#takes up way too much of my time and is a complete waste its pointless

[mochapanda]

what if i just stopped taking classes i dont care about and by my last year/semester when all i have left is stupid shit i'll decide if i wanna drop out or not

[okaylikesmomo]

Chapter 3: Worth It

Quick disclaimer since some readers might not have read my other work. This chapter has a LOT of smut. That is all.

--

A loud slam echoes through your apartment as you pushed Chaewon against the wall as soon as the two of you entered. With her head tilted downwards slightly, she was staring at you with an expression overflowing with lust while taking in deep breaths. Her cheetah-like features and slight smirk made it look like she was about to pounce on you.

Then she did just that, slamming you against the other side of the hallway. Her lips attacked your mouth with complete disregard. While pressing her mouth against yours, her hands immediately began fumbling with the buckle of your pants. After undoing your pants, she swiftly slid both your pants and underwear down in one singular motion to your ankles; She was done wasting time.

She glares at you with her teeth clenched. “Fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow,” she hissed while kicking off her shoes.

There was nothing you wanted to do more in the world than just that. You kicked off your shoes as well before flinging the clothes off your ankle and reaching down, picking up Chaewon’s petite body from her legs. You carried her deeper into your apartment while your mouth kissed all over her midriff as it was pressed against your face.

Once you were standing in front of your dining table, you dropped her onto it. There was another loud slam as her back hit the tabletop, and for a second you panicked thinking that you hurt her. It was pointless to worry, however, as “too rough” was not in Chaewon’s vocabulary tonight. As soon as her back hit the tabletop, she had already started to pull her sweatpants off.

The two seconds she would have taken to remove the pants was too long for you, so by pure instinct you grabbed them from her and ripped them off her legs. As she lay there in nothing but a crop top, some white panties, and her socks, your eyes went directly to her crotch. The wet spot from earlier had grown exponentially, and her cute pink folds were clearly visible through the soaked white garment. You hooked her panties with two fingers on one hand, pulling them to the side, and immediately plunged your middle finger from your other hand into her pussy.

Chaewon screamed. Loudly. She must not have expected you to be so sudden, but you had almost no ability to control yourself right now. Just as quickly as you entered her, you started to pump your finger in and out of her pussy slowly. Despite the initial shock, her face was now contorted in pleasure with her eyes shut tight. She was loving it, and you were obsessed with how tight she was. It was a workout, and the workout got much harder now that you added your ring finger to the mix.

“Yes baby,” she moans while her breaths match your movements. “Just. Like. That… don’t stop…”

If she wasn’t dripping wet, it would be impossible to move your fingers with how tight she was. You pushed your fingers into her until they reached the second knuckle and held them there for a second. Then you started to curl them, feeling around her insides, stimulating every nerve in her pussy.

“Ahhhhhhhhh,” she moans while craning her neck backwards, pressing the back of her head into the dining table.

Her legs started to twitch wildly as your fingers began moving back and forth again, but this time you were only moving about an inch or so. You kept your fingers deep inside her the entire time, relishing in her warmth and tightness. After finger-fucking until she went numb, you slowly withdrew both fingers in one, uniform motion.

You held your fingers above her stomach and watched as her sweet nectar dripped all over her abs; The curves of her core accepting the liquid like an irrigation system. You pressed your fingers down onto her core, letting her body push them up and down with every deep breath, and then started drawing patterns on her stomach.

Your two soaked fingers explored her body, and eventually your hand made its way down towards her holes again. You spread your fingers and slide them down her crotch, outlining her pussy but never touching it directly.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” she hisses, staring at you while propping herself up on her elbows.

You smirk as you bend down between her legs. You stick your tongue out in front of her glistening womanhood and very slowly slide it upwards towards her stomach, tasting every inch of her folds. Her entire body shivers violently in front of you and she gasps loudly. One of her thighs spasms, hitting you in the cheek, but you keep sliding up slowly.

“I said… don’t…” she tried but couldn’t finish her thought as you brought your hand to her pussy again and started rubbing circles around her clit.

Your tongue continued to slide up to her stomach, now tracing the same path your fingers followed around her muscular core. She moans out while falling back onto her back, unable to prop herself up anymore. You step around the side of the table and lift your mouth off her stomach, but you keep your hand’s motion going.

You bend down and place your lips on hers, letting her moans fill your mouth. She opens her eyes and stares at you while you deposit her own juices into her mouth with a kiss. You move your mouth down towards her neck and start planting more kisses on her clavicle.

She cries out and arches her back hard as she is now on the precipice of her orgasm. Your hand starts moving faster, keeping a consistent circular motion going while your mouth sucks on her neck. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel her whole body quivering.

It didn’t matter what pattern you did anymore, you just started rubbing her pussy as hard and fast as you could, pushing her to climax. You stood up straight while your hand worked, watching every movement she made. She released a high pitched squeal when her pussy released the first squirt of liquid. It flew across your apartment, drops of her juices squirting forcefully all over. You kept your hands in motion as she came. Her back was arching harder than you thought was humanly possible now, and her legs were uncontrollably vibrating.

She kept squirting, but the frequency started to slow down. Up down up down squirt, up down up down squirt. She was basically screaming as your hand moved back and forth across her pussy, invigorating the muscles in her lower body to spray all over. When she finally stopped jetting her nectar everywhere, you slowly slipped one finger back into her pussy.

She sobbed in pleasure as you very slowly slid back and forth inside her. She was so warm, and you could feel the insides of her pussy buzzing still as they burned your finger. After just a few soft thrusts, you removed your finger and her pussy released a final little gush onto the edge of the table, the pool of liquid slowly dripping onto the floor.

Chaewon turns her head to look at you, her eyes soaked from the intensity of her orgasm. “That was… worth… the wait…” she pants.

You bring the hand that wasn’t covered in her juices up to her face and wipe her eyes with your thumb. “You don’t think we’re done yet, do you?” you ask in a deep, sultry voice.

She starts to control her breathing. “What do you mean? We haven’t even started,” she whispers while reaching her hand over to your cock. She was a bit uncoordinated, probably still recovering from the mind-numbing orgasm she just had.

You push her wrist back and start walking back around the table until you are between her legs. “No need to waste time, I’ve waited way too long for this.”

The realization that you were about to fuck her must have revitalized her body since she swiftly lifted herself up with just her ab muscles so that she was sitting at the edge of the table with her legs spread around you. She put her hands on your shoulders, using them as support while you brought your rock-hard cock to her entrance. You lifted your shaft up and then let gravity slap it against her pussy. She gasps sharply, her body still extraordinarily sensitive. You slide your length up and down her folds, coating it in the excess of her wetness.

She didn’t want to wait longer, and you couldn’t wait longer. You brought your tip to her entrance and slowly started to push your tip inside her tight, drenched pussy. You stared as her lips spread for you, making room for your cock, expanding and conforming to your exact shape. The deeper you pushed, the harder her fingers pressed into your shoulders.

When you were about three quarters of the way inside her pussy, you paused and looked up at her. She had her eyes shut tight, her teeth clenched, and her breaths were like shivers as she got adjusted to your size. She was unbelievably tight, but you knew that she always took your cock like a champ.

“Chae Chae?”

She shakes her head, her eyes still shut tight. “Don’t talk,” she says breathily. “Just fuck me.”

All at the same time, you put your hands behind her back for support, you shove your lips against hers, and you push your cock all the way inside her. She lets out an intense but muffled scream into your mouth. You gave her just a second to get comfortable before you started to move your hips back and forth into her.

She was tight.

Her natural lube was your saving grace as your cock would have been stuck inside her forever otherwise. You moved in a smooth rhythm, a stark contrast to the extreme work your hand did just a couple of minutes ago. You wanted to bring her back up slowly, and based on her breathing it was working.

She was completely calm now, no more screams, just breathing, hard, into your mouth. Your hips went in and out of her pussy over and over and over and over. The tightness of her body was the best feeling in the world, and the taste of her mouth somehow made it even better. You kept one hand on the back of her neck while the other one slid down to her lower back, helping her stay upright.

The slow, methodical, loving style of thrusting was phenomenal, you could do this for the rest of your life, but as her breathing started to elevate, your animalistic instincts started to kick in. You moved your face back and Chaewon instinctually moved forward trying to continue the kiss. She opened her eyes finally and started smirking at you. She knew what was coming.

“Which wall?” she asks while her body recoils to every thrust of your hips.

You stop thrusting for a moment and rip your shirt off. “Not a wall.”

She tilts her head while staring at you, confused.

While still attached to her tight pussy by your cock, you pick her up off the table. She lets out a loud giggle in surprise before her hands move from your shoulders and wrap around your back, holding onto you for support. You walked over towards the glass door that led to your balcony and pushed her back against it.

She gasps, her open mouth smiling slightly while she stares at you in excitement. You slide your hands down to her ass so that you can hold her up properly while you lean forward, pressing her back completely against the glass so that anyone looking at your apartment could see the bare ass of Le Sserafim’s Chaewon.

“Won’t it break?”

You thrust your hips once into her body, hard. “I don’t care.”

She gasps sharply in pleasure again, and you start pumping her pussy. There was a slight rattle of the door every time your cock slammed into her, but you could barely hear it over her screams. She has lost control of herself again, and is now being very vocal. You slam into her again and again, feeling her pussy start leaking again.

This new position was exhausting, but your fatigue was erased by her screams and moans. Her voice was a beautiful contrast to the sound of your flesh slapping against her wetness. Every time your hips went forward, her entire body shook violently, and you could feel her pussy spraying juices all over your thighs.

You knew you couldn’t go for too much longer while holding her up, despite her being so light. Luckily after only a couple of minutes, Chaewon’s pussy suddenly started to burn up like an oven; It came out of nowhere, no gradual build up like last time. Her moans were immediately replaced by a high pitched scream as her pussy started gushing all over your cock. You felt her grip on your shoulders completely fail, her sweat-covered back slowly sliding down the glass window.

You put her down, her arms wrapped around your shoulders now for support while her body convulsed in pleasure. You just stood there, letting her cum freely onto the floor beneath her, providing the stability she needed to prevent her from crumpling to the floor. She pressed her face into your chest and moaned into your skin.

“You… you…” she pants before giving up.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you rubbed her lower back, feeling the slickness of her sweat. “Take all the time you need, we have all night,” you whisper before kissing the top of her head.

It wasn’t your intent, but she took it as a challenge. Pushing down on your shoulders, she lifts herself up and stands up straight. “I don’t need time,” she says with conviction, seductively gazing into your eyes. She takes a step back before quickly doing a little hop and scrunching up her face in discomfort. She stood there like a statue for a second, eyes shut.

You look down and burst out laughing. You saw she had stepped in a small puddle of her own mess and her sock was soaked.

“Shut up,” she says while angrily giggling and taking her socks off. “Just come fuck me again.”

You take a step towards her while stifling your own laughter. You could see her legs still trembling slightly even though she was standing up on her own. “If that’s what you want,” you say as you grab her ass.

She moves her mouth right in front of yours. “Yeah, that’s what I want,” she whispers.

Using her ass like a steering wheel, you turn her sideways and push down on her back so that she’s bent over the back of your sofa. With her ass sticking up, you crouch down behind her and place your hands on both of her ass cheeks. You spread them apart, feasting on the view of her dripping pussy. It was impressive how much this girl could release.

You stick your face forward and put her pussy in your mouth. You suck on her private bits the way you would suck on a slice of an orange. The tangy taste of her juices coating your mouth while her soft moans filled your ears. You give her one last, drawn-out kiss on her entrance before standing up behind her.

Chaewon looks back over her shoulder. “As hard as you want it,” she states. Her expression screamed that she meant it, and also that she could take it.

You grab the base of your cock and press your tip against her entrance. Then you place both your hands on her hips and press firmly into her pussy. She inhales sharply. You start moving your hips back and forth, making her ass ripple every time your thighs hit. She was still tight, but it was effortless thanks to all of her natural lube.

You pull your hips back as far as they can go while still being inside Chaewon’s pussy, and then you slam forward as hard as your body would allow. She screams your name out in pleasure. You pull back and do it again. This time she lets out a loud “Ah” before you pump her again.

You kept the motion, slow and hard. Your cock was throbbing at this point, all the built up pressure had you ready to explode. It was time, you started pumping her with the same power but a much quicker pace. Your hands squeezed her hips hard while your eyes were locked onto the sight of your cock disappearing inside of Chaewon’s pussy over and over. She had lifted her legs up and was balancing with her stomach on the backrest of the sofa while you plowed her.

“FILL ME UP!” she screams. “Please!”

It was the “please” that got you. You didn’t just get pushed over the edge, you flew over the edge at the sound of that. You pumped her as hard and fast as you could while your cock started exploding white goo deep inside her pussy. You could barely hear the moans as all your senses were being numbed by your climax.

You didn’t know what day it was. You didn’t even know your own name. All you knew was every single drop of cum that your body was willing to give was flying into Chaewon’s pussy. Your cock wouldn’t stop pulsing. It got to the point where you pushed yourself as deep as you could go inside her and just held yourself there while your cock throbbed your load inside her.

Eventually, by some act of god, your cock started to calm down. When you finally felt yourself finish pumping, you slowly withdrew yourself. Your body was spent, and you quickly found yourself sitting on the floor with your face level with Chaewon’s pussy. You watched as glob after glob of your seed dripped out of her lips, either plopping to the floor or sliding down the inside of her thighs.

“Holy shit,” you pant. You knew there was a lot based on how much you filled her up, but you were in shock at just how much cum was dripping out. “We should… get… cleaned up…” you say between breaths.

Chaewon lets out a long moan while reaching between her legs and rubbing her pussy. You thought all your sperm had leaked out, but when she touched her lips another fresh glob spilled to the ground.

“Yeah,” she giggles. “I feel a bit messy.”

You muster up the strength to stand back up. You help Chaewon stand up straight as she turns around to face you.

“Was it worth the wait?” she asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

You lean down and tilt your head to kiss her passionately on the lips.

“Definitely.”

The two of you walk to your bedroom. You could feel your legs giving way, so you quickly sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Tired?” Chaewon giggles while removing her top. Her cute tits finally freed from the crop top she was wearing.

“I guess I didn’t really feel it while we were… you know,” you answer while staring at her fully nude body.

She gives you a look and shakes her head. “After all that, why is your body still ready to go?” she asks while gesturing to your crotch.

You look down to see your cock standing up straight, completely drenched in a mixture of your cum and Chaewon’s juices. You lean back on the bed laughing and close your eyes, resting for a second. “You’re standing there naked in front of me and wondering why I’m hard.”

There was no response, and after a couple of seconds you opened your eyes. Just as you opened them, you felt a sensation run all the way up your spine, making you lurch forward into a sitting position.

“Ch-chae chae please,” you gasp while watching the adorable girl fill her mouth with your cock. “You don’t-”

She puts a finger against your lips. She slides her lips up your cock, towards the tip, and holds her head steady. Her tongue starts licking all over your tip, and you felt a little bit of your cum leak out. She releases your cock gently, letting her lips slide off slowly.

“You worked so hard,” she says casually while using her hands to toy with your balls. “Now it’s my turn to work hard.”

“You really don’t ha-”

“Shut up,” she hisses. “If you don’t stop talking, I’m going to shove my cum-soaked sock in your mouth.” She starts slowly and gently pumping your cock with one hand while her other hand pushes on your chest, making you lay back down. She gets up off her knees and straddles your lower body, lining her pussy up with your cock. “Do you really want me to stop?” she asks softly while staring into your eyes.

Without speaking, you shake your head.

She smiles warmly at you before letting her body slowly fall onto your cock. The two of you exhale slowly in unison while she lowers her body until she is all the way down to your base. She leans forward and places her hands on your chest, her arms pushing her tits together in front of you.

With the utmost control, she starts moving her hips up and down on your cock slowly. She somehow kept the rest of her body still while only her hips were moving. All those years of dance practice gave her impeccable body control. She starts adding a forward and backwards motion to her riding, now stimulating your cock in multiple ways.

You couldn’t help but moan as you lay there, never breaking eye contact with the adorable and sexy Kim Chaewon. Her gaze was making you lose your mind. Despite having such an intense orgasm just a couple of minutes ago, you already felt your body accepting what was to come.

Chaewon pauses her movements for a second and reaches down to grab your hands. She places them on her hips before returning to the same position as before, squeezing her tits together a bit harder. Then she returned to her hip movement, but now she was really showing off. She had started to swirl her hips in circles, somehow keeping a rhythm while doing this new move.

