#the shortest distance is round

[gillianthecat]

I have Not been doing what I should have been doing this week, which is Not Great. BUT. I have been feeling the urge to watch BL again, so I been flittering around streaming services and binging some and dropping others. Here's the list of the 18, in the order I watched them, with brief thoughts on each. My rating (out of 10) are in [blue]. Feel free to ask me to say more about any of them!

Pit Babe (2 eps) [7]

Fun, enjoyed the tropiness of it, intrigued by Jeff/Alan, whatever secrets Charlie and Jeff are keeping, and that drifting competition which was hella sexy. I like my omegaverse fics "non traditional" so i appreciated that the first BL out there was alpha/alpha. I wasn't engaged enough to keep going, but would like eventually to pick it up again. One of the few shows I'm not filtering the tag for, so I'm enjoying other people's reactions and gifs.

My Personal Weatherman (finished) [8]

I wanted to love it more than I did, many aspects were wonderful, but the leads never felt like real characters to me, just seme/uke tropes fulfilling their roles. Actors very pretty though. I have a bunch of notes I may finish and post eventually.

Laws of Attraction (finished) [9]

10% of it was terrible, 10% was completely nonsensical (instagram live-ing your date while on the lam? really??), 10% was mediocre, 50% was good, and 20% was sublime. Film was phenomenal as the complicated lawyer with his thousands of smiles, and I now have a crush on him. I started watching a het lakorn for him afterwards (Lucky Star, free on Viki, very soap opera, he and his costar are great). I loved grandma and the batshit ex. I've already forgotten parts of the plot. Wish it could have been higher heat, the restrictions kinda fucked with Charn and Tinn's chemistry in the second half, after they got together, but Film made it work with his coy blushing maiden routine. And their chemistry pre-dating was fire. Second leads were cute and I do love me a pining bodyguard, but sadly the actors were kinda eh.

I Became the Main Role of a BL (1 ep) [9]

I am very excited about this, doing so many things well, balancing slapstick and humanity, all the little details are great. I like how the "real world" is still tropey and absurd but also noticibku more grounded than the "drama" world. I'm invested in the managers' stories. I have hopes for its sexiness, given how Aoyagi was touching Akufuji's arm in their rehearsal. Love love love Akufuji stanning.

Double Mints (finished) [5]

um. I didn't hate it. I didn't like it exactly, but there were some poignant moments. My first actually dark BL (I know Pornographer is classified as dark, but it didn't feel that way to me). Possibly there's some profundity in it, but it didn't grab me enough that I want to spend the time thinking about it. Also many plot things that didn't make sense to me. Perhaps just translation issues? Unlike the next on my list, this wasn't porn, it was a violent yakuza story. Not actually very explicit given that it's supposed to be high heat, with the significant exception of a rape scene.

The Shortest Distance is Round (Noir) (finished) [5]

I mean this is literally softcore porn with a weird dark plot around it. I think most of the actors are actual porn actors; I know the lead is. I could have thoughts on the story, but I feel like I'd need to know more about Japanese cinema to say anything meaningful. Just saying, the sexual harassment at the beginning is the tamest bit. Also a hilarious misdirect with the dead fish sleep kiss (at least for me who was going in blind). Some of the sex was hilarious (goat boy!) some of it was creepy and rapey, and some was genuinely hot.

Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss (3.5 eps) [7.5]

Fun and fluffy, like the premise, the seme character has charm, but soon lost interest in that level of slapstick and tropiness. May eventually finish.

Love Stage Japan 2018 (half an ep or so) [6]

Liked it more than the Thai version, which I saw a few episodes of. The set up makes more sense. Soon lost interest in that slapstick style. Wouldn't avoid it, but no current urge to return.

Utsukushii Kare 2 (My Beautiful Man 2) (finished) [9]

I love them so much! As the middle section, it didn't work as well on its own as season one (a hothouse masterpiece) or the movie (their blossoming), but it was an important bridge in their journey.

Utsukushii Kare Eternal (My Beautiful Man Eternal) (finished) [10]

So amazing. I wasn't sure that they could make a good ending of this story but they knocked it out of the park. Managed the tricky balancing act of having Hira and Koyoi grow up and learn to have a healthy relationship while still remaining their kinky weird selves. Echoed season one in so many beautiful and meaningful ways. I may eventually write more about it.

