, in the twenty-first century, with technology growing at an unprecedented rate, it was harder than ever to stay off the internet. When the team had hired Copley to cover their tracks and find them jobs, he’d known he was going to have his work cut out for him. Unfortunately, he’d never expected… this.

***

“Nile, can you come here for a moment, please?”

Nicky’s voice called out from the kitchen, and Nile got up from where she was perched on the couch, shutting her copy of Les Misérables–in the original French, mind you, Booker was trying to help her learn another language–and tucking it under her arm, walking down the hall and into the kitchen. She stopped, frowning in confusion as she took in the scene before her.

Nicky was standing at the kitchen counter, a plate of baklava on the countertop in front of him. The rest of the kitchen was a mess, dirty bowls and measuring cups filled the sink, and ingredients covered the counter. He had a webcam set up in front of him, along with a laptop, and Nile could see that he was streaming.

He looked up as she entered, smiling brightly. “Nile! Come, you must try this baklava!” He holds the plate out eagerly, and Nile steps forward cautiously, carefully taking one of the little squares.

“Why? What are you doing?” Nile asks, suspicious, as she inspects the piece of baklava, not convinced that Nicky hasn’t done something to it.

Nicky looks at her, hurt. “I just want you to try my baklava. I’m teaching the internet the proper way to make it, and I want you to tell them how it tastes!” He gestures to the live webcam. “I need you to be honest, tell me how it tastes, even if it’s bad.”

She gives him the look. She’s never once eaten something made by Nicky that didn’t taste absolutely amazing. As long as this isn’t a prank, she’s not sure there’s any way his baklava won’t taste divine. She takes a bite, and nearly moans at the taste. The buttery texture of the dough is perfectly complemented by the taste of walnuts, hazelnuts, and pistachios, and there’s a hint of orange citrus that just brings everything together.

“Well?”

Nicky’s looking at her, his eyes wide and expectant, waiting for her to give a review. “It’s amazing Nicky, seriously,” she says, grinning as Nicky beams at her. “It’s the best baklava I’ve ever had. Try some!” Nicky picks up his own piece, taking a big bite, but before he can say anything, a voice floats over from the doorway.

“Yeah, but how much baklava have you had, really?”

Both Nicky and Nile turn to see Joe standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk on his face. “I mean, if you’ve only ever tasted his cooking, you don’t really have anything to compare it to, do you?”

Nicky growled–seriously, growled–under his breath, and Nile looked between the two, confused. She was so used to seeing them acting like they were still in their honeymoon phase that seeing this other side of both of them threw her for a loop. She backed away from the couple, glancing at Nicky’s laptop, seeing that he was streaming to YouTube. She snorted when she read his channel name: BetterThanOliveGarden. She glanced at the live stream of comments and had to do a double-take. Based on what people were saying, apparently, Joe and Nicky had this online rivalry, and people kept debating their relationship, whether they were roommates, dating, or something else.

She watched as Nicky shoved the plate towards Joe. “How about you try my food before you critique it, Joe?” A sly smirk spread across Joe’s lips, and he took the plate, setting it down without taking any food off it. Instead, he strides forward, cupping Nicky’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Nile looks away awkwardly when Nicky moans, and she glances at the comments and sees that they’re going nuts.

People are screaming, keyboard mashing, and comments like: OHMYGOD WHAT, are popping up constantly. Nile grimaces at the webcam. She whispers to the camera, “You guys do know they’re married, right? They do this all. the. time.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder at the two men, still locked in an embrace. Joe has one hand clutching at Nicky’s hair and the other in the back pocket of his jeans, and Nicky’s got his arms thrown around Joe’s neck, both of them completely lost to the world.

The comments are still blowing up, and Nile isn’t sure if she should actually end the video or not. She shrugs, deciding to leave it going. What’s the worst that could happen?

***

Well, apparently, Nicky and Joe forgot about the live stream. Nile only found out when she went to go and find the video, only to see that it had been taken down due to “violating YouTube content policies.” She asked Joe about it.

“Well, you see, apparently it’s frowned upon when two people decide to show their love for one another–”

“You two started taking off each other’s clothes, didn’t you.”

“Yes. Yes, we did.”

“Please tell me the two of you left the kitchen before the pants came off?”

“Of course we did, we have enough self-control–”

“Andy came in and yelled at the two of you that you were about to do it in front of a live audience, didn’t she.”

“Um, well… yes.”

***

Nicky’s retaliation happened later that week. Joe apparently ran an art tutorial channel, where he did sketches, showing people how to draw anything from animals, to the human body, to landscape, to architecture. His channel was called ScrewMichelangelo, which had confused Nile until Joe had explained the man refused to stop flirting with Nicky, so Joe hated him. Nile was skeptical, until Joe pulled up an image of the statue David, pointing out all the similarities between the marble statue and Nicky.

