#no art again sorry ive just been too tired from work to draw anything ^^;;; | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shattersstar · 4 years ago

Text

evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

#adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #alucard imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania #writing #if this doesnt get notes ill boycott writing for all of 2021

277 notes · View notes

penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 5 years ago

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

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

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

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

-D.H. Lawrence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here you were anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How far along are you?”

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

“I… what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He doesn’t know.”

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

“Would he not be happy?”

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

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

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

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

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

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

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

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certainly not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kind.

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

Beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs to know.

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

Wise.

Perceptive.

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

Strong.

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

Gentle.

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

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

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

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

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

Stars, how you want to let him.

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

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

Disciplined.

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

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

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

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

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

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

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

Nothing can.

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

Treasure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling, I’m…”

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

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

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

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we do something about that?”

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

“Allow me.”

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

Or so you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anchor. Anchor against me.

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

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

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

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

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

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

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

You still have much to learn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

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

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

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

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

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

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

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

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

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

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

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

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

568 notes · View notes

ao3-sucks · 4 years ago

Note

my own ao3 experience was that i got into it when i was in a huge fandom that had a bunch of underage and incestuous pairings and fics. i really started getting into it when i was like fresh into middle school and not soon after that id start reading a bunch of explicit fics. basically pretty sure reading that stuff is what made me feel anxious around my 2 older siblings and like if i showed any kind of affection like even a hug or just laughing at a joke sometimes itd be seen as a sign of attraction. im in my 20s now and it still really affects me. i feel like less valid with my online trauma somehow bc i did it to myself lol.

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

I got manipulated by an adult into writing an extremely triggering fic about rape and abuse between two young siblings, and ended up having to draw on my own traumatic experiences for it. I pretended to be okay with it, and let them say it was my fault it was like that, and when I finally got tired of hiding it and publicly called them out on it, multiple people defended them, using that pretense against me. I still haven't fully recovered from that. Sometimes I wonder if it really was my fault.

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

thank you SO MUCH for this blog, I was groomed into thinking the wildest of things were acceptable by fandom people, and it wasnt until i was about 15 or 16 that i finally wised up and dropped the thinking once and for all. thank you again and have a really good week!

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

I don’t really know how old the post that talked about the experience of one of the mods with ao3 is, but just in case, this is about that post that had mentions of r//pe and @“cest. And damn, I’ve never stopped to think that my aversion to sex maybe came from my early exposure to that kind of stuff, now I know that I’m asexual, but it’s comforting to see that I’m not alone in this, so thank you for sharing your story

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

god this is probably stupid and you dont have to post this if you don't want to, but thank you so much for making this page. ive had similar experiences in online fandom and ive really struggled with classifying any of it as "real" since it was all online. that post talking about your experience with everything was really eye opening for me. thank you for reminding me im not alone.

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

wrt your ao3 essay // thank you for sharing your story about ao3. ive had some similar experiences, but i never interacted with anyone on ao3, just read ff. in around a 1-2 years of consuming that content, i had developed some psychosis relating to sexual trauma, but i never had anything happen to me so i didnt really know what to think. i was just scared. its nice to know that.. it wasnt just random? that more people are talking about this? something like that. thank you. i hope you are well.

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

i just read through your experiences and while i was never really involved with fanfiction during my childhood, i WAS exposed to plenty of other weird interactions on other sites starting probably as early as 11 and just realized that me starting to use the internet more probably coincides with me showing similar things such as starting to hate being touched and consider myself asexual/sex repulsed. it was nothing that i'd considered to be that impactful or big a deal before and there weren't really specific people to blame, but i definitely don't know how to feel about this knowledge now.

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

just read that post abt your ao3 experience and holy fuck, so sorry you had to go through that. but also, thank you. its scary to think tht ive cldve been in the same situation since i was browsing the internet from a v young age. i was huge into roleplaying and thereve been a few times where it became, uuh... not completely sfw (unknowingly to me, i just wanted to rp). but the moment it became too weird, i ghosted n blocked (i had a very anti-internet-stranger policy). again, thanks. take care

Anonymous said to ao3-sucks:

I was 12 when I got my first ship. I got into it because of the cute art online and I never once thought about it being bad. It was pedophilic amongst other things. I just started writing fic, so I wrote for this ship. I was asked to write straight up human AU "porn where xyz is a pedo" by people far older than me. I didn't know any better, I wrote it and every other request like it. It go so bad that I though that pedophilia was OKAY. It took me so long to unlearn that and many other things because of that ship and I still feel bad for ever having shipped it. So when people say things like "fiction doesn't effect reality" it makes me mad. It teaches little kids that things like pedophilia and rape are okay.

I opted to answer these as a group because they are all so similar. It breaks my heart how often I get anons, post replies, and reblogs about my AO3 essay from people saying that my experiences closely mirrored theirs. I hope that everyone who has sent me these messages can forgive themselves for what happened to them, and know that it’s not your fault that other people decided to take advantage of you. I’m working on healing, and I hope you can all do the same.

- Mod Daft

#testimonials #anti ao3 #ao3 critical #fandom critical #mod daft posts #Anonymous

22 notes · View notes

disaster-fruit · 4 years ago

Note

could you tell us more about the brarg family au with the 3 babies and trans luci?

I definitely can! This au has been living rent free in my head since i started that drawing and I was actually sketching more stuff for the AU right before I got this ask so- I definitely can ramble more about it

This was supposed to be just a collection of a few hcs and now it’s a multi-pages word document the size of a fanfic so – Im really sorry.

I didn’t think a lot about their backstories tbh, though I have it in my mind that Luciano transition in his late teens and that he and martin either met after that or knew each other before luciano came out, lost all contact, and then met again after (and you can blame oxiosas fic for that yeah im not even subtle)

But I imagine them having some sort of meet cute and kinda progressing really fast in their relationship without realizing – yk, its just a fling, no big deal, yeah ive met his parents, yes I basically spend every weekend in his apartment, yeah I have a spare key now, ops I guess we’re adopting dogs and plants together- oh I think we’re married. Yeah. We’re married.

Ok but for real Luci does the proper proposal-with-a-ring-and-knelt-down-on-a-special-day thing and Martin is just bright red saying yes over and over again

It is Afonso (port) the first to be all WHERE ARE MY GRANDCHILDREN like… the night of their wedding.

They live in a house in a not too big city with two dogs, one cat, one parrot and all the birds that Luciano feeds and names that aren’t actually theirs. Still, they choose the house with two spare rooms because they always talked about having two kids.

In this AU they can buy a nice house and don’t have to worry about money and can raise kids like the world isn’t ending.

I think right after they got married they got in line for adoption. However, everything indicated that it would take a long long time so they started talking about the possibility of trying to have a biological kid. I think luci was the one to suggest it when he noticed martin had been thinking about it but not saying anything for a while.

Lots of boring doctor visits and confused doctors looking at luciano and trying to process it like the dumb cishets they are. Boring exams and all that, but everything is on track eventually, luci pauses his hrt and keeps his jockstrap on the drawer and they’re googling the best positions for fertility on those weird cishet sites and doing it like bunnies etc etc

Getting pregnant the natural way after years of testosterone is not the easiest thing in the world, so it takes a while. But eventually it works.

Both of them are kinda freaking out with this whole first pregnancy thing. Martin is the ultimate protective husband, and spends way too much time on the internet finding out what luciano can and can’t eat, what exercises he should do, and going to every single doctor visit. He’s very committed to it.

Luciano has to drink non-alcoholic beer and hates life. There’s a single teardrop shed every time he buys it. And drinks a lot of lemonade like it’s the same as caipirinha. Poor guy. Martin doesn’t help on that, life isn’t fair, he buys his own beer.

But he also has to drive absurd lengths to find the weirdest fruit or make the most hideous, blasphemous pizza toppings because Luciano is constantly craving absurd shit. But poor baby actually really NEEDS that chicken M&M pizza at 8am.

They’re super proud daddies though, and both their instagrams at this point are just baby belly pictures. Luci had top surgery on this au on my hc so also. Lots of shirtless pics. He looks like an old uncle with a beer belly and he’s PROUD. Just. Baby bellies all over.

Martin picks the entire baby layette. Because of course he does.

Their baby shower is a huge deal though. Their dads are there, Antonio brings an entire trunk filled with diapers and tells everyone how many tincho used to need when he was a baby, Afonso is cooking for everyone and talking about how he’s gonna be a grandfather (!!!). Iracema (pindorama) is scolding Luci about his bad habits while also quietly being a super proud grandma. Zola (angola) bought toys because she knows that’s what kids actually like, Samero (Mozão) keeps asking if they installed all the necessary security stuff in their house – we will, chill, we still have some months to go – Vera (Tomé) is teasing Simão (Timor) about him no longer being the family baby, Fatima (g.bissau) is another one who bought a huge amount of diapers, Rosinha (cabo verde) is taking pictures of everyone and everything, Sebas and Dani are discussing if the kid should speak Portuguese or Spanish, Maria brought a huge pink plushy as a gift, it’s quite a party.

Once they’re late in the pregnancy, Luciano mostly spends his time on Martin’s oversized t-shirts asking for foot rubs and not getting much sleep because the baby keeps moving. Martin on the other hand is a little nervous about being a dad, but absolutely loves feeling the little kicks and talking to the baby all the time, except when its 3am and he wants to sleep but Luci cant because of it so he just does his best to keep him company. He mostly ends up falling asleep on his chest though and doesn’t help much

I wrote all of this but I still don’t have a name for the girl lol Anyway, she’s finally born, and if martin was overprotective when Luciano was pregnant, he’s ten times more with his baby girl. Tbh theyre both kinda going crazy with this whole parenting thing, both are overprotective, tired, and have no idea what theyre doing.

