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#in case anyone is wondering my stance in general though

satancopilotsmytardis · 2 months

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Fuck yeah, demon Dabi!

I really like that he got adopted by a community willing to take care of him. I believe that people will always seek out community and I just adore this detail here. The fact that they find a starving child and take him in.

On another note, seeing a feral Dabi would be pretty hot, actually.

Oh, Dabi. He's starving himself for other's approval. He's hurting himself again. And sure, it's different, but is it really? He's hurting himself to prove that he is strong, that he should be taken seriously. My boy :(

"There's [describes how all of the LoV are very unhinged] and Magne" I love this line.

And the found family starts! Shigaraki doesn't want any of his crew to be in less than the best shape they could be in. I really like how you write him as a good boss.

He booked a room at La Venus. Yeah, I'm sure that won't lead to him running into Shigaraki at all. Totally.

And the lingerie shows up! Also, Dabi keeping money tucked away in all of your stories for worst-case scenarios is really nice. Especially since he uses them to help the League after AfO is arrested. It just adds to his character nicely, I think.

Ooooh, flustered Shig! We don't get to see that often. Also, uncomfortable conversation for the win when Shigaraki is very much attracted to Dabi and knows that Dabi can smell it. Lol.

"He isn't supposed to be nice, or god forbid, understanding." Dabi. Dabi, have you ever thought about the fact that you had to deal with the literal scum of society for so long that you have gotten used to being treated as less than human? Because Shig is treating you like a human (well, demon) right now and that is actually the bare minimum. Oh boy.

Dabi is jealous~

That other succubus obviously noticed how interested Shig is in Dabi and felt threatened because they have slept with him before (probably more than once?). Also, the fact that Shig is not at all interested in them while being very much interested in Dabi is amusing.

Shigaraki: "I am going to be professional about this and give Dabi some space so my presence won't make him uncomfortable." Dabi: "You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

I wonder if Shig had the scent blockers installed before or after he met Dabi for the first time? Was it just a general idea to use scent blockers in his villain costume as to not get tracked down or did Giran tell him one of the people who want to get in contact is a Succubus and Shig tried to make sure Dabi won't be uncomfortable?

"What if I want to eat you tonight?" "What are your rates?" Shigaraki you are such a simp. "More than worth triple." Oh, do you also want to offer him your still-beating heart on a golden plate? Simp.

Of course Shigaraki would find a way to be sweet even high on venom. He would never want to hurt Dabi by accident.

I really enjoy how you write oral. I think those are some of my favourite fics from you.

Last third of the fic and things are going downhill fast. I'm guessing Dabi only managed to last two months because he was eating so regularly before. Oh, I wonder if the fact that he can't get his fill from anyone else has to do woth the fact that he called Shigaraki his mate? Nah, couldn't be it. Haha, immediately got confirmation for that one.

Okay, but that venom-turned-to-gas attack is cool as fuck. Also, Compress immediately asking to turn taht into marbles just shows how the League is used to having Dabi around. Compress is practical when it comes to stuff like this, he won't judge Dabi when this can be used to give them an advantage (not that he would judge Dabi otherwise, either).

The fact that Dabi has managed to go hungry for this long without going feral really speaks for his self control. I don't remember if you ever answered this, but do demons typically have quirks in this universe? What is the PLFs stance on succubi?

Oh, oh poor Dabi. He was hungry for so long and he tried so hard and he held on for so long. It's no surprise he's slipping. Though taking a chunk out of an already injured Shigaraki does seem counterproductive. Also, that injury is going to be difficult to explain. Especially if there are succubi around, or people who know enough about succubi to know about them going feral.

The abandonment issues are hitting hard again, aren't they? And Shigaraki is such a simp. He had Dabi take a bite out of him and all he can focus on is that Dabi was hurting.

Well, that's a twist. Interesting though! Also, the fact that Shigaraki just immediately ignores everything else to make Dabi feel good. My guy, you are missing part of your shoulder.

Ah, that was a sweet ending. Well, as sweet as you can get with these two. I wonder how the rest of the League reacted? They definitely noticed that Dabi was oit of it for a long time. And I imagine they took the time to read up on succubi, at least on the basics. Did they know he was starving?

Also, an immortal Shigaraki is terrifying, actually. Once heroes find out how he did that, I'm pretty sure they will use the fact that he "owns" Dabi to turn the public even more against him.

Thank you for the story!

Fuck yeah! A long comment!!

Dabi's daddy issues really take a backseat in this one, but they are absolutely still here being a driving force behind his actions in a way I don't even think he's capable of recognizing.

I truly believe that Magne is the most normal member of the League. Oh, she has 47 attempted murders and a temper? Yeah? So what? I would too if i had to deal with transphobia that far into the future while an anthropomorphic washing machine got to run around being one of the top heroes!

Shigaraki has definitely slept with Reo at least twice, however, even if he hadn't slept with Dabi that night, he never would have taken them to bed again. He does not like that Reo tried to stake their claim over him when as far as he was concerned, anything that happened before was just a transaction.

The scent blockers were a part of his costume since his debut! When there are heroes like Hound Dog, it's important to keep things like that covered. But Shigaraki didn't know they were just as effective on demons which is why he said he would be reporting that back to the doctor.

READ HIM FOR FILTH! Look, Shigaraki is so blunt already that I just think if he ever cared enough about something other than his goals, be that another person or just sex flat out, he would be incredibly blunt, earnest, and cringe about pursuing that as well. He does not have a subtle bone in his body.

So in this universe, full-blooded demons do not have quirks, but they do have innate magics and abilities that can sometimes mimic what humans think of as quirks and that can help them stand toe-to-toe with humans even after their evolution. I never had a good chance to bring this up in the Incubus!Shigaraki story, but in the first installment Dabi mentions that he told the rest of the League Decay was a mutation of his ability to eat lifeforce, however Shigaraki was not aware at that time, that was a lie. In actuality, he was born human with demonic blood in his ancestry, and when Decay activated as a child, he was scooped up by AFO who then had Ujiko do a lot of medical experimentation on him until the demon genes activated. From there they waited for him to hit puberty, knowing his memories would be fucked up and gaslighting him the entire time to make sure he thought he was a born demon, to see what kind he would end up being. The fact he ended up being something as weak and low-born as an incubus is why AFO treated him so poorly and encouraged him to starve/feed only on nightmares, since he had already put so much effort into Shigaraki and didn't want to waste him. The fact that Dabi very openly and blatantly has a quirk signals to the world he was human first.

The PLF is a very large organization so it would range from "not racist at all" to "extremely racist" concerning Dabi's and (to a lesser degree) Toga's heritage. In general, given his position in the organization, Dabi would not have to deal with the particularly racist members-- except Geten who, after the incident in Deika, and with his own family's obsession with 'blood purity' would be thoroughly disgusted by Dabi. He would still ask to be put on a squad with the popsicle though, because Dabi is used to that kind of treatment and he wants to keep a close eye on him to make sure he doesn't' ever try to start something.

Shigaraki continues to be a simp, but the fact that he ignored the bite and just kept fucking Dabi is 100% down to the venom. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to at that point, and he was just glad that Dabi didn't tear out a vein or artery.

The rest of the League would know they're dating, and kind of had their big reaction to that before the group headed to Deika, but no one else would be able to tell that Shigaraki owns Dabi now unless they tell them, or until it becomes very obvious that Shigaraki is not aging anymore, which he might actually continue to do until he's around 25 or so if the bond determines that's when he would be at his most physically healthy. Overall, I think that they would be happy for them, but be very confused about how in the fuck that works, because the succubi-granted immortality is a very well-kept secret in demon circles to avoid succubi being enslaved again.

So on that same note, the heroes would have no way of knowing what was going on between the two of them for a very, very long time. Especially if Shigaraki does naturally unlock the regeneration quirk of All For One, which would make the longevity Dabi is giving him and his healing look like one and the same. They would also have a theoretical eternity to do what they need to, even if Dabi has already decided he's not going to kill himself to kill Endeavor anymore. Now he gets to take the time and plan for a new revenge. (I'm thinking fighting Shoto and forcing him to use his flames until he accidentally turns into a demon too and forcing Enji to see his perfect prodigy is now a demonic race the whole world looks down on)

Thank you for the comment!

#I had to type this TWICE because the app crashed as I was trying to reply the first time :'(#tanco speaks #ask #asks

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singular-yike · 11 months

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Is the "outside world" in Len'en meant to be our world like in Touhou? Apparently they've got twitter but on the other hand they also seem to have artificial assassins (Kurohebi) random magic powers (two shitodoes) and a transdimensional train or something

The Outside World in Len'en

Our knowledge on the outside world of Len'en, the world Tsubakura and co. hail from, is quite a lot more limited than that of Touhou's.

Though as far as we can tell, the so-called "Outside World", which Mugenri separated from sometime in the distant past is indeed meant to be similar to our world.

One does have to keep in mind thought that we have a very skewed image of what the outside world is like because of the characters we know, and that the average resident of the outside world would not know about any of those things.

The short answer out of the way, let's take a look the curiosities of the Len'en outside world, and how they are (or could be) explained:

Special Abilities

All of the EE outsiders have special abilities, outside of Kurohebi and Clause, though this is explained by JynX with the following:

Interview with JynX (2017) Question 4 Q: Is it rare to have powers in the outside world? A: It's extremely rare, or rather, people generally aren't even aware of them. Think of it as the same kind of awareness as in the real world.

So the average outside worlder wouldn't even know about special abilities, or at least wouldn't believe in them, just like the average person in our reality.

Tsubakura's Inventions

Tsuba has a number of incredible inventions, Danmaku Toys, the Wings of Magritte, Kruohebi, the Monochroids and no doubt a whole slew of incredible technology that we haven't even seen yet.

Thankfully, this is another one is explained by JynX:

Interview with JynX (2015) Question 27 Q: Tsubakura uses quite advanced technology. Is this normal in Len'en's Outside World or is Tsubakura that much of a genius? How much more advanced is Len'en's Outside World compared to our real world? A: There's barely any difference between the technology of Mugenri's Outside World and the real world that we live in. Since Tsubakura develops their own gadgets, they're not widely-used by anyone else. Also, Tsubakura doesn't announce their inventions to the world.

So basically Tsuba is very private about their inventions, and the average outside worlder would be none the wiser to the wonders that they produce at their research centre.

Several Nations Overthrown

In BPoHC, Scoundrel VS. Kunimitsu, the following exchange is had:

Kunimitsu: [...] Witnessing the very moment the previous nation was overthrown was a pretty valuable experience. Hooaka: We've seen it a couple of times ourselves. Aoji: Yeah…

This is the toughest bit to simply explain away by "the average outside worlder is simply unaware", it's rather unreasonable to think that only a select few would hear about an entire nation's downfall.

In my opinion, there are really only two ways to rationalise this:

One way is to accepted that the outside world is largely analogous to ours, except when indicated otherwise. The same stance Len'en takes with mythology and history.

Another possibility is that these overthrown nations did not, in fact, exist in the outside world, but in another dimension instead.

The following exchange can be found in the next stage, in Scoundrel VS. Kaoru:

Hooaka: Pretty sure Kuro-jii would be sentenced to around 200 million years of hard labor if they were arrested. Aoji: If you included the sins from other dimensions then yeah, more or less.

So know that Kuroji, at the very least, has experience travelling (and committing crimes) in other dimensions, and it could easily stand to reason that the two younger Shitodo were with them as well.

Thus it's more than possible that the three siblings could've witnessed these nations toppling in another dimensions.

In either case though, it's possible that our "walking strategic weapon" Hooaka and ex-military strategist Kruoji even had a hand in them, and with this I doubt Aoji's innocent either~! If that's the case, that'd make it one of Kuroji's countless crimes~.

Conclusions

And that's all I've got!

The main takeaway though is that by and large, it should be understood that the outside world in Len'en and our reality are largely the same, and that our EE outsiders are just, very outstanding cases.

As usual, I hope you enjoyed~! :)

#len'en #len'en project #len'en lore #outside world

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mikathemonster · 1 year

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You found out your love will stay unrequited. For Boromir (if he rejected me I would die on the spot. Dead. Deceased.) if you can if you don't write him could you do it with kili, if you have too many requests you can just leave this its okay just wanted to ask in case 😊

"death and despair"

author's note: oh my god SLAY I literally love writing angst. this is also my first time writing for Boromir so I'm excited for the challenge! I hope this delivers justly to your expectations, though I do apologize that it's shorter than most. (based on this post)

Pairing: Boromir / Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 624

summary: as the threat of evil looms over you, it seems like nothing compared to the loss you've now faced in Boromir's death

content warnings: angst, themes of death and impending doom

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

To you, Boromir was your greatest treasure; no gold or gems or any material possession could replace the feeling in your chest whenever you gazed upon him or spoke with him. He was strength and courage itself in your eyes; he was a true fighter fueled by the love for his people. He was everything to you, and yet he knew nothing of it.