Nile was shocked. She could see the resemblance and turned to Joe in shock. “Wait, Nicky posed for Michelangelo?”

Joe grumbled, frowning deeply. “No. I accidentally left my sketchbook in his workshop one day, and there were some sketches of Nicky inside. He used those for his inspiration. When I found out I…” Joe looked sheepish. “I was very upset. Nicky keeping me calm was the only reason Michelangelo survived my wrath.”

Nile grimaced. “Yeah, I can see why you’d be pissed.” Joe nodded, and he began to set up the webcam.

Joe had asked her to help him out, so Nile was once again in the video, this time posing for Joe so he could show people how to draw braids. She was still trying to get through Les Misérables–seriously, she hated french–and she’d lost track of time when she was startled by the door banging open. She looked up from her book, watching as Nicky strode determinedly into the room.

“This,” he said, coming up behind Joe and laying his hands against the sides of Joe’s neck. “Is for ruining my baklava video.”

He tipped Joe’s head back, pressing his lips against Joe’s harshly. Nile had learned from the last time. She got up, shut off the webcam, and left the room, shaking her head when the men didn’t even react when she shut the door loudly.

“Stupid horny immortal husbands.”

***

It had been a quiet week, and Nile was suspicious. Nicky and Joe had each ruined multiple of the other’s videos with intense make-out sessions, and Nile was surprised that they both hadn’t had their accounts banned from YouTube. Neither of them had done anything this week though, so Nile was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When she woke up one morning to a YouTube notification from Joe’s account, she actually groaned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to watch what they’d gotten up to, but she figured she should probably check.

Clicking on the video, she was surprised to see that she couldn’t actually see anything, because the video was pitch black. Suddenly, a soft light appeared, showing a shirtless Joe. He held a finger to his lips, giggling, before shining the light onto a sleeping Nicky next to him.

“Nicolo, destati.”

Nicky grumbled, trying to swat Joe’s camera away, but he missed. “Nicolo, habibi, destati.” Nicky groaned, rolling over and blinking up at Joe.

“Yusuf, what time is it?”

“Three am, habibi.”

“Why Yusuf?”

Nile can hear Joe giggling. “I wanted to show everyone what I get to see every night for the rest of our lives.”

Nicky’s face softened, and he reached a hand up, pulling Joe’s face down and into the frame, and into a kiss. Joe managed to hold the camera steady, somehow. When he finally pulled away, Nicky grabbed one of Joe’s hands, tugging him down so that Joe is spooning him and his arm is wrapped tightly around Nicky.

“You’ve got your video, amore, now let’s sleep, please.”

Joe says something, but it’s muffled as he sets the camera down. The light turns off, and Nile thinks the video must be over, but when she checks, she realizes there are still hours of footage left. She fast forwards, and once the room starts to brighten, Nile realizes it must be morning. She sees as Nicky and Joe come into view, still spooning on the bed. She watches as Nicky wakes, and sees the camera still running before he reaches out to shut it off.

She shakes her head, shutting the phone off. Maybe now they’d stop ruining each other’s videos and she wouldn’t have to listen to their complaints anymore.

***

Well, Joe and Nicky had stopped bothering her. But Andy and Quynh were a whole other story.

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hyperfocus-museum · 4 years

Text

Tori Vega

As someone who is very new to Victorious, having just watched it for the first time at the end of February and nearing the end of a third re-watch now, I have a lot of thoughts about Tori.

When I watched the show for the first time, I’ll be honest. I hated Tori. I went into the show as a Jade stan, having watched plenty of compilations and listened to others’ opinions on her which, as a very suggestible person, definitely influenced the way I saw her. Then I read a lot of stuff on both sides of the debate and decided to re-watch the show objectively.

Y’all.

Tori Vega doesn’t deserve all of the hate she gets. She doesn’t deserve hate at all, as a matter of fact. This is going to focus in mainly on Jade and Tori since most of the hatred for Tori seems to stem from her treatment of Jade which, as I’ll show, has its’ reasons.

To start from the beginning: the stage kiss with Beck in the pilot.

The first thing one has to remember is that Tori literally did nothing to Jade. She accidentally bumped into Beck and was trying to make up for her mistake by attempting to get the coffee stain out. Sure, she had a brain glitch at the cute boy smiling at her, who wouldn’t, especially when you’re touching their chest?

Jade completely overreacted, as she often does; making Tori play a dog should have been punishment enough, but pouring coffee over the head of a new girl in her first minutes at a new school is just cruel and unnecessary.

The stage kiss? Not Tori’s finest moment but it was her standing up to a bully. It was her way of telling Jade that she wouldn’t be pushed around and, if we want to point fingers, what about Beck? Tori owed Jade nothing at that point; nothing. She didn’t even know anything about her but her name and the fact that she was overly possessive of Beck.