Zola and Sebastian are the girl’s godparents. Sebastian isn’t very good with kids so when he takes care of his niece he either puts on a tv show and lets her eat whatever crap she wants, or relies on Daniel to do the actual taking care, since he is good with kids.

Luciano and Martin are very much neurotic first-timers and have all this schedule of what their girl can eat and when and when she has to sleep etc etc.

When Zola takes care of her, she just ignores it and does it her way. She helped raised Luci since he was a baby anyway, he survived just fine and even married and reproduced, she knows what to do better than both the dumbasses, and they never even find out.

Afonso on the other had follows everything when he’s with his granddaughter, determined to be a better grandfather than he was a father, and the baby loves him so he’s doing a good job.

They’re a very cute family yes yes

She grows up well and happy, a bit shy maybe but very smart and sweet, loves the dogs and her aunts and uncles and granddads (afonso more than antonio though)

By the way, Iracema is soft like butter with her granddaughter.

When she’s about four or five years old they start talking about having a second one, considering the age difference and all. So back to doctors, Luci stops the hrt again and they go back to trying, but again it’s not the easiest thing in the world to do it naturally after years of hrt.

But god listens to the prayers of such good catholic family, and right after they start thinking about a second child, they receive the news they will finally get to adopt a baby.

Luciano is the one to receive the news, he’s working at home when the social worker comes to tell him they can finally adopt. He’s extremely happy, he hugs the poor lady and is barely able to concentrate as she explains the paperwork that is left and the details of it because he can’t stop smiling.

He immediately texts martin saying something like “CALL ME RIGHT NOW WE NEED TO TALK” and it’s in happy caps but martin understands it wrong and thinks someone is dying or dead but then his phone is what dies so he gets home as fast as he can thinking all the worst scenarios just to find luciano jumping on him with a smile for ear to ear. It’s such a shock he takes a while to react but when he does you have two idiots so happy they can’t function.

It’s another girl, she has big brown eyes like her sister and it’s a few months old.

They quickly reassemble the crib and paint the second room to get everything ready in time to take her home, and the next week or so it’s nothing but all the family visiting to meet their new baby.

Since they managed to adopt, they decided to stop trying to have another kid. Luciano goes back to the doctor do some routine exams so that he can go back to testosterone and the doctor just awkwardly explains that, well, that won’t be exactly possible. Not for the next eight months, at least.

He’s quite shocked at that, and takes him a while to tell martin. They just got a new baby and do they even have space to raise three kids? Eventually it just escapes from him and martin is shocked as well, but ultimately both of them are just worried about their place being too small, and once they relax about that they can’t shut up about having another baby on the way to anyone.

Still, it’s not easy to manage, martin is just as worried as he was with their eldest, except that this time he’s simultaneously worried about their new baby and about Luci’s pregnancy. Poor dude needs a break asap. So he’s trying to do most of the work of caring for a little baby to spare luciano from the stress, while also taking care of him as well as he did the other time.

Luci is more chill about being pregnant, he’s done this before, he’s fine. He’s even a little too chill about it, as shown in the art, he still wants to carry their kid on his shoulder and having a few sips of martin’s beer is no big deal and honestly he’s fine, he can help with the baby, and Tincho just needs to relax and it will all be fine.

Again, poor tincho needs a break.

Some things don’t change though. Them being super proud daddies who do nothing but take pictures of their kids and Luci’s belly every chance they get. And they’re really happy and excited to have their house full and this big family.

Just a good cute family AU where nothing bad ever happens thank you very much. Yet it took me almost 2k words to say it. I have no self control and I’m very sorry. However, if anyone has their own hcs to add about this whole au, I will be more than happy to hear and talk about this AU even more than I’ve already done.

20 notes · View notes

maraudererasmut · 5 years ago

Text

Black and White (Part XXVIII)

((Remind me again why I chose to use Roman Numerals for the chapters?! Anyway... ENJOY!!! <3))

Remus arrived at Black and White early in the afternoon, wearing his one and only suit. He was clean-shaven, his hair was brushed, and he looked as presentable as he could manage, all things considered.

As he entered the gallery, he noticed that there were already a few people there. James and Lily were walking around, organizing tables with food and pamphlets. There was a makeshift bar set up, where a server was sorting the alcohol and setting out glasses. Sirius was talking with a member of the waitstaff, giving directions and explaining what needed to be done throughout the night.

Still feeling the weight of anxiety pressing heavily on his shoulders, Remus headed over to the bar.

"Hey…" He managed to get out, smiling at the woman behind the counter. She gave him a confused look. "Oh, uh… I'm one of the artists. I'm… I'm allowed to be here, I promise."

"Oh!" She said, beaming at Remus. "Well, your work is very beautiful!"

"Ah… thanks…" Remus felt himself smile, despite the whole Sirius situation; it was really nice to be complimented on his work and it happened so rarely in his life. The bartender returned his grin, a slight flush falling across her cheeks.

"You'd better get used to people saying that. This night is all about you and your art."

"Heh… yeah," Remus answered awkwardly. "I suppose it is."

"You look like you could use a glass of wine…"

"You know what…" Remus eyed the collection of fancy wines behind the bar; wines that he was allowed to try for free thanks to his art. He had worked hard to get to this point, and regardless of how his personal life was looking, he knew he should still take a moment to be proud of himself. He had come so far in just a few weeks. "I think I will have one. I deserve it."

The bartender poured Remus a glass, which he graciously accepted and brought with him as he walked through the gallery. He paused in front of his most recent work, taking in the depth of the painting, remembering his emotions as he had brought it to life. He was still experiencing the same turmoil, still struggling through the same complex feelings.

"Do not get drunk tonight," a voice said from behind the artist.

Remus froze, feeling his stomach tighten and his shoulders tense. He turned around to face Sirius, hardening his expression.

"It's a glass of wine, Sirius. I think I'm entitled to it," he spat, glaring at the gallery owner. Sirius was purposefully causing trouble at this point.

"Yes, well, we don't want any mean old gallery owners taking advantage of you when you pass out." Sirius had a sneer on his face as he taunted Remus, and the artist clenched his fists in fury.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sirius?!" Remus' voice was louder than he intended and it rang through the gallery, echoing across the walls.

Sirius was about to retort, most likely some snide comment, when James approached them.

"Office. Both of you. Now!"

Remus had never seen James that angry before. His voice was sharp and aggressive, paired with a deep crimson glow spreading across his cheeks. The dark umber of his eyes flashed with intensity. Remus shrunk before his penetrating glare, feeling surprisingly small before the other man.

"This is my gallery, Potter! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Sirius, you're embarrassing yourself," James growled, stepping towards the gallery owner. "There are people here. Act professional. You and Remus need to go into your office and sort this shit out, do you understand me?"

Sirius looked like he was deliberating, considering his retort, before he changed his mind and turned around in a huff. He marched himself straight to the gallery office and Remus dutifully followed, feeling like a child that had just been scolded.

Once the two of them were in the office, James stuck his head through the door.

"If this isn't settled by the time the show opens, so help me—"

"Yes, James," Sirius grumbled, acting more like James' son than his brother.

James left Remus and Sirius alone in the office, closing the door behind him. Once they were by themselves, Sirius turned to Remus, glaring at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Remus snapped angrily. He was tired of Sirius playing games with him. He understood that he did something wrong, but the gallery owner had no right to provoke him and try to draw a reaction. "You're the one who came up to me!"

Sirius crossed his arms and let out a pfft while rolling his eyes.

"I was just making sure that you knew not to get drunk this evening, so as to not repeat past mistakes."

"Fuck off!" Remus yelled, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing his frustration to take over. "You know what? Yeah! I thought we hooked up while I was drunk! Is that such an absurd thought?! Is it really so farfetched that I thought I had sex with you?!"

Sirius looked taken aback.

"Yes, Remus! You were drunk!" He was clearly upset, his pale skin turning a bright shade of red across his cheeks and ears.

"So what?!" Remus shouted, finally putting words to the feelings that had been boiling up inside of him. "I thought we fucked! I've spent the past three weeks thinking about it, of course I'd assume that Drunk Remus would act on it!"

Sirius' mouth was hanging open. He blinked.

"You…"

Sirius was at a loss for words. Remus rolled his eyes and continued his tirade.

"Yeah. There it is. The whole damn truth. Pathetic little Remus had feelings for Sirius! Laugh it up! Tell me how stupid it is that someone like me could even fathom being with someone like you! I know it's insane! I get that! And I know I'm an idiot for thinking it could actually happen! And I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I thought we had sex! I'm sorry it felt like I thought you were a bad person! I didn't. I just assumed that… maybe… I just…"

Remus cut himself off. What did he assume?

"... you're not an idiot." Sirius muttered, his eyes drifting down slightly.

"Shut up, Sirius! Just… shut up! I don't need your pity! I don't need everyone's pity! I don't need people feeling bad for the pathetic artist who isn't good enough to make it on his own!" Remus didn't even know what he was yelling about at this point, he was just yelling. He was getting all of his feelings out, the ones that didn't fit into his paintings, and he seemed to have broken the damn.

"I don't think you're pathetic..."

"God dammit, Sirius! I just… I thought maybe… just maybe… there was a chance that… that you liked me too. That's why I assumed we had sex. I just… part of me… and it's so stupid, I know that. I see that now. I just didn't realize it at the time."

"... you're not stupid."

Remus stared at Sirius, completely floored. What was Sirius playing at? A moment ago, he had been inexplicably rude to Remus. Why would his tune change so suddenly?

"Don't patronize me! Don't you think you've made me feel bad enough?! I never meant to accuse you of anything! It was a mistake!"

"...I know."

Remus stopped. He stared open-mouthed at the man before him, whose face was crestfallen and… guilty?

"You know?! Yesterday you yelled at me about this!"

"I didn't know yesterday. But… I get it now."

"What are you talking about?!"

"I— I hadn't realized…" Sirius looked up at Remus, stormy grey eyes clouded with remorse. He looked lost, sincere, authentically apologetic. Remus felt his breath catch in his chest as he stared into Sirius' eyes, remembering their night together talking in the gallery. It had been so honest — a different side to Sirius that rarely came out.

"What hadn't you realized, Sirius?" Remus' voice was quivering. He was still upset, but he wasn't shouting. He didn't feel like he needed to yell anymore in order to be heard.

"I— I didn't know that you— that you wanted— " Sirius' body moved forward the slightest amount, an infinitesimally small step that brought their two worlds that much closer together. "I didn't realize that you had feelings for me."

"Fuck off," Remus swore, rolling his eyes. "Of course you knew. You've spent the past few weeks shamelessly flirting with me! Only now I realize that I was just a plaything for you." Remus didn't notice how harsh his words were until he saw the hurt painted across Sirius' features. "Is— isn't that what you were doing?"

"I… I flirted with you because I liked you, Remus… I just assumed you…" Sirius eyes flickered away for just a moment. "You never flirted back, I just assumed you weren't interested."

Remus stared at Sirius, confusion written across his face.

"The fuck? Sirius, you're… you're the gallery owner. Of course I couldn't— I just— what the hell is going on?" The artist ran a hand through his curls, trying to think, trying to sort out the past few weeks in his mind. "Then what was that out there?" He gestured wildly towards the rest of the gallery. "What the hell was that?"

"I was mad, Remus! I thought… I thought you had blamed me! I thought that you thought that I took advantage of you!" Sirius scrunched his face up in frustration— still looking surprisingly attractive— before brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "I was mad when you left and assumed we did it because I thought you thought the worst of me. I was hurt."

"I told you—"

"I know! I just… it never crossed my mind that… that you thought we hooked up because it was something you wanted to do… it just… never occurred to me that— that you'd even want to!"

"Of course I'd fucking want to…" Remus mumbled before he caught himself. "Shit… I mean… not that… I just—"

Before Remus could explain to the gallery owner why he just admitted to wanting to have sex with him, Sirius was suddenly there, in front of Remus, raising a hand to brush an errant curl from the artist's eyes. Remus blinked up into swirling blues and greys, wondering what the hell happened in the last few minutes that caused this.

"Sirius, I—"

"Remus…" Sirius muttered, barely audibly, the name lilting off his tongue. The pad of Sirius' thumb grazed Remus' cheek, an almost imperceptible touch of skin on skin. "Remus, I fancy you. I have for a while now. And I probably should have told you sooner."

"B— but…" Remus stammered, trying to make sense of everything. "But you were so mean out there… and— and— and you were so mad at me!"

"I was an idiot. I didn't think someone as perfect as you could ever care about someone as broken as me. And I built up barriers between us... I am so sorry."

Sirius' voice was tender, affectionate, paired with such an earnest gleam in his eyes. Remus felt himself melting before Sirius' smouldering gaze, felt the wall between them finally shatter.

"I'm not perfect…" Remus mumbled. It was all he could think to say in response.

"I want to kiss you…" Sirius' words were barely a whisper, and Remus' heart was racing. His mind flashed back to the previous weekend, the feeling of Sirius' lips against his own, the way their mouths moved. Remus wanted this, more than anything, but he felt a tug in his stomach. The voice in his head was warning him against this, reminding him of their dynamic, of gallery owner and artist. Sirius was in a position of power over him, and yet…

Sirius hadn't moved. He was waiting for Remus to respond. He refused to act on anything without Remus' express consent.

Remus closed his eyes and closed the gap, pressing his lips into Sirius'. He felt Sirius' hand cup his face, the other one weaving around his body. He felt Sirius' lips moving in sync with his own. Remus could have sworn that he was floating, his feet lifting off the ground. He felt fireworks in his stomach, exploding and crackling and causing a ruckus so loud, he was sure Sirius could hear it.

This was exactly where Remus wanted to be— where he wanted to spend the rest of his life— right there in Sirius' arms.

Knock knock knock.

Remus almost yelped, he was so startled. He immediately pulled away from Sirius, breaking their connection and the magic that tied them together. The expression on Sirius' face told Remus that he was equally as surprised and dismayed.

"I don't hear yelling. Should I be happy, or is one of you dead?"

Sirius cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"N— No one's dead, Potter. Don't worry." He turned to Remus and offered a sheepish smile before straightening himself up and adjusting his tie. "I think… I think things are worked out."

Sirius gave one last glance over to Remus, who was still standing there, mouth agape, wondering what was going on. Sirius reached out and gently brushed his fingers against Remus' arm, offering the artist a timid grin filled with emotion. Then, as if transforming into a different person altogether, Sirius turned around and threw his Gallery Owner smile onto his face.

Sirius opened the door and nodded at James, who was waiting just outside of the office.

"Not to worry, Potter. Remus has assured me that this misunderstanding won't happen again."

The artist stood in the office for a moment, briefly considering staying there all night. He shook his head out, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, and took a page from Sirius' book. The man who emerged from the office was Artist Remus: feigning confidence and ready to perform the song and dance required of him to sell his work.

((So? Was it all worth the wait? ;) ))

264 notes · View notes

ofthemuses · 7 years ago

Text

Area 11 Sentence Meme; from all their released albums

All the Lights In The Sky (2013)

i. vectors

One day I will find you I saw that you were lonely too You reached out and you took me I repressed that time Everything that I forgot, I see it clearly can’t you see that you’re losing your mind A shot to the head leaves it all behind I’ll tear you apart Reach out your hands to catch me reach out your hands and you tear me apart But we are simply killing time I wish I’d see inside your mind I wish I’d seen inside you Almost the same, but not enough Never forgiven, but still in love

ii. euhpemia

Memories of fallen dreams and all those that have died. Demons are possessing me. I feel my hate take flight. I'm choking on my own words and I'm scared of backing down the hope within us all is up in flames Twisted by my warring conscience. The situation's pushing onwards. This can't be, was this me? I think I've lost control. I caused this, I forced this, Can I continue on? I caused this, I forced this, I caused this! Betrayed by trust, forever left to scream. Oh hold me closely and die in my arms, then take this secret with you. I became your puppet master This could fuel The Revolution! This could be my last solution! And all good victories come with a price. Just take my secret with you.

iii. knightmare / frame

What is life but a burden for me? All this anger, burning inside but buried deep One step forward and two to the side, every single time I fall asleep and I feel I'm falling Nightmare comes without warning I can't seem to sleep In my dreams I feel I'm running towards her/his shining light She/he shines for me Just like glass I saw right through Something I couldn't see until I changed my point of view I cannot let you go inside of me, the will to change the world Can a mask be the face of reason? You will answer, to the pieces left behind Well I watched her/him die in your arms Freed but they'll never understand

iv. tokyo house party

I know that this will never work out So it shouldn't even start Cause I'm just a kid at heart And you know that it's such a waste Cause I hate that bitter taste and your bittersweet embrace I feel this has gone to my head I'll never drink again But fuck it, I don't care I don't know what you came here for This is where we are from (The town where nothing goes on) Waiting for our own special moment to die I got lost to find myself I wanna be with you tonight Cause everything's gone; it's been wiped out I feel a change in the pace I know I should run and I should fight But the look in your eyes: I could die here tonight Fear of failure, we're moving so slow

v. shi no barado

I saw your face in the LED's It's something that I can never repay, but I will try anyway. I sent a message I know you'd see Now fate led you down a path to me You're all I ever wanted you can use me, you can kill me My body will be a fortress I will keep you safe from pain My losses are your gains Together we can burn this to the ground, rebuild it into something right I'm not afraid and I'm not alone because you're with me in my dreams I won't give up on this perfect love

vi. cassandra pt. 2

Although it doesn't really matter now You use me, and I use you I'm your savior, you're my muse The best friend that you been to me but I wanna be your enemy You want a reaction You wear a red dress when you're in a bullfight You're drawing attention to your double life In dreams, I'm coming to find you and when I wake I want anyone else. 'Cause I don't love you, It's what I'm telling myself I’m hiding from you, ‘cause we are the same Wait, just wait for me and I'll come around My best friend that I've never seen That's turned you into my enemy No, it's all in my mind I feel I should save myself before this gets too real

vii. the strays

I'd still cheer for you ten years down the line Time stepped away from me Stray from this boring dream What must it be like with your world alight? How could I stay here and rust when I'm set to explode? You can outrun everything but the debts that you owe I'm numb from the distance If it's just the bored asking this kind of thing, where do we fit in? Take what you want from it We're the last ones left Get the others and cut to the next Scene To be truly free Freedom comes not from, but through me Do you remember when the stars were much higher? You would try to count them all But you grew tired - tired - tired

viii. dreams & reality

Dreams... are realities. You mean so much to me I can't forget the way, the choice that we made that day. Is it worth the risk that we take? Waiting and hoping from the side-lines But this is our moment, it's our chance to shine. 'Cause this feels better than the best thing 'Cause we are stronger than anything We've grown from all the things we've been through, And they couldn't break us if they wanted to. Your smile is brighter than the lights in the skies wont you tell me what is real? Lets write our names in history, Let's make these dreams reality,

ix. heaven-piercing giga drill

you came and dug me up into a world full of violence. So many faces, so many trials. They won't stop our evolution. Who do you think we are? Fight against your execution. Trust me and we'll fly, not fall. Tip the balance to risk it all. Together we can go so far. All the lights in the sky are stars. It follows everywhere I go. It carries the hope of humanity, and everything we know. Believe in me, who believes in you.

x. bōsōzoku symphonic

There's three parts to love, or so I believe. There's a part of you you lose, and another you receive. Here I break with the concept, though it's central to the piece. Leave my mark on the canvas, that only you can see. I deferred my happiness, for loneliness and time. But once I'm where I wanna be, you'll be far behind. And the chains that pull me down, slacken off when you're around. And it's comforting to know I'll rip out all the hooks from my skin so I can grow. Sometimes I disagreed, just to hear you scream. You were right, but I needed you to give emotion back to me. I'm not leaving you, I'm not leaving you!

