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luciferlightbringer · 3 months

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Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 6

Hi lovelies! Please be warned that this is a heavier chapter that discusses trauma and depictions of violence! I'm sure I'm going overboard with the warnings, but I'm just wanting to make sure I cover all of my bases here! xoxo, Dany

Chapter 5|Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 5.3k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, protective "not-boyfriend" !Trigger Warning!: Physical violence, abuse, neglect, vague mentionings of underage sex work, drug use, torture, and drug dealing

The next couple of days seemed to creep by more slowly for the both of you, nothing drastic, just... slower, more... unpleasant. It could have been because of how good everything felt to be with each other, but at least for you, there had been another new factor.

You had still been seeing other clients while working for Lucifer, and sure, he took up the largest amount of time, but there were still others, some one offs and some regulars, and a handful of new clients. Most of them didn't give you much grief, but one of your newer clients had taken quite a shine to you, and wanted to see you more often. He was... ok...ish... not really. He was a little selfish, which was fine, but he also had an aggressive personality, and not the fun kind. He had not done anything "bad" to you yet, but he toed the line and that made you nervous.

This had not been as much of an issue until someone tipped him off that you did house calls it was Cynthhhhia, and in the last two days he had asked for you to go to his place, and he seemed to push the boundaries more outside of the brothel. Larry had always told you that if anyone made you ladies uncomfortable, that you could put them on your "No Kiss List", basically being banned from being scheduled with you, and depending on the intensity of the issue they could also get banned from the Lounge entirely.

Again, at this point, this newer guy, Jethro, had not done anything yet, so you still felt like you could handle him, but he was still a cause for some stress. The night of your next visit with Lucifer was a welcome one. When you got too Lucifer's, you pulled him into a tight embrace. He welcomed your hug, but noticed that it felt a little different, a little heavier than usual.

"Well hello to you too! Haha! Hey, you doing ok?" he said, looking at you with soft concern as your released him from your embrace.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" you smiled, trying to hide your stress from the day.

"Oh nothing, you just uh... felt a little tense is all," he said sheepishly.

"Oh! Haha, ya it's nothing. Just a long day. Lots of clients, lots of... you know," you said trailing off.

"Of course! Haha, how silly of me! Do you, uh... need a minute? Do you want to, like, take a bath or shower or something?" he asked, "By yourself of course! I'm sure a minute to yourself would be nice. Plus, I still need to finish up with dinner," he added nervously, he felt his checks tint pink.

You chuckled, you thought it was funny when Lucifer would overthink his statements and felt like he needed to clarify something.

"That sounds nice, I might just take you up on that," you smile.

"Great!" he smiled, "Chose any bathroom you like, dinner should be ready in like 30 minutes."

The two of you part ways as you headed to one of the close-by guest bathrooms and Lucifer headed back to the kitchen. Lucifer had some updates that he had wanted to tell you about from Charlie's meeting with Heaven, but he figured that could wait a little longer. Plus, he was now preoccupied by his own dumb comment.

'"You want to take a bath or shower or something? By yourself, of course!" no duh, you idiot! She understood that's what you meant, why did you felt like you needed to clarify that?! Why do you gotta be so weird sometimes?!' he scolded himself as he made his way to the kitchen. Lucifer definitely had people that would cook for him, but he liked that it gave him something to do sometimes while he waited for you to get there in the evenings.

Meanwhile, you drew yourself a bath and slipped into it. You examined the bruises on your legs and chest from where your earlier guest had bitten and grabbed you. You were normally all for kinks like these, but these feel more forceful, and therefore made you upset to look at. You hid your legs under the water and just floated in the big tub for a while.

You smiled to yourself again as you thought of Lucifer stumbling over himself 'You want to take a bath or shower or something? By yourself, course!' followed by that little nervous smile. It was cute, and it was funny that he kept forgetting that he could just request that if he wanted to. You wouldn't have minded, you honestly would have liked it. He would be so warm and soft, snuggling into your chest in the warm water. You realized you had only ever seen him down to a barely opened shirt, while he has seen you down to your lingerie, for a fleeting minute.

How odd it was, that he had been one of your longest running and most consistent clients and yet, you too had not been sexually intimate at all. It was nice, but also... a little disappointing? Why was that disappointing? Why did you care? And why did you actually like the thought of bathing with him?

Your thought process was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Uhh... occupied?" you said.

"There you are!" you could hear Lucifer through the door. "Jesus Christ, darling why do I have so many bathrooms?"

You shrugged, "Uhh.. cuz you're rich and its funny?"

"Hmm... That is true..." Lucifer chuckled on the other side of the door, "Anyways, dinner is ready whenever you are!"

"Ok!" you called out, and you started to get ready. As Lucifer walked away, he paused for a moment, thinking about how you were naked on the other side of the door.

He shook his head and kept walking, "Dude, stop it," he said quietly to himself.

A few minutes later, you were out, a toweling off your hair, back in your earlier clothes.

"How are you feeling?" said Lucifer as you entered the room.

"Much better, thank you," you said with a smile.

You and Lucifer sat down to eat, and Lucifer was finally able to tell you about the whole ordeal of setting up the Heaven with meeting the exhausting bureaucracy and drama of it all, and then... the aftermath of Charlie's meeting. Charlie had gone up with Vaggie, met with a bunch of the angels and seraphim, including Adam, the first man and leader of the yearly exterminations, and his right hand exorcist, Lute, and... it did not go well. Charlie had gotten them to start actually start thinking about the whole issue, then Adam dropped the whole "extermination" thing on the counsel, and most of the angels in the room knew nothing about the extermination of souls in hell! Consider the tea, spilled. Then on top of that, the council said their was not proof sinners could be redeemed, and Adam basically declared war on the Hotel.

Well, this was very stressful, but in a way that made you care more and made you forget about your worries from earlier in the day. You thought about Lucifer, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel... everyone at the hotel... You were wondering how they were feeling, how they were going to get out of this. So much for your idea about moving into the hotel. You chuckled to yourself.

"What is it?" Lucifer asked.

"Oh... it's stupid," you say with a wave of your hand, Lucifer gives you a look. You sigh, "Just... puts a little damper on my daydream to try out the hotel."

Lucifer cocked his head to the side, "You were thinking about moving to the hotel?"

You sat back and shrugged, "It was... a passing thought. Nothing serious. I realize that probably would have made things complicated, it's probably just easier this way."

Lucifer studied your face, "Maybe after the next extermination, see what happens. I just don't want you to get caught up in all of that right now."

"Ya," you say, staring off. Your worries returning back to thoughts of Charlie and the others.

Lucifer read the concern on your face, and placed a hand over yours. You looked up to meet his soft smile.

"It's gonna be ok..." he said with hesitation. "I don't exactly know how it is going to be ok, I would be lying if I said it wasn't nervous... but I trust my daughter... and her friends seem to be good people... outside of Alastor," his glared off to the side at the mentioning of the Radio Demon.

He was right, maybe not all hope was lost, maybe Charlie would figure out something. You smile at the face he made, then looked down at his hand on top of yours. Your face shifted in thought in response to something he had just said, "her friends seem to be good people..." Did he really believe that? Did that visit really change his mind that much? That's not what he had made it sound like the other day. You had forgotten about that comment, and now the reminder left you with a bitter taste.

Lucifer looked over and caught your expression, "What's on your mind?"

You look at him sideways, "Do you really believe that? That her friends are good people?"

"Well... as far as I have seen, why do you say that?" he said with worried confusion.

You look up at him, "I just thought that sinners were all violent psychopaths, hell-bent on causing as much pain a destruction as they can."

Lucifer froze, shit did he really say that the other day to his daughter, in front of you and all of Charlie's friends? Yeesh.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Jeez, I really did say that didn't I?" You gave him a slow judgmental nod. He sighed, "I... I was wrong, I shouldn't have said that... I'm sorry... I realized that I have never really taken the opportunity to actually get to know many sinners, and I've passed a lot of judgement on them the last... 10,000 years. They are not like that... you, are definitely not like that... Honestly, meeting you has made me really confused on the matter of how they decide who ends up here entirely."

Your slight distain turned you curiosity, and you raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

Lucifer took a minute to try and find the words, "Uhh, well... fuck, ok... I guess I just don't understand why you are in hell in the first place. The way you treat people puts people I used to know in Heaven to shame."

You blow a puff of air out your nose in a laugh, "Maybe the way I treat you and hotel people, I'm not like this with everyone, you know?"

"Well ya... but still..." Lucifer held back his next question a moment, he didn't want to say anything to upset you. "Can I ask... um... how you ended up here?"

You prop your head up on your hand and thought, being alive felt so long ago. Lucifer waited nervously for you to answer, but he was pretty sure you didn't look mad at the question.

"You really wanna know?"

He nodded.

"Well... I was the oldest child of drug addict parents, who had no right having any kids, spent much of my life fending for myself and my siblings, my parents would not stop having fucking kids and I was basically the only parent for them. I had to do... whatever I could for them, steal from neighbors, stores, random people's cars, anything to get food and money for my siblings. When I was older, my grandmother got custody of us and it got a lot better, but we struggled a lot mentally and it was hard to shake the old habits. She had to knock some sense into me to stop stealing, but I could never get past the idea of needing to be the parent of the house. I didn't go to school until end of middle school, and when I started it was hard, I skipped school, never finished an education. I wanted to... but I was way too far behind by that point, and with so many kids, grandma couldn't get all of us caught up. I encouraged her to focus on the younger ones. I tried getting a normal job, but I ended up meeting shitty people and I get ended up selling drugs and my body to get by. It wasn't great but it made me money. I had bad and sub-par relationships, nothing great. During my last relationship, I was actually starting to learn about boundaries and shit, feeling like it might actually go somewhere... and then I was killed during a bad drug deal," you looked back at Lucifer casually as you finished your story.

Lucifer looked at you with so much heartbreak in his eyes. No pity, no belittlement, no tears, just sadness. "How are you still so full of kindness then? After all of that?"

You smiled, "Partly cuz I can act, but mostly because... everything stupid, reckless, or "sinful" I ever did... it was for my siblings. I always thought that I would damn myself to hell so that they didn't have to." You shook your head, "I sure did damn myself to hell, but... I don't know how successful I was, my siblings always seemed mad or annoyed with me... but... I just loved them all so much."

Lucifer stood up and wrapped his arms around you as you remained sitting, your head at his chest level. You were taken by surprise, but hugged him back, "What's this for?"

He released you slightly from his hug, and held your face in his hands. "If you gave your siblings even an ounce of the care you have shown me, I know you were successful, and I know they will never forget the sacrifices you made for them."

Your eyes go wide, 'Could it... could it be? Could he be right? Could you have saved them? Saved them from the same pain you endured? Could your actions have changed the course of their lives? Could you have saved them from a fate in hell?' Tears started to form in your eyes. 'No. No. No no no no no. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, no crying in front of Lucifer.' You rip your face away from Lucifer's hands and wipe your face before the tears fall.

Lucifer ached to see you tear yourself away and wipe your tears. Until this moment, he had never realized how much of a wall you had up, how much you protected yourself, how much space you gave to him and how little you gave for yourself. He knew the dynamics were weird, this not being a normal friendship and all. Those dynamics were starting to make him so frustrated, he just wanted to hold you every night and tell you how much he cared about you... but things were way too messy now. He had no idea how to untangle this, and emotionally vulnerable conversations did not seem like the best idea right now with everything going on.

"Sorry," you say as you finish wiping your tears, "Thank you, really, I mean it. I'm just... not used to that."

Lucifer smiled, "Well... I hope this can be a good... beginning to that..."

'Nice job Lucifer, fucking nailed it, idiot.' he thought you himself.

You laugh, he laughed with you. Alright, enough of that, time for some tv and snuggles. You also remembered another question you had for Lucifer from you day at the hotel. You asked Lucifer about how he could teleport, and asked if the driver was necessary or if he could just pick you up from your apartment for your evenings together. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about that before, he had been worried about people following the car back to his place, or bothering you, and that would make him feel better. Plus, it would be cool to see your place. You guys made a plan for him to just teleport in to grab you in the future.

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The next couple of weeks were a weird mixture of fun and stressful, Lucifer started teleporting in to get you right at your set meeting time and he got to see your place. It was... small, really small, and there wasn't much to it. He made a comment oh how "minimalist" it was, but you just said you didn't need a lot, you weren't used to much, which wasn't completely a lie, but you didn't want to worry him with images of the other girls trying to break into your room.

Outside of that, Lucifer had the added stressors of worrying about Charlie, the hotel, and the upcoming extermination/war with Adam. You would go a visit the hotel crew with him often, but it only seemed to ease his mind while he was there. He started to complain again about struggling a little with sleep, he would fall asleep fine, especially with you there, but he started having nightmares that would wake him up in the middle of the night and would make it hard for him to fall back asleep. You were frustrated that you did not know how to help him with that, but you also knew he could take care of himself. You couldn't fix all of his problems.

You on the other hand... had reached a boiling point with Jethro. He continued to ignoring safe words, become more controlling, manipulative, and aggressive, until one day you had enough. You stopped the scene you were in and told him that he would not stand for his behavior anymore. Jethro did not like this, and you left his house with a black eye, as well as several other bruises across your body, may be even a sprain. You ran back to the Lounge as quickly as you could, trying desperately not to cry in public.

You got into the Lounge and ran up to your room to hide. Luckily, one of the girls you were closer to saw you, and told Larry. Larry texted you, asking what happened and if he could come up to talk to you. You agreed. Larry came up to your room, you opened the door for him to see you in tears, covered in bruises, trying to ice your eye. You told Larry what happened, and he told you he was putting Jethro on your "No Kiss List", banning him from the Lounge, and that he would handle Jethro if he tried coming back in.

You thanked him, he patted your shoulder, and asked if you wanted you clients canceled for the rest of the day. You asked who was left for the day, and the only one left was "Lance". You shook your head, just asking that no walk-ins get scheduled with you between then and now so that you could be ready by "Lance's" appointment. Larry agreed, and left you to your wounds. You had no idea how you were going to pull your yourself together and hide this all from Lucifer by tonight, but you had to try.

You went into the bathroom, ran a bath, played some music, and cried, partly from the pain, partly from fear. You were so in your head from the experience, that you did not do as well keeping track of time. Before long, Lucifer teleported into your room. Lucifer was a little shocked to not see you in your room, but then he heard the music from the bathroom. Oh ok, you must have been just running a little late.

He want to go knock on the door so that he knew you were there and didn't surprise you, but then he heard something else from the bathroom that made him stop. Was that... crying? Was that part of the music or was that you? He waited, the song changed, and the crying continued. That was definitely you. He finally knocked.

You were startled by the sound of the knock, "Uhhh... occupied?"

"It's me darling, I hope I didn't startle you," you heard Lucifer's voice through the door. You picked up your phone and looked at the time. Shit! You quickly got out of the tub.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, uhh... I must have lot track of time. Busy day. Lots of clients. Uhh... I'll be out in a minute!" you say has you hurried to get dressed. Luckily, you had already brought your clothes into the bathroom with you, so Lucifer wouldn't have to see all of the bruises.

"No rush! You take as much time as you need," Lucifer called back, then he went to go take a seat on your couch.

His words made you feel a little better, but you did not want to keep him waiting any longer than you already had. You quickly did what you could to put on makeup to cover up the big bruise around your eye, you could cover the coloring just fine, it was the swelling you were worried about. It had gone down a little, but it might still be noticeable.

Part of you wishes you had canceled on him, but that would have made you sad more than anything else, and it probably would have worried him. That is if he actually cared about you. Errrr... stop that. Lucifer is not like Jethro or the others, he actually does care, at least... to some amount. You just did not want anyone to see you like this, but especially him.

Eventually you finished your makeup and looked at yourself, it would have to be good enough for today. You painted your best sweet smile on your face, and walked out the door.

"All done! Ready to go?" you said cheerful.

"Yup!" Lucifer said, trying to match your cheerful tone, but he was worried. Why had you been crying? Why were you now trying to hide it? Why were you wearing so much make up today? He hadn't seen you wear this much make up since the first few appointments you guys had. He remembered that Charlie once said girls sometimes wear more make up when they were sad because "If you look better, you feel better", so he didn't comment. He just smiled, wrapped an arm around you, and teleported you both back to his place.

You were already more relieved to be back at his place, the stress of the day still held tightly to you, but it was better here. You swung your arms around Lucifer, enveloping him in a hug. Lucifer held you back tightly, softly but firmly. He was so comforting and soft, you wanted to live in that embrace.

He didn't know what was making you so sad that day, but he wanted to do everything to make you feel better. He had your favorite dinner and dessert made, grabbed you your favorite blanket for when you guys would cuddle on the couch and watch tv later, and he was going to find that tv last that you said you used to like to watch sometimes when you were alive, "The Office."

At one point, during desert, Lucifer looked over at you and saw a strand of hair flop down front of your face. He reached over to tuck it behind your ear, but because of the angle, you didn't see his hand until it was almost near your swollen eye. You flinched and practically jumped out of your chair, shouting "No!" and covering you eye with you hand, the other was wide with panic.

Lucifer flinched his hand back, and stayed still. What was that about? You had never reacted like that before.

"Darling, is everything alright? I didn't mean to startle you," he said softly, worry painting his face.

You realize you had misunderstood what he had been trying to do and panicked, 'Shit! Shit, shit, shit!' You couldn't tell what was the greater emotion in that moment, the shame of reacting to Lucifer, or the fact that the emotions from earlier where about to bubble up again. 'Do I try to push it down? Do I run for the bathroom? Shit. There is no hiding it, is there? He is going to find out about it now.'

You start to sit back down, still covering your eye, "I, uhh... I'm sorry... I don't... I didn't mean to yell at you like-"

"(y/n)" Lucifer said firmly, you look at him with your uncovered eye, tears starting to fill up the edge of your vision, "Please. Please tell me what's wrong. Why are you covering your eye? What made you jump so hard?"

You start to breathe heavily, "Are you sure you want to know?" you say with tears in your voice.

"Yes, my darling, I do. More than anything," Lucifer said, standing up slowly to come closer to you.

You look down, breathe, and lower you hand. Now that he was looking right at your eye, he could see how swollen it was under all of the make up.

"Is that... a black eye?" he said panicked. You nodded. He started to put some context clues together.

"Someone did this to you?" he asked, a little more sternness in his voice. You nodded again, the tears were starting to fall. "Someone from the Lounge?"

You nodded, "A client," you whispered.

"Did he do anything else?" he asked, trying to hold back the growing anger in his voice. You nodded. "Can you show me?" You froze, looking down, more tears falling, "Please don't be mad at me, I didn't want you to know, this shouldn't be something you worry about-"

"Darling," he says cutting you off again, "I am not mad at you, I am however mad at the sick fuck that did this to you. And I will worry about you, because I want to. Do you understand me?" You were not used to hearing him talk like this, it was scary, but in a comforting way. His words were growing in anger, but you understood it was not at you, it was for you.

You look up at him to see that his eyes had changed color, basically inverted, black slitted pupils now surrounded by golden irises and deep blood red sclera. They were terrifying and beautiful at the same time. You nodded, finally answering his question, and you started to take off your sweater. Lucifer saw your arms and torso littered with different sizes of bruises and deep bite marks. At the sight of them, horns grew out from his temples and a tail lashed out from his back. Again, he looked scarier, but for some reason, you were not afraid. You actually felt... safe? You had never seen someone so mad for you before.

Lucifer gently and slowly reached out for your arm, trying to make sure not to scare you further. "Is it like this on your legs too?" You nodded. You were about to ask if he needed to see them, when he pulled you into a tight hug. You were confused, but welcomed it. His hugs were always nice but this one felt, even better? All of your bruises and bites started to feel, lighter, and then the pain was gone. Lucifer released from your hug, and you looked down to see all of your marks were gone.

'He could heal too?! Fuck, is there anything he can't do?'

"Better?" he asked. You nodded. "Good, now. I'm gonna need a name and location. Now." he paused, "please."

You hesitated, you weren't supposed to tell anyone who you had been meeting with. But... he had not specifically asked for digression, and he was banned from the Lounge, and it would probably save Larry and the girls some trouble, and... fuck it, it was hell! Who cared!

"What are you going to do to him?" you asked. He smirked with a wicked smile, carefully reached out to softly hold your chin, and with a demonic resonance to his voice, he whispered, "Why darling, I'm going to make him suffer in a way that this realm has not tortured and tormented a soul in EONS, I am going to rip him his own dimension of time and space where he will be able to experience his body being ripped apart, piece by piece, and put back together, over and over again, for the rest of eternity."

You had no idea how to picture that and you didn't care... it was terrifying, but Lucifer's power was fucking HOT.

"Uhh... Jethro Hanson. Big house out in Pentagram city, near the inner city, very bright red, can't miss it," you spit out. He smiles, unfurls his six, big, beautiful wings from his back, gives you a soft kiss on the hand and says, "I'll be right back," before opening a portal above him and flying into it. It closes behind you and leaves you alone, in the dining room.

Your heart was racing, there were too many feelings swirling inside your mind, joy, sadness, rage, fear... lust. God, his full demon form was hot, what the hell? After a few minutes, the adrenaline wore off, and you found yourself on the couch starting to cry again, but this time... it felt GOOD. These tears were cathartic like nothing you had ever felt before, a hard, powerful cry.

After about 15-20 minutes, Lucifer reappeared, the same as he looked when he had left, just wiping his hands on themself after a job well done, as you would after a job well done. Lucifer heard your cries and ran to you, getting in his knees in front of you on the couch and cocooning you in his wings.

"Darling, what's the matter? I'm so sorry, did I scare you?" he said with words full of worry.

You shook your head, smiling and pressing your forehead to his, "No. Not at all. I'm just... I'm good. Really. I'm just not used to... feeling cared about, and... protected..." You choke out, before continuing to sob.

'Shit, shit, ok, what do I do?' he thought to himself. Then he remembered. He retracted his horns and tail, set his eyes back to their normal color, picked you up, laid down on the couch, and positioned you to lay on top of him, your head on his chest, wings wrapped around you. As you laid there, he rubbed your back as you continued to cry. "And as long as I am here, you will never have to know life without that, ever again," he said softly, so softly that you couldn't make it out over the sound of your own sobs.

Slowly, your tears started get get quieter, and your breathing started to slow. As Lucifer laid there with you on his chest, he started to card his fingers through you hair. What a dream you were to him, he had be so cared for by you, and now he was able to give that care back to you. That was honestly all he had wanted, was to have someone to be cared by and for. To have... someone to love.

Love?

Love.

'Oh my god... do I love her?' he thought at he looked down at your soft face. Studying the features of your face as you laid on his chest with this new idea, everything suddenly made sense. The nervousness, the desire for closeness, the way you lit up his world, the way your smile would wash his cares away.

He loved you.

That was about to make everything wayyyy more complicated.

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absolutebl · 2 months

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This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"?

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire?

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing.

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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wangxianficfinder · 3 months

Text

In the mood for...

March 19th

~*~

1. itmf

a) nhs and wwx friendship PLEASE, preferably with the same vibes as seen in crazy rich cultivators by shanaatoryteller (he called wwx by affectionate nicknames and was ready to throw down with lwj for him at the minor perceived slight), i just need nhs genuinely loving wwx in a non-shippy way

b) wwx support system! him having people who love and will help him in any way they can! him not having to shoulder so many burdens alone!

1A)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh) NHS finds WWX post-Untamed canon & helps him

🔒 like mayflies wandering series by RoseThorne (E, 21k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Ghosts, Reconciliation, Exhaustion, Pining, Pre-Wangxian, Pining, Feelings Realization, Illnesses, ennui, Found Family, Porn Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative NHS, Memories, WWX Needs a Hug, Pining WWX, Friendship, NHS Is A Little Shit, Qi Deviation, Resentful Energy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Fainting, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Grief/Mourning)

1B)

拨云见日 by RoseThorne (G, 1k, WangXian,. Post-Canon, Justice, Anger, Sect Leader Yáo Bashing, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Restitution, Self-Indulgent, POV Third Person, POV WWX)

~*~

2. I wish to know what fics you're especially excited to read next from your TBR!

Something at the Door by Pip (Moirail) (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, background 3zun, Background Yi City trio, Intrusive Thoughts, Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mystery, Urban Fantasy) this one got recced by a friend on discord and it looked soooo interesting but time is not on my side

the past drifts away with the waves by thelastdboy (E, 52k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, WIP, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, canon divergence, fall of lotus pier, major characger undeath, YZY being an asshole, implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death, major character injury, amputation, loss of limbs, transformation, merpeople, fierce corpse WWX, kind of, merperson WWX, resentful creature WWX, undead WWX, riverspirit WWX, it gets worse before it gets better, heavy angst w happy ending, no sunshot, hurt/comfort, politics, not cultivation world friendly, slow burn, getting together, revenge, demonic cultivation, WWX pov, dark WWX, monsterfucker LWJ, wen remnants live, sect leader WQ)

~*~

3. Hey, I was wondering if there are any fics, after the whole story, where Wangxian's relationship with JC is extensive /repaired? @mihashi-kun

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

~*~

4. Heellloooo <3 for the next itmf im looking for fics where wwx is lwj’s favorite person/best friend (apart from also being a couple/in love) like lwj seeking wwx out and looking for him, wanting to spend time with him, being shamelessly friends with him, and everybody knows that they’re a package deal

I Wish You Would by brooklinegirl (E, 51k, wangxian, LWJ FUCKS, jerking off, so much jerking off, wangxian/others, but OTP endgame, "straight" boy WWX, Modern Setting) is a friends-to-lovers with a nice friendship at its core. Focus is definitely on their path into a sexual relationship, though, it's not just about being friends, in case that isn't what you're looking for.

~*~

5. Please give me some serious self harming fics. Real angst. I don't care if people think me cringe or weird for wanting therapy and comfort from a fanfiction, but I've been feeling self destructive lately and the deeper and deeper cuts on my arms are a testament to it. I cannot ground myself. I've been too alone and lonely lately. I love reading. Please give me some ground to sit down for a while

Twin Demons of Mò by XiaoFeiFei (M, 358k, MXY & WWX, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Abuse, Twin Demons of Mo, MXY Lives, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Minor Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Canon Divergence, Self-Harm, Found Family, Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, POV Alternating)

could also check the Heavy Angst comp, there's sure to be something there

~*~

6. Hello I'm here for wwx protection squad dynamics. Like I want fics where wwx doesn't have to do anything, before he wants anything or before anyone could do to harm him or anything, there are people defending him and keeping him safe.

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, [Podfic] the stone-filled sea by yukla by Beria1021, the stone-filled sea [Podfic] by BrickGrass)

💖Teen Project to Change the World animeloverhomura (Not rated, 810k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WIP, Watching the Show, With a bit of the Manhua and Book thrown in, scharacters watching the future, BAMF WWX, Fix-It, JGS is his own warning, Attractive WWX, Homophobia, disturbing imagery)

Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, wangxian, hualian, WIP, TGCF, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, characters watching their series, Time Travel Fix-it)

~*~

7. Hello!!!!!!! Love all the hard work you put into this blog! I’m in the mood for fics featuring wangxian growing together, like fics with adorable kids wangxian and then awkward preteen wangxian and then finally growing into their skins young adult wangxian and all that

Thxxxxx

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, WangXian, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, First Kiss, Wedding Fluff)

Hope series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, wangxian, WWX & YZY, WWX & JFM, WWX & JYL, YZY/JFM, JC & WWX, LQR & WWX, LXC & JYL, Madam Jin & YZY, LQR & JFM, LXC & LWJ, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death)

~*~

8. Hello! ITMF blind!Wei Wuxian? Canon or modern. thank you!

🧡 close your eyes, feel my heartbeatby ThatDesiGirl (T, 11k, WangXian, blind!WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rewriting Canon, not a fix-it but a what-if, Golden Core Transfer) WWX is blind, but MXY isn't

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant) link in #16

~*~

9. hiiii hope you all are well!!! I'm itmf your favorite memory loss/amnesia fics pls! thank u and have a lovely day 🩷 @loveshinesbrightly

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)

~*~

10. hii! for imtf: anything with true loves kiss or something really sad (or both) (no omegaverse pls). thank you!!

🧡 Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions) It's only a small moment, but a curse is lifted with a kiss

what else is there? by mme_anxious (T, 13k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Swan Princess AU, Everybody Lives, who isn't already dead, Magic, Animal Transformation, Curses, Angst, Humor, Happy Ending, Kissing)

This Lantern Shines For You by apollonie (M, 10k, wangxian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Pining WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, LWJ is a Disaster Gay)

with such a suffering, such a deadly life by cqlorphan (T, 7k, wangxian, post-canon, curses, curse breaking, getting together, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, affection, touch-starved LWJ, LWJ whump, cuddling & snuggling, love confessions)

a safe pair of hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 11k, WangXian, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Body Worship, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Sharing a Bed, Getting Together, First Time, Curses, Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved LWJ)

Turn Left by kianspo (M, 204k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, eventually, references to child sexual abuse, not main characters, Neurodivergent LWJ, Slow Build, Lán Family Feels, specifically, Twin Jades of Lán Feels, lwj-centric, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Angst with Happy Ending) it's kind of true love's kiss adjacent?

~*~

11. Hi! I was curious if there were any fics like, Seven Second to the End? Where basically Wei Wuxian sought out Lan Wangji as soon as he woke up in mxy body or there wasn’t the elaborate pretending to be mxy on wwx side?

~*~

12. heyy hope you're doing good! do you know any fics that are similar to 'and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow'?

~*~

13. Are there anymore fics like " heaven has no rage " by flipfloppandas ?

~*~

14. Hi! For itmf does anyone know of any Yunmeng-bros fics where they have a good relationship and Wei Wuxian returns to Yunmeng Jiang after his resurrection? Thank you so much!

❤️ By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, Wangxian, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Misunderstandings, Identity Porn, Identity reveal)

The Twin Blades of Yunmeng by GhostySword, ofmindelans (T, 89k, JC & WWX, wangxian, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, BAMF JC, protective LWJ, Golden Core Reveal, Swords and Feelings, WWX Resurrection, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Embedded Images, Sect Leader QS)

~*~

15. ITMF cultivators having super senses? Like heightened eyesight, hearing, strength, etc. There is a sentinel/guide fic I really enjoyed, “Hyperprosexia” by malkinmalkout, that dealt with heightened senses and I would love more like that. Thank you so much!

Zhalyn series by meiqi (Silver_Shadow_09) (T, 16k, wangxian, WWX & WQ, LWJ & WQ, WWX & WN, WN & WWX & LWJ & WQ, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Golden Core, Golden Core Reveal, But not how you think, OP WWX, one self-sacrificial idiot and his two emotionally constipated best friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Location: Cloud Recesses, Location: Lotus Pier, Good Friend WQ, Doctor WQ, Good Friend LWJ, Case Fic, LanWenWei besties - now with two Wens, Self-Discovery, WQ is So Done, LWJ Has Friends, Cinnamon Roll WN, Good Friend WQ, Good Friend WN, Team as Family, Annoying WWX) wwx has even stronger senses than most cultivators in this

~*~

16. Hello again! Thank you for your recs!

I was wondering if you could rec some fics with sentient burial mounds, like- them being protective of wwx, sort of treating him like- either as the master/chosen/hier of burial mounds or something? Or any story with ghosts/spirits being protective of wwx or treating him as a sort of leader or something? Just want some wwx & supernatural goodness lol.