Beck, however, has been dating Jade for almost two years. He should know her insecurities, how jealous she gets, and he could have easily refused the kiss because he should have known that it would hurt Jade.

But instead, Jade and most of the fandom seem to lay all of the blame at Tori’s feet. I’ve only ever seen one person (publicly, at least) point out that Beck is really the one at fault in this instance and that’s really sad, honestly. And it’s a recurring problem throughout the series, people blaming Tori for things that either aren’t her fault or that she tries to make amends over as soon as she realizes what she’s done.

In fact, there’s only one instance I can remember where she was in the wrong but didn’t apologize, and honestly, even it’s understandable. Let’s skip ahead and talk about Prome Wrecker, shall we?

Prome Wrecker is a really misjudged episode, in my opinion. People act as though Tori deliberately set out to ruin Jade’s performance, but she didn’t. Honestly, Jade sabotaged herself. Imagine being a playwright and gathering tons of supplies and putting loads of preparation into a performance, including printing out flyers, but not booking the space.

Now, I’m not saying that Tori was in the right to insist on having her prome, but I’m sure we can all agree that the experience taught Jade something about responsibility.

And, the truth of the matter is, sometimes Tori fights back and it’s usually when Jade comes in, guns blazing, demanding that Tori do something. Just off the top of my head, I can give you this episode and Brain Squeezers as an example. Tori has anger problems, this is canon. She hulks out sometimes and does things she’ll later regret, this is also canon. This episode is one of those times.

Jade comes in, even more antagonistic than usual, and orders Tori to cancel her prome. Tori gets pissed and refuses and then Jade does everything she can to sabotage the actual prome.

Where am I going with this? Simple: the reason that Tori never apologizes to Jade about this is because Jade never gives her a chance to feel bad about it. Rather, Jade is constantly pushing the issue and stoking the flames of her anger without giving her a chance to settle down and think about it rationally.

They’re both at fault here.

Honestly, I could go on and on but this is probably long enough.

But I do wanna say one more thing.

Tori Vega coming to Hollywood Arts is the best thing that could have happened to Jade West.

“No one talks to me like that!”

“Obviously someone should.”

The truth about Jade West is that, as much as she hates it, she needs someone to challenge her, to call her out on her bullshit and to fight back.

She is surrounded by yes men; even her own boyfriend is frustratingly patronizing and lets her get away with murder. Everyone is too scared of her to fight back and so she stays bitter and cruel and mean and with no one she can really count on... until Tori comes along.

Tori isn’t afraid to fight back; she doesn’t just sit there and take Jade’s abuse, but she doesn’t try to change her either. She accepts Jade the way she is but still believes she can be a better person.

And that, my friends, is why it’s Tori that Jade chooses to go to in Jade Dumps Beck. She’s hurting and in desperate need of help and she chose Tori. Ever wonder why? Well.

Tori is the only person Jade’s ever pushed who didn’t go. She’s the only person who fought back against her cruelty with kindness, who dared to tell Jade West that she could be nice to her sometimes. She’s the only person who hasn’t met Jade’s intimidation tactics with fear but with kindness and understanding instead, even when she has every reason in the world to hate her.

Jade knows that she can go to Tori and be herself in a way that she can’t with anyone else because Tori’s proven that she can be trusted, whether Jade likes it or not. She can take off her mask with her and still feel safe.

And, by the end of the series, the better person we see Jade becoming?

That’s all Tori’s influence and encouragement and the way that she believes in her.

Tori Vega is absolutely, 110% the influence Jade West needed in her life and the entire show really is about their journey. I’m just forever sad that it was cut short.

In conclusion, now that this has turned into my usual ADHD mess of a ramble, Tori Vega is no angel but she doesn’t deserve 99% of the hate she gets for being the protagonist of a kid’s show. She makes mistakes, sure, but she almost always apologizes and tries to fix them. So much of what she gets blamed for is misplaced blame at its’ worst and it feels like Jade blaming her for them getting locked behind the lasers in Wanko’s Warehouse to me.

Try watching Victorious through objective eyes next time, paying extra attention to Tori. She just might surprise you.

And, all of this being said, if you just don’t like her because you think she’s boring or any other reason, that’s fair. This post isn’t directed at you.This post is for the people who will see Beck kiss a girl in front of his overly jealous and possessive girlfriend and blame the girl. This is for the people who think Jade West can do no wrong even though she almost (and should have, realistically speaking) killed Tori over a stupid lead in a play.

I love Jade, I really do; she’s my favorite character but she’s a terrible human being. I’m just sick of her getting away with all the shit she does to Tori and the second Tori fights back, she’s getting hated on. It’s not fair.