To him, you were no more than another soldier. Another brother in arms, another sword and shield that would loyally follow his beck and call. But your loyalty went much further beyond the relationship between a warrior and their general. You would die and live a thousand more lives if only to give them to such a son of Gondor as he. Only he was deserving of such a gift.

But you could never tell him. Not even when your brigade was out together in the depths of the night. Not even when the campfires brought out secrets and whispers among your comrades. Not even when the flames illuminated his steely composure, and suddenly you saw not a general, but a man. A man wreathed in the love he held for his family, for his people, and for his city. A man of great valor and even greater strength, though you could see he often forgot this in times of hardship.

Even when your midnight conversations of strategies and battle posts dwindled into mutterings of lifelong aspirations, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that in each of your life stories you wanted to live, you wanted him by your side. You felt selfish, weak, and even disappointed in yourself by the notion that you could provide nothing for him besides your love and allegiance.

And yet, you could not deny that nobody else could lay claim over your heart. It was his and his alone. You couldn’t fathom anyone else having it, nor could you see yourself ever lending it to another soul. Your heart was a fragile thing, but your love for him made it stronger. It made you stronger.

The last you had seen him was right before he had left to attend the Council of Lord Elrond, his brother and father sending him off as you watched him from your post at the gates of the White City. He would remain far from you, traveling further and further away until he could no longer even fathom returning, his spirit caught in a place you could no longer follow him to.

No longer would you see his steely eyes, nor would you hear the mature ringing his laughter left behind in your ears. His rough hands, his strong shoulders, his proud stance; all of it was lost to you now. Never again would you hear the tower take up the call to announce the Lord of Gondor’s return. Never again would his horn ring in your ears to lead you into battle. Never again would you heal from such a wound. Boromir, son of Denethor, was lost to you forevermore.

The whole city mourned for the loss of their fallen son, their fallen soldier, their fallen brother. Whispers spread, wondering what laid in store for the fate of the White City as worry and grief gripped the community. You saw it especially in Faramir moments before he left for Osgiliath, his expression completely lifeless. Defeated.

All you could do in the passing days was wonder what would become of your city as the shadow of evil crept over the mountains of Mordor and loomed over your home and life. Death and despair were all that clouded your thoughts in the coming days of the new age of your life.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

if you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out my other pieces and consider leaving a tip on my page <3

#boromir #lotr fandom #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr #boromir lotr #boromir fanfiction #Boromir fanfic #boromir x you #boromir x reader #fotfics

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innocentlymacabre · 1 year

Text

Due North [Part 4]: Into the Thick of It, Part II

23.08.21 | Part 3

Fantasy meets slice-of-life in the secretive, wonderous, and oddity-rich lives of the residents of Due North

The last few nights had been good to Tony, and he’d began to get accustomed to winning and to a winner’s money. He suspected word had got around about his fight with the minotaur and now his opponents lost before they entered the ring.

A little restaurant, perched atop a cliff overlooking the sprawling town below, had become his new favourite. La Francesca was named after the original name of the owner’s hometown, with some town rumours suggesting Giuseppe had been alive ever since it went by the name. They were famously secretive though, so no one knew how much truth there was to the claim. Giuseppe mingled freely and openly with their patrons, laughing and smiling their way through each diner, but always deflected any questions about themself. The only thing anyone knew about them was the history behind their restaurant’s name, something that they proudly exclaimed to the world, and had on display under a painting of the town’s shoreline.

“You obviously love the place so much. It’s practically the only thing anyone knows about you. Why don’t you ever visit?” Tony once asked them.

Giuseppe smiled. “You’re not from around here either, Tony. Why don’t you visit?”

Tony sighed a sad smile. “Ah, there’s nothing left for me back where I come from.”

“What’s your story, Tony?”

“Giuseppe, you have your secrets, I have mine,” Tony replied smirking. Truth be told, it was less of a secret and more a painful memory, but he liked sounding mysterious, especially considering it wasn’t often he got to.

Giuseppe laughed. “I can appreciate that. Looks like we’ve both set up shop pretty well out here though. I’ve heard about your fights.”

Tony smiled modestly in reply and Giuseppe moved on to their next patron.

The shop Giuseppe had set up, as they rather modestly put it, had a line of tables along a glass-panelled wall affording a magnificent view of the town it oversaw, bathed in candlelight encased in intricately carved glass and marble holders in place of electric lighting. Tony generally sat at the bar, seeing as how it was the only place where a solitary diner could get a table. In addition to the countless bottles proudly on display behind the counter, a carousel to the left shielded in a glass casing boasted a most delicate selection of wines. Tony generally wouldn’t drink much but did order a lot of pie and usually ended up taking a little home (in all honesty though, “home” ended up meaning the walk there).

Today, something a little different was in store. Usually the walk home was quiet, the cool evening breeze mixing with the pie’s (somehow everlasting) aromas as he walked home, a whistle on his lips and not a care in the world. This time, a familiar face emerged from the shadows.

“Hello, Tony.”

Tony whipped around abruptly, keeping one hand on his box of pie and the other up in a defensive stance. The minotaur from the other night stared down at him, his face entirely expressionless. His horns were no longer wrapped, their deep green mixing with the night.

“There’s no need for that,” he continued. “Please, relax.”

Tony eyed him suspiciously.

“My name is Taur. Yes, Taur, the minotaur. Go ahead, I’ve heard all the jokes.”

Tony stifled a laugh and let down his guard. “Pie?” he offered.

“No, thanks. But please, follow me. We’ve got something to show you.” Taur turned around and began walking down the other side of the hill, opposite to Tony’s house, without waiting to see if he latter would follow.

Tony considered his options. On the one hand, he could go home, maybe drop in on Mr Tunt’s poker game, and go to bed with beer and pie in his stomach. On the other, Taur’s appearance felt like something out of a movie with secret agents recruiting an unsuspecting citizen to save the world. He knew it was stupid, he knew it didn’t make sense. He also knew there was no way he would be sleeping tonight if he didn’t find out what Taur wanted to show him. He jogged to catch up.

Liking the story? Consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience!💜 Continue reading below :)

↝✧↝

“Quit your complaining. You got to pick the bookshop, I pick the hike,” Bella chided.

“Yeah, well, at least you liked the bookshop too. I’ll never understand what you like about running through the woods and mosquitoes, all drenched in sweat.”

“Oh, shut it. You’ll see. You’ll love it by the end,” she said forging ahead, much more chipper than he was.

“Starting to think staying in the city would have been better,” Berto muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” he said, running to keep up with her.

Berto eventually ended up sharing some of Bella’s enthusiasm after a while, but there was no way he could give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right, so made sure to grumble periodically. In the middle of one such complain, Bella shushed him abruptly.

“Wait, shut up.”

“Hey!”

“Shh! Look there,” she said, pointing an extended arm ahead of them. The trees grew shorter and shorter as they hiked further away from the town boundary and stood somewhere around the eight-feet mark where Bella was pointing.

There were two men ahead of them, one of whom had their head quite literally in the trees. She couldn’t quite make them out, but she thought she saw horns protruding out from the sides of the head too; they blended in with the evergreen trees overhead, making it seem like they were only sometimes there. The two didn’t seem like hikers: they had no backpack or gear of any sort – not even a water bottle – and one of them was carrying a box marked with the sign of La Francesca, a restaurant both Berto and Bella had been meaning to visit.

The taller one seemed to be in charge, as if he were leading the other somewhere, but it didn’t feel like a hostage situation. Bella could make out conversational noises coming from them, but couldn’t quite understand what was being said.

“Want to follow them?” she asked Berto.

“Are you insane? Have you seen the size of that guy? If we follow him and it turns out we aren’t welcome, we’re done for.”

“Oh, come on. If he didn’t want to be followed, he should have been quieter. He’s clearly leading the other guy somewhere. Aren’t you even a little curious where?”

Now that she pointed it out, Berto saw it too. The larger of the two walked with purpose and navigated the forest’s uneven terrain with ease. He knew these grounds.

“Goddamn it,” he finally caved.

Berto and Bella followed the other two until the trees narrowed to a passage and eventually gave way to a large clearing enclosed in a circle of trees of its own. The taller man strode confidently forward down the line of trees and the other followed, albeit a little more meekly. Berto and Bella followed until they reached the clearing, at which point they hung back, huddled in the shelter of the trees. They were too far away to make out much of what was being said and their view was shielded both by the absurdly large people there and the trees standing guard.

“What do you think’s going on?” Berto asked.

Bella shushed him. “Shut up! We don’t want them to hear us.”

They observed in silence, desperately trying to hear even a snippet. Berto inched a little closer, dangling from a tree with an outstretched arm.

And that was his mistake.

The towering man had only made it a little past the edge when Berto’s foot caught a protruding root and he tripped and crushed a set of twigs underfoot.

The man whipped around, confirming the fact that Bella was not, indeed, hallucinating the horns, and snarled at them, menacingly stepping closer.

“Just what do you think you two are doing here?” he questioned, drawing out each syllable threateningly.

Berto and Bella shuddered in fright by way of reply, something that only seemed to anger him more.

“If you know what’s good for you, you two will leave. Now!” he bellowed.

“Hey!” came a familiar voice from somewhere in the back. “Ease up on the threats. They’re cool.”

Alecia.

Berto and Bella relaxed a little. They had been going to her diner almost every day and had become good friends in that time. Seeing her there eased their worries a little.

“Really though, you guys should get out of here,” she continued, getting up and walking towards them. “This place is kind of invite-only and we’re pretty serious about that. Taur more than others.” Taur gave a low growl to punctuate that last addition and huffed.

Berto and Bella gave Alecia a nod of thanks who promised them answers when they next met, and they hurried away, but not before Berto glimpsed Alia amongst the crowd giving him a little wave with an embarrassed smile.

↝✧↝

thanks for reading!

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Update: PART 5

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thesherrinfordfacility · 7 months

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You're amazing with your analysis of A&C's characters so I was wondering if I could ask some advice?

I'm writing a human AU, in which Bad Things happen. show!Crowley seems generally alright with murder as long as he doesn't have to think too hard about it, but do you think that could, in any universe, (/would his, ah, questionable, morals) translate a bit to a human version? if it wasn't *his fault* exactly (necessity for survival) but it was still a Thing? I'm not sure anyone's capable of dodging feelings of responsibility or guilt so hard, but? maybe?

(also, I'm curious about your opinion on gomens human AUs in general, if you don't mind?)

hello anon my darling!!!✨ first of all, this ask has utterly floored me, thank you so much for the really kind words, and for even considering dropping this into my lap!!!💕

i love a human AU, it's actually my favourite flavour fic, and for GO fic in particular!!! i can find myself thrown out of certain fic when i feel like the characters aren't quite in-character, or the plot isn't entirely canon-compliant/retcons certain bits of the original material (not that that's bad in fic!!! it just, personally speaking, throws me off a little!!!), so an AU - human in particular - is the perfect alternative to that, for me... you can sandbox the characters, story, and themes slightly✨

so i basically (obviously there is Nuance to be had but that would result in a veeeeery long ask and ive chatted shit about it fairly regularly in other posts anyway) agree with you - that as long as he doesn't think too much about it, and doesn't have to do it himself, crowley just isn't... fazed by murder. along with all the good things, it's another thing, a bad thing, that humans (and angels/demons too, but is it murder if they don't technically live?) do, and crowley will have seen enough of it through 6000 years on earth to be essentially desensitised to it... aziraphale too, probably. he's also demonstrated that the concept of death to others in the context of self-preservation or protection of others is not something he overly concerns himself with.

in terms of how this would translate to a human AU - obviously i don't know the full scope of what your story is, but if we're supposing that AU!crowley would be exposed to murder (ie. he's not actively killing people himself - that's a whole other discussion!), i think his view on it could come from multiple places that are rooted equally in pragmatism, moral identity, and dissonance.

what is his view on capital punishment - would he consider it in some circumstances to be justified? cases of pre-emptive strike justification - does he think murder is justified when used in self defence, or defence of others? what is his stance on euthanasia, and end-of-life rights? from a warfare perspective, would crowley have strong enough feelings about murder to conscientiously object, if he were called to serve?

alternatively, in this AU scenario, is he a character that is naive and morally corrupt or deficient enough to essentially... just not care? put bluntly, is he just simply an arsehole where murder or suffering doesn't affect him? as long as it doesn't happen to him or his closest, would he even give it a second thought? or is he a character that acts so innocent, to the point that murder is some unspeakable concept that he doesn't even think about it?

im not sure this at all answered your question, anon?! but im more than happy to chinwag further on it, but maybe the above are a few angles to consider it from, even if they don't necessarily apply to your story!!! if it has helped though, best of luck with it, and i hope i may unknowingly come across it in the future!!!✨💕

#good omens #ask #idk if this needs a comm label or specific trigger warning....... so im just gonna stick it under a general #tw: death #because it does discuss the concept pretty....... microscopically #but if anyone feels it needs a heftier tag please let me know!!!!