Also, any fics with wwx being sort of like- strangely in tune with nature? And maybe people being freaked out by his connection to the nature or dead. Like - cryptid vibes wwx lol

Thank you!!!

in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by varnes (M, 13k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, [Podfic of] in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by exmanhater)

What Lies Beneath These Hallowed Woods by meekome (M, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Sentient Burial Mounds, of the cosmic horror variety, Eldritch WWX, Monster WWX, Body Horror, Eventual Happy Ending, after a lot of whump Fix-It, Canon Divergence, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Hurt WWX, Blood and Injury, but he gets better I swear, Suicidal Thoughts, WWX Lacks Self-Preservation Instincts, Protective LWJ, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, YLLZ LWJ, Sunshot Campaign, Communication, Married WangXian)

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN and JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

Blood of the Black Earth by wirevix (M, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Xuánwǔ of Slaughter Cave, Sunshot Campaign, Sad with a Happy Ending, Ghost WWX, Monster WWX, Canonical Character Death, Although not at the canonical time, Grief/Mourning, Good Sibling JC, Horror)

~*~

17. Hello! I'm looking for fics with:-

A) rich wwx!! As in- he's like rich af, but people don't know it? Like he's very normal about it but doesn't advertise the fact that he could buy everything he wants. I'd also like if he's big on donating, or just helping people in general and stuff.

B) wwx doing dangerous stuff like volunteering in places with natural disasters/civil unrest, etc. Him being very into activism and stuff

C) jealous sizhui...like- he's jealous of wwx paying attention to other kids and stuff. Maybe something like- wwx thinks sizhui has lwj as father figure, doesn't remember him, or maybe he'll be bothered if wwx acts too familiar or something? So he keeps his distance. It could be a modern au too, or any fic where wwx adopts other kids/is a mentor figure to them/has close relationship with them and sizhui is jealous of that??

I appreciate you taking the time to do this!

17A)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, wangxian, modern, slow burn, kid fic, found family, it gets worse before it gets better, PTSD, blood and injury, dissociation, trauma, angst w happy ending, musicals, alternating pov, JC & WWX reconciliation, hurt/comfort, panic attacks)

Sizhui's Smiles by RenaFair (T, 11k, wangxian, Possessive Behavior, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Alpha LSZ, Mpreg, Minor Child Character Death, Read the summary between the lines) it has dark Sizhui jealous over wangxian's new baby

17C)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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darklinsblog · 2 years

Text

New Beginnings | Sandman imagine

Summary: After Calliope’s cry for help, Morpheus goes to her rescue and the muse finds out her former lover has moved on.

Pairing: Morpheus x Reader

Request: Yes

When Morpheus heard Calliope’s calling he was quick to attend and free her from her imprisonment. Out of respect and honoring for the love and grief they shared, Morpheus wouldn’t be capable of lying to himself, as Calliope was undoubtedly a huge part of his story and once was the mother of his child, he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.

He still felt an immense love for her, and it made his blood boil to find out about her confinement in the hands of Richard Madoc, so he made sure that he would get the right punishment for his atrocities, the man didn’t deserve mercy. Men such as him were rats, cowards who had to be taught a lesson.

For the first time in ages Calliope was free and while she was grateful to Oneiros she was also wondering if he still had feelings for her, out of the wrath he depicted when he imparted justice and the immense tension that filled the room when Morpheus was alone with her.

No matter how much time they spent apart, Calliope still knew her former lover like the back of her hand, and they still couldn’t bring up the subject of their son. But knowing how apprehensive the Endless was, she highly doubted he even acknowledged his pain and grief.

Seeing as he almost walked out that door and it would probably take ages for her to see Oneiros again, she dared to speak.

“May I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime…” His dark blue eyes fixated on her, shining with indescribable emotion. “So that we may finally talk about our son?”

Morpheus opened his mouth to speak, finally understanding the closeness of Calliope was a demonstration of her restraint love, a love maybe she wasn’t even aware that was still there…

But before he could say something female voice he knew very well filled his ears and draw his attention along with Calliope’s.

“Bubs?” A thin woman was outside, just a few feet away from where Morpheus was standing, she was radiant and beautiful, looking at the eternal man with love, when looking carefully at his expression Calliope could see how Morpheus’ face lighted up at the side of you, his whole face changed.

The muse’s heart shattered quietly, the bit of hope she had in Oneiros still loving her died right there. Suddenly, two little kids not older than three years old came out from under your skirt, the toddlers ran in Morpheus direction and he welcomed them with open arms.

You walked over to Morpheus and he was quick to grab you by the waist and kiss you softly. You grabbed your arms around his neck, smiling.

“I’m sorry, love. They insisted”

“It was a very nice surprise” Dream said, picking his daughter up. While your son had his eyes fixated on Calliope who’s eyes watered at the sight of the raven haired boy, he was the living image of Oneiros and her heart ached as she was reminded of the son she lost centuries ago.

For the first time since you arrived you looked at Calliope and she looked back at you, smiling lightly with nostalgia.

“I’m sorry, I’m Y/N. Queen and wife to Morpheus” you reached out your hand to her, she shook it and was reminded of the time she was his as well.

“Calliope” she replied, you nodded slightly, something in your eyes changed, it was some sort of acknowledgment. Of course you knew who she was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you”

“Likewise” you turned to Morpheus.

“We should leave now, darling it’s getting late” your children whined, protesting.

“But we want to see the Waking World, mama!” the older twin spoke, pouting and batting his long eyelashes at you.

“We’ll have plenty of time to see it, Acanthus” Morpheus told his son, kneeling before him and pinching his nose lightly, making the boy giggle.

“You promise, papa?” Now his daughter spoke, he nodded.

“I promise, Roseann. Now please go back with your mother to the Dreaming. I’ll join you shortly” both of his children complied his command and said goodbye to their father and Calliope before vanishing with you to the Dream realm.

Morpheus looked at Calliope once again, the whole atmosphere changed when getting a glimpse of his new life. The muse now understood that was the tension she felt earlier, the nervousness from a kept secret and not an unexpressed love as she believed at first.

“A rose and a thorn…” Calliope murmured, making Morpheus smile weakly, imagining how she must felt at this specific time.

“One cannot exist without the other, and being twins… it seemed fitting. Y/N suggested it, actually” the muse giggled.

“Of course” there was a minute of silence after that. “You have a beautiful family, Oneiros. I’m happy for you” he smiled, Morpheus was truly happy now, after centuries of grief and pain and he wished the same for his former lover. But all he could say was two simple words.

“Goodbye, Calliope”

“I will never forget this. Fare you well”

Then, Morpheus disappeared in a swirl of sand, leaving Calliope standing all by herself under the moonlight, but being left with another important thing…

Freedom.

#love #the sandman comics #sandman imagine #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus dream #sandman x reader #tom sturridge x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus imagines #morpheus sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus #sandman x y/n #neil gaiman #tom sturridge #sandman shitpost #dream headcanons #sandman headcanons

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abyssruler · 1 year

Text

late spring rain

pairing/s: diluc, kazuha, xiao x gn!reader

summary: he doesn’t truly understand grief. the ache in his chest, the shortness of his breath, the numbness that crawls down his throat and creeps through the crevices of his body, leaving him hollow and incomplete. one half of a whole that will never be put back together. he thinks if love was a person, it would be you. he also knows that if grief was a feeling, a manifestation of the emotion clogged in his lungs, a slow asphyxiation he welcomes with familiar arms, it would be you. or — you die.

note: angst no comfort. depictions of death. angst again. what’s this, me writing a multi-character fic without scara? the world must be ending

DILUC

He knows grief, knows the way it snakes its arms around him like a lover’s embrace, familiar and suffocating and unwanted.

Red is the color of love, you used to say. It’s the color of his hair and the color of his lips and the color of his cheeks when you lean close enough to hear, close enough to feel your warmth, close enough to hold you in his arms and never let go. Red, you used to say, is your favorite color. Was your favorite color.

Diluc thinks red is the color that slipped from trembling fingers and dripped to the ground, red is the quietness, the stillness in the aftermath of a carnage. When all is said and done, when the fight leaves your body and the sun begins its descent from the sky, red is the color that paints the ground in a mockery of art.

You’re so cold.

Why are you so cold?

(“You’re so warm,” you marveled, holding his palm to your cheek and grinning at the flush that crept to his cheeks. “I want to hold you like this forever.”)

You’re slipping away, like the sparks of an ember, like a flickering candlelight, like the blood splattered on his clothes in the aftermath of his coming of age, rain pouring down and washing away the red smeared on his fingers and stuck under his nails.

He leans close, the sharp scent of iron hitting his senses, and suddenly—

Suddenly, he is eighteen and alone in the rain, kneeling next to the body of his father as water fell from the skies and cleansed the blood off his skin but never his soul.

(“It’s cold,” you shivered, crawling under the blankets and spreading your arms open in invitation. “Warm me up?”)

He holds you close, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, shielding you from the rain. Something wet seeps through his clothes.

His breaths are labored, his fingers trembling, and he keeps you close until he has no warmth left to give, until he’s left shivering from the cold.

He breathes in, cool air entering his lungs, a storm gathering in the distance, but his mind is lost, far away.

(“The rainy season is almost at its end.” You laid on the grass, soaking in the sun and beckoning him closer. “I’d like to get married in the summer, when the weather’s warm and nice and sunny.”)

I’d like that too.

But the rain never stops and the sun never comes.

Oh, he realizes, you’re gone.

KAZUHA

It feels like falling, that weightless feeling that leaves him suspended in time, the world falling away and leaving only him and his thoughts.

Only, falling doesn’t quite involve the stickiness in his hands, doesn’t include the acute sensation of the ground digging into his knees and the wetness gathering in his eyes and the rapid sound of your heart beating its last tunes.

Kazuha, for all the worldly awareness he has, for all that the wind favors him, for all that he hears your labored breaths, cannot do anything but kneel beside you, everything and nothing being brought by the wind to his ears. There is your smile, there is your eyes, there is your hand, clinging to him with a strength that slowly dissipates with each passing second.

He breathes, and for a moment, he smells the earth and the leaves and the pungent scent of iron and rust. You’re bleeding and he’s pressing down, down, down on the wound but it’s useless—it’s useless.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells you, and he doesn’t know whether it is you or him that he’s trying to convince.

The air smells of sulfur and something else he won’t name, like the static in the air when he reached Tenshukaku only to grasp at nothing but a masterless vision, like the world passing by as he blocked a thousand year old technique, like the moment his name fell on your lips in a choked whisper, “Kazuha,” and you fell, fell, fell to the ground. Weightless, just as he feels now.

He once thought that falling feels like flying, the wind rushing past and leaving a pleasant twist in his stomach.

But falling only feels like flying until the earth reaches you, like rough hands crawling up to catch your descent, and he realizes that falling is merely a thin veneer for dying.

Oh.

You’re dying.

You open your mouth, “I…”

There’s a moment’s pause, a smile, a breath, an eternity nestled within a single second. And then, everything fades into silence.

Kazuha knows without having to listen that your heart has stopped.