Long Time No See (movie) (finished) [7]

I didn't recognize the title so o started it without knowing anything about genre or plot. I wanted to like this much more than I did. Theoretically I am into all the elements. But somehow it didn't work for me. It felt hollow, or rather like the outline of a movie rather than the movie itself. Nothing really felt real to me. Perhaps just my mood, perhaps because I didn't recognize the name and so went in to it completely lost and confused. And the sex scenes all felt a little off, a little fake to me. Like the actors were kinda uncomfortable with it. It was very low budget for its concept, and I think needed to either be full kdrama length (maybe 8 full episodes) of get somehow even artier about it to be an atmospheric film. Which it should have been, and all indicators pointed to it, but somehow wasn't. I think I needed to know the characters better to care about. Which may or may not have required learning more about them; there are characters I've felt deeply that I knew very little about, but somehow not with these two. Also I couldn't get the sister's deal. It felt like she was hinting she knew the assassin secrets? But also not. Anyways, the leads were very pretty. And the shot of them stumbling out of the final fight was moving. I may write more later.

Dom (a Strongberry short) (dnf) [4]

Only 13 minutes long and I couldn't finish it, even with 1.5x speed in parts. Experimental little short about anthropomorphized condom boxes, and there's some sort of human plot about a virgin and his cheating boyfriend that I lost track of. It's not bad, just not what I was in the mood for.

Bake Me Please (like 10 minutes of ep 1) [5.5]

When I was talking about not being into cooking themed shows this is the kind of show I mean. It already had a bunch of tropes that are not for me, particularly random normal people treated like celebrities, and people on tumblr seem frustrated with it so it didn't feel worth pursuing.

Ossan's Love (2018 Japan) (2 of 7 eps) [8]

Seems very well constructed to be exactly what they wanted it to be. My enjoyment of that sort of slapstick and yelling style show depend on my mood, and I lost interest, but want to return eventually because it's a foundational show.

Love Mate (less than 1 ep) [7]

Some appealing elements, but got annoyed at the employee's negging and pushiness. I guess I'm too particular about realism, but in what company would it be acceptable to turn a meeting about their product into a psychoanalytical critique of why your boss can't love. Also I es confused by the bosses dating strategy. He just regularly meets up with men 1 time for awkward meals that he seems to hate and then doesn't even have sex with them? Or were we supposed to infer the sex was just censored out? Not the biggest deals but both together indicated that this show was going to play loose with logic in a way that would irritate me. And the seme was being a pushy ass.

Naked Dining (Zenra Meshi) (finished) [8.5]

Loved it overall, though had flaws. Loveblogged it so many thoughts in the tags.

My Ride (4 out of 10 eps) [7]

See today's liveblogging for my thoughts. I like many aspects, but lost interest after four eps. Didn't catch me up enough to want to binge it. I think I'm in an actor centric mode, and unfortunately none of the actors are that good in it.

Every Moment That I Think of You (finished) [8.5]

Randomly found on Gaga, 2 very short episodes from China 2021. Very appealing leads, censored, high school romance/intense friendship, partially through the pandemic. Fit a year's worth of story into 28 minutes. Surprisingly solid, though made me want to see the full length uncensored version of their love story, same actors. Ending confused me. Subtitles of voiceover implied that was their last night together but didn't say what happened, but nothing and was shown. Perhaps just a bad translation? Very low budget (sound mixing was amateur) but did a lot with what they had. Chaotic adolescent boy camera work and editing style, always moving, which fit story very well. Recommend if ok with censored stories.

[scarefox]

Oh yes, almost forgot: welcome "The Sign" at the table of BL-ish dramas / movies that contain dicks being violently removed from their owner. As the first (?) Thai BL with that topic. lol

[yemme]

This is how this shot is engrained in my mind... Red alarm went off... the stare down he gave... you felt he came to fuck... even if it ain't you, you felt those eyes were for you... Hasegawa Hiroto.

[fayn3ko]

The Shortest Distance Is Round 2: Rain and Soda

[wren-der]

Its all soft core porn until somebody bites your dick off...then it still manages to be soft core porn somehow. 最短距離は回りくどくて、(The shortest distance is a roundabout way) What a fucked up movie that was.

