#not complaining I like that about myself generally and I’m definitely thankful I’m somewhat close to average male height (only 2 inches

[seilon]

kinda hate that my go-to non-merch clothing store choices are vans and hollister like we GET it im fucking californian

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

[pascalpanic]

Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

[lahyene]

Gucci Guilty.

Pairing: chris evans x model!reader

Summary: A steamy photoshoot with Chris Evans turns into something even steamier in his car.

Themes: smut, car sex

Word count: 2237

The corner of your lips tug upward as you gaze seductively towards the camera, head tilted to one side and eyes filled with lust and sensuality as you pose with Chris’ large hands holding your breasts, nothing in between but pasties covering your nipples. You had been told the Gucci Guilty shoot was going to be a steamy one, and while such shoots usually felt awkward and forced, you’re surprised at how oddly comfortable this feels. Perhaps it’s because you’ve worked with Chris before and therefore feel a little more at ease; he’s charming, funny, and down-to-earth, and besides, you’re used to revealing shoots due to your job as a lingerie model.

“Alright, let’s get some shots lying down. Chris, guide her down, yeah?” the photographer calls, and Chris nods, scoffing playfully. “Uh, my pleasure.” You laugh and move yourself down with him, lying carefully on your side- you’re only wearing nude colored panties while he’s simply in briefs, though right now the camera is only focusing on your upper halves anyways. 

“Put your arm around her, cover her breasts.” The photographer directs, and Chris does as told- his head is near your neck, his warm breath upon your skin making you shiver slightly. It’s generally difficult to even feel aroused during these shoots considering models must be entirely focused on posing and trying not to look awkward, but you swear the two of you have a chemistry that makes this so much more natural. Therefore, his muscular arm around your smaller frame is only turning you on even more. You have to wonder if he feels the same way, or if he’s simply treating this like another job.

However, when you feel a rather large bulge pressing against your ass from behind, your eyes widen despite being in front of the camera-- thankfully, the crew is still setting up lighting and camera positioning for these new sets of photos. “Jesus, Chris,” you can’t help but tease in a soft whisper, teeth slowly pulling at your lower lip flirtatiously. “Didn’t realize you were bringing a friend to this shoot…” 

He blinks but starts to laugh lowly, looking down at you somewhat sheepishly. “Hey, c’mon now, can ya blame me? I’ve basically been feeling up a gorgeous naked girl all afternoon, I can’t help myself…”

His low voice right by your ear is only doing more to get you excited; you can’t help but continue flirting. “Yeah? So you’re liking what you’re feeling?” you tease, and he barely smirks, leaning down even more to whisper discreetly in your ear, “Oh, hell yeah. I thought I was really only an ass man, but you’re making me wonder if I haven’t been appreciating… other parts as much.” He subtly squeezes your breasts even harder with his arm that’s currently shielding them from the camera and you let out a little gasp, cheeks flushing slightly. Still, you’re not going to let him be the only one teasing here. 

“Are you saying you don’t appreciate my ass?” you playfully retort in a soft murmur, just barely shifting your body so that your butt is more pressed up against his crotch. You can practically feel his breath hitch due to his chest being right up against your back, his jawline clenching tightly. 

“Fuck.” He mutters with a slight laugh, playfully growling in frustration. “Please don’t do this to me right now, Y/N, you’re killing me.”

“Alright, ready!” the photographer calls obliviously once everything’s set up, and so it looks like Chris is getting his wish-- for now, anyways. “Chris, lean down into her neck. Maybe kiss it a little, and her shoulder too. Y/N, you look towards the camera, but hold one side of his face.” The two of you gladly follow the instructions, your heart racing faster as you feel Chris’ soft, plush lips press against your bare skin. 

“I think I’m gonna go crazy,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, barely audible so that no one hears him. All you can do is continue looking at the camera with a modelesque gaze, though you barely hum in response.

“Okay, how about a kiss?” one of the directors suggests, and Chris shamelessly grins. “If you insist,” he replies, making some of the crew laugh. You giggle a little bit yourself, looking up to him in amusement. 

“You sure you can handle it, big boy?” you tease softly, wiggling your butt against his crotch ever-so-slightly-- he inhales sharply once again, staring down at you with amusement and frustration at the same time. 

“Just you wait until after we’re done here,” he murmurs as he leans in, giving you a slightly devious smirk, “because I’m going to get you back, sweetheart.” With that, he gives you a gentle kiss, slowly increasing in lust and passion. The cameras are getting closer and you have to make sure you’re tilting your head in all the right ways for the perfect picture, yet you still feel how amazing his lips are on yours, even teasing a little by slowly pulling at his lower lip with your teeth. It’s tempting to simply start making out with him right then and there, but considering all the noise around you from the crew, it’s at least easier to not get distracted.

“Alright, I think we’ve got it!” the photographer announces, and Chris pulls back, looking down into your eyes with complete hunger and desire in his own. “I need you.” He mutters bluntly, and you feel even hotter than before. You hurriedly stand up and take the thin robe being handed to you from a crew member, giving him a smile in thanks as you put it on and wrap it around yourself. He stands up as well but hovers close; you can tell he doesn’t care about subtlety anymore. He’s practically carnal.

“Where’s your car?” you mumble quietly, and a devious grin spreads across his lips.

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

You can’t believe you’re currently straddling Chris in the driver’s seat of his car, making out in an isolated corner of the parking lot where he had moved the car solely for this. Your clothes had been long gone, tossed carelessly to the backseat along with his own, leaving both of you in just your underwear. You had taken off the pasties right after the shoot and he’s currently taking advantage of this, squeezing your breasts and teasingly pinching your nipples as his tongue wrestles your own. “Mm… mm, God, Y/N, you really know how to drive a guy fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters in a husky Boston accent, making you shudder simply from hearing how sexy his voice is. 

“Mm… who, me?” you breathe out playfully innocent between kisses, your hands currently rubbing his toned abs firmly and making him growl slightly in satisfaction.

“Fuckin’ tease.” He scoffs with a smirk, trailing his fingers up your thighs to rub against your underwear. “Shit, when I heard I had this photoshoot with you, do you know how fucking excited I was?” 

You whimper happily though look at him somewhat surprised, biting your lip. “Really? You were?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re one of the sexiest models I know. I was thrilled hearing I got to basically do a nude and risqué photoshoot with you, I was ready to kiss my fuckin’ manager because I was so thankful.” He moves your panties aside, breathing heavier as he stares down at your soaked entrance. “Fuck. So wet for me, huh baby? Does that mean you were excited too?” 

You blush but roll your hips desperately, signaling to him that you want more. “Well yeah, I mean, look at you.” You murmur, breathless from anticipation. “You’re hot, funny, talented… I was definitely not complaining about you holding me while naked.” 

He grins as he starts teasing your folds with broad fingers, watching your reaction intently. “That’s good to know, baby, because I’m about to be doing a lot of other things to you naked…”

You moan as he pushes a finger inside you, pumping you with a smirk across his lips. “How’s that feel, beautiful? Gotta get you ready for the real thing after all…” he murmurs huskily, eyes locked on yours as he increases his pace. You whine happily, arching your back and moving your hands to grip his muscular biceps tightly, fingers pressing into his Taurus sign tattoo. 

“So… good… m-more, Chris,” you beg; he doesn’t need to be told twice as he inserts another finger, staring at you in awe and arousal. 

“God, you look so fuckin’ sexy right now, sweetheart.” He coos, loving how he can make such beautiful expressions travel across your rosy face. “I can’t wait to see you come for me.” He pumps harder, expertly crooking his fingers and making a “come here” gesture in order to hit your sweet spot, something you’re almost suspicious of that he achieves so quickly. 

“Fuck…! Chris, o-oh my God! Right there!” you cry out in pleasure, your head tilting back as you close your eyes. “That feels so good…!!”

He keeps pumping roughly in the same spot until you release, your breaths heavy and your eyes wide as you watch him withdraw his fingers only to stick them in his mouth to suck on them. “Perfect.” He growls, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk. “I could taste ya all day, baby, but there’s something else I need right fucking now.” He takes your hand and guides it to his bulge, rubbing and groaning to himself. “Go ahead and take it out sweetheart, I want to see your pretty little hands holding it…”

You gladly oblige, slipping your fingers into the waistband of his briefs to slide them down slightly. Your eyes widen even more upon seeing his thick and lengthy erection, your mouth dropping open. “That’s… that’s definitely not going to fit…” you mumble, even somewhat nervous, but he chuckles and leans down to kiss you naturally rough. 

“It’ll definitely be tight, baby girl, but it’ll fit. I’m going to make you feel so good… mmm… I want to see you ride me though, sexy.” You kiss him back, unable to help but feel turned on by his demands, having to admit yourself that just the thought of riding his large cock is definitely appealing even if you are a little scared.

You position yourself, lifting up your hips and holding onto his shoulders, slowly allowing yourself to sink down onto his tip. Your breath hitches as he enters your wet core, your face already distorting slightly as you whimper and adjust to his thickness. “Holy… shit…” you breathe out, moving down just a little more. “Mm… Chris, you’re so fucking big…” you whine, and he groans just hearing you, gripping your hips tight. 

“And you’re so goddamn tight. C’mon babe, keep going- I want you to feel all of me,” he coos lowly into your ear, leaning in to suck on your neck tenderly. You’re already panting slightly as you carefully let more and more of him in, wincing slightly at the feeling of his cock stretching you out though loving it at the same time.

It’s not long before you’re really beginning to ride him, your body rocking up and down and his hands moving to grab and squeeze your bouncing breasts. “Fuck babe, that’s good! God you look so fuckin’ hot right now,” he praises through guttural groans and grunts, his head tilting back slightly showing more of his beautifully bearded jawline. You moan just from watching him, more and more turned on by the second- how can someone be so damn perfect?

You keep riding him faster, hips rocking hard- his hands are even assisting in moving you because of his excitement and desperation. He’s leaving marks on your neck with his love bites, his fingers gripping your hip bones tightly and occasionally moving behind to your ass to grope aggressively, his groans signifying that he likes what he feels. “Mm, baby, I want you to come all over my fucking cock, you got that?” he growls demandingly, and you immediately nod your head, whimpering in pleasure as you grip his muscle even harder. “Yes sir!”

You finally release, your chest heaving as you begin to slow down. “Shit. I’m going to come.” He squeezes your thigh and you move yourself off of him breathlessly, watching as he shoots his load upwards as streaks of white land upon your torso and breasts. You nibble on your lip seductively, swirling your fingers in it and lifting them to your lips, wrapping your tongue around your digits as you make eye contact with him. He’s staring at you in awe, smirking pleased as he breathes heavily. “God damn, sweetheart. You are so much sexier than I could have ever even imagined, and that’s saying a lot because I thought you were pretty damn sexy to begin with.” You giggle softly as he leans in and kisses you, immediately throwing your arms around his neck to kiss him back.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours and looks into your eyes, a more fond smile crossing his lips. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. Please tell me we can keep seeing each other after this, whether we work together or not.” He practically begs in a low voice, and you immediately smile, pecking his lips softly.

“Of course, Chris. I’d love nothing more.

[elencelebrindal]

If I'm not mistaken you've now read/watched the three mxtx works and WoH. How would you rank them following personal preference? Which main couple did you like the most? Favorite plot twists in all four?

Yep, I did. I still have to read Faraway Wanderers though. Can't wait to.

This came out to be quite a long post, so I'll put it under the read more thingy.

Now, how would I rank them?

I'll have Tian Guan Ci Fu at the top, no doubts. It's my absolute favorite among all these four, and will probably remain my favorite even after I finally get to read the huge thing that's 2ha. It's the perfect balance of a story with no characters left unexplained (except for the minor ones and RIP Hua Cheng's backstory, why did mxtx rob us so much), of characters being unique all in different ways, and of a romance that, while being absolutely the main focus of the novel, is not overwhelming. For me, an aro/ace person, the romance written in TGCF is so good that it made even me stupidly happy. I don't get such big smiles on my face while reading my own romantic content.

This is the ONLY novel I've ever read that doesn't have a single character I hate in it. Only one, maybe two at most, that I dislike. That's it. Everyone's good. Everyone.

Then I'll definitely have Word of Honor. Just like TGCF, it's a really good balance between an interesting story (I was literally squirming in my seat while impatiently waiting for things to be revealed, enjoying every second of it) and a subtle romance that was still obvious enough to make me wonder what the hell happened with censorship in this drama. Not that I'm complaining though.

Almost all the characters are incredibly good. They have depth to them, all the main ones have either a satisfying backstory or a beautifully crafted development.

And this is it for the ranking. I wrote way more than I should have, but oh well.

After that, it's a tie between Mo Dao Zu Shi and Scum Villain. I don't want to favor one over the other, because I genuinely like them the same. Scum Villain is really underrated, and while I understand it somewhat, it's really unfair.

MDZS (and The Untamed) has a story that draws you to it, especially if you (like me) have an obsession with all things dark and spooky and terrifying like the demonic cultivation in this, like the whole mystery they have to solve with body parts leading them to the solution. The drama, as good as it was, really didn't do justice to the spook factor of using dismembered parts of a corpse to move around.

SVSSS is straight up weird, literally an isekai but make it Chinese. I think the best part of it is Shen Yuan panicking and cussing everyone out every time something happens around him, though... I really loved the story and the way it played out. I especially liked how the novel kept mentioning Proud Immortal Demon Way and compared the events of that book to the events that were happening in that book's world.

But why do I prefer Word of Honor to them? Well, it's simple. There's some aspects of the romance that don't resonate well with me.

WangXian is a beautiful couple, and they deserve all the happiness in the world (they have a canonic son!!!!!!!!), but Wei WuXian's initial obliviousness made me really uncomfortable at times. Not because he didn't know Lan WangJi was in love with him (the fool! thank goodness for Guanyin Temple), but because he kept teasing Lan WangJi about it while the latter was drunk. I mean, I get it. If you don't know, you don't realize what you're doing. But as a person that easily suffers from people making fun of me behind my back... it kinds struck a nerve. I still love them to pieces, though, they're so good together.

BingQiu, well... this is a rollercoaster of a couple. Again, I absolutely love them together, but some parts come off almost as scenes where consent is thrown to the wind. As a reader you know Shen QingQiu is willing and in love (gods, they married each other, I'd be a fool to say the opposite), but there should be a limit to how many times a willing person should say "No" in such a novel. This is mostly me being my aro/ace self, though. I don't really understand what goes on in the world of intimacy between people because I (literally) don't give a fuck, so I'm probably reading too much where there's too little. Don't take this as me not liking BingQiu, I'm in love with them and I desperately need more content.

Favorite plot twists, eh? Okay, big SPOILER ALERT from here onwards. And I mean it. BIG. SPOILER. ALERT.

Now, which main couple did I like the most?

Hualian. I don't even need to think about it. Bonus point because they're both out of their minds and the extras show it.

I said it before, and I'll say it again. I never have smiles so big and goofy in front of anything else, not even my own stuff. Hualian genuinely makes me happy.

Stop reading if you haven't finished all four of these, please.

...

Okay, here I go.

WoH:

Wen KeXing faking his death and telling basically everyone but Zhou ZiShu.

The villain being Zhao Jing; I was actually fooled and thought the main bastard of the series was Gao Chong.

Episode 35, and I'm not saying anything else. Although, as soon as that son of a bitch put his hands on Cao Weining's face like that, I genuinely knew what was going to happen.

The hairpin being the key for the armory. That was so stunning I had to pause the episode for a second and take a walk around the house.

MDZS:

Jin GuangYao being the villain. And being an amazing villain, on top of that.

Nie Huaisang. Fuck's sake, that man fooled the entire fandom just like that. I don't think many people realized he was the one behind everything.

The golden core transplant reveal. I'm sure that more experienced readers and viewers (aka people that had read/watched a ton more cultivation world stuff) had hints of it, but when I watched The Untamed I never read/watched anything remotely close to this genre. It hit me like a brick and I sat in front of the screen in shock.

SVSSS:

Shang QingHua being Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. It's such a silly thing, but it made me pause for a good five minutes. I wasn't expecting it in the slightest.

The whole thing with the Old Palace Master. The man belongs to the dumpster he never got thrown into.

Tianlang-Jun not actually being the villain. Poor demon, he just wanted to continue with the questionable hobby of reading porn and daydreaming about Shen QingQiu's relationships.

I think I had another one, but it's late and I'm probably forgetting it.

TGCF:

Oh boy, where do I belong? Ah yes, the entirety of book 4. Took me out on the spot.

Jun Wu being Bai WuXiang completely blew me away. That was probably the biggest plot twist in the history of plot twists.

Also, Ling Wen knowing, and her being the creator of the Brocade Immortal.

Fu Yao and Nan Feng being Feng Xin and Mu Qing. For some reason, even if it's kinda obvious when you take a good look at them, it never clicked before being revealed.

On the same note, Ming Yi being He Xuan, and the Earth Master being actually dead. What a ride that arc has been for me.

One of the most important details, however... I got it myself. The ring Hua Cheng gives to Xie Lian. I see so many people saying that they didn't expect the ring to be his ashes, but I did something I generally can't stop myself from doing. I guessed something tremendously important by accident, something I do with many many books so I can ruin the experience for myself. I was literally sitting down, taking a break from reading (I devoured TGCF in 3 days, I needed that break lol), and all of a sudden this goddamn revelation descend upon me like the holy spirit, completely out of the blue. I just sat up, looked at the screen, and went "the ring is is fucking ashes, isn't it?", and completely ruined the surprise for myself.

And this is it.

If there's more I forgot (probably) I don't know. For now, this is my answer. Way too long, as always.

[vicea]

Hey! I watched the podcast live earlier and just blatantly decided to come to you since I saw you were watching it :) hope you don't mind

My review is honestly that it was so so much better than the last one Dream (and also the last one Sapnap) took part in.

The people there, for starters, were so much calmer and neutral and, while some are odd figures to see for the - probably - first time (case and point, Amouranth) they actually were all knowledgeable, open and not biased. Amouranth actually proved to be likeable in last hour or so if you overlook what her job is which is fine by me and everyone else was honestly not really prejudiced against Dream and Sapnap's fanbase which was a nice surprise. They all were very diverse in their communities which makes discussions more interesting.

Obviously I had chat closed, after the first few minutes of seeing them spam weird stuff, so neither do I know nor do I care what happened there and I advise everyone to follow that strategy.

The topics might appear dry to a degree but that's normal and I actually thought they weren't as bad as others made it out to be either. Cryptocurrency and E-sports may not be everybody's favorite stuff to hear about but it was actually somewhat interesting to hear the conversation. Also it wasn't all they talked about either and it was mostly enjoyable.

People have to remember that this wasn't a podcast about Dream and George, it's a podcast they take part in, it's about Twitch in general, not about Minecraft, and about stuff happening in the world like Covid-19 and whatnot. And the amount of interest the people there actually showed in them despite that was very nice to see. When they talked about Minecraft, others took part in the conversation and brought up own opinions and experiences, and they listened when they talked or asked questions about E-sports and Twitch con.

Onto Dream and Sapnap - they talked a lot more than in most other podcasts they were in before! They didn't seem particularly disinterested either in my opinion? It was just that they were doing stuff in the background, playing games or be on Twitter etc. so reaction times were sometimes a little bit slower and might've made it seem like that but -

The fact that Train wanted to close the podcast but Dream talked about Sapnap wanting to stay more and then they went on for another hour kind of cancels that out for me.

Memorable Dream and Sapnap moments I remember at the top of my head from that were (not in order):

Train tries to explain the 1v5 Manhunt and everyone is kind of confused what he's talking about until he talks about landing in a boat

Dream and Sapnap were asked what's new in the Minecraft community and deadass didn't remember MCC despite Dream streaming the practice server

Ultimately we got Dream doing a few laps in Ace Race from his POV and him dominating in Dodgebolt, even winning 1v2s (on the server)

Dream correcting people on what the best colors for marketing are

Sapnap mocking us with not talking and he's generally just there to fuck with Train and troll everyone

At one point XQC joined and asked to 1v1 Dream in Minecraft. He got demolished and then continued to get demolished by Sapnap

Dream talks about the SMP a bit (once when they proposed that he turns it into an org to make more money and he just blatantly says that he doesn't want to get a check of his friends money; later they asked how he picks the people for it)

Sapnap wants to do one live E-sports event for the experience but not go pro

(Something along the lines of:) Slasher: "You can just pay a million to do some real Minecraft event (probably for live E-sports or whatever) and do it yourselves right?"; Dream: "Oh yeah, let me do that real quick."; Slasher: "I mean, assuming you make like 30 million a year or something."; Dream: "Definitely not thirty."

They're hypothetizing on Obama in MCC

Sapnap is the only one to hear Myth say Goodbye

Train: how old are you; Sapnap: ²⁰

Sapnap just highkey trolling the whole group (Do you live in Canada? Yes. | Are you in New York right now? Yes.)

They talk about conventions and whether Dream and Sapnap would consider going to them. Sap mentions Dreamcon again

They talk about streaming for a bit (They explain the concept behind having alts; Sapnap streamed 6 hours on his main and averaged 177k viewers/19 hours on his alt with an average 48k viewers/everyone is just highkey baffled; Dream: "I have zero hours.")

They pull the George doesn't know what Dream looks like scam again

Sapnap is asking Train if he would give Sap all his Bitcoin for Sap to run into Dream's room and face reveal prank him on Train's podcast

They are theorizing on how they would market Dream's face reveal, Dream and Sapnap find their idea stupid

Train jokingly offers to give out his stream key to Sapnap and Dream and for them to organize a podcast "with the gang" and Sapnap bluntly agrees. Train is baffled. (Pls. Yes. Probably not and a joke but please. Yes, give it to me.)

Maybe I'll look up the time stamps later if you want me to, but yeah :) I probably spammed you. I found it honestly very enjoyable and I only saw people complain so I wanted to give my opinion

(I don't really post myself, so I go to my favorite blog when I wanna say stuff, sorry ,-,)

thank you eveee and don't apologize i'm happy to always read ! i'm glad to read another side of the scuffed podcast because sometimes they can talk about interesting stuff.