Victorious isn’t made up of perfect characters, far from it. Tori has her faults as much as the rest of them, but somehow she gets all of the hate and I just had to say something.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, please help yourself to cookies and Wahoo Punch on your way out.

#victorious #tori vega #tori vega defense squad #tori vega defense squad rise up #jade west #a rant #character analysis #ship analysis #jori #jade x tori #tori x jade #i have a lot of feelings #and i'm quarantined #so I figured why not #it needed to be said

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gaylotusthatexists · 4 years

Note

For the Bad Things Bingo: damaged wing(s)? Either an Angel, Fallen Angel, or Demon AU (or a combination of you want) of Remus and Logan (or another ship if you don’t want to write them) where maybe Roman had something to do with Remus getting hurt and Logan helps him? Also mayhaps Remus has one of those “I don’t need your pity!” moments

fallen

fandom: sanders sides

pairing: intrulogical

prompt: damaged wings

trigger warnings: sympathetic remus, unsympathetic roman, religion, blood, injuries, drowning, needles

word count: 2237

a/n: this is written for the @badthingshappenbingo! ngl i saw this request and immediately got excited so. yeah. this was a lot of fun for me thank you. anyway this was lowkey inspired by good omens bc that’s just what happens when I try to write about angels and demons apparently. hope y’all enjoy~

ao3

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

There had been a fight. Screaming. Shouting. He'd been pushed around and insulted and told that he was evil over and over and it made no sense, because he'd done nothing. Only dared to think a little differently, to question everything that they'd been told. What was wrong with questioning things? What was wrong with wanting more out of life? For wanting more for them?

Then there'd been blood. It was difficult to tell if it had been his own blood or his brother's, but it was there nonetheless. He didn't even know that angels could bleed. Sure, he'd seen the humans bleed, seen how they'd fight one another, hurt one another, kill one another, just because they dared to think differently. He supposed the same had happened to him. He should have just accepted things, like everyone else did. He shouldn't have tried to talk to his brother about it all.

And then there was the fall. That was perhaps the worst bit. Falling through the air, wind crashing against his cheeks, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the pain he felt upon colliding with the ground, an intense shock sent through his entire body. He didn't even know that angels were capable of feeling pain - he'd certainly never felt pain before. Pain was supposed to be reserved for the humans.

And now every time he moved, he felt that pain again, like torture. He supposed this was torture. A punishment, for going against what was intended. He was on a rock, a sharp, hard, cold rock, and could hear the sound of the ocean near him, occasionally feel a splash of salt water land on his skin. That made the pain slightly more bearable - he certainly didn't get this back in Heaven, and it was... nice, in a way. Peaceful.

Until he tried to move again and that peace was immediately disturbed. He pushed himself up to his feet, at first stumbling and almost fall back down again until he regained his balance, leaning back against a cliff behind him. He breathed in and out, staring down into the ocean below. It... It was a lot less peaceful when he actually looked at it, saw the waves crashing against the rocks, threatening to pull him in.

He was pretty sure that he couldn't die - at least, not in the way that humans did - so falling into the ocean shouldn't have been so scary for him. But then again, earlier that day he thought it wasn't possible for him to feel pain, or be expelled from Heaven, yet here he was, all alone in Earth, nowhere to go.

At the very least, though, he figured he could try to get away from the water. It was unlikely that he would die, but... just in case, he wanted to get away. He spread out his wings, ignoring the jolt of pain up his back as he did so, and took off, a smile emerging across his face as he soared through the air, until-

Everything was dark, and quiet, and he couldn't breathe anymore - he hadn't breathed back there, but now he needed to breath apparently, and it wasn't working. His lungs ached, his wings felt heavy and useless, and no matter how hard he tried to move it wouldn't work.

Well. Maybe he could die in the ocean. He supposed he didn't have anything to lose, anyway.

But then he felt something grab him, pulling him away, just as he blacked out.

He woke up again on the shore, coughing and spluttering, the sand coarse against his skin. He sat up and glanced around, cringing again as he moved. There was... There was someone else on the beach now, a human, standing a little away from him. The human was also dripping wet, but didn't seem to care as much as the angel did - well, not exactly angel anymore, he wasn't entirely sure what he was anymore.

The human stared at him, curiously, and the not-quite-angel stared back, before deciding to ignore the human and continue attempting to get away from here. Perhaps flying over the ocean wasn't a good idea - he didn't particularly want to experience whatever that was again. Drowning, he guessed? Was that what drowning was? He suddenly felt terrible for all the times the angels had inflicted that upon humans, even if they were humans that had been deemed 'bad'.