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

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

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

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

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

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Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

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

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

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

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

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

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

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d just wing it, he thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so he told you.

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

He told you his mother died.

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

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

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

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

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

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

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

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

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

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

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

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

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

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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[seventhdoctor]

Trauma Team Artbook Character Bio Lore

...As gleaned from running artbook scans from 2014 through a sketchy machine translation in the year 2023. I won't post the exact translations for fear of mistranslations ending up reported as fact on wikis and so on, but here's the gist of what Google Translate yields.

CR-S01

Is named Erhard Muller, a fact that already made the rounds in the 2010s

His nationality is also listed as German, though he clearly spent most of his life in America

Most of his backstory isn't anything new compared to in the games, but the artbook does provide a timeline: adopted by Professor Sartre at age 9 after his parents died, enrolled in medical school at age 12 and hailed as the youngest ever to do so, age 13 when Rosalia was adopted, age 16 when the Cumberland Institute incident happened

Erhard and Rose weren't super close siblings, but got along well enough and they had happy lives until the bioterrorism attacked

The government 100% knew Erhard wasn't the culprit when they arrested him - he was the public scapegoat because they couldn't find Albert Sartre, their real person of interest. They never stopped looking for Sartre, and S01's work to reduce his sentence was a quiet compromise for the fact that they, y'know, ruined this kid's life

After learning the truth, S01 is disappointed at his father's betrayal but also chooses to take blame for Sartre's crimes and work off his sentence rather than expose Sartre as the true culprit

Not in-game lore, but according to the concept art section he was nicknamed Chris (CRS) during development. Other people will be funnier about this than I am

Maria Torres

Has the shortest bio and the least amount of new information along with Tomoe, honestly

Born in the slums

Was already at the orphanage at age 10 when Rosalia (age 3) came there

Ended up in rehab of some kind after the orphanage fire

Hank Freebird

Also doesn't have much new compared to the game, sadly

Joined the military out of a sense of justice, left out of disillusionment following John's death and used the medical knowledge he gained in the military to become an orthopedic surgeon (not that this wasn't already implied in the game)

His bio specifically calls him out for being kinda clumsy/goofy. Poor guy

Tomoe Tachibana

Honestly the only thing that's new is a bunch of names, so this is the one time I break my rule and cite a translation directly. TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, IT'S STILL A MACHINE TRANSLATION

The only daughter of the Tachibana Zaibatsu, a global organization run by a family descended from the leader of the Koga Shinobi Army, Hisayori Tachibana.

Gabriel Cunningham

Nationality is listed as Great Britain. Surprise!

His wife Lisa left him with Joshua and went to her parents' six years before the game because she didn't like his lifestyle

Lisa was willing to get back together if Gabe was ever willing to talk to her properly, but as seen in the game he kept his distance. He and Lisa met occasionally over the next six years, but he never saw Joshua - which is of course why Joshua never recognized him in the game

His decision to go through with the divorce was about acceptance of his failings and a desire to do right by Joshua and Lisa

Naomi Kimishima

NOW WE'RE COOKING WITH BACKSTORY

All right, so that bit in Second Opinion where she took a Savato sample after cutting ties with Delphi and used it to bargain amnesty with Caduceus [Europe in the US version; US in the JP version]? Yeah, apparently she transported that sample by CARRYING IT IN HER OWN BODY for Caduceus to extract

Her fatal condition is a result of that, though it's already implied to be a result of GUILT in the game anyway. It was a sudden development a few years later, followed by Derek's six-month diagnosis

There's also details about her illness! Apparently her specific brand of PGS or whatever involves excess serotonin and dopamine production, which she needs meds to regulate.

It also means she's no longer able to operate on the living, which is why she transitions to forensic medicine as part of her plea deal

[Insert grimace here] I don't want to get too into this because this bit because 1) machine translation fears, 2) even perfectly translated it's not likely to be accurate to actual philosophy/terminology anyway, 3) I'm not a doctor I don't know what I'm talking about…

But the bio then starts talking about pranayama and prana, defining prana as life essence and...saying Naomi lacks it because of her condition and its effect on serotonin? I'm not entirely clear on this and I'm hesitant to say anything for sure; the main thing is that they take her illness and use the concept of prana to connect that to...

Her new ability to hear the dead! