#ryl answers

[a-storytellers-wish]

🌟Happy Once Upon A Wish Anniversary 🌟

I really love your designs for Zahra and Noor and wanted to draw them✨️

And as a bonus, I also give you this plushie of Noor. I hope you like it!

(I realized too late that I've used an outdated design for Noor. I'm very sorry and hope that you'll still except this little gift)

And I do have a question:

How many songs will there be in your rewrite?

I hope you have a great day🌟

AAA these are so cute!!! Thank you so much!!! I'll cherish them 🥹✨✨✨✨ (also, I'm so sorry about the confusion regarding Noor's design as well. The way I draw them and their reference sheet is all over the place I still need to refine their design aaa my bad! I still love your drawings btw! Your art style is very adorable!)

And about your question, I'm still figuring out the songs and their placements. So far, I've conceptualized maybe around 10 songs? That's including the 2 songs I showed as a snippet for the prologue.

10 songs is way too many I feel. I've observed that an animated musical film like Disney's typically have around 7-8 songs, so I may have to cut some of my songs from my story. But this depends if I feel if those songs are really needed for the narrative, so some of them may stay or be cut.

Thanks for the ask! (and again for the gift!) I hope you have a great day as well!

[rylxdreams]

Oh, and Mangy, forgot to add-

And here's Mangey!

[galadrieljones]

i actually wonder why you ship daryl and beth? i see them as friends and yeah i watched their scenes over and over and i didn’t see any love between them. And i see beth younger than him and i see daryl see her as a friend and sister So what is your reasons to ship them anyway!?

I'm going to assume this question is in good faith and that you are genuinely interested in why I (and many others) ship bethyl, so I'll answer in good (albeit cautious) faith. I'm also going to tag some of my friends and mutuals at the end who I would like to encourage to share why they, personally, ship bethyl.

First, know that I don't care if people don't ship bethyl. I also am not beholden to shipping "canon" ships. I don't care about any of that, and I think it's boring to restrict one's interest in shipping to what is canon or what the fandom accepts. You're free not to ship bethyl, and I won't be mad. That's your choice!!

BUT, since you're here of your own volition, realize that I personally don't buy the bethyl bond as "sibling-coded" argument at all lol. I can understand if someone just doesn't want them to be together, because they want Daryl to be with another character or something. That's fine and perfectly rational. I can also understand if someone does not like age difference ships, and they reject it on those grounds alone. Okay! That's your preference. BUT, Beth was 18 by the events of "Still." And the argument that they share a "sibling-coded" bond has never held water for me. Believe me when I say that I can see the argument for C*ryl before I can see the argument for Daryl and Beth being "sibling-coded," and that's saying a LOT. I've literally never had anyone successfully explain this perception to me using actual evidence from the show or from the actors/showrunners outside the show. It is ALWAYS subjective. And when confronted with evidence of a bethyl romance, these same people tend to just invoke their *age difference* as if that, in and of itself, is a dealbreaker.

IMPORTANT: It's NOT a dealbreaker, but some people in fandom these days mistake personal preference for moral paradigm, and these people tend to be very judgmental and to screech a lot and to spread rumors and to bully others. The same exact thing is happening to Neggie. But I'm not going to get into that right now.

Now, you say you don't see how they could possibly be "romantic." Of course, that's totally fine, but you will need to try and explain this to thousands of people lol. I am actually not super interested in going through, in detail, why I ship bethyl from a defensive position. I'm very sick of defending something that is, frankly, entirely unproblematic and also...popular! Other than Rickyl (which is a non-canon slash ship), Bethyl, even ten years after her exit from the flagship, is still the most popular TWD ship on AO3. It was popular at the time that the show aired. Jeffrey Dean Morgan's wife ships bethyl lol. Bethyl is not "weird." It's not even a rare pair!

AND YET, to put so briefly, if you *actually* care: I PERSONALLY love bethyl because I believe their characters exist in beautiful harmony. Beth is an artist. Her priority is beauty and continuously discovering what it means to live. She believes in the goodness of people. She is a religious character who has faith in God's love. She is, as Norman put it a long time ago, like a little light at the end of the tunnel for Daryl. She reminds Daryl of what it means to live, what it means to trust people and to have faith. She protects him from his own demons and reconnects him to the beauty that remains in a dying, horrific world. Daryl tends to forget about his own well-being and his own happiness. He prioritizes brute survival, because he was taught to do this over many years of emotional and physical abuse as a child. He is "used to things being ugly" and he frequently blames himself for things that go wrong. He closes himself off to others because he has a difficult time trusting that they won't abandon him or die. At the moonshine shack, Beth confronts him on this, and he confronts her right back. Beth isn't used to being challenged by men. But he challenges her to be better and to face her own insecurities as well. He makes her stronger. She pries open his heart. At the moonshine shack, she physically grabs him to remind him that he is still alive, and that everyone they've lost was once alive, too, and that just because they might be dead now, that's not his fault. The two of them still alive, while others are dead, that's not his fault, and there is still goodness in the world and things worth living for.

Speaking of physical touch, you really should rewatch "Alone" if you want to understand the physical and romantic chemistry between Beth and Daryl. There is literally so much that I could go through, but I don't have time lol.

The moment I fell in love with bethyl was actually in "30 Days Without an Accident," when Beth embraces Daryl in such a way that reassures him that he is not alone in a desperately lonely situation. Both characters are battling demons in this scene. But it's somewhat subtextual. If you don't watch closely, you may miss it.

That said, as has been established, a LOT of people did NOT miss it lol. It's just that a lot of people also want Daryl to be with someone else, or they feel the need to moralize on the internet. Neither one of those things is relevant to me, though I accept them as realities.

Anyway, I hope this helps! ->

@sasusc @frangipanilove @twdmusicboxmystery @pipergirl17 @sweetz1919

@emsee22 @drewmoll03 @bookqueenrules @bethiscomingsoon

@angelthefirst1 @bethgreeneprevails @im-immortal @rose-andthe-thorn @wdway @boltthrutheheart

and anyone else, I know I've forgotten some people 😩. I just went off the top of my head, so please chime in on why you love bethyl, or feel free to completely ignore this ❤️

[bethgreeneprevails]

If(WHEN) Beth will be back to the show, she's gonna be above 30 years old. I wonder if so many ppl would still be against Bethyl bc of age gap? Also I see some C@ryl fans saying for sure that there is 4 year age difference between Car0l and Daryl. When were their ages or their age difference confirmed? Cause I don't find anything?

Honestly I don’t think anyone BUT Carylers will be bothered by Bethyl. I watch a lot of Bethyl edits on TikTok and see posts on X and Facebook and all of the comments say how much they loved Beth and Daryl and thought they were going to be together. The only people who thought it was weird were either emotionally/romantically immature or Carylers 😂

Daryl’s age was never confirmed and as far as I know Carols wasn’t either. Beth’s was confirmed in Season 3 as 16. When she was with Daryl she was 18.

Carylers use the actors ages as canon to further push the agenda of Norman and Melissa being close in age and therefore Daryl and Carol can’t be a ��mother and son” dynamic. Which is HILARIOUS to me because if we are going by actors ages as their characters canon age then Beth would’ve been 29 during the episode “Still” because that’s how old Emily was.

The other interesting thing they pushed in the media/interviews before season 2 of DD aired was they kept referring to Daryl as a young adult. So TPTB are trying to age him down. It’s why Norman dyes his hair and such when filming so he looks younger.

Sorry this was probably more than what you were asking but I hope I answered your question!🩷

[sweetiepie08]

How intelligent is your version of Boba in Gifted Kids AU?

Hi, sorry for the delayed reply. Answering asks is always on my backburner.

Anyway, I'd say Boba is very intelligent in GK, but in the specific areas he's trained in. Like his friends, I consider him a prodigy in his field, though whether that's a result of genetic engineering, Jango's training, or just natural talent is unclear, and is most likely a combination of all 3. I draw my inspiration for young Boba from a multitude of sources, including his appearances in the movies, Clone Wars, and the Boba Fett junior novels (although admittedly I only read one).

Boba's strengths lie in combat, spatial reasoning (mostly manifesting in good marksmanship), and strategy. Boba has gone through some advanced combat training in his short time with Jango, apparently even more advanced than that of a typical clone trooper, as evidenced by his first appearance in Clone Wars in which he is able to outperform the other cadets during target practice. When Jango was home, he spent a lot of one-on-one time with Boba, training him to succeed in the bounty hunter world. When not doing combat training with his father, Boba had some independent learning modules he kept up with, so he got some degree of formal education as well.

Also, canonically to the junior novels, Boba was a bookworm growing up, and especially loved reading about starships. This is a trait I carried over into Gifted Kids, and also added that he enjoyed classic adventure stories. The Adventures of Green Cloak and His Band of Thieves, which he was reading in the Death Sticks chapter, for example was a Star Wars version of Robin Hood. (Not canon, to be clear. I made that up.)

I also headcanon that Boba has a talent for picking up languages. I think Jango taught him, or at least got programing to teach him, several languages that are useful in the bounty hunter world. In my headcanon, Boba is fluent in Basic and Mando'a, conversational in Huttese and Ryl, and has picked up some Trandoshan from Bossk. In the GK timeline, he's also learned to understand some shyriiwook thanks to his training sessions with Mever and Tujji.

Where he struggled at first, was with emotional and social intelligence. The lessons he got about how to process emotions when he was growing up were.... not great to say the least. He basically learned the "push everything down, and then one day, you'll die" method of expressing emotions. After Jango died and Aurra took him under her wing, she encouraged him to turn his grief and pain into rage, hoping to turn him into a weapon she could point at opponents.

In the beginning on GK, I deliberately described emotions from Boba's PoV as "pain in his chest grew/lessoned" because Boba did not know how to name his feelings or identify why he was feeling a certain way. I also wanted Boba to witness his friends' emotional moments, so that he could learn through observation how other people expressed their emotions too. He's learned a lot from his friends, and in the latest chapters, he's able to not only identify his feelings but analyze them too.

Boba's come a long way since the beginning of GK and he still has further to go.

[mahvaladara]

Khalil Varysia - Star Sighted Guardian

Ryl stood sat calmly on a desk of the Sage Archives, reading over the events of the past calamity, when flashing lights caught his attention. He looked up at the aether flames as they flickered again in a deliberate motion. He got up and looked back, seeing the one causing the flickering and widening his eyes in shock.

"Didn't mean to startle you," the person spoke as he read the words from the person's lips.

Khalil stood watching him from the middle of the room. He had not sensed him when he entered, yet, with so many magical tomes in the room, energy became muddled together.

"It's fine," Ryl signed in answer and he nodded.

"I did flash the lights," the dragon explained, then he watched him over. After a while, he signed. "Are you okay?"

Ryl lifted his brows.

"You learned something new!"

Khal smiled and nodded.

"Only that frase. I also learned the world learn, from all you signed thats the only thing I was able to understand, so I suppose that's what you mean."

Ryl couldn't keep the smile from his face. That a centuries old amnesiac dragon was dedicating his time to slowly learn sign language so they could communicate, time he could be spending to further uncover his identity, was besides him.

He gave a onceover Khal, the red wavey hair carefully combed and the horns well tended. His eyes however fell on the oppulent violet robes. They were nothing like the ones worn by sages, but they were a piece of incredible beauty, the likes of which he had seen in paintings of sages from the second, third and begginings of the forth era. And in Khalil, over the more modern shirt and suit pants, it flattered him to no bounds, calling attention over the large golden wings and tail and flaming red hair and golden horns.

"You look beautiful," Ryl signed.

Khal lifted a brow.

"What?" Khal asked with confusion. Then he looked down. "Are you asking about my clothes?"

Ryl smiled and grabbed a paper, writting: "you look well. The robes."

"They were apparently my old robes, back when I was part of the Order. They kept most of my stuff in archiver," he shrugged. "I have been trying to reacquaint myself with whom I was. Not a pleasant experience, let it be known."

"Remembering is hard," Ryl wrote.

"Panic inducing," Khal shook his head. "Every word of who I was is quickly smothering by the terror of my past predicament. I rather not... think about it, it feels suffocating."

"I understand."

"Anyway, no use dwelling on it," Khal laughed. "My past self had quite a vast knowledge and that I'd like to relearn," and he signed that last word, which caused Ryl to smile.

"Master Arufino says the chances of me remembering are slim, anyway," and Khal shrugged. "Centuries of an empty mind and isolation does wonders at whipping out your memories. That I should be thankful of the little I retained."

And he touched the robes.

"Still, they felt familiar. Pleasantly so, of course Ishwa took some liberties," and he winked. "Don't want me to be demodê.

Ryl chuckled and nodded.

"By the way..." And Khal signed the first thing Ryl said. "Does this mean you look well?"

Ryl started chuckling.

"No," he signed.

"No? Then what does it mean?"

Ryl closed his fists over his mouths in a motion that meant he wasn't telling and Khal frowned. Ryl walked to the exist with Khal chasing him.

"Come on! Ryl! What does it mean?!

___

Thanks to my friend @izayoichan and @lazysunjade for doing this for me, I am so in love with the concept.

Just had to share this one because it is gorgeous for concept ideas of the MC of my current Work in Progress.

This would be an initial concept for the MC, Khalil Varysia.

[chryza]

7 / 8 / 12 / 13 / 20 for BOTH (giving you friend homework)

also pray tell us how they both feel about their sexuality 👁️👁️

Oh Jesus

*griffin McElroy voice* let’s go!

7: Is there something that could cause your OC to question their identity?

Not really. Both Ryl and Khari are both quite sure about their sexualities. Rylaxha is happily bisexual, Kharites has some GNC gender fuckery going on, but he has no issues with being a cis gay man. bnuuy. Whatever.

8. Have they had struggles with their identities, due to internal or external reasons?

Rylaxha, no. Her environment growing up was always supportive of her bisexuality (though not so much the sleeping her way through the list of Gridanian girls her age).

Kharites, yes, mostly in the form of harassment.

Internally he also struggles with his sexuality in the AU where he was raised in Garlemald (we established as a collaborative writing group the Garlean nobility are stricter about enforcing heterosexuality. Monarchy, etc).

12. Does your OC ever wish they could change the way they are? If it’s in the past how did they get over it?

Again for Ryl, who is quite confident in her sexuality, she never really felt guilt or regret about it.

While Khari grew up with a parental figure who was supportive of his exploring gender and such, after she died and he was on his own, he tended to suppress his GNC side, favoring masculine and utilitarian clothes rather than the more feminine side he occasionally preferred. It’s something he still does during MSQ at least.

13. Would your OC ever be open to a poly relationship?

It’s funny because even though both of my WoLs, as Azem, were in polyamorous relationships, as the WoL, their answers are different.

Ryl is actively polyamorous, though she tends towards the open relationship style of polyamory. She’s afraid of commitment tbh.

Kharites on the other hand dreams of whatever qualifies as a white picket fence in Eorzea, with a steady monogamous partner and long term commitment.

20. Have your OCs helped you in your self discovery? How?

Yes actually, in a surprising way.

There’s the jokes about bisexual people “liking every girl and only 3 fictional men” and that was something I tried to adopt for myself to fit in. But in playing FFXIV, in having Ryl, who I knew was bisexual from the beginning, have nearly exclusively heterosexual relationships, something clicked. I realized that I do prefer men actually and that there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve started loudly repping the boy-leaning-bisexuals and it’s really been good for helping me reduce shame about my sexuality.

I don’t know whether to thank you or to curse at you XD

[crowwolf]

@vera-king-hrfl - the definition of distraction...

Ok - picture this - tiny 4'11", 90 lbs of elf/fey petite woman who has orc green skin (light), dark green/with lighter green mixed in hair, completely black eyes (sclera, irises), a penchant for large devilkin, sarcasm for days, and a big ass shadow dire wolf.

what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?

They'd be angry all the time...wondering how the fuck they got stuck in my life. She'd hate it.

is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?

HAHAHAHAHA 100% childish, but ready to throw down like a momma bear.

do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr

I used this quiz https://www.quotev.com/quiz/16869551/Soldier-Poet-King/

do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.

A VERY Kitalia response to this would be - not a fucking chance. I had one look at it and my unmedicated ADHD went...uhhhhh....Kit would be the same.

ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?

It had a massive impact on her entire being. If she hadn't gone through it, she'd probably have been a lawful neutral/neutral good being instead of the complete chaos gremlin she is.

does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)

Nope! Well, some, but mostly no. She will not ingest any mind altering substances, but she does love a good chai. Her music taste are extremely varied - so that is similar to me. She has zero love of fashion and only dresses fashionable when others make her/ask her nicely lol! Art - meh. She lived history, why would she want to read about it. Speaking of reading, aside from being very intelligent - she never learned to read. Her life was chaos and, even though she a few hundred years old, she focused on language and music and SURVIVING over reading.

will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?

Kit's more - I'll live a long fucking time and can't die so LET'S DO THIS!

what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?

Kitalia loves the idea of love, but has an extremely low opinion of herself, so ends up with a dude who is a mother fucker, until she find the guy that treats her like the princess she is. So her sex life is a 10 - wildly a 10...her love life...eh...3 until princess dude then an 8 (nothing's perfect, except the sex).

will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?

Always. She would sacrifice herself a million times over to save those she loves and would never let them know because she'd die if something happened to them.

around whom does your oc lets their guard down?

@vera-king-hrfl's Oc Ryldinn in the modern AU. Damays later on, Raphael. In BG3 verse Vera's OC Max the orc!

are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?

She's a bit of both. Can't say the words outright unless it's life or death (nearly), but lavishes the romance on the ones she loves.

what type of music does ur oc like?

All music - she's a bard in BG3 (well part bard) and a DJ in mordern AU - she loves music.

write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.

uh....not today.

do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?

Absolutely not. It takes forever for her to trust. She only trust Ryl in modern AU after following him around and learning more about him (much to his surprise). She isn't easily trusted either. Her eyes freak people out.

what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)

Her trauma - it started at birth with her mother viciously rejecting her (literally as a newborn), carried on to witnessing the murder of her father and subsequent abduction/enslavement to the murderer. Long life, lots of awful shit.

do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)

Black cat 100%

what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?

They would trust me but only cause my life is such utter banality and chaos that she'd know I'd have nothing to hide or reason to betray her. She'd be that one fun aunt friend.

will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?

Kitalia has extremely good survival skills that have been honed for a few centuries of off and on again homelessness. She had to learn to hide extremely well, to the point that even a drow couldn't find her. She a survivor, whether she wants to or not.

does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?

HATES her mother (to be fair, Mother has tried to kill her). She can't remember her dad, but he was a good man. She's ambivalent about her life. It is what it is.

if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?

To no longer be afraid.

how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)

wellll...first voluntary kiss - shocked and pleasantly surprised.

what's an ideal day for your oc?

Sitting in a peaceful wood, with Hexxus nearby, her head in the lap of her beloved while being read to. Just at ease and unafraid.

lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?

In modern AU, Ryldinn or Raphael. In BG3, Max or Astarion cause he can cope with her chaos.

How to get to know your characters better?

(feel free to add your own thoughts to this list, hope it helps!) req by @miricalebabyy44 <3

what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?

is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?

do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr

do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.

ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?

does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)

will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?

what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?

will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?

around whom does your oc lets their guard down?

are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?

what type of music does ur oc like?

write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.

do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?

what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)

do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)

what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?

will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?

does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?

if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?

how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)

what's an ideal day for your oc?

lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?

[edwardrichard10]

Is RAZ the Ultimate Travel Vape Companion? A Complete Guide to Raz Vape Disposables by RAZ Official

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[askbensolo]

Chapter 23: Sex Dungeons Are Great Places for Moral Epiphanies

Hi, I’m Ben, Nice to Meet You Masterlist

Fannie seemed only semi-conscious as I carried her down the dimly-lit hall. I tried to speak to her to make sure she was still awake—she mumbled back incoherently.

The phys-key Pennie had given me had a number engraved on the flat part, and all the sleeping chambers each had a number on the door. They were written in Ryl, so I didn’t know what numbers they were—but I managed to find the door with the Rylothian character that matched my key, and I fumbled with the lock and got us inside the chamber.

I could hear noises coming from the neighboring rooms—the kinds of noises that I usually heard through my fireplace at night. I did my best to ignore them.

There was a large cushion seat in the corner of the room, so I dumped Fannie there and sat her up. I knelt down in front of her. Her pupils were all dilated, and her eyes were unfocused. “Fan. Fannie. Can you hear me?” I asked. The strap of her top had slipped off her shoulder—I reached out, and gently put it back.

“Ben…?” she murmured. Her voice sounded dry and scratchy.

“Yeah, it’s me: Ben.” I nodded, and brushed something away from the corner of her mouth with my fingers—drool, maybe. I wiped my wet hand on my pants.

She wasn’t conscious enough to react to me being gross, this time. Strangely, that made me feel even more worried than I was before.

I squeezed her hand. “Fannie, what happened?”

She made a squeaky noise, tried to look around, and collapsed backwards. “I…I don’t know. It’s hard to move…or talk. Ben, where are we…?”

“It’s…hard to explain,” I said. “Listen. Fan. Do you remember when you had dinner with your sister?”

“With…Pennie?”

“Yeah. With Pennie. Earlier today. Do you remember?”

“Well…yes…I think so…perhaps…”

“What did she give you?”

“Give…me?”

“Yes. What did you eat? Or drink?”

“Well, we had our supper…from the kitchen…and…hot tea. The tea tasted…really…sweet, I remember. And…a little peculiar.”

“How much of it did you have?”

“I…I don’t know…Pennie kept on pouring it, and pouring it…and…I was…so thirsty. My food was very salty for some reason. Yes. I remember that now.”

“Fannie. You’re drunk. She got you drunk,” I said. “She put wine in your tea—or maybe even something stronger. She probably salted your food on purpose to get you to drink more.”

“But…I can’t be drunk! I don’t drink…!” poor Fannie hiccuped. Were the current circumstances not horrible beyond comprehension, this would have been so adorably funny of her.

“Shh, shh, I know,” I said, stroking my fingers across her forehead with my free hand. “She tricked you, Fannie. I’m sorry. Listen: you’re with me, now, all right? I’ll take care of you. You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh, Ben, I don’t feel well,” she mumbled.

“Can you be more specific?” I asked anxiously, rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand. “What’re you feeling?”

But I had my answer pretty quickly. She groaned, whimpered, and began to retch.

I shot out and grabbed her, pulling her forward so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. It ended up getting all over the front of my shirt instead, but I didn’t mind—it was a lot better than her choking. I looked, and saw there was a washroom in the bedchamber, so I pulled her up and dragged her over so she could finish. We left a nasty little trail as we went—but I did get her where she needed to be, in the end.

I should have been so totally grossed out by this. But somehow…I wasn’t. It reminded me of when I’d first learned how nasty childbirth was. Did it gross you out when I was born? I had asked my mom. Of course not, she’d said. It sure wasn’t pretty—I’ll tell you that. But I knew it was my job to bring you into the galaxy, so that’s what I did.

Which was just how I felt. It was my job to make sure Fannie was okay. So…that was what I was gonna do.

I drew her lekku out of the way as we knelt in front of the refresher together, and kept my hand on her back while she continued to throw up. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, whenever she wasn’t un-eating and un-drinking her spiked tea and oversalinated supper. “Oh, goodness—this is awful—how embarrassing—I’m so sorry you have to see this.”

“Hey, don’t be,” I told her gently. “Get it out.”

I patted her on the shoulder as it was winding down. And then I took off my waistcoat and scraped everything off of it with a towel, and tried to wash the garment off in the sink as much as I could. Then I got another towel, and I went back into the room and mopped up our little trail. When I was done I didn’t know where to put the dirty towels, so I folded them both up with the gross sides on the insides and left them on the washroom counter. I figured I wasn’t the first guy to leave behind bunched-up towels containing biohazards, in a room like this.

Well, I thought, once it looked like she didn’t have any more in her. Hopefully she’s gotten it all out of her system now.

I made her rinse out her mouth and drink some water, and then I took a new little towel and I mopped her up, too: wiping off the broad, flat part of her chest, her soft stomach, and the tops of her thighs. I also tried to wipe off the bikini thing she was wearing, with mixed results—I could get the substance off, but not the stains.

Now that I was up close, I could see how uncomfortably tight her outfit was. It was tied onto her with strings that dug into her flesh. I wished I had something else to give her.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, crying as I wiped her down. “I’m naked.”

“Shhh. You’re not naked,” I said. “Well—you’re a little naked. It’s the most I’ve ever seen of you, I guess. But…at least you’re clean, now. Clean enough, anyway.” And I took one of the robes that was hanging in the washroom, and helped her into it. “There. Better?”

“The…the strings hurt me,” she said, with difficulty, like she couldn’t think clearly enough to express herself further—but I knew what she meant. I turned her around so her back was to me. With some careful maneuvering, I was able to crouch down, slide my hands up her robe, and get everything untied without touching her too much.

“I’m not looking. I promise,” I said, sliding off the pieces of the stupid little outfit she’d been wearing and tossing them unceremoniously onto the counter with the barf towels. “Feel better?”

“Y-yes,” she snuffled. I took her by the hand and brought her over to the bed, then helped her onto it.

“Sit down,” I told her. And I brought her some more water.

“Ben…what happened?” Fannie choked out. “Why are we here? Why was I wearing that?” She swayed, and fell backward again onto the mattress. I pulled her knees up onto the bed, and dragged her body around and hefted her up so she could sit against the pillows.

“The situation isn't great,” I said quietly. “Like I said, Pennie tricked you. And then she put you in that getup, and brought you to the…” I paused. “...to the gentlemen’s banquet.”

“What?” Fannie gasped. “No…no, Pennie didn’t do this. She couldn’t have. I…I don’t remember what happened, but Pennie…she…she apologized to me for everything. She said she realized I was right. She asked me to help her find a way out of the betrothal. We talked through a plan for how to get her out…”

“You don’t remember being onstage?”

“Onstage? All I remember is having supper with my sister…and then I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“Fan…Pennie lied to you,” I said quietly. “She wanted to get revenge on you for not agreeing with her choices. She only told you all those things so she could get you in a vulnerable position and do…all of this.”

“No…no, there must be some other explanation,” Fannie stammered. “It couldn’t have been Pennie; she wouldn’t have done this…wait—the gentlemen’s banquet?” She sat up again suddenly and looked at me, her bleary eyes wide. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Ben—what happened? What did I do? What did they do to me?”

“Don’t worry—nothing happened to you,” I told her quickly. “No one did anything to you.”

“Nobody touched me?”

“Nobody touched you except me,” I said.

She grew pale and stared at me, trembling.

“I didn’t touch you anywhere I wouldn’t normally touch you,” I assured her solemnly. “Well—that’s not true. I had to carry you here on my back, and I helped you out of that bikini thing. But…I didn’t touch you with any ill intent. I promise.”

She looked at me for a moment, then relaxed. She lay back down again on the pillows.

“...No, no, of course not,” she murmured, seeming to think herself silly for entertaining the thought. “Of course not. Of course you wouldn’t.” And then she closed her eyes, and made a whining noise in her throat. “Oh, Ben…I feel so awful. My head hurts, everything feels heavy—I can barely move my lips to speak…oh, I want it all to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Please, try to rest.”

“Wait.” Fannie opened her eyes again, now full of tears. “I…I’m starting to remember it now. Yes. On the stage. It was like a dream, a blur of lights and sound, and everything made me dizzy, but…yes…that…that was my sister’s voice.”

She choked, her face contorting, and let out a sob. “Pennie…!”

Then her eyes swelled open—as wide as they could be, in her current state. She became pale (well, paler), and started to shudder uncontrollably.

“...She…she was going to let me be taken away by one of the men,” Fannie murmured incredulously.

My heart dropped like a stone, and my guts boiled.

She was right. I hadn’t had time to sit and think about it, in the midst of everything going on and trying to get Fan out of there—

But yes: Pennie had fully intended to put Fannie in a situation to be raped.

“My own sister…” Fannie whispered.

My hands started to shake. I imagined a disturbing fantasy about bashing Pennie’s skull in—but I took a couple of breaths, and let it go. I knew my anger wasn’t helpful.

“...I’m glad you’re safe,” I said hoarsely.

It felt like a stupid thing to say. A meaningless thing to say, in the wake of all…this. But…it was the only thing I could say, really.

We both fell quiet. In the silence, we could hear the sounds from the surrounding rooms. Fannie grimaced, and looked like she might be sick again. I quickly put my hands over her ears.

I leaned in so she could hear my voice, even with her ears covered. “Listen to me, Fannie,” I said, speaking slowly and firmly, so she would believe me. “Listen to me. I took you away from that place, before anything could happen to you. I’m here now. I’m going to protect you. I’m not leaving your side until everything’s okay. I will make sure nothing happens to you—I won’t let anything happen to you. That’s a promise. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and placed her hands over mine, where they were on each side of her head. I bent over, and gently kissed her forehead.

“Thank goodness you were there to save me, Ben,” she said, closing her eyes and causing tears to streak down. “Thank goodness…”

And then she caught her breath suddenly, and opened her eyes.

“...Wait,” she said. “Why were you there?”

My heart began to race.

I knew I was going to have to tell her the truth, sometime. But…I couldn’t do it now. Not now. She was in a vulnerable state. If I admitted to her now that I had gone to the gentlemen’s banquet, for such stupid reasons as idle curiosity and a desire for clout, and confessed that I had stuck around to eat the food and stayed even longer to watch the dancers—she might not believe me that I hadn’t done anything to her.

I didn’t want her to question that. Not just because I didn’t want her to think poorly of me—though perhaps that was a small part of it—but because I never wanted her to have to worry about whether someone had physically violated her. Least of all someone she had trusted and been so close with for so long.

I had to protect her.

I had to make sure she felt safe.

It’s hard to say whether I had the right motives or not in that moment. Maybe some of my motives were right, and maybe some were wrong. I’ll let you be the judge.

In any case…I lied to her again, that night.

“…I went looking for you,” I told her. “Once it was past nine o’clock and I still hadn’t heard from you, I looked around the garden but couldn’t find you or Pennie anywhere. When I came back in and heard music coming from the dining hall, I peeked inside to check. And then I saw Pennie there when she should have been with you, so I snuck in to figure out what was going on—just in time to see Pennie bringing you out in front of everyone. And then I ran over and took you away as fast as I could, and I brought you here.”

I finished my false account and waited for her response.

“...Oh,” said Fannie, after a pause. “Goodness…what an incredibly fortunate coincidence. The Force was with you, Ben—there is no other way to explain it. The Force brought you to my aid.”

Success. She had believed me.

But…this time I didn’t feel relief, so much as gut-wrenching guilt.

I swallowed, and gently stroked the top of her head. “...Yeah, I’m glad I got to you, too,” I said, softly—and that part was definitely not a lie.

“I am so fortunate to have you, Ben,” she murmured. “I am so thankful for you. You’re so good.”

I didn’t say anything. I felt like I was maybe not as good as she thought I was.

She mustered up a smile, and even when she was ill she was beautiful to me. Then her eyelids fluttered shut, and her head tilted slowly off to the side.

“Are you going to sleep now, Fannie?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, and muttered something which I took in the affirmative. So I laid the bedcovers over her, kissed her on the forehead, and sat down in an armchair that was off to the side.

I definitely wouldn’t be trusting Pennie’s word for most things anymore. But I did trust she wasn’t trying to kill her sister—if only to make her suffer.

I checked my holopod, which was beginning to run low on battery. It was a little past one in the morning. I decided I’d stay here with Fannie till sunrise, and watch over her all night. If anything started to seem really wrong, I’d take her to her mom. In the morning, when she was more awake, I’d see how she was doing and ask what she wanted to do next.

I didn’t mind staying up to watch her. I didn’t really feel like sleeping, anyway.

Now that my attention was not immediately focused on Fannie, I observed the room we were in and tried not to think too hard about the activities usually conducted within. Everything here fell into shades of luscious, velvety red or rich, earthy brown, and there was a heavy scent about the place, too: a rosy, smoky musk—artificial and overpowering, as if meant to mask other kinds of scents. A glittering chandelier cast a sensual yet haunting glow about the room, and the bed wasn’t a typical rectangle shape, instead resembling a very large oval. Probably big enough for three or four people, I thought to myself—absentmindedly at first, and then coughed as I realized the implications of that thought. There were nightstands on either side of the bed, carved from fine wood. I opened the drawers out of curiosity, and found some items I will not describe.

