#regardless im always grateful that the people it matters most to gets to see it and enjoy it and thats really the point of it
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i wonder how art fatphobes would feel on here if i told them "sorry... i just don't draw skinny people 😣 it's too hard and it doesn't fit my aesthetic...." like im 100% convinced it would make them implode
#fatphobia#fat art#fat artist#plus size#plus size art#rambling#like i get that not wveryone is gonna reblog all of my art but i DEFINITELY notice when my art with fat people is ignored#like dont think i dont notice#regardless im always grateful that the people it matters most to gets to see it and enjoy it and thats really the point of it#im just mad to be angry today probably but its a little pet peeve of mine for sure#this isnt directed towards anyone in particular
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Hi charm. Your posts have helped me lots! Im keeping consistent for once and understand the law and shifting properly. My question is that I’ve been trying to considerate my understanding and application of states and A+P. This sounds stupid but I go back and forth and try to apply them, but the debates about them don’t make sense to me. I think rn I reinstate more with states but some I do prefer to just affirm and I’m just curious on which one you “preferred” and how you applied that to shifting. Thanks 😊
I think it really does depend. I love the law of consciousness, and under that really anything goes. But for me personally, I really do think there’s a point of no return when it comes to A and P and states. Just in my experience, feel free to believe and do what you like. First and foremost, your beliefs are more important in your reality. But I feel like everyone says that so often. If you don’t understand that, it's not really my job to coddle anyone at this point 😭😭 everyone is their own god and that’s the most important thing to understand.
But I started my journey back in 2020 when I was 16, and I manifested so much with mirror work and affirmations because I didn’t know about the law, and honestly I barely knew anything about manifesting either. I was only a shifter. And all my shifting friends, not on Tumblr, who shifted pretty easily and I consider "master shifters" (not that it exists or matters), honestly didn’t get into LOA either. They just affirmed (but used LOA, by knowing they’d wake up in their desired reality without knowing). Ever since then, they don’t gripe in the community because sometimes ignorance rlly is bliss. If I was in 2020 and stuck with that, I would have gotten everything so easily. But looking back, somethings happen for a reason because the desires and drs I wanted at 16 are nothing like the life/drs I want and have right now. I’m so grateful I struggled for a bit; it was a blessing in disguise 😭😭😭.
Around that time, I hated LOA because I talked about this in a different ask, but my favorite master shifter on Reddit (I’m an OG Reddit girl) who brought LOA to Reddit eventually left because she claimed she thought she was mentally ill, and shifting is psychosis. So I hated Neville and LOA for a while, which is so funny, because what did he do? I also didn’t like states because none of my shifting friends knew about that, and all shifting was just knowing and affirming. I wanted to do that too, not live in my head or whatever I understood states as.
I obviously eventually learned about LOA properly and learned so much about the "mechanics" and origins and over-consumed, just like a lot of you guys. When I tried to go back to A+P, I struggled so much because I really did believe in states. I thought about my horrible childhood, but how I got through it was knowing and believing in magic and my eternal happiness. From ages 9-14, I was a very happy and lucky child despite my circumstances and depression, because I was in the state of someone who had it all. I always knew life was more than what we can see with our eyes, so really, I knew A+P wasn’t really what was working, it was my state. But I refused to admit that for a while and got mad when my affirmations stopped working (that’s what I mean by point of no return).
Also, my shifting friends are using states, and when I started asking them about it, they started talking learned about their methods and how they suceeed easily. Most of them used some variation of SATS without knowing and music to fulfill their inner man and know that, regardless, they’ll wake up in their desired reality. So I started doing the same, and that’s how I manifested my first shift.
But everyone is so different. Like look at all the success stories. Some people just use science and logic with lucid dreaming steps. A lot of people in LOA now didn’t even use LOA to manifest at first or get into the void or whatever. Some people shift without knowing or by accident, etc., etc. The point is understanding states helped me because that’s the type of person I am; I like knowing the mechanics behind the seemingly magic. But maybe you don’t, maybe you don’t care about states, you know they’re behind everything but don’t care. That’s all good too. I don’t care how anyone achieves or understands the law to get their dream life, as long as they’re not spreading misinformation. The law is about you and understanding what fulfills you; you don’t need to follow debates to fulfill yourself.
A lot of people feel very strongly about their beliefs because it’s what helped them achieve their dream life, so they’ll die on hills for it. And I honestly get it; that’s how you feel about shifting. So I really don’t like when people try to dunk on it or like "debunk it." And that’s how everyone feels for their beliefs; it’s the human in us, we feel strongly about our passions. But don’t let people make you feel bad about your beliefs. Sometimes Tumblr can get like middle school-esque with the labels and drama, but again, it’s a good reminder that no matter how godly you are, we still have our human shell, and that’s oddly comfortable to me so I don’t care that much tbh. Just do you girl, at the end of the day it’s your happiness that matters
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So do you just respond to anon hate because you know itll get you showered with compliments after? Because you really shouldve just deleted them and moved on ... Dont engage, just block, right? Or are you just too good for that. If its not worth the effort, why do you keep doing it? Look, I really truly love your work .... I *agree* with all the people complimenting you. But taking the time out of your day to formulate snarky responses to people that should not matter to you, for the sake of drowning it out with others' approval just makes you look really vain and desperate. Im sorry if that upsets you. Im not trying to judge your character, im just saying thats how you might appear to an outsider, but you shouldnt care about what i think of you anyway. Regardless, i hope you have a wonderful day and keep making the art that you want to make. ✌
I will say "don't engage, just block" has been a successful tactic that I have used/been using on twitter (and instagram, when I remember to use it) since two people can't really engage with a character limit. There's also no real anonymous posting on either platform, so people can get dogpiled on either side, which I try to be aware of and avoid.
So it's tough because I do agree that most times it is better to walk away - you're right! And I'd be inclined to do that for most internet circumstances. But I guess this Shadowheart situation has honestly just become something that I am going to speak up on, because to these anonymous messages, I want to state and clearly explain why this piece, and others like it, are important to me. Drawing fat people is very important to me.
And I have been very much "in the pocket" today in responding to things, much more than I usually am, considering I usually don't get this much inbox attention at all. In the past, the few times I'd get this sort of quantity of responses would also come from a similar circumstance when I would want to draw a character from a popular series (usually drawing them as fat, buff, larger-bodied than their original design) and people want to speak up on it. So when this does happen, and specifically on tumblr because it's a blogging platform that supports long text and anonymous messages, I do find myself responding to most things. Especially since it's revolving around drawing fat bodies and it is something I feel impassioned to speak up on and explain why I do it.
My more "snarky" and cheeky responses are towards the anonymous messages that are giving me that energy at the start. And I respond to them because I am a person, not just some art-making machine on the internet. I want these anons to know that I see their messages, their attitude is not appreciated, and their commentary is hateful and wrong because they have internalized shit they should work through (as do we all). But it's not going to fly here and there are MANY people who agree with me and do not tolerate this behavior, and these anons should see that that is the case.
The kind and supportive messages I get because of these situations I vastly appreciate. I respond to them because I'm grateful for the time, I'm in that typing/ready-to-respond pocket, and they help me (and hopefully others) remember that for every hateful thing someone might say, there are a dozen people who support you. Every time you dare to draw and represent a person outside of the beauty standard, there will always be people who will hate it and they are going to tell you. But with them, there will be dozens more who truly love it because they find it beautiful and they will appreciate what you do. It is immensely meaningful and important to me that people see this and see more artwork that expands the scope of beauty. That is why I respond to these messages.
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it's meee, the qianqing anon✨ it certainly been a while since ive been in your asks jsjdjdjd the uni has been crazy and the finals were approaching so i had to force my focus on studying instead of screaming about my faves to anyone who was willing to listen :") but now that that's out of the way for a while now because the second semester has already started, im free to go back to my deranged brainrots sjejejejjeke
OH I ALMOST FORGOT very very late merry christmas (if you celebrated) and happy new years!! 🎉🎉
im rewatching the second season of tgcf at the moment and im going crazy over the small lqq moments i missed in my first watch wjejejek he's just such an amazing character and soo 😍 i love/hate that im now restarting the angst 😭😭
SOMEHOW I ALSO MISSED THE BRIEF BLURRY SHI WUDU CAMEO AND I WAS SCREAMING ABOUT IT FOR HALF AN HOUR TO MY FRIEND!! I CANT WAIT TO SEE HIM IN HIS FULL CORRUPTED GLORY IF WE EVER GET GHE BLACK WATER ARC ANIMATED!! he actually might be in my top three favorite characters from tgcf even if i don't talk about him nearly as much as i talk about mq
anyways. LQQ!! i know i already watched everything and i know that i know what's going to happen but man i am not prepared to go through that again! while i am EXTREMELY glad that we got to see him boil qr alive AND slice him in half, THE PAIN THE ANGUISH THE CONFLICT JWJWIEKEKKEJJE
i don't think i will be getting him out of my head anytime soon :")) im even more salty that he doesn't get a more important scenes later in the series :((
unfortunately ive been a bit brain-dead because of the most boring subjects in the world ughhh so i don't have any new lqq and mq thoughts :(( if you do pls share with me, im dying for every crumb of creativity available skkekekeke
also idk if i mentioned this in my last ask, but it makes me so happy that both you and your followers like these little lqq/mq rants 🥹 it makes me excited to share whatever new idea pops into my brain and know that there are somewhere ppl who get just as excited about them as i do
anyways, i hope you're doing well!! 😽😽
Welcome back qianqing anon!!!
I hope finals went well for you and that you’ve been able to catch your breath again. I also hope you enjoyed the holiday season!
Every time I see or think about donghua lqq I feel so grateful to the production team for depicting the way lqq feels and expresses himself so intensely. I know we all know this by now but his arc really is my favorite within the entire story,,, 🥹 It’s a shame we really only see him in the early chapters and the final ones— I genuinely think his story could easily be its own novel/extra.
Also where does shi wudu show up???! If it’s later in s2 then I haven’t spotted him yet cos I,,,,, still haven’t gotten around to finishing s2 (life got in the way of quality time in lqq land 😭). I feel you though— I find shi wudu interesting in such a way where I love his character but I also feel he 100% got what was coming to him LMAO. Blackwater arc is gonna be so wild to see.
But!! Back to qianqing lol. I was thinking earlier about the fact that lqq answers any personal communication array regardless of who is contacting him. Meanwhile mq haunts the public communication array but gives this vibe that not a lot of people have access to his personal array,,,, made me think about how mq seems like the type who always reaches out to lqq privately, knowing that lqq will always answer, but refuses to give his password in return. Lqq probably asked him once and mq probably told him something like “It’s pointless when I know you’ll answer me no matter what.” (Bonus: maybe mq finally decides to hand his password over when lqq ends up going down to the mortal realm to seek his revenge— like it’s mq’s way of telling lqq that he’s concerned but without flat out saying he’s concerned for lqq LOL)
Anyway! Please always feel free to slide into the inbox. I may be slow to reply to these but they really do make my day. The qianqing brainrot never sleeps 😂
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one thing that is impossible to convey to cisgender friends is just the inexplicable horrible disgusting feeling that comes from a deadname being uttered.
like currently, im closeted from my family and therefore only expect them to say my deadname and so ive become numb to it. at school however, i’m very lucky to say everyone from teachers to friends and peers know my real chosen name (not the one on this account teehee), pronouns, and that i’m queer. my teachers have been supportive because i also got lucky that i took classes with all the great teachers teaching them, especially my art teacher throughout high school. i also am incredibly grateful because i am lucky to have a good group of queer friends and a friend circle of supportive people (well at least for the most part. if you know, you know.)
with that said, every once in a while someone will say my deadname at school, usually an old classmate or friend i haven’t seen in ages but see me and give a passing hello, and it feels so horrendously strange. even though i hear and see the name everyday at home, when its said at school it sounds like an alien word of a language never seen outside of that utterance on earth, and having it directed at me just feels so strangely wrong.
