#i daresay that may just be a different case

[gibbearish]

inside you are two wolves. one is deeply paranoid about accidentally getting parasocial at people and also about trusting any internet personality anyways because so many of them turn out to be shitbags. the other is deeply paranoid about supressing its interests when it don't need to because it might have ocd and can't tell if its behavior is actually parasocial and it's just noticing it now or if this is just normal looking-up-to-someone-who-inspires-you behavior and it's just obsessing the compulsings, and furthermore thinks that with every shitbag it can think of, there's always been a trail of signs leading up to the breaking point that either got ignored or justified or forgotten, and it has yet to see a single sign or red flag despite being on high alert for them the whole time its been watching. you are a mentally ill hbomberguy fan.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Words of Wisdom

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Synopsis: After years of having feelings for your lieutenant, Soap convices you to confess how you feel.

Warnings: none

You and the 141 had just gotten back from a rather tough mission. The mission itself was a success, but you had seen things within the intel you recovered you wish you could unsee. You were investigating a gang that was notorious for killing and torturing perceived enemies. The things on the tapes you recovered showed just how much pleasure the members took when doing such things. 

The boys had seemed rather undisturbed by the images, or rather they hid their emotions better than you had. You were shaken to the core, and silent on the plane ride home. The boys had tried their best to comfort you, to no avail. 

It was a few days later when Soap had approached you with the idea of joining him and the team at the local bar. Figuring it would be a great way to let off some steam, you obliged. 

You and Soap were sitting at a table at the local bar, watching Price, Gaz, and Ghost take turns at darts. You found your eyes lingering on Ghost. You had grown quite fond of the man since you two had started working together. The two of you just "clicked." Often finding yourselves in each other's company and enjoying each other's humor. You'd daresay the two of you were good friends.

"You know, you should just tell L.T. how you feel. Might be more effective than making googly eyes at him all the time." Soap chided, grinning from ear to ear as he finished off his beer. The Scotsman knew of your feelings for Ghost and had for some time. He swore to keep the information to himself, but that didn't mean he wouldn't nudge you from time to time to spill the beans to the masked man.

"I can't." You groaned, throwing your head in your hands. "Not only is it not ethical, as he's my lieutenant, but what if he rejects me? Johnny, I don't know how we'd come back from that."

"Never know until you try Lassie. Who knows, he may return your feelings." 

"I don't know." You huffed.

"Look, all I'm saying is what's the harm in putting yourself out there. The two of you deserve to be happy. Worst case, if he happens to reject you, I doubt he'd treat you any different. Man can be an arse, but it's clear he has some sort of soft spot for you." Soap said as he squeezed your shoulder gently. 

"I just think maybe he feels like he doesn't deserve anyone to care about him. He barely lets us get close to him as is. It's taken me years to get a fraction of the walls he has up, down." 

"True, I think possibly he just doesn't know how not to be "Ghost." Soap smiled sadly. "Maybe he needs someone to show him how to be himself again, in a way a friend can't."

You chuckled slightly, "Who knew you had so much wisdom in you, Johnny? Perhaps I should get you some more beers. Who knows what other words of wisdom the great Soap McTavish has in store."

"Oh you have no idea." Soap laughed. 

"I'm gonna go grab some air, I'll be back." You said, standing up to stretch. The air had gotten too stuffy, and you knew if you stared at Ghost any longer it would become too obvious. 

You made your way past the rowdy patrons of the bar, toward the steps for the roof access. As you opened the door the gust of cold wind hit your face, making you shiver.

You stared out into the night sky, watching your breath evaporate into the cold air. You stood there for a while, letting your thoughts wander, distracting yourself to the point you didn't hear the door open and shut behind you.

"Bloody freezing out here." You turned at the voice and saw Ghost walking toward you, rubbing his hands together. His usual skull mask was replaced with a simple black balaclava while donning a loose black hoodie and jeans. 

"That it is. Feels nice, though. That bar was stuffy as hell." You chuckled. 

Ghost said nothing in reply, just nodded his head as he came to stand next to you. 

The two of you stood in silence for a short while before he spoke up. "Wanted to make sure you were okay. Still seem pretty shaken up after that mission."

"Yeah, I'm good. Was a rough one, so I had a few drinks to shake it off." You stated plainly, picking at the chipped paint of the roof's railing. "Just was weighing on my mind more than I should've let it."

"You seem to have more on your mind than just the mission, Sergeant. You've been quiet tonight." Simon's gaze on you was intense. You could feel it burning into the side of your head.

"Alcohol has a tendency to run my brain a mile a minute. Came up here to try and quiet out my thoughts." You admitted, turning to meet his gaze. As your eyes met, you could see his expression soften. "And you? Doing okay?"

"Another day on the job." He grunted in response. "I'm willing to provide an ear if you need someone to talk to. Not always the best at advice, but my ears work wonders."

You found yourself staring at each other for a few moments. His expression still softened from before. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the look he held in his eyes, but you found yourself growing confident, so you decided to go for it. You would go crazy if it had gone on any longer without him knowing. 

"Can I speak freely then? And not to my lieutenant, to Simon."

"Course?" Simon looked perplexed at your request, but waited for you to continue. To say he was nervous about what you were going to say was an understatement.

"I want you to know that I see you. I really see you." You started nervously. There was no turning back now for you. Thinking of the words Johnny had said, you knew what you wanted to say. The question was, how would Simon take it? 

"Pardon?" Simon was even more perplexed at this.

"What I mean is… you have this facade that you carry around, making people believe that you're just some cold, distant man. I see through that. I see past Ghost, and I see Simon. Someone who is so worthy of being loved and cared for, someone who deserves happiness. I worry that perhaps you lost sight of him. I just want you to know that even though you may not see yourself as worthy, I do." 

Simon tensed at your words as they replayed over and over in his head. What exactly was it that you were trying to tell him? You were right, though, he didn't see himself as worthy of anything. After all he's lost in his life, he doesn't think he deserves having anyone close to him. 

Sensing his internal struggle, you continued. "I'm trying, poorly, to tell you that I care for you more than just as a friend. I have for a while. I was always too nervous to tell you because I didn't know how you'd react. And, frankly, I didn't want to lose you as a friend. I'd rather have that than not have you in my life at all." Your confidence was starting to falter. You knew he may not have much to say in reply, but you weren't expecting total silence. 

Simon only continued to stare at you, his dark eyes scanning your face, betraying none of the emotions he was actually feeling inside. He did care for you as more than just a friend. He's loved you for years, but believed he never deserved to have you like that. He had always been okay just being friends, as that's all he thought he deserved. There were so many things he wanted to say, but no words could convey what he was thinking, and all he could do was watch as your face fell. 

"I um. I'm sorry. Perhaps that was highly inappropriate of me. I shouldn't have said anything. We can just forget this happened, yeah? I'll catch you in the morning, sir." You whispered out, your emotions now hitting you like a truck. You didn't want to cry in front of Simon and make an even bigger fool of yourself. You wished you hadn't said anything, fearing now that things would never be the same for the two of you. 

You turned to start walking toward the door when his voice grabbed your attention. "Y/N."

You turned back to look at him, only to see that he had removed his balaclava. You'd never seen him without his mask before, and you couldn't help the small gasp that emitted from your mouth. 

You walked slowly toward him, admiring his features. His eyes were even more vibrant without the hindrance of his mask. You could see the freckles dusting his skin and the redness in his cheeks from the cold. To you, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on. 

Simon remained still, his eyes watching your reactions carefully. He was nervous how you'd react to seeing his face, but he figured this gesture was the only way he could show you how he felt.

A small smile was growing on your lips as you reached your hand out slowly toward his face, waiting for a sign from him that it was okay to touch him. He gave you a curt nod, so you placed your hand softly on the side of his cheek. His skin was warm and softer than you had expected. He closed his eyes at your touch and leaned into your palm slightly. 

"You are so handsome, Simon Riley." You breathed, stroking his cheek lightly. 

He opened his eyes at your words and looked down at you. You had both stood there staring intently at one another until Simon leaned forward to place his lips on yours. You sighed at the contact, pressing yourself into him further as you reciprocated the kiss.

He pulled away moments later with a hint of a smile on his face. "What do you say I take you back to base, make you a cup of tea? Too bloody cold out here."

"After you, sir." You beamed up at him, your cheeks now burning red from not only the cold but from Simon's kiss. 