But he only got a few metres into the sky before he came crashing down again, this time a slightly softer landing on the sand but still hurting like hell, considering he wasn't used to so much pain. He glanced back at his wings, beginning to think that maybe something was wrong, and his theories proved to be correct. His previously white wings had turned black, with green highlights here and there, and it probably didn't help that there was a massive tear right down the centre of his left wing. Upon seeing the tear, tears began forming in his eyes, as the pain and the suffering and the complete helplessness of his situation finally fully caught up.

He sat in the sand, head buried in his knees and arms wrapped around his legs, his wings curling in over his body. This was it, wasn't it? He was stuck here. He couldn't escape, he couldn't return back home, he couldn't even fly.

He felt someone standing behind him, and raised his head slightly, glancing through the hole in his wings. It was the human. Oh. He turned back to his sulking position, once again ignoring the humans presence.

"Um, sorry to interrupt your... uh, whatever this is," the human said, moving around him so he was now in front of him, "but I just wanted to check if you're okay? If you perhaps need of any help?"

The ex-angel looked up, glaring at the human in an attempt to scare him away, but it didn't work. Instead, the human sat down with him, his eyes will filled with curiosity.

"I'm Logan," the human said. "I, uh, don't know if that's any use for you, but I figured you may trust me a little more if you knew who I was."

Here he paused, as if he was expecting the ex-angel to offer up his own name, but the ex-angel refused to respond.

"Are these wings real?" Logan continued, reaching out a hand to touch the wings. The ex-angel jerked his wings back, and shuffled a little away from Logan, not wanting to hurt himself any further. "Sorry." Logan's hands landed in his lap. "I, uh..."

"Why are you talking to me?" the ex-angel snapped.

Logan blinked, but other than that didn't show any signs of alarm upon the ex-angels outburst. "I helped you out the water," he said, "and, well, I notice you're having a little trouble, so..."

"I'm not 'having a little trouble'." He wings fell to his side, now displaying his full body to Logan. His torn clothes, the cuts and bruises all over his skin, the sand sticking to his wet arms. "And, quite frankly, I don't particularly want you to be 'helping' me right now."

For a moment, Logan didn't reply, but it didn't seem like he was going to move. The ex-angel looked back down to the floor, silently praying that the human would just leave him alone. Ha, as if praying would do him any good. Everyone up there hated him now, they weren't gonna do anything. He was almost as pathetic as the humans, possibly even more pathetic.

"I'm really sorry, about whatever happened-"

"I don't need your pity," he spat, trying to stand up and move away but finding his legs incapable of moving. God, his entire body ached - his limbs felt heavy and refused to do their jobs.

Logan breathed in. "Well, at least let me help you fix your wings," he offered.

The ex-angel glanced up at Logan, frowning a little. The human still wasn't leaving. He seemed determined to help him. And that didn't make much sense. The human would get nothing out of it, apart from maybe secure himself a place in Hell for fraternising with... a demon. Is that what he was now? He definitely wasn't an angel anymore, so...

Logan seemed to take his silence as permission to fix his wings, and the demon didn't protest. He felt the human's hand stroking his feathers, sending a chill up his spine - an unfamiliar chill, one that he'd never experienced or even wanted to experience before, but certainly not an unwelcome one. The demon was shaking, against his own will, but couldn't seem to get himself to stop. It didn't seem to faze the human, either.

Logan hummed. "Stay here," he said, before standing up and running away from the beach. Oh, great, his help had left him. So much for that. The demon desperately wanted the human to touch him again, he wanted to feel that... nice pain, in his heart. But it seemed like the human had abandoned him too. He supposed that is what he had wanted.

He looked out across the ocean, watching the sunset over the horizon, reds and oranges reflecting on the water. He glanced up, watching the clouds pass by in the sky above. He imagined that everyone who used to be his friend was watching him now, laughing at him, condemning him. A part of him told himself that he deserved it, but...

Logan came back. The demon frowned. That... He hadn't been expecting that.

The demon breathed in and out as Logan got to work on his wings, flinching a little whenever Logan stuck a needle into his wing but figuring that, over the past few hours, he'd felt much greater pain than that. He tried his very best not to shake, to make it a little easier for Logan, but couldn't help himself. Logan didn't seem to care much.

"I'm Remus," the demon found himself saying. He didn't know why he suddenly felt like opening up to Logan, but... Logan was helping him, so he couldn't be bad, right?

"Remus," Logan muttered, under his breath. "And, what, you just fell from the sky?"

"Yeah, basically," Remus said, relaxing a little. The sunset was calming, and the feel of Logan's fingers over Remus' wings was soothing, and for a moment Remus thought that maybe this was better than Heaven. Up there, it was only really his brother who had truly cared for him, for everyone else he was just a pawn to be played with in their sick little game. Now, even his brother hated him, and since he refused to play God's game the other angels had no use for him. So he was cast away. Banished. Abandoned.