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clambuoyance · 3 years

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Deltarune Ch 3 Theory (Spoilers!)

This will be sort of a ramble, and I’ll do my best to include screenshots, but this is my personal theory and thoughts on what’s happening and where Ch 3 is headed. Most of this stuff has probably been said by others, so this is mostly for me to come back to!

1. Kris

So there are a lot of moments that seems to hint to Kris’ homelife and I’ll just sort of go through them here.

When you look through the room Queen trapped you in, there’s a calendar with a vacation date circled from a search query about when college has summer break. Given how close Asriel and Kris seem to be, I’m pretty sure Kris is really anxious to see Asriel and have his support back.

Because Toriel and Asgore seem to have divorced fairly recently? Or at the very least, I think it’s still definitely taking a toll on Kris, and Asriel leaving does NOT help at all. It makes me wonder if there’s more to him leaving for college.

There’s another curious thing where if you decide to look through Asriel’s room, Kris shuts their eyes and seems to not want to see what’s inside, despite what the Player might want. Why? Afraid of what they’ll see? What could Asriel possibly be searching for that Kris would be afraid of the truth?

I think some incident happened in the past, one that’s related to the Dreemurr and the Holiday family growing apart, Noelle’s sister “Dess”, and Asgore apparently being removed from the police force. (If maybe he was powerless or cowardly to do something, this could have led to a divorce and Asriel leaving? I’m not sure, but I think Dess has died or its related tot he incident, and Asriel seemed close with them too so I’m sure it was also hard on him.)

(i didnt take a screenshot of the newsclipping with this info but ill put it here later lol)

Circling back to Kris, there’s several details that hint to Kris’ mindset, and basically, I think Kris doesn’t want to grow up because when you grow up you grow apart and don’t live out fun fantasies anymore. Maybe.

If you go to the flyer in the librarby, and read the one about the ICE-E event that says “Where teens can still be Kids!” Kris is relieved, for some reason. Probably because they’re glad to hear they still technically count as a kid.

Not directly related but if you go up to the upperright room and read the book about humans, Kris quickly shuts it. Given the similarities and hints to Chara from Undertale, it seems like Kris wanted to get away from other humans or humanity in general. Which also aligns maybe with Kris being fearful of the bunker. I really don’t know what to make it past this though. Crack theory was that the world of Undertale was just a Dark World Kris made as a kid or something. Or that when “Chara” fell, it was a fall similar to how Kris and Susie fall when entering a Dark World. Lmao probably unrelated though.

2. Dark Worlds and Escapism

The Dark Worlds seem to function as some sort of escapism, and it’s interesting that they’re all based on real life things. In Chapter 1, the Dark World was based on the classrooms various toys like checkers, chess, cards, dolls,etc. In Chapter 2, it seems even more so with Noelle. Queen actually wants the best for Noelle and is very nosy and always chasing after her, in contrast to Noelle’s real mom who is always busy being a mayor. After all, Queen does know how sad Noelle’s search history probably is. (Mainly from this post!)

(screenshots to be added lol)

Kris probably feels the same way, as both Noelle and Kris grew up together and seem to be suffering from dysfunctional families or some sort of drama.

And Queen directly says in the boss fight with Berdly that the internet and the screens provide comfort for many people, and she is well-intentioned in wanting to help make people happy. Maybe for Kris it’s video games or roleplaying or toys or silly things, kind of like how many people in the real world do similar things. I wonder if the next chapters will each focus on a different character and other forms of escapism or storytelling.

3. The Knight

So at the end of Chapter 2, Kris rips out the Player Soul and slashes the tires to Toriel’s car. Then later Susie talks about how cool it would be if they could bring Ralsei and Lancer and everyone to their world and hang out with them. Then Kris takes the Player out once again and pulls out a knife, fills the “Blade” with their “Will”, aka Determination, and creates a new dark fountain that encompasses their whole home (and maybe even the whole town).

(screenshot laterrrr)

It seems that the tires were to ensure Toriel stays inside the house though, so maybe it’s just the house. If that’s the case, and Kris really is the knight, I think Kris wants to envision a better home where things are better. Escapism right inside your own home.

If it’s the whole town, then maybe Kris already had Susie’s idea and really is going to take everyone in a new Dark World so everyone can be together. That or Susie inadvertently gave Kris the idea..it makes me wonder if we’ll see Toriel in her outfit from Undertale, or something like that. The other reason I could see it being a town-wide thing is because now Kris has the knowledge of the Roaring (thanks to Ralsei). I’m not too sure what their stance would be, but maybe they see a benefit to it?

After creating a fountain, a smile flashes on the tv, so I think the next chapter will be television based and feature a tv villain (though it does look like flowey...). Again, i wonder if each chapter will be some form of escape for some people. or maybe it’ll be a different theme.

Also, I just want to add that I really don’t see Kris as malicious or doing thing for a sinister reason. Or maybe it’s still fucked up and selfish, but not the evil people imagine. If you do the snowgrave route, Noelle doesn’t even recognize it as Kris’ voice. The sinister voice in that route seems to be the Player rather, being cruel and making Noelle make these traumatizing choices. Which is why I wonder if Kris is the Knight, or if it’s a red herring. Not sure.

4. ANYWAYS

There’s a lot to unpack. Too much to unpack, like there’s a whole thing I could say about Big Shot and Jevil and Gaster. The way maybe Kris also knows the world is just a game (maybe thats why they hate humans?? were just like go puppet go lol). But i have no idea so this was just focused on Kris mostly, and Maybe i’ll talk more but I finished the game a few hours ago and I just had to get these thoughts out even if others probably already figured it out or think its obvious. It’s just really cool! Again, most of this comes from this theory, cus i havent looked much at others (YET) since i just finished today. Anyways, FUN GAME!

If anyone has useful screenshots or whatever please feel free to add lol

#long post #oops #deltarune #deltarune spoilers #undertale #kris dreemurr #deltarune theory #sort of not really just me rambling

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clarawatson · 3 years

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It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet! A/N: First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now.

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong.

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table.

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.”

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again.

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.”

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?”

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?”

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes.

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man.

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed.

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #Diner!AU #It Only Takes a Taste

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stonefreeak · 3 years

Text

My goodness people, I’m so sorry for the delay! I’ve been working on the structuring of my files to get a better overview of what remains of the project, to hopefully be able to speed writing up (even as work really means that my free-time is much more limited than it was once upon a time, lmao. Sometimes I miss December of 2016 when this whole thing started, 33k in a month of updates, amirite?)

it’s taken me so long I’m wondering if anyone even remember this plot point at this point, lmao

Also: belated happy midsummers to all my fellow Swedes!

Bail taps his finger against this desk and stairs unseeingly at the datapad in front of him.

He hadn't been sure if the information Aleena Yashi gave him, though she's worked as an assistant to multiple senators over the years, was true. But everything checks out. He briefly wondered why she would come to him about it, rather than Senator Lobos who she's currently working for... But perhaps it's because he's known to have a favourable view of the Jedi that she's done so. Perhaps it's because all of this information mostly pertains to the Jedi and the laws surrounding them, and she wanted a prominent Senator who she could trust not to hide the information away because they don't care for the Jedi.

Bail, a Core World Senator well known for his good relationship with the Jedi and friendship with the current Supreme Chancellor, must have seemed like the best option for her. He wonders who else would have been on her list, before she settled on him, but he chose not to ask when she visited him. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't know; it hardly matters now anyway.

He looks down at the datapad again and considers his options.

He should probably discuss her findings with her, and see what exactly her goal is. If he's to do something about this, then he wants her involved even as he gathers support from other senators.

He has no doubt that Padmé will agree to add her support to Bail to help sort this mess out, but considering that they've both been involved with the investigation they're conducting into Jedi missions being altered... Well, Bail wants more Senators involved this time. Just to ensure that it cannot be taken as some form of conspiracy in favour of the Jedi. As ridiculous as that notion seems, Bail is not blind to the way many Senators look at the Jedi, nor to the fact that many of them don't seem to believe that they're really capable of what they say they are.

Few people besides the Jedi truly believe in the Force, after all.

Few people could believe in something they cannot know for themselves when others supposedly have a direct connection to it. Bail is one of the few who does believe them, he's seen what the Jedi can do first-hand. There's nothing else that can account for that kind of power besides this Force they talk of. They and other groups out there, it’s not only the Jedi, after all.

Besides, he knows many of them personally, and while Bail may not understand or follow all of their beliefs or traditions, he also knows that they're not a bunch of charlatans faking it for power of money—though he knows some of his fellow senators believe that to be the case. Even senators on Coruscant, who've seen Jedi in real life, seem to believe them little more than myth.

Bail has been kept up to date on the investigation into the Jedi missions, though he’s not taking an active role in it right now, and he’s certain that he has been kept in the loop to give legitimacy to the investigation. Give it a proper paper trail, even if it’s done with the Senate’s highest level of security. A strictly need-to-know basis, and until it’s finished, no one else needs to know.

Of course, Bail asked Obi-Wan in private if he would be allowed to tell Breha. As his Queen and the leader of Bail’s planet, he found it important to clue her in on it. Besides, it’s another step of legitimacy. After all, if Breha takes an active stance on it, then so does Alderaan.

If anyone wants to accuse the investigation at a later date for being a sham… Well, they will need to accuse Alderaan of engaging in it in the first place. Bail isn’t stupid enough to think that it’s not one of the primary reasons Obi-Wan agreed with Bail’s request.

They’re friends, and Obi-Wan likes Breha, but this is not about being friends. This is about political allyship and keeping sensitive information on as tight a lock-down as they can until the time to reveal it comes.

Besides, as worried as Bail has become with Miss Yashi’s information, it’s even worse when considered together with the altered Jedi missions and not in the least… Well, the war time propaganda. There's no point in shying away from what it is, and the ramifications it has.

Considering how most of the war time propaganda—Bail can acknowledge it for what it is, there truly is no point in trying to deny the facts—focuses almost exclusively on the clones and their efforts in the war, it's hardly strange that the general population neither know nor understand them.

Further considering the information that Bail has now confirmed to be real and accurate... He understands that the omission of the Jedi is entirely deliberate. If you want to discredit and undermine the Jedi, why would you ever speak of their accomplishments and sacrifices? You wouldn't, as that would bring public support to them.

Bail sighs and rolls his shoulders.

He needs to build a following, he cannot properly push this alone. But he also understands why Miss Yashi brought it to him alone, first. A Core World Senator is far harder to make "disappear" than a Twi'lek Senatorial aide, no matter how awful that is to say. Bail can't go missing, and any attempt on his life would have a bit more trouble hitting its mark.

That's not to say that it would be impossible for someone to assassinate him, which is of course why he'll make sure that Breha is entirely up to speed on everything.

All of it together... There is some form of conspiracy to discredit or perhaps even get rid of the Jedi; Bail is sure of it. But he cannot see to what end. What are they trying to achieve?

For what reason would anyone work to discredit the Jedi? What is the end goal to strive for? There’s no way for the politicians to dissolve the Jedi Order, they are not in that way under Senate control. They could, of course, remove all of their backing, forcing the Jedi to become free agents, certainly…

But for what purpose? It would leave the Republic without the Jedi as peacekeepers, for the Jedi would hardly remain to do diplomacy work for the Senate without its backing. After all, what would the point be? Without the Senate’s backing, the Jedi would have far less ability to do anything.

How could they negotiate treaties if the Senate won’t honour them?

They could, perhaps, be a neutral third party within discussions. But there’s no reason for anyone to listen to their input in such a case. It’s hard enough to get disagreeing parties to listen to external input when you come with powerful backing that could make you listen even if you refuse.

How could they function with no funding? They would need to work on commission, at which point only those who can afford their help can get it. That would be the opposite of an improvement.