and then this morning- a very off morning overall- something rare happened. remember my art teacher? yeah absolutely incredibly lovely woman, she is the only teacher that i trust to talk about my family situation or generally queer topics with, but also constantly stressed and visibly running all over the place in her mind. this morning, my teacher (who was just looking at portfolio assignments from the previous year, including my own with my deadname on it) just asked me something in the lesson about last year (a simple and yes or no) but for the first time sine literally a year ago, flat out deadnamed me. she hadn’t even noticed, it just slipped off her tongue and then she had to move on, and i have been sick and was very hungry and tired so i assumed i was imagining her saying it, but it was so distinctly wrong feeling and sounding that i knew it was real. the name sounded so unnatural in her voice, like her body knew it was false yet her mind kept speeding ahead. it sounded alien and it was directed at me but this time the direction made me feel as if i was wrong, as if i had just slipped through an alternate universe where i was still stuck in the same closet walls people forced me into time and time again. it felt like a slap in the face, a punch to the gut, a knife to an open wound. it felt like a reminder that no matter how hard i tried, i would always be too disconnected with who i am and how the world registers me. my name is My name but the deadname is still the one ironed onto my chest. people can nod their heads and follow the script but one mistake and i feel like a child caught playing dressyp and pretend beyond the age adults deem it appropriate. in one tiny word lasting a second from a slip up i couldn’t even correct, i felt more ill i had from the actual cold festering in me. and oce again, i understand this teacher enough to know this doesn’t mean any true malice of any kind, but man it felt like a disorienting kind of hell and made my ears feel so uncomfortable, and i don’t think i coudl ever explain it to my cisgender friends.
regardless of whether or not they changed their name, i know my trans friends could feel what i was getting at, but to everyone else they don’t feel it so they couldn’t understand it. i tried explaining it to someone and i couldn’t do it. i tried again and i couldn’t do it. being trans is truly such a unique experience even down to the aspects that many cis people ik feel they have enough of a grasp on.
idk if any of that made sense, or if this was anything worth saying. i just still feel weird and the strange alien way the name was said and felt still rattles in my mind
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hi! ive read all of your guy's fics and ADORE them to bits and pieces! but i was wondering if any characters out of all your guy's fics have borderline personality disorder, and if so, who? i don't know if this is a weird ask, but sometimes when rereading your guy's fics, i feel like i can relate to some of the characters and idk if it's just me projecting bc as someone w bpd, i never rlly see it represented in any fics, but i really appreciate the glimpses of it i feel like i get in your guy's writing! (granted, usually it's the messier parts im relating to in your fics, i.e. thio jeff's self sabotaging or ycyd toby's switching but regardless, i appreciate that even if you do write them w bpd in mind, you guys have never once pointed to that disorder as being their problem - it's always just the characters themselves being shitty ppl, and you guys never blame any diagnosis for that which i LOVE and am beyond grateful for) im sure there's other overlapping disorders that come into play w certain characters too, not just one straight up diagnosis for them when you guys characterize them, but yeah! i was just curious. sorry abt this long ass ask!
The only character we intentionally wrote with BPD in mind was YCYD’s Y/N, most of the characters don’t have an “official” diagnosis but THIO Jeff almost 100% has BPD, I had never even considered it but definitely. We write most of our Jeff’s with NPD in mind but it has a lot of overlap with BPD. Same with YCYD Toby, he’s just scizoaffective which also has a lot of symptom overlap !
For HO1C, Nina will be written with BPD and her and Toby will explore the overlap between their diagnosis. Most of them have not been to a psychiatrist in YEARS though and don’t have any real diagnosis (idk if that really matters to you)
The only ones with diagnosed mental disorders (iirc) are Toby and Tim as their scizophrenia manifested early .
I’m sure you don’t need to hear this but most personality disorders are a product of neglect/trauma so of course we will NEVER write it as the characters/disorders fault. Especially because in our fics the operator uses mentally ill people as a persecuted minority to get what he wants (just like in real life!)
#asks#thank you BPD anon we’re glad we have characters you can relate to#diagnosis are hard in this world because most of the characters disconnect from society at a young age and personality disorders#don’t manifest until later in life!
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s3l3ct your play3r
Jigsaw or Jenga? Single or multiplayer?
If life is truly a game, I’m learning that sometimes I just have to hit the pause button. I have a tendency to want to solve every single problem with urgency and immediacy and that can sometimes come at the expense of my sanity. It’s a wild juxtaposition between my capacity for patience in certain matters and my inability to be patient at all in others.
I’m learning that the source of this lies in how emotional I am as a person. I don’t pretend to be the only one to be this way, but of the countless people I’ve encountered in my life, I’m still the most emotional person I know…
There’s a decent amount of things that are important to me in varying ways. Love, friendship, family, music, creative pursuits, etc., etc... I’m an incredibly passionate person. I’m rarely casual about the things that affect me on a deeper level. And the things I care about most are the things that receive the full capacity of what I have to offer in terms of that passion. It can be a lot, and I know that tempering it is sometimes important (depending on the context), but it’s ultimately an asset. My greatest one.
So how does it translate? In artistic pursuits, it serves as my muse. I create from a sense of deep feeling and am able to have confidence in the authenticity of my output because it always comes from a place of feeling something. Heartbreak, elation, and everything in between. It makes me a dedicated fan of music, film, even sports. It makes me see people’s best. It makes me grateful for any moment shared and any experience that brings positivity. It makes me crave knowledge and understanding. It also leads to my deepest and most profound instances of pain and confusion.
I’ve been in love three times in my 33 years. I’ve experienced a pretty vast range of relationships and their dynamics. Everyone I’ve encountered has been wildly different, so I can’t ever pretend like I know what the hell I’m doing. I just trust my gut. And so far, that doesn’t seem to have long-standing results. Right now, my gut is unchanging in its position on these matters. I’ve tried to outsmart it, to use cold logic, to just get on with it. But the truth is that my heart and soul will always beat my brain. If my mind, heart, and soul were a pie chart in these matters, it would not be an even split… maybe like 25% to the brain… maybe 20%. Maybe 10%...
Presently, I find myself in a position I’ve never before experienced. I believe in something to a degree that it’s somewhat debilitating and, despite concentrated efforts to not ruminate, the whole thing has become a fixture in the essence of who I now find myself as, as a person. I’m doing what everyone is telling me to do in the hopes that it can alleviate or perhaps shed some clarity. But the simple truth is that, when you fully embrace something, as opposed to “accepting in spite of,” it’s a lot more difficult to make sense of things. In matters of the heart, the hardest pill for me to swallow is that I am who I am and I have to learn to live with how I feel regardless of the outcome.
It’s been an emotional storm to weather. For weeks on end. And I’ve been stripped bare of so many things about myself. Having gone through my 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th steps in my program in the midst of the experience forced me to assess myself on a profoundly, uncomfortably deep level. I had to confront it. And in the wake of the storm, I’m left with what remains fundamentally true. And the way I love goes beyond my personal choice or decision-making. It doesn’t feed into my negative qualities, but it can certainly take away from my positive ones. I am what I am, I love who I love, and I believe in what I believe, sometimes against all odds, sometimes at the expense of myself. It would be easy to characterize this as a defect, but I know that my capacity for this is a rarity. It’s something to be celebrated. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out.
One positive I can glean in the immediate aftermath is in how I’ve handled it in terms of my behaviors. That has made clear the truthful value in it and how authentic my feelings actually are. That it isn’t some “idea” or “role” that needed filling. It was the celebration of all that I knew about someone outside of myself. That I’m not acting out in some way or just seeking attention. In the past, there are a few things that would’ve happened already. First and foremost, I’d have drank to drown the overwhelming emotion. Which, of course, works until it doesn’t. Following that, I’d be on dating apps seeking validation and attention. I’d be meeting people with the idea of “filling the void.” I’d be doing anything and everything to distract my way through it and, undoubtedly, hurting people along the way. But in the wake of this, I cannot even conceive of the possibility that I can ever experience something like this again. The thought of anything new or different is nauseating. Which is in itself a problem. But it at least validates the authenticity of how I feel. And I can take some kind of deranged solace in knowing that when I truly, deeply give a fuck, it’s about as real as it gets.
My sense of self worth doesn’t come from external factors these days. My self-respect isn’t borne of my relationship status, job status, or any other social metric by which to be measured. I’ve, in the face of much adversity, cultivated a pretty cool life that’s only in its infancy. The potential and possibilities are presently endless. I take comfort in knowing that as long as I stay the course and don’t let my emotional pitfalls consume me for too long, I’m headed towards exactly where I want to go. And the crux of that mindset is in my capacity for belief, hope, and dedication to the things that matter most to me.
So in matters of the heart, I give it my all. Wrangling a lightning bolt is no easy feat, but when it strikes, I embrace it. Three times in 33 years really isn’t that much to take the feeling for granted. But at the end of the day, I have to maintain a degree of self-respect as well. I can’t presume to know what anyone else is thinking beyond myself. I can pry and prod and poke and try to follow breadcrumbs, but the truth is that I have to stay focused internally and handle my own shit first. The world will spin with or without me. I know that in love, I’m not an option. I’m the selection, or we’re not playing. I know what I deserve and I hope one day to experience that again. But I’m not on any timeline of success. The universe moves in mysterious ways and I will always trust the process… even at my lowest and most broken, even when the flame of hope becomes a bic lighter in the wind, it will always persist to some degree.
We’ve all been through a lot. We all have battle scars. Some run deeper than others. We are the result of both nature and nurture - who we were born as instinctually and a product of our environments, and by extension, the choices we made in that context. Taking stock of all of it is daunting. It’s uncomfortable, especially in the wake of guilt, shame, regret, remorse, pain, and anything that caused us suffering in any form. But from that wreckage, from clearing it away bit by bit, we are able to build a new foundation. My dad is not in recovery. His childhood was traumatic. But seeing how he recognized the chaos and suffering and willfully chose to build a life opposite of that is something I admire beyond any meaningful way to express. I was raised in love and privilege. I have role models and standards of happiness to try to emulate. My experience was not my father’s. He gave me the life he should have always had. And I still struggled to make it work.
The point is that, regardless of what has happened, we each have our own shit to deal with by virtue of the choices we make. Because these choices dictate the experiences we have and the characteristics we adopt and engage in. It’s important to maintain awareness. I’ll never reach zen-Buddhist-monk-Nirvana levels of self-awareness. I am way too emotional for that. But I will always strive to maintain presence and understanding and acceptance to the best of my ability.
I cannot die without remorse. But I’d like to die without regret. And the only way to ensure that is through action and authenticity. I can’t change the past, but I can continue to do the tiniest little things every day to lead to a tomorrow that looks nice. But it’s not guaranteed. So I will hang onto hope. I will believe in it and trust the path I am on.
It’s never a mistake to believe in hope.
The outcome may not always look like what I thought, but if I can maintain trust, it might be something even better.
So if life is a game, it’s a freaking RPG with an infinite campaign, endless side quests, hard as shit boss fights, a huge inventory, an no real goal beyond enjoying the experience. Sometimes it’s hard as shit. Sometimes I’ll have to restart from a checkpoint. But I never have to start the game over.
So, yeah… life is wild. I still don’t really know what I’m doing. But I’m picking up little nuggets of wisdom here and there. I just hope that with all that I’ve seen, experienced, and want out of it all, I can have some kind of meaningful impact on those I love, those I care for, and the world around me.
Onward we go… (forever)
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some of you people are just thinly veiled ww antis.
i cannot believe in this day and age after EVERYTHING we’ve been through, there’s any questions as to whether or not this is the move for him. not just for him, for everyone. building a solid solo career to guarantee a successful future regardless of what happens. in a perfect world everyone is treated fairly, whether it be getting enough work or enough rest. i believe we all have our grievances, and they, for the most part, valid.
this applies to everyone in nct, everyone in kpop, everyone who is a celebrity. you could extend this to regular people and say it’s a good idea to have a solid career regardless of what area you’re in. but in kpop specifically, the industry moves so fast. there are groups who are hugely successful that debuted less than 5 years ago being called flops because there’s newer shinier groups that everyone is obsessed with now. the 7 year curse is generous for many groups, since it’s so common for groups to lose members earlier, or the group to disband before then for whatever reason.
especially as a foreign idol. this is so important. i am overjoyed that yuta started doing the same. i think it’s brilliant to ensure individual fame and success while still having the security of a group. i pray nct doesn’t get smaller because they are my favorite group and i want to have them in my life always. i love them all and i want them to be happy and together. but due to circumstances that none of us can really control, there is a chance the group will get smaller. and in the case that certain people leave, i want them to be happy and successful no matter what they choose to do. i’ll be heartbroken and devastated but it’s the reality of loving anything, that you can get hurt. lol that got deep but in all seriousness, having any sort of emotional investment in anything, ESPECIALLY SOMETHING LIKE KPOP 😭 is bound to pose challenges.
i’ve realized that many permanent groups are just like temporary groups. permanent groups have the benefit of time, and more likely contract extensions, but ultimately, it’s all about making a name for yourself and guaranteeing a future career if/when the group is over.
i’m just laughing thinking about what it’s like if ww turned down opportunities in favor of…… whatever sm is (not) doing.
like imagine the editors of elle magazine are like yo bro, want to be on the cover?? and whoever organizes paris fashion week or valentino partners or whatever is like hey do u want to come to our exclusive event where you can get a lot of exposure?? some people really want ww to be like no thanks ☺️ im just gonna hang out here and wait for my company to remember my group exists even though my fans have been begging for the bare minimum since 2016 and i have never been properly cared for or utilized even though im popular talented charming and beautiful 😇
you don’t think i’d love to see him with them all the time???? every other hour i post about how much i miss NCT WINWIN. i miss him. i miss him so much. it’s not fun, it’s not easy. but he’s my fav, i want him to do well, i want to see him succeed, i want him to do what he needs to do. and yes i pray every night that he will be fully present for this nct 2023 thing.