Underline (2014)

i. are you listening?

All aboard this sinking ship No business here it's just relationships Should this mean more to me? Just join the tribe and feel accepted But cool don't come for free The rope that pulled me from the pit now hangs around my neck Is this the clue you wanted? Too cryptic for the rest Play the part of the victim if it puts your mind at ease Put all the blame on me So what you feel, is it nostalgia or love? Tell me now, are you really listening? When everybody tells you to stop, and that you’re never good enough; tell me now, are you really listening? Reach out for help, and she lets you down So gild your pockets, we'll watch you drown Cause this means more to me It's hard when all I see Now we take control We fade into hindsight Can this be realized?

ii. in the blind

I redesign, I realign. I redefine, and yet resign. My only hope: to feel. And when I phased out the "privileged" and the "purpose" I realized that art can never true be separated That should define who I will never be. Sorry. Cause this is the new way Still spinning cycles in my mind Hold me back and keep me down! Drop the weights, accept my fate, and trigger the explosion. Now keep the faith as illusions break and we'll show you something real. And when I reach out into event horizons will there be light and sound, or will it be just me?

iii. override (a)

Willing and wishing to break This won't be over so soon You'll claw yourself out of the womb Are you willing to die? To be born in the spotlight? I won't let you drown Are you willing to die? To be something? We patiently wait your return Rejecting your pitiful life You'll crawl on your hands and your knees You'll feast on the fear you receive And here in the alter you'll give your life for a reason to live Are you ready to die? Are you ready to die? To be more than they say you are? You'll be a mistake The child of the void and the ghost in the tape Can the ego you've sculpted endure the escape? I am willing tonight. I am willing to die to be something; trigger the override

Modern Synthesis (2016)

i. override [C]

Lay the new foundations; reprise Strange are the things that will come around Return to the question, I'm willing to die If this is real and this is anticipation Know it in your mind, hear it once and now you bear the load Are you ready for life? Make a stand in afterglow

ii. the contract

You’ve spent a lifetime locked in the same mindset You break the contract, and smile away your debt I play for closure, through the fear and the thrill of the fight Move a little bit closer, ‘cause you’re in for a jagged night I close my eyes; a toxic calling Just let it resonate, we call it suffering We know just who to trust this time I want you to give me what I need Lay waste to your beliefs, rebuild yourself for me I want you to come alive again I feign obsession, and abbreviate my views You're my possession, until I'm done with you I want you to feel as I feel I want you; submit yourself to me Your body and your mind; give it willingly Just sign the contract

iii. watchmaker

Serve or break the patterns that would be Middle child of eternity The creeping vines of anomie I never wanted to believe I never asked if I could stay Switch the pressures you relieve Sketching parallels to understand why I can't share your love I’m only building what I meant to do so many lives ago

iv. versus

I dream of it; am I a psycho? Watching you burn nothing else feels this perfect to me “Hands in the air”; salute or surrender? We adapt, mutilate, replicate and survive But choose a side The truth, the war; the rise, the fall The virus in our heads that infects us all Do you need it once more? Can you remember what it is we’re dying for? (Fighting for?) Little soldier, little girl/boy who used to love this fucking world To love, to despise: such a fine line The hardest strikes always land when hands are tied The virus in our heads infects, manipulates our thoughts

v. processor

I took a chance to fly I want no role in your altercation I feel panic arise as rhetoric voices are feeding back again Blocking out vitriolic accusations: Was I listening? Because I want to be better on the inside I want to be better on the outside I fall asleep in the vestige I once called my home I pray for you, abide with the hopeless Regretting the choice but I can't turn away The modern synthesis compels me to start again I will have my way, I told you, I told you, I told you As I dispersonalise I taste a real life far from the pacifist you believe I exemplify I am the fury, I am hypocrisy The day I take control. The day you'll believe in me The path back home, the path I'll show you The path back home, where you'll wait for me, wait for me

vi. red queen

I said I don't mind, but you've touched a nerve The way you frame it, well, I got all I deserved Breathe deep and comfort the disturbed In the cave you fear what would you find? We played our hands together You lose me in your blood chemistry So we'd better try to match her/his speed Toast to the red queen/king and all she has seen Is it time to drink at your table? We can only wait and watch for so long Where you fall is not where you belong Unify behind false enemies Down other lines we would have been the same Beauty fades but still my charm deceives This night is shared and so we use each other ‘cause misery loves company And so it goes again A wasted day to vie for my affection Soon you'll come undone Can't fake a smile so they draw it on

vii. angel lust

how far did you deviate? The bridge collapsed but you took the stone From the ash an altar raised, you rebuilt your home And cynics they will try to tempt and change our minds We'll keep our faith alive, we'll raise our voices And scream it from our hearts: God loves her/his children we wait to receive a sign and the scraps of truth of what we believe The passion, the pain, our bodies ache, we cry your name

viii. the life of a ghost

Living the life of a ghost, there is no comfort for the mind Some sights we've tried to leave behind Always looking backwards down the road I will retain composure Lost in thoughts of where I am Stay 'til dawn, begin anew? With all honesty I want to be selfless To be human, but I'm beat and I'm worn-though I'm lost tonight I'm an ember, will you take my story? Pull back the curtain and walk towards the truth There is no comfort for the mind

ix. after the flags

Come on son do your country proud! Lead us down to the ocean and wash our hands of campaigns for the self-assured now Fading white in surrender and weary from the beating sun that blinds you Take a hit for catharsis Take a hit for them all After the flags they're selling off the wall I wanna die for a reason I wanna kill for a cause The fall won't kill but it's gonna hurt do you watch just to wince at this? we have been misled Straighten out your fiction As means to ends and ends to meaning guide you After the flags I'm nobody at all If I could reach you with reason You set us up for a fall After the flags you're nobody at all

x. nebula

This is my suffering, stuttering the words As all I can see is you Hey there you lost boy/girl, just look at what they've done to you They've poisoned the well of your mind but you'll make it through I'm falling to the call of you To love just an action, we overplay and overdo But now, there's no one beside me They've fallen behind

xi. panacea and the prelogue

Wait inside we'll talk a while I didn't mean to let the years go by Have we come to terms with the lesson that our fathers learned? Everything goes away I'd follow you, but not this time I'm sorry that I let you down, let you down, a lifetime ago I wanna say to all I leave behind, and to those I'll never find. That I need you to understand, understand, you're not on your own. What you value, is it worth the time? The only melodies that I could ever call mine were friendship and lust Will I feel absolved at the moment when we have it solved? Still it's never enough Lines fade out, but you illuminate the path back home, the path you've shown me

all your friends / new magiks / everybody gets a piece (2018)

i. all your friends

Habits tend to crystallize Did you waste it in the dark? Why were you sure it was real? you let all your friends tell you how to feel The archetypes; the ideal will soon embrace you when you let yourself heal Who are we to cauterise bleeding hearts that synchronise? Did he/she waste you in the dark? Choose your friends just to canonize you, as you let them fantasize

ii. new magiks

I'm watching the mirror crack to face my addiction This all feels a little strange, (A life fearing fiction) I better step outside It's all fine, from the shoreline The weight crushing down my heart, you don't want it, you don't wanna know A head full of dying stars, the shoulders that bear the load The wave crashes down on my heart You don't wanna know My mind's a rogue nation Just look how we weaponise carnal accusation It's all fine, a drop in the skyline Make it hurt Percolate emotion Boys/Girls lost to the ocean drown You were the bright newcomer I fucked you up that summer I didn't know, you let me know my mind is loaded

iii. everybody gets a piece

In time you'll grow, I fucking hope I'm outside looking in at all the time we're putting in Think I know what it means I won't say the right things just to open doors Don't waste your time in the studio I've been told to beg, steal and borrow I'm told it's not the way to go Nobody listens to the radio Everybody gets a piece Did you honestly say it might have been me? But all this while did you think of me, you know All this while, we were pure potential energy, dreaming Don't ask, you'll never get You never asked so you never got nothing Did you get all you wanted from me? You don't ask so you'll never receive Can't lose when you're playing for free

#sentence meme #long post #area 11 #inbox meme #roleplay meme #ask meme #askbox meme

18 notes · View notes

butterscotch-cookie · 3 years ago

Note

How come you disappear for a random amount of days and then post 1 thing and then leave again? Not trying to be mean, just wondering.

Depression and stress mostly

When you have depression you tend to have a lot more ‘off days’ where you just dont feel yourself and want to sleep forever. And i still have school and edgenuity. Also, in school we’re looking at what courses and electives to do for next year so thats got me a bit worked up because ive never CHOSEN my own classes before.

Psats are happening on wednesday for juniors so anyone not doing that is allowed to stay home so thats nice. A few more weeks after that and we have another break. After break its about a month n a half before summer vacation so ill be more open then hopefully.

But all of this stuff results in me being too tired or lazy to write or just getting writers block entirely. I also havent been able to draw as much because of the same reasons. I try my best to do what i can but sometimes i just get completely stuck and i cant do anything but wait it out. I have a record of posting smth, disappearing for some time, and then posting another thing and disappearing again.