Your hand slips from his, weightless. It doesn’t remain suspended in the air like he’d hoped, instead, it falls, like his world crumbling but never being built anew.

XIAO

There’s something almost fond in the tone of your voice when you call out to him, like honey dripping in rivulets through lips that tasted like sugar and everything he never knew he wanted.

But now, your voice is strained, his name falling upon blood stained lips like a prayer, like your last salvation from death except—except, there is nothing he can do.

Like blood that sticks to his skin, like the taint he carries upon his soul, like a lover begging you not to go, grief clings to him, the kind that wraps itself around his neck like a noose, a slow asphyxiation that will never bear fruit because for all that he is weak with pain and eons’ long suffering, Xiao clings to grief as much as it clings to him, if only so he might remember what it feels to be alive.

And he wonders, in what feels like the hundredth time for the past minute, what would have happened if he’d been a second faster, a minute earlier, a little less slower and a little more quicker. Perhaps then, you’d be the one clinging to him with a grin on your sweet, sugar-like lips, instead of the other way around.

“You came…” you whisper, relief in the tone of your voice, as if there’d been any doubt at all that he’d come running at the mere whisper of his name upon your lips, as if he doesn’t spend every waking moment listening to the breeze, anticipating the sound of his name on your tongue.

There’s something almost stilted to this moment, like he isn’t quite real and you aren’t quite there and world has tilted six degrees to the left in a way that makes it difficult to fathom even the simplest of thoughts. But it’s familiar, he knows, the very thing that clings to him and covers every crevice of his soul, each nook and cranny until nothing is left untouched.

There’s a hand on his cheek, something wet and warm staining his skin. He was never able to hold you close, never able to wrap his arms around you and feel your warmth, never able to touch you more than a graze of a skin for fear of his karma corrupting you—

“Can you hold me now?”

—but all of that is useless in the face of death, isn’t it?

So he leans close and nestles you within his arms. He once dreamed of doing this, once longed to have you so close that he can smell the scent of your hair and hear your heart beat from within your chest. He never once thought he’d be doing it while you’re seconds away from death.

It’s almost nice, almost pleasant, almost like two lovers sharing an embrace. If he ignores your labored breathing, ignores the wetness clinging to your chest and staining his clothes, ignores the way your heart stutters weakly inside your rib cage, he can almost delude himself into thinking that everything is alright.

But your heart beats once, twice, three times, until it finally stops.

And Xiao is once again left to grieve alone.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #gn reader

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myosotisa · 11 months

Text

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ word count: 12k

ǁ Part 1 ǁ Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more.

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started.

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake.

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.”

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

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crowned-aeris · 27 days

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I don’t think I’ve actually listed out character and their bird species before, but here it is!

Also, the best way to check the birds out is using EBird. just search the names/scientific name and high-quality pictures of these birds as well as their description, vocalizations, and range will all show up!

Characters and their Birds:

(Also, sorry in advance for the weird formatting, i couldn’t get it to work)

The Bats:

Alfred- Tawny Owl (Strix aluco)

This plays into how Alfred is able to just… Appear and can hear almost everything going on. Also, tawny owls are common found in europe, and alfed is british 😔

Bruce- Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja)

Harpy eagles are some of the biggest eagles in the world, feeding primarily on primapes and slothes. Now, take into account Bruce’s bulk… Our man is huge.

Damian- Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja)

Within the League, power is everything, so to be born such a “powerful” raptor would’ve been seen as a good sign, but after Damian “goes soft (stopped killing ppl)” he’s seen as “weak”, or a “waste of immense power”, especially in Ra’s’s eyes.

Duke- Mourning Dove (Zenaida macroura)

Doves in general are seen as peacekeepers and pacifists in general (it might be sacrilegious, but I think Jesus Christ and Mary in this au would have been depicted as doves (aphrodite too), which would probably endear them to those who believe in the bible- I’m also an atheist, and this is just speculation— pls don’t kill me :,]) which leads a lot of people to underestimate Duke and drop their guards around him. He’s a nice person in general, but I think he’d use this to his advantage when undercover as Duke Thomas: Ditzy 2nd Wayne chick.

Also, since doves are the symbol of peace, he also acts as the promary peacekeeper and buffer between Damian and Tim, who’d constantly get into fights, especially once Tim becomes Shadow.

Cass- Barn Owl (Tyto alba)

Barn owls, since they have disk-shaped heads and displaced ears, have the best hearing of all owls. I think that was something David Cain took into account when he, uh, had Lady Shiva have his kid. And since she’s an owl, she’s perfect assassin material, and David Cain alongside Shiva trained Cass until she was perfectly silent both in the air and on land.

She also runs warm- courtesy of being an owl, and so her siblings (especially Jason and Dick) and Steph would huddle under her wings when watching movies and nesting, but if the arguments ever gets too rowdy, Cass would go to either Bruce, Damian, Duke, or Tim.

Tim- Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus)

Being a peregrine falcon means he is well respected within the elites in gotham. His natural flight speed is also something he’s proud of, and as Shadow, Tim is capable of darting in and out of the fray and knock out criminals before they eve know he’s coming. His speed and skills are further honed later on, and he turns into a truly formidable oppendent.

Steph- Violet- backed Starling (Cinnyricinclus leucogaster)

While the males are really purple and flashy, the females are more neutral in coloration 😔 Stepha dyes her feathers while vigilante-ing, so ppl assume she’s a dude.

She and Duke looked after Jason while he was on the streets, and they would keep an eye out and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.

Jason- Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis)

When he was younger, he had duller coloration in his feathers. But as he grew older, more and more people looked at him weirdly when he was out on the streets- his mom having to shield him from their leers. Later on, he learns that the people staring had less-than-pure intent, and that incentivizes him to hind away his wings.

When Batman and Anubis go off their rockers in grief, helps protect who he can from their indiscriminate anger, and evenually, he gets dragged into the flock after getting caught inbetween two gangs and got injured.

Barbara- American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos)

She was originally going to be a baltimore oriole, but making barbara wouldn’t make sense. Then I debated making her an owl for wisdm, but the I remembered Apollo was the god of prophecies- Oracle of Dephi- and Apollo’s sacred bird was a crow (lets ignore how he smited them) so I made barbara a crow to lay homage to her as oracle :3

Plus, crows are hella smart, and I felt like it fit

Dick- Fischer’s Lovebird (Agapornis fischeri)

I could’ve easily took the coward’s way out and just made him a robin, but Dick needed to be colorful and bright, and he needed to be the light that illuminates Gotham’s eternally-gloomy skies. So i went searching for the perfect bird before finding the Fischer’s loverbird. It matches perfectly with the Grayson family colors- red, green, yellow- and so i went with dick as a fischer’s lovebird

Other Characters:

Thomas- Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja) Like father like son!

Martha- Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) She was a beautiful woman, and thomas won her over by trying to catch a fish for her. He failed, ofc, and capsized their boat, but she had fun and decided to marry that silly man. (they’ve tone this story to bruce like… 12 times, but what wouldn’t he give to hear them tell it again)

Selina- Eurasian mgpie (Pica pica) You’ve heard about magpies and how they like shiny things and how they love to take said shiny things… well, here it is! Plus, I just think pica pica is really funny

Gordan- Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) Red-tailed hwk is THE most american bird, what with their shrieks being used in hollywood in place of actual bad eagle sounds, and Commish Jim Gordan works as a police, so I thought it was funny

Talia- Imperial Eagle (Aquila heliaca) She is an imperial eagle because not only are they eagles, imperial conveys royalty, so i thought it was befitting

Ra’s- Haast’s Eagle (Aquila moorei) Haast’s eagles were huge, and I mean they were larger than harpy eagles with wigspans capable of reaching 8ft. the thing is, these eagles went exticnct partially due to humans sailing and traveling all over the place with rats and stuff being the main reason. i think that would make ra’s al ghul pretty pissed that his aves species was wiped out, or smth like that.

Either way, the Haas’s eagle is really cool and I think you should check them out

Joker- Glistening Green Tanager (Chlorochrysa phoenicotis)

I hope you all know how monstrous this bird is, like it is PEAK joker green, like literally. I got the idea off of a different blog i saw a few days or weeks ago talking about how the joker would be THIS bird, and i cannot agree even more. Also, the joker gnawed and tore his own wings off or the acid he fell into made it so the wings had to be amputated, either way idk and my brain is mush. What I DO know is that losing ones wings is terrible, horrible, and the joker probably gnawed it off himself in a fit of madness and craze directly after being acidified, or something like that

Metas/More Characters (No descriptions cos it’s 1am and I’m TIRED and I have a driving test tmrw):

Lois Lane- Western Kingbird (Tyrannus verticalis)

Clark- No Bird, he’s an alien

Jonathan- Like his mom, a Western Kingbird (Tyrannus verticalis)

Conner- Like his mom, a Purple Martin (Progne subis)

Luthor- Like his son, a purple martin (Progne subis)

Flashes- All of them would probably be a humming bird or a sunbird of some sort, I feel like its pretty self-explanitory. It’s not that being a hummingbird garentees you to be a speedster, it’s more like the speedsters just coincidentally end up as hummingbirds.

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metabolizemotions · 2 months

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The show seems to be almost fetishizing sex b/w gay men while having an aversion to a stable relationship b/w them. Ironically, they have an aversion to sex and intimacy b/w 2 women in a stable relationship. Queers can't seem to have both.

Representation matters. Maybe a dad comes to accept his gay son. Or a lesbian finds a way to come out to her mum. But it would also be nice for representation on network tv to go beyond queers just existing.

Positive representation doesn't mean the queers make no mistakes or not go thru life's messiness like other humans. The framing of the narrative is important too. Use the tropes, but also subvert the tropes.

What is the entire purpose of this Pride episode? Highlighting the negative queer stereotypes - hearing Beckett's views and proving him right is most definitely important, isn't it? Straight allyship? To state the obvious that queer-phobia is a fact of life? To showcase yet another awful man in a position of power? What about celebration the positive of queers? What exactly are they celebrating at the station? Definitely not the happiness of the main, longstanding queer couple. That, they want it to show in isolation, quickly, including very far-away shots. Like an afterthought.

It is both a bug and a feature of S19 to focus on the negative. Granted, it is a tv show, n conflicts are nec for plot dev. But it is also a fundamental guiding principle of the show to give more screentime and emphasize - even relish - the struggle, never the triumph. On big systemic issues they can do nothing about. On women struggling against toxic men. On people struggling to be happy - and when they are happy, queer women's joys are excluded and/or minimized exclusively.

There is no timeline for grief or coming into one's queer identity. I empathize with Travis's struggles. But this is one of the many stories about queerness. What about those of queer women? That has been the case for seasons now. Not even the mere mention of the struggles about where Carina came from? Of the trepidation surrounding Marina's marriage rights in this political climate? Of their feelings about having a baby together - thru ivf or adoption?