"That sounds awful," Logan said. Oh. Remus hadn't realised that he'd been saying all of that out loud.

"It's my brother who did this," Remus said. "We were fighting and God intervened and threw me out."

Logan hummed. "Did He not throw your brother out, too?"

Remus scoffed. "Roman can do no wrong. He's... a higher rank than me, anyway. And he'll play God's game. I... I was in the wrong, not him."

"It seems to me like they're all missing out," Logan mused. "There's nothing wrong with change."

"That's what I tried to tell them! I thought that maybe we'd be able to make the world a better place, but... they won't listen."

Logan snipped off the thread and stepped back. Remus lifted his hand up to his wing, where there had previously been a hole, and found a piece of fabric holding it together. Oh. Logan had... fixed it. He lifted his wings, then stood up, ignoring the ache in his bones as he flapped his wings again. For a few minutes, he hovered in the air, grinning before he landed again, gently.

"Thank you," he breathed, smiling at Logan.

Logan nodded. "It's no problem, really. Where will you be heading now?"

Remus' face fell. "I... hadn't thought of that." He didn't really have anywhere to go. Heaven wouldn't want him back, and he supposed that the next option would be Hell, but... he didn't particularly want to go there, either. Switching teams wouldn't mean that he could stop playing the game.

Logan considered him for a moment, looking him up and down, before holding out a hand. "Come with me."

Remus frowned. "I..."

"You can stay with me, as long as you need," Logan offered. "I, uh, don't have much, but it might be nice to have some company. And maybe I can help you figure out your next move."

"You... do realise that I'm a demon, right?" Remus checked.

Logan shrugged. "Being a demon doesn't necessarily mean that you're evil."

Remus blinked. "Uh. That's. Kind of the definition of a demon, actually."

"Honestly, it sounds to me as though it's the angels who are the evil ones," Logan said. "You just strived to make a difference. I respect you, for that."

Huh. No one had ever... respected him, before. He'd always just been in the background, a tool for other people's gain, most of the angels had hated him even before he went off.

Remus took Logan's hand and followed him home. Maybe he could make a new life here. Not as an angel, not as a demon, but as a human.

#bad things happen bingo #damaged wings #sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #logan sanders #roman sanders #unsympathetic roman #intrulogical #fallen angel!au #my writing #my fanfiction #my fanfic

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colorisbyshe · 3 years

Note

wrt queercoding&actual gay rep: I get what you mean, but honestly, that’s doing a huge disservice to the indie LGBT content creators out there. Some people don’t look for LGBT content made by and for LGBT people because it is easier to wait for Disney’s crumbs. I’m not coming for you btw. I have also put on the clown shoes. But my life as a fan has become a lot easier now that I go out of my way to find LGBT media. The fandoms are smaller, which means less people to talk with, but it’s alright.

I mean, yeah, that’s why I said you should endeavor to seek out actual (and not baited/coded) content from LGBT people... but I do think we should all acknowledge

a. finding that content isn’t always easy

b. that content isn’t always good in terms of quality (especially because it’s become a trend to publish books that read like fanfic AND with the rise of self publishing, though those can be good things, as well)

and c. that content... isn’t always good in terms of morality, either

Nor is it guaranteed to handle any other identities besides LGBT well (if it’s even handling LGBT content well in the first place, because, yes, I have seen LGBT creators fuck that up, too)

It’s sort of like the fanfiction vs books debate where there’s a massive space of overlap where the best fanfiction can be better than the worst published literature. So saying one is definitely better than the other (when indeed they may be consumed for very different purposes) misses the mark. Obviously, one should try to read more (GOOD) published literature than shit on the internet, but acting like it’s inherently better to ONLY consume published lit removes flattens a nuanced topic.

Likewise, sometimes gaybait shit is just like junk food. It fills you up, even if it isn’t healthy to ONLY have that. It’s nutrient-low, calorie-dense snacks. Which can have a place in a healthy diet.

Especially when some “By and For LGBT” work ends up nutrient-low in its own way.

I don’t htink attaching morality to these things (on their own, without getting into things like fan entitlement/engagement and things like that) is like... productive?

If someone really wants to watch an anime about gay skateboarders, sometimes, settling for the gaybait is better than waiting for someone to maybe recommend them a YA book where one character is gay and another one skateboards in a b plot narrative that is forgotten halfway through.

Yes, supporting LGBT creators who are competently creating work is essential but... do both?

My point about fan entitlement was about people harassing and bemoaning “gaybait” that was AT MOST accidental subtext and then refusing to seek out content that actually has gay content. About adding intentionality to accidental homoerotic tension and getting angry about it and then doing nothing about it.

And about criticizing creators who gaybait and then throw in mean spirited no homos so they can both capture an LGBT audience and placate a cishet one.