Theres some days when i feel better and more hyped and those are days i can get more than 1 piece of writing or art done. Speaking of which, another reason i dont post as much and disappear for days on end. Its rare i can do more than 1 or 2 things in a day because it takes up all my energy. So i have to make a choice. Spend my energy writing for someone on the internet, or spend my energy doing something i enjoy more (I really love writing but some things are above it).

Im both sorry and not sorry i cant be writing here everyday. Im sorry because i hate to keep people waiting, especially when im one of the few exclusive fluff writers. But im also not sorry because i need time for myself or ill get too overwhelmed again and again and again. I write when i want to. Not when other people want me to.

Creators feel more inclined to NOT do something the more people push them to. Thats why i ask people to not do that to me. I love to write and dont like being pushed away from it, especially if its a fandom im hyperfixated on. Its really discouraging because it seems like people only care about the content rather than the creator. We arent here to serve your every whim and demand. Luckily for me, it hasnt happened at all yet, ive had people tell me to rest instead and im super grateful. I love communities who take care of each other like that so im glad to be apart of it and im glad i get to write for them.

#not a oneshot #long post #butterscotch rambles

0 notes

haeroniel-doliet · 4 years ago

Text

Hnghhh why does it require e f f o r t and p a t i e n c e and p r a c t i c e to get good at art????? I need to be good immediately and things i want to see appear at a snap of my fingers.......

Read more for what became an accidental full rant about why ive yet to post anything besides that one thing idkkkk

Aka im TRYING to be good and practice little by little but its BORING and difficult to not get immediate reward.... Also because for whatever reason i really dont wanna watch tutorials so im tryna be all self taught kinda and im OBVIOUSLY making a lot of mistakes like its part of the process but its FRUSTRATING

Basically im on my 6th??? Idk restart attempt at the same fennec portrait and its. Okay. Its at a point where im like nice as long as i suffer over the details here itll be decent ish. Probably.

But its not REWARDING.....

I know i want to do screencaps and character and face studies to get to the point of good art i wish i could be but .... I also just wanna draw like fun fic scenes and silly doodles of characters like some of the cool artists i follow do but i CANT because im not GOOD ENOUGH yet. ;(((((((

Yea i could post sketches or whatver i manage in a night but like who the fuck wants to follow that? Nah... I just idk. I DONT KNOW i dont know what my art goals are (i do, but DO I??)

My brain also obviously doesnt work very well visually which is GREAT so like, any original work its a lot like 'i'll know its right when i see it' but getting next to no other direction and you just gotta be like right. Okay uhhh my anatomy skills are stunted from when i was like 16?? Perspective?? Detail?? WHATS THE COLOR SCHEME

Never mind that i just... Dont understand the program or brushes that well idk why. Krita should be good and im too stressed to experiment different softwares.... BLEGH

i just. Part of me aches to go back to traditional for a bit but i just, dont have the means to make the scale of work i want ro produce with traditional materials yknow?? Maybe i should try just sketching scanning and then lining on computer again idk. At least for some of these face things.

Ok so my GOAL is to always have a very recognizable face. Like. I guess i cant hold myself to photorealism standards because hahahhah id die! But like, i want the face to be looked at and go ah yes! Its that guy! That actress! My friend! Me! Whoever! But like, recognizable. Because i know i CAN thats what i do! Thats all ive been good at !!!!

And like yeah i could hone that, yknow? Work on face studies and mini portraits of all my favourite actors and scenes and shit. Cool right?? Yeahh that could be sickaroni macaroni. People like faces they can recognize and good refined work. I can do that

But i want to be MORE

Id love love love to make like. Scenic paintings. Concept art level atmosphere and color and light and presence and as tory telling yknow?? Id like to substitute the literally colorless fog inside my head into vivid scenes. Id like to try and take the fics that in my head are set in ??? Space with some movement here and there and just idk emotions? Into fleshed out SCENES with backdrops and accurate anatomy and WEIGHT and like, everything incredible that i admire in true art.

But thats hard, yknow? I havent really ever done backgrounds and what i have have been so flat. I dont KNOW how to do that (here i would be willing to have a teacher i think but. Im tired. I cant even seek out a short term therapist for myself how am i gonna find the kind of teacher i want?? Because of course i want them to teach me how to achieve whata inside my dreams and not what they know how to do ykno)

Yeah so i want to try and paint screencaps in the meantime. See if i cant struggle my way to fit this putty of skill into a square box. Like i think i can paint. Digitally? Somewhat idk?? Maybe if i just. Keep trying itll work out?? Start with simpler ones and build up to complexity??

But also. If im juat trying to get myself to love art again, why am i trying to throw myself in the deep end of struggling with something im not good at?? Shouldnt i be just refining what i already know? Like. A character! Standing. Maybe in a cooler pose if going crazy. Refining basic anatomy. How does fabric work? How does hair work? Can i make expressions seem realistic?

Next step, could i make a picture of someone without direct reference?? Like. Could i draw maybe a wee dinluke holding eachother or whatever and like. Just. Do it?? Without doing a version of photoshopping two pics of the actors through art together. Idk.

Also NONE of this makes sense to anyone outside my head and im SORRY

Like i dont even have a resolution at the end here!!! Im just FRUSTRATED!!!

I wanna draw, i wanna have results and success and rewarding experiences. But i also want ro challenge myself and do super complex shit and like really push myself to learn impressive difficult shit and be proud of down the line.

Im so tired. I cant even feel ok drawing without having someone on call with me to alleviate the immense pressure of frustration and anxiety and stress and struggle!!

I just. Wanna enjoy it

Okay fine i need to find a show or smth to 'watch'

And tomorrow? I might whip out a sketchbook thats been last used 8 years ago and. Ignore everything in it hahhaha its bad

But no im gonna. Im gonna draw scenes. With minimal reference

I might make a face collage i definitely wanna for pascal and mar camel

But im gonna put PENCIL to PAPER and get to the roots of MY HAND CAN DRAW just give her a chance, and get your brain outta the game.

Ok so fuck me this rant has to end here or ill never stop

If you read this (i dont expect ANYONE to have) send me like a message or whatever lol imma need to ask if youre ok <3

#art woes #ended up being way too long OOPS #im just really TIRED and FRUSTRATED #take a peek in my brain #bless this mess or whatever

0 notes

dirtycreekwater · 8 years ago

Note

(Im sorry if i sent too many!! I was on a roll and love this idea of child!verge) On yeah, Logan teaching virgil things. Like just simple words and such. Mess about with Rubik's cubes and reading. More then once Patton found them cuddled up with a book nearby. Patton teaching verge how to eat. Jes a fussy baby, but Patton's actions and noises are too funny. Roman teaching him to write and draw. He makes all the cute pictures to stick on the fridge and makes princely v proud.

this kinda gave me a good minuscule plot idea bless 👏🏻

tag list: @softbludemon @justanotherpurplebutterfly @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @bubblycricket @i-just-punched-malfoy @the-laarmy @i-am-a-fander @amazable01 @myboyvirgil @silverglimse-productions @tinyten19 @mewsicalmiss @of-swords-and-princes @sabriel-fanboy-83 @thatcrazyrandom (again really sorry if ive missed anyone. also gonna tag @pippa-frost cos i just now remembered that at one point you said you wanted to be tagged in all fics & you’ve drawn child!Virgil so i figured you’d wanna see this. you’re now officially on my tag list. sorry for forgetting!!)

The longer Virgil was a child the more frustrated, and worried Logan became. Physically Virgil stayed the same, but mentally he seemed to keep regressing. Logan felt like Virgil himself panicking, and jumping to conclusions. He needed to discuss this with the other two elder sides so while Virgil napped in his room Logan called them to the common room.

“What’s up with you, nerd?”

Logan sighed, and pulled at his hair as he desperately tried to resist his urge to strangle the prince.

“What’s up is you, and your ridiculous fantasy world getting us into this mess!”

Roman sighed, and sat next to Logan.

“Logan, I am working on fixing it, okay? I can only do so much.”

Logan groaned, and stood up so suddenly it startled the other two.

“And what if you’re too late? Virgil seems to be regressing more and more the longer he’s a child. His speech has become far more baby like. I’ve had to remind him what simple words mean, and read to him more often. Yes, I’ve read to him when he was an adult, but he hardly understands anything! What if he’s stuck like this, Roman?! Ever think about that being a possibility?!”

Roman stood up, and faced the panicked side.

“Geez, Logan. Calm down. You of all people should know that ‘what ifs’ are not helpful in these situations.”

Logan chewed his lip nervously, and looked at Roman. He wasn’t sure why, but there were tears forming in his eyes, and he felt incredibly stupid.

“You.. are correct. I.. I apologize. Just.. keep trying. We need Virgil back.”

Roman’s harsh demeanor immediately crumbled at the sight of the usually put together side so distraught. He reached out to hug him, but stopped himself.

“Logan… I am doing everything in my power to get him back. Just.. keep teaching him things. I’ll go back to my dream world now. Everything will be okay.”

Logan sighed, and wiped his eyes under his glasses.

“Yes, well, go on then. I will wait for Virgil to wake up, and continue the lesson I’ve made for him.”

As if on cue a tiny sleepy voice spoke up behind them.

“I don wanna do more learny things.”

Patton, and Roman giggled at the adorableness despite Logan’s increasing frustration.

“We’ll do something easy today, okay? Come on.”

Logan walked over to the very sleepy Virgil, and picked him up. Virgil immediately nuzzled his face into Logan’s neck, and yawned. Logan sighed, and sat at the dining room table placing Virgil in his lap.

“Look, Verge. We can read some of these books. They’re easy.”

Virgil glared at the books then at the other sides that were staring at him adoringly.

“No.”

Roman chuckled, and muttered a “good luck” as he sunk down. Patton smiled at them then sunk down to his own room. Logan muttered indignantly to himself which made Virgil giggle.