I am sick and tired of people telling us it's only in our narrow, biased perception and our deluded imagination that there is a disparity in the treatment of w|w n m|m. That other stories are not told at the expense of Marina's. We did not say we want theirs to be the only story, queer or not, only that it be given comparable screentime, importance and care. Even after taking into account the call sheet, it does not make sense.

Just like showing Marina's queerness exclusively would be wrong, the same goes for excluding it. Almost every aspect of it. How do you justify every decision to keep shortening and overlapping the scenes depicting the momentous changes in Marina's lives with others?

Those are very conscious and deliberate choices made. Even with a shortened season, even after including everything they wanted, they could have tightened up the longer scenes to properly give Marina's scenes a more reasonable length. Have them voice their feelings about Pride, about everything happening in their lives. Even just a few lines. But they didn't. And they wouldn't.

But what we have of Marina, is what D & S built over the years, I love and cherish it, and I will hold onto it. No matter what happens.

#they'll rather give the screentime to the awful man that bullied n insulted the queer women on the pride episode #but they forgot maya n carina were queer anyway #guest actors have a lot more screentime n dialogues in their respective episodes #credits for whatever that was right n good about marina #but also disappointment about what they don't think is wrong #station 19 #station 19 comments

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kakujis · 7 months

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓… ☽

geto vers | baji vers

synopsis: when your husband and best friend are targeted by a hitman, the aftermath leaves you in shock. but suguru has always instilled one line into you: forever has no meaning unless you're in it.

warnings: gn!reader, vampire!suguru, vampire!choso, vampire!satoru, hitman!toji, character death ( + resurrection), depictions of blood and violence, almost blind devotion, a bit angsty but also fluffy.. but also not really? idk what to tag this as LOL, canon divergent (gojo n geto are attacked much later in life), you have no clue they’re sorcerers 👍, swearing, sfw, if choso is ooc im so sorry idk barely anything about/cldnt get a read on his character from one episode djknj

ft + wc: vampire!suguru x reader, 3.2k

tags: @enchantedforest-network, @em1e (u guys should totally read em's necromancy fic btw)

a/n: hi! idk wtf this is, this is just how i deal with chara death i think? this idea came to me when i realized i was writing two fics about dealing with grief (baji fans are u here ?) and wrote nearly 2k for both in one sitting haha. anyways, i feel like atp i'm edda from ffxiv coded except suguru is 1000x better than avere. if you'd like to listen to her theme, it's here. thank u to wallaby for proofreading!

there is something about the morning light, filtered through the white blinds that you’ve forgotten so many times to replace, that feels just like a hug. it’s this light that kisses your eyelids and pulls you out of bed faster than your mother on a school morning.

you’ll yawn, then stretch, pulling your arms up and over your head arching your back as you do. then you’ll get up, set up a pot of coffee before heading off to brush your teeth and wash your face. and you’ll pretend that you don’t see the eyes, red and shimmering, from the shadows in your closet.

“go to bed suguru,” you sigh, before lightly pressing onto your puncture marks, hissing when they’re still tender. “it’s morning.”

“i could fix that… if you’d let me.” he responds, the hinges of your door creaking ever so slightly before you gasp and rush to close them before the light bleeds in.

“don’t!” you snap, hand trembling, “don’t… you dare.”

you crouch down, before slotting your pinky into the smallest slit you can with the door still providing adequate coverage. before long, his cold finger entangles with yours and you smile.

“by the way babe, when are we moving?” he jokes and when your eyes finally adjust to the dark, you can see him stretch his limbs, hands entangling with your hanging clothing. “it’s pretty cramped in here not gonna lie.”

“well… i put in that application a few weeks ago and they did get back to me… so soon. we just need to go through the final steps.” you reply, fighting the urge to crawl into that small space with him and sleep the day off.

when it comes to suguru, you’d do anything and everything, from the hairs on your head to the tips of your toes, you pledged yourself to him fully.

“gonna go to work?” he asks and you nod, albeit with a pout. he snickers when he sees your expression, “aw, don’t cry. i’ll be right here.”

you bite your lip, trying your best not to draw blood because you know. you know that suguru will always be right there, whenever you need him.

you made sure of it.

his name was choso. you remember the night you met him after a round of drinks at the bar. he was nice, if not a bit quiet, and loved to talk about his siblings. suguru and satoru talked aimlessly with shoko while you made new friends. it was a fun little past time.

you don’t remember how you left the bar or how he even convinced you to follow him out. your mind muggy as you followed him, like a moth to a flame, down a back alley before you finally snapped to your senses and shoved him off before he could make a move. it wasn’t until you saw the razor sharp pearly whites of his teeth that you stopped.

you asked him what he was, but he simply shrugged, asking, “have you ever dreamt about being saved from someone or something?”

you nodded, of course you did. everyone has.

“then that’s me. something you can dream about.”

it was a cryptic message, but a message you got nonetheless. choso was not of the day, flourishing under the midnight sky. but for some reason, he wasn’t necessarily scary. in the small amount of time you had spent, he seemed to listen to you and your woes. gotten to know a little bit of your family history, and perhaps decided you would do better with his.

you remember hearing suguru’s panic laced voice calling out for you and you spun around to call back out. turning back, choso was gone. with a hand placed on your shoulder you were pulled into a tight embrace.

“where were you?” suguru asks, nearly crushing you in the heat of his body, “almost lost my mind trying to find you.” he glances behind you, eyes scanning the alleyway in search of something or someone.

“honestly… i don’t even know how i got out here,” you mumbled into his shoulder, hands trailing the familiar sensation of his clothing. “can we go home?”

“yeah, i’ll just let gojo-“

“no!” you exclaimed, the uneasiness in your stomach now palpable, as you balled your fists into the fabric of his shirt, “let’s go now, please.”

he blinks, before nodding, “okay, yeah, okay. let’s go home.” he presses a kiss to your forehead, almost like a seal of protection, before he’s throwing his arm around you and walking you home.

you don’t ever recall meeting toji fushiguro. it was just another night out underneath flickering street lights, outside the same bar where you met choso, the street familiar yet empty. your husband smoked into the evening air, the scent wafting over and tickling your nose.

“no offense, satoru, but i didn’t listen to a single thing you just said.” he stated, lips curled up into a smirk with the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“good,” satoru snorts, before glancing at you, “i wasn’t asking for their opinion anyway.”

you feign ignorance, perking up and asking, “hm? what were we talking about?”

“man the two of you are so fucking annoying.” he whines, head hung back as you both laugh.

“care for a third opinion?” a voice asks and you gasp, jumping back.

the man was tall, handsome, with dark hair and a scar on his lip, wearing a simple outfit of a tee and sweatpants. he seemed otherworldly as well, just like choso. maybe, it was the aura he exuded, more like the lack of, but it set your hairs up on end.

suguru was quick to pull you behind him as your fingers instantly grabbed onto his shirt.

“don’t really care for a stranger’s opinion,” satoru drawls, glancing over the tips of his sunglasses. but you can read his body easily, a culmination of friendship over the years. it was screaming: danger.

“c’mon, don’t be like that. why don’t we introduce ourselves then? i’m toji.” he said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. but neither satoru nor suguru moved to grab it, instead they tensed, waiting.

“suguru.” satoru whispered, a command with only one word. he understood exactly what it meant. you don’t remember suguru being able to run so fast, the force from his pull almost knocking the air out of you. nor do you remember satoru being able to fight so efficiently.

you do remember suguru hiding you away and making you wait, even when you tried to hold onto him, he assured you it’d be fine and made you wait. but seconds ticked into minutes, long, monotonous minutes that made the pit of uneasiness in your stomach bloom into a festering bouquet of chrysanthemums.

“suguru?” you called, stepping out into the dreary moonlight. no response.

“satoru?” you tried again, quietly walking back towards the area they were in originally. it’s strange how quickly the night changes, how suddenly the flickering street lights aren’t an annoyance but one of your only sources of comfort, as if the dark can swallow you.

“suguru,” you call out again, voice teetering on a breakdown and eyes scanning the desolate street. “please res-“

you stop suddenly, the sickening squelch of something warm pooling beneath your feet halts you. you feel sick as you start to take in shallow breaths, eyes following the stream of ichor until it reaches its source.

suguru.

you remember dragging his lifeless body down that familiar back alley. knowing that anyone would be able to see that trail of blood and find you. the darkness of that alley covered you, looming over you like a guardian, while the scent of trash almost, almost, covered the sharp tinge of iron that permeated the air.

you propped suguru up against the wall as best you could, your body still thrumming with adrenaline. “just gimme a sec, okay?” you mumbled through tears, knowing that he couldn’t hear you. “i’ll figure it out, just like you always do.”

you’re not sure why you were compelled to scream out that name, but maybe it was because in your dreams, he appeared when you least expected him too.

“choso!” you screamed, waiting for a brief moment before you filled your lungs with air once more and tried again. “choso!”

nothing.

choso!

still nothing.

and when nothingness almost consumed you, taking you into it’s ghostly clutches, you felt it: the sudden heaviness in the air.

you feel like you screamed for hours, the name tumbling off your tongue and into the moonlit air like a siren song. just a little less pretty. in reality, it was probably only a few minutes before the brunette arrived, dark rimmed eyes and all. your new guardian “angel”.

“he looks pretty bad if you ask me.” he started, already crouching down to your level, before reaching up to brush the red coated strands away from suguru’s face. “looks pretty dead.”

“fix it.” you whispered, continuing even after choso shot you a look. “fucking fix him.”

“what makes you think i can do that?”

and in that moment, you feel compelled to tell him about the dreams that you’ve been having lately. the ones where he’s in them, beckoning you to stay under his protection. call for me and i’ll be there.

but you keep it simple, too pressed for time. “you’re in my dreams, right?” you answer.

he’s quiet, face softening as he mulls over your words. “good to know.” his eyes wander over to the crimson trail, that bleeds from the streetlamps to your waiting spot. “he’ll probably find you.”

“toji?” you ask and he nods, “i don’t even know why he’s after us.”

“he’s not after you, he’s after him.” he says, cupping suguru’s face, dribbles of blood falling from his mouth, and you twitch, almost reaching out to snatch his hand away, “he’s never liked sorcerers.”

“sorcery…?” you mumble, glancing once more at your lifeless husband.

but you’ve never heard that word, believing that magic cannot exist, that what you saw could not be explained so easily. there is no magic, only reality, and what is this but such painful, excruciating reality that sucks the air from your lungs and the color from your eyes.

choso dodges the question, “well then. let’s get out of here.” before he places a palm on the back of your neck, sending you back off to dream.

there’s a voice that pulls him out of the light. low and drumming, it snaps him back into the present and out of his stupor. he sits up, scrambling to make sense of just where he is and who is talking to him. the bed he’s in is similar to a hospital bed, although the white sheets are now stained red.