Not about saynig the only ethical consumption of LGBT content comes from LGBT creators, especially since that ignores the existence and VALUE of gay coding and censorship within the industries (which in turn does still make it harder to self promote as indie artists) and closeted creators.

This conversation needs nuance and I know... I know we already know that nuance.

Liek we all reblog gifs of movies made by cishet men about LGBT people (The Handmiaden, BRokeback Mountain, Moonlight). We all consume a lot of content not even knowing who the creators are (until they get exposed or get annoying on twitter).

So... idk man. Yeah, ideally, we are consuming By LGBT for LGBT content but sometimes... the content you want from LGBT creators just doesn’t exist. And sometimes it’s just accidental subtext in a random ass show that never even knew gay peopel exist until you found them.

Until y’all can find me By LGBT For LGBT content about childhood best friends who are separated by war and then separated again by one being frozen in ice and hte other being forced to become a murderer via brainwashing and then the frozen one spends years chasing the murderer because he still believes in him... I’m gonna say......

Let’s just admit all of this content can have value and make you feel good, its just the value might come from different things... and that this isn’t zero sum game.

You can consume LGBT content by/for LGBT people and consume bait AND consume accidental subtext AND criticize the creators in all three of these spheres for different or even the same reasons

This is overly long can you tell I’m avoiding packing

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themerriweathermage · 3 years

Text

Author Interview

I was tagged by @sleepswithvillains . I’ve never been tagged much before so this is kind of new for me, but I love it! Tag me all the time! Also you did it again, where I got the Tumblr notification like right as I went to bed, but my sleep schedule is so wack right now.

Tagging: @guardianofrivendell @moriamithril @sunflower1000 and really whoever wants to do it. Drop me a tag if you decide to do it because I definitely want to see what you have to say!

I have a lot of unfinished fics and not a lot of published works in comparison.

1. Name: The Merriweather Mage (Tumblr)/ RinzlersGhost (AO3)

2. Fandoms: LOTR/The Hobbit, The Witcher (TV), SWTOR/Star Wars, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, Twilight, Underworld (though I’m not active in most of them unless I’m hyper-fixating)

3. Where you post: AO3, Tumblr, and I have an inactive FF.NET account

4. Most popular oneshot: People seem to have a real affinity for Meleth-nin/My Love. I actually hated writing it, because I was in such a bad place after receiving news that my childhood dog had died, but I don’t hate the fic itself.

5. Most popular multichapter: Every Kitten Has Claws which is a Geralt X Druid Fem!Reader. 25 Kudos, 3 bookmarks, 517 hits. Followed by Turuhalme in the Greenwood which is Thranduil X Fem!Reader. 9 Kudos, 1 bookmark, 270 hits. Both contain 18+ Content.

6. Actual worst part of writing: I legitimately hate writing fight scenes. I’m horrible at them and most of my fics contain some sort of fight scene obnoxiously enough. Although the best advice I ever saw on here was to keep your fight scenes short because not very many people are interested in a long drawn out detailed fight scene.

7. Favorite story you wrote: Bards & Beans Coffee Co. Elrond X Fem!Reader. Was the first time I’d ever written anything in the second person. I based it off of a dream I had about meeting Elrond in a coffee shop. I planned it, wrote it, and posted it in the span of four days. It’s basically as if Middle Earth exists on the other side of meridian locks, and it’s set during the War of the Ring but with some of the characters from the Hobbit so the timelines are pretty pushed together. Your side of the meridian locks has a Earth that is basically a continuous strip of land that varies from high-tech futuristic ports all the way down to medieval ports. Basically the farther North you go, the more high tech and futuristic the land becomes. Quite a shock for those who would have never been to the other side of the locks. 18+ Content.

8. Story you were nervous to post: Most likely all of them. Any of my Twilight work though, I always hesitate about publishing. Sometimes it’s because the stories are close to my heart, but I also know that the fandom can be rabid. Most of the interactions I’ve ever had with Twilight blogs are fine, but there’s a lot of discourse about Twilight right now, and while I appreciate that most people are in the right (the issue with the Quileute tribe, the Cullen’s as villains, Jasper and the Confederacy, the actual legitimacy of the Volturi as a ruling body, etc), this is actually one of the reasons I left the fandom from a writing/following POV. (There are many, many things that are wrong with Twilight and not from a literature point of view. For example, Meyers took a real life Native American tribe and treated them highly unfairly in the books, to the point of calling them dogs which isn’t very fair at all, and they have received no compensation for being used and they are risk in the place they live in now. If you have some time and money, I would recommend checking out the Quileute Move to Higher Ground project.)

9. How you choose your titles: For story titles, I like to choose the main theme or a main phrase that is used. For chapter titles, I either don’t title or I will chose something that is a main part of the chapter.