To not even begin to talk about how few of them there are, how few of them there were even before the war. Their population is not even a hundredth of a percent of Alderaan’s population, and Alderaan is only a single planet within the tens of thousands of star systems that make up the Republic—nevermind the entire galaxy. There’s just not enough of them, and hasn’t that always been a problem even while they’re working under the Republic? Too few, spread too thin.

No, if the Jedi became free agents, their ability to affect change would be greatly diminished. Bail is quite certain they’d work on much smaller scales, still trying to do what they can for the galaxy, bit by bit. Working with smaller communities on planets and moons… If they even had the ability to find out about disputes that may need their help in the first place.

Losing the Jedi as peacekeepers isn’t a win for the Republic either, as the budget for the Jedi was already miniscule even before it started being diminished—as Miss Yashi’s discovery shows. It cannot be an attempt at cost saving, or an idea of improvement for the Republic. Needing to train their own diplomats and ensure that they have skilled enough guards… That would be more expensive and it would not be able to guarantee that these diplomats are neutral in conflicts.

The Jedi have no specific allegiances the way diplomats and even Senators have. Even the least corrupt Senator will still place their own planet and star system first. It is part of their role, after all.

So no, it cannot be something like that. Not unless the people slowly enacting this are horribly misguided and foolish. Not to mention, Bail knows most Senators would simply call for making away with the Jedi entirely, rather than this slow plan to undercut them.

No… There must be something else going on here, some other primary goal whoever is pulling these strings is looking out to do.

He’ll need to figure it out, no doubt, Bail concludes.

But beyond that, he also needs to build a base to help him bring this information he’s been given to the Senate’s attention. He is quite sure already who he should be looking towards first: Senator Ach’ki Mandai of Haa’ndu.

Who better to help him bring this to Senate attention than the Senator who ensured a Jedi now sits as the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic?

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #bail organa #update #my writing

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bluegarners · 2 years

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That's a good analysis. But it doesn't negate the fact that the story had Dick take out Cass without a scratch as a Vampire and Jason almost killed him. Plus we usually consider fighters who beat people who are stronger but underestimating them as better fighters in media in general. It says nothing about if Jason is a better or worse fighter than Dick since Dick was a Vampire. So anyone saying jason would have easily been able to overpower dick had he been human could still be right.

fhey nonny!

honestly, that post was mostly done out of a "wait, people are taking this as complete fact rather than just smack-talk?" my opinions of how the whole "who would win in a fight" between jason and dick largely follow what @hood-ex and @northoftheroad have commented on this subject so far, and it's mostly just: everything depends on the writer and the kind of audience they are trying to reach. it also depends on what kind of story the writers want to portray, and i think largely what dc vs. vampires is trying to portray is the question of, what if the best were evil? what if they had the means to be entirely evil and win? what then? for cripes sake, they turned noble of heart, multi-universe constant dick grayson into the vampire king, a cold blooded murderer, and also made wonder woman, miss diana demi-goddess herself, also into a powerful, blood-thirsty vampire. these two are arguably dc's most "pure-hearted" characters in terms of being true and noble, sticking to their morals to a perfect fault to the point of being incorruptible. and now dc has presented the "what-if" scenario of them leading the brigade in literally turning the world into a mess of corruption and murder

i admit that my terming of "nerfing dick's skills" was probably not said in the best way. what i was attempting to say is that i've been seeing a lot of people taking dick's new powers as an upgrade that makes him automatically "over-powered" and thus, if he didn't have them, then jason would have easily been able to beat him. it felt as if certain fans of the comic were saying that dick just wasn't a capable fighter on his own and that, were he human, jason would wipe the floor with him. i don't think that's the case in any kind of scenario, and like @/hood-ex has posted a few times, the fights between these brothers can go either way depending on the situation and whether or not both or neither are using lethal force.

from my perspective, i think it may seem as if a lot of dick fans are being overly sensitive on the subject mostly because of how dick has been treated in his own comics and others these past few years. there are hardly any mediums of portrayal out there that accurately represent his skill level, and even then, it's a difficult thing to get dick acting on his own and succeeding. it's not for a lack of skill on dick's part either; he's a top-level hero with years and years of combat experience on him, but for a lot of dick fans, it feels like that gets disregarded for the sake of "uping" the stakes or shoving together as many characters as possible to "aid" dick so that way they can get more views and reads on the comic. a big thing for a lot of dick stans too is that, well, we kind of like seeing dick be ruthless and powerful when he's been beaten and killed in the most ridiculous ways previously; it's always interesting to see a character do a complete 180 and do so magnificently

i admit that dc vs. vampires just cannot be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form though because, i mean like you said nonny, dick just kind of threw cass around and brushed her and tim off like they were nothing. which is ridiculous!! i am firm in my stance that i think dick is an excellent fighter, but i also believe that cass is skilled enough to evade dick (even super-powered as he is) and for tim to know better than to get himself curb stomped without some kind of plan of escape or otherwise. the comic, while fun and intriguing, is kind of a whole mess haha

#anon #ask #dick grayson #jason todd #dc vs. vampires

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drwcn · 3 years

Text

《 Without Envy 》 storyboard 9 - concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj [Master List], you should also have read [6] [6.2]

Lan Qiren coming to visit Hanguang-fu effectively put an end to Wei Wuxian's time as Lan Wangji's servant. He wanted to send Wei Wuxian back to Jiang-fu, but luckily, Jiang Yanli interfered.

Jiang Yanli has been slowly recovering since her drug-induced miscarriage, and while Wei Wuxian had slowed her progress with sedatives, he's been careful to keep an eye on her intake to make sure Jin Ziyan hasn't been messing with her again. As well, with Wei Wuxian occupying Lan Wangji's time and keeping the Jiang family in his good graces, Jiang Yanli had the time she needed to recover fully without needing to push herself to entertain Lan Wangji for favour.

“妾身见过太师，给太师请安。” “阿离啊，听说你小产后一直身体不好，这下着雨，你怎么来了。起身吧, 孩子。” “承蒙太师与陛下惦记，殿下垂怜，阿离的身子已经大好了。阿羡本是妾身院里的，是妾身的陪嫁，一直都安分守己，对王府对殿下忠心不二。是妾身无用，身子一直不见好才让阿羡到王爷身边侍奉。刚见阿羡被太师训斥，相比是阿离平日里管教无方，无心顶撞了太师。有什么过错，都是妾身的错，还请太师责罚。” ~translate~ Jiang Yanli dipped into a proper curtsey, kneeling before Lan Qiren, "This humble concubine greets Taishi. I pray that you've been well." "A-Li, I've heard that you've not been well since your miscarriage. It's raining today, what troubled you to come? Rise, child." Lan Qiren's stance softened upon seeing Jiang Yanli. His late sister-in-law had no daughters, and so often summoned the daughters of nobles into court to dote on and mentor as her own. Jiang Yanli, gentle and proper, has long been known to be a favorite of the late empress. She may not be the greatest beauty in her generation, but was second to none when it came to etiquette and grace. "Thanks be to His Majesty and taishi for remembering, and thanks to dianxia's for his care, my health is much improved now. A-Xian was once a member of my court, my peijia. I've always known him to be obedient and conscious of his place, and loyal to wangye and this princely manor. It is only on account of my poor health that he's been summoned to serve at wangye's side. Earlier, I heard Taishi chastising him; surely it must be A-Li's fault for failing to teaching him propriety and thus causing his unintended offence. The fault is with A-Li, and so I humbly submit myself to your discipline, taishi." Lan Qiren sighed. He did not wish to stir up trouble over a servant. If Jiang Yanli was willing to stand up for this Wei Wuxian, then he must have his uses. At the very least, he'll be a confidant for Jiang Yanli against Jin Ziyan. Lan Qiren so hoped that one day Wangji would choose the Jiang girl as his legal spouse and secure his marriage once and for all. If sparing one lowly servant was the price then so be it. "Very well, A-Li. Since the servant is yours, then his training and discipline shall be your responsible. He is unsuited to serve at the prince's side. It is good that you have recovered; Wangji should not be without a caring partner."

And so, Wei Wuxian returned to Jiang Yanli's side as a servant. Lan Wangji had to watch him go and could not interfere. The next several days was depressing for both of them on multiple fronts.

Xue Yang was very unimpressed:

"So you're tell me that you got to spend quality time with Lan Wangji for months and then... didn't get anywhere?" "I was getting there okay? How was I supposed to know his stupid uncle was gonna barge in like some nosey busybody and ruin everything!? I haven't seen Lan Zhan in days..." I miss him. How horrifyingly embarrassing. He probably forgot me already. "Don't tell me you actually miss him??? That you - barf - fell for him? Whatever happened to standards??!" "You watch your mouth, Xue Chengmei! I'm still your shixiong! And I have standards; Lan Zhan is...very good." Xue Yang: ( ˘︹˘ ) whatever.

Lan Wangji, the sulky boy that he is, brooded for days until Lan Xichen finally sought him out for some good ol' brotherly heart to heart.

"I hear Uncle took away your shiny new toy." "Wei Ying is not a toy." "Wei Ying is it?" Lan Xichen wiggled his eyebrows. "Ah, didi, you have to think a little more creatively. So your Wei Ying has gone back to his mistress, but is his mistress not your concubine? Jiang-furen is still unpregnant, I might add. Visit her. Then surely you'll get to see him." Lan Wangji grimaced. The thought has occurred to him, but the idea of bedding anyone not Wei Ying is intolerable. "Yes, Yanli is lovely, but I'd rather not...you know..." His brother was too polite to roll his eyes. "You've done it before, Wangji." "I would not have had to, if xiongzhang simply did his duty." Lan Wangji bit back icily, and instantly regretted it. Lan Xichen's eyes widened, his cheerful-teasing expression stuttering and crumbling in seconds. "Yes...yes that's true." "My sincerest apologies, huangxiong - no - bixia." Lan Wangji rose to his feet and then bowed down deeply. "I forgot my place. I accept any punishment." Lan Xichen sighed and extended a forgiving hand to pardon him. "Not necessary, Wangji. You're right. I haven't done my duty for Gusu." He pulled the younger man to sit beside him again. "You are doing this in my stead, stepping up where I have let the country down. I should not make light of your sacrifice. The matter of a harem is inevitably complicated, which is why I never cared for one. Neither did Father. His harem had always been sparse, and his first empress was not one of his choosing. When she died in childbirth and our unborn sibling along with her, he elevated our mother's rank to Empress and visited no one else henceforth." "Mother was never popular with the ministers for that reason." "Yes. They suspected that she had something to do with...well, in any case I imagine they were quite relieved when she passed." Lan Xichen shook his head. "The harem is not a happy place, Wangji. You were born after Mother was already Empress, you would not have remembered a time when she was consort. But I do. Like you, your concubines did not get to choose their fate. The fault, ultimately, lies with me." "Huangxiong -" "It's true, Wangji. The fault is mine." Lan Xichen patted him on the arm placatingly. "You cannot love them, and clever as they are, I don't think your concubines would expect you to. However, you can ensure their happiness in other ways. Jiang-furen seems the kind to very much want a child of her own. It will make the rest of her life in your harem more bearable."

After some deliberation, Lan Wangji went back to his routine of visiting different concubines regularly, but never more than just sharing a bed-space. With the exception of Jiang Yanli. Lan Wangji could see it in her eyes; she knew who he really wanted, but those words never needed to be said aloud. Jiang Yanli was kind to him, and he was kind to her in return. All things considered, it wasn't awful being with someone who wasn't your preferred, but who knew you for yourself and shared your struggles.

"Dianxia, you must've heard, that before I married into your wangfu, I was betrothed to Jin Zixuan." She mentioned one evening over a game of weiqi. Of all his concubines (which he has 4) and friends (which he has few), Jiang Yanli's skill on the weiqi board was unparalleled. Lan Wangji half wondered how the Marquis and Marchioness of Yunmeng could have buried this talented daughter of theirs under the shadow of their son for so many years. "Yes I am aware." "I loved him." "...." For a minute Lan Wangji did not know how to reply. He stared at the chessboard. Jiang Yanli's black pieces had surrounded his white ones and forced them into a corner. "Why are you telling me this?" "Your court, my clan: we are their creatures." Jiang Yanli 's smile was knowing. "I am not A-Xian; I can see what he cannot." "Which is?" "You've fallen for each other. Completely. He denies it, heaven knows why." Jiang Yanli took a delicate sip of tea. Fleetingly, Lan Wangji imagined that if he could not have Wei Ying, if he were forced to take a legal wife to make empress, that she would make a magnificent one. "Father loved Mother. Loved her as a wife even when she was only a consort -" "And his love spurred the hate of the royal court." "They blamed her for his loving a woman more than his country, as though she should have persuaded him to love her less. I do not want the same to happen to Wei Ying." "Nor I." "Huangshu says I would need a legal spouse one day, someone virtuous and from a strong pureblood family." "Is that what dianxia wants?" "I want it to be Wei Ying, though I know it to be impossible. Barring that, I'd want to keep him safe in the harem, the size of which will only grow after I succeed the throne." "For that, dianxia will need a spouse who will reign over the harem as you rule over the country." Lan Wangji contemplated his choices and the options available to him. After some time, he placed the white piece he fiddled between his fingers back into the bamboo bowl, conceding that he'd lost this round. Jiang Yanli waited patiently for him to come to terms with the offer she already knew he would make. He wondered how long ago she had foreseen this moment, whilst simultaneously realizing that if his uncle had any idea just how intelligent she truly was, he would not be so quick to suggest her as a candidate for princess consort. A weak emperor and a strong empress never boded well for the stability of the realm. This was dangerous waters Lan Wangji was wading into, but he knew beyond doubt that the only way to survive was to keep straight ahead. He had no other path to take, none which maximally balanced what he wanted with what he needed. Jiang Yanli was his only solution, his only ally. "Huangxiong suggested that we have a child together." He finally said, staring her squarely in the eyes. "You and I can agree that the son of Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang would certainly be a strong contender amongst his brothers." "She could be a daughter." "Then I'd cherish her more. A child and a crown - would they make you happy, Yanli?" "If I said yes?" "Then they're yours." Jiang Yanli smiled.

Two months after Wei Wuxian was dismissed from Lan Wangji's service and the prince began visiting Jiang Yanli, good new was delivered to Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan. The message was this: Hanguang-wang's Jiang-furen was with child yet again.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #cql ficlet #corie fics #without envy #i said i'd do this for yall #and so i did

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btsandvmin · 3 years

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How much do we really know?

I really don't understand how any BTS shippers can be confident enough in their ships to turn into “supporters/believers” that believe their ship is real 100%. For any ship. Like even deep diving into some theories or getting literally 100+ reasons from various believers own mouths for why some ships have to be real, nothing has been big enough to count as proof in my opinion. (Of course this includes Vmin.)

Like... They all have questionable moments. Some more than others, sure. But proof of more than very strong and unusually intimate friendships? No.

You could argue some things seem “gay” or has possible LGBTQ+ connections. Like GCF having a LGBT+ song, or 4 o'clock including a reference to a gay movie, or Vmin's literal gay drama whatever that was. But most of it is just fans zooming in on various things and adding their own meaning to it. Like it has to mean something becaues it is connected to your ship. (But only for your ship.) Sometimes, a lot of times, it’s not even directly connected to the ship... It’s just assumed to be connected to them. It’s a guess or a theory, not a fact.

I get questions from Vminies not knowing things about Vmin all the time, and I myself know I’ll never be able to remember or even see everything that is out there with Vmin. And that’s just from the content we are able to consume to begin with. Beyond that is a lot of guessing and assumption based on the fraction of moments we get. But if some Vminies might not even know where the soulmate label comes from, or that 4 o’clock was written with Jimin in mind or that Vmin seem to casually sleep together in private (if we take Tae’s words for it in the Billboard vlive) it’s clear that something I might see as obvious and common knowledge isn’t. Even further it’s clear that other shippers will know even less about Vmin.

And how can you dismiss something you don’t even know about?

We all focus on, remember or look for/get exposed to our biases or favorite ships the most. Even if we consume the original content we will likely zoom in and see things for our own ship simply because we look for it. And there is nothing wrong with that, it’s natural. But we need to realize it means we will miss things when it comes to other ships, and need to be aware that we know more and end up in echo chambers of both facts and interpretations for our own ships.

It’s so blatantly obvious to me that many non-vminies have no clue about even some of the biggest moments between Vmin. And again, it’s nothing really odd or bad about that... Until you start to act superior even when you lack a lot of knowledge. So much misinformation is spread this way too...

That’s why even though I personally think I know more about other ships than perhaps the regular person, I still won’t preach or explain too much about other ships. Because just as I know others don’t seem to know or notice a lot about Vmin, I know I work the same in regards to other ships. I can’t possibly even remember everything when it comes to Vmin, so how can I with all other ships too?

If I get questions about tae/kook or ji/kook or any dynamic in BTS I might be able to answer it... But I might also lack the full context or might not even have noticed some things to begin with. Coming to me with questions about other ships will give you a very different view than if you ask a shipper focused on that ship directly. I try to be unbiased, but I can’t. I try to be informed but I can’t remember or notice everything. So even if I feel I know a lot, I might never know enough to get the full context of any situation regarding BTS.

Of course trying to remember to watch unbiased content is very important and helps to keep a better balance. Or as in my case where I actively looked up other ship theories and felt “I know enough to see there are weird things and I can’t dismiss everything since we don’t know the truth of what it might mean”. Just as I feel a lot of things about Vmin shouldn’t be dismissed. Many other shippers also came to me and talked long and detailed about why their ship is real and my isn’t. Many times I lacked knowledge about specific situations about other ships, but so did they about Vmin. I don’t think you can dismiss something if you don’t even know about it to begin with, and there is a big gap of knowledge between the shipping communities.

I mean, the way hyung x maknae line ships have so many great moments and you barely see them outside of the actual content. At this point all ships in BTS are big and get attention, but they don’t seem to register the same way in people’s minds, with the focus always being on the three youngest together.

This is the thing about worrying about “rival ships” too... They only matter if there is a moment between the ones you already see as “competition”. Does anyone worry or cry about Vmin or Ji/kook when Ji/hope or Hope/kook get very intimate and sweet moments? No, because they don’t seem to register at all.

I wasn’t even able to find a gif of this ji/hope moment from Run recently... (And I can’t add twitter videos from desktop)

youtube

Yoon/min holding hands and joking about breaking up.

Meanwhile if Tae/kook have fun together or if Ji/kook does something cute all hell breaks lose. We have been tainted by the narratives from shippers. The more we see and hear about other ships the bigger “impact” they will have on us.

If moments like this between other members doesn’t make me feel insecure about Vmin, then why would any similar moment from Ji/kook or Tae/kook? People need to stop hyper focusing on both skinship and “rival ship” moments in general and stop adding importance to them, especially when they don’t even do it equally with all ships.

It’s not that one is good:

One is neutral:

And one is bad:

They all happen and exist and we need to realize that’s how it always has been and likely always will be. Any interpretations of these moments shouldn’t change how you view them when nothing is even confirmed. They all happen so we should all accept that and be happy the members have close and intimate relationships with each other.

I really don’t think people understand my stance on all of this. I literally don’t mind if another ship turns out to be real (even if any ship being real is probably not that likely), because I trust in Vmin’s relationship after having watched it for 5 years. But since nothing is confirmed I still remain of the opinion that Vmin’s relationship and behavior is weirder than other ships IN MY VIEW, based on MY INTERPRETATIONS. But I am totally ok with being proven wrong, because it doesn’t matter what kind of relationship Vmin have as long as I can trust that the love they express for each other is real. Thus I also don’t have to downplay moments between other ships. They are there and that’s nice.

We lack a lot of information for many reasons even though we do get to see a lot. But even knowing all the things we know, I still don’t think it’s enough for any ship moments to count as “proof”. For example with Vmin, they were denied to sing a song because it was essentially “ too gay” and Taehyung complained about it, but that doesn't mean they have to be a couple and is forced apart by Big Hit.

We put weight into things because we have our biases and guesses and we find things because we look for them. Here are just some things that fans of various communities says have to mean something but to me really doesn't have to mean anything even if proven:

Physical intimacy Emotional intimacy Jealousy Screen time Fanservice “Sexual tension” Heart eyes or any looks in general Joking about being a couple Showering together Sleeping together Being alone together Living together Writing songs about each other Secret signs Hidden messages to fans Hiding in rooms

And so on...

But even If you do want to count these things to mean something, at least acknowledge how many of those things other ships have too. Vmin literally have several of these confirmed as well. Many of these moments either have happened or gets speculated to happen between many ships. You might find your ship isn’t as uniqe as you feel it is if you actually start diving deeper. If you did and it makes you doubt your own ships superiority, that’s good. Being sure won’t lead to any good for anyone.

Also if you wanna go there.... If other shipper say these have to mean something they are either ignoring Vmin or more likely doesn’t know or say it doesn’t mean the same if they do it.

Fine if hand holding and cuddling doesn’t make you wonder about Vmin, that’s totally legit. In fact you don’t have to wonder about Vmin unless you want to. But using excuses for why something doesn��t mean something you don’t want it to mean or downplaying moments or automatically calling them platonic and “not the same” doesn’t mean you can’t be wrong about those assumptions. Especially when you might not know the full context of it. Again, it should go both ways and include moments from all relationships.

I am legit curious how ji/kookers and tae/kookers are able to be so confident about their ship being real with Tae doing the things he does towards Jimin.... Like... They mean to tell me Tae and Jimin being soulmates, Tae wanting to sing a romantic Christmas song with Jimin, Tae writing 4 o'clock, Tae having Sweet night and telling us it's a personal song while he keeps calling Jimin his only best friend doesn't even have a possibility to mean something non platonic? 😗

Soulmates + Friends lyrics + "how could I know one day I would wake up feeling more" + "are you my best friend?" + "sweet night is a personal song" + "Of course Jimin is my only friend" + 4 o'clock/dumpling fight + the not allowed Christmas song + "Jimin-ah I like you the most" + "I told him to come sleep next to me as I was too lazy to go to him" + “we told our candid stories as honestly as possible” + “Oppa, why are you still awake? I’m dreaming of Jiminie” = Vmin is probably the best known guess to what relationship Tae might be talking about in Sweet Night.

Is it confirmed though? Can I call it proof? NO! Because while it fits in theory, we don’t know and we don’t have all the information to know. But I can make a damn good case for it and that’s the whole point. I can do that because I look for material, see things and add them together with a narrative. Just as other shippers do with their ships. In the end it’s all just narratives though, not proof.

Getting all these asks recently just confirms that the people who worry, or who says other ships are real, haven’t read even a fraction of my posts or they just don’t understand them. Or let alone noticed major moments between all BTS members that should show that their belief is not as “obvious” as they might think.

I am tired of insecurities when it shouldn’t even matter. If any ship in BTS is real, let’s support them and be happy. It doesn’t change the dynamics and relationships between the other members if some of them happen to be a couple. What we see is still there. The “worst” that can happen is that our ideas and theories prove to be wrong.

But let’s at least try to be aware of how little we see and know, and especially about ships that aren’t our own. I am writing about Vmin because there is a lot to see, but me focusing on Vmin also gives me a knowledge about them I can’t compare with other ships. Which is why I won’t sit and write essays about other ships, and which is why Vminies coming to me for information about other ships is going to lack the depth I can provide for Vmin. All shippers are biased and all shippers lack information.

If you want to ship do it, if you want to speculate go right ahead. But be aware that there is a big difference between facts and knowledge and narratives and speculation.

I hope you found this an interesting read. And if you are considering sending me asks worried about Vmin because of interactions between other members or you want to send “statments” or explenations about other ships being real, just know you are barking up the wrong tree.

#vmin #bts ships #shipping #btsandvmin #rant #vmin analysis #shipping analysis #bts analysis #shipping narratives #shipping agenda #my post

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mbti-notes · 3 years

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Anon wrote: Hi. I hope you had/are having a great summer break. I (INTP) am hoping for some perspective about an issue. Recently, my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in a while, became incredibly frustrated that I corrected her with an alleged “I know everything” attitude.

It’s an issue of concern because she revealed that I always do this. I guess this was the straw that broke it, especially given that what we were discussing was very trivial. (Maybe the frivolousness of the subject is precisely what made my correction seem more pedantic, unnecessary, arrogant.) She says that my attitude disregards her long life experience, and that if she were a stranger, she would think of me as a “snot-nosed brat who knows nothing about life” instead of as a “wise young person”, which is the viable alternative. She said that I am closed-minded and that I shoot everything down. (The problem of small-mindedness is what you addressed the only other time I wrote to you.)

I don’t know why I come off as arrogant. I’m sure that I’m not. I asked my mother what it was that made her think that, which she thought was a silly question because what she sensed was a general demeanor rather than specific behaviors. In the end we were only able to establish that my lack of eye contact was one of those factors. I can work on that, but surely that’s not determinant. What makes people think of others as arrogant? Should I stop correcting people? I don’t correct others in order to feel superior to them. I do it because I like to debate, in order to keep my thinking sharp, and because there is something painful about friends/family having false notions. I think it’s fair to say that my intention isn’t rooted in arrogant soils.

Granted, my suggestion of stopping correcting people is black-and-white, given that there is the grey option of changing the *way* I correct people. I’m just wondering if it’s an unhealthy habit in the first place. But given how prevalent a thought process it is (i.e. questioning people’s statements and finding faults), the process of getting rid of it may be akin to self-directed psychological violence. I mean, this is the same mode of being that makes me good at what I’m good at. (There’s also the option of keeping the thought process, but not correcting people aloud, but I don’t know what else there is to talk about other than analyzing ideas and their faults. Maybe I should analyze ideas for their strengths too, and express that side more than the faults.)

So anyway, let’s go with grey: So far I’ve tried thinking of an arrogant person that I know in order to understand my behavior, but I can’t think of anyone. Also, no matter how hard I try to put myself in someone else’s shoes in order to simulate an interaction with myself, it doesn’t really work, and I can’t see the arrogance, except if I were to just tell someone “that’s wrong” without any explanation. (I wonder if that’s what went wrong in the conversation with my mother.) Either way, this whole issue boils down to the fact that I’m not arrogant by any reasonable criteria that I found online, but that I come off as such. This was longer than intended. Thanks for your kindness and help.

-----------------------

Here are some questions for you to reflect on. They are meant to increase awareness of your underlying assumptions, beliefs, and values. Answer honestly:

Do you care about your mom? Do you care about how she's faring, what she's experiencing, what she's thinking or feeling, what she needs and desires, what she hopes for or aspires to, etc?

If you care, how do you SHOW your care to her?

If you don't care, how does that affect your behavior toward her?

Do you believe that the mother-child relationship only goes one-way? (Is it the mom's job to do for you but you owe her nothing?)

You say you like to debate to sharpen your mind. Innocent enough. I like to roller skate to keep myself physically fit. In an ideal world, I would never take my skates off. Does my enthusiasm for roller skating mean that I slap my skates on anywhere, any time? No. Surely it is inappropriate to skate around a hospital or the supermarket. Not only could I seriously harm myself, I would also be exhibiting flagrant disregard for the safety and well-being of others.

What you like to do for yourself sometimes comes into conflict with other people. If you care about people and hope to have healthy and happy relationships with them, you have to take their needs and wants into consideration in every interaction. You have to abide by ethical rules and principles that allow your needs to be met without neglecting the needs of others or interfering with their ability to get their needs met. Without ethics, society wouldn't be able to function, because it would just be a free-for-all.

You mention small-mindedness. It is quite small-minded to walk around the world only thinking about what you need/want. In the best case scenario, you are completely oblivious to others, and they will perceive you as clueless or self-absorbed. In the worst case scenario, you only interact with people for your own personal gain, and that would make you an exploitative or even abusive person. Is that the kind of person you want to be?

Do you basically treat people as though their sole purpose on earth is to debate you and help you sharpen your mind - to serve you? Do you launch into debates with people without asking for consent or checking to see if they want to be corrected? If you do, they will call you arrogant, not because you've put yourself on a pedestal and call yourself superior like an evil cartoon character, but because you are communicating to them that your needs/wants are most important AND you don't give a damn about theirs.

Webster's definition of arrogance: "an insulting way of thinking or behaving that comes from believing that you are better, smarter, or more important than other people". You believe that you know better, otherwise, you wouldn't grant yourself the social authority to intrude on people's boundaries, invalidate their experience, and correct them uninvited. You believe that you are smarter, otherwise, you wouldn't automatically assume the dominant social role of corrector. You behave as though you are the more important member of the relationship because your main priority is YOUR need to feel better (about your skills or about what others believe) while overlooking the other person's needs. Seems like you fit the definition quite well.

Despite that, I wouldn't call you arrogant because I understand that small-mindedness is a difficult problem to overcome. I see the effort that you're putting in to understand it. I'm charitable because I'm not the one who was hurt by your behavior. When people feel hurt, they often have difficulty expressing it. Maybe it comes out clumsily or they aren't able to explain their hurt without hurting you in return. Expressing one's true feelings is to make oneself vulnerable. If someone doesn't trust you to understand and validate their feelings or, worse, they believe that you will attack them for their feelings, they will not be completely honest with you. Your mom is trying her best to give you the benefit of the doubt by saying "if you were a stranger...", but she doesn't feel comfortable enough with you to express her hurt fully and explicitly as it happens. Why? Because the very reason she is hurt in the first place is that you have shown very little regard for her feelings. Following from the previous post of yours, the root of the problem is that you have such a poor understanding of feelings to begin with that you view them as inconsequential in yourself and others (very immature Fe).

I believe you have no ill-intent. I have said before that the typical Ti dom never sets out to hurt people on purpose. Rather, they hurt people unintentionally because their perspective is too small: 1) they don't grasp that other people's needs may be very different from their own and thereby fail to consider them, 2) they don't know how to empathize with different perspectives and validate them, and/or 3) they don't understand that SHOWING love and care is necessary for people to justify continued investment in the relationship.

In other words, Ti doms tend to hurt people out of negligence or acts of omission. Some of them get frustrated at not being able to solve their relationship problems. They might try to convince themselves that doing nothing means that no harm can be done, so they adopt a passive stance in the relationship and perhaps even train themselves to keep their mouth shut (self-violence). They fail to understand that there's more than one way to cause hurt. Instead of learning better relationship skills, they check out mentally and emotionally. Being checked out only makes it worse because you hurt yourself and you keep hurting others by being even less attentive to their needs.

The foundation of meaningful relationships is showing care. In a healthy relationship, people trust you to care for their emotional needs and not violate their personal boundaries. If you only attend to your own needs/wants in social interaction, you are signalling that you don't really care about the other person. This problem with your mom shows that you give little to no consideration for emotional needs and personal boundaries. If you don't want friends, it's entirely your choice to be alone for the rest of your life, pretending that you never leave any footprints behind you. If you want friends, you'll have to put out more effort to be a better friend, by paying more attention to the consequences of your behavior.

Doing things that violate trust and boundaries, even if unintentional, causes hurt. When people feel hurt and don't feel safe to express the hurt, they are liable to say/do negative things. To have good emotional intelligence is to see past the surface of their negative words/behavior and grasp the underlying emotional needs that were unmet and/or the personal boundaries that were violated. Only then can you be a morally responsible member of a relationship, in terms of owning all the ways that you impact people, both positively and negatively.

Arrogant people don't care about the social impact they produce. As long as they get what they want and don't lose anything, the existence of others is of little importance to them. If your mom is important to you, then learn how to show it better by listening to her when she tells you about her needs/wants. You hyperfocus on the literal meaning of the word "arrogant" and whether it is true/false of you, as though proving it false means that there's nothing wrong. You need to listen to the people you have hurt, if you want to understand why your behavior is hurtful. Alternatively, you need to educate yourself about emotional needs, interpersonal boundaries, and what constitutes un/ethical behavior and why.

#intp #intp relationships #inferior fe #arrogance #small minded #communication #social skills #people skills #emotional intelligence #relationships #ask

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

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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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wildfey · 3 years

Note

Anon from yesterday back again! About the set-up, a post on twitter explained the theory much better and I gotta look up the name. The gist is that Phoenix could've proved that he was set up. He did not have the time to have a forgery done since he got the job for defending Zak only the day before. Plus the money. Instead, there is no evidence at all he even tried. Why? Because he'd seen the courts' corruption before and decided it didn't matter anymore, plus too dangerous.

(continued) You could even point at his reply to the Judge's words and wonder if Phoenix has nothing to say because he knows it's useless to argue. Hidden powers have already decided that they will attack him and try to drag him down.

okay, okay, hello again anon, good to see you back with another excellent ask.

I always think that there are two ways to look at Phoenix's disbarment:

a) that the problem was straight-up with bringing forged evidence into court, no matter what the circumstances were.

b) that the problem was that Phoenix was assumed to have created the forged evidence and bought it into court intentionally.

Ace Attorney really flips around on which of these is true in universe (it's a plot point to some extent in 1-5, 3-3, 4-1, and 4-4) but considering that Phoenix gets his badge back almost immediately after it's proved that the second wasn't the case, I'm going to assume that presenting forged evidence accidentally is either not an issue or less of an issue. This tends to be the fanon majority stance too. (It's worth noting that Edgeworth is implied to have pulled some strings irt getting Phoenix's badge back. Ymmv and so on.)

With our framework safely in place, the question arises: If Phoenix could have avoided punishment, or at least public shaming, by revealing the set-up, why wouldn't he? As you point out, the forgery doesn't make sense once you start to look into it and we know that Phoenix did put a lot of these pieces together. Hell, he could have made these arguments when Misham testified during the Gramarye trial. But he doesn't. (Warning: this is a more headcanon-y meta than my last one, because the 7yg is... a gap and we have very little concrete info on what the fuck Phoenix was up to. He got a kid, worked on jury trials, played good poker + bad piano, and had some sort of frenemyship with Kristoph. That's pretty much all we've got).

Firstly: Corruption. The AA court system is ridiculously corrupt, and at the point that Phoenix is disbarred, he becomes emblematic of this - he's a man with a history of revealing injustice - notably Von Karma & Gant, but even without them he still won some high profile cases - and once he's disbarred, it's implied that the narrative is flipped, turning him into a figurehead for that which he fought against (dark age of the law, etc). The obvious conclusion is that his disbarment was a convenient way to discredit him - powerful and corrupt figures (and in AA there are many) don't need to fear Phoenix Wright if he isn't a lawyer and his reputation is ruined. The counter argument is that Phoenix... has always done some questionable things with evidence (1-5, 2-4, and 3-3 stand out to me). But no more so than anyone else in this fucked-up universe. Either way, Phoenix has always worked in a system stacked against him, and it's very possible that he suspected there to be manoevering behind the scenes (and there was! We know Kristoph existed and was purposefully working against Phoenix.) HOWEVER, I don't believe that any of this would stop him on it's own, because it's been long established that Phoenix Wright does not give a shit about bad odds.

So, what would make him accept it? Anon, you mention danger in your ask, and I do see that as partially true - Phoenix isn't concerned about danger to himself, but he has a kid to care for. I would say, however, that especially when we come to Kristoph, as much of a bastard as he is, Phoenix had no evidence that he could be violent to the point of murder until 4-1. Before that, his influence was long-distance life ruining, rather than active threat (though long-distance life ruining is pretty scary on its own when you're raising a small child with low funds). I do see that as a cause, but one of many, and this is the point where I'd like to go back to the conversation on motivation.

I am going to make the argument here, as I did in the other answer, that Phoenix, in the 7yg and possibly elsewhere, is depressed, and that one symptom of that is a loss of motivation. It's implied by the game itself, and makes more sense than most of the alternatives.

(I won't get too personal, but the years of my life where I dressed like this... not good years lol)

My headcanon has always been that by the point that Phoenix had sorted out his guardianship of Trucy and got himself out of that initial low that came from having his life ruined, it was too late to fix his disbarment and he had to change tracks, and that's when he became interested in MASON. (Not to self-promote, but I'm realising that a lot of what I've said here is rephrased ideas from The Path Once So Clear, so if you want 15,000-ish words on the subject, it's there). Of course, when talking about Phoenix's 7yg depression, I think it's also important to mention that Phoenix in AA4 is very much implied to be putting on an act (which is pretty common in AA4 in general. Most characters in that game have both a public and private face). Being 'Beanix' - eg. the piano/poker player with no prospects who works in a shitty restaurant and takes nothing seriously - is a convenient cover while he works on the things that he doesn't want to be targeted for (and here we come back to the corruption angle).

As to how far the depression helps that act... well, that could be a whole conversation on its own. Once again, I'm very much coming into headcanon here, but I'm reminded of the phenomenon where someone with depression will deliberately exacerbate it, either as a form of self-harm or as some attempt to fit a role (artists are especially prone, due to the 'depressed artist' stereotype. I see it most in the emo scene). Beanix has always seemed to me as someone who is deliberately messing up his own life - he repeatedly provokes Apollo, essentially sabotaging their relationship, he puts himself into dangerous situations for no real reason (this is a general Phoenix trait), and despite the fact that we KNOW Maya and Edgeworth were supportive of him during this period, we never actually see them around, presumably because he's keeping them at a distance. How much of this is for the act, and how much is real?

Again, we've come very much off topic (whoops) but I see a lot of this as another aspect of Phoenix's low self worth - is there a difference between the image he projects of a man who has given up due to being disbarred, and the real Phoenix who is still actively working behind the scenes but is very obviously not doing well because he can't 'save people' - the thing which so much of his identity relies upon? I think there is, but I also think the image too often becomes the reality, and AA4 does carry this underlying theme of how wearing these masks of a public persona can affect your 'true self'.