He took your hand before placing his balaclava back on, and led you back down to the exit of the bar. As you passed Soap, you could see him wink at you, while throwing you a thumbs up. 

~~~~

A/N: I'm not sure if I wanted to turn this into a smutty part two as well or just leave as is. Hope you all enjoyed it!

[general-cyno]

I'm caught up with manga rn so I wanted to share a few thoughts (ramblings) on egghead arc zolu too. first, this convo after the crew leave wano and find out abt what's gone down in the reverie, and wrt to vivi specifically,

I do agree with some stuff I've seen about how using ace here as an example was not exactly the best one since we know how that ended up. that said, I think it's lowkey sweet that zoro still remembers so clearly what luffy said back then and well, he's not entirely wrong.

as I've mentioned in other posts before, zoro takes the crew and his own role in it very seriously. these are his companions, his friends and family I daresay, and part of his duty as both crewmate and friend includes keeping them all check and safe whenever it's needed. especially luffy, as we've seen in different occasions (water 7, thriller bark, punk hazard, wano, just to name some arcs with relevant moments related to this). storming into marijoa, THE world government/navy stronghold, without any information and/or plan whatsoever is a bad idea all around.

luffy may be impulsive and stubborn at times, but he isn't really an idiot and he knows zoro's right even if he doesn't like it. hence this:

ngl I love how grumpy luffy is at zoro here. these two are usually on a similar wavelength but there are key moments where their approach to things differ, and it ultimately works bc it's kind of... a complementary thing. making up for what the other lacks or needs to hear in those moments. I believe they bicker relatively less than other straw hats do in comparison (precisely bc of how similar they are imo) but it's funny when it actually happens. I can so easily picture luffy here fuming and stomping like a brat also being seconds away from asking for a divorce

this one's perhaps on a more delulu note on my part, but I like that zoro brought up ace in specific bc he was there both times when ace and sabo asked the crew to take care of luffy. it was curious to me that in the former case, zoro was kinda shown with this "!" reaction sign and later when it came to sabo in dressrosa, he was the one to fondly point out he sounded just like ace did in alabasta (and the "!" is back).

(the fact that sabo handed zoro luffy's vivre card there also lives in my mind rent free btw)

so yeah. zoro's definitely not one to mess around when it comes to the crew and luffy's safety, though he may get a handful of grumpy straw hats (captain included!) for it.

another thing, and do bear with me bc I might be reaching once again is... the break up flashback between shanks and buggy. I pretty much forgot to make a post about water 7/enies lobby zolu bits (too busy crying over robin, I admit) but this actually reminded me of it.

the context and personalities involved differ from each other, yeah, but I believe this shows exactly how easily it could've been for luffy and zoro to have a bad ending of sorts under different circumstances.

I can't say for sure how much of whiskey peak was intended to affect zoro and luffy's relationship later in the manga (I personally find some parts of it kinda goofy), but it at least served as an early example that they're not immune to suffering from misunderstandings and miscommunication issues. though unlike shanks/buggy, the fact that they're more similar than they're different and their differences tend to complement each other's likely works more in zoro and luffy's favor. still,

if luffy hadn't listened to zoro here - if he'd failed to stay true to what's expected of him as the captain (and being the captain is related to his journey to become the pirate king), to stay true to the kind of man zoro believes him to be and that he chose to join in that marine base, we could've had a similar scenario to shanks and buggy's imo. more so when you consider that zoro's as headstrong as luffy is, that he's been mistaken for the captain and now has turned out to have the color of the supreme king too. hell, zoro used to be a bounty hunter, is still called the pirate hunter. I don't believe it'd be easy for zoro to leave despite what he says, or that they'd become enemies per se, but it isn't (or wasn't) out of the realm of possibilities. zoro has admitted that he sees no point in being a pirate unless he's part of luffy's crew as well.

as it is, the fact that luffy values zoro's imput and listens to him whenever the need arises is such an important part of their relationship. as loyal as zoro may be, as great as his displays of that loyalty are, they only exist bc luffy cares for him just as much and has earned them through his actions. I love it!

last thing before this gets too long is this:

the mobile app's pic upload limit is my enemy so I can't share it but I also liked the page before this one, where luffy asks zoro if he needs some help, to which zoro tells him to focus on kizaru instead.

this is such a great showcase of how much they've grown in terms of strength - that zoro can take on one of pre-timeskip luffy's strongest foes now, and that luffy himself is no longer unable to do anything against enemies like kizaru. and yknow, I find it special that luffy can go against him now considering kizaru was the one who almost killed zoro in sabaody - one of those instances in which luffy was genuinely worried, upset and feared for zoro's safety to the point he was actually all teary when rayleigh managed to save him.

I would've liked to see zoro's reaction to nika!luffy since he was knocked out in wano when it first happened, but I suppose he's already seen the wanted poster and his lack of reaction now isn't that out of character probably. godly power up or not, that's still his silly gremlin captain ig. can't wait to see what else is in store for these guys in this arc and onwards!

[roalinda]

if we're talking book prongsfoot material, i have a fond spot for their first meeting in Hogwarts Express. James liking Sirius' ironic wit, the way Sirius backed James up against Snape (and Lily btw). James being childish, open and bold, and Sirius taken by it so naturally. And like, we almost get to see the moment Sirius' life turned, 'breaking family tradition' said as a joke yet, as 'maybe', but we know few more hours with James and it's Gryffindor, baby XD

The train scene is so unique and has such a great impact that can be easily acknowledged as the start of their - quite the double act - which later they became infamous for, even between the teachers. They did it unknowingly yet so in sync despite their young age and their different backgrounds. They simply matched and clicked, like two pieces of a puzzle, soul mates. ♡ 

Sirius' sorting in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin is a complicated thing. He has that quick wit and sarcasm of the Slytherin House members, proven by his quick sarcastic and harsh come back to Snape in the train when he called Gryffindors - brawny than brainy - , telling him that he has none. He didn't say it in a way an eleven years old Gryffindor boy would bluntly say, he said it in a witty stinging way, the Slytherin way. 

BUT, here is the difference, he did it to back up Gryffindor, despite the Black family being Slytherins for generations. He didn't care about the views of his family, their pureblood culture or Snape's comment, he did what he wanted to do and what he felt was right, he did what naturally came to him.

I think James' presence indeed influenced in Sirius' sorting in Gryffindor but I also think that the sorting hat didn't do it just for that. Sirius was a pureblood from an ancient family with probably a vast magical knowledge for his age when he came to Hogwarts, so there is no way he didn't know about the history of the four Houses and their values and motto. (Unlike Harry who didn't know anything and based on what he had heard, asked the hat not to put him in Slytherin.) 

To me, the fact he says that he may break the family tradition half-jokingly, shows his Gryffindor side. Slytherins don't kid about their sorting like that. They have the aura of I-am-better-than-you, be it about their roots or magic and wit. Sirius is indeed haughty and arrogant, but not in the Slythrin way. He is arrogant in the Gryffindor way which is scarier. I believe that the sorting hat saw more Gryffindor traits in him than Slytherin. Sirius is brave, protective, rash, a massive rule-breaker and some one who hurries to help his friends in cases of emergency, without thinking or coming up with a plan beforehand, which is very Gryffindor of him and certainty not Slytherin. 

I think that is what makes Sirius Black a horrific force of nature, someone whose friends have his complete loyalty and foes his stormy wrath, because he is a Gryffindor who has heavy Slytherin traits sleeping deep within him. It is a monstrous power and in all honesty I think the books did Sirius dirty for not showing his full potential when the reader can easily assess that by putting two and two together.

But let us not forget that in sorting there is always a choice, - it is the choices that shows one what truly is, not their abilities - as Dumbledore puts it about sorting, and I think HERE is James' role. Sirius' heart chose James, and that means Gryffindor. But here is the thing, James' heart chose Sirius as well, so personally I think he would have ended up anywhere Sirius was too. 

If there is a love at the first sight notion in the HP series, it exclusively belongs to James and Sirius. The deep platonic love is canon and the romance is very close to canon, easily to be seen between the lines and if you ask for my humble opinion, I daresay that prongsfoot makes sense more than most HP pairings. It is a tragic tale of love and loss, something so grand that cannot be put into words. 

Thank you for the ask ♡ talking about prongsfoot always makes my day brighter ♡

[beantothemax]

Canalbrine would have been terrible if not for two things, Temenos discovered. 

The rather witty banter between Agnea, Hikari, and Partitio (paired with their resolves to follow him to the ends of the earth to solve the case of His Holiness’ murder), and the sudden appearance of one beloved knight. 

“I can vouch for these travellers. Grant them mercy, my friend,” Crick said, striding to stand intimidatingly beside Agnea. If she looked delicate on her own, she looked downright fragile next to Crick, decked out in his gleaming armour and wicked sword. 

Yet she held herself with such confidence and sureity that it hardly made a difference. This was Agnea Bristarni, a superstar, travelling alongside the Inquisitor, Hikari Prince of Ku, and the continentally-famous company owner Partitio Yellowil. What an odd band of travellers they were. 

The guard hesitated, then nodded, striding off and leaving the group to their own resources. 

“Well, I daresay it is quite the surprise to see you here, little lamb. I had no idea this was where you’d been assigned,” Temenos said, crossing his arms and smiling. Crick’s gaze flitted from Partitio, to Hikari, to Agnea, and back to him. 

“Forgive my crudeness, Inquisitor, but I thought we agreed not to call me that anymore,” Crick replied, and Temenos bit back a laugh. 

“Hm. That must have slipped my mind. In any case, we are not here to exchange banter. We four are investigating the pontiff’s case. Care to lend us your aid, Godsblade?” 

“Four...? Oh! They are helping you!” Realisation dawned on his little lamb’s face, and Agnea smiled. 

“Well we couldn’t just let him go off on his own. He’s so frail he’d get torn apart by Mountain Apes within the week!” 

“Or succumb to a plague or another on the Sea,” Hikari added gravely. Temenos felt his smile waver, and he landed a sharp kick to Hikari’s shin with his heel. 

Crick visibly bit back a laugh, eyes widening with shock at the casuality with which Agnea and Hikari referred to him. 

“I have told you before, you two, that my physical condition is perfectly fine for the method of fighting I employ,” Temenos said through gritted teeth. 

Agnea gave him a look, and crossed her arms. “You bash so many monsters’ heads in, I’d expect at least a little muscle to build up.” 

“And we have done so much travelling that one would expect you to be better at fending off ailments,” Hikari said, visibly fighting back a smile. 

Temenos waved them off, and stretched. “Hm. I find myself to be suddenly quite tired. Perhaps it was all the walking?” He said, desperate for a change in subject. 

Partitio popped his neck and arms, no doubt cramped from all the dagger-work he’d been doing. “More than likely. We did an awful lot of travellin’, after all. D’ya reckon talkin’ to that feller could wait ‘til mornin’?” 

“Mm. Perhaps. Little lamb, do you know of the theologian Lucian?” Temenos asked, and Crick nodded, pointedly ignoring the nickname. 

“Yes. He lives by himself just on the edge of town. It is not a far walk by any means, but I do think you four ought to rest a touch before speaking to him.” 

Temenos laughed softly, an unbidden rush of affection and fondness flooding his chest. “Caring as always, my dear lamb. Well, let us be off. The inn awaits.” 

“I shall see you three in the morn. Sleep well,” Crick bade. 

“May you have pleasant dreams,” Agnea said, bowing her head. A common Leaflands saying, used for those close to oneself or family. Was Agnea, indirectly, calling Temenos family? He feared the question may haunt his sleep. In any case, Crick bowed his head as well, mirroring her perfectly. Was he acquainted with Leaflands customs? Yet another question to ponder at a later date. 

“Sleep tight, Sir Crick. We’ll all need to be nice ‘n rested for tomorrow,” Partitio said with a nod (since he lacked a hat to tip). Crick nodded back. 

“...Goodnight, Sir Crick,” Hikari said quietly, pointed and polite as ever. Try as he may to hide it, his royal upbringing was painfully obvious when it mattered most. Crick watched him, nodding. You as well, he seemed to say. 

“You three go on and find us a room. I must speak with Crick for a moment,” Temenos bade them, lingering by his Godsblade’s side until the others had disappeared into the inn. 

Then before Crick could ask any questions, he spun on his heel and did something he never would have before he met Partitio and Agnea (and by a small extent, Hikari). 

He brought Crick into an embrace, holding him as tightly as possible with the armour impeding him. 

Crick froze for a moment, before wrapping ever-gentle arms around Temenos’s thin waist. “I missed you, Temenos,” he whispered, head bowed. 

Temenos drew a breath, fearing he may begin to cry. “I missed you too, my Godsblade. For such a small sprout of friendship it certainly seems to have a brilliant bloom, does it not?” 

Crick was quiet for a moment before he huffed out a laugh. “Yes, I suppose it does. I only hope we may keep it alive long enough to see it grow and flourish.” 

Temenos pulled away just enough to see his lamb’s face, and quirked an eyebrow. “Goodness, is my little wayward lamb professing his love for me?” 

Crick laughed at that, a smile playing at his lips. “You are tired, Temenos. Go get some rest.” 

He pulled away from the hug and sank to one knee, pressing a kiss into Temenos’s hand. “I swear to you that I shall be here when you wake.” 

Temenos, though he took pride in his ability to keep a calm composure in any and all situations, was left dumbfounded as he watched Crick rise to his feet and walk away towards the Sacred Guard’s barracks. 

It seemed there was more to his little lamb than he gave credit for. 

^the lying liar

what the fuck!!!!!!! mean to hikari!!!!!!!!! we should throw him to the apes actually I like agnea’s plan

YAOI EXPLOSION💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

does he know? :3

[stoicbreviary]

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 27 

At another time the differences between two brothers named Chaerephon and Chaerecrates, both well known to him, had drawn his attention; and on seeing the younger of the two he thus addressed him. 

Socrates: "Tell me, Chaerecrates, you are not, I take it, one of those strange people who believe that goods are better and more precious than a brother; and that too although the former are but senseless chattels which need protection, the latter is a sensitive and sensible being who can afford it; and what is more, he is himself alone, whilst as for them their name is legion. 

"And here again is a marvelous thing: that a man should count his brother a loss, because the goods of his brother are not his; but he does not count his fellow-citizens loss, and yet their possessions are not his; only it seems in their case he has wits to see that to dwell securely with many and have enough is better than to own the whole wealth of a community and to live in dangerous isolation; but this same doctrine as applied to brothers they ignore. 

"Again, if a man have the means, he will purchase domestic slaves, because he wants assistants in his work; he will acquire friends, because he needs their support; but this brother of his—who cares about brothers? It seems a friend may be discovered in an ordinary citizen, but not in a blood relation who is also a brother. 

"And yet it is a great vantage-ground towards friendship to have sprung from the same loins and to have been suckled at the same breasts, since even among beasts a certain natural craving, and sympathy springs up between creatures reared together. Added to which, a man who has brothers commands more respect from the rest of the world than the man who has none, and who must fight his own battles." 

Chaerecrates: "I daresay, Socrates, where the differences are not profound, reason would a man should bear with his brother, and not avoid him for some mere trifle's sake, for a brother of the right sort is, as you say, a blessing; but if he be the very antithesis of that, why should a man lay his hand to achieve the impossible? "

Socrates: "Well now, tell me, is there nobody whom Chaerephon can please any more than he can please yourself; or do some people find him agreeable enough?" 

Chaerecrates: "Nay, there you hit it. That is just why I have a right to detest him. He can be pleasing enough to others, but to me, whenever he appears on the scene, he is not a blessing—no! but by every manner of means the reverse." 