10. Complete works: Out of the 21 works I have on AO3, 18 of them are completed, although one is an open ended and may be reopened after I get some of the larger works out of my way. As for fics in general that I haven’t published or have published on other platforms, there is 2 of 5 complete works on FF.NET. Some of those stories I will be pulling and deleting. The two complete works will be migrating to AO3.

11. Incomplete works: Actively: Sadril-nin/My Loyal One, A Hunter’s Circlet, and Beauty in Brokenness (unpublished for now). I have a few other inactive LOTR/The Hobbit based fics that I might try to finish after the main two are finished. Inactive: Literally too many to count. I mean, when I wrote my goodbye to the Twilight fandom, I said that I had been writing for the fandom for nearly nine years. I have so many unfinished Twilight fics, well over 100.

12. Do you outline: Not usually. I’m at the point with Sadril-nin right now where I’m literally following a map of Middle Earth and cataloguing the journey across the map, so I guess that could be considered an outline. Mostly if I’m writing for LOTR/The Hobbit, I want to follow the timeline of progression for the story that’s already been written. I do have a little bit of leeway in that gap between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings though.

13. Coming soon ideas, maybe? I’ve been giving you a taste of Beauty in Brokenness. I do intend to publish it, but it’s a constant struggle to rework it. I have ideas that I want to cement in the story that don’t always come out the way I want them to, so I am consistently reworking parts of it all the time. I will also be rewriting (eventually) Crown of Thorns, which is Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic, Lord Beckett X Siren!OFC. I also appreciate the idea of Nestadion X Centaur Fem!Reader, but instead of being a centaur all the time, you’re actually a shifter who can turn into a centaur. Really confuses a warrior elf to see what amounts to a small human carrying this massive two handed sword around and calling him “princess” all the time.

14. Ask me anything: Is there anything you miss in fanfic? In comparison to the actual book/movie? Not really. I appreciate the original works, but I recognize that they can be flawed and so can their authors/writers. Which is why fanfic is so appealing-- everyone has a different spin on the original; everyone has a different take on the characters, everyone writes differently, and that’s the fascinating part to me. The only downside, of course with any fanfic, is the fandom and it can be hit or miss with people. It is what it is, and the liberty of fanfic is that not everyone is going to like or enjoy your works, and the same goes for your tastes. Are there right or wrong opinions? I don’t know; I’ve both read and written some morally ambiguous fics, and some I would like to forget that I very much haven’t.

15. Best writing traits: Same as the worst writing traits. I’m a sucker for detail. I love it. I want my readers to see it like I do. When I read books or play D&D or play video games, I see it like I’m in a movie. When I write, I want you to see it like you’re on set and the cameras are rolling and you are perfectly prepared. I want you to feel like you are in the story, which is why my oneshots turn into series, and my multi-chapter fics turn into novel length stories. I find it obnoxious at times, because I feel like I can’t ever turn it off, but by the feedback I get, some of y’all really enjoy it, so let’s get this show on the road.

16. Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Uhhhh, let me go browse my WIP folder. I’ve put quite a bit of research into rewriting Crown of Thorns and making it slightly more historically accurate. I know that there will be a Part 2 to Sadril-nin, because I’m not going to time skip a seventy/eighty year gap between the timelines of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. And I really don’t want to submit y’all to this absolutely massive story all jam-packed into one fic. Other than that, I’m also sitting on Through Hellfire and High Waters, which is another Elrond X Reader fic that follows the premise of a modern/medieval world all smashed into one. The Queen of Eryn Galen also needs a proper ending and to be published, a Thranduil X OFC fic; this one will also have a Part 2.

17. Spicy Tangential Opinion: I don’t care if my writing makes the characters out of character. I try to tag that if I can, but let’s be real here. Either I’m writing a character that originally has a limited backstory and a very real chance at an open-ended future, or I didn’t like the canon character and I’m rejecting that reality and replacing it with my own. Does it mean that I don’t or am refusing to recognize character flaws? No, and that’s the beauty of fanfic. You can do whatever you want. You might get hate for it or you might not. For example, I am a fan of Severus Snape (RIP Alan Rickman). Does his character have flaws? Yes. Do I like the way he was canonically written? No. Are his actions justifiable? Hell no. Is that going to stop me from being a fan? Again, no. He is arguably one of the most disagreed upon character of that series. I don’t see a need to defend why I write him the way I do. I don’t see a need to defend him in discourse, and I’m certainly not going to be hateful about it. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion about it. Yes, there was probably some underlying intent when the character was written. I’m not here (unless you’re specifically asking my opinion on it) I’m not here to read in between the lines with characters like Snape. I do not care enough to lose friends over opinions like that.

#long post #i am so sorry #get to know the author

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