“… stay out of the sunlight, feed only when you’re hungry, animal blood counts, it just doesn’t taste that good,” choso continues listing things off, not taking into the account the shock etched so firmly into suguru’s face. “you can feed on them and if they ever wanna turn, let me know, i’ll teach you how to do it.”

suguru whips his head around, spotting you sitting in a chair with blood covered and bruised knees, the sweat and tears now dried on your face. you glance up at him, giving a little wave and a tired smile. he notes the dried blood that seems to be caked even under your fingers.

“what the fuck did you do to them?”

“you mean, what did i do to you?” the brunette retorts. “you wanted to stay together, right? now you can.” he answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk. but suguru’s not sure if he’s asking him or you, the one who smells so much sharper and sweeter than he remembers. you also smell of blood. so much blood that he can hear it coursing through you with each thump of your heartbeat.

and like a moth to a flame, you stand on wobbly knees, the pads of your feet hitting the floor in sluggish steps as you pad over and throw yourself onto your lover.

“don’t be mad at me,” you whisper, your eyelids fluttering as you try to fight back your tears. “i thought i could figure things out like you always do… because i always rely on you, right? i was too scared to be alone.”

he’s so cold now and you’re so unbearably warm, the perfect juxtaposition of your souls. although he doesn’t need to, he takes a deep breath, before pulling you into his embrace.

“you’re cold, sugu.” you mumble, yet you press harder, deeper into his embrace.

“is that a turn off?” he jokes because he can’t be mad at you, not now and not ever. and any fragments of anger always dissipate like a puff of smoke. you giggle, before finally giving in and crying, digging your nails into his stiff skin. you cry until you can’t anymore, going limp and falling asleep in his arms.

suguru’s gaze shifts upwards, as he holds you protectively, one arm wrapped firmly around your lower back, the other on the back of your head, fingers laced in your hair.

“so, no introductions?” he asks, trying to be friendly, although the intonation in his voice betrays him. it’s first time meeting such a strange man, who can blame him?

certainly not choso, who responds in turn, “my bad. you can call me choso. i fixed you up on their behalf.”

“and satoru?” he asks, scanning the room to see if he can find the familiar white tufts of hair.

“is fine,” choso replies, before jutting a finger out towards you, “they made sure to cover all the bases.”

suguru shifts you in his hold, pressing a kiss to your forehead, that familiar seal of protection once again placed within your being. but also, as thanks for trying to keep everyone safe.

“then, where is he?” he asks while the other sighs and points over to another bed in the corner. dark eyes follow and the familiar tufts of silver hair peek immediately confirm it’s satoru.

“he’s gonna wake up soon too. i’ll fill him in on the details.” before suguru can reply he’s cut off, “you should go soon, before the sun rises.”

“am i actually a vampire?”

“vampire, dracula, nosferatu, the undead. you can choose whatever you want.”

“… i see.” he pauses, glancing back at satoru’s sleeping form before deciding he’ll be fine on his own. “we’ll be going then. …thanks.”

he places his feet on the floor, still wearing his shoes from earlier and starts to walk off, cradling you in his arms.

“when you feed, geto, don’t overdo it. or they will die.”

he stops mid-step, gripping you tighter in his embrace, his brow furrowed, before finally walking off.

you really should’ve taken a photo for satoru of the realtor’s perplexed expression when only you showed up to a three bedroom home, insistent on your need for space.

when you do get that house, situated so nicely in the countryside, away from the buzz of the city, you think about what life would be like if you changed. if you no longer saw the sunlight. but you shake your head, pressing your fingers up to your neck once more, rubbing over the now scabbing indentations.

you know suguru can’t feast on you forever as your body ages and his does not. but the thought of him feeding on someone else makes your stomach turn.

“woow,” satoru hums, breaking you out of your trance as he takes in the new home, “not bad! not bad at all.”

you smile, “thanks, satoru. i wanted to make sure you had your own space too.”

“whats the third room for?” he asks, peeking his head in as he saunters around the new home.

“office space.” you reply, “remember i work from home?”

he nods, replying, “ooh, makes sense,” before he’s suddenly in front of you. his once crystalline blue eyes, now a deep crimson. “can i get a quick snack? i’m hungry.”

“always so insatiable, satoru.” you tsk, rolling your eyes, but hold up your wrist anyway.

“not my fault you just so happen to be the best tasting human around.” he says, smiling against the thin skin of your wrist.

luckily for you, he’s fast, the pain is almost nonexistent beyond the prick of his fangs but you still shut your eyes, waiting for it to be over. and when it’s over, gojo thanks you for the meal with a large bow before leaving to settle in his room.

it’s so different from suguru who plans out the days that he’ll feed, keeping you in his clutches for what seems like hours as he sips away at your blood, making sure to maximize the experience.

the blood loss always makes you so dizzy, dizzy and pliant. he likes to watch over you afterwards, splayed against the sheets, fingertips running over your veins as if he’s painting over them in hues of ice.

in your half-conscious state you never notice the furrow of his brow as he contemplates turning you every single time. you won’t last forever, too fragile, too soft, too alive. and suguru believes that forever only exists if you are in it as well. he asks you one night, while the house is almost too still, if you’d stay with him forever.

“… of course…” you murmur, head dazed and body heavy, “always, sugu.”

“even if you lose yourself?”

“i can’t… lose myself if i’m with you.” you smile contently, reaching out to him with one shaky hand.

“then how would you feel…” he asks, fingertips snaking up the veins of your neck, “if i turned you?” you shiver under his touch, eyelids fluttering not only at the sensation but also the low timbre of his voice.

“turn me?” you mumble, pressing your hand against his, encouraging him to continue carressing your skin, “like… choso did with you?”

he grins, albeit a small one and nods. hand now exploring the curves of your face, “just like that.” and while his hand is ice cold, it sears your skin with his touch, a testament to how deeply you’ve fallen.

you pout, finally relaying your fears, “won’t you feed on others though?”

“you want me to starve?” he jokes, still running his touch over you.

“let’s go vegan.” you hum, your consciousness starting to drift until the thrum of his fingers.

with your eyes closed you don’t catch the expression on his face, but you catch his laugh, drifting down into your ear. “i don’t know if that’s how it works, honey.”

“animals...” you mumble, breaths becoming deeper with each passing second. “like humans… but diet… is how choso… explained it right?”

he smiles, letting you fall deep into sleep. he keeps his hand intertwined with yours, knowing that even in dreams you hold onto him as if you were awake. he thinks you look so beautiful in the moonlight, better even than the moon or the stars themselves.

and he is so sure, that forever cannot exist, if you’re not in it.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #pibby writing

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supercantaloupe · 1 year

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What is the antisemitism in TUC season 1? Does it have to do with Wally the golem?/gen

[ID: an ask from an anonymous tumblr user that reads "would love to hear more about the antisemitism in unsleeping city! was a while ago that i watched it and can't remember what you might be referencing but definitely want to be aware of it.]

no, it's not about willy the golem -- i actually think willy is a great addition to the season (even if i wish we got to see more of him), and an indication to me that brennan/the showrunners were definitely trying to be sincere and inclusive. i want to make it clear that i don't think anything antisemitic in tuc is there intentionally; i think it's there out of simple ignorance, which is also why i think fans don't frequently see/comment on it either. but i don't think that's an excuse, either.

my grief with tuc1 is largely centered around its portrayal of robert moses as the villain. especially by making him a greedy, power-hungry lich working en league with bloodsucking vampires. (also his mini is literally a green skinned skull man in a suit. yikes.) here's the thing; i know robert moses was a real life horrible person, who actually was racist and powerhungry etc etc. and i know that robert moses, the real actual person, was jewish. my grief with tuc1 is not that they chose to use robert moses over literally any other person (real or fictional) to be their season villain (though i'd be really curious to know what tuc1 would have looked like with a different villain), but that they chose to take a real jewish person, turn them into an antisemitic caricature, and then only barely add other portrayals of judaism to balance that out.

like, tuc isn't completely devoid of other jewish representation. as you mention, there's willy the golem -- and again, i really like willy, and i love that it's a portrayal of a golem that's faithful to jewish folklore (ie as a benevolent, guardian construct rather than a mindless destructive monster. i am not a fan of how 'golem' is so frequently misused as a generic enemy creature in other fantasy and ttrpg spaces, including other seasons of d20). but as i said earlier, i wish we see more of him in the season, because he's not around very much, and feels a little more like worldbuilding than a full character to me. also, he's not human. jews are people.

the only other human jewish character in tuc1 is...stephen sondheim. which, again, yeah, that's a real person who really was jewish. but i really wouldn't blame you if you had no idea of that when watching tuc1. maybe from the name you could guess he might be jewish, but i don't think people ought to make a habit of trying to 'clock' someone being jewish by having a 'jewish-sounding' surname. as he's portrayed in tuc1, you'd never know he's jewish, unless you happen to already be pretty knowledgeable about the man in real life. it's far more likely you'll know him as a theater legend than anything else (may his memory be a blessing).

now i'm not saying that brennan or the showrunners should have played up the jewishness of Real Person Stephen Sondheim to counterbalance the depiction of robert moses; that just feels weird to me, especially considering that sondheim was literally alive when tuc1 was filmed and released. it's a tricky thing to portray real people in fiction alongside made up characters, especially when they are contemporaries, and i don't think 'outright caricature' is the way to go about that. nor do i think that moses' jewishness should have been played up at all, because again i don't think that would have been particularly true to the person/character, and also Fucking Yikes. but, c'mon, if you hear the names 'moses' and 'sondheim' next to each other, which one do you associate more with judaism?

and as it stands, these are the only representations of judaism in tuc1. one admittedly nice but very minor nonhuman character; one human character you'd never be able to tell was jewish; and a third human character who, while never explicitly referenced as jewish, plays into some really hurtful antisemitic stereotyping. and it was a choice to not include anything else. maybe not a deliberate one, probably more likely one made out of simple ignorance than anything else, but a choice nonetheless. in a city with one of the largest and most visibly jewish populations in the country, and a culture that is inextricably influenced by that jewish population. a jewish population which has been and continues the target of rising hate crimes for years. i know that nyc means different things to different people, and everyone's nyc is their own -- but my nyc is jewish, and it sucks that that its jewishness is referenced directly in only one very minor way, which is greatly overshadowed by its, in my view, really insidious indirect references.

i don't know exactly how to go about addressing this. obviously, the show can't be changed by now. even if it could, i think the final product would be very significantly different from what it is now if the villain was something/someone else. i think including more references to jews in new york, more (human) jewish characters, hell, even mentioning hanukkah celebrations and menorahs in windows (it takes place in late december, after all; depending on the year it's not at all out of place for hanukkah to coincide with xmas!) would help. having literally any more positive jewish representation in tuc1 would, i think, help balance the bad stuff that's there. because, yeah, robert moses was real and he was terrible and he was jewish. but he's one jewish guy in a city with over a million jews, the vast majority of whom are just normal people. i don't want him to be the only vision of us that people get, in tuc1 alone or in any media. i'm not saying that jews can't or shouldn't be villains in fiction; but especially if you are a goyische creator, you should be really careful in how you're portraying us, and if there are other contrasting depictions in your work, too, in order to not (even accidentally) demonize jewish people as a whole.