“Oh yeah my pain is so funny to you isn’t it?”

Virgil nodded, and grinned at him. Something that was quite rare for him to do even when in child form. Logan couldn’t help smiling.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable, Virgil.”

Once the word “adorable” left Logan’s mouth Virgil stopped giggling, and glared at Logan. Logan merely chuckled, and opened one of the books on the table. Which he’s come to learn was one of child Virgil’s favorites. Moonlight: The Halloween Cat.

“Think you can read the first line for me?”

Virgil took a moment to scan the words on the page then softly read aloud, “M-Moonlight loves the night. I-It is her favorite time..”

Logan proudly beamed at Virgil, and urged him to continue.

Once Virgil finished the whole book, with a bit of Logan’s help, he yawned while rubbing his eyes tiredly. Logan chuckled, and grabbed another book as he stood up.

“Still tired?”

Virgil nodded, and curled up to Logan with his thumb in his mouth. Logan silently chided himself for finding this so adorable as he moved to lay on the couch. Once he got them in a comfortable position, with Virgil laying on top of him curled up against his chest, he pulled Virgil’s thumb out of his mouth earning a small whine.

“Thumb sucking isn’t healthy, Virgil. Now let’s read one more book, and then you can sleep, okay? I suppose we can just work on improving your hand-eye coordination another time.”

Virgil nodded sleepily, and mumbled something Logan couldn’t understand.

“What was that?”

“You rwead to me. I too sweepy.”

Logan’s heart swelled, but he chose to ignore it as he opened the book to begin reading.

About five minutes later Virgil was asleep, and Logan found himself drifting off as well. He tried to fight it off, but he was warm & content with Virgil in his arms so he let his exhaustion consume him.

Some time later Patton popped back up into the common room to find Logan, and Virgil curled up together still sleeping with a children’s book long forgotten, and abandoned on the floor. He tried really hard to contain his squeals, and used his phone to snap some pictures. There was no way he was letting this be forgotten. It was too cute.

The next day Logan decided it was Patton’s turn to teach Virgil something.

“Patton your child is a ridiculously messy eater. That’s child, and adult Virgil. I’ve been teaching him things related to cognitive thinking. You, being the father figure, should be teaching him proper etiquette.”

Patton couldn’t help giggling at the thought of his child always making big messes, but nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, okay I can do that, teach!”

So, come dinner time, Patton placed Virgil into his lap so he could help him.

“Look, Verge this is a fork. Or a dinglehopper like in the Little Mermaid! But we don’t brush our hair with it. It helps us eat! Try it.”

Virgil scowled at the tiny fork in his hand then smirked as he realized exactly what Patton was trying to do. He calmly placed the fork down, and picked his food up with his hands as he smugly stated a simple, “No.”

Logan, and Patton sighed as Roman giggled like an idiot.

“What if we do it like this, kiddo?”

Patton took the fork, scooped some food up, and started making airplane noises as he moved it towards Virgil’s mouth. Virgil tried to lean away from Patton as much as he could without falling off his lap.

Virgil whined, “Nooooo!” but Patton sounded ridiculous so he couldn’t help letting a few giggles escape. Patton giggled along with him, and gave up trying to feed him.

“Alright, kiddo. We’ll work on this tomorrow at breakfast. Just eat.”

Logan groaned, and frowned disapprovingly at Patton. Virgil smirked evilly at the logical side. Logan narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. Patton noticed this so he looked at Virgil to see what Logan was so suspicious about, but Virgil immediately turned his smirk to an innocent smile.

Patton shrugged, and let it go. Roman giggled to himself some more as he secretly observed everything.

After dinner Roman scooped Virgil up, ignoring his protests, and brought him to his room.

“Sorry, Verge, but I wanted to help you with something!”

Virgil scowled at the prince, but said nothing silently urging him to explain.

“So, Logan told me about your paint incident, and while it sounded like an adorable incident you really shouldn’t do it again. So! I’m going to teach you how to draw, and paint neatly!”

Virgil shrugged so Roman took that as an okay, and set him in his desk chair. He then went over to his closet, and pulled out his art supplies.

“Do you want to use crayons or paint first?”

Virgil paused to think then made grabby hands for the big pack of crayons.

“Cwayons.”

Roman smiled, and set the crayons down next to the mini sketchbook he gave Virgil.

“Think you can draw a cat for me, Verge?”

Virgil nodded, and immediately pulled the black crayon out then focused on his task.

Roman watched intently until he noticed Virgil shift around uncomfortably. So, to make Virgil more comfortable Roman pulled up another chair, and pulled out his own sketchbook to start drawing with him. He didn’t miss the adorable little grateful smile Virgil tried to hide.

About five minutes later Virgil set his crayon down, and hid his drawing against his chest. Roman paused his own drawing, and turned to face Virgil.

“May I see the little artist’s masterpiece?”

Virgil blushed profusely, and reluctantly shoved the sketchbook into Roman’s hands. Roman chuckled then gasped once he turned it over.

“Aw, Verge. This is amazing! I like his purple eyes, and plaid patches. Is it supposed to be you? His fur looks like your hoodie.”

Virgil shrugged as he blushed more at the compliments.

“N-No, I-I just like the design, and I th-thought it’d look cool on a cat.”

Suddenly a light bulb went off in Roman’s head.

“Give me.. one moment, Verge.”

Roman looked thoughtful for a moment, confusing Virgil, then snapped his fingers. A cat plushy that looked similar to Virgil’s drawing appeared in his hands. He smirked proudly at his little creation, and handed it to Virgil.

“There now he or she is real.”

Virgil hid his smile by quickly tackle hugging Roman, and burying his face into his chest. Roman chuckled, and held him for a little while.

The two spent the rest of the evening drawing, and painting. Roman of course making sure Virgil didn’t make a giant mess which he was surprisingly successful in doing.

Eventually Virgil started to become sleepy so Roman picked him up, and sunk down to his own room to put him down for bed.

He read him a quick bedtime story then placed the cat plushy, which he called Cat Skellington, in his arms. He left once Patton came in to tuck him in, and say good night.

Once Roman returned to his room he cleaned up the art supplies then climbed into his own bed, and fell asleep as he thought of more ways he could potentially get their normal Virgil back.

The next day Roman picked Virgil up so he could place his drawings on the fridge right next to the paintings he previously made a mess with that Patton proudly put there.

After trying to ignore Roman’s proud praises while hiding his blush Virgil let Patton help him eat his breakfast properly.

Logan smiled, feeling his heart swell with pride, as he watched all of this unfold before him. They really needed normal Virgil back before things got any worse, but in the moment this all felt okay.

child!Virgil will be the death of me he’s just so freakin adorably chaotic

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #lamp sanders #child!virgil #olisfics

328 notes · View notes

sassiperere · 8 years ago

Text

Sex Tape

Title: Sex Tape Pairing: Akira Kurusu/Ryuji Sakamoto Rating: M (implied sexual content) Word Count: 3712 Summary: futaba gets a hold of some compromising information and it all goes downhill from there (chatfic)

Fucking i dont even REMEMBER how we got to this conversation in the pegoryu discord server BUT WE DID and we semi rpd this whole thing at 11pm all the way through midnight and i was writing this thing based on that conversation at like 2 am so im actually very embarrassed but anyway enjoy this fucking chaos of a fanfic

READ IT ON AO3

GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

MEMBERS: Capable Leader™, -` RYUJI ´-, ANN~, Yusuke K., Makoto, [hacker voice].

TODAY 00:47 AM

[hacker voice]: Gee, futaba, what do you do with all your amazing hacking skills?

[hacker voice]: I leak government secrets, destroy anonymous organizations and hack into my old neopets account because I forgot the password and I wanted to feel nostalgic

Makoto: What’s that?

[hacker voice]: children’s website. You had to adopt a “neopet” and raise it kinda like a Tamagotchi. It had some really fun features like games and events and shit. It really kept me entertained when I was younger

[hacker voice]: comfort site, if you will.

Makoto: Sounds nice!

Capable Leader™: you played that? I thought it was really boring when I tried

[hacker voice]: with all due respect wtf is wrong with you?

Capable Leader™: I dunno, all the neopets looked kinda ugly…

[hacker voice]: you have a dick with tentacles as a persona and you’re calling neopets ugly????

Capable Leader™: I never said Mara was pretty

[hacker voice]: point taken

[hacker voice]: but like my point is

[hacker voice]: kacheeks

Capable Leader™: They were kinda cute but I abandoned one for a soy sauce or whatever was that dragon one

[hacker voice]: that’s it

[hacker voice]: that’s where I draw the line

[hacker voice]: you’re dead to me

[hacker voice]: I’m leaking your nudes

Capable Leader™: WTF?? HOW DO YOU HAVE THEM?? I DON’T EVEN HIDE THEM IN MY PHONE ANYMORE??

[hacker voice]: oh my god you actually have nudes?

Capable Leader™: oh…

Capable Leader™: woops…

ANN~: knew it

ANN~: @ -` RYUJI ´- pay the fuck up

-` RYUJI ´-: wtf? WTF??? WTF AKIRA???

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE NUDES??

-` RYUJI ´-: ARE THEY YOURS OR LIKE NUDES YOU RECEIVED?

Capable Leader™: Listen

[hacker voice]: update I got them

Capable Leader™: do you really?

[hacker voice]: four of them were taken on the same day cause your nails were painted black and the other two are from a different angle and your underwear has paw prints on it

Capable Leader™: fuck.

-` RYUJI ´-: FOR REAL??

Makoto: Excuse me what kind of nonsense is going on right now?