…lastly. going back to the anti thing. so many beg and hope and pray for their fav to have solo activities. but when someone else does all the sudden he’s abandoning the group 🤨 ok.
“why isn’t winwin here” “wayv is basically 5 now” “nct is a part time job for him” if you paid attention to him and actually cared you would know he loves his group and his members and their music. he always promotes wayv when on solo schedules, talks about how grateful he is for weishennies/nctzens/yunqis, and has a wonderful relationship with the other guys. i’m sure he would be more present if sm didn’t plan things 2 hours before they happen.
have some cute pics of wayv in hong kong today 🥰💕
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🔀💗❓ For everybody~! - @moonlitstroll
🔀 How canon-divergent vs. canon-compliant are you?
Benrey: uhhhhhh I mean a lot of stuff that’s canon about me is mostly vague so I guess that depends lol but uh. For the stuff that isn’t vague, I guess I’m pretty canon compliant??
Corvo: very canon compliant until the second game. I’m mute. Can’t say much beyond that as I’ve avoided playing the second game myself for that reason mostly, but I keep on and off reconsidering that…. I’m curious.
Data: Incredibly compliant when I first arrived. I’ve grown and changed since then though, as people do overtime. Most would think me very canon-divergent now, I believe.
Gascoigne: In between, I think.. Hard to elaborate further than that without writing a million and one words..
Franz: VeryVeryDivergentAndGlad
Gaster: I HAVE… LITTLE CANON INFORMATION. THIS IS HARD TO ANSWER.
Jado: well!! I mean, I guess I’m pretty canon compliant?? Mostly?? That’s a little hard for me as well considering my source has more than one canon, technically….
Jevil: HMM! HMM HMM HMM! ALSO HARD TO SAY! BUT I THINK I’M PRETTY COMPLIANT TO CANON, AS FAR AS CANON GIVES US INFORMATION FOR ANYHOW!
Maximilien: very canon divergent, and quite grateful for it
Mercer: I THINK I’M ABOUT SPOT ON FOR CANON COMPLIANCE!!!
Zant: a mix of both but definitely more canon divergent than canon compliant.
💗 What helps you feel closer to your source (in a positive way)?
Benrey: honestly just watching hlvrai. It’s nice and stuff and I’m not sure what other things might do that for me yknow?
Corvo: our roommates rats… I love them.
Data: Hard to say. I also want to say watching videos about my source but I also get irritable and combative if there is anything wrong or incorrect about it to my canon.
Gascoigne: it’s bittersweet but most bloodborne content involving me and my family and friends.. I say bittersweet because of course there’s the very sad fanart.. doing anything outside at night is probably the most positive way for me to feel closer to my source, simple as it is..
Franz: Don’tWantToFeelCloserToMySource…
Gaster: THEORY VIDEOS ABOUT ME ARE ALWAYS FUN… AS ARE MOST THEORY VIDEOS.
Jado: Well!! I’m not really sure…. Never really thought about it!! Honestly not all that bothered about it either
Jevil: MY SONG MY SONG! AND ART OF ME! AND PLAYING CARDS!
Maximilien: not much honestly, but I don’t particularly care or not if I feel close to my source
Mercer: OH, MUSIC MOSTLY!!! AND OF COURSE, THE FANART, AS WELL!!!
Zant: the sky just at the edge of night, especially if the weather is at least half cloudy. its pretty, and reminds me of home. also seeing that specific aesthetic the Twilight Realm has in any art is rather nice, too.
❓ Do you prefer when people are familiar or unfamiliar with your source when they meet you?
Benrey: don’t matter to me bro I’m gonna talk to them all the same way regardless
Corvo: ehhh? not sure. Haven’t had any issues with anyone either way, so….
Data: Familiar. They know what to expect of my personality a bit better, most the time, when they are familiar.
Gascoigne: I don’t have much of a preference either.. Same as Corvo, there’s been no issues either way..
Franz: UnfamiliarAllTheWay
Gaster: NO PREFERENCE. BOTH SOUND FUN.
Jado: ehhhhh maybe familiar?? Mostly because not a ton of people seem to know my source and the few who did seemed pretty excited about me, both positively and negatively!! I thought it was a little funny
Jevil: FAMILIAR FAMILIAR! IT’S MORE FUN WHEN THEY RECOGNIZE ME! :)
Maximilien: im… admittedly not very social so im also unsure. I feel like I would prefer if people were unfamiliar, though
Mercer: FAMILIAR, FOR SURE!!! AND AT THIS POINT, MOST PEOPLE ALREADY ARE. 💖💖💖
Zant: also hard to say for me, especially because it depends on what way I’m familiar to someone. Some of the fan base is… hm… though most of the people I’ve spoken to and are familiar with me have been quite nice and respectful.
Fictive Ask Game!
#ask game#gaia.txt#Sorry this took so long.#gathering everyone to answer is…. a task. Our head hurts Lol.#long post //#eye strain //
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~The first night and day after MC becomes Hera~ (MC X Hades) honestly it was more of a test to see if I'm even any good at writing, but here it is regardless
After what felt like hours of continuous questions from the god's regarding your wellbeing, and some not-so subtle inquiries about when you will be getting to work from a certain king, you was finally allowed to go home, you was beyond tired, legs threatening to give out from beneath you multiple times on your short walk from the throne room to your home, but the ever patient god who stood by your side kept you grounded.
Hades, the highlight of your life, the man who stood with you through thick and thin, even when risking his position and life to do so, walked beside you as always, an arm wrapped around your waist and violet eyes leaving your face only when absolutely necessary, by the time you was half way to your home, the sky had gotten darker. Your mind was racing as you neared home, so much had happened within the last 24 hours, it was overwhelming.
"pray tell, what goes on in that magnificent mind of yours my love?"
A deep voice sounded from beside you, he was so close now that you almost felt his chest vibrate as he spoke, you smiled sweetly, feigning more confidence than you felt in that moment,
"I'm not thinking of anything in particular, just glad to be home"
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, raising one perfect eyebrow as if asking you indirectly 'do you think I'm stupid?'
You really didn't want to worry him right now,
"okay..fine, maybe I'm freaking out a little bit at the idea of living forever...and never dying"
You spoke again, very quietly, praying to the god's that he wouldn't hear,
"im grateful for the honour, of course, but people will treat me differently..."
But of course he heard, this ever patient man that always knew, every plea and wish that your heart desired, treated you like a princess even when you felt you didn't deserve it, comforted you when you felt like the stress was too much, this same man that threw his body Infront of a swinging sword to save your life all the way back when you was nothing but an agent working for him, simply smiled, taking your hand in his larger one and squeezing,
"I know what you are feeling right now, my dear, for I was in a similar mind set when I was younger."
This caused you to stop as you hit the entrance of the estate, eyes wide and curious as you looked up at him, silently asking him to continue,
"well...when I was younger, I was terrified of how humans would view me if they found out about my power and title.."
He paused his talking for a moment, smiling as he recalled these memories
"to be quite honest...I questioned my own immortality on multiple occasions, but I know how you are feeling, and I'm not going to sugar coat it, people will most likely view you differently, for one they will respect you, sometimes out of fear and sometimes out of general respect for what you went through."
He paused again, tugging your hand to go inside, leading you to sit on the large couch, taking his seat beside you
"your friends and family, me- the people who's opinions matter, will not view you differently, my love."
He pressed a kiss to your lips
"and if they do view you differently, then they never mattered to begin with, the people who matter will know you are still (name), the woman I fell in love with and that will never change, not even if Olympus crumbled beneath our feet."
You was silent, emotions flooding through you, you felt tears welling in your eyes, he loved you so much, sometimes you felt you didn't deserve to be this loved by such an amazing man and as tears spilled freely down your cheeks, he pulled you against his chest, murmuring soft endearments against your hair, one hand stroking your back and the other cradling your head against his chest in a loving embrace.
It took a while for you to calm down, by the time you had stopped crying Hades had transported you both to the bedroom, with you laying on top of him, your head against his chest, his hand stroking through your hair, relaxing in the comfortable silence together.
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Dove
Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING
Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough
A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry
***
Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.
Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it. The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.
He felt uncomfortable, absolutely. He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.
Not black, no. Not like yours. Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.
No, his robes are blue.
A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed. The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials. And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears. As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.
Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you. Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.
Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it. One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.
Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him. He isn’t used to this. He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.
“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows. He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud. “Fitting. Matches your saber. Your face, though.” The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks. “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”
“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue. It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist. Your body is… open. Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.
“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point. “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”
“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience. He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery. “They’ll have… acts. Plural.”
“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes. He agrees.
He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is. Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.
But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence. The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.
“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—
They’re all wearing blue. Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena. A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.
You’ve stopped talking. Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now. The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy. He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.
Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari. He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.
Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident? Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—
“How does she wipe?” He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.
He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants. “How does who what—?”
Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you. Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours. He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.
“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly. “They’re like talons. Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are. I see them. I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”
You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this.
“Whomever she picks to…?” He trails off with a sigh. “Do I… Do I want to know?”
“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh. You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience. “It was, uh… tasteless.”
He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean. Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.
Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.
“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body. It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort. It’s too loud. A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs. “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.
“You just—!” You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way. But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it. “Oh. Wow. I wasn’t… expecting…”
Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat. “I… did warn you.”
“Well, yeah, I expected them to…” Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought. You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat. “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh. The… positioning.”
He says nothing in response. It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning. The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.
“What about it?” Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate. Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business. Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it. Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.
“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just… It’s…” He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to know what you think about it. “…Bold,” you finally settle on.
Bold. It’s bold. Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.
“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident. “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”
His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked. She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.
Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it. She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.
Maker, maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this. This is fine. This is fine. His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look. He can at least just look, right?
His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself. Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black. Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage. A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.
Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before. She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—
Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all. Right here. His aim will be true.
But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot. He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot. Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.
—the projecting.
All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity. Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.
“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”
Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.
“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”
He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs. Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—
Oh—oh, Maker—
Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression. Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation. A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.
“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.
It’s staggering. It hurts. He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body. All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.
The sound of it breaks through everything else.
Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you. He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—
“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness. “St-stars, get away from me—”
Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself. He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.
***
Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think. You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.
You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.
The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting. You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.
Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it. It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic. But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers? You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.
When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been. You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.
Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.
Maker, it takes you a minute to recover. You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.
You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection. You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely. You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.
You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was. It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings. You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.
Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should. His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade. You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths. He’ll be spiraling right now. He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.
You… find him in your quarters instead.
The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions. His hands are moving. Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize. He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.
Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.
“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly. “We must leave. Quickly. Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now. Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”
You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble. “Master, I—”
Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed. He takes a few steps away from you in shock.
“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours. “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one. Why would anyone ever willingly—?”
“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.
“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone. “We can’t do that. I can’t do that—”
“It doesn’t always have to be—” Maker, what is wrong with you? Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time. It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.
“Stars, what do you mean?” Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold. “How do you know that?”
It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity. You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.
Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely. Lie. Lie, right now. Your silence is giving you away.
Only—you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system. If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly. Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.
Besides. This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.
“Because.” The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper. “I… know.”
He doesn’t respond, and no.
No, you were wrong. You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.
He doesn’t look reassured.
He looks… alienated.
“‘It doesn’t always?’” Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear. The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage. He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.
“It’s not.” You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself. “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that. It won’t… be like that. Not.” Are there tears coming to your eyes? “Not… with me.”
Utter quiet. So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you. You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything. Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.
Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates. He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one. A quiet, accepting sort of sound.
He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause. You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.
“It’s alright,” he says gently. “It’s… it’s alright, young one. I… suppose I am in no place to judge. Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand. Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked. You’re… not my Padawan anymore. I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”
There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further. Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.
“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything. “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.”
Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod. Yes.
“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors. “It was… a long time ago. I’ve changed, since then. Grown up in many ways.”
It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly. You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.
Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes. He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.
You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission. You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction. You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.
“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs. “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know. I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one. I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again. Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system. And yet somehow, you… always surprise me. Even after all these years, I am just. Consistently surprised by you.”
You don’t know how to take that. You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.
“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly. “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations. Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously. That is not a bad thing. It has never been a bad thing. As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”
Maker, this is thin ice. You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath. You’re… well, you’re not, not really. His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.
“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you. You suddenly remember your place here, your goal. To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign. And, by extension… sleep with your Master. You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing. So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now. “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.
“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile. “It’s alright. Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”
And still, you don’t feel relief. Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.
“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if. If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”
“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this. None of it, it’s okay. Know what? Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”
He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.
It evolves. Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder. It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him. So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.
“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound. “Shall I keep going? If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”
“They don’t have to.” You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind. The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops. Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.
“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough. “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.” He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you. “By all accounts. Agony.”
“I know,” you nod. “I know. Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them. A distortion of the truth. Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else. It won’t hurt. At all. I promise. In fact—I-I can make it feel—”
Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand. You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.
And him… allowing it.
“Master, I—”
“Don’t,” he quickly tells you. “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that. Just for right now, it’s. I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale. You recognize that smile anywhere, though. While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden. He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be. “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one. Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”
“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy. “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”
“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.
“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…” You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”
Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head. “No. s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that. Ah. For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”
Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod. “I… see.”
It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late. Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it. It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it. You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons. You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.
“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not. Okay? I’m… I’m really nervous, too. I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now. I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded. I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs. I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”
And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong. You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.
For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands. Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure. But then—
“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding. Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either. “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”
“Yes,” you prompt immediately. He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.
“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to. “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”
Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication. What does that have to do with anything? Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you? “I’m not sure I—”
“The Galactic Republic…” Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”
Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much. “I’m still not—”
“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts. “Negotiate.”
Stars, negotiate with who? With—with him? For the good of the…? Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?
Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.
Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more. You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming. None of this seems real. All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission. You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly? Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario. Is he actually here right now? Have you been speaking to a ghost? Are you actually here right now? Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?
These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.
So you let yourself think. If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him. About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you. You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.
Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling. He wants you to convince him to have sex with you. He’s asking you to corrupt him. He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.
“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that, we should just g—”
“Would you like to meditate?” You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today. You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress. “Let’s meditate.”
“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”
You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine. “Please, you’re a Guardian. You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”
He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be. “Is this a battle?” He eventually asks over his shoulder.
You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow. “Come on, it’ll do us good.”
He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you. “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it. “It won’t hurt.”
“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—
—Maker, he’s lovely.
You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind. You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing. He’s lovely. He’s lovely. You could scream it.
Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time. Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it. The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes. Lovely. Lovely.
And then you go… lower.
His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture. His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look.
Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.
You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open. You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands. You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—
Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.
It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like. A sharp, frustrated bark? An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?
No—none of those. It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.
You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down. Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put. You’re impatient. You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so. Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.
Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently. Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern. Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical. Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory. He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.
“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally. Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off? “Relax with me, it’s okay—”
“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt. You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning. “I just can't, this is all so wrong. Don't you understand? E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…” He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well. You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.
“What are you so afraid of?” You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed. He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.
“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact. “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”
“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this. “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t. Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave. But this?” You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator? I don’t believe it. Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”
Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you. Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.
“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?” You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor. “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me? How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them? I have. I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again. I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”
”And?” Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you. “What is your point?”
“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.
He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either. If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you. Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.
But then—all at once, something clicks. Something… fundamental. An understanding.
Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes. But more than that.
He wields a blue saber. Not a green one.
He’s a Guardian. A warrior. He fights. It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.
So, all at once, you stop pushing. Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him. You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.
Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm. This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation. Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.
Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry. Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.
I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind. “W-what are you doing?”
You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now. Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.
“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on. “This is me knocking.”
Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say. You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience. And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.
“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.” The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process. “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me. From us. I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before. I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic. But mostly, I just—I-I—”
Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again. I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying. Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now. Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”
Maker, you’re trying so hard. So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say. You have to take a second. You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment. You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.
Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.
You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side. You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now. Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him. Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.
So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.
“A compromise, then.”
Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice. “A what?”
“You told me to negotiate. What do we do as negotiators, hm?” You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal. Do it for him. Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart. “We compromise. Yes? So, let’s find one.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t see h—”
“If you were to…” You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this. “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”
Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time. He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you. Finally, he seems to find himself. “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”
“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time. “I’ve felt it.”
“N-No,” he practically hiccups. “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”
Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression. “If you can…?”
He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it. Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity. “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits. “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”
Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions. Of course. Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise? “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand. “We simply… view such things differently. So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”
You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament. “What if I…” You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses. “What if I… don’t touch you?”
Now he just looks confused. “I’m sorry?”
You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong. “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there. Without touching you.”
“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.
His thigh. The right one—you focus on it. There. Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together. And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.
Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.
“Young one, I—” His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”
You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—
“Maker—” Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart. “Maker, hang on, I…”
“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit. Even though the Force, his body feels good. Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention. “Do you want me to keep doing this? I can… go higher.”
“You can…? The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”
Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer. You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.
His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath. “Go higher.”
Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.
Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds. You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.
You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this. Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.
Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face. You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie. Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice.
You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts. Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.
Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards. Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.
“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not. “That’s not so bad.”
“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture. “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”
You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty. If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty. Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.
“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it. “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”
His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap. He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand? How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around? Even then, it’s but a fraction.
Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return. Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—
“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need. “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”
“You…?” He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode. “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”
You can’t stop yourself. Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches. You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs. You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.
Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go. His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.
You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life. You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years. You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.
So you make it wet. You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth. Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.
He tastes exquisite. Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.
He’s swollen. Throbbing. Aching for you. Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once. Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him. You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.
“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.
“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin. “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”
“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes. “My stomach was—I-I felt—”
Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.
You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention. “Hey. It’s okay, relax.”
Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.
“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip. Is your mouth watering? “This is it. You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready. It’ll be tricky, but not impossible. You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.
“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”
“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?” You ask, looking down at his cock once more.
“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”
Okay, well. He… makes a valid point.
You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully. His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus. “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”
“Alright, I can…” Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking. “I’ll do the best I…”
You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch. You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.
“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed. “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”
“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more. “Calm down. Clear your mind.”
He hiccups and you wait. You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.
Can you hear me? You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods. Focus your thoughts.
You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time. His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.
Will you let me try something? You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.
“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.
And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else. You give him a… visual. A reference to guide his mind through the Force.
You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs. Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.
Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain. He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.
At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible. You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.
Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm. It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.
“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped. “I d-don’t want—”
Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat. Don’t run from it, let it take you.
He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.
You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him. You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either. So you have to resort to desperate measures.
There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands. Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.
Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.
And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.
It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.
The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.
Except—then you hear it. Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.
Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—
A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue. He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing. You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him. The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.
When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely. His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.
“So, uh…” Your voice is hoarse. “We… need to have sex.”
“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body. “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”
“You, uh. I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…” You shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him. You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth. “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”
“What did… what did I think?” The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand. And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together. You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.
“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound. You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed. “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh. Just for general… anatomical reasons. But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”
Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before. Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same. You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are. Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.
“Are you alright?” He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido. “You’re… shaking.”
“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit. The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one. “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up. Trying to just. C-Cool it?”
Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his. They’re right there. They’re so close, so strong and thick and—
“Aren’t you…” He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion. “Aren’t you going to…?”
“To what?” You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks. Maker, you did that. That’s all you.
“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”
Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat. You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.
Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier. You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake. Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile. Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.
His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring. His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.
The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips. Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look. Now, though. Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.
You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will. He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.
You don’t want to scare him. You don’t want to scare him. Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied. You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.
When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.
You’re throbbing. It’s been years in the making. Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick. You can’t help it. When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.
Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him. He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.
You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger.
“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed. “Did I—Did I hurt you?” Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.
“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer. “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”
“What is it, little dove?” He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation. “What do you need?”
“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration. You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.
Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress. The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.
He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.
So you do. You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one. Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.
“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing. “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself. I can’t—can’t think—”
Oh, no, it’s too much. It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you. You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else. The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—
Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—
Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.
You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs. “Oh, fuck—”
As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.
This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.
He zeroes in on it. The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it. It blindsides you. It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.
“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.
“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”
You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—
—wait, did he just…?
Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself. Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context. Padawan. Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy. Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance. Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—
“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit. You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation. “I heard it, little one. You like it when I call you that?”
“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together. “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”
“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness. “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan? Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”
“Wait!” You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away. “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”
His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—
“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”
He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.
“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—” You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic. “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to. If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to. It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”
“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?” He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.
“Ah, no I, uh… I just.” You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain. “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things. It’s not… necessary, b-but.”
“But.” He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.
And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.
“Obi—Wan—!?” You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.
Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before. Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure. All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.
Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him. His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts. Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way. Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.
An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning. You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it. Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.
“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”
Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit. You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you. We’re not hiding anymore. They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this. It’s alright. Let them know.
You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.
Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power. The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move. It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it. You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.
Never. Ever ever ever. Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you. Nobody. Ever. He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.
Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.
After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed. Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings. You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath. You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.
You’re lovely.
The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own. Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before. Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.
Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing. He’s kissing you. Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.
The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.
Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.
“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you. No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.
Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—
The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.
You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth. He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely. Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.
Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste. As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.
Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t. You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.
Do you want it, Master? You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy. You feel… ready.
The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.
“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”
With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.
And now this is the part you don’t want to rush. This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity. You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life. You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room. You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—
“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”
You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it. Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time. Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.
It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him. Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him.
“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”
“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”
His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—
Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly. You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.
Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it. The result is… well, it’s maddening.
Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more. Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.
Except—he’s the fighter. And you should’ve known.
You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.
In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed.
And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before. It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this. His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you.
He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. And in return, you want to do the same to him. You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—
“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”
Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you. The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.
“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.
“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”
“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”
“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”
Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts. It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling. No, it says, don’t let this be over. Not yet. You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again. You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.
You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you. He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.
And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on. Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified. The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away. How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart. The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year. So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time. Every time.
But, perhaps, worst of all. The… fantasies.
He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is. He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration. He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it. Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.
And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected. Something incredibly uncharacteristic.
You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes. He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars. You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair. He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.
Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness. The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.
For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing. The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs. How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.
“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net. You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.
Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up. How he’ll always be with you, no matter what. How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now. How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.
Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you. You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.
You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown. Everything is right. Everything in you sparkles.
“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes. “Stars, did we just—”
“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.
“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?” You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair. Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.
“Few months, maybe. Time for s’Ziscari…”
He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now. Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.
Lovely.
You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.
“Wait, don’t—it’s—” You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances. “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.”
He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think. A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask. It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.
The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought. On Coruscant.
Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it. “They would do that?”
I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.
He’d… request that? To be closer to you? But why?
He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind. Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky. I always have.
Lovely.
No, no, not even, that’s just. Love. By itself.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.
You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back. He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.
“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you. Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that. “Go to sleep.”
I have one more confession. The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under. I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but… He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion. The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.
Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.
#WE OUT HERE#obi-wan kenobi x you#Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader#obi-wan X reader#obi-wan x you#smut#fanfic#no-droids
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Yanno it’s really shitty for Ashlyn to always have so much hate in her mentions but also imagine how it is for ali to always see ash being torn down and overlooked… like ali sees first hand the blood, sweat and tears that ash puts in and alis been there for so many moments of disappointment and injury. Like ali has to see the person she loves fight through so much adversity and never get the credit she deserves. Ashlyn can’t even win save of the week or save a freaking PK without someone coming at her and saying she’s overrated or trash or some shit…. Im just tired of it and ali and ash deserve so much better. I wouldn’t blame them if they took a step back from SM because the ‘fans’ and trolls have just gotten out of hand, it’s so awful and it needs to stop
Honestly, I never even thought about how much it would affect AK. Like, Ash has learned to brush it off/block out the noise, etc., but I can't imagine how much anger and hurt AK feels watching her wife get torn apart over every little thing she does (and even things she doesn't do). Like to be the woman who stands beside Ash, day in and day out, watching as she throws everything she has into the game, from her body to her mind, and never get the recognition or appreciation from anyone, regardless of whether they're the federation or "fans". She's given the national teams (youth and senior combined) more than half her life, given everything to the Pride even when other players fail to show up or do the same, keeps her head down and doesn't complain or get mad (unless at herself), and she is grateful and humble in every opportunity she does get on the field.
I especially think back to 2016, when distance came into it and Ash was becoming lowkey concerning with how many depressing tweets and IG posts she would make, and I remember that one post AK retweeted which was like "you matter to me" or something after Ash posted that long post about her self-worth and mental health. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve and it's taken advantage of by so many people (again, the "give an inch, take a mile" phrase Ash mentioned really sticks with me here). She is so selfless and has a massive heart under her hard exterior, and people love to paint her to be this self-indulgent, vain, supervillain that is shit at soccer. Not to mention, Ash could barely celebrate her best season because those were the years AK was kicked off the roster and she put herself aside to help AK train, supported her coaching career, and picked her up (literally at times) to get her through every day. She wasn't the nicest person to Ash back then either, and I doubt Ash minded, because at the end of the day Ash cares so deeply about her family, about her relationships, that soccer takes a back seat for so much of it. She's said it so many times that this is her career, but it doesn't bleed into her family life. I feel gutted for her in every interview when she beats herself up with the "I've failed miserably" or the "I haven't been the best daughter/sister/friend" or even "I've disappointed a lot of people". She is so hard on herself and yet is still so kind to others. This is the same woman who's faced countless criticism, countless struggles from poverty to addiction to injuries to mental health challenges, and she still treats every day like a gift, not a burden.
I think the thing that gets me the most about this Ash slander is how no one has ever stood up for her. She's gotten all this hate, all of this criticism, but when AK was dropped from the team, she got support. When Hope said what she said, Carli spoke up for her. Whenever a teammate gets down in the dirt, Ash defends them. She spoke out against H*nkle and the homophobia. She defended AK when she was left off the roster (though more subtle and more professionally). Like she's always standing up for others, being the big guy for the little guy, and yet no one really extends the same thing back to her (except now AK, and again in a very professional way). Should Ash be #1? No, things happened and she got injured at the wrong time and it was all a mix of different things, but she made her peace with it. She doesn't tell the media that it's disrespectful she got snubbed - she instead supports the crap out of Alyssa/AD/Jane and wants them to succeed because she's a team player, not an individual player. She cares about them as humans and would do anything for them in that supporting role. You could genuinely not ask for a better teammate than Ash.
I don't know how AK does it, watching the woman she loves get bullied on social media and be cast aside from opportunities with no valid reason. Every achievement Ash has is overshadowed by rabid fans either "defending her" and making things worse by making her look out to be an untouchable God of some sort, or the anti-Ashlyn "fans" who are just out to replay that same clip of her conceded goal from that Romania game, or outright saying disgusting and nasty things to her (and tagging her?? Like why the fuck are you tagging them in it, what bullshit). Both ways it's terrible; the people defending her so violently only make her look worse and it only encourages people's hatred of her or disrespect of her actual ability.
It's so funny people weave all these storylines and narratives for her but Ash remains unbothered (at least publicly) and I think this irritates those morons into posting more frequently with the intent to grab her attention or get her to talk back (which she is far too professional and compassionate to do). It's a shitty situation all around, but it's truly depressing to watch her get taken apart when she's done absolutely nothing wrong to any of those people.
#asks#this was a long ass rant but i am just so tired of people hating on her#you can criticize her mistakes when she makes them#she is human and she does make them though it is rare#but don't be just saying she perfect and can do nothing wrong when that's not true#because all it does is invite more hate because it makes those people sound irrational and delusional (which they kinda are)#the intent is there but the execution is way off
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A Place To Call Home
Word Count: 1557
Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader
Warnings: angst, possible trigger, fluff
A/N: Request from anonymous, And thank you all so much for being so supportive, screw the haters, you guys are amazing and I truly couldn't ask for better readers!
Tag list and Request are open!
Summary: He seldom came to this part of the city, where the people who resided would sooner rob him then help him. But he had a favor to collect on. While he waited to cross the street, he notices a small crowd of people and there you are at the center, torn clothes, dirty, and giving away all the money you had just collected from the crowd who had bought your art. He can't help but be curious and you soon find a persistent devil tailing after you. Wondering why you gave everything when it was clear you had nothing.
..................................................................................
Lucifer sighed as he stood impatiently on the sidewalk. This light always seemed to take so long to change, with how old it looked he was surprised it even functioned at all anymore. He'd have crossed the street already, light be damned, if he didn't think someone might run him over. He wouldn't put it past anyone in this part of the city. Most watched him like greedy vultures, waiting for his demise, so they could swoop in and collect from his misery.
A small crowd of people gathered around someone who was sitting on a blanket. He didn't think much of it, they'd been there a while. He turned his attention back to the light, just in time to see it flicker before fizzing out all together.
"Oh bloody hell."
Lucifer glared at the wretched thing, looking both ways to see if he could safely cross. He wouldn't even be here if the Detective hadn't asked him to use one of his favors. He was beginning to regret agreeing. He'd been seconds from stepping off the broken concrete, and onto the street when he threw one last glance over his shoulder. The crowd had dispersed, and he saw the person at the center was now gathering their blanket. He watched you closely as you walked a few feet down, handing the cup of money in your hand to an elderly woman.
The two of you seemed to argue for a moment, but ultimately it seemed you won and you draped the worn blanket you carried over her shoulders. Lucifer watched you walk away curiously before changing his direction. He approached the older woman with a kind smile.
"Excuse me, do you know who that was?" He asked politely.
She regarded him closely for a moment, almost suspiciously.
"I do. What's it to you?"
Lucifer smiled at the woman's attempt to be intimidating.
"I simply wish to ask her a few things is all."
He held his hands up, trying to show her he meant no harm to her or you.
"Her name is Y/N, she lives not far from here."
"And does she do that often? Give her money away like that?"
The woman shrugged, peering into the cup you'd given her.
"Yes, sometimes to me, sometimes to other people, I always tell that girl not to worry about me. She's worse off than I am. I've got my coat for the winter, but she insists on giving away her stuff. Her hard-earned money, she's talented, if her situation was different she'd have made a name for herself by now."
Lucifer was even more intrigued now, and he glanced down the street.
"There's a soup kitchen close by, poor funding but it provides at least three meals a week. Hardly anything, but it's enough to keep some skin on her bones."
Lucifer frowned a little at that, and the elderly lady began to gather her stuff.
"It's the alley by the old deli, you can't miss it, she's draped this old blue tarp over a few crates. Bit rough, but it gets the job done."
Lucifer thanked the woman before going on his way. He looked around the area, searching for the place she had described. He found you, placing an unused trashed bag over a hole in your tarp. You didn't notice him lingering as you taped the bag down.
"Not exactly a five-star hotel is it?"
You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with unease. Lucifer took a step into the alley, making you take one back.
"Maybe not, but it does the trick."
He watched you shiver, saw the goosebumps on your skin as you stood there.
"I don't have any drawings left to sell if that's why you're here."
Lucifer looked around the place you called home.
"You don't have much of anything by the looks of it." He hummed.
Your unease was gone, replaced instead by annoyance and you crossed your arms.
"It's better than what I had before... where I was before."
Lucifer frowned, tilting his head.
"Anyway, if you're just here to comment on my living situation than kindly fuck off."
Your words were bitter, a stark contrast to the actions you had displayed earlier. Lucifer walked closer to you, but you didn't seem as hesitant this time.
"I apologize that was rather rude of me, I assure you that isn't why I'm here."
"Then why are you?" You looked at him skeptically, like you didn't trust his words.
"I suppose your act of selflessness quipped my curiosity so, I've come to ask you why."
You looked at him confused and a little lost, and he continued, further explaining himself.
"You gave that woman all the money you made, from those drawings I'm assuming you spent hours making. Then you gave her your blanket, which by the looks of things was your only source of warmth for the winter, despite how tattered the thin fabric was. I simply wish to know why that is. Why share everything when you have nothing to give?"
You stared at him a moment, studying him as you tried to gauge if maybe he had ulterior motive beyond his question. However, it seemed he really was just curious.
"Her name is Edrsia, she's almost seventy-years-old. She's not on the streets by choice, her son took everything she had and pawned it off. Her husband passed years before, and she couldn't afford even a shoe box size apartment. She helped me, when I first started living on the streets. So, I give her what I can, whether I can spare it or not."
You expected him to be satisfied with your answer, maybe even leave you alone, but your response seemed to have the opposite effect.
"Yes but why? From what I can tell you're barely making it yourself. I simply cannot fathom why you'd give up what little you do have. Just because she helped you once, that hardly means you should risk your own well-being to return such a small act."
You smiled a little, offering a small shrug.
"I guess because it's just the human thing to do. I don't need a good reason to help someone, just a reason."
Lucifer pondered over your answer silently and you glanced back towards your makeshift tent.
"It's supposed to rain tonight, I really should-"
"Would you like a place to stay for a while?"
You almost tripped over yourself when you heard that.
"What?"
"Not for free of course, you see I rather like your art, and my bar could use a bit of...artistic flare."
You suspicion didn't go unnoticed by the handsome man, and he gave you a charming smile.
"The choice is yours, I'm merely offering you a warm place and a small job."
You mulled it over, he didn't come off as the type of person to play a joke this cruel. Yet, you suspected he had some underlining goal to this.
"What do you get out of this?"
Lucifer grinned, your question making him like you all the more.
"It's been my experience that humans can be rather selfish creatures, very few offer any real selflessness. If nothing else you can at least teach me a bit more about this side of humanity."
The deal seemed almost too good to be true, and a part of you wanted to refuse. But your shaking hands and the numbness in your limbs told you that you couldn't afford to be stubborn, not unless you wanted to freeze to death.
"Okay."
"Marvelous! Then if we have a deal-"
You shook your head, not moving to shake his outstretched hand.
"Not yet. I'm only agreeing if you help Edrsia, she doesn't have good health, she can't survive another year out here."
Lucifer once again seemed surprised, but he nodded regardless.
"Consider it done, now do we have a deal?"
This time you did shake his hand, and let out a yelp when he tugged on your arm pulling you to his side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you down the street.
"Goodness you're chilled to the bone darling, here take this."
Lucifer released you to remove his jacket, but you shook your head looking almost ashamed.
"I live on the streets, showers aren't a luxury I can afford."
He ignored your protest draping the material over your shoulders, despite your words you quickly pulled it tighter around you.
"I don't mind my dear, it's not your fault."
You looked up at him smiling a bit.
"Thank you... I never got your name."
"Oh dear how rude of me to skip introductions, my name is Lucifer Morningstar."
"It's nice to meet you Lucifer, I'm Y/N."
He raised an eyebrow, but the smile never left his lips.
"No last name?" He inquired.
"Does it matter?"
He hummed a little at your answer but didn't pry.
"I suppose not, well come on love, let's get you out of the cold."
You didn't argue when he placed a hand on your back, and you fought back grateful tears. Lucifer watched you from the corner of his eye, a soft smile on his lips, his heart swelling at the hope in your eyes.
Maybe you could teach the devil a thing or two about the better side of humanity.
..................................................................................
Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @star-trek-is-my-lifesource @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads
#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer x reader#luciferonfox#lucifernetflix#luciferonnetflix#lucifer morningstar oneshot#lucifer morningstar imagine#lucifer morningstar imagines#lucifer morningstar#lucifer morningstar x you
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Hey, lovelies. We wanted to make this admin note to let everyone know that we will be disabling the OOC discord server until Wednesday, October 7th. In the meantime, you are welcome to make occasional OOC posts using the hashtag #luxorooc to give group updates. We are going to ask that everyone please read this post thoroughly, as there are a lot of important things we want everyone to know.
To Start...
We have been running this RP for nearly 16 months and much like we said in our 1 year anniversary post, we are so grateful and excited to have had so many of you with us for so long. I have always taken an interest in groups with dynamic plots that actually progress as a real storyline and because of this, I have always felt so passionate about creating a fun space for everyone that has exciting plot drops, secret reveals and general plot progressions for you all to write and develop your characters within.
With that being said, within the past couple months, we have felt that there has been a shift in energy among the OOC interactions that we want to address. Please send an IM to the main saying, “completed ‘to start’” once you have completed this section.
Our Intention
We want this to be a safe space. We want everyone here to enjoy each other, each others characters, and we want everyone to feel involved and welcome. It is our responsibility to keep this group welcoming and safe. When issues are brought to us (off anon), it is up to us to resolve them and make sure that we can move forward better and happier than before. Please send an IM to the main saying, “understand your intention” once you have completed this section.
Help Us Help You
At the same time, it is also up to our members (you guys) to make sure to let us know when you are unhappy with something so that we can try our best to get to the bottom of the issue and resolve it. When something is upsetting you, and it is causing you to feel negatively toward the RP or other members in the group, it is also upsetting to us. I, personally, take on way too much responsibility. I’m aware of this, and I’m trying to get better with that but what I don’t think will change is my desire to fix issues that arise.
If something is bothering you and you think it is going to effect the way you feel coming onto the dash every day or effect the way you treat other members, PLEASE bring it to us.
I feel so restless when I get hearsay messages from members about other people feeling uncomfortable but not wanting to tell us about it directly. I want to make sure every single one of you is happy and that you’re enjoying your time here. As a friend, I understand wanting to bring your friend’s concern to us but if they feel uncomfortable with us knowing, then there is nothing we can do. When something is brought to us (off anon), it is up to us to talk it out with everyone involved and make sure we’re all on the same page and can move on happily, but if we do not know about the issue or if we are being told through someone else as a result of the person involved not wanting to “make a thing out of it,” there is nothing we can do to fix that problem.
With that being said, you are more than welcome to keep your discomfort to yourself. What is your business is your business, but if you are deciding not to address and resolve something, you are also deciding that regardless of how it affects you moving forward, you will continue to act respectfully toward other members, as stated by our rules. Please send an IM to the main saying, “done ‘help us help you’” once you have completed this section.
The reason we are making this post
Within the past couple months, we think there has been a lack of respect amongst the members within this group, and it has been very upsetting to see unfold.
In order for this group to survive, in order for new members to feel welcome, older members to feel wanted and appreciated and for everyone to have a good time, we need everyone in this group to not only respect other's feelings, but also other's freedoms to express their opinions. We need everyone to remember that tone can be carried through text, and can sometimes be misunderstood, so please be cautious with your words, and please be slow to assume or find offense in things being said, as it isn’t always someone’s intention to upset others. 50% of online messages are misinterpreted [1][2][3]. And it’s important that if a message rubs you the wrong way or if something comes off as harsh to remember that it may not be meant in the way you are reading it.
Where I work, our management team has a system which is meant to create more understanding, safety, respect and encouragement among the employees. That system is the assumption that everyone who comes to work is trying their best and that everyone at work means well. So, when something arises, (not doing their job thoroughly, an argument arising between staff members, etc.) our managers assume that there might be something upsetting that staff member and extend empathy to them. They make sure that they’re okay, if they need time to step away, they ask what they, as management, can do to help them do their job, and most importantly, provide enough empathy to understand that these issues may very well have come up because there is something wrong that they are unaware of. I want everyone here to consider this with other members.
It isn’t anyone’s responsibility to uphold anyone else’s emotional, mental or physical wellbeing, other than their own, but it is everyone’s responsibility to extend empathy to one another and see everyone as a human being.
It’s dangerously easy to forget, when we’re upset with something, that the people behind the screens aren’t monsters, but multi-dimensional people. Please, please remember that.
With that being said, of course, this isn’t an excuse to fly under the radar, say whatever you want, however you want and expect that everyone just assume the best of you.
It goes without saying that everyone is dealing with something. Things are especially stressful this year. Please remember that when speaking with one another. You truly have no idea how your words can effect someone.
RP is a means to escape our lives for a bit, to take a break from stress, a means to a creative outlet, and to find a way to be happy and have fun for a little while. It’s beautiful that every single one of you have chosen this group and have stayed with us for so long. We are all working together to create interesting and fun storylines with our characters, and we are all a part of each other’s escape. There is a reason each of us chose this group and are here together. Let’s ensure that we keep each other’s escape as easy as it should be, and extend that same empathy and respect back to each other, so that others can keep our escape easy as well. Please send an IM to the main saying, “I’ve read the ‘reason’” once you have completed this section.
The Admins
We also want to ask that when bringing issues up with the admin team, to please be respectful and patient with us. We all have family/friends, work and personal endeavors we have outside of this RP. Nora, Yo and I have made this RP a priority for over a year. That means that through all of the real life events that we have faced within the last 16 months, this RP has been in our mind and near the top of our to-do list. We have always tried our absolute best to meet event deadlines, quickly write up plot drops, working through our own stress from real life, and actively work together as a team to keep this RP thriving even at times when we don’t agree.
This is something that we decide to do. And with that comes the responsibility of having to resolve any issues that arise. For me, it is so important for people to have that space. It matters so much to me. But I will not deny that it is hard, and it does take a toll on each of us at times when our real lives are also hard, so please remember that yes, we are responsible for the group, but we are also people and sometimes we are going to need more time to resolve the issues that arise. Please send an IM to the main saying, “we see the admins’” once you have completed this section.
The Rules
The rules we have chosen for this group are ones we believe need to be maintained in order for the group’s long-lasting success.
We have recently added the rule that if you are uncomfortable with another member, to bring it to the admins to resolve it, as opposed to bringing it directly to that member. We implemented this rule in the hopes that if tension arises, the admins can act as a buffer to the tension, to prevent it from getting any worse. When we hear that matters are being handled between members without mention of the concerns with us, it brings us a lot of stress, worrying that the issue will escalate (as we have, of course, seen this happen far too many times).
Our intention in talking things out is to nip the problem in the bud right away and prevent it from progressing any further, and to hopefully make amends between people. We aren’t going to ask that you be friends with every other member, but everyone here is a mature adult and we expect that if you disagree with each other, that it can be overlooked for the sake of us, the admins, and for the sake of the group. Please send an IM to the main saying, “completed ‘the rules’” once you have completed this section.
If Any Tension or Concerns Arise
If you have any issues with other members, and think it will cause you to treat them poorly or be disgruntled coming onto the dash every day, we are going to ask that you bring it to us (off anon) so we can resolve it and bring us back to the safe RP we know and love. Please send an IM to the main saying, “I will do that if tension arises” once you have completed this section.
Going Forward
From now on, if OOC drama arises; if there is a general disrespect toward us or other members, we will no longer be lenient about this. We have given warnings for strikes before but from now on, we will be giving out strikes right away. Everyone is aware of the OOC rules. If you’re feeling frustrated, and feel the need to say something as a result of those feelings of frustration, and if those words would bring you some sort of relief from that frustration, we encourage you not to say them, especially directly to the people involved. Journal about it.
If any OOC tension exists between you or another member that you have decided can never be resolved, that tension is to always be left at the door. It has no place in this group. Please send an IM to the main saying, “ready to go forward” once you have completed this section.
With all of this being said
For the next week, we are going to remove the group chat feature in hopes of everyone taking a deep breath and remembering the fun aspects and other benefits that come with a group chat.
In the meantime, we want everyone to remember that inclusivity is a rule in this group. Please remember to plot with other people, welcome every new member that we get (message them directly, offer to plot with them).
When the group chat re-opens, we hope that we will be rejuvenated and feel relief in the new beginning.
Please remember that if you want this group to last, we have to maintain its foundation, which is the safety, respect and inclusivity among members. When you are disrespectful to each other, remember that you are in turn, being disrespectful to the admins.
Please remember that online RP is about creating fictional stories together, and that everyone involved is just trying to enjoy themselves. Please remember that we are all human, we will have foot in mouth moments, we will say things based on emotion and we will make mistakes. We’re really all here for a common purpose, guys. Not just in RP but in life. The more we can see people as being alike to us, the more empathy and understanding we can offer to people, even when they upset us, the better the world is.
We love you guys. All we have ever wanted is to create a fun, dynamic group for everyone’s creative outlet.
I LOVE coming on to see your characters every single day. I am so freaking thankful that I have the pleasure of knowing them and seeing them navigate their lives. I want to keep them here so I can see them continue to develop and grow.
They feel like friends to me. And maybe not everyone feels that way, but for me, I will still remember and recall them even long after this RP closes.
I also think of all of you as friends. And I will continue to remember and recall all of you even long after this RP closes.
Please send an IM to the main saying, “completed the post” once you have completed this section.
I just want all of us to get along and be happy together. That’s really all I want.
-- Mimi, Nora, Yo.
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Heya! If it ain't too much trouble (if your inbox isn't too full) could I get headcanons about the RFA's (plus saeran, if you'd be willing to write for him too) reaction to a 17 y/o MC? Platonic headcanons of course ^^ Your content for mystic messenger is truly great from what I've read so far! Thanks a lot ❤
awe thank you, i really appreciate that! i honestly only have a couple more prompts in my inbox currently, so im grateful for any and all you send my way! (even if there were a lot i really enjoy writing them so i don’t mind at all~)
ZEN:
* He’s so shocked???
* being well, Zen, he immediatly tried flirting with the new person in the RFA, only to immediatly be told by Seven that they’re 17
* Immediatly assumes a Big Brother Role and loves it
* He’s always defending MC, and telling them to let him know if any of the other members make them nervous, calls them frequently and if they’re in high school, checks on them and reminds them to eat and take breaks between studying
* Honestly he’s always wanted to be a big brother so he loves it lol, and he’ll be especially protective of MC from Jumin, constantly telling them to never grow up to be like him
* Will absoloutely let MC call him and vent about whatever is troubling them-as someone who was as troubled as he was at 17, he wants to make MC’s final teenage years as happy as possible wherever he’s able to
* Will Absoloutely interrogate whoever MC decides to date and treat them like a protective father lmao
YOOSUNG:
* Equally shocked, he would never expect someone so young to have to take on the big job Rika once had!
* Honestly he doesn’t care much about MC’s age, although he does feel a little threatened at first-he used to be the baby of the RFA, and whilst he would constantly complain about it, he did like the attention it brought him
* When at some point MC asks him for any advice and thanks them for it, he does feel a sudden surge of pride-he’s an only child and never really interacted much with people younger than him
* He’s the youngest so he still remembers what being 17 was like, and how overwhelming things could be, especially if MC’s in school
* He’ll do his best to help MC study, even meeting up with them and tutoring them-if their marks improve after it or it helps them in any way, he’ll be so excited!
* Will also become really protective of MC, and might even argue with Zen over who MC’s big brother is (hint-it’s neither of you y’all are like, in your early 20s chill)
* Just overall happy to have another friend in the RFA really
JUMIN:
* He...doesn’t....care?
* He’s surprised that V allowed someone so young to just, live in Rika’s apartment and take over her job, but he doesn’t really question it. After all, when he was 17 he was already pretty much running the company alongside his father.
* He’s as cold and aloof as always, although he’s confused as to why Zen becomes so protective and even more furstrated with Jumin than usual. Has he said anything to offend MC in anyway?
* He eventually calls MC and asks if they’re finding everything in the RFA allright, or if they need any help, and after getting to talk with them, sees why the whole of the RFA has taken such a liking to them-MC reminds them all of who they once were at that age.
* It’s not like anything drastically changes in his behavior-he’s still thankful that MC is doing their new job properly, but he’s careful to not overwhelm them with tasks, and frequently will ask if they need any help. He also insists that they should return to their home as soon as possible so as to not worry their family or care giver.
* If MC is a student, he’ll offer to hire one of the best tutors for them, even if they don’t need it-he considers it only natural to receive as many educational opprotunities as possible
((No Jumin, not everyone has had tutors during their high shcool years. Yes it’s doable pls stop nagging Zen about it))
* Yeah, overall he’s just the same as always lmao
JAEHEE:
* She’s actually really concerned when she finds out MC is only 17. How did V ever think that it’s alright to put someone so young into a predicament like this?!
* Will frequently call MC and check in with them, see if everything’s all right, if they need anything e.t.c
* She just really wants them to be comfortable in the RFA-not only does she remember how hard it was for her to adjust after joining, she can’t imagine how hard it is to be thrown into this situation at this age. She genially wants MC to be happy
* Might come off as a bit of a mother hen at first-even the rest of the RFA tell her she doesn’t have to keep worrying over MC so much, after all they’ve proved they’re a responsible person and can take care of themselves
((Take care of-THEY’RE A BABY she screams to deaf ears))
* She does however, realise that everyone else is right-MC is diligently doing their job, and seem to have their shit together. That however doesn’t stop her from watching over MC regardless.
* If MC tells her that they look up to her like a big sister, she’ll smile the softest little smile, happy that MC feels like they’re family
* after all, that’s what she too secretly hoped to receive from the RFA-the family she never had.
SEVEN:
* Obviously, with a quick search he found out MC’s age
* He’s concerned, yeah, but he’s also never really had a normal childhood ((understatement of the century)) and can’t really be certain wether it’s normal for MC to be in the situation they are at this age or not
* More or less he treats them exactly the same-he’s as concerned as he’d be for an MC of any other age really
* He does however constantly tease them about their age-he’ll say something along the lines of ‘back in MY day’ or ‘when i was your age...’ at least once per each chatroom lmao
* When/If he comes to Rika’s apartment to protect MC, he’ll be distant at first, but not as much as he’d be with an adult MC-he remembers what it’s like to be alone at that age, remembers how much he despised it-he can’t help but be a little more lenient with them. He’ll still try to push them away, alert them of the dangers of associating with him, but he’ll also constantly hover over MC, have them tell him about their troubles, making sure they eat e.t.c.
* P much just acting like an annoying big brother lmao
V/JIHYUN:
* As soon as he found out that MC’s only 17, he became insanely concerned.
* What was Rika thinking?! Why would they put such a young person in such danger?!
* He’s so worried, he can’t help but frequently log in to the messenger and call MC to make sure they’re alright and as safe as they can be.
* He’s taken care of Saeran and Saeyoung as young teens, so he’s probably the one to treat MC the most normally than any of the other RFA members. He’s patient and sweet with them, treating them like a mature person but also mindful of their age at the same time
* He finds it sweet how the rest of the RFA cares so much about MC-it brings him peace to know that no matter what, RFA will have their back.
* If they’re a student he’ll also try and help them study, mainly with more theoretical subjects like history, art e.t.c. He’s also frequently reminding them to take breaks and rest, that their mental and physical health will always be more important than schoolwork.
* Would honestly feel more like a doting dad than a big brother, he’s pretty much a perfect parental figure lmao
SAERAN:
* Of course he knew MC was 17, since he’s the one that brought them into the RFA in the first place
* Their age didn’t really have anything to do with why he chose them; he just did as he savior told him to and chose the person most suitable for the job
* He’s reminded of MC’s age through the little things-monitoring the RFA chatrooms and seeing how the members treat MC, how they’ll frequently talk about their schoolwork or daily life matters, little things that kept piling up in Saeran’s consiousness
* When he’s finally free from Rika’s grip and has a clearer view on things, guilt eats him up from the inside out at the fact that he put a person this young through such an ordeal-it’d be bad enough for anyone, but a person who’s not even an adult?!
* He’s reminded of the horrors he went through when he was young, the mess he’d been in when he was 17-it makes his stomach churn, to think he’s put another person through such horrors
* It’ll take a lot from MC to not only forgive him, but also help him understand it’s not his fault-he was genially not in control during those times, and his guilt proves that.
* He’ll try and avoid MC at first, but if they keep pushing, he’ll eventually open up and befriend them.
* He’s genially happy to see MC forgive and slowly forget about the whole Mint Eye ordeal, to slowly return to their everyday life, almost as if he’s seeing what he’s missed out during that age through them; it brings a bittwersweet feeling to his chest, to see what could’ve been.
* He’s not really a big-brother type-but he is a fiercly loyal friend, and he’ll be there for MC through thick and thin, and god have mercy on whoever dares try and hurt MC-hell hath no fury like an angry Saeran.
I’m sorry these were quite short, i really couldn’t think of much else T-T regardless of MC’s age, the whole RFA gang would care for them as a friend and family!
-Send me headcanons/scenarios for mystic messenger characters’ reactions!-
#mystic messenger#mysme#mystic messenger reactions#mysme reactions#mysme headcanons#mystic messenger headcanons#jaehee kang#jumin han#juhyun kim#yoosung kim#mysme zen#mysme v#mysme 707#saeran choi#mysme unknown#saeyoung choi#luciel choi#choi twins#choi brothers#mysme rika#mc headcanons#asks#anon#fics#prompts#Anonymous
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yo im back at it again, this time for cassunzel week!! these ficlets will all take place in the same fic-verse as my cass week fics, which you can read here!
CASSUNZEL WEEK DAY 1 - HOMECOMING
On the day of her 22nd birthday, Rapunzel is radiant.
She must have known the surprise party was coming – how could she not, what with the whole of Corona buzzing with anticipation? – but still, she shrieks with delight all the same as the room erupts with cheer. She’s changed a little since the last time Cass saw her; her eyes sparkle a little brighter, her shoulders are less tense. Her happily ever after was only just beginning with Cassandra’s departure, but now – now she’s truly at peace.
Despite her initial decision to join Eugene and Lance at the front of the room in order to greet Rapunzel, Cass finds herself looking for a place to hide. Part of her doesn’t want Rapunzel to notice her right here and now, with the whole of the kingdom watching. She’s excited to greet her, of course, and give her a hug (maybe more, if her nerves cooperate), but… she just doesn’t know how to act with everybody else there. The new nature of their relationship isn’t exactly public knowledge, after all, and the last thing she wants is to cause some sort of uproar on Rapunzel’s birthday of all days.
So she hangs back, for once grateful at how tall and broad Lance is in comparison to her. Rapunzel begins to gush about the decorations, running over to hug her parents tightly, before making her way over to Eugene to give him the hug and kiss he’s earned for being such an efficient party planner.
“Well, I can’t take all the credit, sunshine,” he rambles, looking all too pleased with himself. “Everyone helped make this place a success. Oh, but I can take credit for keeping a certain someone – pardon the pun – under wraps…”
Cass considers leaving him hanging, but the second-hand embarrassment would be too much, even with Eugene getting the brunt of it. So she awkwardly side-steps out from behind Lance and gives a sheepish wave. Rapunzel’s face, set in confusion at Eugene’s awkward trail-off, morphs into one of pure amazement as her eyes meet Cassandra’s.
“CASS!!” She launches herself at Cassandra at full speed, leaving her winded from the impact.
“Oof. Hey, Raps. Ha, long time no see.”
Rapunzel’s arms wind round her tightly, scooping her further into the hug, and Cass returns it a little stiffly, glancing around as the rest of the party watch on in amusement. Lance is grinning like a fool, issuing a double thumbs-up, while Eugene simply offers a lopsided grin and a nod that she’s guessing he’s trying to equate to a sense of approval. The queen’s lips quirk up into a mile, but otherwise gives nothing away, while the king clears his throat and stares at the floor.
“Eugene said you couldn’t make it!” Rapunzel cries. “He said you were probably scaling a mountain or sailing between kingdoms or dodging a bounty hunter!”
“Oh, did he now? Dodging a bounty hunter, Fitzherbert, really? Unlike you, I don’t make enemies everywhere I go.”
“With your delightful personality, that genuinely surprises me,” he retorts, grinning all the same.
Ignoring him, she turns her attention back to Raps and pulls away to face her. “Well, regardless, I’m here now . Happy birthday, Rapunzel.”
Rapunzel reaches for her hands, entwining them, and for a moment Cass feels a horrific sense of deja vu – standing in the moonstone’s chamber, Rapunzel’s hair a swaying golden beacon, their fingers laced and faces close, such a tender moment and all the while, intense betrayal and anguish and hatred is tearing through her, clawing to get out–
But this isn’t then, this is now. And she is beautiful.
Rapunzel beams at Cass, but there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes that roots them to the spot, just for a moment. She feels it too, Cass realises with a sinking feeling.
But in an act so defiant, as though to challenge the power of that awful memory, Rapunzel draws Cassandra’s gloved hands up to her lips and kisses them, just for a moment. Cass is pretty sure she can hear the king’s jaw drop in disbelief, but she’s far too shocked herself to glance over at him to confirm that. Rapunzel, oblivious to the surprise of those around her, quickly drops their hands and slings an arm around Cass’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear as she turns to address the crowd.
“Thank you all so much for coming, and for celebrating my birthday on this fine day! Now,” she says brightly, “shall we let the celebration begin?”
From over the resounding cheer of the crowd, Cass hears Eugene burst out laughing behind them.
…
As far as Coronan celebrations go (of which there are far too many to commit to memory, in Cassandra’s opinion), this is one of the more enjoyable ones. The king and queen’s birthday festivities are usually more of a formal affair - there’s typically a banquet held within the castle and a more general celebration held in the courtyard for the public. Rapunzel, ever the fan of blurring the lines, has managed to merge the two somehow. The end result is an enormous buffet-style spread, two dance floors accompanied with separate musicians (one in the throne room they were decorating earlier with a formal string quartet, and one outside in the courtyard with a rowdier folk band that often performs at The Snuggly Duckling), and a whole lot of chaos.
Well, at least there are no gophers to chase after.
Cass, for the most part, has been hanging around the edges of the throne room to keep a low profile. People have been side-eyeing her all afternoon, though whether it's from the affectionate interaction with Rapunzel earlier or the whole former-enemy-of-the-kingdom thing remains to be seen. Either way, it’s better to avoid engaging with people when possible. Out in the courtyard, Rapunzel and Lance are caught up in some complicated jig of sorts, light on their feet and faces flushed with exertion as they dominate the dance floor. This gives Eugene the perfect opportunity to side up to her, a spare tumbler of punch in his hand. Pascal rests on his shoulder, watching Rapunzel’s dance in a similar trance.
“Thirsty?” he prompts, holding it out to her. She takes the drink from him and utters, “Parched, just from watching them.”
He laughs, and leans against the wall. “So, are you glad to be back?”
“Sure. I mean, I’ve missed it all, more than I thought I would. But…”
“But let me guess, you mostly came back for Rapunzel?” he finishes. “And now you’re pissed because you’ve barely spent a minute with her since the PDA fiasco that sent you scuttling right into the corner?”
The accuracy stings, it truly does. She goes to protest, but both Eugene and Pascal fix her with knowing looks. Cass hangs her head with a deep sigh.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Well yeah, everyone knows that Rapunzel is your favourite person in the world,” he says with a shrug. “And I know public affection isn’t your thing, at all. Here, hold this for me.”
He holds out his own cup for her and she takes it, eyeing him dubiously as he reaches for a small silver flask in his jacket pocket. He sprinkles a few drops into his drink.
“It all just took me by surprise, that’s all.” Cass sips at her drink gloomily and hands his cup back to him. “I didn’t hate it.”
“Still, here you are. Miserable in the face of festivities as always,” Eugene sighs, nudging her with his elbow in amusement. He takes a sip of his seasoned drink, smacking his lips in satisfaction. Still perched on his shoulder, Pascal shakes his head in exasperation. “Whoo, that’s better. You know what that punch bowl needs? Some rum in it. You want some?”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
She rolls her eyes at him, but tones down the aggression. After all, he’s right; why did she even bother to come back for Rapunzel’s birthday, if she’s just going to bring the mood down?
“I’ll… try harder not to be such a downer,” she offers.
“How noble of you. You know, you should just tell Rapunzel you want some time alone with her, she won’t exactly turn that offer down,” he points out.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to pull her away from the party, she’s having fun .”
“She has fun with you .” As the song comes to an end, leaving Rapunzel being dramatically dipped by Lance, she catches Eugene’s eye from across the floor and waves. He waves back, before beckoning her over.
“Don’t,” Cass warns. Predictably, he ignores her.
“Hey! What’s up, guys?” Rapunzel asks breathlessly as she bounds over. “Did you see our dance? Lance is a natural, who knew?”
“It was something, all right,” Cass begins, draining the last of her drink and setting it aside.
“Yeah, it was great! But listen, sunshine. Your girlfriend here,” Eugene says matter-of-factly, jerking his thumb towards her, “who has travelled many miles to be here today, is lonely. Now, you’ve danced with me and Lance and your parents and it’s been great, but our girl Cass here is more of the wallflower type, so why don’t you two find somewhere private and catch up, huh?”
“Eugene!” snaps Cass, mortified.
“Sorry, Cass!” Rapunzel apologises immediately, reaching for her hand. “I didn’t realise, I got so swept up in all the dancing and cheer-”
“Rapunzel, it’s fine,” Cass interrupts. “More than fine. It’s your birthday, you should spend it however you want!”
“Sure, but… if we’re being honest with each other, Cass, I would like some time with you,” Rapunzel admits, squeezing Cassandra’s hand. Cass squeezes back, before quickly dropping it. “I mean, since we can’t be all… you know, ourselves in public at this point.”
Guilt stakes Cass through the heart at that. She shouldn’t have let go so fast.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Raps, it’s just still a bit-”
“Hey, no, only happy stuff today, please!” Eugene intervenes. He claps a hand on both their backs and begins steering them towards the back exit of the throne room. “Now, I think you two should duck out now, find a quiet place away from the chaos down here. Go talk. Give presents. Make out if you want, I don’t care. The frog and I can hold down the fort. Oh, but we’re setting off the lanterns in an hour, so don’t stay too long, okay? All right, have fun!”
And with that, the door swings shut behind them, leaving the two of them alone.