Kpop idols were special was the last thought that went through your mind before you fell into a trance. A trance of pure addiction for Chaewon’s body. Sensations took over, you were just there for the ride at this point, having no control over anything. You couldn’t make her stop even if you wanted to at this point.

Your heart rate was higher than ever tonight and your breathing was starting to match it. While Chaewon kept spinning her hips on your throbbing manhood, you started to feel her get tighter. The tighter she got, the closer you got, until the point when her pussy started to squeeze down.

Pleasure started to overwhelm Chaewon, but despite that she managed to continue riding your cock at the same pace. She also managed to keep eye contact, her gaze never once left your face. As her pussy squeezed down on your cock, you also felt your orgasm coming.

You let it happen, there was no attempt to delay or to force it, you just let your body react naturally to whatever Chaewon’s body was doing. This time, as your cock started to pulse, it was different. You weren’t just filling her up, you were painting a beautiful mural inside her. Your pumps were matching her movements, propelling your cum into her pussy not with force, but with love.

It was probably the most tender orgasm you have ever had with Chaewon before. Your cock calmed down naturally, without any struggle. You let your hands slide off her hips and fall onto the bed. Just as your hands hit the mattress, Chaewon fell forward onto your body. She planted the most tender and soft kiss imaginable on your lips before staring into your eyes.

“You finished right?” she asked while trying to catch her breath.

You smile up at her. “I did.” “Thank fucking God,” she pants. “I don’t think I could have lasted any longer,” she gasps before collapsing on your body, winding you slightly as her face lands on your chest.

“I love you,” she whispers quietly.

You kiss the top of her head. “I love you, too.”

She breathes softly against your body while you rub her back.

“Ready to go again?” she asks.

Your hand freezes.

“A-Are you serious?”

She starts giggling before standing up and walking to the bathroom.

–

While Chaewon showered, you got dinner ready. Luckily, none of it was going to take too long since you already prepped everything earlier in the day. While the water boiled, you quickly wiped down the dining table. After plating a few side dishes, you return to the kitchen to finish up the kimchi-jjigae and start cooking the meat. Right when you’re finishing up, Chaewon comes down the stairs wearing one of your sweaters and nothing else. It was just big enough to cover her, but small enough to expose her legs entirely.

“Wow it smells so good,” she remarks. She looks around the room and her cheeks turn bright red. “Did I…”

You bring the pot over and set it on the table before pulling Chaewon into a hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up later.”

She was still blushing as she sat down at the table. “Sorry, I can help clean up.”

“Sweetheart, dinner first, worry about other stuff later.”

She nods cutely and her expression changes to excitement as she observes all the food in front of her. “This looks amazing, we haven’t had many home-cooked meals lately.”

You smile at her. “Well, then start eating.”

The two of you finished eating in relative silence. It seemed both of you needed the energy back after your session. Chaewon was checking her phone.

“Looks like they wanna go swimming tomorrow,” she says while dipping a spoonful of rice into her stew. “You’re coming right?”

“Sure, it should be fun,” you answer. “Hey, I wanted to tell you something.”

She looks up from her phone with a curious expression, her mouth full of rice. “Hm?”

“Last night, Sakura and I…”

She squints her eyes a bit, but doesn’t say anything.

“Actually, nevermind, it’s nothing.”

Chaewon grabs your hand. “Sakura and you what?” she asks directly.

You squeeze her hand back. “Really, nothing happened. We were just talking a bit, that’s all.”

She lets go of your hand and crosses her arms. “Why did you feel the need to specially mention that the two of you were talking? You guys talk all the time.”

You look down at your bowl, twiddling with your spoon.

“I trust you, but I just want you to be honest with me. If something happened, you can tell me, I won’t hold it against you as long as you tell me.”

You look up at her. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. “Alright, it’s just we were talking and I was sorta reminded of our past. Nothing happened though, I just… I just thought I should let you know.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, of course I do,” you reply immediately, slightly taken aback by her sudden question.

“Do you promise you’re telling me the truth when you say nothing happened?”

“Yes, I promise.”

She sighs. “Then there is absolutely nothing you need to be worried about. I trust you, why would you ever feel like you needed to hide something like this?”

“I just… I don’t know.”

She smiles softly at you. “You’re allowed to still have feelings for her, I can’t tell you how you should or shouldn’t feel, but if you do start having feelings for her you have to tell me.”

You nod understandingly as you watch her pick up a piece of meat.

“When you said you don’t mind if I fool around with the other members, is that still an option?” you ask.

She stops chewing and stares at you for a second before continuing her chewing. She finishes the bite before answering.

“Yeah.”

“Is… Sakura included?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face was unreadable right now.

“Yeah.”

“I see, I was just curious.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m not joking when I say you can fool around, but I would have been a little bit upset if you asked right now after what we just did.”

“Wait, really? I was going to drop you off at home and bring Kazuha back here though.”

She hits your arm. “Yah! That’s not funny!”

--

A/N:

Whew this update came out like a day after the last one? Gotta say this comeback has me on a real Le Sserafim high. Thank you so much to the people leaving comments (I see you Sakura curious people). The story is most likely going to get very, very spicy soon. Just wanna say, I love the group and all the members, I am sorry if any sad moments happen in this story, it's all for fun!

[seven-meds]

Hi!

I love your art and I am extremely enamored by the beauty of your writing !

That being said, I am an artist as well and I feel like I have been stuck in a creative rut and I don’t know how to get to out ? Do you have an advice on breaking out of the hole and as well do you suggest drawing everyday as a method to keep up with skill?

Thank you so much <3

Thanks so much! I considered this for a while. Giving artistic advice, whether broad or targeted, is always difficult. It's too nebulous of a process for rules but everyone still has such a strong opinion on what the rules should be. 

In my experience, lulls are beneficial when seen from the correct perspective and then taken advantage of. Endless production is antithetical to all art that is not corporate in nature, and lack of inspiration means you will benefit from something often overlooked: new experiences and engagement with new things. Though if you do want to feel productive, take a sketchbook and a pen to a public area and draw what you see for an hour or two. You likely won't be inspired but you will feel accomplished.

Historically, artists took extended periods of time away from creating in order to experience life and take in the world, its people, and themselves. Not always willingly; some were torn away and sent to war, fled their homeland, or were imprisoned, enslaved, or institutionalized. And there are those who spent long periods of time bedridden by illness or injury. But whether their experiences were gained by choice, by force, or by nature, their time away from art is what ended up shaping what they made. Drawing in isolation will sharpen a skill, but it's through repeated use of that skill to translate your experiences that your art improves.

An artist's goal is communication first and foremost. This is why drawing daily on its own cannot make anyone a better artist. It will eventually lead toward some sort of technical prowess, but technical prowess with no voice is fairly pointless and very dull. Ideally, the development of voice will precede the development of technical skill and the two become honed in tandem. What you want to say should define what you need to learn. If you are developing an understanding of your own intentions then you are already a step ahead of the artist who is focusing solely on their ability to draw a head from every angle. 

It's beneficial to conceptualize art as a series of choices rather than a display of objective prowess. The more experiences you have and the more educated you are, the more sophisticated your choices become. You'll also find that you're able to analyze and appreciate (or criticize) the choices of other artists, increasing the enjoyment of engaging with art as a whole. You'll then be led toward more complex and unique work as you become bored with things that salivate over their own palatability. You may also find that art you've passed over before suddenly begins to speak to you.

Spend time exposing yourself to new art, ideally from large swathes of eras, places, and forms, including art that communicates things uncomfortable, disturbing, or offensive to you. Delve into the history of the artists and works you enjoy (or hate) in order to fully understand what's being said and why. If you currently find yourself interacting solely with contemporary art delivered largely via algorithm or advertisement that elicits feelings of familiarity and comfort, you should recognize that as a limitation. You are certainly free to work within it, but you will stumble into inspiration more quickly through exposure to different ideas.

It's also a good time to interact with others, if possible (even from a distance), and to look into topics completely divorced from art. Enrich yourself in many ways. The world is so vast and full of so much. What can you experience and learn that will make you yearn to communicate again? 

Try not to waste years studying aimlessly. Develop an interest, a concept, an idea, an experience, and then work toward communicating it effectively. You will learn as you develop new pieces (because you will put effort and energy into targeted research and study), and those pieces will become more complex in both substance and technique. 

Good luck!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Let's get Steven some therapy! After Miki's death someone tells the Therapist!reader, that Steven's not doing so well, so they ask him to come by and talk to them. After talking with him for a while the reader pairs him with a traumatized Wigglytuff (DISABLED) and the two end up helping each other get over their respective traumas.

Hell yeah therapy time

........

"Hello, Steven. I'm Dr. [L/n], Kanto's therapist for people and Pokémon alike." You greeted as you walked into the room. Sitting down in the chair near the couch where your new patient was, you looked at him with a polite smile. “But I’m not crazy about formalities, so you can just call me [y/n].”

Steven didn't answer. 

All he did was just...stare down at the floor; with his hat and long hair obscuring his face, you weren't sure what expression he held, but his posture told you enough.

You didn’t take it as rude at all. You’ve had other patients behave similarly during their first sessions.

"I appreciate you responding to my letter and coming in today. I know it must’ve been hard, but..they say that wanting help is a good first step towards progress. For a lot of people, it’s tough to overcome that." You tried to start with optimism, though nothing about his demeanor changed--as expected.

For the next few minutes or so, he remained silent. You just jotted down some notes and questions to ask him, debating on whether you’ll use this first meeting as a way to get to know him (not that you didn’t already) or if he wanted to get into the topic of why he was here.

That being...the sudden death of his Charizard and lifelong companion after a freak accident with a faulty trading machine. It happened a few weeks ago, but obviously he was struggling to cope with the fact that she--his precious Miki--was gone forever

A Pokémon passing away from age or natural causes was one thing, but this was something completely unheard of until now. Nobody even thought it was even possible for one to die mid-trade. 

But since then, trading in Kanto has been banned for the time being until every machine in the region had a thorough inspection done.

You knew Steven could not have been doing well, especially knowing he was the champion who endured the toughest of battles with Miki by his side.

Who would’ve thought something regarded as totally safe would be her sudden end?

Yesterday, a concerned member of the Elite Four informed you of his sudden change in habits. He apparently surrendered all of his badges, money, and Pokémon to whomever was willing to take them--essentially throwing away everything he worked for.

Usually people who gave away their prized possessions were either leaving Kanto to start a new life....or had some kind of “plan” for themselves.

That was incredibly concerning, so you sent him a PM on his computer, hoping he’ll see it. You also had your messenger Pidgeot deliver a letter just in case, telling him to come see you for a session free of charge.

Steven himself didn’t like the idea of therapy too much, but given how concerned everybody was for his mental state, he decided it was worth a try and responded to your message, scheduling an appointment.

Though now that he finally showed up, he found himself sitting in silence..and shame. It felt pointless to come here when he had so much on his mind and wondered if you could truly help him.

Not to mention how pathetic it was for him, the most famous person in all of Kanto, to hit rock bottom with nowhere else to turn except here.

You could be helping a Cubone cope with the loss of its parent instead. He was just a lost cause.

As you were about to ask Steven some basic introductory questions, you heard a very quiet murmur and perked up, wondering what he said. “What’s up, Steven?”

“..I-I’m sorry, doc..”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I just..I-I can’t do this. Not today.” He abruptly stood up, pushing the bill of his hat over his eyes as he headed towards the door. “I’ll be okay. Really. I’m just wasting your time-”

“Steven, you’re not wasting my time at all...and I know you’re far from okay.” You frowned slightly, though you noticed he was hesitating to leave right away. “I can’t stop you from walking out, but I truly do wanna help you through this. I know in your heart that you want to be here, don’t you?”

With his hand resting on the doorknob, he glanced back at you. Now that you could properly see his face, you also saw his red eyes--exhausted, puffy, and teary. 

"...I just..I haven’t talked to anyone in weeks. It’s so hard...knowing they all once saw you as this great champion, only to let them down...and make them pity you.” He spat the word out.

“Champion or not, that doesn’t factor into how I treat people. You’re okay here.” You reassured him softly, praying that he’ll stay. “This is a safe space, you don’t have to hide anything. If you only wanna have one session, that’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with. But please..at least give this a chance.”

After having a long internal battle with himself, he decided to return to the couch, removing his hat. He sighed shakily and buried his hands in his hair, taking a few moments to think of what he wanted to say.

“There’s no rush.” You reminded. “Just take your time, okay?”

“I..feel so pathetic. Can’t even get through a damn sentence without.....” He choked back tears as he stopped, before laughing sorrowfully. “Fuck, I’m sorry [y/n]. I just..miss her a lot, y’know? Just thinking about her hurts.”

Your heart ached for him, knowing he's kept so much of this pain and suffering inside..and for him to break down during the first session showed he needed a release badly.

"I know she misses you, too. And she’ll always love you, Steven..that’s a fact. Nothing could sever the bond you two share.”

Sniffling, Steven managed to calm down a little bit, laying back on the couch to get more comfortable. He heard your pen scribbling against a paper--but he was grateful to know you weren’t some emotionless therapist who did nothing but that the entire time.

You cared. Truly, you cared for him.

“W-We..did have a lot of good times.” He spoke after a minute or two, already looking a bit more relaxed than he did before. “It feels like only yesterday when she was...a feisty little Charmander.”

‘Hm, that seems like a good place to start. Talking about the incident might be too heavy for a first session.’  You thought, jotting down a quick notation before responding to him.

“If I may ask, what made you choose her over a Bulbasaur and Squirtle?”

“Well......”

........

A month or so had passed since Steven became a regular client at your office, coming in to talk about the incident or update you on the coping mechanisms you've suggested for him. He wasn't taking all of your advice, but some was better than none.

Obviously, he still held a lot of resentment towards Mike--though he was more overwhelmed by his own guilt, believing he should've been more stubborn when his brother begged him to lend Miki over temporarily. 

He confessed to having intrusive thoughts about strangling him, but insists he refused to act on them.

Of course it’s easier to blame a person than a faulty machine, but with time he learned to let go of some of the anger, coming to understand that Mike didn’t tamper with it in any way.

It was simply a tragic accident that never should have happened. Through no fault but a technical error. Not even a psychic Pokémon could’ve predicted that going wrong.

Ever since making that leap--and talking more about the good times with Miki--Steven had made good progress. You were able to tell it affected the people around him while going into town on your day off; you overheard some folks say how he looked better, and how he was even talking to his friends, Daisy, and Mike again. 

It made you smile, knowing you’re helping him come out of such a dark place little by little.

During sessions, he no longer stayed silent for long periods or have as many breakdowns, though of course he was still extremely depressed over the situation. It’s not something that would magically go away.

He didn’t want any of his badges back despite being offered them, and he never attempted to care for another Pokémon or even catch one. Considering his guilt in letting go of his last team, he didn’t think he deserved any.

Since that was weighing heavily on him, you had a plan.

It’s a strategy that you’ve been using for years to help people cope with the loss of their Pokémon, and Pokémon who lost their trainers through death or abandonment--by bringing them together in a way that helps them heal in each other’s presence. 

In the last session you explained this method and its high success rate to Steven, but he immediately got defensive, assuming you were trying to get him to replace Miki. 

That was far from the truth, you reassured him. It took a lot of convincing, but he eventually agreed to it under the condition that the Pokémon wasn’t anything along Charmander’s evolution line.

You had a particularly unique one for him, believing that they’ll be a good match for each other once he hears her story.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be intimidated by her appearance like past trainers were.

.........

"Steven, this is DISABLED, a level 26 Wigglytuff. But I usually call her “Dee”."

"....huh?" Steven was confused by the odd name, looking at the Wigglytuff you brought into the room. 

Immediately he was taken aback by the haunted expression on her face. Not to mention her dark fur, red eyes, and wounds on her back and ear....plus her mouth seemed heavily scarred as well.

It looks like she went through hell and back.

You noticed his alarmed look and gently pet DISABLED’s head. "Don’t worry, she’s completely harmless. She’s been my patient for about a year.”

His eyes remained wide, although he relaxed his shoulders. “Oh, so um..what’s her story?”

“I just wanted to SING...”

The raspy ethereal voice she emitted slightly startled him. ‘This one can speak..? That’s rare..’