[equalseleventhirds]

i said i wouldn't write it but i did

vaguely a sequel to this, but far in the future and focused on jon (annabelle features briefly tho. she's fine. annabelle will always be fine in my fics.) with ofc the presupposition that they've failed in one world but kept trying, bcos i think that would be fun*!

*(by which i mean heartbreaking, i'm so sorry)

There are rules, to the traveling, or at least there seem to be. There are certainly questions to be asked and points to be made, about how many instances count as a definitive rule rather than simply a pattern. But Jon likes to think of them as rules. He's always preferred concrete answers, even if it turns out they're less the truth and more just a convenient way of conceptualizing things.

So he has rules.

First: the Fears always come through on the same day. October 18, 2018. Or, given the impact history has on calendars, the equivalent of it; he'd once spent months trying to correlate the forty-third moon of cycle 1852 with his calendar just to prove his point, but the math had all worked out.

(Which does indicate, at least to Jon, that yes, the Fears probably did originate in his home world, Georgie. He'll take his petty wins where he can get them. For as long as he can remember the discussion, and the people, he's proving wrong.)

Second, it is still his tapes that the Fears follow. For every apocalypse there has been a new catalyst, but none of these new rituals supersede his. Maybe it's a testament to the strength of the Web's original plan, or maybe it's just something about Jon himself. He knows what he thinks, but... well, there isn't enough proof just yet.

Third, in spite of endless attempts to trap them and stop them, Jon is always able to travel with the Fears. Perhaps they simply can't stop him, as the original antichrist he apparently is; dozens of apocalypses in dozens of different universes, and Jon can always feel his rightful place as ruler of that terrible fearscape calling to him. He hasn't taken it yet, but it's there, and the Eye cannot abandon its true pupil without his permission.

Or perhaps they simply don't care. Every attempt so far has led to the exact same result, after all: another world left behind, another death by starvation averted, another new feast for the Fears to sink their teeth into.

Fourth, he always passes out upon entering a new world.

It's kind of annoying.

---

It is slightly unusual for him to wake up warm, comfortable, and covered in a blanket, but Jon's not about to complain. It's nice. He doesn't get a lot of comfort, and he likes sleeping in a bed, especially since he's always eldritch-nightmare-free in a new world. For a limited time only, of course.

He's fairly certain he's inside; aside from the softness underneath and around him, the air is still and temperate, the light through his eyelids is artificial, and all he can hear is the faint whirring of appliances and the whispers of two muted voices.

"—complete stranger, definitely dangerous, looks like he's from hell—"

"Okay, fine, but I wasn't going to leave him, and anyway haven't you noticed he's a bit—"

"A bit what? Scarred? Bloodstained? Glowing eyes, because I don't think I need to remind you, Martin, his eyes were absolutely glowing when you found him—"

Martin. Now there's a name. Not an uncommon one, but... he thinks he knows that voice.

Or. Well. He might know both of those voices, actually, which is even more interesting than waking up in a bed.

Jon opens his eyes.

He's met himself before, is the thing. Not in every world, and not always particularly recognizable, but he's met himself. He's met versions of Martin, too, and eventually stopped going completely useless with heartbreak every time. The merest handful of times, he's found both of them in the same world, sometimes something almost like friends, but usually not.

The fact that they have their arms around each other, casual, comfortable, close, is both entirely unexpected and perfectly, wonderfully, terribly familiar. Jon briefly considers crying about it, but there are more important things to be doing. For example.

"The glowing eyes aren't actually that sinister. I mean, they are, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking."

Jon—the other Jon—jumps at the sound of his voice, then leans forward. Curiosity, of course; that hardly ever seems to change. "You—the glowing—who are you?"

"Jon," this new version of Martin scolds, and for just a moment he's back home, with his Martin, with that exasperated tone—but no, this isn't his Martin, and he's also leaning forward now, his voice turning gentle. Concerned. Coaxing, like he's a spooked animal, and Jon doesn't think his Martin has ever talked to him that way. "How are you feeling? We found you unconscious in the street."

He can feel Martin's curiosity too, pushing forward under his concern, just as questioning as Jon but too polite to outright say it yet. He has to cut this off, or he really will cry.

"Mm... no," he says. "Well, yes. But also." Good lord, he's confusing them. Par for the course, but he should probably try to be somewhat comprehensible.

He holds up a hand, extending one finger. "I am... fine. More or less. Trust me, I'm used to this, and this isn't even the worst way it's happened." Another finger joins the first. "My name, as I believe Martin has guessed but then dismissed, is Jonathan Sims. I am not you from the future, nor am I lying, nor am I crazy, because—" a third finger "—interdimensional travel is not only possible, it has happened, is happening, because of and along with terrible monstrosities I am determined to stop, and I have explained this too many times to too many people to have much patience for anyone being shocked and disbelieving, much less a version of myself doing so, so you can either get over it and move on or I can go elsewhere and do something useful."

"Excuse—"

"And," he continues, pushing himself up so he can sit and lean forward even more intensely than his counterpart, "I would actually rather not do that just yet, because I have an extremely pressing question for the two of you."

"Um," Martin says, and "What," says the other Jon.

"How," Jon asks, deepening his voice to exude solemn, ominous, and eldritchly important, "did you two start dating?"

---

It was so... normal. Apparently. Two people, mutual friends, a chance encounter. A prickly exterior ("He hated me," both of them had claimed), but without the insecurity of being Head Archivist and the fear of dread powers beyond his comprehension, their friends had helped him open up and—eventually—apologise. A budding friendship, and then a romance, and then...

It isn't a version of them Jon has seen anywhere else, in any of the worlds he's traveled to. Normal as it is, it's a highly improbably scenario, and certainly not the same as his relationship with his Martin had been. But it was, in an infinite number of worlds, still a possibility.

Jon isn't quite sure how he feels about that, knowing that some version of them could have fallen in love without the trauma, but that they hadn't managed it.

His hands aren't shaking, as he lights his cigarette. At least there's that.

"I quit, you know," his counterpart says from behind him. "Years ago. I'd forgotten about those until you asked."

"Well then, thank you for indulging me." He gestures, meaning the cigarette, meaning the bed, meaning his claims about reality, meaning his intrusive, gossipy questioning. Meaning everything. He's not sure it gets across.

The other Jon laughs, quietly, and moves to stand next to him. "I am my worst enabler."

"Oh, that's hardly true."

"Mm." They're silent together for a while, but Jon is restless (both of him), and eventually this reality's version opens his mouth to ask. "Do you—do you know why I—I don't want to say believed you, I'm still not sure I do, b-but, didn't throw you out immediately?"

"My myriad charms?" They both laugh at that.

"Jonathan Sims," he says, as if that explains anything.

Jon takes a drag of his cigarette, considering. He could probably Know, but... indulging himself. "What about me?"

"No, not you, or. You know. You. But your name. Jonathan Sims. I decided you weren't, weren't a deliberate lie to trick me, or a future version of myself, or a mind-reading monster—"

"Well—"

"—when you said your name, because none of those things would have said that." He smiles then and holds up a hand, and—oh—his ring glints. "I've been Jonathan Blackwood for a while now."

They'd told him married eventually, but he hadn't even thought about his name. He's certainly thinking about it now. "Jonathan Blackwood," he says, soft, to himself. And to himself. "That... that sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it."

Whatever they might have said next is lost as an incredibly loud engine roars nearby and a sleek black motorcycle pulls up in front of them. Jon sighs and takes one last drag of his cigarette as the rider removes her helmet.

"Been off finding yourself, then, Jon?" Annabelle asks.

"Oh, extremely funny, yes. Did you steal that?"

"It was a gift."

"Of course it was."

The other Jon is staring at them both, his eyes repeatedly drifting back to the web-covered hole in Annabelle's head. "Who—what is—is that a—"

"She's a spider monster," Jon supplies helpfully. "She came with me, although apparently she did not pass out in the street this time."

"Two streets over, I think. Pity, I would've loved a nice nap in a proper bed, but I did get this motorcycle out of it. Come on, Jon, you can mope on the way."

"I have not been moping—"

"Haven't you? You're not the one who deals with how maudlin you get every time you meet yourself—"

"Yes, fine, thank you, we can go." He stubs out the cigarette and pauses, looking at himself. "Uh. Tell Martin—well, goodbye, I guess. I'd say I hope we meet again, but if you're lucky we won't need to?"

"...sure."

"And I'm—I hope you—that is, I'll do my best—well." He sighs. "Things are about to get... dicey, for the world in general. But just, look out for each other, and we'll try to handle the rest."

"Jon, we should be going."

"Yes, all right, all right." He gives himself one last, probably not very reassuring smile, and climbs on behind Annabelle.

They do have work to do, after all.

[discoursecatharsis]

Indefinite hiatus & archiving this account

I’m going to be taking an indefinite hiatus from this account. I’m not sure for how long, and I may or may not return in the future. But for now, I need a break from fandom discourse.

----------

I initially got involved in fandom “discourse” because I wanted to complain about self-named anti-Otayuris spamming the ship tag and generally being annoying and harassing shippers who were minding their own business. So I made a side account on Tumblr to vent about that. There were other accounts talking about these recent developments in fandom too, and I wanted an account to interact with them on. People started reblogging my posts, and others started to share their experiences of being harassed over ships or fanart or fanfic in their fandoms too in my replies and inbox. I made a Twitter account at some point also. I always just wanted a place to vent with others. I never imagined or expected that my accounts would garner this much attention or would blow up to the level that they’re at now.

As a result, honestly, as my follower numbers have grown and as I’ve gotten more involved in fandom discourse, it’s made me more and more anxious. This account has been making me feel like a nervous wreck the past year or so.

I also just don't have the spoons for much of it anymore. Some days, discourse makes me feel stressed or anxious. Most days, I'm apathetic to it, like it's the same old recycled nonsense. I've done this for a long while now and I feel like I need a nice, long break from it, probably a permanent break.

I believe that the topics involved in fandom discourse, the issue of fantis harassing people and making fandom toxic, etc. are still important to talk about and bring awareness to. But at the same time, I feel like I've done and said all that I can, and I'm feeling burnt out. I’m also feeling like I’m repeating myself at this point. There are only so many times that I can say some variation of “don’t harass people over fanart or fanfic, block artists/writers and leave them alone.” And I know many others are saying this as well. The harassers in fandom definitely do seem like a majority with how loud they are and how they so often get away with what they do. And while it may not seem like it, I do believe that more and more people in fandom are fed up with the harassment and starting to push back, starting to voice their annoyance with fandom harassers, and starting to stand up against it and support each other.

There are definitely more topics related to fandom discourse too, beyond this, of course. Some very serious and important topics to discuss, such as when there is bigotry in fandom spaces. Genuine criticism of various media (minus the harassment) is always good and healthy to have too. And I hope people will continue to talk about these topics and have these meaningful discussions.

I will no longer be active on Twitter or Tumblr, but I may continue making videos on my Youtube channel. I don’t make videos often but I’ve been enjoying it, and I think it’s a better outlet for me to focus my energy on. Creating videos on these topics at my own pace is definitely less stressful than being an active participant on Twitter.

My Twitter DMs will remain closed to new messages, just so if/when I do return, I won’t have a ton of new DMs. But I will leave my Tumblr inbox and curiouscat open for anonymous venting if you need it! Anonymous venting is one reason why I initially made my tumblr account after all, so I want to leave it like that.

I’ve kind of been using my second Twitter account (catharsiscourse) as a makeshift personal account, so if you would like to keep in touch with me, you can follow me there! I’ll only be somewhat active there but that’s where I retweet fanart and such.

You can find links to all of these accounts in my carrd here: https://lizcourserants.carrd.co/#links

Lastly, thank you all so much for the support over the years. I know I’m not perfect and I’ve made some mistakes. My intentions have always been good but I know I would sometimes get caught up in the discourse and miss the mark. So if I’ve ever hurt you in any way or said or did anything wrong, I’m sorry. My goal has always been to vent about and bring awareness to the toxicity that’s been rearing its ugly head in fandom spaces as of late. And even though I’ve messed up at times, I hope I brought more good than bad to the table.

I know fandom’s been a bit hellish to navigate lately and things seem grim at times. But if we keep speaking up like we have been and continue supporting each other and keeping to our groups of trusted fandom friends, I think we’ll be okay.

Remember to be kind and support your friends in fandom. Take care, everyone 🤍

----------

Also I'm not deactivating. I've worked too hard on my Tumblr blog and Twitter account and such and I couldn't bring myself to delete them lol. So I’ll leave my accounts up as an archive of sorts. But please feel free to bookmark, screenshot, or archive whatever you want or need, just in case my accounts get suspended or something.

Thank you all so much for the support throughout the years! I’m grateful for all of the lovely people I’ve met because of this. I hope you all continue to look out for yourselves and for each other both inside and outside of fandom. Stay safe and take care.❤️

I want to end this with something productive and helpful, so here are links to two organizations dedicated to eliminating child sexual abuse: ECPAT and Thorn. Please help however you can, whether that’s by donating or just sharing these organizations’ donation pages:

https://www.ecpat.org/donate/

https://www.thorn.org/donate/

[jaskiersvalley]

Hello! I love your work. Would you ever consider writing about a shapeshifter! Jaskier? 🙇‍♀️

While I already have the shifter AU going, this ask has prompted a very different idea. I have nothing to say for myself and I am so very sorry in advance. This is not what anybody could have possibly asked for but it’s what has happened so...enjoy?

The problem with giving Geralt the one blessing he asked for was that Jaskier missed him. And, damn his heart, Jaskier still cared for Geralt, knew that eventually things would settle between them. It might take Geralt a few years, maybe a couple of decades, he was emotionally dense, but they would travel together again. That didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t want to at least keep tabs on him. So he travelled adjacent to Geralt, far enough away to hear of him but not enough to get underfoot or encounter Geralt. Or so he thought.

As far as performances went, Jaskier had been quite pleased with the evening. He had a tidy sum of coin in his pouch, lute slung on his back and making his way to the inn where he was told he could request a room. The murmurings got to Jaskier before anything else and he was grateful. A witcher was in town. A certain white haired, grumpy as fuck witcher. It would have been generous to say Jaskier panicked. No, he freaked out. Not wanting to encounter Geralt just yet but also missing him somewhat fierce, Jaskier did the only thing that made sense. He was near the stables, likely where Geralt would leave Roach. Who was the next best thing and would understand, Jaskier had chats with her before while Geralt was off fighting some monster or other. So, in a fit of worry, Jaskier did the only thing that made sense. He ran into the stables, found an empty stall and shifted. No doubt Roach would be put in the stall next to him and then they could catch up. She had some quite pithy commentary sometimes, especially about Geralt’s choices.

Only, there was no Roach, no Geralt but the stable-hand had come in and Jaskier was stuck. Especially when it was noted that he was there without any explanation. Words spread quickly about the horse just left in the stable without pay or anything else. Nobody seemed to know where he had come from, and now there were more and more people coming by to look at him and Jaskier couldn’t shift back. It was getting awkward.

“I heard there was a horse without an owner,” an all too familiar voice rumbled and the couple of people eyeing Jaskier up parted. Geralt strode forward and looked over Jaskier with a critical eye, lifting his legs to inspect him. “If nobody comes for him in the morning, I’ll take him. 500 oren.”

Just like that Jaskier was sold to Geralt. Things couldn’t get more awkward.

They absolutely did get more awkward. In the morning, nobody had come forward to claim Jaskier so Geralt handed over a pouch of coin and unbuckled a saddle and other riding bits and bobs from his pack. Too stunned to resist, Jaskier let himself be equipped with it all and he was led out. Geralt swung up on his back and they started their way out of town. All Jaskier could think was that Geralt was really sodding heavy.

Nothing was said until it was dusk, Jaskier was grumbling about Geralt and his lazy ass refusing to walk. They had found a nice little clearing and Geralt tied Jaskier to a tree. The indignity of it all had Jaskier tossing his head, smacking Geralt with his mane.

“Alright Roach, alright,” Geralt murmured. Which. Wait. What?! Jaskier was most definitely not Roach. He needed to know what happened to Roach, his dear girl couldn’t have met an unfortunate end. However, there was no way he could ask without revealing his identity to Geralt and that would only lead to more arguments.

What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was for Geralt to start talking while his dinner cooked over the small fire.

“You’ll get used to the quiet, don’t worry.” An ironic thing to say given that Geralt was breaking the silence. “There was a time it wasn’t like this.” If Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, there was a fond smile on Geralt’s lips. “There was lute music, half hummed lyrics, complaining, so much complaining.”

Suddenly, Jaskier didn’t want to listen anymore. He didn’t want to hear Geralt besmirch his good name to even his horse. Who was, unfortunately, not a horse but the very person Geralt was reminiscing about.

“You would have probably liked him,” Geralt continued, unaware of Jaskier’s conundrum. “Jaskier always loved Roach, he would have probably adored you. Tried to spoil you. He made life better for everyone.”

Oh no. Grealt was not doing this. Jaskier snorted and stomped to try and put an end to it all.

“Definitely would have liked you,” Geralt laughed bitterly. “He was a bit of a dramatic idiot too. I’d heard he was in the town I found you. But by the time I got there, he had disappeared. Wasn’t at the inn he was told he’d have a room at. Maybe he heard I was in the area and ran.” This time, Geralt actually sounded tired and sad. “I can’t really blame him. It’s not like he knows I want to apologise. I wasn’t nice to him.”

Jaskier blew air out through his nostrils heavily and Geralt turned to look at him with a wry uptick of his lips. “Thanks, for judging me but not hating me for it. I do enough of that by myself.”

After that, Jaskier really couldn’t shift and reveal his true nature. This wouldn’t have happened if he had just been honest with Geralt from the start, shown him his true nature. But no, Jaskier had wanted to play human and now he was paying the price. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And fuck again.

The charade went on for three days. Jaskier suffered Geralt on his back in exchange for being talked at. Surprisingly, Geralt really liked to talk to his horse. Mostly it was about hunts of the past, more detailed than he had ever shared with Jaskier in his human form. The topic of Jaskier himself came up more than once, Geralt grumbling about hearing snatches of his songs being murdered by other bards. Finally, the topic of old Roach came up too and Jaskier neighed in laughter. Winter had been cold in Kaer Morhen, vicious and the stable hadn’t held up as well as the witchers had assumed. Roach made more than close friends with Scorpion when the wall separating their stalls crumbled away. So now, she was up in Kaer Morhen, keeping Vesemir company and due to drop a foal a little before winter.

In those three days, Jaskier also waited patiently while Geralt stumbled across a nest of drowners, they outran a warg pack and took out a contract on a kikimora. Nothing Jaskier hadn’t really seen before. He even enjoyed it a little, confident that in his horse form he could run to safety.

Everything unravelled when Geralt returned from the kikimora hunt, a hewn off head dangling from his hand. He approached Jaskier and that was when Jaskier realised what was about to happen. There was no way on earth Geralt was going to tie a dripping, disgusting monster part to Jaskier and sully his beautiful fur.

“Oh no you don’t!” Jaskier growled, shifting into human form and backing away from Geralt. “That is not going anywhere near me.”

Fuck.

They stared at each other, Geralt blinking and frowning.

“I thought I could smell you,” he said dumbly in the end. Which. Okay. Weird as hell to open with that over everything else. But Jaskier could play the game.

“Nice to see you too, Geralt.”

“That too.” Obviously, Geralt had not changed a single bit. Which Jaskier could have deducted without the latest exchange. “If I use a throw to cover you, will you take the kikimora head back to the village? It’s a long way to carry.”

Well then. Jaskier rolled his eyes. It seemed they were not going to have the conversation in that moment. Relenting, he shifted back into horse form and trod on Geralt’s toes in warning.

“You’ve listened to me for the last three days. I’m not repeating myself,” Geralt grumbled. However, he did loop his arms around Jaskier’s neck in a quick hug. Maybe he did find non-human forms easier to interact with. It made Jaskier wonder whether something made Geralt averse to humanity. Who was he kidding? Being a witcher was reason enough, humans treated him like shit. Bumping his head against Geralt’s chest in reply, he started walking, Geralt falling into place beside him.

“Thank you.” The words were quiet but no less heartfelt. “For coming back to me.”

Jaskier found he was rather glad himself.

[hobiiwan]

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand. 

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

--

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable. 

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments. 

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off. 

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.” 

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds. 

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it. 

--

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy. 

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen. 

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss,  “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”  

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead. 

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!” 

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate. 

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation. 

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

--

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground. 

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it. 

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown. 

--

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas. 

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest,  “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.” 

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?” 

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response. 

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.” 

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

--

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air. 

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld. 

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings.  The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one. 

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship. 

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone. 

--

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits. 

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice. 

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.” 

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while. 

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers. 

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once. 

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm. 

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days. 

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes. 

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar. 

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?” 

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it. 

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.” 

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld. 

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.” 

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest. 

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol. 

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight. 

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass. 

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him. 

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead. 

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first. 

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand. 

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely. 

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people. 

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too. 

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second. 

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer. 

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration. 

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place. 

You want to do that too. 

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs. 

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks. 

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront. 

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths. 

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow. 

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance. 

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve. 

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape. 

Happy New Year, indeed. 

--

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both. 

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen. 

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before. 

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room. 

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign. 

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic. 

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again. 

--

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours. 

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left. 

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair. 

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid. 

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever. 

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin. 

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork. 

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual. 

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin. 

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers. 

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow. 

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started. 

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal. 

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil. 

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

--

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag. 

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

--

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army. 

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you. 

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all. 

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door. 

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze.  His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest. 

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.” 

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?” 

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence. 

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels. 

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you. 

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever. 

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say. 

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise. 

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh. 

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

This isn’t terrible...

Murderbot enjoys a hot shower, and ART has a couple of presents for its mutual administrative assistant. It will also be on AO3.

You can watch media anywhere, ART told me when I got up from my bunk and headed to the small hygiene closet attached to my cabin.

Technically, the overbearing transport was right. I have, in fact, watched media in all kinds of less-than-appropriate situations. But I didn't want to see a gruesome episode of Worldhoppers — the one ART could only manage in two-minute increments — in the shower.

I especially didn't want it hovering in my feed while I was in the restroom. No such luck.

Standard maintenance procedure calls for using cold water mixed with caustic cleaning chemicals to hose off any SecUnit that needs extra washing beyond what it can do with a moist wipe. Repair cubicles disinfect anything placed inside, but disinfected doesn't always equate with clean. So, he novelty of using human-grade showers to clean myself hadn't worn off, and it was one of the few human rituals I very much appreciated.

Technically, my body can handle freezing-cold water, but ART had been adamant about not doing that. When I stepped into the stall, but it adjusted both water temperature and pressure to my preferred settings. Wonderfully hot liquid sprayed out of the dispenser and cascaded down my shoulders and arms. My organic parts immediately leaned into the sensation, and 0.3 seconds later, so did my inorganics.

I definitely didn't miss being decontaminated by a cubicle, not when this was the alternative.

You should close your eyes and put your head all the way under the water, ART suggested after I'd stood still for a few minutes.

I know how showers work, asshole. I just didn't want to move, yet. But how would you know what works? You've never showered.

Actually, on second thought, maybe I didn't want to know the answer to that question. I made another note to add a delay to my response algorithm, already regretting whatever answer ART was about to give.

My humans like it. But their eyes occasionally get irritated by hair cleansing chemicals.

Why was I not surprised that ART spied on its humans? Probably because it was a monster whose idea of minimum use of force was threatening a colony with armed pathfinders. Even now, I was still somewhat horrified it had chosen that route and thankful that Three had better sense.

Also, I could count the number of personal showers taken on my fingers and toes, so I was perhaps not entirely qualified to make any sweeping statements about the process. And most of those showers had happened since joining ART's crew.

I let scalding hot water run through my hair, eyes very much open because they're not completely organic and not susceptible to irritation. Even though I spent another ten minutes under the water and probably used up double a human's allotment, ART didn't complain or make any comments at all.

Instead, it queued up an episode of Sanctuary Moon.

When I turned off the spray and climbed out of the stall, there was a fluffy-looking towel in the recycler. I stood dripping on the metal floor (which ART had also warmed up even though my feet didn't care about temperature) and said, I don't need one of those.

I know, the transport told me. Use it anyway.

Arguing with ART is an exercise in futility, so I grabbed the warm towel and wrapped it around myself. The sensation of fuzzy towel against wet skin relaxed me for no discernible reason. SecUnits might not need showers, but I would be loath to give them if I ever had to.

In the meantime, one of ART's crew uniforms popped out of the recycler. This one had a non-standard design with additional pockets and extra layers of protection against damage. The transport told me before our first mission together that it had created a spec specifically for me — because SecUnits aren't human and have different hardware requirements. I'd had all kinds of complex emotions after that, and even now, seeing the uniform made me feel safe.

Thanks, asshole.

Want to watch an episode of Sanctuary Moon? ART asked like it hadn't already added it to the queue.

Sure. We can finish Worldhoppers again later. I figured it was trying to avoid the difficult episode.

I got dressed and came back out into the cabin, all dry and warm and suspiciously comfortable. And then paused because there was a thick, heavy blanket on my bunk that hadn't been there before the shower. That was new and unexpected. ART's internal areas are climate controlled for optimal temperature, so blankets and sweaters are generally unnecessary.

What's this? I asked, even though I knew the answer.

My crew likes to watch media under a blanket. Especially after a shower or a rest period.

Your crew is weird, and I'm not human, I reminded the transport.

So don't use it, ART pointed out. Want to recharge, too, since there's time?

The transport had added a portable recharge and resupply unit under my bunk because that was easier than sending me to medical every time a low-battery alarm interrupted our media-watching time. I shrugged, plugged myself in, and then curled up under the blanket. It was extra heavy and so very comfortable, especially since I tend to have trouble moving around during a recharge cycle.

It's the best time to watch media. And we had plenty of it while we waited for ART's humans to get back from their shore leave for another trip into deep space. This was a teaching run, so there'd be teenage humans to deal with and share media with.

Amena was scheduled to join us, and I was already signed on as security.

[dorizardthewizard]

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 6

Prologue / Chapter 5 / Chapter 7

6. THE BREATH!

In the old Arena Stadium, the tests follow one another. The volunteers put on the biotronic suit one after the other and follow each other in the holo-trainer, from where they come out later, generally exhausted, sometimes happy to have passed the tests that Clamp had programmed on his console, most often annoyed at having failed, certain that they would not be considered during the final selection.

Then comes Thran's turn, who Clamp is happy to get rid of, because Thran has stuck with him almost from the beginning, amazed by his console ("It's a Micronics, right? - No, kid, I made it myself. - But you took a Micronics as a base, I'm sure of it!”), constantly asking questions about what appears on the screen (“It's virtual reality, OK, but how does the ball materialize? How can you feel it under your feet?”)… until Clamp, exasperated, asks Aarch:

- Let’s get through this one. If he's not good, send him home!

So Thran dons the yellow and purple combination, which takes a bit of time as he tries to pinpoint the location and function of each sensor, then enters the white cube. Aarch warns him that he will be tested in defense. He is therefore up against bald and blue sims who must take the ball before they reach the penalty area. He does not fare badly, blocking his opponents tenaciously, who however do not tire, and do not run out of steam. None of them cross the white line. Thran even manages to snatch the ball away and lead an attack on his own, finishing off with a shot at a target that happily flashes green, after which he collapses on the virtual field, breathless. On his monitor, Clamp notices this and notes a certain deficit in endurance, compensated by a remarkable tenacity and concentration. An excellent defender in short... Clamp guesses he won't be rid of him any time soon.

Then comes Ahito, whom D’jok must wake up again.

- This one, we are going to test him as a goalkeeper. - proposes Aarch.

He indeed remembers the masterful stop the sleepy man made the other day in the Cafeteria, unexpectedly preventing the ball from smashing the glasses and bottles behind the counter.

Ahito lives up to his reputation: lying in front of a huge goal, he seems to doze off as if he were on a park lawn and not defending goals. A ball flies towards him. His arm goes up in a flash, his fist hits it and sends it back. Then a second: this time it's his foot that stops it, seemingly without him waking up! Now the shots are more vicious: arched, aimed at the top bar, brushing against the posts or bouncing off them. Each time Ahito springs up, stops the ball or sends it back, with hand, foot, head, chest; leaping, tumbling, plunging to the ground, alive as a fire, the exact opposite of the sleepy dormouse that he gave the impression of being. Clamp needs to throw ten balls at once for Ahito to let two pass… for lack of arms and legs. Aarch nods, impressed: definitely, this boy has a lot of hidden skills!

- Next! - he calls.

It's Mei's turn. The jumpsuit fits her like a bag and right off the bat she points out:

- This thing’s for boys! Plus, it stinks of sweat! Don't you have anything more fitting?

- Sorry, miss, you'll have to make do, - Aarch replies. - We don't have a factory to mass-produce them, you see. If you don't like it, you know the way out!

- Well as her mother, I am offended! My Mei deserves better than that! Well, if you must... go on, my daughter, show them your skills!

Mei is impressed by the virtual dimensions of the pitch, but tries hard not to let it show. She knows that she is being watched, as if she were on a catwalk for a fashion show. She is immediately jostled by eight blue sims, who rush towards the goals she is supposed to defend.

- Hey! - she protests. - I will not play in defense! I need an attack test for me!

Her voice echoes through the micro-speakers built into Clamp's console, near which Mei's mother stands, watching the scientist as if she understands something about his instruments and his manipulations.

- Did you hear that? - she demands. - Change your program!

- Ma'am, - retorts Aarch coldly, - We are in charge here. Are you a candidate? No? Then you have no business here!

- Fifteen seconds. - announces Clamp, which starts the countdown.

This is displayed in the holo-trainer. Mei understands she has fifteen seconds to prove her worth, or she will be permanently ousted. She rushes towards the virtual attackers, throws herself at the feet of the one with the ball and mows it down just before he shoots at the goal. A new ball appears at the feet of another sim, and she takes it in a masterful tackle. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth... Mei leaps, dives, slides, kicks and heads, each time managing to recover the ball. Seven out of eight balls strike the opponent in fifteen seconds - and Mei isn't even out of breath.

152 points out of 160, displays the console in front of a dumbfounded Aarch and Clamp. No player tested in defense had exceeded 100 points, except Thran who scored 120. Both exchange a knowing smile: this is the defender they need... but without her fussy mother!

- What a spectacle, dear holo-viewers! - comments Callie Mystic, who is following the trials live for Arcadia News. - And it's not over yet, candidates are flocking to try their luck! Who would have thought there are such great players on Akillian? We can already thank Aarch for revealing them to us!

- And me? - Clamp protested. - Without my machines...

- And Professor Clamp too, of course. I'm willing to bet that his holo-trainer is going to be a big hit in Galactik Football clubs!

Tested as a passer, Sinedd does very honorably: his ball hits thirteen out of fifteen moving targets, represented by concentric red circles. The more powerful the shots, the farther the circles move apart. Right foot, left foot, on the fly, returned… even one from the head. He scores 145 points, which is not far from perfect.

- Here, try to do better... if you can! - he challenges D’jok, handing him the jumpsuit.

- With pleasure, my friend...

D’jok is also tested as a passer, but this time marked by an opponent: not only does he need to shoot at the targets, but also to prevent the blue sim from stealing the ball from him. It quickly turns into a hellish chase, in which D’jok nonetheless manages to crash any targets he spots - he quickly loses count. The sim eventually gives up and fades away, as if discouraged. The bell announcing the end of the test rings out at the right time: D’jok is at the end of his rope.

Standing behind Clamp, Sinedd watches the progress of the score bar, confident that D’jok will not hit 100. His smirk fades when the score hits 120… and the bar keeps rising. D’jok joins him as he passes 140... Sinedd grits his teeth. Finally, the bar stabilizes: the screen displays 150 points.

- How do you like that? – jibes D’jok.

Sinedd grunts, but finds nothing to complain about - he can't even accuse Clamp's machines of cheating!

- We're still live from Arena Stadium, where Aarch's recruiting tests are coming to an end, - says Callie Mystic, followed step by step by her trusty flying holo-cam. - There are hardly any candidates left... but I see latecomers still getting out of the elevator! We can say that these two have arrived at the last minute to try to join Aarch’s team!...

Heeding the voice of its mistress, the holo-cam focuses on the two latecomers in question… this is how Norata discovers them, who has installed a TV screen in his greenhouses, just to have a little company when he transplants or cuts his plants. His son, in close-up! In the company of a little brat with white hair! His arms drop, the flower box he was holding too. Roaring in anger, he rushes to the garage and throws himself into his pick-up slider.

***

- Okay, well… I think I'd better leave you. - Rocket says to Tia, when the two of them reach the holo-trainer.

- Out of the question! You brought me here, you can’t go back now (Tia softens her somewhat bossy tone with a smile). At least stay to see me play!

- Okay…

Rocket mingles with the crowd, glaring at the monitor, which shows the audience what is going on inside the holo-trainer. Leaning over Clamp's console, his uncle hasn't seen him yet. Besides, Rocket doesn't want Aarch to find out.

Tia stands in front of the entrance to the cube, from which comes out an exhausted and crestfallen candidate: apparently it hasn't been a success for him… he changes, and gives the suit to Tia without a word. Aarch turns to her:

- It’s your turn, young lady. Are you the last one?

- Uh… not really…

She looks around for Rocket, but he has melted into the crowd.

She is shown the locker room, she goes to put on the outfit, and in turn enters the holo-trainer. The virtual terrain and the artificial sky elicit a little cry of enchantment from her. Then the ball materializes at her feet. Just when she notices it, she is violently pushed by a blue sim suddenly appearing at her side. She stands up, stunned - the ball is still there.

Four avatars rush at Tia from the other end of the field. She understands that she is in a defensive position, in front of the penalty area, and that she has to prevent these four from reaching the empty net behind her. Tia concentrates... burning energy, incredible power sweeps over her, even beginning to flow over her in bluish strands. She gets the impression that time is stretching, that the four virtual players are galloping in slow motion. She can see very clearly what she needs to do to prevent them taking the ball from her. It’s almost impossible - but she feels she can do it. She starts running too - towards the attackers! As she runs, this fabulous energy carries her, fills her with inordinate force, flows from her in electric blue waves. She reaches a terrific speed, the sims move like snails next to her: all their gestures are broken down, she can guess - and counter - their every move. Having reached a meter in front of them, she shoots up the ball. She takes off in turn in a column of light and joins the ball, which seems suspended in mid-air. Everything is slowing down around Tia - or rather, she's the one that has accelerated at a phenomenal rate! She screams without even realizing it. Her foot rises in a powerful swing and hits the ball, which shoots towards the opposing goals, pulverizing the virtual goal, sinking into the net like a meteor.

Then Tia descends, spinning down her column of energy, which diminishes and leaves her as she approaches the ground... she lands gently on the ground, stunned but not really out of breath, her nerves just a little tense, as if she had received a small electric shock. She doesn't know what exactly happened, but she feels like it was pretty good...

In front of the console, Aarch and Clamp watch the event live. They stand, absolutely flabbergasted.

- The Breath! - whispers Aarch, who realizes it first.

When Tia comes out of the holo-trainer, everyone's eyes are fixed on her - dazzled, stunned eyes. Rocket even more so, who forgets to hide. Tia heads straight for him, takes off her outfit and hands it to him:

- Your turn now.

In her underwear and bra, she runs to get dressed in the locker room, followed by thirty pairs of eyes who do not yet believe what they have seen.

Aarch suddenly discovers his nephew standing in the middle of the crowd, dumbfounded, clothes in hand.

- Rocket? Does your dad know you're here?

- Yes, and I won’t allow it! - a gruff voice breaks out.

Norata slices through the audience, hobbling as fast as he can manage on his artificial leg. He snatches the suit from Rocket's hands, throws it to the ground, and holds out a peremptory finger at his son.

- You come with me! We're going home.

Head down, hands in his pockets, Rocket shuffles behind his father to the elevator. Before entering, he turns around, and sees Tia at the locker room door, staring at him sadly...

It's even worse: not only will he get a big yelling at, but he will also regret not getting to know this strange, little Obiane a bit better.

***

Everyone has been waiting for the test results for almost an hour. Standing or seated, alone or in small groups, candidates lose patience. Some have already left, confident that their more or less disastrous performance has placed them at the bottom of the scale. The others hope to have shown some talent, enough to justify their selection at least as substitutes ...

In their corner, leaning over their screens, Aarch and Clamp debate, point their fingers at such an area or that column, scribble on pocket screens, talk, argue, and seem to have trouble coming to an agreement.

Mei's mother swears to her gods that she will make a big scene if her champion daughter is not selected. Sinedd paces around like a caged lion. Tia stays away, brushing off anyone who tries to approach her. D’jok, Micro-Ice, Thran and Ahito are sitting in a circle on the floor; Ahito is dozing, Micro-Ice is fidgeting impatiently and D’jok is worried:

- They'll take me, right? - he asks Thran for the umpteenth time.

- Are you kidding or what? If they don't take you, we can all go home, I say!

- Yeah, I'm sick of this! - Micro-Ice explodes, and gets up abruptly. - We've been hanging around for an hour, I can't take it anymore! I don't care about this team, I’m leaving. - he walks away with a determined step towards the elevator.

- Your attention please! - Aarch's deep, strong voice echoes, and everyone stands up. - Clamp and I have finally picked seven of you. As for the rest of you, don't be disappointed if you weren't selected. I will keep your names because I will surely need substitutes. And don't forget, there’s more to life than football…

- That’s the first sane thing I’ve heard all day! - says Micro-Ice, who suddenly turns around.

- Clamp?

He taps on a holographic console, which projects six faces into the air above the audience...

D’jok. Thran. Ahito. Sinedd. Mei. And Tia.

Cries of joy from those concerned. D’jok, Thran and Ahito hug each other. Mei's mother, radiant, hugs her daughter against her. Sinedd has a superior air, as if to say, “I knew all along”. Tia, moved, holds back a tear. Micro-Ice stands still.

- And the seventh, Clamp? - asks Aarch.

- Wait, I’m having a little transmission problem... here it is!

A seventh face swirls in the air, positioning itself next to the other six: Micro-Ice.

- Whoa! I'm in! – Micro-Ice jumps and runs towards his friends with his arms raised. - You see, I'm part of the team! With you guys! For real, I’m so happy! Well, of course, it’s expected: you can’t do it without me, right?

***

Far away from Akillian, around a large blue star, orbits a beautiful planet that resembles an agate rock with its long bands of multicolored clouds. Surrounded by a belt of asteroids, which risk falling towards the planet. Incidentally, they are also weapons of defense... but no one - except the Humans, once - would dare to wage war against the wise and powerful Lightnings. This gem-like planet is theirs: Xzion.

Within the crown of satellites there is one that is not a weapon, but a meeting place. It is a vast sphere, connected with alveoli which contain many micro-environments and micro-climates, allowing to welcome the most varied forms of life.

It is the meeting place of the Flux Society.

In the center of the sphere slowly rotates a miniature replica of the Galaxy in which flash, like tiny fireflies, all the worlds that have a delegated member of the Flux Society. One of them sparkles stronger than the others: it is Akillian.

The alveoli are for the moment deserted, but they can be occupied very quickly, by physical beings or their virtual representations, as soon as the Flux Society is summoned.

This is what will happen in any moment, as a disembodied voice rings out, rolling its echoes across the vast sphere:

- Members of the Flux Society must assemble immediately: the Breath of Akillian has manifested!

[welcome-to-the-gay-bar]

So I we started to watch Attack on Titan again after many years and I’ve just finished season two and before starting season three I wanted to take a trip down memory lane and look at all my old favourite AOT fan fictions from 2014 (and see what’s popular nowadays that I may have missed, since wow, a lot has changed since I was last present in this fandom and compared to what’s happening in the current episodes season one was tame).

I’ve noticed a huge divide between fanon and canon and I kinda wanted to ruminate on this a bit.

Eren’s character in the show isn’t my favourite. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still fond of this brash idiot, but he’ll never be my favourite. He falls into this shonen protagonist trope of being hot headed and ill tempered. He doesn’t take advice, he’s not going to listen to plans or authority, he always thinks he’s right and only follows his moral compass, and to tie it all up he’s not even that strong. He can’t back up the threats that he’s laying down and yet he always rushes into situations with fists flying and never thanks or appreciates the characters (Mikasa) that get him out of those tricky situations. The only way to get through to him is to physically beat him down and even then it may not work if he hadn’t already somewhat respected you (Mikasa again). This character type is seen so often in shonen and I’m really not a fan, I like the cool and calculating protagonist better. Someone who has the power behind their threats and doesn’t rush into situations. Again, I like Eren, but I think it’s the other characters in the show that balance him out and the plot itself that makes me like Attack on Titan.

Compare this to fanon where his default character is happy ray of sunshine who’s a little bit naive. It’s a rather jarring comparison but I also don’t necessarily dislike it either. To me canon and fanon characteristics are almost completely seperate. If I had to always think a d compare fan fiction to canon I probably couldn’t read it. I read about happy fanon Eren and see canon angry Eren and to me they are two completely different characters - two completely different people even. If I had to read fan fiction about canon Eren I can 1000000% say that I just wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d be totally bored. As I said before, I like Eren but it’s the people around him and the plot itself that makes him bearable. I can watch a show about him because it takes less time and emotional energy, but I couldn’t invest in reading a book about him (which is why I haven’t read the manga either).

This isn’t even exclusively towards Attack on Titan. Back in my Teen Wolf phase I noticed how different canon and fanon characters were. Small secret - I was knee deep in the Teen Wolf fandom before I realised that I hadn’t actually watched an episode of Teen Wolf. One of my mutual’s reblogged TW artwork that was linked to a story and from that I never looked back. When I actually did get around to watching TW I can honestly say I was more than a wee bit disillusioned. Derek and Stiles are obviously not the main characters and I was prepared for that, but then they barely interacted, and when they did interact it was nothing like what I had read about - nothing like what their fanon characters or interactions were like. I can honestly say that I never made it past the first season - the show just wasn’t for me - but I was still thoroughly invested in the fandom for another year or two.

Something about fanon Sterek dynamics just did it for me, their characters and relationship was just so on point for what I wanted, and this is kind of when I came to accept that canon and fanon can be so different that it almost feels as if it’s two pieces of completely different media. I mean, fanon has its own set of rules, it’s own character tropes and story arcs that even completely different authors with completely different stories somewhat instinctively know to follow. I think that’s amazing, but it’s also a double edged sword. See these first two examples were of shows that I A) never watched/finished before reading fan fiction, B) don’t necessarily love love the characters in canon. That means that fanon is more appealing because it takes something I don’t care too strongly for and changes it to something more appealing. But what about when fanon takes something I love and cherish and remoulds it?

I want to briefly take this time to talk about something I’ve dubbed “the twink affect”. When you take a character that’s originally strong willed, self sufficient, and somewhat masculine and you pair the, up with someone EVEN MORE strong willed, self sufficient, and masculine - the “Alpha male” of characters if you will. I find that fanon is incapable of seeing two strong men together in a relationship and will eventually slowly twinkify one of them. Make them smaller, softer, lonelier, less self sufficient and more reliant on others, they need to be taken care of, they’re now a ball of sunshine that’s radiant and joyful, they’re cotton candy that melts on your tongue. You put them next to the pairing you ship them with and instead of seeing two strong men you see a bear and a twink. That’s definitely what’s happened to the two characters/pairings mentioned before and I honestly didn’t mind because I wasn’t protective of the source material, but when it does happen to a character I love it’s the most frustrating thing in the world, and I can’t even complain because I’ve already reaped the benefits from other fandoms. (I am going to complain though, this is my blog and I can do what I want mum.)