But by far the most jarring thing about the room was that it was covered in mirrors—in a way that was a little creepy, and almost maddening. There was a pair of windows to the right of the armchair, but mirrors everywhere else. There were mirrors where you might expect them to be, of course: in front of the washbasin, and near the door. But then there were also mirrors above the headboard of the bed, and mirrors across from the bed, and mirrors left and right of the bed—wide, panoramic glasses in ornately-carved frames that put you on display no matter where you looked. Even if you looked at the ceiling, there was a mirror there, too—right above the bed.

I wondered if it had ever fallen down and crushed anybody.

I found it strange that this configuration would appeal to anyone. It would have made me self-conscious enough to curl up in a ball and die. But the immediately relevant effect of this kinkily narcissistic setup was that I couldn’t sit anywhere in the room without the company of at least five or six reflections of myself:

All of them staring back at me, and all of them lost, scared, guilty, and pathetic.

I began to get that weird out-of-body feeling again that I’d had at dinner. I didn’t feel so drunk anymore—not with all the excitement of the last hour—but I definitely didn’t feel right. I felt strange. Uncomfortable. Like everything was wrong.

I glanced at Fannie, who was sleeping peacefully. Then I shifted my gaze above her to see myself in the mirror across the room. The back of my head was reflected in the mirror behind me, and reflected again in the mirror in front of me, along with the reflection of my face—and each reflection reflected the other in an endless cycle, creating an impossible corridor of Bens… I got dizzy, and turned to the mirror on the wall in front of where I sat in the armchair.

The more I stared at myself…the more I began to feel like I wasn’t really myself at all. I studied the man I saw reflected back to me in the glass:

He was in his early twenties, but somehow retained that gangly teenage look despite having filled out his frame. Whenever he sat in most chairs his knees came up higher than his hips. He had an intense stare and an odd way of pressing and rubbing his lips together, and his every feature was long and angular and weird. His dark hair served to cover the large ears he had never quite grown into—and you got the impression he had never quite grown into himself, either. His deep brown eyes were set under a strong brow. Sometimes they looked soft and sometimes they looked hard, but right now they looked…wet.

That was Ben Organa Solo.

…Me.

“What’re you looking at?” I muttered to the several Ben Solos staring back at me. I wished I didn’t have to look at them. Even when I closed my eyes, I felt the multitudinous presence of my splintered self, and all the new versions of me I had created with my many lies…both during this trip to Ryloth, and before.

I had lied to Fannie because I wanted her to like me.

I had lied to her brothers, because I wanted them to like me, too.

…But most of all, I had lied because I wanted to like myself.

This revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. And, like a light coming on in a dark room, I began to understand.

Somewhere deep down, I had always hated myself. I felt worthless and like a disappointment and like nothing I did was ever good enough…so I had begun to use others’ opinions of me to prove I was worth something. I needed other people to see something they liked in me, before I could like who I was—

But since the “me” that I showed them was catered to whoever I wanted to like me at any given time…I didn’t even know who I was.

So now I was showing everyone only what I wanted them to see, and doing whatever I thought would make me happy or make me look good whether or not it was the right thing to do. I hid things I didn’t like about myself in front of the people I didn’t want to know about them, and made up things about myself that weren’t true in order to win people’s acceptance or approval or affection—and then doing everything in my power not to lose these precious prizes of mine, once I had won them.

I looked at Fannie’s sleeping form again, and ran a mental list of all the lies I’d told her and all the secrets I’d kept. Snoke was right. I couldn’t really know that she liked me, could I? I could only know that she liked the “me” I put on in front of her. And sure, a lot of that really was me: the me who had encouraged her not to listen to the things her brothers had to say about her; the me who’d cleaned her barf off the floor out of love. With my whole heart, I had meant every single thing I had ever said and done out of my affection for her.

But…how would she be able to tell the difference between the parts of me that were real, and the parts that were made-up?

…Did I even know the difference?

The weight of that thought came crashing down on me like a falling star, and I began to cry.

It started slowly, just a couple of stinging tears, as I released the pent-up anxiety of the past few hours. And then I began to weep with guilt as I thought about Fannie, and what had happened to her—how Pennie had taken advantage of her trust and tried to victimize her in such a horrible way—all while I was eating fancy food and drinking too much wine and watching women dance nearly-naked onstage, even if I wasn’t attracted to them.

Maybe Fannie was right that the Force had worked things out so I’d be in a position to rescue her from her sister. But…I had a feeling that one good thing coming out of all this mess, while I could be thankful for it, didn’t excuse all the bad choices I’d made up till now. I had possibly been the only man in that room, besides Mikal, who wouldn’t have done something awful to Fannie. Taken advantage of her. Used her for pleasure.

But…I certainly had other ways of being awful to her and taking advantage of her and using her to make me happy. I didn’t need to take her clothes off to do that.

She thought I was so, so good to her. And I’d been good to her, sometimes.

I’d also been playing her for weeks.

I began to feel worse and worse, and my breath began to catch, and my chest began to heave. And before I knew it, I was sobbing quietly as I stared up at the ceiling. I fell out of the armchair and collapsed to the ground, then shuffled on my knees toward the mirror that was right in front of me and looked at myself there, this guy with big wet dark eyes and a pouty lower lip, and hated how weak he looked, and how weak I knew he was.

“…I don’t really like you,” I whispered into the glass.

“Fannie always spoke so highly of you. I assumed you were the same kind of person that she is. But now I know that you are simply a man, like other men: weak,” Pennie had told me, and maybe she’d been right.

“Any man who is quiet is weak,” Ruut Pentarra had said—and maybe he had been right, too—not in the way that he had meant to be, but right nonetheless. I had remained silent whenever I’d had the opportunity to tell Fannie the truth about something I hadn’t wanted her to know, in order to keep her locked away in some little place in my heart as the last scrap of evidence that proved to me I was worth anything.

I had never thought of myself as someone who would objectify women. I had never seen women like that—I didn’t think of them like that.

It had never occurred to me that there might be other ways to objectify them that did not even involve sex at all.

“I really don’t like you,” I told Ben Solo.

It had seemed at first like lying and making up my own version of the truth offered me some control over a galaxy where I’d always felt like a loser…but now, I was losing control. No matter how many lies I told, no matter how many new versions of myself I came up with, no matter how many revisions I made to the account of my life in order to nudge it closer to the things I wanted out of it—I was still me, pitiable and pathetic. I despised the guy in the glass—despised all of them—

And I began to sob not-so-quietly.

I felt such deep…sorrow. Grief, which was different from depression. Remorse, which was different from self-pity. I’d felt anger; I’d felt fear; I’d felt hatred. But I had not felt this kind of sadness, this grief, this remorse in years.

It was like I was letting go of all of it, now—like Fannie, purging her body of poison. It was deeply uncomfortable and profoundly painful, and yet…somehow, it had to happen.

I really did not like myself in that moment. But then…the feeling shifted. And it became less that I didn’t like myself, and more that I didn’t like who I’d been choosing to be.

I had spent so much effort shaping Ben Solo into the man I wanted other people to see him as at any given moment: both in the virtues I felt I couldn’t live up to, and in the vices I had never dared to commit. And at the end of it all, no matter who managed to trick into admiring me, I wasn’t any more admirable for it.

Maybe I could just…be the man I wanted Ben Solo to be. Not pretend to be him—really be him. And not who I wanted him to be in order to impress other people, especially not those who were not worth impressing…

…but someone I actually wanted to be.

Someone I could be proud of.

Someone whose actions I wouldn’t have to lie about or cover up.

And then I began to glimpse a light at the end of the tunnel.

I could fix it. I could turn this all around. I could come clean about everything, start telling the truth again, and then I wouldn’t have any more lies to hide. Fannie could love me for who I was instead of who I pretended to be. I wouldn’t have to live with the pressure and anxiety of maintaining a facade, of keeping all my stories straight, I could finally be free—

And then I thought—wait, no, that’s stupid.

My current life was built upon all the lies I’d told. If I pulled out the rug from underneath, everything would all come tumbling down. I would basically be taking a thermal detonator to life as I knew it.

My brain started replaying all my favorite moments with Fannie, ever since I’d fallen in love with her—and even though I’m not a sappy guy, my mind went full-on cheese-fest. I thought about the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, and her beautiful, glowing smile. I thought about when she had sat on top of me back on my bed on Hosnian Prime, her lekku hanging down, and when we had slow-danced in the kitchen and all the times we had laughed and made dinner together. All of the times we had held each other while one of us cried—all of the dreams we’d shared about maybe getting married someday—

…And then the reel ended, replaced only with me alone on my knees.