As always, I genuinely love to see other people's takes on this, either in the tags, in reblogs, or via asks. This one is very headcanon-y, and I know there some entirely different perspectives out there, some of which I really like. (Also this one got to be heavy. Look after yourselves guys.)

#my post #ace attorney meta #Ace Attorney #Phoenix Wright #depression cw #a big one too #and minor mention of #self harm cw #Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney #replies

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heuristicallyinclined · 3 years

Text

Of Disks Lost and Cullings Interrupted

5.1k | Rating T for referenced gore and language

Summary: An unfortunate encounter somehow manages to not go quite as bad as it should have.

This is one of the self-indulgent drabbles I wrote last year for me and @theartisticapparition’s fantrolls meeting for the first time and how much of an absolute mess it would be. Enjoy.

It has three fucking months since you ordered that hexagonal disk and you still don't have a shipping notification for it.

You stare at the screen of your palm husk. It’s a single point of brightness in the store room you slipped off to while some other ship was docking. For supplies or inspection, you don’t know and you don’t care. All you care about it the fact that no one is going to notice a single rusty slipping away for all of two minutes to fuck around on a personal device and see if maybe something went to spam. Which you are looking at now. And apparently set to delete messages after thirty nights, so if it did go to spam, it was long gone now.

“Sh!t,” you quietly exhale.

It’s objectively not even a good movie, just something dumb and cheesy that you can use to break up an evening. But it's no longer even about that. You just want the garbage that you ordered because you fucking ordered it and paid for it using some of your very limited funds. Grunt work means grunt pay and you have to at least be olive to even be allowed to complain in the first place, so your bronze ass just isn't going to cut it.

It doesn't make sense for you to not have gotten anything. Like at least a, "sorry king, your package is delayed," thing should have happened. You work in this shit, you receive and ship and log and deliver until your pan feels numb and it’s just your body moving through the motions. You have been mentally trying to work out how to even fuck up bad enough that this kind of delay would even happen because even for a rusty, who expects very little, this is still a bit much. You’re drawing a complete blank.

The movement of a shadow catches your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. It slowly shortens from its exaggerated length to a more proportional one as the figure draws closer, straight towards you. You don’t recognize the silhouette’s lean frame, horns or hair which seemingly fanned out to symmetrical points. You definitely didn’t hear them enter or move through the storage bay.

Swallowing, you turn.

You see his color before you notice anything else about him. Your blood runs cold as you immediately straighten to attention.

Violet.

Seeing sea dwellers through screens and on posters did not prepare you for the real thing. You had never seen one in person before and definitely had never had one slowly making his way closer to you. Everything about him was sharp. His fins, his claws, his teeth, they all came to a clearly defined point. His grin was especially sharp. Almost sharp enough to distract you from whatever the hell his spear thingy that he casually held over his shoulder like it weighed nothing was.

“S!r.” You address him, bowing your head slightly. “!s there anyth!ng ! can do for you?”

His smile widens when you acknowledge him. His golden bracelets jingle lightly against each other as he brings a hand to his chin, seeming to genuinely consider your question.

Oh goddamn it. This is going to take longer than two minutes.

“) is there anyfin you can do for me? (,” he repeats coolly. He pensively looks off to the side as he continues to move towards you. ") oh I don't know. i just wanted to sea what was back here ("

He walks just behind you and you stiffen. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"!t's mostly crates here s!r. Noth!ng too !nterest!ng"

Faster than you can register it, the hand not gripping his weapon quickly grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. The points of his manicured claws dig into you. You keep your balance as best you can, but stumble a bit.

”) now, now. you're here too (,” he smiles at you cloyingly.

And just like that, he corrects your stance, getting way too into your personal space in the process. His grin remains shallow and doesn’t meet his eyes. It just isn't warm enough to distract from how cold his touch leaves you and in that moment, you have a realization.

So, you’re probably fucked.

He holds you for longer than is comfortable in what you’re guessing is a touchy little power play, before continuing to move past you, looking up and down the racks that surrounded you two. They were nearly as high as the ceilings and he was doing a pretty decent job of acting like he actually gives a shit about what's on the shelves. He moves by each of them methodically, occasionally picking something up like he was shopping before putting each back neatly into its place.

At least the crew coming in after to replace you isn’t going to have to reorganize anything after washing you off of the walls.

He keeps going and you know he doesn’t genuinely care about whatever soaps and meal packets are back here. You don’t either, not really. He isn't even going through the whole store room, just the area around you. It is almost like he i-.

Oh.

He’s circling you.

Is this a fish joke? You feel like this is a fish joke he’s making for himself. Or is he just adding another layer to his touchy murder dude bit?

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts before you can really try to work out what his angle on this is. You really hope he didn’t notice you starting to zone out there for a bit.

“) it all just seems rather dull (,” he draws listlessly.

“Wh!ch part?”

He glances back at you. His smile begins to falter.

“Wh!ch part s!r?” You correct quickly.

He chuckles and turns his body to face you.

“) the whole thing (” He gestures away from himself, at your general surroundings. “) i mean here you are, trapped on a run down ship, doing menial tasks for the rest of your unfortunate life. truly, i don’t know how you can stand to be here. i mean, I’d rather die than work in a place like this (,” he looks at you intensely, his pupils seemed much more narrow now that they were completely focused on you. “) what about you? (”

Ah. Yeah. You see what he did there, but he isn’t exactly providing you with any revelations about your life and you don’t exactly think boredom is what’s going to cull you.

“! see !t more l!ke a flavor d!sk.”

Your response stops him and he looks at you strangely.

“Even when !ts bad !ts good," you elaborate.

His gaze becomes harsher for a moment, and then it’s gone.

“) that is a rather crude way of looking at it, i seappose(.”

Alright. No mentally stable person seriously uses the word “suppose” out loud. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to beef it. The spear thing would be involved. It would be really fucking weird if he carried it here just to not use it, but he seems extra enough that you would not put him bringing a long a prop past him.

He notices you looking at it and smirks at you.

") so (,” he recovers and ambles towards you, focusing his full attention on you again. His weapon no longer was resting against his shoulder. He held it against the ground and casually leaned against it like it wasn’t one of the most threatening tools of questionable identity and mass murder you had ever seen. “) what are you doing back here with all of these very uninteresting crates? (”

“! just thought ! forgot someth!ng !n here and stopped by to check. S!r”

“) without telling anyone? (”

“Yes, s!r.”

He chuckles, all too pleased, “) whale, that was a poor decision on your part. there is just so much here that if anything happened to you (,” he lowers his voice, like he was graciously letting you in on a joke, “) who knows how long it would take anyone to find out (.”

A beat of silences passes. You swallow, You know he feels the tension. He looks too excited not to.

“!, uh, maybe should have told someone ! where ! was go!ng !n case someth!ng happened.”

“) i agree (.” He straightens and picks up his weapon, spinning it with ease before he points it at you and slowly starts to bring the to your neck. “) unfortunately for you (,” he starts, “) no one knows you're here (.”

Even as you move your arms, he makes no move to stop you. He grins wider, more manic, looking excited at the idea of you actually trying to fight back.

Ha.

Sucks to be him because there is no fucking way that the last thing you do before you get culled is putting in some more effort to make this more enjoyable for the extra dude culling you.

Because if this guy's going to cull you, you're at least going to be the one making a request and try to have some fun here while you can. Because what is he going to do about it? You’re getting culled anyways, might as well, right?

The ridiculousness of it all makes you grin as you shrug at him. "Well, sh!t. Alr!ght."

This acceptance gives him pause as he tilts his head slightly, considering you. A crease forms between his brows and he tightens his grip on his weapon. ") w-"

You cut him off. You’re going to die so you think you get to be rude. Him being mad about it won’t really be your problem for long anyways.

"Can ! d!e !n a cool way though?"

") i-" he starts to lower his weapon, which you now think is a harpoon. Maybe? You don't know man. You don’t know anything about fish shit and you’re understanding less by the second.

You continue looking at him with the same resigned optimism that carried you through most of the bullshit you did. It got you this far. Which, granted, is probably getting culled by a bored sea dweller, but there are probably worse ways to go.

") wait (,” he says.

"Yeah?"

It isn't exactly like you're going anywhere. You know what to do with fear, being a rusty, you learn that shit real quick. But the look he is giving you now just makes you uncomfortable.

"What's up my guy?"

") aren't you going to fight back or somefin? ("

"Uh." You glance around the room full of mostly crates and his eyes follow yours as you search before you focus back on him, confused. "L!ke w!th a weapon?"

") yes? (" His smile tightens, seeming incredulous that you even asked.

"Why would anyone g!ve me a weapon? ! mean, there m!ght be a broom somewhere. Actually wa!t, ! th!nk that got broken last w!pe. !t wasn't even me th!s t!me," you add with a side smile.

He doesn't seem to know how to respond. Neither do you, so you do what you normally do when you don't know how to react.

You keep talking.

"! did troll karate for a l!ttle b!t when ! was f!ve, but !t was k!nda lame so ! stopped going. Does that uh,” you hazard, “w!ll that work for th!s?"

") no (." He narrows his eyes at you. ") plus, I know fish judo(."

Your jaw drops.

"What the fuck. F!sh judo !s real?"

") of course fish judo is reel (." He quickly spits, looking offended by your ignorance. ") do land dwellers just think that you can fight the same way underwater? ("

"! mean !'ve l!terally never thought about !t."

") i'm not surfrised ( ."

"Okay, but ! feel l!ke !f a land dweller !s !n a pos!t!on where they need to know f!sh judo, !t means they're going to lose at f!sh judo."

") i mean, i guess? (," he replies, baffled before quickly refocusing on you again. His sharp thing is pointed back at your throat as he slips back into his previous cool demeanor.

“) you do reelize the danger you’re in right? (”

Your eyes dart down to his weapon and then at him, now being the one confused.

“Um, yeah?”

Was the whole mood he had going on not an intentional thing on his part?

He stares at you. So you go on, listing things on your fingers as you go, trying not to focus on his questionable object with definite pointiness.

“So you got the whole class!c stalk and lurk th!ng so you could follow me somewhere ! would be alone where no one can hear me scream. !t’s pretty standard,” you emphasize.

You can’t read his expression.

“There was the whole slow dramat!c enter, nefar!ous d!alogue, and, uh," you glance down, "harpoon?”

“) harpoon (,” he repeats.

“That’s what ! thought !t was, but ! felt !t would be we!rd to ask.”

His mouth opens slightly and his fins flare out more, now openly seething.

“) do you know what i could do to you? ("

A lull drags on.

"Et!vor."

") what (."

"My name !s Et!vor." You continue, "! thought you were draw!ng out the you th!ng because !t's l!ke. We are a good b!t into th!s whole th!ng and !t's kinda awkward to ask for names now, so ! am just, you know, putt!ng !t out there."

He blinks. "I don't give a fuck about your name Etivor."

He still used it though.

Taking a very deep breath, he resumes. “) i am going to take immense pleasure in cutting your tongue out and slowly flaying you alive (”

He moves closer to you, slowly, predatory, circling you again. One of his icy hands brushes by your arm in a mockery of comfort as he continues to muse more to himself than you.

“) maybe I’ll slice off each of your joints, starting at the ends and slowly work my way to eventually gutting you. perhaps I’ll simply behead you. although, i think you’ve said enough to have earned far worse, don’t you think? (”

His face being this close to you is definitely starting to put you on edge more than what he is saying. But what’s really bothering you most of all is that one of those sounds a bit too familiar.

“Wa!t. That second on-”

“) you don’t get to fucking choose which one,” he hisses at you as his claws start to dig in to you.

“! wasn’t done. Damn.”

You’re honestly surprised he hasn’t just stabbed you from sheer frustration. It’s kinda funny. It would be way more funny if he wasn't going to cull you though, but you’ll take what you can get.

“!sn’t that second one from that one comedy with troll Tob!hn Bhelle?”

“) you’ve sean that? (” He raises his brows. “) no. i added a little twist with the gutting at the end instead of letting them bleed out (.” Almost hesitantly he asks, “) did you like it? because i thought they were trying too hard where they ha-.”

He catches himself and raises his weapon at you again, “) STOP. This is NOT what is taking place right now (.”

You narrow your eyes. He's the one who kept talking.

“Then !t !s from that mov!e. You can’t just say, no !t’s not and then be l!ke,” you motion with your hands, “but w!th a tw!st! You l!fted !t.”