#sasha answers #anon #unsleeping city #the unsleeping city #long post #sorry for not putting this under a read more but i think people ought to see this. or at least #if two people felt the need to ask me about it then at least they would want to see the full thing uncovered #also fwiw i do think that they tried to address this to some extent when they made tuc2 #with more scenes with willy (and incorporating more golem folklore with the animating word in his mouth -- nice touch!)#the jewish immigrant family in the photo flashback encounter (even if the hanukkiah in the picture isn't exactly kosher lol)#and ESPECIALLY rabbi mike. i ADORE rabbi mike. i think he's a WONDERFUL addition #i do still wish he was a more important/prominent character. cause again he isn't in it all that much.#(and he's still like. the only new jewish human character in the campaign.)#but i recognize what he represents and i am happy about it #i do think brennan & the d20 crew tried to improve after tuc1. i do. i see their efforts and i applaud them for it #but still to my knowledge they haven't ever directly addressed the errors made in season 1 #and it's extremely rare that i even see other fans mention it #and like. sorry but i am tired. i am. we deserve better. we deserve portrayals in media that show us as People #not just as evil monsters #anyway you're welcome to rb this but be cool in the notes esp if you're a goy #other jews are welcome to (respectfully) disagree with me if they want #also if you so much as mention the word israel on this post you're getting blocked end of

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lizzy-bonnet · 10 months

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Austenian Dads

A recent post about mothers-in-law by @bethanydelleman had me thinking about the dads in Jane Austen. We get a lot of discourse about mothers and mother figures, who have big, important roles in the stores, but her depictions of fatherhood are interesting too. Here, in my opinion, are the dads and dad-like figures in her novels, ranked from best to worst.

(note: I've left out deceased and barely-there dads, but I will note that Mr. Dashwood's attempt to look out for his daughters, and the amount of grief occasioned by his death, indicate that he is a Top Dad.)

Mr. Musgrove - Notwithstanding "poor Richard", Mr. Musgrove has three reasonably well-adjusted adult children, seems to love his younger children, and goes to his daughter's bedside when she is injured. His children all make Sensible Matches, and he likes kids enough to permit the little Harvilles to be brought back to Uppercross to increase its noise. He folds my beloved Anne into his family and treats her affectionately whenever she is with them. By the standards of the day, he seems pretty solid. 8/10 Least Bad Dad.

Sir John Middleton - Like Mr. Musgrove, Sir John is a people person. His immediate and unreserved adoption of the Dashwoods in their hour of need tells us that he is an unambiguously good-hearted person, which usually leads to loving parenting. His kids are young so we don't see him interacting much with them, but his desire to give everyone a nice time bodes well. He doesn't notice when his teasing goes to far. 7/10 definitely tells the same dad joke over and over.

Mr. Bennet - As a reader I love him because he's pithy, but he's honestly not a great dad, and is not modeling a happy marriage for his daughters. He shows favouritism to Lizzy, lets Lydia run wild, is hurtful towards Mary and Kitty, and fails to save up any money to bribe worthless young men to marry his daughters. 5/10 for putting all his eggs in the "having a son" basket and then doing nothing when the handle on the basket breaks.

Lt. Price - Loud, embarrassing, shiftless. Ignores his daughters but seems to maybe do OK with his sons? 3.5/10, tops.

Sir Walter Elliot - This fucking guy, am I right? He's vain, he's self-obsessed, he's a spendthrift, and he's a dreadful parent. His eldest daughter is his favourite and he basically forgets Anne and Mary exist when they're not directly in front of him (and sometimes doesn't notice them even when they are). His favouritism has damaged Anne and Mary in different ways to Mr. Bennet's to his younger daughters, but the source is the same: he has one child who is like him and others that he doesn't click with, so he basically lets them shift for themselves. In the Elliot household I'm certain this means that sensitive Anne was left to grieve her mother without any comfort from her father. It's no wonder she was ready to marry the first loving man she saw. When he sees her looking well, he thinks it's down to her skin care regimen. 3/10 merely Gowland's.

Sir Thomas Bertram - Poor Fanny, her father figures are both the pits. Sir Thomas knows absolutely zero about what any of his kids are like and can't see how bad Aunt Norris's influence is on all of them. He swings wildly between neglectful and overbearing, and then tries to pressure Fanny into marrying Henry Crawford despite his attentions making her visibly miserable. He also knows perfectly well that Fanny is shy, and yet does not give her any warning that he's throwing a ball for her coming out, plus he sends her home to Portsmouth as a sort of weirdo punishment to make her see what she's missing by not marrying Henry. 2/10 points and he really only gets these for 1. offering to free Maria from her engagement and 2. getting a fire in Fanny's grate, even if he left it until WAY too late to do her much good.

General Tilney - the closest Austen gives us to a villainous parent. The General is dictatorial to his children, oppressive around the house and occasionally creepy towards Catherine. This is made apparent by the fact that the Abbey suddenly becomes much more fun when he goes off to London. He shows himself the ultimate Bad Dad by tossing his daughter's friend out of the house without explanation and hardly the resources to get herself home. 0/10 Gothic Tyrant Dad.

#jane austen #dads #pride and predjudice and zombies #persuasion #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #mansfield park

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aliferousdreamer · 1 month

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my thoughts on the next step 9a

clude leaving is so bittersweet... i'm so sad we've lost such a sweet couple and great wlw representation but they left happy and stronger than ever!!!!!!!

the colour symbolism with kenzie's signature colour going from yellow from to blue is a subtle but effective character choice imo. the yellow in s8 felt more youthful joyful and vibrant for when she was new to being dance captain, whereas now kenzie's blue wardrobe in s9 shows that she's maturing and gaining wisdom as dance captain, but is also going through some tough times too. blue is also tns' signature colour so it also shows that she's an important part of the studio!!!

i love heath in this season... his energy, his attitude, his relationships, carter's acting, everything 💯

grace's reasoning for wanting revenge is so silly because she legit made herself an outcast and when kenzie tried to talk with her she just dipped

i'm still upset and bitter and frustrated with daisy leaving........ i just hate seeing great potential dropped like that. melody was such a good addition to the cast!! also where was her goodbye scene with izzy???????? she wasn't just close with heath; she was close to izzy too!!!!!!

my heart broke for pete multiple times and i'm glad that we had a storyline tackling grief and (briefly) men's mental health. i wish it had more of a focus and lasted for longer but it was still effective.

thalia and eldon are still together!!!!!!!! yesssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!

JACQUIE MENTION YESSSSSSSSSS I'VE WAITED FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

kenzie basically being both the dance captain and studio head by herself because what does nick even do retroactively makes riley look even worse at being studio head.......... yeah season 4's treatment of riley is still annoying me in the year 2024

idk if it's just me but does anyone else feel like it's not internationals???? the vibe feels much more like regionals or nationals. the scale doesn't quite feel grand enough

i wasn't sure that heath was "the heart of the team" but after watching all of 9a, not only is he the heart of the team he's also the team therapist and cheerleader... i love to see it

i love that anthony is still a ball of stress/anxiety and is also in a really important leader position as group choreographer. so often you see anxious people just depicted as introverts and not as leaders, so it's nice to see someone who's anxious but also a very capable leader

olive is the definition of a precious cinnamon roll. she's sounds like a disney princess every time she talks. she reminds me of amy in s4 too!! she really is just the 🥺 emoji

random point but i love that adele's signature colour being emerald green. it reminds me of ariel's tail in the little mermaid and now i'm thinking of an au where adele is ariel and anthony is prince eric

i know i'm probably in the minority here but i am totally on board with anthony x adele (should their ship name be anthele/adelthony/adelony??). anthony really had one conversation with her alone and just fell for her instantly. some fans probably think it's dumb and realistic but i think it's really sweet and they have potential for 9b

i do also lowkey ship adele x olive because they're so cute together (and they remind me of pamy a little.) when adele didn't want to work with ariana but was unable to resist olive's puppy dog eyes...... they're so cute!!!

kenzie and pete are really just the sweetest couple ever and they have such a natural, easy chemistry... they're definitely one of the best couples tns has had in years 😘👌

IS HEATH'S DAD DEAD???????????????

ethan showing character development by being much more of a team player, we love to see it!!! he's still competitive but he's ready to share his ambitions with others

kenzie holding hands with heath was such a sweet, underrated moment... i love seeing strong, supportive and affectionate platonic male/female relationships

ebby naming her pet snail snaiyoncé is iconic

izzy calling heath "heathcliff" and heath calling izzy "isadora"....... the best friendism of it all

eldon mentioning west's iconic bangers and mash solo!!!!!! yes, thank you!!!!!! west is one of the most iconic dancers this show has ever had!!!!!!!!!

kenzie is allergic to flowers, noted!

heath is penzie's no. 1 shipper

ariana putting jett front row centre in her trio........ i know what you are................

ethan's loyalty to izzy is so sweet

WHO IS GETTING CUT??????????????

grace is definitely turning on ariana in 9b... i have a feeling she's going to out her as a traitor and a troupe might kick her off the team for a few episodes

remi is totally going to break ebby's heart, isn't he???

i have a feeling that presley might return to talk to her sister and say something like "chill ariana i'm fine living life and there was no need for getting revenge"

is ethan getting a boyfriend in 9b??????

can't wait for chekhov's bo staff to make its grand return in 9b

also how many enemies to lovers / rivals to lovers style relationships is heath going to have???? ozzy, daisy, pascale....... heath is immune to not having some sort of conflict in his relationships

this is a long shot but i'm really hoping to see more previous cast members returning. yeah i know it's not necessary, but i still want to know what our old faves all doing with their lives

given season 9's marketing has been pretty terrible it really does make me doubt that there will be a season 10. i would like a last series to tie the whole show together and maybe have a few reunions so the show has a great send-off, but feels unlikely now that they really dropped the ball when promoting this series

bring on 9b!!!!!!!!!

this is really jumbled and i've probably missed out so many things but i'm very unorganised so there you go

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yourneighborhoodporg · 6 months

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The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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