Fannie was one in a million. Before I’d chosen to fall in love with her, I had never desired this kind of relationship with anyone…and I felt almost certain I’d never want to again.

Telling the truth now would mean facing the rest of my life alone.

…Alone. Just as I had always felt every night of my childhood.

My breathing became heavy, and my toes and fingertips began to feel numb. The back of my neck began to prickle with sweat.

And then it all came upon me at once, like a beast creeping up and pouncing from behind. My heart pounded faster and faster, and my thoughts blurred like a holo taken from a moving train—it was like a never-ending scream inside my head. It was over—it was all over. I was going to lose Fannie, and because Fannie was the only thing that proved I was worth anything, I might as well die right here. I crumpled forward, my elbows aching against the cold stone floor as I fought to catch my breath. I thought my heart might explode, but I hoped it would—after all, there was nothing left in my future, anymore, was there? I threaded my fingers into my hair and pulled, feeling my chest collapse inward and my guts devour me from the inside, wishing desperately that everything would end or that I could wake up from the nightmare—

But I couldn’t wake up—the nightmare was real, and I was living in it. I slammed my forehead against the ground, feeling my brain rattle—I brought my head down again, and again—I wanted to send bone fragments and cranial matter skidding across the floor—make it end, make it end! I sobbed, unable to discern whether the words made their way past the red-raw tissue of my larynx or if the screams stayed only in my head—

Then before I could make contact with the ground a sixth time, I was suddenly frozen stiff by some power outside of me. I felt myself being held; restricted—suspended by an invisible force—

…the Force.

And then I was released, and my body dropped forward, and I caught myself with my hands before I fell—the impact sent a violent shock through my wrists.

I gasped for breath and opened my eyes again, my heart thudding. Slowly, I raised my head.

And raised it.

…And raised it.

Until I was looking into two clear pale blue eyes, like icy glacial water.

I knew those eyes.

“...It’s you,” I croaked.

His thin lips curved into a crooked smile.

I stumbled to my feet, and clumsily threw myself between my late night visitor and the bed where Fannie was. I held out my arms to each side as if to defend her…but Snoke only chuckled.

“No need,” he said calmly, his bony hands like gnarled tree roots folded placidly in front of him. “I’m not here for anyone but you.”

His flowing silver robes looked like liquid moonlight—light and loose, not rich and heavy like Pentarra’s robes. He wore a single ring on his left index finger: a gold band set with a tall black stone. For as long as I had known him, he had always worn that ring, but I had never felt brave enough to ask about its significance.

He was tall—like, seven feet tall—and pale, and old. I didn’t know how old he was, and I had never felt brave enough to ask that, either. But his face was lined with wrinkles, and the right side of his face and part of his throat looked like they had somehow collapsed…and there was a third mystery I had not dared to investigate.

“You are looking for a way out,” Snoke said—his voice soft, and low, and rich with some resonant tonal quality that drew me in despite myself. If I didn’t know better, I could have almost called it sympathy. “An…escape.”

I didn’t speak. My nerves were on fire, my hands trembling, my head spinning.

Snoke came closer. I watched as he approached me, and remembered that strange way in which he always walked—with a limp that contorted him at the spine, as if every step caused him pain.

He stopped when he was just near enough to touch me. He extended one long arm toward me, his sleeve trailing behind, and placed his fingers on my shoulder—

—and then, suddenly, I could breathe again.

I gasped, and coughed—and then I felt…

…Normal.

I stared at him for a second.

Then I turned and rushed over to the bed. I tried to shake Fannie awake—but she wouldn’t wake up. Frantically, I took her wrist, and tried to check her pulse—but to my absolute horror, I couldn’t feel anything—though I also wasn’t confident in my ability to check a pulse correctly. I plunged my head down against her breast, hoping desperately to hear her heartbeat—

And Snoke laughed, again.

“The girl is fine, Ben,” he said. “You and I are simply in a different realm. Time has left us.”

He gestured to the wall, and I looked. The chronometer had stopped.

I exhaled, quietly, and bent down to kiss Fannie on the cheek.

“How sweet,” Snoke crooned as he watched. “I know how dearly you loved her. What a sorrow, then, that it has all come to such a bitter conclusion. But…we knew it would end this way, Ben Solo, didn’t we? You knew you could not continue on forever as you have done.”

“...Why have you come here?” I demanded hoarsely. “Just to taunt me in my darkest hour?”

“Not to taunt you,” corrected Snoke. “To help you. You know as well as I do that there is no way out of this pit you’ve dug yourself into. I have watched you bury yourself deeper and deeper over these many weeks…and now your grave is closing over you, Ben Solo.”

His brow furrowed with pity—or perhaps, only the semblance of it. “What will happen in the morning?” he asked softly. “Either Pen’awen Pentarra will expose you, or you must do it yourself. After that, you will lose Fannie. And that is to say nothing of all the lies you have told your family: how you have kept our little conversations a secret from them all these months. Shall we play the same game with them, Ben Solo? Are you prepared to face their anger and disappointment on top of hers?”

I grimaced, refusing to meet his gaze.

“...Speechless, are we?” Snoke murmured, his eyes darkening. He slowly raised his arm, and I flinched—I thought he was going to, I don’t know, hit me with Force lightning or something—but instead he only held out his fist with his palm facing up. One by one, he slowly unfurled his fingers—

—and I doubled over, gasping, as my fear returned to me like a tidal wave hitting the shore. Whimpering, I fell to the ground and buried my face in my hands, rocking back and forth on my knees and toes—

Then he closed his fist again and took it all back, leaving me on the floor as I drew ragged breaths and wept into my fingers.

“You have nowhere to run, Ben,” Snoke said, soft and warningly. “Continue on this path, and there is nothing left for you. When those you love discover all you have hidden, they will want nothing to do with you. Where will you go? What will you do?”

I stared at the ground, my palms sweating through my pants as I forced myself to sit upright.

“Can you do it?” Snoke murmured. “Can you face her, after all you’ve done? Can you bear to watch her slip through your fingers and out of your life forever?”

My heart wrenched as I thought of how much Fannie meant to me and how much I loved her, and my eyes filled again with tears.

Then all of a sudden I felt myself lifted up, drawn first to my feet and then even higher so that my toes dragged above the floor, and Snoke had forced me to face Fannie as she slept frozen on the bed.

“Are you ready to break her heart?” he whispered harshly. “Are you ready to spend every day for the rest of your life experiencing the pain of what you’ve lost?”

I looked deeply into the face of the person I loved. Her soft skin, her delicate eyelashes, her round nose, her full lips that I would never know what it felt like to kiss.

“...I would rather disappear,” I murmured.

And then Snoke whipped me around again to face him.

“That is precisely what I am offering you, Ben,” he told me. “I can take you away from all of this. I can make you disappear. You will not have to face the mess you have created. You will not have to watch as it all crumbles down. We both know that your life here is over—or at the very least, forever altered. Poisoned. We will go away. We will start over. And we will vanish forever from the lives of those whose good graces you have lost—from those whose good graces it is only a matter of time before you do lose.”

He released me, and I dropped to the floor before him.

“Start over with me,” he whispered. “I have seen all that you have ever done. I have foreseen all that you will ever do. There are no secrets you can hide from me, Ben. I know everything about you. I am the only one who knows you. And, even knowing everything about you, I will stay by your side…always.”

I looked up, and gazed into his pale blue eyes, transfixed.

…How sweet it sounded, to simply disappear and leave behind all the mistakes I’d made. To vanish, and escape the punishment I’d rightfully earned.

I slowly drew myself up to my feet, and took one step closer to him.

And then another.

And then a third.

And then I stopped.

And I found myself thinking about Pennie Pentarra, her face ashen as she leaned on Ruut Pentarra’s arm. She had thought no one could see her. She had thought no one cared enough to see her. Well, I had seen her. And I knew she had only ended up in that place because she had believed there was nothing better in her future.

I knew that wasn’t true for her.

Maybe it was the same for me.

“...No,” I said finally—but it was as if I was hearing myself say it. I exhaled abruptly, surprised at myself.

Snoke’s lip curled nastily.

“No,” I repeated again. “I…I only wound up here because I kept trying to avoid things that were difficult. Because I kept running away from hard conversations. Because I was too afraid to face loss.”

I stopped to drag my sleeve across my nose, and the gentleness in Snoke’s face became cruel and hard. He stiffened and set me with a stony glare.

“...I’m gonna do things the hard way, for once,” I told him, my voice weak. “I mean…arguably I’ve been doing things the hard way this entire time. But…I’m…I’m not gonna run anymore.”

Snoke didn’t speak. He was beginning to look dangerous now, his blue eyes flashing. I had a strong feeling I was finally making the right decision.

“Oh…and one other thing,” I said.

I took a final step forward—out of defiance, now, rather than submission.

“...This is the last time you and I are gonna talk,” I told him quietly. “I am going to tell my family about you. And I’m going to go back to shutting you out. So…I don’t want to ever see or hear from you again. Not in my dreams, and not in my mind.”

“Hm,” Snoke said coolly. “Very well. You are grown now, and I respect your decisions. But…surely you realize your mother will not be any more pleased with your confessions than your girlfriend will be. Things are about to become very, very difficult for you, Ben Solo.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking right at him. “I’m about to go through hell, and I know I am.” I lifted my shoulders with a grim finality. “And if I’m gonna go through hell…so be it.”

Snoke smiled. A dry sort of smile, with something else mixed into it that I couldn’t decipher.

“So be it, indeed,” he murmured. “Goodbye, Ben Solo—until you call for me again.” And he turned away from me, his silver robes swishing—

—and then, he was gone.

I felt a split second of relief—maybe even euphoria.

But as soon as he vanished, my panic attack came back.

I hit the floor, curling up into a ball—and as sure as I had been about my choices only a moment prior, I began to beg again for death. I couldn’t breathe, and I grasped at my throat, and my chest, and all I could feel was the darkness closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I was ever going to do it, how I was ever going to make it through alive—

“Ben!”

My eyes shot open. Not another voice! I was getting sick of hearing voices.

But…this one wasn’t Snoke.

“Ben…the Force is never far from you. Reach out.”

“I…I can’t,” I whispered weakly back to it. “I haven’t trained. I’m not a Jedi. I’m not strong in the Force, like Fannie is. I don’t think I even believe in it half the time.”

“Do not focus on your strength in the Force,” said the voice. “Focus instead on the strength of the Force.”

“Well, that’s super cool and all, but what the hell does it mean?” I asked the air impatiently.

But even as I spoke the words…I thought I began to understand. I thought about what Fannie had said to me before I went to dine with her father: “Reach out with the Force, if you need to. If you need to, you will be able to.”

She had asked me to reach out to her through the Force. But…now I was reaching out to the Force itself.

I took a deep breath.

And…let go.

And then I fell—through the air, through the darkness, through the stars. I fell and I fell and I fell, and I began to feel worse and worse and worse instead of better—and the horrifying loss of control I felt made me wish I had never opened myself up—I was free-falling with no idea how far down the ground was, or what awaited me below—and then, just when I was so utterly terrified I thought I might scream—something caught me, like a net…and I knew I was safe.

I floated there, in the darkness, and the air felt soft, and thick, and warm—like the womb. And I remembered what Fannie had said to me in the streets of Bulii’kana: “The Force was not born from mortal minds. Rather, we were born from it.”

Really? All of us? Even those of us who struggled as much as I always seemed to?

If it’s true…prove it to me, I thought. Prove to me I’m not just a worthless cosmic mistake. Prove to me I was ever meant to be here at all.

The voice didn’t speak. But I felt myself sort of…melting, almost. And I got the strangest sense that I was not merely a hulking biological mass of cells and water and protein with a bit of electricity to move me around, but…something else.

…Something more.

I couldn’t explain what I was experiencing. But at the same time, I wasn’t sure that I needed to. “One need not fully understand something to know that it is true…and beautiful,” Fannie had said, smiling up at Ryloth’s five moons.

Well. I was never going to be Fannie Pentarra. That was certain.

But…I was going to be Ben Solo. Really be him. And that was certain, too.

I remembered the day I’d woken up in the medcenter at age seventeen—after everything that had happened with Snoke the first time. How I had almost died…and how waking up on Chandrila was like a second birth.

…I hadn’t been in physical danger, this time, at age twenty-three. But I had come quite near losing myself again.

“Please…how many times does a guy have to start over?” I asked the darkness urgently. “How many times is he allowed to start over?”

“As many times as he needs to, Ben. As many times as he needs to.”

I choked back a sob.

“Ben…?”

I opened my eyes, cool air rushing into my lungs, and found that I was lying on the floor on my back, with my limbs spread out. I turned my head toward the bed, toward the source of the noise, and saw that Fannie was awake again, but barely. Her eyelids looked heavy, like she was struggling to keep them up.

I quickly swiped my sleeve over my snotty, tearstained face, and got up and came over to the bedside.

“Yes, Fan, I’m here. You okay?”

“Oh, Ben, you’re crying,” she said weakly, sympathetic and sweet even when she was ill. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I told her, managing to smile.

“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes again without another word. I think if she’d been more alert, she would have pressed further. But…I didn’t mind.

…Yeah. I was okay.

Maybe even…a little better than okay, somehow.

Since she had woken up, I made her drink more water before letting her go back to sleep. Then I went to the washroom and splashed my face with water, rubbed it dry with a towel, and took a deep breath.

I noticed my waistcoat where I had hung it after I’d rinsed it off. Pennie’s thumbrecorder was still in the breast pocket. I had nearly forgotten—the last hour or so had been kind of a lot. I went over and fished it out, and held it up in my fingers.

For a moment, I feared that I had underestimated Pennie’s craftiness, and that perhaps she had tricked me and handed me a blank one. But I opened the memory bank…and there was the holofootage of Fannie on the stage. I deleted the file. And then I dropped the thumbrecorder on the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of my boot for good measure, scooping up the pieces in my hand and putting them in the wastebin. Then I went back to the armchair and sat down, exhausted in every aspect of the word.

Fannie woke up a few more times during the night: once to throw up again, and twice to ask me where she was. Every time, I made her drink more water, and told her to go back to sleep.

I didn’t sleep, though. I was busy watching over Fan…and thinking about what I was gonna tell her in the morning. I thought about the “deal” I had made with Pennie: the one she had trusted me to carry out because she had information I didn’t want Fannie to know.

…Well.

That wasn’t gonna be the case for much longer.

As the sun rose and the first light of morning crept into the stuffy red-and-brown room, all the mirrors reflected it and the entire chamber began to light up. And I began to feel, against the faint undercurrent of my anxiety…

…a profound sense of hope.

After all this time…after all my mistakes…I was finally about to put Ben Solo the liar in the ground, and face myself.

“...Hi, Ben,” I whispered to my reflection from where I sat in the armchair. “Nice to meet you.”

[joanna-lannister]

B, C, D

Thank you so much for the ask ❤️🌷

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

Oh, that's a hard one! I can't think of anyone changing my mind about a pairing to be honest. So I'm gonna leave it blank here, sorry 😬

C - A pairing you have never liked and probably never will

Answered here!

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t

Ca/ryl. I'm sorry, but to me, they are like siblings, and by siblings, I don't mean it the way Jaime and Cersei love each other. So yeah, I just like them as a BROTP.

[rylxdreams]

Ooh! Could you draw Nine from Sonic Prime???

Got a bit carried away with this one pfft

(also Nine is so cool YO)

[vera-king-hrfl]

Secret Ask List

Next 10!

11 to 20 under the cut!

11. What was your inspiration for your OC?

I've played drow a lot in d&d campaigns, other roleplay platforms, and choose one in every video game that allows it. I find the culture very different and fascinating. The idea of someone being raised like that, living like that for potentially hundreds of years, and trying to break free of it is an interesting challenge. Ryldinn is most emphatically NOT Drizzt. He starts out as chaotic evil, is mostly neutral now depending on his situation, and is inspired by a female drow OC I played for about 15 years.

13. Does your character have a rival? How did it start?

Yes he does! Orin the Red. They don't precisely hate each other, there is some mutual respect, but he gets annoyed because she kills innocent people and he often gets blamed for it, which she finds hilarious. Also @meanbossart DU Drow! Drow freaks him out, basically because he's a foot taller than Ryl and just feels icky lol.

14. Who's a character your OC cannot stand? It's on sight when they when they see them!

Cazador Szarr I suppose. Not just because of Astarion either. Hated his face and voice from day 1. When he saw what Caz was doing to the captured 7k spawn he nearly threw up. Most disgusting man alive to him.

15. Will your character ever retire? Do you see them making it?

I'm honestly not sure. He gets himself in gobs of trouble on a regular basis and he might be killed before he can get there. He's a busy bee though, so I don’t see him living a life of leisure for very long in any case. If he has Cal, his garden, and some books he'd probably be content for a while, but Cal will die centuries before him naturally, so if that happens he'd get embroiled in something else before long.

16. How's their relationship with his parents? Are they alive?

Woooo in avoidance of spoilers... he doesn’t know who his parents are yet. His mother is alive and his father is dead, and no, he would definitely not get along with her.

17. If your OC had kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

Again, complicated! He does have 3 biological children, but he hasn't met them yet. In the bg3 story he adopted Arabella. He's a great dad! He also does feel very guilty if he has to upset her in any way.

18. What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

Despite being a twinky little femboy when he's not killing fools, he uses he/him pronouns and identifies as a man.

19. What is their sexuality? What is their love language both giving and receiving?

Ryldinn is very gay. He likes big masculine men. His love language (giving) is acts of service. Receiving would be physical touch and quality time.

20. If they fight, what is their weapon of choice?

This one has a very specific answer that I just revealed in a story so I can share without spoilers. He can use any smaller or drow weapons well. He's a ranger so expert with a bow, but his main weapon is an enchanted knife which was given to him by Asmodeus. It doesn't make him stronger or faster or better in any way but can cut through any substance and kill any creature except Asmo himself.

[jojotier]

"I swear this isn't like, a riddle or anythin'," Red said, rolling onto her stomach to look up at Vaeryln. "You don't gotta take it so serious."

The dragon had been seated atop his fancy little chair, fat black tail curled around one ornately carved leg, for a good ten minutes by then. Anyone would mistake the scene for something out of a horror story- the bold and foolish thief lounging on a pile of fine pillows before the dragon who owned them, leisurely laying about while the beast loomed, thinking of the best way to kill her for the impudence.

Truth was, she'd just asked him what kind of animal he thought she would be if she weren't human. That was the kind of cutesy shit couples did, right? They asked nonsense questions about worms or orange peels and cooed about how darling it all was.

But Vaeryln had fixed that amber gaze to the stone floor and sat there, thinking, like she'd given some huge ultimatum. Red got that he was about as experienced at the whole courting thing as she was, but this was getting pretty silly.

She opened her mouth to say so, but Vaeryln held up a clawed hand. "I almost have it."

"Ryl," The exasperation might have been fond, but it was still exasperated. "it's like- a joke question. You don't have to answer, so come back to bed-"

"Horse."

Red stopped up short. Stared. "... What about them?"

"You would be a horse." Vaeryln looked so godsdamned smug about it too. "That's the kind of animal you are."

"What? No I wouldn't." She made a face. "They're not cute."

"Horses are cute!" Was it right for Vaeryln to look so offended when Red was pretty sure she was supposed to be the offended one here?

"They're not like- as cute as dogs are. Or rabbits! I could be a rabbit!"

"Please," Vaeryln sniffed, brushing some of that luminous black hair over his shoulder, "you've more self respect than that. And less neuroses, I would hope."

"And a horse isn't neurotic??" Red just. Couldn't believe this was the conversation they were having. She sat up, fingers digging into the pillow directly underneath her. "They'll break their own necks if you so much as look at them wrong!"

"It's not exactly like that," Vaeryln said, sliding forward in his seat. Red hoped he slipped on that thousand thread silk cushion and fell on his ass. "They have good reason to be nervous! They see a lot of things around them that aren't always visible to the mortal eye! They're perceptive."

"They're easily spooked! Prone to hightailing it! And they kick like a motherfucker!" She threw up a hand to punctuate the point.

"What does 'kicking like a mother fucker' even entail?"

"I don't know! They just do!"

And now Vaeryln was beginning to pout. This, like the offense before, looked unfairly good on him- the hint of fang dragging over his bottom lip alone would have been portrait worthy, even without those jewel eyes shimmering like the sun behind messy ebony locks artfully falling onto his cheeks. And maybe Red was getting a little soft, because she sighed and flopped back onto the bed instead of arguing her point.

"What even makes you think that, anyway?" She asked.

She didn't even have to look to know he was lighting back up. The smugness was back in full force. "Because of their versatility- not to mention, a thief's affinity to them."

Red didn't have the heart to tell him most of the horses she'd stolen were usually sold immediately after. Even the ones she did tolerate. "... They don't seem that interesting to me. Most just seem to be there to either look pretty or pull whatever shit needs pulling."

"There lies the versatility- an animal which can take on the role of beast of burden and yet be so beautiful that they are coveted by robbers and kings alike." Vaeryln's voice came closer, "Something powerful enough to carry heroes to victory while graceful in stride, agile as the water slipping between rocks in a stream and swift as wind,"

She felt the cushions beside her dip and refused to look. That was just what the bastard wanted. He'd want her to look at him while he slowly brushed the thick pads of his fingertips down her wrist, over her pulse, and laid them in her open palm. "Of course, one mustn't forget their intelligence- there's nobility in bearing, but the main crux of such nobility comes in a being that knows deep in its bones that it is, at its core, a wild and free thing."

Vaeryln's face was suddenly in her field of vision. His hair partially blocked out the light from the crystals glowing gently above, making the tender glow of his irises all the gentler as his pupils grew to eclipse them.

"It describes you perfectly," Vaeryln smiled, "does it not?"

It wasn't fair. She'd just asked to have a little giggle- where did this man get off, being so damn sweet to her?

Red's face turned to the side, a red-hot cheek pressed against the cooling cotton beneath as she averted her gaze. If he leaned any closer, if that hair pooled on the cushions around her, if his hand slipped anywhere else- she didn't know what she would do with herself, because she wouldn't push him away.

"That's not fair." Red said, throwing an arm over her eyes. "You can't just- say things like that and think it gets you out of trouble!"

"Whyever not?" Vaeryln asked, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple, "I believe it was you who said- and forgive me if my memory fails me-" Her heart fluttered as he turned his own cheek, nuzzling her softly, "- that the best way out is flattery tinged true?"

"Hah! Should have known not to teach you to lie," Red huffed, ignoring the way her traitorous mouth tried to tilt up at the corners.

Vaeryln gave a huff of his own, settling down partially against her back and wrapping one of his arms around her stomach. "But that's the trick- I'm not lying."

"I know." Red wished her name wasn't so goddamned literal in that moment as she settled against his chest. As her hand slipped into his. As she felt how the tips of those claws could graze her- but knew they never would. Not when he was this damnably gentle.

She muttered, trying to stop blushing, "That's what makes it worse."

[artbyoddity]

10 People I'd Like To Know Better

Tagged by @atlas-affogato

Last Song: Obsessively been listening to Lily Tree from the Ender Magnolia OST for daaaaaaaaaaays

Last Book: Phantom Phenomena by Darkness Prevails

Last Movie: Uhhh, I've been playing Ender Magnolia nonstop for days, I think Zootopia was the last movie that was on while I was in the room but my entire focus was on the game lol

Last TV Show: X-Men: Same story as above but make it Star Trek the Next Generation

Last Thing I Googled: Ender Magnolia key art seeing a pattern here lol?

Favorite color: purple, black, blue, green

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Sweet

Relationship Status: single

Looking Forward To: Playing Ender Magnolia, just made an appointment for a new tattoo, and I have a long dogsitting gig coming up which means big packcheck and spending time with fuzzy friends.

Current Obsessions: -looks up at my previous answers- Is it possible that I might be obsessed with Ender Magnolia? Just slightly?

Other things. I'm constantly thinking about include Jackie Chan Adventures, Kingdom Hearts, and my own OC Princess Ryl expect more pictures of her

No pressure tags:

[phoenixyfriend]

Re: crown undies, I feel like at least one person would insist on calling them lekku bikinis, or lekkinis

Crown Undies

NICE

But also why is everyone doing this on anon.