“She lost the vocal cords Jigglypuffs and Wigglytuffs use for their SING ability.” You explained. “We don’t know how or why since we’re still trying to track down her original owner. But she was reported scaring the local Ponyta population away from their usual habitats. And then she just...showed up here one day, looking for help.”

DISABLED glanced up at you, pointing to Steven. “Can I have his SING?”

“No. Remember what we talked about, Dee?”

“...people don’t have SING.”

“Correct. Good job.” Smiling, you knelt down and fed her a berry, which immediately made her chirp in happiness. Then she hobbled over to the couch, taking a seat on the opposite end of the man. He was surprised that you were able to turn her mood around just like that.

If only it were that easy--if only food could solve all of his problems.

You stood up and returned to your chair. “She used to be hostile to trainers, but she’s been making good progress. As for her move set, she can only do Struggle. For some reason, she can’t use any others even if she wants to. It might have something to do with her past trauma, so I’ve been trying to show her how she can be helpful in other ways.”

“[Y/n] helped me feel better, but...I still miss my SING.” She pouted.

“I know how you feel,” Steven remarked, looking at her in sadness. No longer did he fear this strange Wigglytuff, but instead came to realize that they may have more in common than he thought. “I lost something important to me, too..”

“And that’s why I brought you two together.” You nodded. “I believe Dee needs someone like you, a good and loving trainer, to give her confidence in using her abilities again...and you’ll gain a friend who’ll look after you. She agreed to this, though you have the final say, Steven.”

He was quiet for a bit, before looking back at you. “You trust me? Because..you know I gave up on my own Pokémon-”

“You weren’t in the best state of mind to care for them, and I’m sure they understood that.” You pointed out. “But if this doesn’t work out, it’s okay. We’ll just try something else.”

After a few moments longer, he decided to try out your method and work with DISABLED. Maybe she could be the one to help him through his pain, too.

“Alright.” He turned to her with a small smile, slowly putting his hand out. She seemed surprised, though the look on his face put her at ease, knowing he wasn’t scared. “I’ll be your trainer, Dee. Just..don’t steal my “SING” ‘cuz I don’t have that. Okay?”

Nodding silently, she reached out to shake his hand, managing to smile back. She was happy to find someone after being with you for so long, hoping for a better trainer.

Seeing that they were both ready for this, you also smiled and jotted down some notes in your book:

You’re eager to see how things will go for them.

[latenightgasstationwalk]

get this.

So, ever since my first day at school, I had been searching for an exit, I knew that the atmosphere and environment of any given classroom was simply not one I would excel or even coast in. Realizing at a very young age, that I was simply not built in a way where a typical, classroom setting education was even a possibility, I had an insane feeling overwhelm me when I’d think about the fact that this would be my life for the next 11 years. Which was more time than I had even been alive. And I had acknowledged, faced and overcame this reality YEARS before any adult in my life was even ready address it.

School was hell for me. Burning hot in my seat never able to sit still, fidgeting constantly and being made to feel a freak because of compulsions I could not control. All while completely incapable of making any lasting connections with kids my age because, to call my social skills “stunted” would be a lie, they did not exist. I was entirely on my own in this ever shrinking mental box of locked down possibilities. And the only release I could find at any given day, at any given time, was to act out in a way that I knew would provoke authority figures so that I could be removed from the class space. So that’s what I did, and I chased that feeling from age like 4 to 16. Always LOOKING for an opportunity to do something not only against the rules, but stuff that would make people invent new rules around my terrible actions, because the worse it was - the more likely I’d be removed from class. I never did anything to other students or teachers really (other than talk back and be a dick in general) I’d just do dumb, annoying Shit, and disrupt class. Not for attention or any reason other than I’d much rather light my entire body on fire than sit silently in a classroom

Fast forward to middle school I got expelled like 2 weeks before the end of 8th grade and sent to the kid jail I’ve talked about on here before, where I would spend the next 2 years, from the kid jail I went to an alternative high school. Needless to say things only got worse. I loved breaking rules. I learned very early on how easy it was to get away with stuff you shouldn’t do. But also how to reap the benefits of intentional misbehavior.

To this day, I am the only person I know who has been asked to stop coming to school, Like formally requested. Like “I can’t stop you from showing up, but this is pointless and a waste of everyone’s time, so maybe just don’t come back?“ and I was like r u srs??? Best walk home of my fucking life. I felt free for the first time since school started. Little did I know I was trading one prison for another. Complete with its own unique horrors and expectations. A prison called WORK.

Trying to break out of this one is next to impossible. I’ve been at it for years. While simple in theory, they’ve got a unique approach to this particular captive space, there’s actually a tangible reward for going.

A paycheck. Which if you aren’t aware, is a little rectangular piece paper that you take to a dystopian building in order to redeem the fruits of your labor, an arbitrary number that equates to your value as a human. The most difficult part of all of this is the fact that without increasing this number, you can’t eat or fund any kind of shelter to live in, so I’ve been sticking too it and biding my time trying to find cracks in the system, but they’ve got a pretty air tight hold on things as it turns out.

Getting the house, food, security and daily comfort without the currency stuff, that we insist on making so much more important than it is in practice, is almost impossible. It almost feels like it’s set up that way intentionally. Like they make it so you have to produce something of value to a person who makes waaaaaay more of those currency numbers than you do, just to live a somewhat decent life.

Not to mention the fact that if the slightest possible thing goes wrong, weather it be medical, financial or a family emergency, you’re more than likely fucked 10 ways to Sunday because no one has more than $20 the day before pay day. Add that to the fact that a huge portion of all your earnings get taken by the “government” whatever the fuck that is, which they use to commit atrocities around the globe, and if you don’t like it and don’t want to give them that money, they will put you in an actual prison, which from what I’ve heard, sucks.

I’ve considered diving into the freedom of not having one of these annoying ass jobs but prior to doing so I decided to prospect the lifestyle and talk to some people who were experts in not having them. And life is like, insanely hard for them, in ways I don’t think I could cope with. So when I decided that wasn’t an option I started looking at the people doing the job work stuff really well and tried to study their tactics. Turns out, it’s not all that hard to “climb the ladder” or whatever the fuck they call it. In fact most times just having good attendance will find you thrusted into a position of power that you didn’t even want. But the thing is, the only way to get more paper money stuff is almost always to take advantage of someone with less than you. I learned in practice, that I morally just cant do that.

So now I’m at a job where I work with a very small number of people, work with my hands silently and with no opportunities for advancement, only very thinly veiled pay bumps that are always an insult to the amount of work I actually do. And I must grovel to obtain them. All while working for a billionaire who owns multiple vacation homes that are probably bigger than the entire square footage of any apartment complex I’ve had the privilege of renting a one bedroom in. And now I live in a 10x7 room with my grandma, because even the apartment became too much to maintain financially.

And this is where I’m at until I figure out how to get out. Hiding a scowl with a smile. Sharpening knives in the dark. Waiting for the day I can lash out at whoever put us here. The moment I get shed my skin and expose my true nature to those who’ve wronged me. Waiting for the moment I get to bleed my oppressor. And I hope you get to do the same to yours.

💕Thanks for reading💕

[vault76]

here is my contribution for @officialtolkiensecretsanta !! it is for @maglorslostsilmaril !!

I really hope you like it, I had so much fun writing it and it challenged me in a way I haven’t been in a long time. I would be sinning if I didn’t also thank @adanedhel for his amazing suggestions, support, and editing.

Happy Holidays!

“My first composition is finally done, Father,” Elrond announced, producing his lyre and playing its entirety to Maglor who gave his son his undivided attention. It was an absolutely beautiful piece that captured the skill of its composer and even gave attention to the acoustics of the room where the performance was being given. When finally the piece was complete, Maglor allowed his tears to flow and embraced his son as his own father once had upon hearing his first piece. After a moment to collect himself, Maglor finally spoke.

“My son, you have created something out of nothing which is an act of the Gods. I am proud of you and I have always been. However,” when he paused, Elrond raised a perfect eyebrow, “this may be your first solo composition, but it is not the first thing you have ever composed. Allow me to tell you a story…” 

--

Light blooming through the stained glass window danced in blue, green, and red across the strings of Maglor’s harp as his fingers plucked them one at a time, letting them resonate through the room one at a time before sighing and trying another note. It had been months since he had last attempted the exercise and that one ended much the same -- with disappointment, self-loathing, and a bad mood when it had been meant to lift his spirits and invoke a sense of pride and accomplishment for art well-made. 

Coming from artists, such as his father who demanded perfection from himself as well as his children, made Maglor even more frustrated with the next note that, while beautiful and harmonious as any G that had ever been plucked, it felt like another pointless waste of time. 

As he moved to get up from the stool on which he sat, Elrond and Elros toddled into view with curious eyes. It was about the end of the twins’ regularly scheduled afternoon naps, and they had both been more and more curious about the goings-on in the music room. Feeling his heart elevate from the sight of his young sons, Maglor remained seated and watched.

It was Elrond whose tiny fingers reached up for the strings first, very gently, too gently to create much sound at all. Elros was a bit more adventurous with his little hands but still so gentle. Maglor watched them with a mix of curiosity and discomfort, as he was concerned that their little hands could throw the instrument out of tune or worse yet, their soft fingers could get cut on the strings. 

Deciding that enough was enough, Maglor did rise from his seat to collect his sons. As he did, Elrond strummed a chord that made Maglor pause. He glanced down at his son who was giggling and continuing on, and carefully guided both children away from his harp, but not before playing the chord himself and feeling the wheels of inspiration turn.

--

Maglor sat again in the music room, playing the chord again. He had found that it wouldn’t leave his thoughts and had inspired a completely new composition. It came to him more and more as he practiced, allowing himself a more trial-and-error approach versus striving for perfection in one take. Soon enough he was fully in the moment with his fingers fast on the strings and pleased with the progress he had made. It was played again and again, each time a more perfect version showed itself. 

It slowly became a family affair. Elrond wanted to help more after recognizing his contribution -- he was given a triangle to add where he felt appropriate. Elros was certainly also included as he had the task of handling the tambourine. Both took on their roles with absolute delight. What was first a very fun game soon was handled with the utmost of seriousness for the two small children -- Elrond did not have to be instructed where to add in his triangle, and Elros was given a percussive solo with his tambourine. Instead of an afternoon nap, the children asked for their instruments. It was a point of great pride for Maglor to be able to pass on his love for music and poetry to his sons. 

--

“... and so you see, my son, it was you who gave me that spark of inspiration to continue to create. If I inspired you, it is because you inspired me all those years ago. I do not see that composition as mine; I see it as ours. And, it goes without saying, that you and your brother are my most valued compositions of all. I may not be your sire but you are my son, and every breath of mine is spent loving you.”

[paixarina]

Bittersweet

: ̗̀➛ Yeon Dongha Oneshot

"something that once tastes good before is not the same now like it used to"

Dongha gulps with a nervous look on his face.

He tried to stay calm, but the amount of disappointment he holds has reached its limit. What a waste of talent and ambition, he thought.

Despite this, he looks pretty exhausted, with a gloom on his emerald eyes, the loss of his usual entitled, arrogant and superior self, he seems like he has lost any hope at this moment.

"What was Dongha worry about actually?"

Turns out, Dongha was worried after looking at the vote result that he got from his group battle with BAE, his supposed rival or enemy, that he no longer sees as that, but instead another person that he looks up for as important public figures to take note. The vote result is shown how BAE still gets so much support, while his own team, AMPRULE, are yet on the way to pass them.

Dongha still remembers how pissed he was that none of them know his older half-brother's life well. Even he despises Hajun, part of him still wanted to be recognized, which is a younger sibling's instinct, a brotherly love, something that he never got since he was a little kid back then.

He just sighed, instead of wrath and grudge in his heart, he decided to accept his fate. Well, at least he tried his best to win the battle while acknowledging his fans for supporting him and viewing them as they have done their own good to side with AMPRULE.

If AMPRULE wins, that's good for him and his butler, but if AMPRULE loses, he will still accept it respectfully, no matter how hurtful and bitter the truth is.

Because ever since he meets BAE members, he does not antagonize them anymore. Instead, he felt like they are part of the family, even they are just here as guests, especially Hajun.

Now, Dongha started to see the battle as nothing but completely pointless. His hatred to Hajun seems a little bit decreased than before. He lost his own ambition, he lost his arrogance, he feels like the battle is testing his deteriorated self-esteem.

He is now spiralling into his own inner conflict, wondering why he hates Hajun so much in the first place while keeping his unhealthy, hateful obsession to destroy him, as like he needs some attention from him.

It was his father that constantly puts Hajun on a pedestal that caused Dongha to despise him. His father should be the fault, yet unfortunately, Dongha was too blind to accept the truth and now, he was forced to taste his own medicine.

"What's the point for the battle now this time?"

"How could I didn't have a chance to come for reconciliation with Hajun?"

"How could I just realize that my father has brainwashed me to hate Hajun? How could I looked up a man who had thrown away my older half-brother that I tend to call him a mongrel?"

"True Pride? What a joke of the battle song..."

"Bocchama...?"

A soft, worried voice woke Dongha up, it came from none than his faithful butler, Chungsung, who were concerned about how depressed Dongha is, after the battle and their potential loss of their team.

"Ah, Chungsung? Sorry for making you worried, I just got overslept....." Dongha stretched his arm while yawns after his sleep. It seems like he overthinks so much that he ended up falls to sleep at his desk for being tired mentally and physically.

"Bocchama... I hate to say this because it sounds like I will offend you... it seems like we lost from BAE. They are too strong to against us, while we are still left behind to defeat them. Maybe it's my own fault for not making our music very well as them..." Chungsung vents with a sad, disappointed tone.

Dongha just sighed.

"Bocchama... as an apology for not making you a winner in this round, I would like to beg you for the punishment... to show how foolish I am for making you feel ashamed of yourself after this... I feel like I deserved to be beaten up for not being able to fulfill your wishes–"

"–No, that's completely fine."

The butler's words got cut up, as Dongha stops him and sighed. Then, he decided to speak his own feeling with a benevolent tone, instead of furious tone like usual.

"... I will still gonna accept our defeat. I won't punish you at this moment. Instead, I would appreciate your hard work and effort at composing our track for the battle. We may lose and in this close to get eliminated, but at least those who follows AMPRULE are still doing their best to support us."

Chungsung went surprised that the young master didn't punish him. Instead, he gave a compliment as a reward to appreciate his work. Not a punishment, not a torture hell, not using things to hit him up, just an entire rambling about how much he cares for those who have supported AMPRULE.

This is... completely unusual for the young master to give such a mature comment of his defeat.

Chungsung expected that the young master would throw a fit or blaming him for not making him a winner. But here instead, he just didn't care that AMPRULE got defeated, as long as those who supported him are still able to do so, then it's fine.

"I will look forward for the result we got, even though we are this close to be defeated, it does not mean that we are gonna quit. We still have so many plans to do to dominate the world with our music. This is not the end for AMPRULE, we still have the ways to go to be a winner."

Dongha keeps rambling with a more mature tone, which sounds odd and completely off from his usual personality. It seems like he started to be more tolerant to the result.

"Even BAE is our opponent, to me, they deserved the win. We could be them if another battle started again. At least, we still have those who bow down on their knees to support us. As long as they're still able to, I still can dominate the world."

"B-Bocchama......"

Chungsung got moved and teared up by the young master's words that he has to wipe his tears with a handkerchief. Young master acted so wisely today, it's so surprising and unusual than before, he thought. Later, he stands up after kneeling for too long, which where he supposed to let himself get punished, but, fate says otherwise, he did not receive a painful reward on this day.

At least, he didn't have to face his young master's wrath like usual day, but instead, a sad but gentle face welcomed him.

"Ah, Bocchama, for my apologies, I have to leave your room this time, I have other things to do now..." Chungsung allows himself to leave his young master's room, after checking the time on his phone.

"Sure, go ahead." Dongha said with a gentle tone, while nodding his head slowly as a sign of agreement. Ordinarily, he always snaps at his butler to get out after the punishment was over, however, at this time, it feels different.

As Chungsung closes the door, Dongha walks and stares at the Hajun picture that hanged on his room's wall, picked it off and rubbing it gently, to wipe it off from the dust.

Later, a warm, gentle smile shown on Dongha's face, while holding the Hajun picture, then, he whispers a word that's coming as unexpected from his mouth.