Socrates: "May it not happen that just as a horse is no gain to the inexpert rider who essays to handle him, so in like manner, if a man tries to deal with his brother after an ignorant fashion, this same brother will kick?" 

Chaerecrates: "But is it likely now? How should I be ignorant of the art of dealing with my brother if I know the art of repaying kind words and good deeds in kind? But a man who tries all he can to annoy me by word and deed, I can neither bless nor benefit, and, what is more, I will not try." 

Socrates: "Well now, that is a marvelous statement, Chaerecrates. Your dog, the serviceable guardian of your flocks, who will fawn and lick the hand of your shepherd, when you come near him can only growl and show his teeth. Well; you take no notice of the dog's ill-temper, you try to propitiate him by kindness; but your brother? 

"If your brother were what he ought to be, he would be a great blessing to you—that you admit; and, as you further confess, you know the secret of kind acts and words, yet you will not set yourself to apply means to make him your best of friends."

Chaerecrates: "I am afraid, Socrates, that I have no wisdom or cunning to make Chaerephon bear himself towards me as he should."

Socrates: "Yet there is no need to apply any recondite or novel machinery. Only bait your hook in the way best known to yourself, and you will capture him; whereupon he will become your devoted friend."

Chaerecrates: "If you are aware that I know some love-charm, Socrates, of which I am the happy but unconscious possessor, pray make haste and enlighten me." 

Socrates: "Answer me then. Suppose you wanted to get some acquaintance to invite you to dinner when he next keeps holy day, what steps would you take?"

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should set him a good example by inviting him myself on a like occasion." 

Socrates: "And if you wanted to induce some friend to look after your affairs during your absence abroad, how would you achieve your purpose?"  

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should present a precedent in undertaking to look after his in like circumstances." 

Socrates: "And if you wished to get some foreign friend to take you under his roof while visiting his country, what would you do?"

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should begin by offering him the shelter of my own roof when he came to Athens, in order to enlist his zeal in furthering the objects of my visit; it is plain I should first show my readiness to do as much for him in a like case."  

Socrates: "Why, it seems you are an adept after all in all the philters known to man, only you chose to conceal your knowledge all the while; or is it that you shrink from taking the first step because of the scandal you will cause by kindly advances to your brother? 

"And yet it is commonly held to redound to a man's praise to have outstripped an enemy in mischief or a friend in kindness. Now if it seemed to me that Chaerephon were better fitted to lead the way towards this friendship, I should have tried to persuade him to take the first step in winning your affection, but now I am persuaded the first move belongs to you, and to you the final victory."

Chaerecrates: "A startling announcement, Socrates, from your lips, and most unlike you, to bid me the younger take precedence of my elder brother. Why, it is contrary to the universal custom of mankind, who look to the elder to take the lead in everything, whether as a speaker or an actor." 

Socrates: "How so? Is it not the custom everywhere for the younger to step aside when he meets his elder in the street and to give him place? Is he not expected to get up and offer him his seat, to pay him the honour of a soft couch, to yield him precedence in argument?

"My good fellow, do not stand shilly-shallying,  but put out your hand caressingly, and you will see the worthy soul will respond at once with alacrity. Do you not note your brother's character, proud and frank and sensitive to honour? He is not a mean and sorry rascal to be caught by a bribe—no better way indeed for such riff-raff. No! gentle natures need a finer treatment. You can best hope to work on them by affection."

Chaerecrates: "But suppose I do, and suppose that, for all my attempts, he shows no change for the better?"

Socrates: "At the worst you will have shown yourself to be a good, honest, brotherly man, and he will appear as a sorry creature on whom kindness is wasted. But nothing of the sort is going to happen, as I conjecture. My belief is that as soon as he hears your challenge, he will embrace the contest; pricked on by emulous pride, he will insist upon getting the better of you in kindness of word and deed.

"At present you two are in the condition of two hands formed by God to help each other, but which have let go their business and have turned to hindering one another all they can. You are a pair of feet fashioned on the Divine plan to work together, but which have neglected this in order to trammel each other's gait."

"Now is it not insensate stupidity to use for injury what was meant for advantage? And yet in fashioning two brothers God intends them, methinks, to be of more benefit to one another than either two hands, or two feet, or two eyes, or any other of those pairs which belong to man from his birth. 

"Consider how powerless these hands of ours if called upon to combine their action at two points more than a single fathom's length apart; and these feet could not stretch asunder even a bare fathom; and these eyes, for all the wide-reaching range we claim for them, are incapable of seeing simultaneously the back and front of an object at even closer quarters. But a pair of brothers, linked in bonds of amity, can work each for the other's good, though seas divide them." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.3 

IMAGE: Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger, Portrait of Two Brothers (1586) 

[rotten-games]

(This might end up excluding all the elves & infernals since they’re like 100+ & I apologize to them profusely 😭) Before the involvement of any MC personality dependent variables, how would the LIs have treated/felt about baby QS if they had been born in Blackhearth or for the ones whose birthplace are important to who they are if the QS showed up there instead of Blackhearth?

For the sake of the answer I WILL include the older/immortal LIs but I won't be including Ettia or Gwyn because, y'know.

It just means, theoretically, the timeline of events would be brought backwards in time.

Ardwen: He was born in Eldor, it's pretty important to his story. If little Queenslayer were an elf they would have made it to the treetop city just fine, however, any other race would either find them lost or dead if not found in due time. Truthfully, Ardwen being the boy he is, and having left Eldor at a young age, they probably only would have met after he returned as a pre-teen/young teen.

BUT assuming all of this takes place, I imagine depending on QS' demeanor he'd range anywhere from annoyingly curious to actively interested at first. Though whether he would act on that is another matter entirely.

Arke: If MC showed up in Orfan, I like to imagine they'd find themselves a fast friend. Arke's home town wasn't like Blackhearth; perhaps because it was often visited by outsiders (after all, it actually had a road that led all the way to Terix). Of course, QS in this case would probably end up a ward of the Church which might have given them a better idea of who they are.

I suppose, the main question is what would have happened to them after Orfan's fall. I like to think they would have gotten out together which may have given them an easier time in Blackhearth.

Bex: Bex, like his sister, would have been an outcast in Blackhearth so he may have sought out QS actively until they trusted him enough to call him friend.

Calyssa: Cal was nothing if not a good girl in childhood. If the town decided QS was an Illfate then surely they must be right, regardless of her own thoughts on the matter. Later, as a teenager, she might have approached the lone child, she might have even offered them a treat as a sign of trust... but she might not have trusted QS herself for quite some time. And this is despite Wolfe being the type of person she might even compare to her own parents.

Druvel: Where Druvel grew up IS important to his character but for the sake of ease I'll plop him into Blackhearth. He would also be an outcast and he WOULD be friends with QS whether they wanted it or not. :)

Emil: I daresay if QS showed up in Terix they would have simply... disappeared and Emil never would have met them. He was very sheltered as a child and didn't think to sneak out. I'd put him into Blackhearth but it's kiiiinda hard to separate Emil from the Crown.

Herron: Herron lived in a village much like Blackhearth; superstitious, isolated, and paranoid so perhaps not too differently. Herron would be curious, always curious, but he probably wouldn't approach baby mc for some time. Partially because of fear of his father, partially for fear of isolation from everyone else. As teenagers, he might just take that step.

Keller: Again, difficult to separate her from her place of home. It also isn't something you would just be able to stumble onto so, like. All I can really say is they probably wouldn't meet.

Korrin: Though they were only chosen as Oracle later in life, Korrin... always held knowledge they shouldn't. Besides that, QS would simply... interest them so you'd have a hard time keeping even baby Korrin away.

Lokeira: Honestly if Lokeira were living in Blackhearth he would not be very welcomed there. He also probably wouldn't approach QS in case that made the bullying worse.

Necrolym: Necrolym is a friendly guy. He also like to pretend he's oblivious to get his way. Having learned that from a young age he'd probably use that to his advantage to get to know the strange child suddenly in Blackhearth. H's also endlessly curious.

Nox: Again, like her brother she'd be an outcast (for different reasons) but she wouldn't actively seek out friendship. It's just not the way she functions.

Qora: She was already a strange one in her village, though in Blackhearth it wouldn't be quite enough to earn her ire. Daughter to a single father and a mother long since gone, she has always been isolated. It would take QS actively seeking her friendship to actually take.

Spotter: They didn't have a lot of friends growing up, mainly due to caring for an ailing mother. No, they were much too busy, too much of the time to even think about it. Knowing them, they'd wonder about the strange child, not realising who it was who sat on the crown when they eventually made it to Terix.

Severa: Can't really separate her from her past either, and if I said anything on that we'd have [SPOILERS]. So, uhhh, you probably wouldn't meet.

[yaminerua]

Had to rush this one through after another busy day but I couldn't go to sleep until I got it done;;;

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Day 7's prompt was Dimensions and I decided to insert another little dimension into the many that Rimmer pops into in Skipper for this one.

Words: 4883

****

When Rimmer decided he was doing something, he was doing it and it didn’t matter if what he was shooting for was something achievable, if it was something he was remotely capable of doing. The fact of the matter was that once he’d started trying, the only thing to do was to keep on trying, even if doing so was foolish, even if it was a doomed endeavour.

They say the definition of madness is trying the same thing over and over expecting things to go differently. If that was the case, Rimmer was surely a lunatic.

He’d lost count of how many different universes he’d skipped into now. He’d been at it for what felt like hours, slotting over and over again into the place of another dimension’s version of himself and getting a snapshot of each of their lives, each of their circumstances, however similar or different they may be and trying to gauge whether it was better or worse than his own, whether it was some place he would rather be.

A lot of the time he found himself skipping into versions of his life that didn’t seem all that different. He was almost always on board Red Dwarf, almost always surrounded by the same group of insufferable imbeciles and almost always a hologram. It was, frankly, getting quite distressing seeing just how many other universes he was dead in.

Sometimes they were a little more interesting, a little more positive, like the universe where Lister had somehow ended up something of a civilised gentleman with a love for vintage wires that rivalled Rimmer’s own. Whatever circumstances had shaped this version of him, it had turned him into someone Rimmer had been eager to learn more about, someone he daresay might have even been able to get along with. Astonishingly, this Lister had even been quite comfortable saying that he rather liked the Rimmer that he had known. It had caught him off guard, injected a strange mix of emotions into him that he couldn’t parse – equal parts warm and bitter at the same time. Rimmer couldn’t imagine his own Lister ever being caught dead saying something like that, certainly not without taking it all back afterwards.

Of course, like every other moderately promising universe, there had been something about it that ruined it. In that case it had been a giant human-sized rat and a ship populated by even more of them. Not even a perfectly bearable Lister would have been worth having to deal with all of that so he had begrudgingly left that universe behind and continued on his quest for something better. Surely there had to be one out there somewhere. He just had to be patient enough to find it.

After a rapid series of leaps between increasingly bizarre and undesirable universes, even Rimmer’s usually unshakable stubborn determination was beginning to wear thin. Skipping once more into yet another version of Red Dwarf, he took a moment in the peace and quiet of the empty corridor to try to recollect himself, telling himself firmly that this would be the one, this would be the universe that ticked all the boxes. He just had to believe it to be so.

Drawing himself up tall and confident, he straightened his shoulders and set off into a brisk stride down the corridor, intending to make his way towards the sleeping quarters. That was usually the best place to get a good picture of the situation he was in. He’d know pretty quickly, at surely little more than a glance, whether he’d be sticking around or not.

Rounding the corner, he spotted Kryten mopping the corridor floor and grimaced only slightly. Kryten being here wasn’t exactly a deal breaker if everything else turned out to be fantastic but it still made his confidence drop just a fraction all the same.

He strode forward with purpose, intending to simply pass him by and ignore him, but when Kryten spotted him coming and fixed him with a look of bewilderment he knew he wasn’t going to be getting away that easily.

“Sir,” Kryten called after him as he made to walk past him, his tone laced with more than a hint of mild concern. “Aren’t you going the wrong way?”

Rimmer stilled to a stop and spun slowly round on his heel, fixing Kryten with a bored and more-than-slightly irritated scowl. “What are you blithering about?” he snapped.

He had much better things to do than get trapped in a meaningless conversation with a glorified bog bot.

Kryten seemed to detect the impatience in his tone and he fiddled nervously with the mop in his hands, eyes darting sheepishly around the corridor. “Well, sir, it is Thursday night and I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what that means.”

There was something in his voice and the pointedness of his tone that was utterly infuriating. The way it suggested that Rimmer really ought to know what he was on about and the fact that he, of course, didn’t have a clue was far too reminiscent of every other instance when Kryten had ever leapt at the chance to inform him or correct him about something and it made him clench his teeth together and flex his jaw with undisguised irritation. “Kryten,” he said darkly. “If you don’t get to the point and tell me what nonsense you’re on about I’ll have your barely-functioning parts repurposed as paperweights. Now what is it?”

Kryten’s face crumpled into a mask of despair, his eyes scrunching shut and the corners of his mouth pulling down into an exaggerated U-shape. “Oh, sir, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” he cried, incredulous with dismay. “You can’t possibly have forgotten!”

“Kryten,” Rimmer said, a harder edge to his voice this time. “Out with it.”

Kryten huffed a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. “What that poor soul sees in you I will never understand,” he muttered almost imperceptibly and then straightened up, performing a mock clearing of the throat and fixing Rimmer with a gravely serious look.

“It’s Date Night, sir,” he said matter-of-factly.

Rimmer’s mind stuttered to a halt and flatlined. “What?”

“Date Night, sir,” Kryten reiterated, growing slightly more perturbed as this perplexing conversation went on. “The same as it is every Thursday night.”

Hearing him say it out loud a second time did nothing to help it make any more sense in Rimmer’s mind. It sounded simply too incredible, too unbelievable, to be true.

“Date Night!?” he cried, his voice pitching up in utter astonishment. “I’ve got a date!?”

Kryten shifted uncomfortably where he stood and nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

Rimmer might have accidentally stumbled upon Heaven after all. His mouth was hanging open, jaw slackened with awe, the corners of his lips pulling upwards in an almost giddy smile. He felt almost light-headed, the simulated thrumming of his heartbeat picking up the pace hammering away excitedly in his chest. He had a date! Someone here in this universe wanted him. Not only that, but if Kryten’s words were to be believed then this wasn’t just some one-off event, but rather a regularly scheduled thing. Someone didn’t just like him. Someone liked Arnold J. Rimmer enough to date him more than once.

Oh, he’d finally done it. All that patience and determination had paid off at last! He’d known it would only be a matter of time before he found a universe that finally gave him something good but after so many disappointments he had almost begun to give up hope. Now he was truly glad that he hadn’t.