…
Eugene did them a favour, really. Cass will have to thank him later.
Walking through the empty castle walls in silence, they eventually find themselves climbing the small tower overlooking the training grounds; a spot they’ve spent countless afternoons in before, idly watching the soldiers train. Cass would silently watch on while pouring tea or adjusting a tray of watercolour paints, envying each and every one of them, all while pretending not to feel Rapunzel’s wistful eyes burning holes into her from behind. This time, after opening the trap door and helping her up, she holds Rapunzel’s gaze with equal yearning. God, it’s been far too long since she’s had Rapunzel all to herself.
The first thing they do, after the trap door slams shut, is kiss. It’s quick, and Cass still finds herself glancing around furtively in case of any curious onlookers, but they’re blissfully alone besides from one soldier posted at the edge of the grounds.
“He’s too far away to see anything,” Rapunzel remarks, already able to read Cassandra’s thoughts perfectly. “Now, can I kiss you again?”
The impatience in her voice sends a giggle rippling through Cass, and she nods, reaching for Rapunzel's waist and pulling her in for a second kiss; one that she can almost feel her smiling through. Fuck, she's missed this.
“So,” she says, leaning back against the wall as Rapunzel stands giggling before her, “good birthday, Raps?”
“Best birthday!” she declares sunnily.
“Oh, really? Best birthday? Better than escaping the tower and reuniting with your long-lost family?”
Rapunzel stops, and hums in thought. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Second best birthday.”
“That’s more like it.” Cass turns to stare out at the twilight sky ahead. “It’s a beautiful day for a birthday, Rapunzel, I have to say.”
“Isn’t it just?” Rapunzel sighs, scooting up beside her. “Every year I used to look out the window of the tower and stare at a sky like this. Even though I knew the lanterns set off at nightfall, I would just sit and watch the sky grow pinker and darker in anticipation for it. Even now, I have this… this jittery feeling in my chest.”
“Brings back some mixed emotions, huh?”
Rapunzel nods, her smile falling slightly. “It feels like a whole lifetime ago. I suppose it is now. Hey, what were my birthdays like for you, before I was here?”
Cass shrugs. “Castle life largely went on as normal, I guess. Your parents were sad, of course, so there was this air of mourning in the palace, even though the townspeople treated it more as a celebration of your life and the hope of your return. We would leave little messages inside each lantern, it was kind of a custom everyone followed.”
“Did you write me lanterns?” Rapunzel asks, turning to her with raised eyebrows.
“Everybody did, it’s not a big deal,” Cass starts, feeling the beginnings of a blush creeping in as she remembers the kind of things she used to write. “You remember all the lanterns we found on Terapi Island.”
“Yeah, but I never thought to look for yours! Do you remember the kind of things you wrote?” she probes, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, Cass, tell me! It’s my birthday, you have to!”
Rapunzel bears those big eyes, ones Cass used to be able to say no to, and she curses that Rapunzel’s love has made her so soft inside.
“Fine. Ugh. Um, let’s see, I used to… okay, now don’t laugh.”
“I won’t!” Rapunzel promises, hand on heart, although her eyes are already beginning to crinkle in anticipation.
“You’d better not! Um. Okay, so when I was younger I had this… this dumb idea that maybe when I was older and stronger I could like – rescue you. Me and Max or Fidella would go on a lone journey, searching the lands far and wide for the lost princess, and we’d bring you home and I would, you know… be promoted to the guard.”
She cringes at the very fantasy her young mind used to entertain as Rapunzel squeals beside her.
“Oh, Cass! That’s just-”
“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” Cass reminds her with a grumble, burying her head in her hands.
“I’m not laughing , it’s just so sweet! You really wanted to bring me home?”
“Yeah. For a time. As I grew older and I was stuck doing maid duties, I kind of gave up on that particular dream, but then one day… there you were. And our lives got all mixed up after the fact.”
Rapunzel reaches over to rest her hand atop Cassandra’s, squeezing lightly.
“I’m glad they did. I don’t know what my life would be like without you, Cass, but I don’t regret it.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Cass says wryly. “You’d still have Eugene.”
“I couldn’t picture my life without either of you,” Rapunzel insists. “Don’t act like you aren’t both equally important to me.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Cass reaches with her free hand to fish around in her pocket. “Hey, Rapunzel. Close your eyes.”
“Oh, okay.” She twists her face towards Cass and shuts her eyes, before pursing her lips expectantly. Cass rolls her eyes fondly.
“Okay, hotshot, not what I was going for. Hold out your hand.”
“Can I still get a kiss though?”
“Later. Hand, now.”
Cass takes out the bracelets she fashioned this morning from the blue stones of the lagoon and carefully fastens one around Rapunzel’s outstretched wrist. They’re nothing too special to look at, honestly; a little clumsier than the ones that Rapunzel originally made, for sure. The gesture will surely make up for it, though.
Rapunzel’s eyes open, and she gasps.
“You remade our lagoon bracelets?!” Rapunzel’s eyes are alight with amazement. “But you hate making jewellery!”
Cass shrugs. She isn’t about to go into detail about what a pain in the ass it was to thread the bracelets, and the number of times she stabbed her fingers in the process. She’d thanked the stars for her gloves being so sturdy. “Ehh. I hate making jewellery most of the time. I can make an exception when it comes to you.”
“Cass, they’re beautiful! I don’t know what to say!” Rapunzel hugs her tightly, pressing several kisses to her cheek when she pulls back again. “But I thought you said they should be returned to sacred ground?”
“Well, yeah, I did, but I’ve, um… I’ve actually been studying a little Saporian on the road,” Cass admits sheepishly. “A bit of language, a bit of the history. Just to pass the time on rainy days when it’s hard to travel, you know? Anyway, I found a history book that spoke of Herz Der Sonne and General Champanier. Did you know, they each wore matching pendants until the day they died? Matching blue pendants, the historians say.”
“The lagoon stones,” breathes Rapunzel. Cass nods.
“They were most likely buried in them, so I reckon we may never know for sure, but…” Cass bows her head to avoid Rapunzel’s eyes as she adds, “Since the lagoon was where they fell in love, it’s understandable that the blue stones were significant to them.”
“Just like they’re significant to us.” Rapunzel’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and full of awe. Cass swallows and nods.
“I… I thought, if the people who discovered this lagoon allowed themselves to take mementos without the world ending…”
Rapunzel’s hands find hers in the fast-fading light, winding tightly together.
“I will treasure this, Cassandra, for the rest of my days. Hey, maybe we can get buried wearing these too?” Her voice is light, teasing, but beneath that airy joke is something a little more… personal. Permanent. It makes Cass’s heart soar.
Rapunzel leans in and kisses her softly. “I love them. I love you .”
Cass melts a little, at that. “Oh. Oh, I… Yeah. Me too.”
“Here, give me the bracelet.” Rapunzel takes the other bracelet from Cassandra’s outstretched hand and ties it around her wrist. “Now, maybe it’s not the most practical thing to wear it over the glove, but it’ll be fine for tonight. Here, now we match!”
They hold their arms up against the glare of the rapidly setting sun, watching the light gleam through the stones. They glitter like they do beneath the waves of the lagoon, if only temporarily.
“You know… You feel different now, Cass.”
Cass cocks her head to the side, trying to work out what exactly Rapunzel means by that statement as she watches dreamily as the sun disappears below the highest turrets of the castle, distorting the colour of the grounds below. Has she picked up some kind of accent on the road that makes her sound off to native Coronans? Have the facial scars distorted her appearance too much? Is she acting haughty, aloof, more so than before thanks to her time on the road?
“I’m different?” Cass prompts.
“Not in a bad way,” Raps laughs, eyes crinkling with her smile. Her gaze roams over Cass, fully taking her in, before she adds on decidedly, “It’s just the way you are now. I don’t think I could describe it fully, but the life in you, it’s so different to how you were when… when you were at your lowest. It makes me proud of the person you’ve become.”
Cass is stunned. It’s not that she didn’t expect Rapunzel to comment on this; no, she knew she would be praised in some form, because Rapunzel simply can’t help trying to uplift people whenever she can. But she hadn’t prepared for Rapunzel to cut to the heart of the matter so quickly. It’s foolish, she knows, to think that Raps wouldn’t be able to see the effort Cass has taken to become this new version of herself. It’s an image she can’t always keep up, but it’s something she has worked hard towards before feeling ready to show her face around here again.
Rapunzel being proud of her is, shockingly, the remedy that she’s craved since the moment she stepped through the gates.
“You think I’m different now?” Cass bleats uselessly, unable to stop that goofy smile from creeping in. Rapunzel grins and leans over, pecking her forehead quickly before retreating.
“I think you’re getting closer to your authentic self. And it makes me really love you.”
Cass laughs nervously, swivelling away to watch over the field down below so that hopefully Rapunzel can’t see just how flushed she’s become.
As they lapse into a comfortable silence, the rumble of footsteps begin to flood the corridors leading out onto the training pitch. Cass strains her eyes and realises, as light fills each corner of the grounds, that all of the partygoers are congregating onto the pitch below, each holding a lit paper lantern.
“So this is where they’re setting them off,” Rapunzel remarks. “We’ve been caught out. Just our luck.”
“Well, Fitzherbert could have been more specific,” grumbles Cass, without any real venom in her tone. After all, she still owes him one for pushing the two of them into some alone time in the first place. “I guess we should head down and join them.”
“I suppose,” Rapunzel says, almost sounding disappointed at having to cut their time short. “Hey, did you make a lantern this time?”
“Of course. It’s nothing fancy, though. You know that artsy stuff isn’t really my strong suit.”
“I don’t know, Cass. You did make us these bracelets, after all…”
Rapunzel, glancing between the slowly gathering crowd and Cassandra’s face, makes a split-second decision and kisses her cheek once more, before crouching down to pull the door hatch open. Damn, what Cass wouldn’t give for this to be a boat they could undock from the walls of Corona and sail off into the night, away from all these prying eyes. Anything to squeeze a few extra minutes out of this situation.
Fiddling with her hands, she pipes up, “...I could say the same about you, you know.”
Rapunzel pulls the hatch open and cranes her neck to look back at her, brow furrowed in confusion.
“What’s that?”
“About being different now? You’re growing into yourself too,” Cass continues, moving to sit down on the floor, away from the curious view of the gathering crowd below. “I remember how terrified you were at the prospect of running a kingdom, but just look at all this! Seems to me that you’ve really come into your own since I’ve been gone.”
Rapunzel sits back beside her, face glowing at Cassandra’s compliment.
“Well, I love this place! And now that the magic, sundrop, saving the world destiny is behind us, I have more time to focus on this destiny instead. Turns out, it suits me more than I ever believed it would.”
“I haven’t seen Corona this happy and at peace in a long time. Whatever Rapunzel Positivity you’ve been spreading to the people, it’s working.”
“Hopefully it’ll stay this way for a little while longer.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and peeks over at her, meadow-green eyes bearing into hers. “I’m so glad you came back, Cass.”
“I’m glad too. You really believed I wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to come back for your birthday?”
“I didn’t know how far away you might be!” Rapunzel points out. “If you were all the way across the continent I wouldn’t expect you to make it back in time, and you haven’t written to me in weeks!”
“Because I was travelling!”
“Well, I’d still like to know next time!” Rapunzel takes a playful swing at her arm and Cass dodges, unable to hold back her laughter any longer. It doesn’t take long for Rapunzel to follow suit, their heads resting together as they giggle in the semi-darkness. When at last they’ve run out of steam, Rapunzel peeks over the rim of the tower.
“I see Eugene. Looks like he’s holding an extra lantern.”
“Probably mine,” Cass offers. “Since everybody else is accounted for but us.”
“Guess that’s our cue to head down there, then.” Rapunzel begins to climb down the ladder, before stopping, just as her head pokes out the top of the door. “So, did you write a poem in yours, or…”
“I’m not telling you!” Cass insists, poking her nose with a grin. “If you’re lucky I’ll let you squint at it through the paper before we set them off.”
“Well, is it romantic?” Rapunzel probes. Cass smiles inwardly as she recalls the words she wrote for Rapunzel, short and sweet, knowing that they’ll wind up on Terapi Island with no one to read them but the lorbs.
I love you, Raps. And for as long as the sun shines, I will never stop.
“...Maybe.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, Cass adds conspiratorially, “But you can’t tell anybody.”
Rapunzel mimes sealing her lips. “It goes to the grave,” she says seriously. “Now. One more kiss before we go?”
Rolling her eyes, Cass leans down to bridge the gap.
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