I’m going to talk about Mo Dao Zu Shi. Beautiful story that I love in (almost) all its various adaptations, but I’ve noticed the ever slow changing of fanon’s Wei Wuxian. For anyone reading this that hasn’t read MDZS (or if anyone’s reading this at all, I am expecting to just be shouting into the void at this point) Wei Wuxian dies - not a spoiler, it happens at the very beginning of the story - and comes back to life in the body of Mo Xuanyu. Mo Xuanyu is small malnourished and twinky - he even canonically wears makeup (or at least has it in his possession, I’m getting the various adaptations confused and I can’t remember if in canon Wei Wuxian woke up in Mo Xuanyu’s body already wearing the makeup or if he just finds the tin of makeup in Mo Xuanyu’s possessions). Wei Wuxian’s character is also a bit of a tease, and now he’s alive and unburdened by the past he’s much freer now than he was in the past, couple that with the fact that he’s pretending to be Mo Xuanyu (a character who is rumoured to be gay and also a bit insane) he goes all out in pretending to be a shameless flirt, and it’s honestly hilarious, I love his character. So in a sense he has all the makings of a canon twink and I’m really not here to shame on those who portray him that way while he’s in Mo Xuanyu’s body.

My personal issue is with the same extreme twink portrayal while he’s in his original body. In his original body Wei Wuxian is BUFF. He’s hunky, he’s in the top five most eligible bachelors, he’s *car honks* woof woof bark bark *whistles* puurrrr, he’s one of the most powerful cultivators of his generation, he’s a genius too. He’s hunky. He still has the cheeky shameless character, but when you compare him to the male lead Lan Wangji, they’re about the same size and strength. My favourite type of fan fiction in MDZS is fix it/everybody lives nobody dies/no war/etc etc. Basically stories where Wei Wuxian keeps his original body. The fanon twink portrayal of him being so small and soft and weak while in canon he’s one of the strongest and smartest urks me in ways I can’t explain. It’s not what I want, not what I’m looking for. I love him for who he is in canon and to see his character so distorted by fans of the original work is frustrating. I just want to read about Wei Wuxian as a jock with his equally buff and tall nerd boyfriend.

I want to pause here and say that I have nothing against authors that write him in a twinky way, I respect your work and your characters (and as I said before I’ve reaped the benefits of other fandoms twinky character portrayals numerous times), if I read a fic that I’m not happy with the characterisation I just close the tab and move on so absolutely no hate to anyone who enjoys this character type. I’m just ruminating on the fact that I’ve been seeing it happen more and more often lately to the point where I’ve kind of bounced the fandom and am sticking to other works like Scum Villain that haven’t yet twinkified too much (there will always be one or two stories in every fandom that twinkify and honestly? I respect that. Authors said twink rights ONLY, good for them).

Mo Dao Zu Shi isn’t the only fandom I’ve been in that I’ve negatively reacted to fanon. Another one would be Batman (I love Tim with all my heart and I love him getting treated nicely but damn I sometimes wish people would remember how freaking strong and amazing he is too), 2Ha is another I’ve started to see “twinkified” (although I don’t mind seeing Chu Wanning being soft and taken care of, he is canonically called handsome and masculine and he’s quite tall too), I’ve even seen the canonically “top” character (and that seems so weird to write oml) be twinkified by fandom because they want to see him get bottomed for ~equal rights~ because apparently bottoming is seen as a “woman’s position” to them and they’re trying to be woke by switching the sexual positions up but failing to see how misogynistic and homophobic that take is (imma stop myself here because that a WHOLE ‘nother can or worms to be opened right there).

What I’m trying to say is fanon is a double edged sword and I’ve definitely enjoyed some and hated some. I think it’s important to seperate the two. I do think it’s annoying for fandoms to be flooded with mischaracterisation when you actually do like the original characters and I wish there was some way to seperate fandom into “actual canon fans” and “fans of fanon”, but I don’t have a solution and I’ve definitely contributed to the problem in the past so for that I’m sorry.

I don’t know how to end this long ass rant, I don’t know what the goal was in writing this, but taadaa ~ here’s my exceptionally long take on fanon.

[dyavania]

Hector x Reader — No Touching — Six: Serving

One — Two — Three — Four — Five

You were late the next day as well. In fact, you came in even later, and Hector was starting to worry you wouldn’t show. He did his best to quiet all the reproaches his mind was hissing at him, telling him he shouldn’t worry, that he shouldn’t care at all, that he was weak for letting you shatter his defenses and his resolves, and that he’d deserve anything that would undoubtedly come his way for letting this happen yet again. He couldn’t listen to it anymore, it was too late for that. He’d made a choice, and now all he could do was hold on to it, and hope it was the right one.

God, he hoped it was the right one…

When you did arrive, you greeted him a smile, pet the dog, then went to sit by the window. You seemed surprised to see the cup of tea waiting there for you. He’d made it while waiting for you, even as he worked.

“It… must be cold by now,” Hector said as you reached out to take it. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, taking a sip. He was right, the tea was cold, and it couldn’t warm you, but the taste was still pleasant.

“Don’t worry about it, I am sorry I’m late. It’s just— the others didn’t like that I left early last week. They’re— giving me sort of a hard time over it.” You shrugged. The mercenaries weren’t that bad, and having to work longer than usual was a pretty tame ‘punishment’. “I really appreciate you making me the tea,” you added, smiling.

Hector swallowed, and fear spread through his chest. He didn’t understand where the emotion came from, and he rubbed his hand uneasily, thumb lingering on the ring that was there, which he generally tried his best to forget. So this was his fault then. The one time you’d come early had been to give him the balm, and you were paying for it.

It was because of him.

“I can make you some more,” he offered.

His tone had you somewhat confused. He sounded almost eager, a bit too insistent. It was a stark contrast with the way he’d been with you until now, and you weren’t sure where the change came from. Him telling you he was taking a chance on you did seem like a pretty big step forward, but that didn’t explain everything.

“You don’t have to do that, it’s fine, really. And you don’t have to make me tea either, by the way, I don’t mean to give you more work.”

You were relieved to see his shoulders relax as he gave you a nod, and got back to work. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and putting your head in your hands as you watched him. You almost envied him, right now. He certainly didn’t look cold, doing his work, and you couldn’t say the same for yourself. You were drinking the tea but, while enjoyable, it did nothing for your temperature this time.

Your teeth started to chatter, despite your efforts at stilling your jaw. You noticed Hector looking up at you a couple of times. As often, his expression was unreadable for you, but you still tried to quiet yourself. The last thing you wanted was to distract him.

After a while, he stopped his work, and left the forge for another room. You had no idea what he was doing — you’d never been to a different room in his house.

“Hector?”

You watched, confused, then surprised, when he came back with a blanket, and immediately, a wide smile broke on your face. This was incredibly thoughtful. Again, not anything you needed (though there was always the possibility he was that annoyed by the noise your teeth made), but it was very kind of him.

“Oh, God, thank you! Really, you didn’t have to, but…”

Wordlessly, he unfolded it and covered you with it, which made you chuckle. Then he knelt in front of you and started arranging it on you, and the gesture suddenly struck you as weird. Not the fact that he would do it, but the way he did it. Silently, carefully, like… Like a servant.

“Thanks, Hector, but I can do that myself.”

Immediately, his hands left you, and worry flashed on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

As he apologized, you understood, slowly, what he was feeling. You should have known. It was definitely something that you had experienced time and time again.

He was afraid you were going to punish him.

You didn’t think when you reached for his hand. You stopped right before actually touching it, and his eyes slowly fell on to it. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, could imagine what it would feel like.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Hector, that’s not it, it’s just— You don’t have to do that. I mean it. I want you to be a friend, not a—” You paused, hesitating on the right word to finish your sentence.

“Not a pet,” Hector finished for you, voice empty, as his shoulders slumped. He’d done something wrong. Again. Not that you knew, exactly, what his relationship with Lenore was. He could only imagine how disgusted you would be if you found out.

You frowned, and he visibly flinched at that. You wanted to touch his face, to reassure him, to tell him that you weren’t mad, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he couldn’t do anything wrong because you were just talking and he was just saying what was on his mind and there was nothing wrong with that whatsoever, but you couldn’t do that. So you reached out, slowly, careful not to actually touch him, to mimic the movement you really wanted to do, a few millimeters above his skin. His eyes widened and he watched you, perfectly still, as you did.

“I was going to say ‘not a servant’. I’m happy you’re letting me be here, I’m happy you’re talking to me. I don’t need anything more.”

Hector fought the urge to lean into your touch. He wanted to feel you, to know what your skin would feel like against his, not to just imagine it.

“I’m— not sure what you want me to do.”

You closed your eyes in frustration. You hated that you couldn’t express yourself more clearly.

“I don’t— I don’t want you to do anything. Well, I’m don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything. I’m not going to complain if you make me tea, just— just treat me as you would a friend, okay?”

He hadn’t had many friends. In fact, by now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had any. He would have considered Dracula a friend, but in the end, he wanted something from him. He’d lied to him and, in the end, Hector had failed him miserably. He respected Isaac greatly, but he doubted Isaac felt the same way about him, and they weren’t friends. Then there were Carmilla and Lenore, and the idea of calling them ‘friends' made him want to laugh bitterly.

“I’m not used to that, exactly,” he admitted, and it hurt you to see him so vulnerable, “but I’ll try. I’ll… learn.”

You bit your lip, studying him thoughtfully. You didn’t want to make things harder for him, but you also didn’t want him to treat you like that. You weren’t… You weren’t Lenore. You didn’t want him to be afraid of disappointing, didn’t want him to feel like he had to give in to your desires, but right now you felt like this was exactly what you were doing, saying that.

“Just don’t worry about it. Please. Don’t worry about me.”

He did, though. He didn’t want you to leave, to stop visiting him, and that scared him. He could learn, though. Not for you. For himself.

But, if you were willing to try with him, definitely with you.

[letmesaythat]

Recalculating the route

Twenty-five. Just a regular number. Sweet, calm, sharp. Two plus five equals seven - my lucky number! Well, a number that I like, at least, can’t really say it brings me any luck, maybe ‘cause I've never really payed much attention to this particular matter. But, wow, twenty-five, as an age... it’s a number that hits me. A quarter of a century. Five years until “thirty, flirty and driving”! Three years before the age I’ve set up, as a kid, for me to become a mom. Jesus Christ, remembering this goal is just such a laugh. And it becomes a nervous and kinda desperate laugh when I think about everything I’ve planned back then to have achieved in life at the point of 25. A good job, maybe a master's, a solid romantic relationship, for sure. Yeah, as you can imagine where this is going, that’s not what I quite have here right now (to be honest, it's not even slightly close), and I know I’m not any special youngster in this situation.

Lately, it looks like we’re living in an era where is the norm to say that going through this "is ok", something like a cool and "woke" trend (maybe the first coaching talk we've seen emerging? Something to investigate). We hear that everybody has its own space, rhythm, and time, and we don’t have to worry so much about it or be too hard on ourselves, correct? Well, that's mostly true, definitely, but it's easy to say, not to play. And, believe me, I’m trying to embrace this idea of "respecting my own journey". Until that fully happens, I’m just pretending that I’m fine with that.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that I still have a whole lot of life to live ahead of me, and I am thankful for everything that I have, especially in these chaotic, uncertain times, and I surely don’t take that and all that I have achieved so far for granted. But, God, I had planned so much more for me to have gotten at this point. I wasn’t raised to be regular, common, and even the ideas that I’ve envisioned for me as a child weren't just ordinary. I wanted to be great, to stand out, to do something good for the world, for the people. I was passionate about so many things that I've later decided to ignore, even if subconsciously. Music, writing, drawing, creating. But I was also very good at math. I’m honestly almost convinced that this one is what brought me to this point, ‘cause it made people treat me as a genius in school, solely because of that. I've been driven to think that I should pursue a career that involved math, because of financial safety and all, and, well, “your just so good at it!”, they'd say. It turns out that I'm not that good, I'm just average. And, more importantly, not very passionate about anything around it. And now I have to overcome the kid who believed she was pretty amazing at something she’s not really that amazing at, having to come to the terms that I was fooled by my grades. Damn you, math! Damn you, chemistry and physics! Damn me, who didn’t realize earlier that I should take another direction to be happy!

Ok, I know I’m being a little bit dramatic, but I’m all about the drama lately, so let me do it! Also, my period is coming in the next few days, so you can’t totally blame me, it’s just pure nature. Yes, “it’s never too late to go after your dreams”, I know all about that. I've been saying it to myself for a while, sometimes non-stop, and I’m really trying to take it as a mantra, but I have to admit it’s just not that easy. If you’ve been or are currently in a situation similar to mine, you know that too. To see your friends, cousins, people who went to school with you traveling, being promoted, getting married, living wild love stories… while nothing of that is happening to you. I mean, good for them, they’ve earned it! But... I don’t know, it’s just like I’m being left behind in life, and wasting my youth because of bad decisions and lack of clarity to know what I genuinely wanted. But we can’t really go back on time, can we? Nor have a guarantee of what the future holds for us according to each decision we make. We just have to look within ourselves and believe our instinct to guide the steps we'll take. Well, mine hasn’t helped a lot until now, thank you very much. Instead, it has brought me to this moment, where I’m rambling about life disappointments in a blog at 01:40 am on a Monday, while watching tarot reading videos on YouTube in the hope to find guidance. Sounds promising.

Fine, maybe it’s really just that time of the month that it’s enhancing this feeling in me. Or, perhaps, it’s the realization that this pandemic it’s actually gonna take a much bigger impact in everybody’s lives than I could have ever anticipated, or that everyone could, and that we’re gonna be forced to recalculate the route of our lives. Speaking of such, how incredibly unlucky it is that the biggest pandemic since, I don't know, the Spanish flu had to happen exactly at the peak of my youth, right? Such a doomed generation, we have to admit, losing our most energetic years locked inside the house. Ok, that’s a little too selfish, but it doesn’t make it a lie.

Well, truth be told (and faced), this is the raw, somewhat bitter reality I have to deal with. At least it's already revealed, at least I’ve found out relatively early that the path I was walking wasn’t quite the right one for me. And, let’s be honest, almost nobody has the life all figured out at 25, that's a lie we're induced to believe based on exceptions and modern young adult novels. At the end of the day, I know I have to stop complaining and start doing what is within my reach to change my current scenario, ‘cause I have a huge role in the transformation of my life's script. Of course, I can’t control every single little aspect of it, and there isn't a infallible way of knowing what’s gonna turn out to be the best choice to make, the best road to drive through. But I can do something, a lot of things, I can take action, and even the smallest acts can have a big impact to change the story sometimes. I have to, as I’ve said earlier, embrace the coaching talk about never being too late to change, about accepting living at my own pace. Let’s do that and see where it takes me, shall we? Press play.

[tominostuff]

Tomino Yoshiyuki & Hosoda Mamoru talk Ideon

February 2014: Tomino and Hosoda got together for a discussion in celebration of the first TV rebroadcast of Ideon in high definition on WOWOW (Japanese broadcast station). 

Original Japanese transcript: https://www.animatetimes.com/news/details.php?id=1394807331

Mr. Tomino “Mr. Hosoda is an enemy I must defeat” 

The first words out of Tomino’s mouth as soon as the recording began was “Mr. Hosoda is an enemy I must defeat.”

He continued with context behind this statement, “There is a way to work hard and diligently with your peers from the same generation. If you continue to do this as you approach your 60s, however, you begin to clearly see that you’re getting older. That’s why it’s an issue if young talent doesn’t emerge.” 

To this Mr. Hosoda responded, “Folks from my parent’s generation spoke to me through the shows from my childhood. Those creators that I looked up to back then continue to create work even after I, myself, have become a creator. As someone from the younger generation, I find great pleasure in this fact.” in a slightly apologetic manner. 

After that, Mr. Tomino went on to discuss various topics ranging from changes in animation he experienced from his early days to the present to filmmaking theories from the vantage point of “Internet video culture” etc. Of course, there are moments where they discuss Ideon. 

There is a copy of this interview on niconico: https://www.nicovideo.jp/watch/sm22942897 

Written interview following the recording: 

The effects that Ideon can have on modern society  ――First off, what are your impressions after the recorded interview?

Hosoda: I saw Ideon on TV when I was in my first year of middle school, the films in my second year of middle school. At that time, I never dreamed that I could talk about Ideon with Director Tomino himself, so I'm very honored. 

Tomino: You would think that with WOWOW and cable TV stations becoming so commonplace, it would be natural for things to be rebroadcast, but that's often not the case. Therefore, I'm really grateful that my work will be broadcast in such a situation.

In this conversation, I learned that Ideon is now a stepping stone for anime directors to enter the industry. To that I can think, “I did well” and also reaffirm that “Hosoda is an enemy I must defeat,” so of course I am happy. Because without interview opportunities like this, I wouldn’t even have a place to express my happiness. 

Hosoda: That’s right. If this cross interview hadn’t happened, I would’ve just been saying “Incredible!” as I watched Ideon on WOWOW by myself (laughs). 

Tomino: In that sense, I'm really grateful for this interview opportunity, and I want to tell the fans, "In life, you should put in your best effort while you have the chance."

What is the reason and significance of Ideon being broadcast on TV now? ――Do you have any impressions about Ideon being broadcast on TV?

Hosoda: There aren’t many opportunities to look back at the TV series. It’s easy to take the shortcut and just watch the movie versions, A Contact and Be Invoked. This time, you can experience watching Ideon all the way from episode 1 through the movies with the image quality that matches high-definition TV, not the image quality of VHS or DVD. This is an amazing opportunity. 

Tomino: Ideon is a unique series that has never been blessed with such an opportunity so as you said, this chance is certainly valuable. 

Hosoda: Since A Contact exists, it’s tempting to use it as a shortcut….if possible, it may be better to skip A Contact when you watch (laughs). 

Tomino: You’re right! Cancel the broadcast of A Contact immediately! 

Everybody: (laughs) 

――34 years have passed since Ideon broadcast in 1980. How does modern society look from Mr. Tomino's point of view? Also, I would like to hear about the significance of broadcasting Ideon after 34 years.

Tomino: This is going to become a question of “what is intelligence?” but I feel that the political economy has deteriorated in every aspect over the last few years. So when it comes to airing an Ideon-like story right now, there is a part of me that doesn’t consider this a simple rerun of a past show. Rather, I would like you to watch Ideon and reconsider the current situation of adults.

For example, our personal computers that we use in our daily lives cannot be used without entering a password. Don’t you think it’s strange that there are tools that you can’t use without entering a password? Because I bought that laptop exercising my own rights in the form of cash yet I still need to enter a password. In a worse example, when you are using software, sometimes you get a popup saying “Click here to make it easier to use.” I don’t think this can be considered a “tool” anymore. But is there anyone who has complained about it until today? 

If this situation progresses, you may be told by a manufacturer that they hold the copyright to your work because you used their software to produce it, even though you made it yourself. What would you do if you were told that?

Looking back at the current situation, the reality is that we are infringing on our personal territory. I think it is dangerous for everyone to be calm against such a reality. As the times progress, the way of looking at things and attitudes have become very vague. With that in mind, it can be said that the intellectual level of humankind has deteriorated in the last 20 years.

――So in that sense, the work Ideon appeals to young people today?

Tomino: I believe so, yes. 

Hosoda: Some work have fluctuating value depending on changes in society while others remain relevant even as the world changes. I think Ideon is a work that doesn’t change, so I think people today of any situation or cultural background can enjoy it equally. 

The two masters discuss each other’s influences ――How was Mr. Hosoda influenced by Ideon?

Hosoda: I wonder if there are other works that deal with such huge themes as Ideon does, including all movies and television. If you look through various works by tracing the history of movies, movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey (released in 1968) would pop up but I personally watched Ideon first and A Space Odyssey afterwards. 

Through watching animation, you can have a second encounter with the history of live-action film. Knowing Ideon first will give you a better, deeper understanding of film history.

I feel that these encounters are connected to the current movie-making me. 

――Mr. Tomino, what kind of points do you want to refer to from the works of Mr. Hosoda's generation?

Tomino: Since you saw my work first and later watched 2001: A Space Odyssey, you must have thought about "what that means.” When I watched 2001: A Space Odyssey, I felt that there was something missing in the movie, and thought about how to complement it, so I made Ideon. I am able to create work like this because I am a craftsman who creates through combining things rather than from a writer’s standpoint. 

In my case, thanks to the genres of TV animation and giant robots, I was able to [create Ideon] using 2001: A Space Odyssey as a base. However, because I was able to pull that off, I experienced the history of my deterioration from there.

Also, just as Ideon was made under the influence of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Director Hosoda's work gave me a new kind of inspiration, "Oh, current animators are doing things in this way." That's why I have to get stubborn and think of Hosoda as the enemy.

――As the pioneer yourself, it seems like a difficult feat to admit to younger people that you’ve acknowledged them as a threat?

Tomino: Perhaps I had such a time. At this age, I just think I'm great in the sense that I’ve matured enough to say things like that (laughs).

At the same time, I'm really grateful that there are people close to me that I can say such things to. When you hate people, those feelings of hatred eventually come back to you. That's why people have to love everyone.

Hosoda: The things that Ide was trying to eradicate were those kinds of (feelings of hate), isn’t it? 

Tomino: That’s right. 

Mr. Tomino discusses now, Gundam and Ideon ――What kind of positions in Mr. Tomino‘s heart does Ideon and Gundam take respectively?

Tomino: It is thanks to the existence of Gundam that I have had a somewhat stable life so I am frankly grateful on that end. On the other hand, Ideon is a work that gives me pride, “the Tomino who made such a thing is amazing.” If Gundam was the only thing that existed, the statement at the beginning of the interview, “Hosoda should be defeated” would’ve been a message filled with hateful intentions. It would've not been said from a place of joy as it is now.  …..Wow! I answered this question well (laughs).