He laughed disbelievingly to himself, gazing in wonderment around him as he let the information fully settle in and then, remembering himself, he looked up to regard Kryten suddenly with curiosity.

“With whom?” he asked and then, as Kryten’s expression grimaced ahead of opening his mouth, he suddenly waved him quiet. “Wait, no, shut up! I don’t want to know! Keep it a surprise!”

Kryten blinked in consternation as Rimmer continued to marvel at his own good fortune. His eyes flitted anxiously down the corridor, increasingly aware of the fact that time was still ticking on around him. He cleared his throat pointedly. “If I may remind you, sir, you are running more than just a little late for it now, too.”

The joyous smile died on Rimmer’s face and he fixed Kryten with a manic stare, nostrils flared and eyes wide with impatience. “Well, don’t just stand there you glorified bog bot!” he snapped. “Tell me where I’m going then!”

Kryten’s mouth pulled down into a deeper, more agitated frown and indicated down the hallway in the direction Rimmer had come from and said, “Observation Deck, sir. Same as always.”

Without another word, Rimmer spun on his heel and strode with newfound determination back down the corridor, a jubilant skip to his step as he thought about his impending date. He wondered who on Io it could possibly be with and tried to picture the ideal scenario, tried to conjure up in his head the image of the perfect date but found that he couldn’t really visualise anything much at all. He tried then to narrow down the possibilities through process of elimination. There weren’t really many potential candidates to start off with, however – at least not back in his home universe. He had no idea how different things might have been for him here. Briefly, he thought it might be Yvonne McGruder, since she had been the only female member of the old crew that he’d had any kind of experience with, and his stride faltered only momentarily, an odd sense of apprehension creeping in at the prospect of interacting with her again. He wondered if he’d be able to go through with this after all.

With every new step forwards that he took, that little seed of doubt began to sprout and take root deeper and deeper in his mind, tainting everything it touched with pessimistic negativity and by the time he finally found himself standing at the base of the stairwell that would lead up onto the Observation Deck he had all but completely poisoned every last bit of optimism he had started off with, leaving a hollow sense of dread roiling in his gut instead.

He had no idea how to proceed. If it hadn’t already been daunting enough skipping into a universe where he was late for a date, he also had the added pressure of trying to slot himself into the place of a Rimmer who was already in an established relationship. The prospect of trying to navigate his way through this blindly was absolutely terrifying. It was like walking into an exam for a subject he’d never studied for. The worst part was that because he was already late, every moment he continued to spend psyching himself up was only making him later. There was no time to prepare. He just had to go for it.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he took his first shaky step up onto the stairwell, white-knuckled hand gripping the railing for dear life and began his ascent, mulling over in his mind what his opener would be, what excuse he would use to wave away his tardiness. He hoped that whoever it was that was waiting for him would be understanding. If they liked him for who he was, flaws and neuroses and all, then maybe it would be alright.

Against every atom of his being that was screaming with insatiable curiosity at him to try to take a peek as he made his way up the narrow spiral staircase up to the quaint little observation dome at the top, he kept his gaze fixed carefully and dutifully on the ground, supervising every step as he took it to make sure that he didn’t fumble a single one.

At the final step he closed his eyes, straightened himself up and puffed out his chest, affixing a mask of misplaced confidence on his face as he took one last, deep, calming breath and opened his mouth to speak.

“Sorry, I was late, I was just—”

Whatever excuse he had been about to offer died instantly in his throat and never made it out to open air. The moment he’d opened his eyes and he’d fully taken in the sight before him his entire mind went white with shock and any hope of being able to speak, any chance at doing anything in particular was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Lister – because it was smegging Lister who was waiting for him – turned around and flashed him a surprised smile. “Oh, hey man,” he said, his voice warm, welcoming. “What took you?”

Rimmer’s mouth was having trouble processing orders from his brain. In actual fact his brain was having a hard enough time processing the situation to even think about dishing out any orders. He stood pathetically, gibbering helplessly like a broken record stuck on repeat, the only thing even remotely managing to make it past his lips being a staggered, “Y-you— You—!”

Lister laughed lightly and looked down at himself. “Yeah, I know. Dressed to the nines,” he said, gesturing to the almost respectable – if anything Lister owned actually passed for respectable – attire he had on and then indicating towards Rimmer with a smirk. “I see you haven’t made any effort this time.”

Rimmer glanced down at himself, distracted and flummoxed, only distantly aware of the implication that Lister had expected him to dress up for the occasion too and, oh, this was making his head hurt. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. It was like a fever dream, or an elaborate practical joke.

That was it. This was a prank. It had to be! This was all a co-ordinated attempt to humiliate him. It couldn’t possibly be anything else! Oh, he was going to turn Kryten into scrap metal for this…

“Hey,” Lister’s voice broke through the tempest of chaos swirling in Rimmer’s mind, and the honey-sweet tone in his voice was such an odd thing in and of itself to parse. “What are you doing stayin’ all the way over there? C’mere already.”

Rimmer obeyed somewhat automatically, limbs moving stiffly and robotically as he stepped forwards to join Lister on the observation deck proper.

As soon as he drew level with him something completely incomprehensible happened: Lister reached out for him. Warm, calloused fingers curled softly, tenderly around Rimmer’s, threading their digits together and pulling him gently forwards, closer, and Rimmer’s mind was too slow to even begin to process the action, too gummed up with confusion and startled by the unfamiliar intimacy of that touch alone to pay much mind to anything else until he felt sudden, unexpected warmth caress the side of his face, guiding his head forwards and only then, just in the nick of time, did he realise what was about to happen.

He reeled violently backwards in panic, staggering free from Lister’s grip and all but falling in muted horror against the railing, heartbeat pounding, roaring loudly in his ears and an odd fluttery feeling setting his stomach on edge. The skin of his cheek was tingling slightly, as were his fingers, the ghosts of Lister’s touch still lingering upon him, doing absolutely nothing to help the frantic racing of his heart.

“Wha-What—” he started, breathless, almost wheezing, his eyes wide and transfixed unblinkingly upon Lister’s bewildered, frowning face. “What the smeg are you doing?!”  

Lister blinked, utterly bemused, and then his face crumpled into an offended scowl. “I was gonna kiss you, you smegger!”

Rimmer’s mind suffered a critical malfunction again. His expression opened wide in astonishment, his mouth hanging agape, flapping uselessly. “K-ki-kiss!?” he finally managed to force out, his voice strained and pushing into an almost hysterical pitch.

Lister regarded him worriedly, his initial frustration giving way to concern as his brows knitted together tensely. “Rimmer,” he said quietly, stepping tentatively towards him. “You alright, man?”

“No, of course not!” Rimmer cried and then he shut his eyes and shook his head, agitated. “I mean— Yes, I am but there’s clearly something very wrong with your Rimmer!”

Lister’s eyes narrowed with confusion and he raised a single, curious eyebrow. “My Rimmer?” he echoed, dubious, looking Rimmer up and down. “You’re not my Rimmer?”

“Of course not!” Rimmer all but spat, straightening up and trying to claw back whatever sense of dignity that he could manage but failing miserably.

He was still too frazzled and discombobulated by everything that was happening, still struggling to string together more than a small handful of words at a time. “As if I would ever—” he started, gesturing his arms wildly about in a panicked frenzy. “Like I would ever even remotely consider— I mean, the very idea—!”

He went on like this for a few moments more before he let out a low, aggravated groan and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, scrunching his eyes shut hard as though willing everything to simply disappear and not be real when he next opened them. When, inevitably, it remained unchanged, he fished out the Quantum Skipper remote from his pocket and jabbed uselessly, desperately at the buttons, willing the useless thing to work and cursing its poorly timed need to recharge.

Lister, who had been watching this peculiar display in silence for the last few moments, frowned down at the device in Rimmer’s hand and then back up at his face, the curious crease in his brow only furrowing further. Noticing his intrigue, Rimmer huffed an impatient, thoroughly aggravated sigh and indicated to the remote. “I’ve been quantum skipping into other realities, trying to find one better than the one I came from,” he explained. “And as soon as this infernal remote finishes recharging I’m getting the smeg out of this one.”

At this Lister’s eyes widened, both eyebrows raising in surprise. Something odd flashed across his expression, something almost hurt, disappointed. “You’re trying to leave your home dimension?” he asked, watching as Rimmer nodded stiffly in response. “Why? What’s wrong with where you came from?”

“Nothing!” Rimmer said curtly, forcefully, and then he tried unsuccessfully to feign a dismissive, unbothered hug.

“Well, nothing more than most others,” he added bitterly, as something of an afterthought, frowning out at the glittering canvas of stars all around them, thankful to have somewhere else to look than Lister’s searching, curious face. “I just want to see if there’s something better out there.”

Lister followed his gaze, a solemn, distant look clouding over his expression. He shot a glance sideways at Rimmer out of the corner of his eye, observing the tense, anxious way he held himself, the nervous pulsing of the muscle in his jaw flexing repeatedly, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly. It was so familiar, so very like his own Rimmer but not as he knew him now. Rather, he reminded him of how he had been before, so many years ago, too deep in his own repression to figure himself out, too terrified of what he might find there to really look inside himself to find answers to any of the questions he had been spending far too much time running from.

His expression softened a fraction, equal parts sympathetic and inexplicably fond. This Rimmer had an older face but he very much still had the mind of that younger soul who had needed more than a gentle nudge in the right direction to truly find himself. The beginnings of a knowing smile began to pull, ever-so-slightly on his lips.

“Before you go off back on your great quest, let me ask you something,” he said, watching carefully as Rimmer turned, reluctantly, to look at him again.

“What?”

Lister held his gaze evenly, gazed into the face of someone who was and also wasn’t the Rimmer he had come to know. Even though he had come from someplace else, he had a sneaking suspicion that there were at least a few things their worlds had in common. “In your reality, in your dimension, were you away for a while? Did you go away once before?”

Rimmer’s brows creased together slightly and he nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said hesitantly, not sure where Lister was going with this.

The smile on Lister’s face widened. “As Ace, right?” he supplied, unable to fight the grin that blossomed further across his features as Rimmer grimaced noticeably.

“Yes,” Rimmer replied again, tightly, this time with an undisguised note of bitterness.

Good to know that even this Rimmer still couldn’t stand the mention of his heroic counterpart, still cringed at the memory of trying to step into those boots and wear that life like an ill-fitting suit. It just meant he had more in common with his own Rimmer. It meant that, maybe, they weren’t so different after all.

If that was the case, however, he wondered why this Rimmer had reached the age he had and still seemed stuck in his old self, still seemed deeply buried under something that was either denial or obliviousness – he’d never really been able to figure out which it had been for his own Rimmer either.

“Okay,” he said slowly, taking in an anticipatory breath ahead of this final question, already in some ways aware of what the answer was but needing to hear it said to be absolutely sure. “And when you came back what did the other me do? How did he react?”

Rimmer’s expression hardened into something sour and taut, the line of his jaw tensing as he grit his teeth in recollection. His eyes narrowed and when he spoke there was a noticeable edge to his voice, like he was remembering something that had been unpleasant to experience, as though it had been a tremendous let down.

“A stiff handshake, if memory serves,” he said and at this Lister bowed his head and sighed, exasperated.

“Smeg… I figured as much…”

Rimmer raised an eyebrow, inquisitive, and inclined his head curiously, not understanding that reaction. “What?” he asked, unsettled by the sense that Lister somehow knew something that he apparently didn’t.

Lister gave him a commiserative, almost apologetic look and shook his head. “That’s where our universe spit,” he explained, and there was something in his voice that sounded pained, almost sad. “He did that and I didn’t.”

If that had been intended to clear everything up, Rimmer clearly hadn’t followed the conversation closely enough. He frowned, running it back through his mind to see if there had been anything that he had missed but ultimately found that he was still missing some crucial information to fill in the gaps. He regarded Lister dubiously, looking him up and down warily, and narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?” he asked, unsure of whether or not he really wanted to know the answer.

Lister’s expression softened then into a warm and knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with something impossibly fond and so deeply affectionate that the experience of looking directly at it had the peculiar effect of making Rimmer feel rather sunburnt and so frustratingly, embarrassingly dazzled that he had to look away.

At this the smile on Lister’s face only grew, and he had to fight everything in him not to reach out and turn Rimmer’s face back to face him. It wasn’t his place to do that, not with this Rimmer. He suspected this one probably wasn’t quite ready to handle that from him yet. It had taken his own Rimmer a while too.

In answer to Rimmer’s question, he simply shrugged and a look of fond nostalgia, like he was remembering a particularly good memory, passed across his expression as he said cryptically, “What the other me should have done. What he probably wanted to and chickened right out of doing.”

Oh. Well that clears up everything then. Rimmer scoffed derisively and rolled his eyes, shaking his head irritably and wishing to God that this stupid universe would start making sense already. “And how would you know what my Lister would have been thinking? You’re not him. And clearly this universe is extremely warped…”

“I know, Rimmer,” Lister pressed, firm and insistent, unwavering in his belief, “because for a brief second I considered just going for the handshake too and then I changed me mind and it looks like that was the right decision.” He inclined his head towards Rimmer and the Quantum Skipper remote. “You two are still stuck playing catch-up by the looks of things.”

Rimmer’s eye twitched and then his whole expression contorted in abject disgust. “Playing catch-u— You’re not implying that he— That I—”

Lister laughed heartily, relishing the flush of pink that was rapidly sweeping its way across Rimmer’s spluttering, flustered face.

“Just do me – the other me, I mean – one favour, will you?” he said, a rush of fondness for this clueless Rimmer who reminded him so much of his own blooming like a sunrise in his chest. “When you do head back, try to help things along a bit, yeah? You’ve already wasted enough time already.”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared defensively, a look of astonished, incredulous bewilderment creasing his whole face up into something exaggerated and almost comical. “And why do you think I would do any such thing?” he snapped, indignant and beside himself with disbelief at the very suggestion. “Why do you think that is remotely something I would even want?”

Lister looked at him evenly, knowingly, his expression so certain, so unshakably confident that it left Rimmer feeling decidedly unmoored, suddenly doubtful of everything he had ever had any significant belief in and when he next spoke, he felt so thoroughly exposed, so very much like an open book that this Lister had read cover to cover, that it left him completely and utterly speechless.

“Because I know you, Rimmer. Trust me on that, okay?”

Rimmer swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly inexplicably dry and heavy. His heart was doing something strange in his chest again, like it was on the brink of panicking, and he could feel the heat radiating out from his ears. He opened his mouth uselessly, mouthed wordlessly, helplessly, for a few seconds before a loud shrill beeping sound rent the silence in two and damn nearly gave him a heart attack.

Staring, dumbstruck, at the quantum remote in his hand, the buttons lit up ready to be used again, he felt the first rush of relief begin to flood through him at the prospect of finally being able to get out of here, get away from this world that threatened to make him question the things he thought he knew about his own dimension. He straightened up, recomposed himself and mentally tried to prepare himself to be ready for whatever reality he was about to skip into next.

“That you all ready to skip on, Captain Multiverse?” Lister asked, amusement glinting like starlight in his eyes.

Rimmer schooled his expression into a scowl and nodded curtly. “Yes. Thank God.”

The amused smirk on Lister’s face grew broader and he crossed his arms in feigned impatience and inclined his head expectantly. “Alright, get going then and give me my Rimmer back. You’ve taken up enough of me date as it is. Time you got back to your own ship.”

Rimmer’s eyes narrowed, defiant and pig-headed. “Why are you so sure I will be heading back there? I might find some place I like and decide I want to stay there!” Even as he said it, the insistence was beginning to ring hollow and unlikely, but he wasn’t going to admit that here.

Lister simply smiled, a long-suffering yet unabashedly fond smile with an impish twinkle in his eye, cheeky and teasing, daring Rimmer to try to say he was wrong.

“Well, you made it back once before, didn’t you? I think you’ll do it again.”

Rimmer pursed his lips and pushed his shoulders back, drawing himself up tall and unaffected and hovered his thumb over the skipper button. “We’ll see about that, miladdo,” he said icily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lister laughed, waving him off. “See you, Rimmer. Remember what I said, yeah?”

Rimmer rocked once on the balls of his feet, jutted out his jaw and affixed a pinched, pompous smile to his face, as obnoxious and obstinate as he could manage, willing himself to feel even half as confident and resolute as he was attempting to appear.

He brought a hand up in a dismissive, rigid wave and said, with as much self-satisfied bravado as he could muster, uttered an airy and light “No,” and then he slammed his thumb down on the quantum skipper and was gone.   

When the world reappeared around him again, the observation deck was gone, as was that Lister and that unbearably fond look in his eyes, and as he looked down at himself to find that he was back in his old uniform again and, more importantly, alive, he pushed all thoughts of that previous encounter – for the time being – out of his head and turned his attention instead towards seeing what this reality had to offer him. Surely this time it would be perfect.

[more-than-a-princess]

"Being a princess must be so hard. I can't even imagine the amount of things you're expected to do at your age." Sayaka looks at her senior with admiration as she says what she has been thinking for a while now. "And I thought I was having a hard time as an idol... well, I suppose I can't really compare us when we have different kinds of challenges that come with our titles. Still, I can't help but relate to you a little, Sonia-senpai."

Unprompted IC asks - Accepting from mutuals!

From her place on the floor, Sonia gave her a puzzled look. Clad in leggings, gym shoes, and a cropped tanktop, she'd been in the middle of stretching in front of the row of floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the practice room when her friend had shared her thoughts. It wasn't quite what she'd expected, right before their dance class. For Sayaka, it was likely more of another tutorial session for her talents, but Sonia took the invitation to join her as an opportunity to both engage in exercise and time spent with her friend. Even if the princess was a hopeless case where singing and musical instruments were concerned, she had great fun mimicking the various dances in pop music videos and concerts.

So she'd happily taken up the offer to join the Ultimate Idol: if just for the fact that exercising out of doors simply wasn't a possibility. While the weather was nice, she'd found that whenever she and Sayaka Maizono took to going for a jog, or indulging in yoga outdoors, they tended to amass a large number of onlookers, most of whom weren't terribly covert in their lascivious gazes. A private studio, then, had made sense: fewer feelings of discomfort as she sat, legs spread wide, as she leaned from side to side to stretch her adductor muscles before they were due to work up a sweat.

"Truthfully, I'm surprised to hear you say such things," Sonia replied, a small groan escaping her lips as she brought her legs together before getting to her feet. She'd spent nearly two weeks at home to fulfill royal duties and had missed out on their three days a week classes, leaving the princess with tighter muscles and less tolerance for stretching as usual. "I encounter so many people who believe my life to be ideal: something made entirely of luxury and finery, where I should not be plagued with any sort of real concern beyond manners and appearances. That is...not very much the case at all, but it is impolite to seek pity as a member of the Royal Family."

She scrambled to her feet. They'd begin the warmup to their class soon, and it wouldn't do to remain seated through it. Sonia tugged down at the hem of her top: it was far shorter than she was accustomed to wearing, but she took inspiration from Sayaka's athletic and casual clothes. She was always dressed in a trendy style, and Sonia felt far more at ease taking cues from her rather than Junko. "Still, you are absolutely right," She continued, "You are an idol and I am a princess, but I daresay we must have some struggles in common! We must maintain appearances and negotiate with the press, as well as those who call themselves 'fans.' Though it seems ridiculous, to have fans simply because you were born. I think yours, Maizono-san, are rightfully devoted! Your songs and performances are truly inspiring."

She smiled, moving to Sayaka's right so they could both view themselves in the mirror. "We should forge friendships with that which we share, and how we may learn from one another's differences. We must relate and rise to the challenges of our lives!" Sonia hadn't noticed it until she paused, but she'd fallen into her habit of posing with strength and sparkle in her eyes as she encouraged her friend. She wasn't often allowed to be so passionate when delivering speeches unless she was out of the public eye.

"Besides: rivalry between women is most definitely not hella' boss!"

[sketchy-squiggles]

Miles Edgeworth Gets A Migraine

A little over 1000 words of self-indulgent narumitsu.

Miles Edgeworth did not have a migraine. He simply had a headache, the kind that always followed a long day of reading case files, the dry, lengthy paragraphs making his vision blur. Sometimes, his vision stayed foggy when he looked up, with little dark splotches obscuring his sight in inky patches that resembled the notes he had scrawled on the sides of each paper. That was just what a hard day of work did to a person sometimes. A sign of focus. 

“I dunno, that sounds like a migraine to me,” Wright replied after his lengthy explanation. He opened his mouth to argue but Wright cut him off and called down the hall, “Gumshoe, how often does he get migraines?”

“Hm maybe once every week or two,” the detective called back, “the calming tea is in the blue box on the shelf for it, pal.”

Edgeworth groaned and put a hand to his temple.

“I daresay I wouldn’t have a headache at all if my office were empty.”

The remark came out weaker than expected, as turning up to glare at his unwelcome visitor made Edgeworth’s head spin. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking a little pale to me.”

The genuine care in Wright’s voice made him feel more nauseous than the pain did, and his stomach did another flip. 

“I am perfectly finngh!” Edgeworth slammed his hand on the table and winced at the sound. Sitting up made his vision swim again. He tried to look Wright in the eye again, to prove how serious he was, but the corner of the room housing Phoenix Wright became a blur that wouldn’t clear no matter how much he blinked. 

“Objection,” a voice said much quieter than usual, and Edgeworth felt a hand come to steady his shoulder, “I don’t think you are. And I don’t think you’re going to take a break unless I make you.”

Now his coat was being slipped around his arms, the way someone would coax a child into one. 

“Wright…” Edgeworth realized how little energy he had left to argue. 

“Charge me for a consultation or something if you can’t stand not working, but I’m consulting you on how to walk you home.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” was all he could muster as he was marched out of his own office. 

--

It would feel weird, having Wright in his house, if the pain in his head wasn’t distracting him. A hand prompted him to take off his coat, guided him up the stairs, and tried to get him to sit down; he obeyed all the suggestions mechanically, feeling like he was in a dream. 

“I found some ibuprofen in your medicine cabinet, but you’re almost out,” Wright reappearing in the doorway started Edgeworth back into reality, “I got you some water to take it with too, unless you don’t drink tap water and have some fancier bottled kind you-”

“I am fine,” Edgeworth interrupted. 

Nonetheless, he took the painkiller with a few swallows of water. 

“I’m not going to argue if you’re fine again, but can I ask what makes your migraines go away?”

Edgeworth shrugged. 

“Sleep, I suppose. When I wake the next day, the pain is gone, even if my head still feels a bit cloudy afterward.”

“So why not sleep?”

Again that earnest voice made his stomach do a flip. 

Perhaps it was because they were in his home, a place with none of the expectations of their usual offices, that he found himself answering. The dim light and drawn curtains of the bedroom reminded him of the confessional feel of sleepovers from long ago, whispering secrets to a friend obscured by the dark. 

“It is, for lack of better word...boring,” he turned his face in case Wright could see it growing red, “it may hurt to read or watch anything, but it doesn’t mean I’m tired, and sitting in the dark with nothing but a pounding head…and once I lie down, it’s too hard to get back up.”

He could feel his hand grip his sleeve in embarrassment. A hand was on his back but he couldn’t meet Wright’s eye; he didn’t want to see his pity. 

“Alright, you got me,” the cheerful voice took him by surprise, “I guess you get to add another hour or two to this consultation bill.”

The bed creaked Phoenix Wright, rival attorney, made himself at home on the other side of the bed. 

“You lie here and I’ll keep you company until you’re tired. Don’t worry, I have notes for a case on me that I can review, and I’m sure talking to me will bore you to sleep pretty fast.”

The absurdity of it all made Edgeworth laugh. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the bed. 

“Yes, do enlighten me about what goes through that head of yours.”

--

Just as promised, he couldn’t remember what story Wright had been telling; Edgeworth didn’t realize he had even fallen asleep until he awoke hours later. It must have been late, because the room was completely dark, silent except for what sounded like the rhythmic breathing of someone sleeping. Edgeworth tried to remember Wright’s departure, if there was one at all, but his head felt too fuzzy to conjure up any memories. Finally, he rolled back over, grabbing the pillow next to him, and drifted off again. 

The next time Edgeworth awoke it was morning. The daylight that peeked through the edges of the curtains was brighter than he was used to; he must have overslept. He bolted up at the realization and got his second shock of the morning. The pillow he had held on to last night was much larger than he thought. In fact, it was sporting crumpled up work clothes and a serious case of bedhead. 

“Wright!”

The disheveled form of Phoenix Wright jolted up in bed next to him. 

“Oh man, my bad, I must have dozed off too,” he said with a sheepish grin. 

“Besides the point. What time is it, Wright?!”

“Don’t worry Edgeworth,” Wright yawned, “you didn’t oversleep. You were talking about how out of it you feel the day after a migraine so I had Maya cancel your morning appointments.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she said she just told everyone you had an urgent case against her to prosecute or something. It’s kinda sad that works, huh, but now you’ve got plenty of time to rest.”

“Oh.”

Edgeworth found himself at a complete lack of words, unsure if he should be angry or touched at the ways his rival had tried to look after him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a morning to himself, and he had most certainly never had a late morning-in with someone sleeping next to him. The reality of it made his cheeks burn; he looked over at Wright to see if he was anywhere near as flustered, but Wright had already rolled over to fall back asleep. 

The sight made him feel one hundred different things at once that he couldn’t pin down. He had almost found a word for some of them when Wright sprung up from bed once again. 

“Crap!” he yelled, “Maya didn’t cancel my appointments!”

[difeisheng]

Hi.......Thanks a lot for your blog...I just read a theory.....The theory says if Wei Wuxian's parents survived, he might have turned like Xiao Xingchen. If Wei Wuxian was never found by Jiang family, he might have turned out like Xue Yang and if he was found by an unkind sect leader he might have ended like Jin Guangyao.....Do you agree with this? Thoughts, please?

Oh interesting! I think I may have seen the post you're referring to before though I can't really remember, but these are intriguing takes. Let me go through them one by one:

Would Wei Wuxian have turned out like Xiao Xingchen if his parents had survived?

I want to say no. I feel like a good part of what made Xiao Xingchen extraordinary was that his childhood was spent sequestered away from the Jianghu, but he was curious enough about the world and loved it enough to leave Baoshan Sanren's mountain regardless. He has a certain appreciation for more of the world because he hasn't grown up in it. I don't think Wei Wuxian would have had that distanced upbringing from society were he with Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren. His family might not have been in the middle of things all the time, but they probably would have travelled around enough for Wei Wuxian to see and learn about the Jianghu before he was the age of Xiao Xingchen when he left the mountain. He wouldn't be a newcomer, he'd have more connections and possibly friends, given his personality. Wei Wuxian to me in this scenario would've grown up into a talented rogue cultivator with friends from different sects. I would daresay perhaps he’d have a reputation as large as Xiao Xingchen's, but not his personality or priorities.

Would Wei Wuxian have turned out like Xue Yang if the Jiangs never found him?

Aha, this is fun, and my answer leans closer to ‘yes’. I do kind of see Xue Yang as a darker version of Wei Wuxian who didn’t have the luxuries of home or family, so I’d say that Wei Wuxian would have had the potential to become the likes of Xue Yang. They both have definite resourcefulness and intellect, which they can turn to whatever cause they wish. Xue Yang however was propelled forward a lot by the need for revenge against the Chang clan, while Wei Wuxian didn’t have an experience that would create that kind of motive, at least not one we’re shown. A full life on the streets would toughen him up though, so in this timeline it’s not hard to imagine something else that could make him as bitter and spiteful and more like who Xue Yang ended up as.

Would Wei Wuxian have turned out like Jin Guangyao if he was found by an unkind sect leader?

Hmmm. I don’t think so. In Jin Guangyao’s case the events that pushed him forward had already taken place before he worked for Nie Mingjue- being rejected by his father and kicked down the Jinlintai stairs in humiliation. The whole 3Zun situation isn’t really one I focus on much compared to other people, but I do think that while Nie Mingjue exacerbated Jin Guangyao’s situation and made things worse, he wasn’t the initial cause for it. So Wei Wuxian being taken in by another cruel sect leader shouldn’t make him like Jin Guangyao unless he also had a past from before to mirror him. I can maybe see him holding resentment for the Jiangs here, because they were his parents’ friends and didn’t bother to search for him, but I think these two situations are different enough that he shouldn’t become someone so similar. In general I think Wei Wuxian and Jin Guangyao’s similarities lie more in how people react to them, not their pasts or actions. The way they go about the things they do is also different-- there’s this fantastic post about how Jin Guangyao uses more femme-coded skills to get what he needs, perhaps learned from a childhood in a brothel, while Wei Wuxian regardless of what might happen after he’s found by a different sect leader definitely does not have that background and wouldn’t know to use these things to his advantage.

Sorry if this ended up being rambly. Thanks for the ask!

[razieltwelve]

Comparison (Final Rose AU Snippet)

Note: Set in the Blake x Weiss AU.

X     X     X

“You know,” Winter drawled. “I thought I was responsible for the biggest scandal in the family, but you managed to outdo me.”

Weiss took a sip of her tea. It was exactly the way she liked it. “I’m so glad I could be of service.”

Winter’s lips twitched, and then she reached across the table to take Weiss’s hand. “How are you, Weiss? We both know how to put up a brave front for the cameras, but you don’t have to do that here.”

Weiss sagged in her seat and squeezed Winter’s hand. “I’m really glad Blake was able to convince me to come to Arendelle.”

“One of the perks of being married to the queen is that I get to boss people around although Averia’s the the real tyrant. She’s been whipping the Royal Guard into shape, and they’ve been put on notice. There is to be absolutely no snooping around you and Blake. Anyone who tries is getting booted out of the country.”

“Well, it’s nice to see Averia putting her tyranny to good use.” Weiss looked out over the royal gardens. It was winter in Arendelle, which meant that there was plenty of snow. However, the gardens were hardly drab. The nation’s famous winter roses were in full bloom. “Ruby hasn’t shot anyone, has she?”

“Not yet,” Winter replied, grinning. “Although she’s been spoiling for a fight. Yang might have a short temper, but Ruby has a vicious streak underneath her cookie addiction. Once she stopped laughing about what you said to your father, she was the first person to suggest assassinating him.”

“That’s Ruby,” Weiss said fondly. “Her addiction to cookies is second only to her loyalty. I assume Averia was the one to tell her no?”

“Yes. Well, it’s more like Averia is the only one who can stop Ruby from running off to kill people when she feels like it.” Winter shifted her attention to another part of the gardens. Their mother was sitting on a bench next to Serah and Snow. The three were talking, and their mother was actually smiling. “Mother is doing better here.”

Weiss nodded. “She is.” She followed Winter’s gaze. “I wonder what our lives would have been like if she’d chosen differently.”

“I had heard,” Winter murmured. “That if she had asked, there is a very good chance that Snow and Serah would have accepted her.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

“Professor Dia may have mentioned it in passing during her visit here to oversee the construction of a Dia Technologies facility. Snow was quite close to our grandfather, but things... never worked out. I daresay that our lives would be very different if they had.”

Weiss took another sip of her tea. It was beginning to cool, but an application of her Semblance saw to that little problem. “You know, we do need to get Whitley away from our father. He can be a bit of a git, but he’s our git, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Despite how aggravating he could be, both Winter and Weiss were fond of Whitley. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried to do the right thing when he could. However, there was no telling what sort of person their father might twist him into if given the opportunity. “But that will be considerably more difficult. Our father is out of options now. He’ll not let Whitley go without a fight. I’ve no doubt that he’s doing his best to poison him against us as we speak.”

“That does sound like father.” Weiss huffed. “We could just get Ruby to teleport over there and kidnap him.”

Winter chuckled. “As amusing as that would be, I’m not sure that would help. Our best bet may be to wait until our parents’ divorce case gets going in earnest. That will keep our father fully occupied since he faces losing a great deal. We can approach Whitley then.”

“I wish I could have taken him with me to Beacon,” Weiss growled. “But that wasn’t an option. He would never have gotten in.”

“I should have tried to push him into the military,” Winter replied. “At least, there I could have kept an eye on him, but he was too young when I left. By the time he was older, our father had already gotten to work. It’s a shame. He has a good head on his shoulders. Once he got over the snark, I think he would have done well under Ironwood.”

“I doubt snark is a problem. Jahne is a ranking officer in the Atlas military, after all.”

“Jahne and her mother occupy a rather special place in the Atlas military hierarchy. It also helps that her grandfather is the General Sephiroth. That alone would grant her considerable leeway, but Jahne, much like her mother, is a magnificently versatile weapon. Her eccentricities are a small price to pay.” Winter sipped on her own tea. “By the way, where is Blake this morning?”

“Claire is taking Blake hunting in the forests north of the capital. It’s not something Blake has done before, and she wanted to give it a try.” Weiss smiled. “But Blake is a big softie, so they’re not actually going to kill anything. Instead, they’re going to track down some reindeer and follow them around. She said something about trying to find some eagles too.”

“Ah, the eagles.” Winter saw Weiss’s curious expression and continued. “Vanille thinks they’re at least partially related to the great eagles that live in the Oerba region. Basically, they’re gigantic, more than large enough to fly from island to island. Unlike their Oerban cousins, however, they don’t eat mostly land animals. A big part of their diet is fish, some of whom are very large.” She smiled. “The waters around Arendelle have always been bountiful, but ever since Averia started her campaign to murder everything Grimm-related, they’ve been doing even better.”

“She does have a reputation as a killer robot for a reason.” Weiss’s expression softened. “How is married life treating you?”

“Honestly? Very well. We’re still working out the exact specifics with regards to children, but Elsa will be going first with Averia. It’s the safest way to remove any issue when it comes to the succession.”

“Oh, I don’t envy you dealing with that.”

“It’s fine. We’ve asked Diana about it, and she has devised some software to outline exactly how the order of succession will work and all that. It’s actually rather fascinating.”

“Any kids Blake and I have won’t have to worry about that although...”

“You’re thinking about Menagerie, right?”

“I’ve met her parents,” Weiss said. “They’re good people, but I don’t think I could ever go to Menagerie. I don’t think I’d want our kids to go there either.”

“Hmm... speaking of Blake’s parents, I should give you a heads up. A delegation from Menagerie will be arriving at the end of the week for diplomatic talks. Blake’s mother will be heading the delegation.”

“Oh.” Weiss nodded. “I should speak to her then.”

“If you do get into any trouble, don’t forget where you are. The Royal Guard have standing orders to assist you and Blake. Averia has whipped them into shape, and I’ve done my share of getting them up to speed on procedures and protocols for any number of situations. They’re good, and they’ll only get better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Weiss looked away. Their mother was laughing, and Serah’s face was covered in snow. Judging from the thunderous expression she wore, the pink-haired woman was out for vengeance. Their mother broke into a run as Serah rushed after her. Snow meanwhile was content to sit back and prepare several snowballs before wading into the fray. “Should we join them?”

“If you want.” Winter paused. “But since I’d very much like to win...” She raised her voice. “Anna, how do you feel about participating in another snowball fight?”

The princess stuck her head out of a nearby window. “Elsa’s not involved, is she? Because if she is, I’m on her team.”

“No, she’s not. I trust you’ve borrowed some of her Semblance, though.”

“Of course,” Anna said. “Ready when you are.”

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[wingsofhcpe]

I did NOT just see an American saying that "why is Europe acting high and mighty, as if their government (yes, government, singular) hasn't committed attrocities".

Bestie idk how to tell you that "Europe" does not have "one government". And the actions of one European country are not sanctioned directly by everyone else (I daresay we wouldn't have the situation we're currently dealing with if that were the case). France bombing Syria doesn't automatically mean that Serbia, Greece, Latvia, Lichtenstein, Estonia and Poland did the same (if you know what or where half these countries really are, which I seriously doubt). We're not one entity, and I know that it may be too hard for your US-centric brain to comprehend, but we are 44 different countries with 44 different governments, most of which cannot agree on one thing. So yeah! I'm absolutely going to criticise the US, strongest country in the world that has caused the most shit with the least consequences to themselves, for trying to make the Ukraine crisis about themselves! Shut the fuck up!!!

So yeah. I knew some Americans were stupid but I can't believe some are actually THAT stupid to not even know each country is run by its own government and not by a Pan-Euroean Illuminati Council or whatever the US thinks we have here.

[loki-darkprince-odinson]

King Loki, I apologize for the rant but I would like some advice.

My father always makes me feel like complete garbage. He is always putting me down, never appreciates me, and makes my depression so much worse. I'm fixing up a house to move in with my friends but I'm still stuck at the house since my parents won't help me get my license or a car, much less a job. I cook, do dishes, take care of the pets, take out the trash, get the mail, do my laundry, wash towels, and help with their laundry. I also take care of my sick mother and while I'm currently on summer break, I'm going to college to become a clinical psychologist. Even then, my father will point out other things that I don't do, and expects me to clean the entire house every day. He always talks about how he needs to do everything around the house yet all he does is sleep, play video games, and watch television. He also says he works hard yet on many occasions he says he sits on his ass all day on his tablet. He also yells so much. I get scared every day when he starts yelling because I worry he may leave us, which he has threatened before, or he may actually hit us. He never has hit either my mother or I yet, and says he never would but he slams and throws things when angry at us so it's his way of showing us how much he wants to hit us, even if he doesn't realize it. However, not only do I have many responsibilities, My depression makes it difficult for me to do much, and he makes it worse. Even when I do try to clean the house he always makes comments such as: "About time." or "How long until it gets cleaned next time?" or "This was half assed, you didn't do it right." I have tried so hard to have a connection with him but I'm so tired of fighting for a relationship that he doesn't care about. I can't address my concerns with him because he will threaten to not take me to college and pay the bills. Do you have any advice to help me deal with my father until I can escape?

Best regards, Catrina.

“Catrina,” Loki drawls, in his smooth resonate voice. “I firstly must commend your good work. For caring for your ill mother, minding the household needs, and that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest; that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore. Secondly, you have my deepest sympathies for your grievances. I am all too familiar with what it is like to seek the approval of a parent; only for there to be none in return.” His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration as memories flowed unbidden.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a sad smile.

“Those whom I knew and called my mother and father are dead. That much is beyond dispute. They were not my real parents, but they raised me as their own. I daresay they loved me. That had been in dispute, at least in my own mind for awhile. I found out very late that my identity was a lie. Not Asgardian, not a son of Odin, I was completely unmade. That was how I felt when I learned of my true parentage. I was a fraud, a monster; it explained so much. It explained why I never felt like I fit in, why I would never be my brother's equal, why I would never get what I'd been promised my whole life.” His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Loki raises his left hand and rests his forefinger against his lips as a line forms between his own eyebrows in thought.

“I have lingered around Midgard long enough to come to an understanding of how your minds tick. I shall do my best to give advice where I can.

Try, if you will, to put things into perspective. The most loving parents commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force one to destroy the person they really are: a subtle kind of murder. Even the most loving parents damage their children with the best intentions—to protect them, to guide them, to better them. In most cases, it would appear they do it by imprinting their own fears and prejudices on them.

The point is, parents are mere, imperfect people.

They have flaws, struggles and impaired judgement. They have both emotional and intellectual handicaps. Regardless of their parental role, they are afflicted by personal blockages and limitations.

But most of all, they are people who make mistakes, and who are terrified of being judged by their children.

Learn to see your difficult parent as just that; human. Learn to see their emotional immaturity as a type of disability.

With that in mind, you would do well to keep your expectations of them low.

In many ways the effect a difficult parent has on ones self is fueled by their feelings of injustice and the belief that things could be different, or ought to be different.

In other words, your expectations dictate how you feel.

You need to let go of your expectations and accept your parent for who they are.

You cannot expect someone with, say, a narcissistic personality, to act with empathy and kindness. No more than you can expect a scorpion not to sting.

Difficult parents are much easier to deal with when you accept that they will not change. So do not expect of them more than they are capable of, and you will not be disappointed or hurt.

Do not fall into the illusion of guilt, Catrina.” He warns. “A difficult parent loves nothing more than to make you feel like you’ve hurt them. Or, in a different scenario, like you’re a bad person if you do not do something they ask.

Do not fall for it. If they’re setting a guilt trap, calmly tell them that you do not appreciate being emotionally manipulated, and you will not tolerate it anymore.

Manipulators, and I should know, detest being called out on their dirty tricks.

If they continue to harass you, reiterate that you cannot do what they’re asking you to do this time, and you need them to respect that.

The trick is agreeing with everything they’re saying (how can they argue when you agree with them?) and re-stating your decision over and over again.

Now this part I find to be… far more easier said than done. You must let go of the need for your father's approval, Catrina. It goes without saying that every child needs and wants their parents’ approval. It is normal to want it, and it is normal to receive it.

Yet so many have to accept the fact that this is not going to happen. For whatever reason, their parent has chosen to withhold their approval. Some difficult parents do it as a form of punishment. While others hope to influence their child in the “right” direction.

Most likely, your father loves you, but they have a very warped idea of what parental love is.

In their misguided quest to make you into a version of themselves, they missed the chance to get to know you. And so they cannot appreciate you for the wonderful being that you are.”

He shrugs elegantly. “It is their loss. When you realize this and let go of the need for their approval, you will be able to start living your life in a whole new way.

When confronting your father, be direct and calm without expecting a specific response. That is the part you cannot control. The part that is within your control is letting your thoughts and feelings known, which is empowering.

Stick to the facts and use “I” statements such as, “I feel like my words do not matter to you when you constantly interrupt me” or “I feel scared and misunderstood when you yell at me”

Remember that manipulative parents are not known for their empathy. They will try to confuse you, go on the offensive, or assume the role of a victim.

Do not allow them to bully you into submission by invoking guilt or pity. State your case in a calm and polite manner, and stay cool regardless of their response.

Your goal is to be honest about your feelings, and to make it clear that you will not tolerate certain behaviors.” He softly clears his throat.

“Last but not least, an unhappy alternative is forgoing the relationship that is too harmful. I know, a parent is not someone you can so easily cut out of your life. But if all else fails and your father continues to cause you psychological harm, then this may very well need to be taken into considerable consideration; at least for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it is the only logical recourse.

A parent that is fundamentally incapable of showing love and support, unable to see the error of their ways after numerous attempts to communicate how their behavior or words affect you, consistently dismissive, demeaning or critical, manipulative in a habitual manner, punishing and cruel whenever you disobey, are disrespectful of your boundaries and using threats and intimidation to get what they want is a destructive force that will continue to tear you down until you put a stop to it.

It is not an easy feat, my dear. The parent-child bond is hardwired into the brain, which means children get attached to even the most awful of parents.

But consider the cost of having that toxic relationship in your life—stress breeds anxiety, depression, internalized feelings of inadequacy, and failed personal relationships.

I wish you all the best, Catrina. I truly do.”

[ariainstars]

Thank You, Disney Lucasfilm… For Destroying My Dreams

Warning: longer post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So… I watched The Rise of Skywalker on Disney+ a few weeks ago. Again.

Sigh.

I guess it has its good sides. But professional critics tend to dislike it and even the general audience doesn’t go crazy for it. I wonder why?

  The Fantasy

When his saga became a groundbreaking pop phenomenon in the 1970es, George Lucas reportedly said that he wanted to tell fairy tales again in world that no longer seemed to offer young people a chance to grow up with them. The fact that his saga was met with such unabashed, international enthusiasm proves that he was right: people long for fairy tales no matter how old they are and what culture they belong to.

“Young people today don’t have a fantasy life anymore, not the way we did… All they’ve got is Kojak and Dirty Harry. All the films they see are movies of disasters and insecurity and realistic violence.” (George Lucas)

I’ve been a Star Wars fan for more than thirty years. I love the Original Trilogy but honestly it did not make me dream much, perhaps because when I saw it the trilogy was already complete. The Prequel Trilogy also did not inspire my fantasy.

The Last Jedi accomplished something that no TV show, book or film had managed in years: it made me dream. The richness of colorful characters, multifaceted themes, unexpected developments, intriguing relationships was something I had not come across in a long time: it fascinated me. I felt like a giddy teenager reading up meta’s, writing my own and imagining all sorts of beautiful endings for the saga for almost two years.

So if there’s something The Rise of Skywalker can pride itself on for me, it’s that it crushed almost every dream I had about it. The few things I had figured out – Rey’s fall to the Dark, Ben Solo’s redemption, the connection between them - did not even make me happy because they were tainted by the flatness of the storytelling reducing the Force to a superpower again (like the general audience seems to believe it is), and its deliberate ignoring of almost all messages of The Last Jedi.

Many fans of the Original Trilogy also were disillusioned by the saga over the decades and ranted at the studios for “destroying their childhood”. Now we, the fans of the sequels and in particular of The Last Jedi, are in the same situation… but the thought doesn’t make the pill much easier to swallow. What grates on my nerves is the feeling that someone trampled on my just newly found dreams like a naughty child kicking a doll’s house apart. Why give us something to dream of in the first place, then? To a certain extent I can understand that many fans would angrily assume that Disney Lucasfilm made the Sequel Trilogy for the purpose of destroying their idea of the saga. The point is that they had their happy ending, while every dream the fans of the Sequel Trilogy may have had was shattered with this unexpectedly flat and hollow final note.

I know many fans who dislike the Prequel Trilogy heartily. I also prefer the Original Trilogy, but I find the prequels all right in their own way, also since I gave them some thought. However, it can’t be denied that they lack the magic spark which made the Original Trilogy so special. Which makes sense since they are not a fairy tale but ultimately a tragedy, but in my opinion it’s the one of the main reasons why the Prequel Trilogy never was quite so successful, or so beloved.

Same goes for Rogue One, Solo, or Clone Wars. They’re ok in their way, but not magical.

The sequel trilogy started quite satisfyingly with The Force Awakens, but for me, the actual bomb dropped with The Last Jedi. Reason? It was a magical story. It had the spark again that I had missed in the new Star Wars stories for decades! And it was packed full of beautiful messages and promises.

The Force is not a superpower belonging solely to the Jedi Anyone can be a hero. Even the greatest heroes can fail, but they will still be heroes. Hope is like the sun: if you only believe in it when you see it you’ll never make it through the night. Failure is the greatest teacher. It’s more important to save the light than to seem a hero. No one is never truly gone. War is only a machine. Dark Side and Light Side can be unbeatable if they are allies. Save what you love instead of destroying what you hate.

Naively, I assumed the trilogy would continue and end in that same magical way. And then came The Rise of Skywalker… which looks and feels like a Marvel superhero story at best and an over-long videogame at worst.

Chekov’s Gun

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

(Anton Chekov, 1860 - 1904)

If you show an important looking prop and don’t put it to use, it leaves the audience feeling baffled. There is a huge difference between a story’s setup, and the audience’s feeling of entitlement. E.g. many viewers expected Luke to jump right back into the fray in Episode VIII, because that’s what a hero does, isn’t it? The cavalry comes and saves the day. And instead, we met a disillusioned elderly hermit who is tired of the ways of the Jedi. But there was no actual reason for disappointment: in Episode VII it was very clearly said (through Han, his best friend) that Luke had gone into exile on purpose, feeling responsible for his failure in teaching a new generation of Jedi. It would have been more than stupid to show him as an all-powerful and all-knowing man who kills the bad guys. Sorry but who expected that was a victim to his own prejudice.

A promise left unfulfilled is a different story. The Last Jedi set up a lot of promises that didn’t come true in The Rise of Skywalker: Balance as announced by the Jedi temple mosaic, a new Jedi Order hinted at by Luke on Crait, a good ending for Ben and Rey set up by the hand-touching scene which was opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding scene. Many fans were annoyed about the Canto Bight sequence. I liked it because it felt like the set-up for a lot of important stuff: partnership between Finn and Rose whom we see working together excellently, freedom for the enslaved children (one of whom is Force-sensitive), DJ and Rose expressing what makes wars in general foolish and beside the point. So if we, the fans of Episode VIII, now feel angry and let down, I daresay it’s not due to entitlement. We were announced magical outcomes and not just pew-pew.

The Star Wars saga never repeated itself but always developed and enlarged its themes, so it was to be expected that delving deeper, uncomfortable truths would come out: wars don’t start out of nowhere, and they don’t flare up and continue for decades for the same reason. In order to find Balance, the Jedi’s and the Skywalker family’s myths needed to be dismantled. Which is not necessarily bad as long it is explained how things came to this, and a better alternative is offered. The prequels explained the old political order and the beginnings of the Skywalker family, and announced that the next generation would do better. The sequels hardly explained anything about the 30 years that passed since our heroes won the battle against the Empire, and while The Last Jedi hinted at the future a lot, The Rise of Skywalker seemed to make a point of ignoring all of it.

  The Skywalker Family Is Obliterated. Why?

Luke was proven right that his nephew would mean the end of everything he loved. The lineage of the Chosen One is gone. His grandson had begun where Vader had ended - tormented, pale and with sad eyes - and he met the same fate. Luke, Han, Leia, all sacrificed themselves to bring Ben Solo back for nothing. Him being the reincarnation of the Chosen One and getting a new chance should have been meaningful for all of them; instead, he literally left the scepter to Rey who did nothing to deserve it: merely because she killed the Bad Guy does not mean she will do a better job than the family whose name and legacy she proudly takes over.

I do hope there was a good reason if the sequels did not tell “The New Adventures of Luke, Leia and Han” and instead showed us a broken family on the eve of its wipeout. It would have been much easier, and more fun for the audience, to bring the trio back again after a few years and pick up where they had left. Instead we had to watch their son, nephew and heir go his grandfather’s way - born with huge power, branded as Meant to Be Dangerous from the start, tried his best to be a Jedi although he wanted to be a pilot, never felt accepted, abandoned in the moment of his greatest need, went to his abuser because he was the only one to turn to, became a criminal, his own family (in Anakin’s case: Obi-Wan and Yoda) trained the person who was closest to him to kill him, sacrificed himself for this person and died. And in his case, it’s particularly frustrating because Kylo Ren wasn’t half as impressive a villain as Vader, and Ben Solo had a very limited time of heroism and personal fulfilment, contrarily to Anakin when he was young.

The impact of The Rise of Skywalker was traumatic for some viewers. I know of adolescents and adults, victims of family abandonment and abuse, who identified with Ben: they were told that you can never be more than the sum of your abuse and abandonment, and that they’re replaceable if they’re not “good”. Children identifying with Rey were told that their parents might sell them away for “protection”. Rey was not conflicted, she had a few doubts but overall, she was cool about everything she did, so she got everything on a silver platter; that’s why as a viewer, after a while you stopped caring for her. Her antagonist was doomed from birth because he dared to question the choices other people made for him. It seems that in the Star Wars universe, you can only “rise” if you’re either a criminal but cool because you’ve always got a bucket over your head (Vader / the Mandalorian) or are a saint-like figure (Luke / Rey).

One of Obi-Wan’s first actions in A New Hope is cutting off someone’s arm who was only annoying him; Han Solo, ditto. These were no acts of self-defense. The Mandalorian is an outlaw. Yet they are highly popular. Why? Because they always keep their cool, so anything they do seems justified. Young Anakin was hated, Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen attacked for his portrayal. For the same reason many fans feel that Luke is the least important of the original trio although basically the Original Trilogy is his story: it seems the general audience hates nothing more than emotionality in a guy. They want James Bond, Batman or Indiana Jones as the lead. Padmé loved Anakin because she always saw the good little boy he once was in him; his attempts at impressing her with his flirting or his masculinity failed. Kylo tried to impress Rey with his knowledge and power, but she fled from him - she wanted the gentle, emphatic young man who had listened to her when she felt alone. Good message. But both died miserably, and Ben didn’t even get anything but a kiss. Realizing that his “not being as strong as Darth Vader” might actually be a strength of its own would have meant much more.

The heroes of the Original Trilogy had their adventures together and their happy ending; the heroes of the Prequel Trilogy also had good times and accomplishments in their youth, before everything went awry. Rey, Finn and Poe feel like their friendship hardly got started; Rose was almost obliterated from the narrative; and Ben Solo seems to have had only one happy moment in his entire life. Of course it’s terrible that he committed patricide (even if it was under coercion), but Anakin / Vader himself had two happy endings in the Prequel Trilogy before he became the monster we know so well. Not to mention Clone Wars, where he has heroic moments unnumbered.

The Skywalker family is obliterated without Balance in the Force, and the young woman who inherited all doesn’t seem to have learned any lesson from all this. The Original Trilogy became a part of pop culture among other things because its ending was satisfying. We can hardly be expected to be satisfied with an ending where our heroes are all dead and the heir of their worst enemy takes over. What good was the happy ending of the Original Trilogy for if they didn’t learn enough from their misadventures to learn how to protect one single person - their son and nephew, their future?

For a long time, I also thought that the saga was about Good vs. Evil. Watching the prequels again, I came to the conclusion that it is rather about Love vs. War. And now, considering as a whole, I believe it to be essentially Jedi against Skywalker. The ending, as it is now, says that both fractions lost: they annihilated one another, leaving a third party in charge, who believes to be both but actually knows very little about them.

Star Wars and Morality

After 9 films and 42 years, it still is not possible to make the general audience accept that it is wrong to divide people between Good and Evil in the first place. The massive rejection of both prequels and sequels, which have moral grey zones galore, shows it.

It is also not possible without being accused of actual blasphemy in the same fandom, to say the plain truth that no Skywalker ever was a Jedi at heart. As their name says, they’re pilots. Luke was the last and strongest of all Jedi because he always was first and foremost himself. Anakin was crushed by the Jedi’s attempts to stifle his feelings. His grandson, too. A Force-sensitive person ought to have the choice whether they want to be a Jedi or not; they ought not to be taught to suppress their emotions and live only on duty, without really caring for other people; and they ought to grow up feeling in a safe and loving environment, not torn away from their families in infancy, indoctrinated and provided with a light sabre (a deadly weapon) while they’re still small. A Jedi order composed of child soldiers or know-it-all’s does not really help anybody.

The original Star Wars saga was about love and friendship; although many viewers did not want to understand that message. The prequels portrayed the Jedi as detached and arrogant and Anakin Skywalker sympathetically, a huge disappointment for who only accepts stories of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. The Last Jedi was so hated that The Rise of Skywalker backpedaled: sorry, of course you’re right, here you have your “hero who knows everything better and fixes everything for you on a silver platter”. The embarrassing antihero, who saves the girl who was the only person showing him some human compassion, can die miserably in the process and is not even mourned.

Honestly: I was doubtful whether it would be adequate to give Ben Solo a happy ending after the patricide. I guess letting him die was the easiest way out for the authors to escape censorship. (I even wrote this in a review on amazon about The Last Jedi, before I delved deeper into the saga’s themes.) The messages we got now are even worse.

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo

A parent can replace a child if they’re not the way they expect them to be. A victim of lifelong psychical and physical abuse can only find escape in death, whether he damns or redeems himself. An introspective, sensitive young man is a loser no matter how hard he tries either way. A whole family can sacrifice itself to save their heir, he dies anyway.

Rey

Self-righteousness is acceptable as long as you find a scapegoat for your own failings. Overconfidence justifies anything you do. You can’t carve your way as a female child of “nobodies”, you have to descend from someone male and powerful even if that someone is the devil incarnate. You are a “strong female” if you choose to be lonely; you need neither a partner nor friends.

In General

Star Wars is not about individual choices, loyalty, friendship and love, it is a classic Western story with a lonesome cowboy (in this case: cowgirl) at its centre. Satisfied? 

The father-son-relationship between Vader and Luke mirrors the Biblical story of Cain and Abel, saying that whoever we may want to kill is, in truth, our kin, which makes a clear separation in Good and Evil impossible. The “I am your father” scene is so infamous by now that even non-fans are aware of it; but this relationship between evil guy and good guy, as well as the plot turns where the villain saves the hero and that the hero discards his weapon are looked upon rather as weird narrative quirks instead of a moral. 

In  an action movie fan, things are simple: good guy vs. bad guy, the good guy (e.g. James Bond may be a murderer and a misogynist, but that’s ok because he’s cool about it) kills the bad guy, ka-boom, end of story. But Star Wars is a parable, an ambitious project told over decades of cinema, and a multilayered story with recurring themes.

A fairy tale ought to have a moral. The moral of both Original Trilogy and Prequel Trilogy was compassionate love - choose it and you can end a raging conflict, reject it and you will cause it. What was the moral of the Sequel Trilogy? You can be the offspring of the galaxy’s worst terror and display a similar attitude, but pose as a Jedi and kill unnecessarily, and it’s all right; descend from Darth Vader (who himself was a victim long before he became a culprit) and whether you try to become a Jedi trained by Luke Skywalker or a Sith trained by his worst enemy, you will end badly?

Both original and prequel trilogy often showed “good” people making bad choices and the “bad ones” making the right choices. To ensure lasting peace, no Force user ought to be believe that he must choose one side and then stick to it for the rest of his life: both sides need one another. The prequels took 3 films to convey this message, though not saying so openly. The Last Jedi said it out clearly - and the authors almost had their heads ripped off by affronted fans, resulting in The Rise of Skywalker’s fan service. It’s not like Luke, Han and Leia were less heroic in the Sequel Trilogy, on the contrary, they gave everything they had to their respective cause. They were not united, and they were more human than they had once been. Apparently, that’s an affront.

The Jedi are no perfect heroes and know-it-all’s and they never were, the facts are there for everyone to see. Padmé went alone and pregnant to get her husband out of Mustafar - and she almost succeeded - although she knew what he had done and that he was perfectly capable of it (he had told her of the Tusken village massacre himself) because she still saw the good little boy he had been in him; Obi-Wan left him amputated and burning in the lava, although he had raised Anakin like a small brother and the latter had repeatedly saved his life. But Padmé was not a Jedi, so I guess she still had some human decency. Neither Obi-Wan nor Yoda lifted a finger for the oppressed populations of the galaxy during the Empire, waiting instead for Anakin’s son to grow up so they could trick him into committing patricide. Neither Luke nor Leia did anything for their own son and nephew while he became the scourge of the galaxy, damning his soul by committing crime after crime. On Exegol, Rey heard the voices of all Jedi encouraging her to fight Palpatine to death. After that, they left her to die alone, and the alleged “bad guy”, who had already saved her soul from giving in to Palpatine’s lures, had to save her life by giving her his own. The Jedi merely know that “their side” has to win, no matter the cost for anyone’s life, sanity, integrity or happiness.

Excuse me, these are simple facts. How anyone can still believe that the Jedi were super-powerful heroes who always win or all-knowing wizards who are always right is beyond me. Luke, the last and strongest of them, like a bright flickering of light before the ultimate end, showed us that the best of men can fail. There is nothing wrong with that in itself. But it is wrong and utterly frustrating when all of the failure never leads to anything better. If Rey means to rebuild the Jedi order to something better than it was, there was no hint at that whatsoever.

  And What Now?

The Last Jedi hit theatres only 2 years before The Rise of Skywalker, and I can’t imagine that the responsible authors all have forgotten how to make competent work in the meantime; more so considering that Solo or The Mandalorian are solid work. Episode IX is thematically so painfully flat it seems like they wanted us to give up on the saga on purpose. The last instalment of a 42-year-old saga ought to have been the best and most meaningful. I had heard already decades ago that the saga was supposed to have 9 chapters, so I was not among who protested against the sequels thinking that they had been thought up to make what had come before invalid. I naively assumed a larger purpose. But Episode IX only seems to prove these critics perfectly right.

The last of the flesh and blood of the Chosen One is dead without having “finished what his grandfather started”?

Still no Balance in the Force?

And worst of all, Palpatine’s granddaughter taking over, having proven repeatedly that she is not suited for the task?

Sorry, this “ending” is absurd. I have read fanfiction that was better written and more interesting. And, most of all, less depressing. I was counting on a conclusion that showed that the Force has all colours and nuances, and that it’s not limited to the black-and-white view “we against them”. That’s the ending all of us fans would have deserved, instead of catering the daddy issues of the part of the audience who doesn’t want stories other than those of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. I myself grew up on Japanese anime, maybe that’s one of the reasons why I can’t stand guys like James Bond or Batman and why I think you don’t need “a great hero who fixes the situation” but that group spirit and communication are way more important.

It was absolutely unexpected that Disney, the production company whose trademark are happy endings and family stories, would end this beloved and successful saga after almost half a century on such a hollow note. Why tell first a beautiful fairy tale and then leave the audience on a hook for 35 years to continue first with a tragedy (which at least was expected) and then with another (unexpected one)? And this story is supposed to be for children? Like children would understand all of the subtext, and love sad, cautionary tales. Children, as well as the general audience, first of all want to be entertained! No one wants to watch the legendary Skywalker family be obliterated and a Palpatine take over. The sequels were no fun anymore; we’ve been left with another open ending and hardly an explanation about what happened in the 30 years in between. If you want to tell a cautionary tale, you should better warn the general audience beforehand.

The Original Trilogy is so good because it’s entertaining and offers room for thought for who wants to think about its deeper themes, and also leaves enough space for dreams. Same goes for the first two films of the Sequel Trilogy; but precisely the last, which should have wrapped up the saga, leaves us with a bitter aftertaste and dozens of questions marks. 

We as the audience believe that a story, despite the tragic things that happen, must go somewhere; we get invested into the characters, we root for them, we want to see them happy in the end. (The authors of series like Girls, How I Met Your Mother or Game of Thrones ought to be reminded of that, too.) I was in contact with children and teenagers saying that the Sequel Trilogy are “boring”; and many, children or adults, who were devastated by its concluson. There is a difference between wanting to tell a cautionary tale and playing the audience for fools. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. Who watches a family or fantasy story or a romantic / comedic sitcom wants to escape into another world, not to be hit over his head with a mirror to his own failings, and the ones of the society he’s living in. Messages are all right, but they ought not to go at the cost of the audience’s satisfaction about the about the people and narrative threads they have invested in for years.

This isn’t a family story: but children probably didn’t pester the studios with angry e-mails and twitter messages etc. They simply counted on a redemption arc and happy ending, and they were right, because they’re not as stupid as adults are. I have read and watched many a comment from fans who hate The Last Jedi. Many of these fans couldn’t even pinpoint what their rage was all about, they only proved to be stuck with the original trilogy and unwilling to widen their horizon. But at least their heroes had had their happy ending: The Rise of Skywalker obliterated the successes of all three generations of Skywalkers.

If the film studios wanted to tease us, they’ve excelled. If they expect the general audience to break their heads over the sequels’ metaphysics, they have not learned from the reactions to the prequels that most viewers take these films at face value. Not everybody is elbows-deep in the saga, or willing to research about it for months, and / or insightful enough to see the story’s connections. Which is why many viewers frown at the narrative and believe the Sequel Trilogy was just badly written. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. As it is now, the whole trilogy is hanging somewhere in the air, with neither a past nor a future to be tied in with.

The prequels already had the flaw of remaining too obscure: most fans are not aware that Anakin had unwillingly killed his wife during the terrible operation that turned him into Darth Vader, sucking her life out of her through the Force: most go by “she died of a broken heart”. So although one scene mirrors the other, it is not likely that most viewers will understand what Rey’s resurrection meant. And: Why did Darth Maul kill Qui-Gon Jinn? What did the Sith want revenge for? Who was behind Shmi’s abduction and torture? Who had placed the order for the production of the clones, and to what purpose? We can imagine or try to reconstruct the answers, but nothing is confirmed by the story itself.

The sequels remained even more in the dark, obfuscating what little explanation we got in The Rise of Skywalker with quick pacing and mind-numbing effects.

Kylo Ren had promised his grandfather that “he would finish what he started”: he did not. Whatever one can say of this last film, it did not bring Balance in the Force. What’s worse, the subject was not even breached. It was hinted at by the mosaic on the floor of the Prime Jedi Temple on Ahch-To, but although Luke and Rey were sitting on its border, they never seemed to see what was right under their noses. It remains inexplicable why it was there for everyone to see in the first place.

We might argue that Ben finished what his grandfather started by killing (or better, causing the death of) the last Jedi, who this one couldn’t kill because he was his own son; but leaving Rey in charge, he helped her finish what her grandfather had started. The irony could hardly be worse.

Episode IX looks like J.J. Abrams simply completed what they started with Episode VII, largely ignoring the next film as if it was always planned to do so. We, the angry and disappointed fans of The Last Jedi, may believe it was due to some of the general audience’s angry backlash, but honestly: the studios aren’t that dumb. They had to know that Episode VIII would be controversial and that many fans would hate it. The furious reactions were largely a disgrace, but no one can make me believe that they were totally unexpected. Nor can anyone convince me that The Rise of Skywalker was merely an answer to the small but very loud part of the audience who hated The Last Jedi: a company with the power and the returns of Disney Lucasfilm does not need to buckle down before some fan’s entitlement and narrowmindedness out of fear of losing money. And if they do, it was foolish to make Rey so perfect that she becomes almost odious, and to let the last of the Skywalker blood die a meaningless death. (Had he saved the Canto Bight children and left them with Rey, at least he would have died with honor; and she, the child left behind by her parents, would have had a task to dedicate herself to.)

The only reason I can find for this odd ending is that it’s meant to prepare the way for Rian Johnson’s new trilogy, which - hopefully - will finally be about Balance. We as the audience don’t know what’s going on behind the doors. Filmmaking is a business like any other, i.e. based on contracts; and I first heard that Rian Johnson had negotiated a trilogy of his own since before Episode VIII hit theatres. Maybe he kept all the rights of intellectual property to his own film, including that he would finish the threads he picked up and close the narrative circles he opened, and only he; and that his alleged working on “something completely different” is deliberately misleading.

Some viewers love the original trilogy, some love the prequels, some like both; but I hardly expect anyone to love the sequel trilogy as a whole. What with the first instalment “letting the past die, killing it if they had to”, the second hinting at a promising future and the third patched on at the very last like some sort of band-aid, it was not coherent. I heard the responsible team for Game of Thrones even dropped their work, producing a dissatisfying, quickly sewn together last season, for this new Star Wars project and thereby disappointing millions of GoT fans; I hope they are aware of the expectations they have loaded upon them. George Lucas’ original trilogy had its faults, but but though there was no social media yet in his time, at least he was still close enough to the audience to give them what they needed, if not necessarily wanted. (Some fans can’t accept that Luke and Leia are siblings to this day, even if honestly, it was the very best plot twist to finish their story in a satisfying way.)

I’m hoping for now that The Last Jedi was not some love bombing directed at the more sentimental viewers but a promise that will be fulfilled. “Wrapping up” a saga by keeping the flattest, least convincing chapter for last is bad form. Star Wars did not become a pop phenomenon by accident, but because the original story was convincing and satisfying. Endings like these will hardly make anyone remember a story fondly, on the contrary, the audience will move to another fandom to forget their disappointment.

On a side note, I like The Mandalorian, exactly for the reason that that is a magical story; not as much as the original trilogy, but at least a little. Of course, I’m glad it was produced. But it’s a small consolation prize after the mess that supposedly wrapped up the original saga after 9 films.

We’re Not Blind, You Know…

- Though Kylo Ren (Ben Solo) has Darth Vader’s stature, his facial features are practically opposite to Vader’s creepy mask. This should have foreshadowed that his life should have gone the other way, instead of more or less repeating itself. - As a villain Kylo was often unconvincing; by all logic he should have been a good father figure. (Besides, Star Wars films or series never work unless there is a strong father or father figure at their center.)

- Like Vader, Kylo Ren was redeemed, but not rehabilitated. Who knows who may find his broken mask somewhere now and, not knowing the truth, promise “I will finish what you started”. - The hand-touching scene on Ahch-To which was visually opposite to Anakin’s and Padmé’s should not have predicted another tragedy but a happy ending for them. - The Canto Bight sequence was announcing reckoning for the weapon industry and freedom for the enslaved children. It also showed how well Finn and Rose fit together. - Rey was a good girl before she started on her adventures. Like Anakin or Luke, she did not need to become a Jedi to be strong or generous or heroic. - Rey summons Palpatine after one year of training. Kylo practically begged for his grandfather’s assistance for years, to no avail. Her potential for darkness is obviously much stronger. - Dark Rey’s light sabre looked like a fork, Kylo’s like a cross. - The last time all Jedi and Sith were obliterated leaving only Luke in charge, things went awry. Now we have a Palpatine masquerading as a Skywalker and believing she’s a Jedi. Rey is a usurper and universally cheered after years of war, like her grandfather. - The broom boy of Canto Bight looked like he was sweeping a stage and announcing “Free the stage, it’s time for us, the children.”

Rey failed in all instances where Luke had proved himself (so much for feminism and her being a Mary Sue): - Luke had forgiven his father despite all the pain he had inflicted on him. She stabbed the „bad guy”, who had repeatedly protected and comforted her, to death. - Luke never asked Vader to help the Rebellion or to turn to the Light Side, he only wanted him back as his father. She assumed that you could make Ben Solo turn, give up the First Order and join the Resistance for her. She thought of her friends and of her own validation, not of him. - Luke had made peace by choosing peace. Rey fought until the bitter end. - Luke had thrown his weapon away before Palpatine. Rey picked up a second weapon. (And both of them weren’t even her own.) - Luke had mourned his dead father. Rey didn’t shed a tear for the man she is bonded to by the Force. - Luke went back to his friends to celebrate the new peace with them. Rey went back letting everyone celebrate her like the one who saved the galaxy on her own, she who were tempted to become the new evil ruler of the galaxy and had to rely on the alleged Bad Guy to save both her soul and her body. - Luke had embodied compassion when Palpatine was all about hatred. Where he chose love and faith in his father, she chose violence and fear. - Luke had briefly fallen prey to the Dark Side but it made him realize that he had no right to judge his father. Rey’s fall to the Dark Side did not make her wiser. - Rey has no change of mind on finding out that she’s Palpatine’s flesh and blood, nor after she has stabbed Kylo. Luke had to face himself on learning that he had almost become a patricide. Rey does not have to face herself: the revelation of her ancestry is cushioned by Luke’s and Leia’s support. Rey is and remains an uncompromising person who hardly learns from her faults.

This is cheating on the audience. And it's not due to feminism or Rey being some sort of “Mary Sue” the way many affronted fans claim. Kylo never was truly a villain, Rey is not a heroine, and this is not a happy ending. The Jedi, with their stuck-up conviction “only we must win”, have failed all over again. The Skywalker family was obliterated leaving their worst enemy in charge.  Rey is supposed to be a “modern” heroine which young girls can take as an example? No, thank you. Not after this last film has made of her. Padmé was a much better role model, combining intelligence with strength and goodness and also female grace. The world does not need entitled female brats.

Bonus: What Made The Rise of Skywalker a Farce

- The Force Awakens was an ok film and The Last Jedi (almost) a masterpiece. The Rise of Skywalker was a cartoon. No wonder a lot of the acting felt and looked wooden. - “I will earn your brother’s light sabre.” She’s holding his father’s sabre. - Kylo in The Last Jedi: “Let the past die. Kill it if, you have to.” Beginning with me? - Rey ends up on Tatooine. - The planet both Anakin and Luke ardently wanted to leave. - Luke had promised his nephew that he would be around for him. - Nope. - Rey had told Ben that she had seen his future. What future was that - “you will be a hero for ten minutes, get a kiss and then die? (And they didn’t even get a love theme.) - “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.” On a desert planet with a few ghosts. What of the ocean she used to dream about? - Ben and Rey were both introduced as two intensely lonely people searching for belonging. We learn they are a Force dyad, and then they are torn apart again. - Why was Ben named for Obi-Wan Kenobi in the first place, if they have absolutely nothing in common? - The Throne Room battle scene in The Last Jedi was clearly showing that when they are in balance, Light Side and Dark Side are unbeatable. Why did the so-called “Light Side” have to win again, in The Rise of Skywalker, instead of finding balance? - Luke’s scene on Ahch-To was so ridiculously opposite to his attitude in The Last Jedi that by now I believe he was a fantasy conjectured by her. (Like Ben’s vision of his father.) - Anakin’s voice among the other Jedi’s. - He was a renegade, for Force’s sake. - The kiss between two females. - More fan service, to appease those who pretended that not making Poe and Finn a couple was a sign of homophobia. - We see the Knights of Ren, but we learn absolutely nothing about them or Kylo’s connection with them. - Rose Tico’s invalidation. - A shame after what the actress had gone through because for the fans she was “not Star-Wars-y” (chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire). - Finn’s and Rose’s relationship. - Ignored without any explanation. - Finn may or may not be Force-sensitive. - If he is: did he abandon the First Order not due to his own free will but because of some higher willpower? Great. - General Hux was simply obliterated. - In The Force Awakens he was an excellent foil to Kylo Ren; no background story, no humanization for him. - Chewie’s and 3PO’s faked deaths. - Useless additional drama. - The Force Awakens was a bow before the classic trilogy. The Rise of Skywalker kicked its remainders to pieces. - The Prequel Trilogy ended with hope, the Original Trilogy with love. The Sequel Trilogy ends on a blank slate. - “We are what they grow beyond.” The characters of the Sequel Trilogy did not grow beyond the heroes of the Original Trilogy. - The Jedi did not learn from their mistakes and were obliterated. The Skywalker family understood the mistakes they had made too late. Now they’re gone, too.

  P.S. While I was watching The Rise of Skywalker my husband came in asked me since when I like Marvel movies. I said “That’s not a Marvel movie, it’s Star Wars.” I guess that says enough.

P.P.S. For the next trilogy, please at least let the movies hit theatres in May again instead of December. a) It’s tradition for Star Wars films, b) Whatever happens, at least you won’t ruin anyone’s Christmases. Thank you.