[hacker voice]: I hacked into Akira’s PC and got his super secret dick pix

Makoto: I expected better from both of you

ANN~: Guys I’m heer im just slaughging so hard I cant se

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?? WHO ARE YOU SENDING THEM TO??

Capable Leader™: does it matter who I send my genitals to?

-` RYUJI ´-: UH YEAH?? I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE WORRIED ABOUT THIS CAN I??

Yusuke K.: What seems to be the matter?

-` RYUJI ´-: AKIRAS BEEN SENDING NUDES TO STRANGERS AND FUTABA GOT THEM

Yusuke K.: Akira I did not know you had nude portraits of yourself

Yusuke K.: You should have informed me. I would gladly appraise them.

Yusuke K.: I would love to paint you too, if you so desire. I’m sure your form is marvelous to capture on canvas.

-` RYUJI ´-: dude…

ANN~: I FEEL BAD THAT IM LAUGHING

Makoto: @Yusuke K. it’s really not what you think…

[hacker voice]: ryuji are you

[hacker voice]: jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealous?

PRIVATE MESSAGE: the blonde fuckboy one

the blonde fuckboy one: yo futaba

the blonde fuckboy one: do you actually for real have akiras dick there?

You: YOU ARE I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS

the blonde fuckboy one: stfu

You: yeah I do have akira’s nudes for real, here I’ll send you a sneaky preview as proof

You sent AKIRA_NUDE_1_CENSOR.jpeg

the blonde fuckboy one: oh my god

You: interested in the full, uncensored ver? For a mere fee of 400y you can have it

the blonde fuckboy one: no wtf im not gonna do that to my bro akira

the blonde fuckboy one: but how big is he

You: im speechless

the blonde fuckboy one: is he bigger than me?

You: dunno need material to compare

the blonde fuckboy one: ok

the blonde fuckboy one: wait

the blonde fuckboy one: youre gonna threaten to leak mine too fuck you

You: worth a shot

PRIVATE MESSAGE: Emo Bob Ross

Emo Bob Ross: Hello, Futaba, I am interested in Akira’s nude portraits. Are you perhaps offering them?

Emo Bob Ross: Ryuji did say Akira was sending them off to strangers so I would imagine he has no quarrel with me evaluating it.

Emo Bob Ross: Should I pick them up at Leblanc?

You: I don’t even know where to start

Emo Bob Ross: Any of them would be fine. It would be difficult to take multiple ones to the dorms regardless.

You: I feel bad now

Emo Bob Ross: ?

You: yusuke… you should go to bed…

You: you’re typing a lot please don’t make this into an art rant thing

Emo Bob Ross: Futaba must I explain once again that nude portraits have no perverted undertones and are about the portrayal of the human being stripped of all it’s factors back down to it’s core, thus revealing it’s innermost self? The true self. The self an artist so desperately seeks to represent and very few up to this date have been successful. My eternal search for the perfect and realest form has me in need of diverse- both physically and spiritually – models that are willing to bare their very souls to me. I am not looking at this experience as a lustful, carnal desire. I would never dare take advantage of someone who has been brave enough to let me gaze upon their being so intimately for the sake of art. We have been through this. I have been through this with several people, in actuality, I’m starting to get a little tired of explaining this over and over again but for the sake of deconstruction of societal standards that block my advancement in the unexplored road to artistic perfection I will gladly do so.

You: holy shit

You: im sorry yusuke but its 1 am im just skimming through this

You: the thing is not that I doubt your passion to your study of the arts

You: the thing is that what I have… is not art…

Emo Bob Ross: I’ll be the judge of that

Emo Bob Ross: Not to offend you but I have a trained eye

You: you know what

You: do you have 400y? For that much you can have the digital copy. Physical copy is gonna be at least 600 depending on the material

Emo Bob Ross: I’m low on cash but I’ll keep you in mind if I manage to rake in the money.

GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

[hacker voice]: @Capable Leader™ lets make a deal

[hacker voice]: give me a copy of every nude you make willingly and I wont leak these

Capable Leader™: why tf would I do that

[hacker voice]: cause your dick is magical and I’ll split the spoils 20/80

Makoto: Stop this at once. There’s no way this deal is good news. Akira knows this.

Capable Leader™: I demand at LEAST 50/50

Makoto: AKIRA

[hacker voice]: I deserve more?? I’m doing ALL the work?

Capable Leader™: It’s MY dick??

-` RYUJI ´-: he’s right tho… the dick is like 90% of a man’s identity…

ANN~: Whats the other 10%?

-` RYUJI ´-: the balls

ANN~: I’m sorry I asked

[hacker voice] 40/60 is the MAX im willing to go and that’s me being GENEROUS because I recognize you have magic juju dick pix that already fished in two possible buyers

[hacker voice]: and also youre my friend and I love you

-` RYUJI ´-: I never said I’d buy it???

[hacker voice]: sigh

Capable Leader™: Ryuji…

-` RYUJI ´-: UH

Capable Leader™: Bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: I MEAN

Capable Leader™: If you wanted my nudes…

-` RYUJI ´-: I ALSO ENVER SAID I ASKED FUTABA FOR THEM DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA

Capable Leader™: You just had to ask…

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE BIGGER THAN ME THAT’S A MAN THING

-` RYUJI ´-: wait really

ANN~: omfg

Makoto: I feel like this conversation is about to get very intimate

Yusuke K.: I would like to request permission to ask for your nudes as well, Akira

Capable Leader™: oh

Capable Leader™: well that’s a surprising turn of events

Yusuke K.: I fail to see how that surprises you considering you know how I am a fan of the erotica genre and it’s artistic disposition to strip a human bare to it’s very core.

-` RYUJI ´-: no dude…

-` RYUJI ´-: like this is not the nude art thing you keep talking about...

-` RYUJI ´-: this is like

Capable Leader™: (implying I’m not art)

[hacker voice]: touché

-` RYUJI ´-: a dick pic

-` RYUJI ´-: like its just a picture of his dick taken with his phone camera that’s it

Yusuke K.: Well, anything can be art! Art is subjective! I would like to evaluate the photograph!

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN MAN, AKIRA DIDN’T TAKE THAT PICTURE TO BE ARTSY, TRUST ME.

Makoto: Yusuke I strongly advise against this

Makoto: If anyone online offers to send you “a nude” please do not accept it…

Yusuke K.: It does intrigue me why anyone would simply want a picture of someone else’s genitalia when you could get the full view…

Makoto: remain intrigued

Makoto: not everything in life needs to be understood

Capable Leader™: Hey Futaba, I accept payment in Ryuji’s nudes as well

[hacker voice]: the contract has been sealed

-` RYUJI ´-: WTF AKIRA

-` RYUJI ´-: I DIDN’T CONSENT TO THIS

Capable Leader™: Come on, Ryuji… my bro…

Capable Leader™: This is just a bro thing…

Capable Leader™: Whomst amongst us never seen their best bro’s dick?

Capable Leader™: You’re my best bro, Ryuji… I wanna get to know every part of you…

Makoto: this is a public chat

[hacker voice]: gross

Capable Leader™: The very deep and intimate connection between two bros is nothing to hide, Makoto…

ANN~: You should hang out and deepen your bond

[hacker voice]: don’t think I don’t know what youre doing ann, that’s cheating

ANN~: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: If you wanted MY nudes bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: you could have just asked, bro….

Makoto: I can’t believe this is a thing that is happening right now

ANN~: ive turned off the TV this group chat is too lit for me to take my eyes off it

Makoto: it’s 2 am we should prepare to bed

Capable Leader™: [MESSAGE DELETED]

[hacker voice]: FUCK

ANN~: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS IM RAKING IT IN TONIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

ANN~: WAIT WHAT

Capable Leader™: what? I didn’t delete that?

ANN~: FUTABA THATS CHEATING!!

[hacker voice]: YOU CHEATED FIRST! YOU INSTIGATED HIM!

ANN~: I INSTIGATED THE IDEA BUT NOT WHO WOULD BE SAYING IT???

[hacker voice]: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ANN~: SAY IT AGAIN AKIRA

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´- come over

[hacker voice]: I hate that im partially to blame for this

-` RYUJI ´-: woah akira

ANN~: no bitch no matter how this conversation went it would end the same way cause im ALWAYS RIGHT

ANN~: I’m making it rain Monday morning. I’m taking Shiho to that fancy cake place she wanted to go.

-` RYUJI ´-: isn’t it kinda late for that??

Capable Leader™: I’m alone and Boss doesn’t open shop tomorrow

Capable Leader™: I can show you the goods myself

Capable Leader™: You know?

-` RYUJI ´-: SDSDMX,X CM SALÇ DAÇSD

-` RYUJI ´-: DID YOUJUST BOOTY CALL ME??

Capable Leader™ sent MAYBESO.gif

-` RYUJI ´-: BRO

Makoto: Gross innuendos publicly aside: finally

Makoto: It was getting frustrating seeing you two obviously pinning on each other

[hacker voice]: and don’t even talk about the baton passes…

Capable Leader™: I mean he hasn’t accepted yet…

ANN~: oh he will

ANN~: he better

-` RYUJI ´-: why should you decide

ANN~: cause as your best friend I know whats best for you and I know for a damn fact you will not get a better score than akira

-` RYUJI ´-: thanks I love you too

ANN~: FUCKING LOOK AT HIM! HE’S OFFERING HIMSELF ON A SILVER PLATTER!

-` RYUJI ´-: THIS IS REALLY AWKWARD FOR ME MAN…

ANN~: don’t embarrass yourself in front of your crush like that

Capable Leader™: I like when they get shy

ANN~: oh my god youre such a slut

Capable Leader™: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

ANN~: WHAT ARE YOU DOING STILL IN THE CHATROOM GO ANSWER THE GOD DAMNED BOOTY CALL ALREADY

-` RYUJI ´-: IM REALLY NERVOUS OK

ANN~: RYUJI YOU USELESS BISEXUAL

-` RYUJI ´-: GDI

Capable Leader™: you don’t have to come for real it was just a joke

ANN~: wait really?