He bemusedly stares at you.

“) are you purposefully trying to infuriate me? was your egg dropped? do you not understand what happens when you piss off royalty? (” He snidely adds, “) i am going to get so much satisfaction out of flaying you (.”

He is literally the one holding the weapon, and holding you hostage, and also did physically hold you a few times. What the fuck does he think you’re trying to get out of this?

“! have never purposefully done anyth!ng !n my ent!re l!fe dude. ! am not about to start mak!ng an effort just when !’m about to get culled,” you respond, surprisingly defensively.

Wait, this has gotten off of the fucking rails and you don’t know where you guys actually stand.

“You are going to cull me r!ght?”

“) well, uh. yeah (.” He’s tense and glances around the room, taken off guard by your question.

"Cool." You nod at him. Worth a try you guess.

His harpoon is less looking like a weapon to be used against you and more like a barrier to keep you away from him. Silence again draws on and he stares at you expectantly. You glance around. His frown gets deeper and he looks more frustrated as time goes on. You have no idea what he is waiting for.

You never thought being culled would be this fucking awkward. Guess the torture’s already started.

") aren't you going to plead for your life? (" he demands, bringing his harpoon closer as he does so.

You’ve never been great on the spot. You try to muster something decent up.

“Uh, don’t cull me?” You said it as lamely as you felt.

He looks at you blankly. “) are you getting off on this? (”

“Dude. No. Gross.” Your face twists. “!t’s just like. !’ve never pleaded for my l!fe before. !t !sn’t sh!t you really get to pract!ce and ! feel l!ke !t won’t actually matter since !’m getting culled anyways. So. Yeah.” You slowly nod to yourself before looking up at him.

He is still waiting. Goddamn it. You sigh.

“No. Please don’t cull me. !’ll do anyth!ng.”

While that covers all your bases, it came out a lot drier than you thought but you’re too over this shit to feel any kind of way about it.

"!s there any chance plead!ng would even work?"

His disappointment was broken by a sharp laugh, ") of course not (."

“Then what do you even want from me?” you ask, getting kinda exasperated at his apparent high standards and prereqs for the randos he culls. Like it is one thing to play some kind of sadistic game with your prey, that’s normal, whatever, but it is a whole other thing to get weird about them not being good at it.

"Why ask unless y-. Oh." Your face falls as you get bitch slapped with the realization of what is really happening here. "Oh fuck."

You step back.

Your fear has apparently slam dunked him right back in his comfort zone because his grin is back full throttle and wider and sharper than ever like he was making up for lost time. ") you finally understand the weight of the seatuation you're in? ("

He slinks towards you and you feel the edge of the blade graze your neck.

"Yep," avoid his gaze and swallow.

You were going to get culled in the weirdest way possible.

“) and what is that? (,” he asks lowly, getting right the fuck back into your personal space. His smile almost splits his face and you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Th!s !s l!ke. A th!ng. W!th you."

He lowers his harpoon again, looking completely done. “) what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (” You half expect him to throw it across the room or through your torso.

You can’t stop yourself from speaking now that you're actually nervous and stressed and he is yelling and also way too close to your person and his harpoon isn’t doing either of you any favors.

“You had the whole k!nda fl!rty touchy th!ng going on and then you got really p!ssy when ! d!dn’t f!ght back. And you also got super d!sappo!nted w!th my sh!tty plead!ng l!ke you were really look!ng forward to !t or someth!ng.”

“) i’m disappointed because this is the least satisfying cull of my life! (,” he hisses.

You visibly cringe at the word “satisfying” and take another step back from him. There is some fear there but mostly you’re just really fucking uncomfortable. Troll Jesus Christ this dude is into some shit and you are not playing into it.

He also takes a step back too, now into a defensive stance. ") what? it doesn't look like that! ("

You suck in air in through your teeth and are looking anywhere but at him as you reply, "!t k!nda looks l!ke that."

") oh my cod ("

He just slumps down, his harpoon clattering in front of him. His mouth is in a straight line and his head rests between his hands. You stand there, unsure for a moment, before slowly lowering yourself a decent distance away from him. You honestly thought that getting culled would be less uncomfortable than it was being here while he has whatever the fuck it is he has going on going on or at least uncomfortable in a different way.

You continue trying to avoid looking at him. It’s kinda expected that a highblood was going to cull you at some point. That was just how it tended to go for rusties, but you could not have guessed this, and now just kinda want to get this whole getting murdered thing over with.

You try to give him a moment, glancing around the room, mentally taking inventory of everything there twice. The awkward silence is weighty and the longer it stretches on, the worse you are feeling about this whole fucking ordeal.

“Would cull!ng me help you uh, not be l!ke th!s?”

He gives you a dirty look.

You sigh, "!t's not l!ke anyone gets to th!nk that for long, !f !t helps.”

“) if it helps? ( ” He spat each word, getting louder as he went on. He whipped his head at you, indignantly, “) this is your fault! ("

"What?"

") getting culled is so fucking basic. how did you fuck that up? ("

You stare at him, trying to figure out how the fuck to even respond.

Slowly, in what might be one of the last things you do in your existence, you serve this royal what you are assuming is the stalest tea of his life in the form of the lukewarm take, “you know, be!ng bad at dy!ng !s a good th!ng actually.”

These are real words. These are real words that you are saying to the guy who was leaning way too hard into the thirsty part of bloodthirsty.

You continue. "L!ke you don’t get to pract!ce th!s. ! mean, do ! look l!ke someone who has been culled before? Because ! haven’t. Have you?" You add.

He looks like he is about to have a conniption or the sea dweller equivalent. Can sea dwellers have conniptions? Because this guy is about to have a big one.

") you did not just seariously just ask me if i've ever been culled before. that is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me! (," he practically shrieks.

"Well you're acting like ! should just know th!s sh!t. We have the exact same amount of exper!ence gett!ng culled!"

“) whale i’ve never encountered any TROLL who is so miserable that they just accept getting culled from the fucking get go (.”

“!’m not m!serable! !’m real!st!c! ! don’t have a weapon, ! can’t fight for sh!t, f!sh judo !s apparently fuck!ng real, and plead!ng does noth!ng. !’m gonna end up at the same place no matter what ! do so why drag !t out? L!ke, come on.”

You slump against the wall, exhausted from this whole interaction. “!t wasn’t great, but ! don’t see much of a po!nt !n gett!ng so worked up about sh!t ! can’t control. ! just wanted to go out !n a cool way s!nce noth!ng ever fuck!ng happens here. The reason ! was even back here !n the f!rst place was to see !f ! had an update on a stup!d hexagonal d!sk ! ordered three months ago. But that sh!t !s apparently !n the vo!d," you gripe.

You pull out your palm husk and check again. Jack shit. You groan.

You’re surprised to hear him chuckle.

“) sucks to be you (.”

“Yeah." You shake your head. "And then a few seconds after ! found out, some guy showed up to cull me.”

He actually laughs. This is so fucking ridiculous so maybe that’s why you are too.

“) it’s a lot more fun to be doing the culling (.” He eyes you again and you don’t want to crawl out of your flesh this time, and you feel like that’s a real development here. “) you seam like you’d lose a fight (.”

An accurate assessment.

“Yeah. Troll karate didn’t do sh!t for me.” A beat passes. “Drones actually burnt !t down l!ke two w!pes after ! qu!t.”

He snickers and a moment passes.

“) one month for a disk? that is fucking bullshit (.”

“Three.”

“) fuck (," he raises his brows. Moderate inconvenience seems to repulse him more than anything you've said tonight. ") that sucks, i get my shit next night with cullazon prime (.”

"N!ce. !'d probably try that if ! had more than twenty seven whole caegars."

Broke bitch disorder also seems to do it for him in the humor department and the two of you continue chilling in silence. Less uncomfortable this time. You almost feel bad for thinking he was a sadistic creep.

He breaks the silence. “) give me your palm husk (."

“What?”

“) i don’t repeat myself (," he replies tersely, holding his hand out to you.

What the hell.

You type your code in and pass it to him. He glances at the massive crack on the center of your screen with disgust. He looks at you and shakes his head before he starts typing.

He didn't ask, but still, you answer. “! cracked !t do!ng a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e.”

He doesn't look up. ") you can't do a kickflip on a dollie (."

"Not w!thout a cost."

He spares you a side glance. ") why the fuck would you even do that? ("

"Because !t !s bor!ng as sh!t out here and there !s much better to do !n the ma!lblock."

He hums noncommittally.

"Were you just spaced?"

") and what if I was?(," he asks, a touch defensive.

"Noth!ng. ! was just wonder!ng !f !t sucks th!s bad at your level too?"

") of course not (," he snaps. ") do you genuinely believe anyone could be doing worse than you? ("

"Well yeah." You tap your sign. "But not by much."

He huffs and rolls his eyes before he looks out for a moment.

") i'm abshellutely krilling it out here (,” he states resolutely before continuing, “) but taking orders is a reel pain (.”

He sullenly joins you in leaning back against the wall.

Damn, This might just be the first time he's ever had anyone above him. Well, above him and specifically giving him orders you mean, judging by the way he is basically pouting over it. Everyone loses agency when they ascend. Guess it just sucks more when you have more to lose, not that you’d really know.

"!t doesn’t get better, but you do get used to !t," you say, not looking at him.

He glances at you, frowning deeper before exhaling.

You keep not looking at him when you ask, "So. Are you go!ng to cull me?"

") no. there is no salvaging that. you completely ruined it (." He replies bitterly while returning your palm husk.

The cullazon app has been downloaded and opened to an account page. You raise an eyebrow at him.

He announces, “) okay etivor, i shared my cullazon prime with you. you’re still going to be a sorry excuse for a troll, but you might get enough out of it that culling you acshelly becomes entertaining (.”

This is a joke. This has to be a joke.

“Thanks, but there !s l!terally no way for me to pay you back for anyth!ng ! buy on th!s.”

“) do i look like i need your fucking charity? (” he sneers.

He is actually serious about this. He looks too pissed not to be.

“Nope, you’re way too bl!nged out for that,” you grin. This dude is wild. “What’s your number?”

He looks at you suspiciously.

“!s th!s really where you’re gonna draw the l!ne? You gave me access to your Cullazon, but won’t g!ve me your number? Ser!ously?”

He doesn’t ask this time. He just swipes it out of your hands.

“) i am ievahn mordax, probably the best thing that has and will ever grace your miserable fucking life and i will brutally cull you if you mention any of this ever happened to anyone (.”

He hands it back, but still holds onto it. “) i’ve made myself clear? (”

“Yeah,” you nod and he finally lets go. This is way better than a shipping notification.

Oh.

You check the time.

"Fuck!" You leap to your feet and he quickly grabs his harpoon.

") what? (" he shouts.

"! was supposed to be here for l!ke a m!nute to check on the d!sk." You look at your palm husk again. It has been way more than a minute and you have the feeling someone definitely noticed by now. You completely forgot about having some work work to do considering you thought you were going to die. "Sh!t." You look at him again. "Do you have anywhere to be?"

") what? (" He squints.

“! mean you just had some free t!me and you seem bored and apparently don’t believe ! can do a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e. ! have to defend my good name. You get !t.”

“) what good name? (” he snickers. “) and if i did, why the fuck would i want to spend anymore time with you? (”

“Because you can’t make fun of my Cullazon orders !f my boss culls me for tard!ness. You be!ng around means she can’t say sh!t.”

He seems to consider, “) a compelling argument. and i do get to watch you maim yourself in the dumbest way possible which is a definite bonus (.”

You grin as you start walking. “Or have your pan be blown when you see what trollk!nd can really do when there is l!terally noth!ng else to do. !’m push!ng l!m!ts here !evahn.”

“) you’re pushing your luck (.” He leans his harpoon against himself as he follows.

“Maybe.” Quickly, you face him and add. “But ser!ously, be cool. !f my boss f!nds out about any of th!s, she w!ll absolutely cull me.”

“) she can’t cull you (,” he huffs. “) i already called dibs on that (.”

You grin returns.

“Damn. !’ll let her know.”

#Homestuck #Hiveswap #Fantrolls #Ievahn Mordax #Etivor Petris #My writing #Do you ever just get someone thrown so off guard and uncomfortable that they don't cull you?#Ievahn has his whole villain persona up and Eti's generic lowblood one goes out the window when he feels there's not much to lose #It just goes so off the rails that there isn't really much of a social script to stick to or much familiar territory here #Basically an unstoppable force meets an extremely strange object #Anyways they chill out over time and form a weird friendship to moiraillegence because they're a similar kind of stupid #They just happen to be on opposite ends of the spectrum

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