"Congrats, Hajun-hyung... for your victory"

[hopeididntscareyou]

Japan's criminal justice system is a complete joke. They all got away with it like they just did it for the lulz. Thats why personally I'm not really a big fan of law enforcements and the law doesn't scare me either. Honestly, If somebody were to hurt my loved ones like they did on Junko Furuta, I would take the justice in my own hands. I wouldnt wait for police or the court of law because theyre not gonna do shit. The anger and the fury inside me is enough to kill them back, of course giving them the same slow and painful death. Quick death is never an option. I`m sorry, but pain has to be repaid with pain for people to really understand it. I said this before here and im going to say this again. i'm always been a revenge person. I find that when i try to "forgive" i just end up subsconsciously hold this grudge in me that just keeps on growing and is making the situation worse. I feel like its more about power kind of thing, and as human beings we all have these instincts and innate desires that can go out of control. Like they said balance is the key, but theres no balance when theres injustice. its not fair

Tbh i dont know why im wasting my time writing this shit. I have to memorize a total of 6 pages for a certification test i'll be taking for work tomorrow. Speaking of work i'm starting to get burned out of going to work. Its mainly because there are people from work that drains me so much because i find them too clingy. Honestly its always like these wherever I work, my coworkers would always want to be BFFs with me and peer pressuring me to spend even more time with them outside work despite the fact that i already spend my time with them more than 40 hours of my life every week. I'd like to have good relationships with my coworkers but i dont want them to be all up on my face 24/7. Also most of my coworkers now are men, so they are just trying to make a move on me and its making me cringe. I have been more dismissive avoidant to most people and i do acknowledge that it may be a problem but i cant just imagine to be anything else right now. I just have no room for people to be close to me right now. I have stopped making efforts into maintaining old friendships and it didnt have negative impact on my credit score whatsoever. I dont even feel offended by the fact that they dont ever reach out either. I just hope that if i was ever kidnapped, raped, tortured and murdered like Junko, they wouldnt be crying on my grave pretending i was the bestest friend and shit. People are so hypocrite and too deluded to believe their idealization shit that are far from reality but really its just all about themselves. Its natural so i dont see it as anything disturbing. Its just amusing to me that there are some new people wishing i give them more attention and then there are some people i generously gave my attention to out of respect as ppl who i have known for a long time, however i dont feel like they are returning the same respect to me thats why its just all fucking pointless to continue giving them my energy whatsoever. Its not like it has affected my life in a bad way anyway, because no i am not depressed or self isolating, i am just too preoccupied with my own goals and dont have time to spare. I know it sounds like bullshit because at the start of this i literalky just said i have to study for a test and i ended up wasting even more time rambling so i gtg

[hazexlperiment]

I wanna say so, so many terrible things about myself right now.

I still feel the shame of having been the reason my parents ended up the way they did. I know i was the reason. I had so many opportunities to change and i was pigheaded and i hated listening to them and i hid all my emotions except for my outburts and its turned me into this thing today. Im selfish and narcisistic even though i hate those traits because my psychosis has regressed me to childhood coping in my adult body and since i never shared or share my feelings im always detached at a default to everyone around me and i dont know how to talk and sex was how i shared my emotions and soul but since im bad at talking i dont feel like i can safely protect myself and do the best thing for others and i hate everyone who isnt already willing or able to hear my emotions and thoughts and i dont know

The amount of things that happen in my head completely seperate from the world and the eyes or ears of anyone else on earth

I sound like mira back when i followed her vent and

All of this is so pointless to type about because its just a stream of consciousness with no filter or pause and no note taking or processing im just sobbing with my words and all of my sadness is pouring out my ears and my eyes and then im just gonna go back to trying to be better but i am still gonna be overwhelmed and i wont have taken any of this knowledge forward cause im basically masturbating my mental sad boner rn.

I feel like the world wants me to give up. Which means i feel like giving up. But i cant. But im afraid im gojng to drive myself even more crazy now. And im wasting every single day where i fail to start something. And...no one can tell me what to do because i wont let anyone in and i dont trust outside commands unless im desperate but then i resent the things i do in desperation because its my fault im desperate because i should be stronger willed than that but my will is so weak since i dont know where ill go anymore and i dont know who to socialize with and im afraid of putting in time places that wont pay off and!!! i hate everyones humor now too!! I feel horrible for laughing at...anything! Ive turned into this...eunuch.

God i wish i understood anyone. All ive had practice in is small talk and vagueness and passive aggression and therapy. Ive been analyzed and characterized by someone who doesnt come from where i do that has had the opinion that so many of the ways i have lived were unwise. Fuck i mean i guess it had me end up here. But i regret so much now. I second guess every fucking thing i do. Everything is a coin flip with disadvantage.

I think im addicted to weed again. I bet that has a lot to do with this. Ive been sad and its helped me think, and focus on my new tasks. This is a cycle i know has happened, but staying off has been so hard. Im so susceptible to peer pressure. I love doing just about anything with people for fun, and even by myself. And i keep thinking it will be fine cause it makes me feel wonderful and whole. But its killing my throat and i have asthma and i dont have anyone to smoke with and im a twitchy, nervous prey animal around smokers now who i dont know very well. But it makes it easier to talk to people and have nice feeling conversations. I feel pleasantly distracted.

I miss feeling okay doing the things i do. By myself. Or with anyone.

[volinare]

my in-depth experience with each of the powers because you totally asked:

the Buried: running out of air is pretty clearly not great, but I've always had sort of a weird fascination with the general concepts explored in the buried. I used to tell people my greatest fear was being buried alive because I couldn't actually think of anything. I think part of the reason this one doesn't bother me as much is I haven't really had any close encounters with it. One of the ways it manifests is financial issues which is something I haven't had to deal with in an extreme way, so even that i haven't really brushed with it. I like heavy rain though.

the Corruption: Most of the traditionally scary stuff associated with this I've never really minded? I've definitely had interaction with infestations, maggots, mold, etc. but not in a way that felt unnaturally scary. Still gross, obviously. However, the unhealthy obsessions and such are something that I've had issues with and I would say just compared to other people I've met I've had more interaction with all parts of this fears.

the Dark: i will say that being alone on a dark night will get my heart beating, but I've been pretty desensitized to it. I don't have any specific scenarios or anything that would make me flip out like with some of the other fears here. The concept of 'being in the dark' about something has always bothered me, I'm not 100% sure thats covered under this but yes. I hate the idea of not knowing something and information being passed around behind me. But again, pretty desensitized to it in all aspects. (still one of the scarier ones)

the Desolation: This one is pretty fucked up imo. Pointless destruction, the idea that it can just come out of no where? I can see this manifesting too as sudden losses in ability, the death of children, and natural disasters and stuff but idk. The Desolation is also grouped pretty close to the Slaughter in my mind. Lots of scary points for this one, I hate consequences.

the End: One of the less severe ones for me. There are waves sometimes where I fear a sudden death for me or other people, but I would group the specifics of my fears closer to the Desolation than the end. I guess the grief is overwhelming and never ending though. The wiki also says the end has close ties to dreams and i have a lot of pretty fucked dreams so

The eye: you KNOW i get the eye. My truman show delusion? seeking answers even if they destroy me? Feeling as if im being watched or followed? Not to be basic but I'd say this is one that I have a close connection with. Also the general concept in the Magnus Archives of collecting stories and experiencing them vividly as you consume them is something I appreciate, as i think most people who take the time to listen to a 200+ episode fiction podcast can relate to.

the flesh:

the hunt: the only time i've experienced this one is in conjunction with the Eye. I think that might be the case for most humans? I tried to lie here but I gotta say, I do occasionally imagine hunting people. That fantasy used to be so scary to me that I would over correct and not even be able to hurt people in video games. I'm still pretty strict about my video game morals but I loosened up after having a weird freak out in front of friends because I was scared that they would see me play the end of Sally Face and Know.tm. It's weird. My relationship with this fear is weird.

the Lonely: creepy in a way I feel completely disconnected from? I think I have such a constant relationship with the eye that this one is a bit hard to conceptualize. From what i can tell its different from being bullied or shunned. Like its about complete lonelyness. Which, scary but hard for me to truly get. I think too, my relationship with the lonely would be closely tied to the Spiral.

the Slaughter: I am a pussy <3

the Spiral: my bitch! My life is the Spiral. I grab the Spiral by the waste, dip it low and kiss the Spiral deeply on the lips. Seriously though, being like 'this is the box that shit that just doesn't make sense goes in' has helped me so much. That's kinda ironic now that I think about it, thinking about the Spiral as an entity has lowered my fear of the Spiral significantly. Although I've never had much fear of the Spiral until the last year or so before that I was just Alice in Wonderlanding it up. Recently has been fucking with me a lot.

the Stranger: I interact with this a lot but its not high on my fear list. I think its like the Eye where its so present that I'm like 'ah yes. Im vaguely unsettled'. I also just don't really get the uncanny valley effect (autism) so i think that takes a lot of the punch away. The anglerfish is one of my fav episodes.

The Vast: Scary but I force myself to face it a lot. Like the dark though where it sometimes gets my blood pumping lol. Also another one that I sometimes seek out, like I love floating in deep water and wide open spaces like big fields and shit.

The Web: HOLY shit. Spiders are cool though.

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Well, it’s not quite a master’s thesis, but this is (the first of) a series of posts on why Catra and Adora are the best love story in the history of kids TV animation and maybe the greatest love story in the history of TV. This may in some ways be faint praise - romance on TV is generally not very good compared with books or movies. Often it’s just some will they/won’t they sexual tension that is defused by getting characters together and re-heightened by breaking them up. TV is full of nearly shark jumping pointless dramas like Sam and Diane (Cheers, holy fuck am I dating myself, though that was technically before my time), Ross and Rachel (Friends, which was no Cheers) etc, but also some less annoying couples like Ben and Leslie (Parks and Rec) or Amy and Jake (Bk99) who are mostly just kind of cute and fun. Other shows, like the X-Files, teased viewers for years with unresolved sexual tension. In kids shows most romances are, appropriate for their target viewers, mild, sweet relationships based more on self-conscious flirting and blushing than on complex and conflicted feelings or deep passions - which is pretty realistic when the characters are young teens or even mid-teens. Some of these relationships are really well done - Finn and Flame Princess, Dipper and Pacifica (yeah I ship them), the early stages of Katara and Aang (before the showrunners imbued this childhood crush with cosmic significance), Steven and Connie, etc. Catra and Adora, though, are different. Their love story is not a side plot or a sub plot, it’s the heart of the show. It isn’t a childhood crush, it’s a very messy and passionate relationship between two young adults. She-Ra is an emotionally complex lesbian romance just as much as it is a thrilling action/adventure show. Everything about their relationship is baked into the show’s plot, its themes, hell even its musical score. The dramatic tension between Catra and Adora is not the result of stretching out a flirtation for ratings, but a coherent dramatic arc that runs through the entire show. As Noelle said, he made Catradora so central that execs couldn’t take it out without ruining the show. And the show is better for it. In this series of posts I’m going to try to show why, as well as showing why She-Ra is such a fantastic love story.

First off, let’s talk about how Catra and Adora’s character arcs are foils for each other, and how they come together and apart through the series. This is actually a post that I’ve been working on for a while but I keep summarizing the show rather than cutting to the chase, so I’m not going to recite many plot points so much as sketch out what’s going on with the dramatic structure at the time. But also, let’s talk about what each character’s arc is saying, and how they are commenting on each other. Spoiler alert: Catra’s arc is a subversion and critique of stories of empowerment through ruthless self-assertion and revenge, while Adora’s arc is a subversion and critique of chosen one narratives and stories of self-denial and self-transcendence.

When the show starts, Adora and Catra are shown as rivals and friends - their first scene starts the recurring motif of them reaching out for each other as one of them dangles above an abyss, as well as establishing their flirtatious banter and easy camaraderie. We quickly learn that these two young women plan to conquer the world together. These scenes and later flashbacks show Catra and Adora as deeply enmeshed in each others lives, to the point where neither of them (but especially Catra) have clear identities outside of one another. There is so much genuine love on both sides before Adora leaves, but also resentment, envy and fear, especially on Catra’s side, as well as a protectiveness on Adora’s side that deprives Catra of her autonomy. They are both being abused by Shadow Weaver - Catra physically  and emotionally, Adora emotionally. It wouldn’t be too much to say that Shadow Weaver holds Catra hostage to control Adora (this is why critiques that Adora abandoned Catra to be abused are actually kind of messed up, since they accept Shadow Weaver’s premise that Adora is responsible for what Shadow Weaver does to Catra). In addition, Catra and Adora actually see the world incredibly differently. Adora already sees the world in terms of right, wrong and her destiny to right wrongs - this is why it’s important for her  to accept the Horde’s obvious lies - she couldn’t keep living if she didn’t. Catra, on the other hand, sees the world solely in terms of survival and personal loyalty - everything for her is about preserving herself and the person she cares about - Adora.

Then, when Adora finds the sword, she leaves because it’s the right thing to do. Catra doesn’t even have a concept of ‘the right thing to do’ being something she should care about, or perhaps, something she can care about as an irredeemably evil, awful fuck-up. So at Thaymor neither one understands where the other is coming from, and Catra and Adora begin to part. This is the first turning point in their relationship. Adora chooses duty over what she desires, Catra chooses to protect herself (such as she sees it) and nurse her sense of betrayal and abandonment.

Their relationship until Promise is a kind of weird Frenemy thing that is fascinating to watch and sold me on the show. Neither one wants to fully admit to themselves that the other is now their enemy, neither one has given up on changing the other’s mind. Each is furious at the other, and desperate to see her again at the same time. There’s a lot of heartache and just as much sexual tension, especially at Princess Prom. Both of them come alive when they fight each other (more about that in a later post). But they’re already growing apart - Adora embracing her destiny as She-Ra, Catra rising in the ranks for the Horde. Adora now has the purpose she always wanted, plus other friends and a sense of being chosen to do something great, while Catra now has power - the means to protect herself from people like Shadow Weaver as well as the vindication she had always been denied, and even the opportunity to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game.

The next turning point is Promise. Holy fuck, this episode. It’s an episode that is even more heartbreaking after you’ve watched the show because you know just how much worse things are going to get, and yet, it’s a necessary part of both of their character arcs. Even through season 1 Catra and Adora had remained very much enmeshed in each others lives in an increasingly fucked up way as they grew apart but refused to turn away from each other. Even though they aren’t -exactly- a romantic couple (Adora doesn’t recognize and acknowledge her feelings until the last episode of Season 5), Season 1 of She-Ra is one of the worst breakups I have seen on TV. As I said in a couple of previous posts, this is the kind of shit that the Mountain Goats write songs about. Everything that was poisoning their love for each other even before episode 1 bubbles to the surface and combines with them fighting on opposite sides of the war to make a truly fucked up situation. In the end, it’s Catra that makes the choice to turn away from Adora. This isn’t a -good- decision. It’s spiteful, and destructive, and based on an outright deluded understanding of their relationship (inspired by Light Hope’s manipulations and her own issues), but it’s in some ways a necessary decision. Catra has been so wrapped up in Adora for so long that she isn’t going to be able to figure out who -she- is without cutting Adora out of her life. And the same is true of Adora.

But each of them do this in about the worst way possible. Catra embraces destruction, ambition, manipulation and outright cruelty, turning the tactics of her abusers against them and against everyone around her. She first triumphs over Shadow Weaver and manipulates Entrapta into trying to corrupt Etheria itself. Meanwhile Adora ‘lets go’ and commits herself to the self-denying mantle of She-Ra. Over the next several seasons, their respective paths will nearly lead both Catra and Adora to their deaths (in the Season 4 finale).

For the next season (counting season 2 and 3 as one) Catra and Adora are still closely linked, but as enemies. Still, there’s more than enough flirtation between them (that ‘Hey Catra’ in the first episode of Season 2 is something else), and especially on Adora’s side we see her hold back with Catra, and often take responsibility for the harm Catra inflicts, just like she had when they were kids. Yet they still drift apart - after facing off every other episode in Season 1, they spend less and less time on screen together through season 2 and 3. Catra continues her ascent to power and descent into villainy while Adora becomes more of a stressed out mess as she takes the fate of the world and the wellbeing of everyone she cares about on her admittedly broad shoulders. Catra’s one moment of vulnerability is rewarded by Shadow Weaver’s betrayal and her exile, then Catra triumphs in ruthless badass fashion through sheer desperation and aggression. In the Crimson Wastes, we see Catra at her most independent, and she almost seems happy. But once Adora shows up and Catra hears about Shadow Weaver, she’s sucked back into the worst of her resentments, and she makes very clear that being happy is less important to her than making sure Adora is miserable.