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´-

Capable Leader™: wait is he actually coming??

[hacker voice]: yeah he left 5 mins I traced his phone rn

Capable Leader™: oh fuck…..

ANN~: was it actually a joke??

Capable Leader™: No I just didn’t think I’d actually get this far??

ANN~: YOURE BOTH USELESS BISEXUALS AND I HATE YOU

Yusuke K.: Akira may I join you both? If you’re willing to model for me I will certainly not pass on this opportunity

Makoto: Please don’t.

Capable Leader™: oh my god yusuke

Capable Leader™: not today

Capable Leader™: maybe some other day

Capable Leader™: wink wink

Yusuke K.: I understand. Take all the time you need but please consider my request.

[hacker voice]: I can’t believe Ryuji’s about to get the succ

[hacker voice]: according to my gps ryuji should already be at leblanc??

Capable Leader™: oh he’s here alright. Just nervously prancing in front of my front door.

Capable Leader™: I haven’t called to him yet, let a man be ready

Capable Leader™: (I also don’t know if im fully ready so…)

ANN~: oh grl you got this

ANN~: you’ve been training all your life for this

ANN~: besides its not like hes gonna know the difference between a good bj and a bad bj lol

Capable Leader™: youre right

Capable Leader™: but I also you know, care about him a lot

Capable Leader™: I wanna make this a good experience cause I care about ryuji a lot… like in a very gay way…

ANN~: Aww!! :)

Makoto: I want to take no part in this conversation but that was adorable

ANN~: srsly im talking to ryuji rn on private and hes freaking out cause of the same thing

ANN~: wants it to be really good to you bc he loves you sm and youre so hot and hes already semi just thinking abt you

Capable Leader™: I’m flattered

ANN~: he’s super overwhelmed cause its his first time and with a boy he loves so like admsadsa damn ryuji youre so cute

ANN~: almost makes my cold blooded bitch heart feel something

Capable Leader™: I’ll give him all the time he needs!

ANN~: you should really open the door for him and at least put him inside cause its cold and there was a robbery in your street earlier this week

ANN~: and you know ryuji hell stubbornly stand in front of that store until the sun comes up if hes wallowing in nerves

Capable Leader™: youre right…

Capable Leader™: im gonna go do that…

Capable Leader™: @[hacker voice] if you have any cameras in my room turn them off!

[hacker voice]: for how much?

Capable Leader™: FUTABA, PLEASE.

[hacker voice]: calm down theyre already off. Havent been on since we became friends.

[hacker voice]: just thought youd like to have your fond memories engraved on tape for your enjoyment…

Capable Leader™: …

Capable Leader™: that’s… tempting

Makoto: are you out of your mind??

ANN~: YOU’RE SUCH A SLUT, AKIRA

Makoto: God, you’re hopeless. At least talk it over with Ryuji first.

Capable Leader™: I just did. He’s cool with it.

Makoto: Somehow I feel like this is an oversimplification of the conversation.

Capable Leader™ changed his username to Tapable Leader <3

Tapable Leader <3 changed the group name to AKIRA & RYUJI’S SEX TAPE

Makoto: I’m leaving.

Makoto: Only talk to me when you want to group up from now on.

-` RYUJI ´-: I ONLY AGREED WITH IT IF ONLY ME AND AKIRA GET A COPY!!

-` RYUJI ´-: ITS ONLY FAIR CONSIDERING YOU’RE ALREADY SELLING AKIRA’S NUDES!!

[hacker voice]: I’ll make three copies of the sex tape

[hacker voice]: 600y each

[hacker voice]: first come first serve

[hacker voice]: no reservations

[hacker voice]: you show me the money the tape is yours

[hacker voice]: those are my terms

Tapable Leader <3: even if Ryuji and I get copies there’ll still be one in the wild for someone to buy?

ANN~: isn’t that thrilling tho

ANN~: one other stranger youll never know about can be watching you

ANN~: and if futaba agrees to take down any reuploads of the tape its like your very own secret but like… shared with a stranger… that’s a kink isn’t it??

[hacker voice]: yure right…

Tapable Leader <3: holy shit

Makoto: This is so irresponsible…

[hacker voice]: thought you wanted no part in this?

Makoto: I can’t simply not take part. You guys are worse unsupervised…

Tapable Leader <3: Futaba, it’s a deal if mine and Ryuji’s copies are free of charge

[hacker voice]: fair enough

Tapable Leader <3: nice. We’re going upstairs now.

[hacker voice]: camera’s ready!

ANN~: lmao I cant believe this is actually happening

Makoto: so much for reputable thieves…

Makoto: I swear if this sex tape leaks and we get found out because of it…

Makoto: What’s worse! Akira’s on probation! That will most definitely spell trouble for him depending on who gets their hands on this tape!

ANN~: Guess we have no choice but to buy it ourselves!

Makoto: Or don’t do the sex tape?! At all?!

ANN~: Nothing’s gonna happen, Makoto! Chillax!

ANN~: How can they possibly trace a video of Akira sucking Ryuji off back to the phantom thieves?

ANN~: What kind of evidence even is this?

[hacker voice]: Akira’s jacked??? I didn’t know he worked out that much??

ANN~: he looks really skinny right?

ANN~: did ryuji come with his stupid neon pink and green watermelon bullshit panties?

[hacker voice]: they stopped to talk rn

[hacker voice]: ryujis like flipping

[hacker voice]: asking if akira had done this before

[hacker voice]: apparently akira has sucked “some dicks”

[hacker voice]: AT LEAST TWO ARE FROM HIS CLASS

Makoto: Do you really need to keep us updated?

ANN~: yes

Makoto: sigh

[hacker voice]: @ANN~ ryuji’s wearing the pink underwear

ANN~: god I hate those

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 burn them when youre done

[hacker voice]: I hate doing this. This is just like when you’re watching a movie and there’s a unnecessary kissing scene and the entire scene is like 3 minutes of uncomfortable schlepping kissing noises.

ANN~: yeah that must be pretty awkward

[hacker voice]: it is super awkward. Akira owes me one

[hacker voice]: oh my god

[hacker voice]: ryuji scared the crap outta me he legit screamed right now

[hacker voice]: I don’t even need mics for this ryuji’s so loud

ANN~: whaaat? Ryuji? Loud?? Who would have thought…

-` RYUJI ´-: IM SORRY OK IM REALLY LIVID HERE

ANN~: WTF???? WHAT AR EYOU DOING TEXTING US???

-` RYUJI ´-: IDK WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS!!

ANN~: YOURE USELESS. I CANT BELIEVE YOU.

Tapable Leader <3: you can pull my hair, its fine

ANN~: HOW ARE YOU TEXTING EVEN??

Makoto: It’s been a while since we got an update.

[hacker voice]: do you want em?

Makoto: No, I simply worry how long this is lasting.

[hacker voice]: it’s gotten to a really graphic point. I’m not even watching anymore, its really really awkward… if you want the full juice you’ll have to buy the tape!

[hacker voice]: oh theyre done

[hacker voice]: they just threw the dirty clothes on the floor and went straight to sleep

[hacker voice]: orgasming must be really tiring…

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- CONGRATS ON THE SECS!! We’re all really happy for you!! You guys deserve each other, really! If anyone says otherwise I’ll punch them!

Makoto: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- regardless of how reckless and utterly stupid this whole thing was, I’m genuinely glad you guys worked it out and are finally being honest with each other. It was awfully unhealthy for the team dynamic to watch you two dance around the issue of your attraction so, congratulations!

[hacker voice]: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- im not as good with expressing things as the other girls but im also happy I somehow brought you two together. Don’t worry I wont actually sell the sex tapes to anyone btw

[hacker voice]: (or will i)

ANN~: omfg

[hacker voice]: Yusuke’s typing a lot im concerned

Yusuke K.: I did not fully grasp the concept of what was truly going on in this chat tonight but after extensive research and questioning Ann on certain topics I now understand. Futaba’s attempts at prostituting Akira have somehow led into a nuptial encounter between Akira and Ryuji, the kind of which both parties have been secretly interested in for a long time. I also congratulate you both in your achievement for the act of intimacy born from fondness and admiration is one of the truest forms of adoration our kind have come across. I only wish for more of these enjoyable moments and if any of you would be so kind as to model for me the most beautiful sensation of your endless love I would be very thankful.

[hacker voice]: holy shit

[hacker voice]: just looking at this is making my eyes heavy

[hacker voice]: im going to sleep folks

ANN~: same

ANN~: we have to wake up before ryuji and akira to surprise them at leblanc

ANN~: we’ll bring a congrats on the sex cake

[hacker voice]: I’m in

Makoto: guess it won’t hurt to check on them

Yusuke K.: I would love to discuss this over some cake!

ANN~: deal, then! Good night, thieves <3

-` RYUJI ´-: you fuckers are gonna see some dicks

ANN~: that’s the plan dapper dan

ANN~: now go to bed!

thx for your time i hope you enjoyed it ideas that we did in the rp and i couldnt find a way to put here: > futaba leaks the nudes on the phan site > mishima warns akira of the thing and says he has a nice package > akira gets arrested for publicly posting pornography and akechi recognized him by the dick > "whats wrong with a little dick pic" "its not little" > makoto buys a copy of the akira/ryuji sex tape and resells it at school > mishima buys a copy

#pegoryu #akiji #p5 #persona 5 #akira kurusu #takamaki ann #niijima makoto #yusuke kitagawa #akira/ryuji #futaba sakura #sassi do the write

28 notes · View notes