This changes everything. Catra completely breaks with reality and tries to kill Adora, herself and the world rather than lose to Adora and Shadow Weaver (I do think it’s important to remember that she does that after Shadow Weaver nearly kills her). Catra betrays everyone around her when she exiles Entrapta, threatens Scopria and lies to Hordak. Then she flips the switch. When Adora tries to fix things, Catra fights to her own death to make sure that the world disintegrates with her. For her part, Adora fights first to understand what is wrong with the world and then to fix it. Finally she tells Catra that destroying the world is her choice and she has to live with it, decks her, and then sees her off with a death glare once the portal is closed. With this, Adora writes Catra off even if, as she says later, she never never hated her. By doing that, Adora casts off the guilt that had dogged her and takes responsibility for her own life rather than someone else’s - this is actually a huge step for her, and one that will become more important in Season 4.

Season 4 is in many ways the nadir of their relationship. They only see each other once during the entire season, in Fluterrina, when Adora tries to blast Catra, much to the latter’s shock. There’s a sense in that scene that Catra is trying to have the same flirtatious enmity she used to have with Adora, and Adora is having none of it. Catra almost seems hurt by this, which is an early hint at how isolated Catra is beginning to feel. Catra spends the rest of the season at her highest and lowest. On the one hand she spends most of 12 episodes winning by every standard she has ever claimed to care about, besting Hordak himself in single combat and making herself co-ruler of the Horde and coming within a day’s march of ending the Rebellion. In many ways it is the ultimate empowerment fantasy - the abused young woman has defeated her abusers, showed up everyone who doubted her and forced everyone to respect her. But I think it’s striking that the show starts with her and Adora dreaming of conquering the world together and in Season 4 Catra nearly succeeds in conquering it alone, almost like she was trying to live out her old shared fantasy while proving she didn’t need her former best friend. 

At the same time, Catra is clearly miserable. She’s always been unhappy, but in Season 4 we see her completely isolated and lying to herself and everyone who will listen in a desperate attempt to justify her actions. Turning the tactics of Hordak and Shadow Weaver against them to gain power and then against Scorpia and Entrapta to maintain it haven’t vindicated Catra, they’ve made her more and more alone as Entrapta is exiled and Scorpia drifts away. Meanwhile Catra reaches out to Double Trouble, and her interactions with them reek of a kind of desperate desire to have someone in her life (the feeling of their interaction is of an unhealthy casual relationship where one partner becomes emotionally invested and the other takes advantage of that while denying the other the closeness they desire). As people leave her, one after the other, it becomes clearer and clearer that Catra doesn’t want power at all - she wants connection, friendship, love, and power is a very poor replacement. As I said in my long Catra rant, Season 4 is both her ‘Walter White as a Catgirl’ season and the beginning of her redemption. Everything comes to head when Sparkles destroys everything Catra has tried to achieve, Double Trouble delivers those harsh truths and Horde Prime shows up and makes it all irrelevant, just highlighting how futile all her struggles and sacrifices and crimes have been.

Meanwhile Adora spends Season 4 becoming her own her and her own woman. After telling off Catra, she grows more and more disillusioned with Light Hope and critical of Glimmer (though the latter has more than a shade of her old habit of taking responsibility for others - Adora’s development is not linear). She’s gained the courage and confidence to strike out her own path, not just follow a destiny. At the season’s end she once again breaks with her best friend to do what is right, and discards the destiny that she was being prepared for. But in this case she isn’t chasing one packaged destiny for another, instead she’s making her own choice and literally shattering the thing that she thought gave her life purpose. It’s badass, and heartbreaking, and along with decking Catra and jumping after Catra into the abyss (see below) it’s the perfect Adora moment.

In many ways Season 5 starts with Catra and Adora farther apart than they have ever been. They aren’t even enemies anymore, they’re completely out of each other’s lives. And both Catra and Adora are lost at the beginning of Season 5 - Catra is useless and alone on Prime’s ship, completely defeated despite ostensibly being on the winning side, and she goes through the motions of her normal plotting without any particular conviction and none of her normal flair. Meanwhile Adora is even more miserable and self-destructive than usual, throwing herself at Horde Bots and working herself until she drops of exhaustion. In a very real way they both stay lost until they have a chance to help the other. Catra takes responsibility for what she’s done and what she can do, saves Glimmer (at least partly for Adora’s sake), apologizes to Adora, and sacrifices herself. Adora only seems to come alive when she decides to turn around, face Prime, and save the cat. And when she does, Catra and Adora’s arcs, which had separated so completely in season 4, come crashing back together to end the series.

Adora during Save the Cat is such a contrast with the uncertain, hesitant and self-destructive wreck we’ve seen so far in Season 5. This is possibly her craziest plan in 3 years of mostly cazy plans, but she never wavers or questions herself. Even when Chipped Catra appears and we see Adora’s heart break while we watch, Adora doesn’t back down or relent. She keeps at it even as the tears stream down her face. She fights better trying to save Catra without She-Ra’s powers than she fought at the Battle of Bright Moon with them. Catra’s just about as desperate - we see her cry and plead, and now is probably as good a time to any to point out how amazing a job both VAs did throughout the show, but especially in this episode, and how good a job the board artists did. 

Seeing each other for the first time in a year, and only the second time since Catra blew everything up, Catra and Adora are probably the rawest and least restrained we’ve ever seen them. There’s barely any banter, no bravado, and no pretense that they are anything other than two women who desperately need each other (Prime doesn’t help with ‘You broke my heart’.) Then Catra is flung to her death, Adora jumps after her, breaks both her legs in the fall (we see her crawl to Catra, as though she couldn’t walk) and becomes the real She-Ra. It’s such a triumphant and deeply queer moment seeing a woman transformed into a warrior goddess to protect the woman she loves, and it’s the reason that, as dark as it is, Save the Cat is my Comfort Food episode.

Let’s not sleep on Taking Control, though. This episode is like a microcosm of what this show does best, especially the A plot with Catra and Adora. Catra’s reversion to lashing out at everyone and her refusal to be open to Adora shows just how much of a struggle this whole ‘being good and trying to connect to people’ thing is. Catra’s outburst gives Adora a chance to stand up for herself and refuse to be Catra’s punching bag, while also not trying to control her. Adora’s ultimatum gives Catra a chance to reach out to Adora (quite literally), and allow herself to be vulnerable. In this episode, we see just how far Catra and Adora have come since the messed up stew of their relationship in Season 1. Adora lets Catra be responsible for her own actions; Catra lets herself be vulnerable to Adora and takes responsibility for her actions. They’re both better people and better friends and better partners than they were, and the show has shown this in a strikingly nuanced and realistic way. 

The important thing to note in the next few episodes of Season 5 isn’t just how much closer Catra and Adora get to each other and how much they flirt (So much. So much, y’all) but just how -happy- they are. We see both of them transformed in the other’s presence. Basically, since they’ve parted, both Catra and Adora have been defined in no small part by how miserable they often are. They have both had their triumphs and their lighter moments, but there’s been a sense of melancholy dogging both Catra and Adora since episode 1. And now that they’re together again, that lifts, somewhat. Catra’s verbal barbs have lost their venom, and she can openly show how much she cares for Adora and even Bow and Glimmer. She’s still herself - snarky, cynical, somewhat devious - but she’s not engaged in a self-destructive zero-sum struggle with everyone around her. Meanwhile Adora has spent 4 seasons being a neurotic and sometimes nearly joyless mess who takes responsibility for everything and often doesn’t let herself enjoy anything other than the odd BFS group hug (exceptions include trying to uh...impress Huntara and reveling with the butterfly ladies of Elberron in Flutterina).  Around Catra, though, she’s a cocky, swaggering jock who gives as good as she gets. It’s a side of Adora we’ve only seen hints of before, and one that’s so much more confident and joyful even as the world is ending around her. Apart, Catra had tried to protect and vindicate herself with power and conquest, while Adora had tried to forget herself in duty and sacrifice. Together, they can be themselves again. This dynamic is crucial to the show’s portrayal of Catra and Adora’s romance because it doesn’t just show how much they love each other, but how they’re -good- for each other now that they’ve grown as people, and that they are so much better than they were when they were apart.

Until Shadow Weaver shows up. Their old abuser reintroduces tensions but even then things are different than they were. Now Catra isn’t just resentful of how Shadow Weaver prefers Adora - she’s  protective of Adora, which is clearest in Failsafe when she calls Shadow Weaver out for being willing to sacrifice Adora. And while Adora takes the Failsafe, it isn’t to follow her destiny or because she has a death wish - it’s because she loves her friends, and she is the only one who has any hope of doing this and living (though Catra’s suggestion that Shadow Weaver take it is a good one). And finally, when Catra leaves Adora, it isn’t because she hates Adora, nor, despite what she says, is it because she really thinks that Adora chose Shadow Weaver. At least, not exactly. It’s because Catra loves Adora, and can admit that to herself, and can’t stay around and watch the woman she loves sacrifice herself rather than choosing Catra. Before Catra leaves, she asks Adora ‘What do you want?” It’s a question that echoes Shadow Weaver’s speech in Episode 1: ‘isn’t this what you always wanted since you could want anything?’ As much as Adora has grown as a person, and defined herself and stood up for what she thinks is right, she still has never answered that question - it’s never been ‘what do I want’ but ‘what do I have to do?’ and that’s how Adora answers Catra’s question. This is Adora’s last gasp as a self-transcending hero, letting go of what she wants (not that she ever dared articulate what that was) in order to do what must be done. And it nearly kills her and dooms the universe, because Adora can’t be the hero that she needs to be by being anyone less than herself.

But it’s losing Catra that inspires Adora to tell off Shadow Weaver for good (not that she’d ever really warmed to her after season 1). And it’s love for Adora that inspires Catra to stand up to Shadow Weaver and demand that she do the right thing. In both cases, Catra and Adora aren’t just standing up to their abuser, but holding her to account for the harm she’s caused, and it’s the love that they have for each other that inspires them to do this. In Catra’s case in particular her refusal to let Shadow Weaver weasel out of finding Adora is a much greater triumph over Shadow Weaver than beating her up and breaking her mask in Season 1 - it’s proof not so much to Shadow Weaver but to Catra herself that Catra really is better than this and that she deserves better than this. It’s not turning her abuser’s tactics against her, but truly holding her to a moral standard and demanding that she do the right thing.

And then there’s Catra and Adora together at the heart. Catra has already come back for Adora and stayed to the end, choosing to die with her even if she can’t share a life together (not out of some death wish, but because Adora needs her). And Adora, who’s been avoiding answering the question for three fucking years, finally let’s herself want Catra when Catra finally confesses her love (breaking the last of her self-protective shields) and asks Adora to stay -for her-. And by admitting what she wants, Adora can truly be at peace with herself and be the hero she needs to be, lesbianism saves the universe, The End.

So anyway, that’s how Catra and Adora’s stories are woven together and how they compliment and comment on each other. Narrativiely, Adora and Catra start together, come apart, find something of themselves, and truly find themselves and each other when they are reunited. Thematically, they are critiquing seemingly opposing narrative tropes - empowerment narratives and narratives of self sacrifice. But by showing the flaws in both types of story and showing how neither self-seeking empowerment nor self-negating self sacrifice can actually make us happy, She-Ra asks and answers more profound questions than most prestige dramas for adults do. I’ll get into how the show sells the idea that the power of love can bring us happiness (and save the world) in a future post. But next up, I’m going to celebrate just how much Catra and Adora’s relationship revels in ambiguity, complexity and contradiction and so tells a grown up love story in a kid’s show.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Of Constellations & Creeds

Chapter 21: Fire of Devotion 

Summary/Author’s Note: Din presents you with a gift that he has had for while. You start exploring what it means to work as a team and meet a fiery mechanic that takes a shine to you. 

There is a note at the end for what something looks like if you guys are having a hard time picturing it. I tried to do my best. Thank you for reading! 

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!reader (Alpha/Omega/soulmates AU) Word Count:  5k Warnings/Promises: Mature/18+ - language, sexual themes, weapons/shooting

[Previous Chapter] [Series Masterlist] [My Complete Masterlist]

--

This is what dreaming felt like. 

You were the perfect temperature of warm bodies and crisp blankets. Sprawled among the sheets, you lucidly stretched your body as your mind slowly woke up the rest of your limbs. You started by wiggling your toes while you listened to the birds chitter in the trees outside the barn, your ankles, your back, and lastly your arms. You quietly popped your fingers as you brought them up to rub gently at the back of your sore neck with a groan. 

"Shit."

You winced as you stretched your arms and suddenly remembered why your shoulder was so tender. Rotating the cuff much slower, you worked the stiffness out of the muscle until you could move it more freely. That was at least a little better. 

Before falling into bed last night, Din had ravished you against the wall, then again on the ground, neither one of you able to stop long enough to tear yourselves apart. The idea of moving into the comfort of your bed never came up, due to not wanting to wake the kid and once again...that required you to stop touching each other. Whatever discomfort you felt had absolutely been worth it. 

The morning sun was warm on your face and you opened your eyes to find the Mandalorian facing you...still helmetless. You had worried the moment you fell asleep everything would have ceased to have happened. You really wouldn't have seen his face. You really wouldn't have received his mark. But he had sleepily assured you that closing your eyes erased nothing and he promised to be here when you woke up. Everything you had done last night was no dream. It had been very, very real. 

“Din?” you whispered almost inaudible, as if to test him. 

His eyes were closed and his mouth open ever so slightly as he continued to sleep with his arm bent behind his head against his pillow. He looked younger in the sunlight. The gentle rays tinting his already light brown skin to a warm sienna, it did the same to his hair, finding the small strands of molten gold throughout the tousled dark curls. He was so handsome and you had yet to tell him, but something told you he wouldn't believe you even if you did. 

Did Mandalorians have a concept of beauty? When you spent your entire adolescence with a helmet on, you couldn’t imagine it mattered much what the person underneath looked like. It leveled the playing field so to speak. While society squabbled over such trivial attributes, you imagined Mandalore was more concerned with your ability to win a fight, to negotiate, to contribute to your clan.

It used to be easy to look at him with disdain. Then that disdain turned to something little more than convenient indifference. It was easy to blame him for the destruction of your home world, for the loss of your old life. Anger was always easier. And yet as you looked at him now, and fought the desperate urge to trace the bridge of his nose with the tip of your finger, you knew you felt something else towards him. Something that you hadn't felt in a very long time. Something that felt a lot like affection...a lot like love.

Yes, to you Din was beautiful. But then again when you loved someone, weren’t they always? There was that word again. It made you smile quietly to yourself as you mulled it over in your mind. 

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, a chaste kiss that caused a soft groan to come from somewhere deep in his chest as his arm slid around your middle. 

"Good morning," you whispered against his mouth and he grunted, not bothering to open his eyes. 

"Ten more minutes."

You smiled, kissing him again as he pulled you closer. You reached down and grabbed the blanket before pulling it up over the both of you more securely. For a man that never took a break, he loved sleep more than anyone you had ever met. 

"Alright, ten more minutes," you said quietly as you moved to kiss his cheek before tucking your head under his chin against his chest and closing your eyes. 

--

Saying goodbye to Omera and Sorgan was more painful than you imagined it would be. She was the first person who understood your struggle. If it weren't for her who knew how long it would take you and the Mandalorian to find one another. But no matter how you felt, you couldn't stay here and she couldn't come with you. It seemed everywhere you went there was something new to lose, a new heartache to experience, and as you hugged her tightly and held back your tears she was added to the long list of loss in your life.

"You'll always have a place here," she said quietly as you squeezed her tighter. It's as if she knew you were trying not to fall apart. She felt the soft cloth that you had used to bandage your shoulder and she leaned back to see your face and give you a knowing grin. “But you are now right where you’re supposed to be.”

"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes as she fixed the shawl around your shoulders and gave your arms a pat. 

“Keep up with your meditations. They’ll help.”

“I know.”

"Take care of them," she nodded to the man behind you who was holding the child and waiting patiently for you by the cart. "But don't forget to take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The trip back through the woods to the Razor Crest was a somber one and you watched as the child stood at the back of the cart and waved its tiny three-fingered hand at the group of children who were waving in return. You leaned forward and rubbed the space between its massive ears gently. However you were feeling was probably nothing compared to the little guy. He didn't know what was going on, or that there were people hunting him, or why you couldn't stay in such a beautiful place where he had made so many friends. It was tough being a kid in such a big world. Maker, it was tough being an adult in such a big world. 

You looked back as you felt Din put his hand on the small of your back and lean his helmet against your temple for the briefest of moments. You lowered your walls ever so slightly and accepted the comfort that he sent your way. Maybe Omera had been right, maybe he had wanted to stay too. 

--

Being back on the Razor Crest came pretty naturally to the three of you and to say you were surprised was an understatement. Fresh supplies from Sorgan filled the storage bunker and with more variety to eat than prepackaged rations, your spirits were much higher than they had been previously. 

“Come on, kid,” you said, gently as you picked up the child and straightened his burlap cloak. “Nap time.” 

“Ba-to!” he squeaked, raising his arms up and giving you a two-toothed smile that warmed your heart. 

“Just for a little bit,” you assured him. “Then you can come up front and help pilot. Sound good?” 

“Ah-yo!”

“No, no, I promise,” you answered him like you were having a full conversation. “I’ll make him let you. You’re plenty old enough,” you scoffed with a laugh. “You just need a few phone books to sit on.”

He gave another happy squeak as you sat him in the hammock hanging above Din’s bed and tucked him in. You dug out the small stuffed frog that Winta had made for him back on Sorgan, with it’s bright blue felt skin and lopsided eyes, and helped him nestle it under his chin. You gave him a soft pat on the head and waited for him to close his eyes before pressing the button on the panel that closed the door with a quiet hiss. 

You heard your name being said from above you and you went to the ladder that led to the cockpit, looking up to see the Mandalorian looking down. He had brought the ship out of hyperdrive for the time being as you researched a plan of action. Without coordinates, it was pointless to travel in circles and waste precious fuel.

“Can you come up here for a second?” he asked and you nodded. 

Taking one rung at a time, you hauled yourself up into the main hull and gratefully accepted his help in order to plop your butt on the floor with a smile. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling back. 

There had been precious little time for him to take off his helmet once you were back on the ship. Somehow the ship was less private than the bed you had shared in the barn. Although you were disappointed not to be able to look over and see his face whenever you wanted, you understood. This was a new experience for him in a way you would never understand, a type of vulnerability that you would never know, but how you longed to kiss him properly again. You wanted to feel his lips on the back of your neck as he curled himself behind you for sleep. All selfish reasons, of course, but that didn’t diminish them in any capacity. 

“What’s up?” you asked as you leaned back on your hands and looked at him where he stooped beside the captain’s chair. 

“I got you something.”

“Me?” You leaned up with widening eyes as you put a hand to your chest in question. 

“Is there someone else I’m traveling with?” he asked and you glared at him before realizing it was his poor attempt at dry humor. “Yes, you.”

He moved under the chair and dragged a medium sized trunk out from the alcove created by the dashboard and the control panel. You recognized it as the trunk he had received from the armorer back on Nevarro. It was a dark slate colored material and he popped the latches before 

beckoning you closer.

“I hope you like them.”

“Whatever it is,” you encouraged him. “I’m sure I will.”

“You don’t have to use any of it if you don’t want to--”

“Din, just show me.”

“Alright, okay,” he let out a heavy breath and lifted the lid before spinning the entire thing slowly around to show you.  

“You didn’t have to get me anyth--oh, goddess,” you said softly in amazement. 

Inside, carefully protected by a velvet type of lining, were crafted pieces of a silver metal. You hesitated, reaching out to touch one of them and thinking better of it before looking at him as if you needed permission. With a careful nod of his helmet, you picked up one of the cylindrical pieces and brought it closer for inspection. 

“Is it--?”

“Beskar,” he nodded. “It’s yours.”

“Din, I--”

He held up a gloved hand to stop any argument you may have had and helped you take the pieces out one by one. Two bracers that fit perfectly over your wrists and protected your forearms about two inches from your elbows. He took them gently and slipped them over your tender skin before locking them into place and letting you get used to the feeling. You made a fist with both of your hands a few times, opening and squeezing, testing how they felt.

“They lock like this,” he said after completing the motion. “They’ll deflect anything. Blaster-proof. Just hold your arm like you would defensively,” he instructed, pulling your arm up to protect your face and tapping it once with his finger. “Ping. Right off the beskar. We can practice.”

“Handy,” you nodded and he dove back into the box for the next piece. 

“This,” he offered the single pauldron to you, moving around your body slightly to fit it to your non-dominant shoulder. “Protects your dominant side by sitting opposite it.”

“Because I turn my body away from the blow?”

“Exactly.” He put it over your shoulder and clamped it down around your bicep. Hooking it securely across your torso. “Plus, the added weight on your dominant arm would slow you down if you’re using your staff.”

“Makes sense.”

“Move your arm,” he said and when you did, he adjusted it slightly. “How’s that?”

“It’s extremely generous and useful but--”

“No buts.”

“I--”

“You’re my Omega,” he interrupted you gently. “You have the right to wear it. And it’ll help keep you safe--and if you’re safe, I’m focused.” His hand came down to rest gently over your shoulder blade, covering the still tender skin of where he had marked you. 

He had a point but it still made your ears burn with embarrassment. You knew he didn’t mean it as an insult to your abilities. You had more than proven you could handle your own when you first met, but the knowledge that your safety proved a distraction to him still made you feel guilty. You felt the sudden need to apologize but you knew Din wouldn’t want to hear it, let alone entertain such an idea.

“There’s one more piece,” he said gently. He held it out gently and when you looked at him in confusion he offered his hands forward. “Can I?”

You nodded and sat still with your hands in your lap as he made sure any stray pieces of your hair were out of the way. Even with the gloves and his armor, he was always so gentle, so careful. When he was satisfied he held out the silver circlet and slipped it around the front of your forehead and over your temples. The blocky beskar came to a strong point between your brows and the edges came down in front of your ears to frame the sides of your face. Each subtle point that mirrored the larger one turned what would have been an ordinary face guard into something much more symbolic. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you said softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also having a hard time wrapping your head around the idea that such a piece of finery was really necessary. 

“You look breathtaking,” he argued and it made you smile. “You’re an Omega, an Ursa at that--people deserve to know.” He swallowed hard and nodded to the box. “If we find more beskar I can have a proper helmet made instead of--”

“A tiara?” you asked with a bite of wit and he chuckled. 

“It has more purpose than that, I promise.” He touched the sides that came down almost level with your jaw line. “These protect your peripherals--keeps light from obscuring your view for long range weapons.”

“Smart.”

“And this,” he touched higher, closer to your ear and a soft static hum came before you heard his next words twice, almost overlapping one another. “Has a direct com line to me.”

“That,” you put your hand over his and spoke into the mic as if to test it the other way. “Is incredibly useful.”

He gave a nod to signal that it had worked and he dropped his hand from your face to rest comfortably on your thigh. You put your hand over his and held in gently. It was beautifully crafted and you were having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that he had spent any of the rarest metal in the world on something for you. But that wasn’t the only issue, no, there was something else. An issue of the timeline. 

“When did you have this made?” you asked, tracing the metal etching that lined the outside of the bracer. 

“When we got the bounty on the kid--I had it made along with mine.”

“But that was before I agreed to be your Omega,” you said carefully, watching his body for any sign of tension. There wasn’t any. 

“I know.”

You bit your lip and looked down. With a shake of your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking. “What if I would have left? What if I never agreed to this? You--”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have,” you argued. “And then all of this would have been for nothing. You--”

“I had a feeling.”

You looked at him in awe and realized how much he had staked on you making the right decision. He would have sooner sold his beskar than taken away your freedom, the freedom to choose what you wanted. He had hoped against all hope that you would eventually want him, but there was no guarantee. To Din it was all left up to faith. Faith in his creed, faith in his people, faith in you. It was hard not to feel undeserving of such things, but it only confirmed that perhaps it was time that you had a little faith in him. 

Going up on your knees, you moved the metal storage box out of the way and grabbed him by the front of his chestplate. He said your name softly as you slid into his lap and his hands came around to rest on the swell of your hips. You tilted his helmet back just enough to kiss his lips, drawing a soft sound from them as he tasted you. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly and you were glad you could see his mouth move up in a genuine smile. 

“You’re very welcome.”

The more moments like this that you had, the easier it became to realize just how ‘all in’ you were when it came to the bounty hunter. When he had stepped off of his ship and chased you through the woods now flight like a lifetime ago and in a way it was. That was a different life completely. And you were okay with that. The world seemed a lot less scary now that you were on the same team. 

You leaned in to kiss him again but there was a loud bang and whoosh of energy as something dropped out of hyperspace and the Razor Crest rocked slowly. Din lowered his helmet and the two of you looked around before you slowly climbed out of his lap and to your feet. 

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” 

He moved to the pilot’s chair and leaned over the control board, inspecting the map and waiting for the radar to ping something back. Nearly the exact moment a blip showed up on the neon green screen, a blast screamed passed your vessel and struck the ship, rocking it back and forth. 

“Buckle in,” he barked and the two of you moved to your respective places. 

You fell into the co-pilot bucket seat to the right of the Mandalorian and placed your feet up on the footrest to brace yourself. As soon as you clicked your seat belt, your fingers instinctively wrapped around the control stick in front of you and reached up to flip the buttons on your side of the dash. Your side of the ship whirred to life as you shared control of the panel with Din, making it easier for him to focus on flying. Like you had told him before, if he handled the fancy maneuvering, you could squeeze a trigger.

Another wave of fire lit up the dark atmosphere around you and Din turned the ship to try and find the culprit behind the attack. 

“If the kid sleeps through this, I’ll be impressed,” Din said as he swiveled his own chair around and jammed the buttons for the back up thrusters. 

“I’m pretty sure he could sleep through anything,” you agreed.

“Pa-too!” 

The two of you both whipped around to see the small, green thing standing in the doorway with its arms in the air and a wide smile. 

“You were saying?” the bounty hunter chuckled and the child stumbled its way to you as the ship took a nosedive. You barely had time to grab him by the tiny cloak and haul him into your lap. 

“Got ya!” you said and he squealed with laughter. At least someone found your current predicament funny. You tucked him on your lap securely as a series of blaster fire whizzed passed the sides of the ship.  

“Hand over the Child, Mando.” A deep voice said through the com-system and when the child in question squealed again you clapped your hand over his mouth. Another round of shots pinged around you and the crest gave a jolt as one of the engines took a hit. “I might let you live.”

“Guild?” you asked and Mando nodded before grabbing a large lever to his right and yanking it down quickly. 

“You got both hands on the blaster cannons?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued. “When I say fire, let ‘em have it.”

Another hit rocked the ship as the engine on the left started to sputter and burst into flames before it powered down. Din cursed quietly under his helmet and pulled another lever to quickly power down both engines. “Hold on!” he yelled over the roar of the enemy ship as he rolled the crest out of the way of another round of fire. Stars streaked passed the windows as you both stared upwards and the other ship came directly into view. 

“I can bring you in warm,” the enemy bounty hunter said flatly, “...or I can bring you in cold.”

“That's my line,” Din said in a deadly tone before he hit the thrusters and pointed at you and the kid. “Fire!”

You squeezed the trigger on the gun leavers and shots fired from the front of the razor crest, exploding the smaller ship into a wave of orange fire and metal debris. You flinched away from the bright light and the child clapped its tiny hands as Din gave you an approving nod. 

“Oh-ah!”

“Not bad, little one,” you laughed softly, kissing the top of his green head between his ears. “Not bad.” Din clicked on a few of the switches above his head and the dashboard lit up in a series of red and orange lights. You watched him carefully and waited until he stopped before you spoke. “How bad is it?” 

“We’re losing fuel,” he said, pulling up the map and thumbing through a few different screens. He thumbed through a few of the nearby planets before double tapping the screen and bringing up one of the larger orbs. “Mos Eisley is the closest place where we could dock and get some repairs.”

“Will we make it?”

“Of course.” He pulled another leaver and the ship gave a lurch forward before it evened out. “We have enough in the power reserves to get us there--don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried,” you said, biting your lip to keep a soft smile from gracing your features. The truth was, with Din, you were never worried. 

--

Mos Eisley was the largest spaceport on the planet of Tatooine. Din explained that what it lacked in a centralized docking bay, they made up for in the fact that they had hundreds of hangars that were each maintained by individual workers and mechanics. It sounded impressive but to you it looked like little more than a patch of dust and poorly refined sandcastles. 

The control tower told you to head for bay three-five and the Mandalorian copied as he steered the ship in that direction. The Crest had definitely seen better days as it sputtered and landed with jerky movements before finally touching down in a puff of sand and a clang of metal. 

As you drifted through the vast emptiness of space before entering the atmosphere, the child had somehow lulled himself back to sleep. It was actually pretty impressive the amount of naps he managed to squeeze in in a day. 

You carefully tucked him back into the sleeping compartment and put on the rest of the clothing you had from Arvala-7. It was still breathable but it wasn’t nearly as light as the cloth you had sported back on Sorgan. The leather riding pants and bantha hide boots would keep the sand out of your more intimate places, while the tan corded top and matching cloak kept your skin protected from the harsh sun without absorbing much of the light. 

The beskar looked out of place with the rest of your attire, but something told you it was just the fact that you weren’t used to it. What was your favorite mantra as of late? One thing at a time. 

You stopped in the doorway to the refresher and couldn’t help but stare at your reflection in the mirror. The metal of the headpiece that Din had tucked gingerly into your hairline. You had spent most of your life running from what you were: an Omega, an Ursa, a royal lineage of some kind that you had no desire to uphold. And yet, the tangible evidence was glittering on your forehead. Had Din designed such a thing or had it been at the behest of the Armorer? Somehow you felt you knew the answer to that. 

You saw Din appear behind you in the mirror before you ever heard him and you prided yourself on not nearly jumping out of your skin. 

"Good to go?"

When you nodded, he hit the button that started to lower the ramp on the main hull and you squinted against the bright sun. As you walked down the ramp a group of rust colored droids popped up from their current task and scurried towards the Mandalorian. Their saucer-shaped heads bobbed in place making them look like mushrooms on stilts as they surveyed the ship and chipped back and forth to one another.

Din pushed back his cloak and drew his blaster, firing one shot from the hip into the dirt. The droid squealed and jumped into the air before clamming up into a tiny ball. 

“Mando!” you jumped and looked at him in surprise before looking back to the shivering droid. 

“Hey!” a woman’s voice screeched from inside the building connected to the hangar. She pointed at the two of you through the window of what looked to be a very dusty office. “HEY!” she yelled again, scrambling out the door and stomping over to you. 

Next to the Mandalorian she was incredibly short, but her demeanor was so incredibly scrappy that you weren’t entirely sure who you would bet on if the two of them were in a fight. Her grey mechanic’s jumpsuit was dusty and oil stained from no doubt thousands of ship repairs. Her hair was incredibly curly, poofing out in tight ringlets all around her head to her shoulders and seemed to be growing by the second as she jabbed her finger at Din’s chest.

“You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Din said flatly, pointed his own gloved finger to the fear-filled robot.

“Yeah? You think that's a good idea, do ya?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest before looking at you. “Blink twice if this brute is holding you hostage, honey. Though by the looks of ya, I’d say you can handle your own.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized on Din’s behalf before you introduced yourself and stepped in front of him. “We just need some repairs.”

“The name’s Peli,” she returned the politeness and shook your hand with strong, jerky movements. “He always this grumpy?” she nodded at the bounty hunter.

“Actually you caught him on a good day,” you smiled and she chuckled. Din sighed.

“Alright, well, let's look at your ship.” She picked up a clipboard and walked over to the crest. Looking it up and down slowly, she made a fist and knocked twice on the main hull and listened to the klonk that came from the inside.

“Is it bad?” you asked.  

“Oof…” she winced as she wrote some things down. “Look at that.” She looked over her shoulder at you before gesturing to the sides of the ship. “Bad? You got a lot of carbon scoring building up top. Ya know--If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a shootout.”

“Well…” you started and Din cleared his throat.

“Can you fix it?”

“Special tool for that one. Oh ya, I'm gonna have to rotate that…” She mumbled. Peli ignored you both as she continued to poke and prod the undercarriage of the ship before pulling down a side panel and coughing at the smoke that it produced. “You got a fuel leak! Look at that, this is a mess! How did you even land? That's gonna set you back.”

Din looked down at her as she walked back up to him and he tossed over a coin purse that jingled when she caught it. “I've got 500 Imperial Credits.”

“That all you got? Well…” she weighed the money in her hand and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned to the droids who were slowly approaching again now that she was there to protect them. “What do you guys think? I mean-- that should at least cover the hangar.”

“I'll get you your money,” Din reassured her.

“Ha! I've heard that before,” she rolled her eyes.

“I promise, we’ll pay you somehow,” you interjected and Peli looked you over again before waggling her finger at you. 

“Now, you I believe.” 

That made you smile and she returned it. 

“Just remember--” Din started.

“Yeah. Yeah. No droids. I heard ya.” She stuffed the credits in her pocket. “You don't have to say it twice. Jeez. Womp rat.” She mumbled the last under her breath as the two of you took her dismissal as a sign you were free to leave. 

You waited until you and Din were out of earshot before you glared at him in disappointment. “We have got to work on your people skills.”

--

Note: When imagining the headpiece Din had made for you, I was drawing heavy inspiration off of Queen Hippolyta’s crown. Something that keeps your hair out of the way, looks futuristic and strong. 

Hey guys, as always there is always room on the tag lists! That being said there are about 300+ of you that want to be tagged in this fic and that is totally cool, but I am human and I miss names and forget tags, SO–if your tag didn’t work, I forgot it, or you want to be moved to another group, please message me or send me an ask. Even if you have already sent me one reminding me, I PROMISE it was not on purpose. A lot of times I wont answer until I have PHYSICALLY put you on the tag list that way I don’t forget! Thank you so much. - K

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[lexosaurus]

Going Angst Week 2021: Instinct

Read: [1: birth]

Warning: Ghost Hunger

---

Ectoplasm was poisonous to humans. Danny knew that, it was one of the first things his parents had drilled into him when he was a kid.

If humans ingested small amounts of ectoplasm, they’d be sick but would likely be fine the next day. If they ingested large amounts of ectoplasm, they’d be rushed to the ER to get their stomach pumped, and if they didn’t make it there in time, they’d die.

Danny had accidentally eaten ectoplasm-infused cookies enough times in his childhood to be able to taste it’s gross battery-acid flavor. He’d felt enough stomach cramps from his mother’s cooking before Jazz insisted that they install a second fridge in the lab to store their samples inside of to know how much the human body hated the substance. 

Ectoplasm was poison. Period.

So then why was it that when he stared down longingly at the carnage before him, did he want nothing more than to dip his hand into the delicious pool of green and scoop it into his mouth?

He knew he should leave—his parents would be arriving soon—but as he stared down at the unfortunate remains of the giant ectoplasm mosquito on the pavement, all he could think about was how hungry he was and how sick he’d been all week and this was it, this was the thing that would cure him, he just needed to reach down...

Danny shook his head in disgust. He was still partially human, he couldn’t just eat ectoplasm. 

But he was so, so hungry.

Nothing he’d eaten in the past week had satisfied his hunger. No, this was something else. Something that originated deep down in his core. No human food could fix this, he knew that on instinct.

Ectoplasm was poison.

But he was starving.

Danny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten these strange cravings. They’d been happening ever since he learned how to shoot ghost-rays with his hands. 

At first, it was easy to ignore. Just a twinge of his stomach here, a slight watering of his mouth there. Little annoyances, but nothing he couldn’t blame on exhaustion or academic stress.

But lately, the hunger had been getting worse. Just looking at a pool of ectoplasm made his heart skip a beat, and the sight of an entire ghost mosquito carcass was enough to make him want to collapse in relief.

He needed to do something. Leave. He couldn’t stay here, he was going to lose it. 

God, this was horrible. He was disgusting for even entertaining the idea.

Danny glanced back at the mosquito. Its core had smashed somehow during the fight, allowing its fresh ectoplasm to pool onto the pavement before it. The sun was setting, and it was hitting the fresh green in just the right way.

“Shut up,” Danny snapped. He wasn’t some feral vampire, he was Danny Phantom. Amity Park’s local ghost protector. He wasn’t just going to…

He glanced around. No one was here, and no one was passing by on the street either. Maybe he could afford just one little taste…

...just one…

...no one else had to know…

...he just needed to reach down and…

His fingers brushed the cool liquid, and as if he were shocked he jolted up, pressing his back into the brick building behind him and breathing hard. 

That was close. Too close. He needed to get out of here quickly before he lost control.

But as he stared back down at the gooey carcass, it was as if a trance had overtaken him. His mind fogged up, and all his worries and stresses seemed to melt away.

The only thing he knew was that he was starving, and there was food. 

Danny crouched down over the mosquito and shyly stuck his hand back out over the glowing pool of liquid. He hesitated, as if there were still some part of his mind that was trying to resist when he knew that he just needed to chill out, Danny. It’s okay. Trust yourself.

He was a ghost. He knew what he was doing.

Closing his eyes, he dipped his hand into the ectoplasm. He shuddered, allowing his hands to explore the cool liquid. It felt...nice. And his hunger seemed to yell louder until he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head goading him to eat the ectoplasm, just eat it, eat the ectoplasm, eat the food.

He brought his hand up to his mouth, and it was as if something inside him shorted out. 

His brain switched off, all thoughts left his body. The only thing that mattered was the ectoplasm, the food, his hunger, god this tasted so nice. 

His world was green, and that was all he needed.

---

“What’s wrong with me?” Danny cried. “Why can’t I stop?”

His hands were plastered in ectoplasm, and he could feel the sticky substance dripping down his suit, threading in his hair, smearing across his face.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Vlad said, hardly looking up from his paperwork on his desk. “You’re starving yourself.”

“But—but I don’t…” Danny collapsed in a chair and buried his head in his hands. 

“Daniel, really. I thought you were better than this pointless drivel.”

Danny shook his head. In a muffled voice, he whimpered, “Please, just tell me how to make this stop. I—I can’t stop. Please. I don’t want to be this monster.”

Vlad sighed and set down his pen. “Halfas have unique biologies in that due to the nature of our deaths, we have naturally powerful cores. The more powerful the ghost core, the more self-generating ectoplasm they can produce for their bodies, which then can offset any ectoplasm lost through daily functions. Like blood cells. Except, if you use more ectoplasm than your body can produce, it starts looking for other ways to replenish it. Typically for ghosts, the ambient ectoplasm in the Ghost Zone would do. But in the human world, there isn’t enough ambient ectoplasm for us to use, so we starve until our core takes matters into its own hands.”

“So, what. I have to move to the Ghost Zone? I don’t understand. Do you get like this?” Danny lifted his head up to see Vlad massaging his temples.

“Well unlike you, I’m not a complete moron who lets themselves get to the point where they can no longer control themselves.”

“But I don't want to do this! I don’t want to...to eat other ghosts.”

“Then don’t.” Vlad stood and yanked Danny through the floor and into his lab. He shoved Danny into the corner of the room. “Clean yourself up. I won’t have you dripping used ectoplasm all over my clean floors.”

Danny hung his head in a mixture of shock and shame as the hot water from the decontamination shower sprayed down on his body, washing the green stains from his suit onto the floor and down the drain.

Meanwhile, Vlad flitted around the lab, wasting no time in between plucking various tubes and files from their shelves to simultaneously berate Danny. “Really, Daniel, I know you’re an idiot but even you can’t be this appallingly stupid. There are many ways to consume ectoplasm that don’t involve tearing the cores out of your adversaries. Of course, if you continue to insist on being a toddler about your different biology then I have no doubt you’ll be back in this sorry state sooner than you can imagine.”

“Please, just tell me what to do.”

Vlad pulled out what appeared to be glowing green lettuce. “These are ectoplasmic vegetables. They grow in the Ghost Zone. I tend to prefer them with a nice cherry vinaigrette and paired with a glass of dry chardonnay. Do you understand, Daniel? The Ghost Zone is a parallel of the human dimension. If there are plants in the human world, there will also exist a variation of those plants in the Ghost Zone. You find the right ally, and you have your dinner.”

Danny stared dumbly at the plant. He’d only been to the Ghost Zone once before, when he was terrified his parents were getting divorced. And that trip had left him too scared to even think about going back.

“Where do you get yours from?” Danny asked.

Vlad put the lettuce back in the metal refrigerator. “Skulker. You know, my lackey? You may have heard of him.”

“Right.” Danny furrowed his brows. He couldn’t ask Skulker if he could have some of the plants—the ghost wanted to kill him. Again.

But he didn’t know anyone else who had ecto-plants either.

“I don’t know where I’d get them. I don’t know any ghosts.”

“Well, that seems like a personal problem.”

“Please!” Danny begged. “There has to be another way. I don’t know anyone! I can’t do this again. Please, Vlad.”

The true question was hidden underneath. But Danny knew what Vlad was going to say, and judging by Vlad’s vicious smirk, Danny’s assumptions were correct.

“Maybe if you stopped fighting your true nature, you wouldn’t have to beg for my food like a pathetic child.”

“Vlad, I—I don’t know what to do.”

Vlad transformed into his ghost form, his eyes glowing a harsh red against the dim light. “You may be a human, but you’re also a ghost. It’s time you started acting like one.”

He could feel it. His core, taunting him from under his skin. Telling him to give in, just trust it, trust his instincts.

But he couldn’t do it. He was scared, he didn’t understand why his instincts were telling him to act certain ways and do certain things. Why were the emotions of his friends and family suddenly so important to him? Why did he feel so compelled to play protector to the town? Why did he have to try to be so normal around Sam and Tucker?

Why couldn’t he go too long without transforming into his ghost form? Why did it feel like an addiction that was impossible to break?

What was wrong with him?

Give in, just give in. 

“I can’t.”

“You have to, Daniel.”

“But if I do that…”

“Then you’ll finally be admitting the truth of what you are. Why is that so wrong?”

Because I’m a ghost, ghosts are evil, ghosts are wrong, they shouldn’t exist, ghosts and humans don’t mix, ghosts are cruel creatures, they’re selfish, they’ll only act in their own self-interest.

But that was what his parents had told him. Was that true?

Did he know anything about ghosts?

Not really. Except for one, crucial thing:

Ghosts were different. 

Danny Fenton couldn’t be different.

---

<previous / next>

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 5

The Darkling x Reader

2 days had passed and you mainly spent them sulking and training in your room. You had been in a weird mood ever since your talk with Aleksander. You barely left your chambers, only to check on your keftas and grab food to eat. The atmosphere of the palace indicted that the Darkling had left the palace for a couple days, your suspicions confirmed by the fabrikator working on your kefta who seemed to love a good gossip. You had thought that maybe Aleksander was ignoring you, but the news made you relieved.

At this particular moment, you decided that wasting away in your room was pointless. You made your way to the gardens to take a refreshing walk. The grounds of the palace had changed unlike the inside of it. There was more greenery, even in the dead of winter. Your cape trailed behind you soaking in the melted snow on the path. Although you've been alone for the better part of 2 days, you barely had time to think about anything other than the usual. Your thoughts are constantly whirling with ideas on how to control your powers, how to make yourself more powerful.

Your life has always been a struggle of power due to never having anybody try to teach you those things, you doubted anybody could. There was barely any of your kind, and those that were like you would probably never know it. You had a long life ahead of you, you knew you weren't a mortal, not the true definition of it anyway. The more small science you could practice, the more life you had in you. You may have looked like a normal 23-year-old, but you had a hefty 176 years of life behind you. You seen many army’s crumble and Kings die.

You looked ahead of you and saw Baghra's hut. You never liked her and she was never fond of you. Thankfully, Aleksander never cared for her opinion. You debated going in and surprising her. What would she do? Beat me with the stick for coming back. You understood why she told you to stay away. She was protecting her son. She is still Aleksander's mother after all.

The door flung open and a black-haired girl rushed out, gripping her arm and on the verge of tears. This wasn't a rare occurrence. Baghra was ruthless. She slammed the door and huffed. You had never seen the kefta color combination. Summoner blue and gold? Saints. It's her. The Sun Summoner.

'Are you alright?' You found yourself asking.

She looked at you and sighed

'I will be if I never have to go back there'

You chuckled.

'She's always been a wretched bitch'

She looks back at the hut as if fearing Baghra would hear.

'It's fine, she wouldn't care anyway, I'm Y/N'

'Alina, but I feel like you already knew that'

'Saints, You know me so well already' you jested.

'Are you a Grisha? You're not wearing a kefta'

'I am, but I like my keftas to be very specific, takes a while to make them' You had started walking and the girl followed much to your surprise, probably curious about you. You slowly walked through the gardens.

'What do you do?'

'All sorts of things' You teased but changed the subject 'How are you settling in?'

'Well apart from the fact that I can't bring a sliver of light to me or that I'm forced to eat herring, I'm peachy'

You couldn't help but laugh. You liked her.

'If it's any consolation, I hate the herring too. I much rather pastries for breakfast, no?' She smiled in agreement.

'The trick to summoning is to not let anything get in its way. No emotions, no memories, It needs a clear, controlled path. Think of it like a carriage. You need a road with no obstructions but you also need reigns on the horse to pull it back, stop when you want it to stop'

You tried to explain it simply. You struggled with this when you lost all your abilities too. It was both tiring and painful to get it all back under control.

'I know, but it's not as easy as it sounds.' She looked down at her palm.

'I completely understand Alina. I truly do.'

You sympathized with her. At first, when you heard the rumor of Sankta Alina, all that came to mind was that you could take some of her gift; you were greedy. But now, you felt bad for her. She had so much to live up to yet she could barely produce a ray of light. Moreover, you had a feeling Aleksander had already weaved a plan to use her against her own will and morals. It's what he did, and he was damn good at it too.

'I think I have to go now, combat training awaits.' She mumbled as two summoners approached us. 'I'll see you!'

'Bye Alina'

You watched as she left. You noticed she was missing that spring in her step that the rest of the Grisha here have. You cared for the girl already. You couldn't help it. At one point you too were in charge of the Grisha in the Palace and always made sure they were happy and taken care of. Alina was lacking something, you were sure of it.

*****

Later that day, upon your arrival to your room from the library, you noticed boxes, many boxes. This could only mean one thing: your keftas finally arrived. You let a shriek of excitement out as you unwrapped each individual one and laid it out. Saints! you were in love.

They were all yours and only yours. You made sure of it. You looked at the black keftas and stopped. You had certainly gotten ahead of yourself while requesting those. You were miles away from the power of the shadows and your key to them was somewhere in Kribirsk tending to his Second-Army. You cursed yourself. They were the prettiest ones too. You sighed and tucked them away in the wardrobe for another time. Pity. They'll have to wait.

You tried some on and decided right then and there. It's time. It's time to stop hiding away in your room and moping. You had a life to live and powers to show off. Your old title was waiting to be filled, Second in Command of the Second Army, Deputy General Y/L/N.

Opening the doors wide, you waltzed your way to the halls where rumors and whispers spread, already knowing your chair had been put in its place and was silently pleading to be sat in once again.

Click here to see some of the keftas that I couldn't include in the text'

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

Part 6

@xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @0-artemis

[secretsickysideblog]

putting it lightly

'“m’not drunk,” abbacchio groans, rolling over.

bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “yes. alright. i am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”'

after a day spent searching for his awol teammate, bucciarati comes home to find that abbacchio had been peacefully asleep on his sofa all along.

(sicktember day 6, alternate prompt: asleep on the couch)

read under the cut!

Bucciarati is, put lightly, seething.

There’s this rage he hasn’t felt in a long time bubbling in the pit of his stomach, and although it’s the type that stems purely from concern, his blood is undeniably boiling. Because upon stepping into the front door of his apartment, Bucciarati is greeted with the sight of a familiar someone asleep on his couch--the same someone who has been AWOL all day, refusing to pick up the phone.

Bucciarati considers himself to be a rather patient man on the best of days and relatively tolerant even on those days that are not so great. And he is--he tries to be--as understanding as possible. So normally, if this were any other day, if he had gotten so much as a text confirming that Abbacchio was alive, Bucciarati would be fine with this. Mildly annoyed, but mostly in the sense of preferring to know when things were wrong with the people he holds dear before the problem rears its ugly head and less from the standpoint of work.

But Leone Abbacchio has been dead on air all day long. Bucciarati had gone through the other man’s apartment twice, and, accompanied by Fugo himself, they’d checked the youngest’s apartment all the same as if Abbacchio would have any reason at all to be there. Internally, Bucciarati slaps himself in the face for not considering that Abbacchio would have wandered here--but really, what reason would Abbacchio have to be here while vehemently ignoring any attempts to get into contact with him?

Bucciarati sucks a long inhale in through his teeth. It won’t do him any good to yell right now; for all he knows, the man passed out before him might be too far gone to comprehend a word he says, and Bucciarati would rather not strain his vocal chords for a reason so pointless as yelling to what may as well be a wall.

“Leone,” he calls, and the man doesn’t stir. He tries again with a little more fervor. No response.

A cold feeling manifests in Bucciarati’s veins as the consideration that, maybe, Abbacchio had trudged his way here to die pops up in his head. Maybe Abbacchio came all the way here because he knew it was the end, or because he had opted for the end, and maybe Bucciarati should be calling an ambulance right about now and he looks awfully similar to--

Bucciarati squeezes his eyes shut and shakes that train of thought away. The only way to know whether or not any of that was true would be to approach him, and if it were, Bucciarati would just have to deal with it. He’s come to be an expert at just dealing with things over the course of his eighteen years and change. With a tumultuous mix of rage and fear turning his stomach, Bucciarati approaches the couch, and he watches for a moment until he spots Abbacchio’s chest rise and fall once.

Good. He’s alive.

And with absolutely no sympathy, Bucciarati gives Abbacchio a firm shake by the shoulder to jostle him out of what Bucciarati assumes to be an alcohol-induced stupor--the flush across his defined cheekbones says all he needs to know. Except when Abbacchio blinks his eyes open with a groan, they’re glazed over and hazy in an unfamiliar way; when that golden gaze locks onto Bucciarati, it appears to lock onto something behind him. Within him, even. Through him.

“What in the hell are you doing here, Abbacchio?”

Abbacchio’s expression turns confused and quickly contorts into something that looks rather pained. Bucciarati keeps himself firm, even though something in him wants to ask ‘what hurts?’ Perhaps it’s a selfish act, to be angry, but Abbacchio has been sober for nearly a month now and Bucciarati sees no good reason to be ruining that. Abbacchio is guilty until proven innocent.

When he speaks, much to Bucciarati’s surprise, his breath smells like mint-- shockingly, mint and a hint of sleep and not at all alcohol. Not even coffee, which has served as Abbacchio’s replacement vice, in a sense. (It gives him something to refine taste in. Something to be picky about, a type of fill-in high.)

“Your door...it was unlocked,” is what Abbacchio says, and it’s slurred, but not in the way that he slurs when he’s wasted. It’s slurred in a manner that’s groggier than anything else.

“It’s always unlocked,” Bucciarati snaps. That was not the answer he was looking for, because that’s common sense. His door is always unlocked for the two subordinates he’s recruited that might need something at an ungodly hour, Abbacchio being a frequent visitor just after midnight.

Abbacchio hums, and his eyes close again as if he’s struggling to keep them open.

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati gives him a quick pat on the cheek to get his attention back. “Don’t pass out on me again. I want an explanation.”

Dual-colored eyes reappear. Abbacchio says nothing more.

“Leone Abbacchio, why the hell did you decide to fuck up now? It’s been nearly a month and you haven’t come close to a relapse since three weeks ago! Not to mention, you have avoided me all day, only to end up here? What if you had been dying? I thought you had crawled your sorry ass over here to die on my couch,” Bucciarati growls, tone undoubtedly dripping with poison, and yet some aftertaste of it is sweet. Vaguely sweet. Because he isn’t really angry. He’s worried, as is often the case.

“M’not drunk,” Abbacchio groans, rolling over.

Bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “Yes. Alright. I am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”

“I mean it,” Abbacchio’s voice comes out muffled by the navy throw pillow he has his face buried in, and yet there’s a distinctive whining quality to it. He doesn’t sound drunk--he sounds off. It’s disconcerting, because Bucciarati’s only assumption is that he’s more inebriated than he’s ever had the displeasure of seeing him before, and yet that wouldn’t make sense because the first night they met Abbacchio had a foot and a half well in the grave and a heel slipping downward.

Flushed cheeks, glazed-over eyes, and this slurring, whining tone. A clear dislike for the light in his eyes, as shown by the way he’s burying his face in a pillow, and he’d managed to get out of bed and brush his teeth but he’d opted against coffee. Bucciarati looks over his clues, looks over the sight before him, and tries to connect the pictures with a piece of logical twine. All at once, it comes together, and that burning rage within him is ignited by a cold wash of guilt.

He must be sick.

Bucciarati presses the back of his hand to Abbacchio’s cheek, and then to his forehead, and the heat radiating off of his pale face (paler than usual, somehow, and devoid of makeup) confirms it. For the second time in the past ten minutes, Bucciarati mentally slaps himself, and then again for good measure. As ample punishment, he decides to give himself an internal kick to the shin, too.

He exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, the high-strung tension in his body melting into a puddle at his feet. Sick, he can handle. He can handle sickness just fine, actually. He crouches down beside the sofa and nudges Abbacchio’s shoulder with more care this time, gently prodding for his attention for just a moment longer. Bucciarati knows from experience that sleeping on this couch is comfortable, but not nearly as pleasant as a bed, especially not on lead-limbs and fever pains.

“Come on,” all of the venom has drained away from his voice, and so has a good half of the volume, “let’s get you to bed, alright? This couch is cheap. It won’t do any good for your back.”

Abbacchio takes a long while to respond to the suggestion, but eventually, he sits himself upright and manages to force himself up onto his feet. He sways a bit, and Bucciarati prepares himself to catch him if he goes down even if he has more muscle in his left bicep than Bucciarati has in his entire body. Maybe it’s the sentiment--if he goes down, at least he wouldn’t go down alone.

It takes a couple of pauses for Abbacchio to lean against the wall and take a breather (and there’s a moment where even more color drains from his face, and Bucciarati just about unzips a hole in the floor to avoid having to clean vomit off of the hardwood). Ultimately, though, they make it to the bedroom. Bucciarati makes sure Abbacchio is settled. He slips off the other’s shoes, which must have been unpleasant to fall asleep in, and sets them by the bedroom door.

“Do you need anything?” Bucciarati asks, and Abbacchio shakes his head. “Another blanket? I’m getting you water, and that isn’t up for debate.”

His answer comes in the form of complete stillness. Quiet. And Abbacchio, for someone that must have a rather high fever, seems to be at peace. Bucciarati sighs, looks over his form. Now that he’s certain the other is sleeping and not dead, he wonders if he should address the fear he felt at the notion of losing Abbacchio with himself, because it was a different kind of fear. As though losing him would leave not only a gap in his life, in his heart, but in his being entirely.

He slips off to fill a glass of water, sets it on the bedside table. And he settles into bed on the other side of Abbacchio’s sleeping form, carding fingers through his silky hair as though it’s the most natural gesture in the world. He’s gotten far too used to Abbacchio’s presence in the handful of months they’ve known each other. And maybe it could be chalked up to the closeness they’ve been forced into, or up to the reliance Abbacchio has on him and the feeling of being relied on. Maybe it’s the way Abbacchio looks at him when he’s wasted. Maybe it’s the grateful way he looks at him when he starts sobering up later in the night.

Or perhaps, Bucciarati muses, he might be, lightly put, falling in love.

[tommysparker]

Never Forget You [Chapter 4]

A/N: hey y’all. just wanna say sorry for the posting schedule change. life is about to get hella hectic with school and the move sooo yeah. every second Saturday I will be posting! it’ll defiantly give me a chance to write more as well so im not rushing out chapters. anyways ive rambled long enough, enjoy :) 

Warnings: angst. theres fluff too but its fluffy angst?? im not sorry hehe. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks. 

From an outside perspective, one would assume the four of them were deep in thought, perhaps even communicating telepathically via the Force. They would only be half correct, as all of the Jedi were indeed thinking, but none of their trains of thought overlapped.  

Anakin and Ahoska were in the pilot seats, glancing at each other every other minute or so. They could feel the tension build thicker with every passing planet. The only sound filling the room was the faint running of the engine that kept the ship moving. 

You and Obi-Wan sat across from each other, neither one daring to make eye contact. Apparently, he was quite serious about the “not speaking from now on” agreement. It’s for the best, you kept telling yourself. However, the awkward silence that filled the ship made it harder to believe that. 

Out of all the things that could happen to you at the moment, this was by far the worst. 

On Gyfil, you had grown quite used to the sound of silence. In fact, over time you began to prefer it as opposed to the buzz of the towns. However, this was a different type of silence, one that had you bouncing your knee in anticipation for Anakin to announce you finally landed. 

Master Yoda had called you all for a mission briefing. There was a supposed Separatist group meeting on Ostor, given the intel you received from a client on your previous mission. The four of you were sent to listen in on it. 

“Young Skywalker and Padawan Tano, back up you will be. Great risks on Ostor, there are. Careful, you must be.” He turned to Obi-Wan and You. “Master Y/l/n, guide them you must do. In charge of the mission, I am putting you.” 

A sense of pride filled your body but you quickly humbled yourself. “Thank you Master.” 

Master Yoda smiled and turned to Obi-Wan. “Infiltrate the meeting, you and Master Y/l/n will. Stay together, you must.” 

Obi-Wan would have laughed at the irony. Mentally he still is. Stay together, you must. After the last conversation between the two of you, he had doubts about how that plan would go. However, for the sake of the mission he was willing to lift the deal made. 

You stood quietly, not being able to handle the loud silence any longer. “I’ll be in my quarters until we land,” you announced, making a point not to look at Obi-Wan and keep all attention to Anakin and Ahsoka. 

You left without sparing a glance back. 

He waited until you were out of view to let out a long sigh, running a hand over his beard and hunching forward. 

Anakin was the first to speak. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to endure.” His shoulders shook as he made a disgusted sound. “Glad it’s finally over.” 

“Just focus on getting us there in one piece, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, immediately followed by, “apologizes, I didn’t mean to sound so...aggressive.” 

“So much for being able to hide stress, huh?” 

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Some things are harder to deal with than others.” 

“Is Master Y/l/n ‘some things’?” Ahoska asked innocently. 

Obi-Wan pondered for a minute, deciding the best way to answer. “Master Y/l/n is...many things.” 

“Like what?” 

Gorgeous. Strong. Kind. Perfect in every way. “They are highly skilled, almost as well as I am, if not better. A fine Jedi and a valuable member to the Order.” He stopped there before he’d say something he’d come to regret. Best to keep professional thoughts. 

“I still don’t understand why the Council sent them away like that. Surely there were other Jedi that could have completed the mission,” Anakin commented. He knew his former Master wasn’t satisfied with the answer they were all given but would never admit it. He had to push him to find the truth. 

“Whatever reasons Master Yoda and Master Windu had for picking Y/n are between them. You must stop questioning the Council’s intentions, Anakin. It will land you in very big trouble one day.” Obi-Wan says as if he hasn’t second guessed the Order as a whole before. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. The less you question things, the easier life is. 

“That’s why I keep you around, old man,” Anakin said in a teasing manner. Hearing Obi-Wan let out a light chuckle made him feel a bit better as they settled into silence once more, this time more comfortable and light-hearted. 

A bit more time had passed before Ahsoka spoke up. “Why don’t you ask Master Y/l/n what really happened?” 

Obi-Wan sighed. He should have known better than to believe she would drop the topic. Like Master, like Padawan. “It’s none of my business. Frankly, it’s none of ours so I suggest we leave the subject alone.” 

His answer, apparently, wasn’t good enough. “I’m gonna go ask them.” Ahsoka stands up to leave but is stopped mid-movement by Obi-Wan’s protests. 

“No!” He looked at Ahsoka’s slightly stunned face, and chose to ignore Anakin’s smug look. “Fine, I’ll ask them. But only once, and if they don’t want to indulge me then that is the end of it. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Crystal.” 

Meanwhile, you sat alone on the bed in your chosen quarters. It made you feel relaxed, in a way. Before leaving, you were extremely extraverted, always going out of your way to make acquaintances with everyone around you. The life forces around you at night kept you alive, it gave a sense of warmth and comfort to lull you to slumber. On Gyfil, there was none of that. You had to rely on your own warmth to comfort yourself to sleep. No lush trees or animals to provide even the smallest bit of connection. It was just You and the Force. Sleeping for the first time in the Jedi Temple after returning felt like a sensory overload. Everything was loud, and rough. You could feel it coursing through your veins at the speed of light. No matter what you did, it was too much. 

You didn’t sleep the first few days. Eventually you got used to the noise, but not enough to get a decent amount of rest at night. There was one sound that sometimes made it impossible to sleep, one Force signature that kept trying to break through the walls you put up to protect yourself when you’re most vulnerable. What scared you the most was the fact your own signature subconsciously fought back against the walls you put. You refused to acknowledge it, choosing to fall into a deep meditative slumber and stay alert as opposed to any actual sleep. Whoever it was would not get into your head so easily. 

Knock knock. Obi-Wan stepped into the room once his presence was made known, gently shutting the door behind him. “Y/n…” 

You looked up and squinted at him. “I thought we agreed to not speak?” 

“Yes, well, that proves to be a bit tricky now doesn’t it?” He smiled tightly and crossed his arms over his chest. 

You huffed out air in a sorry attempt at a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head a little. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?” 

It was neither hostile nor endearing. It was simply his first name. To him you sounded tired, and judging by the way you sat on the cot, leaning back against the cold metal wall with your eyes half opened, he presumed his assumption was correct. He spoke gently, “Anakin estimates we should be coming out of hyperspace and landing soon.” 

“I figured.” It wasn’t your intention to be stoic but that's how you’ve been training yourself to speak to the man in front of you. The faster the conversation ends, the faster he leaves. 

Obi-Wan, however, was not having it. “How are you feeling? I know it hasn’t been that long since you returned from your previous assignment.” 

You shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fine.” 

“No one who says that is ever truly ‘fine’ Y/n/n,” he says, taking a step closer to the bed. “I know you. What’s on your mind, darling?” 

You slowly met his gaze, debating whether to open up or keep yourself closed off. On one hand, the idea of exposing your anxieties to someone didn’t feel right to you, letting someone know about your weaknesses and insecurities. However, you knew in order for the mission to succeed you would have to be willing to work with Obi-Wan and to do that a sense of trust had to be built. Rebuilt, technically. 

“If you wish not to speak, I understand.” He hesitated turning his back to you, “excuse me.” He was about to make his leave before you interrupted. 

“Obi-Wan, wait,” You sighed, shifting so there was room for him to sit on the bed. “Sit.” 

He did as he was told, eyeing you carefully. “Honestly, I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine.” You knew his intentions and as pure as they were you cannot bring yourself to tell him the truth. “I admit that I...am slightly concerned about the mission.” 

It wasn’t the answer Obi-Wan was hoping for, but he was willing to hear anything he could get out of you. “You have nothing to be worried about Y/n/n. You’re an extremely capable Jedi and I have no doubt in my mind you will lead us through it.” 

You smiled, only slightly but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” He smiled back. 

Your eyes locked tight with each other, and everything around you became emptiness. A void surrounded you both and the presence of the other was all that could be felt. 

“Staring competitions are pointless.” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straight and attempting to return your meditative state. 

“No they aren’t!: Obi-Wan argued from his spot across from you. 

“All you do is stare at each other until someone blinks. Waste of time.” 

“Nuh uh. Master Qui-Gon told me that--” Obi-Wan stood up, “--‘The eyes are a window to the soul’--” you laughed at the bad attempt he made to mimic his Master;s voice, “--therefore staring competitions can be a very good battle tactic.” 

“Jedi don’t do battles, remember? We’re peacekeepers.” You looked up at your friend. “Besides, you just want an excuse to get lost in my eyes.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “You know me so well.” 

So much has changed about the man in front of you, you could hardly recognize him. You never allowed yourself the pleasure to examine what you missed out on. One moment he was a young man who looked like he could take on the universe, and now all you could see was one tired man doing his best. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, is what the old You would have teased. But post-living-ten-years-by-yourself You was different. In a way, you understood. Although you didn’t fight any life-threatening battles and put yourself in the line of fire every week, you have worked tirelessly towards the same goal. 

Peace. 

Like this moment. 

For once, it was quiet. You felt yourself relax slowly, focusing on the one noise that soothed your anxious mind. It felt warm and...close. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. 

Obi-Wan leaned closer, his heart reacting faster than his brain. He felt a warmth he had been longing for over a decade. When he reached out, he no longer felt desolate. He wanted to hold on to the feeling and never let go. 

But alas in time of war, small moments of peace only last for so long. 

“Hey! We’re here.”  

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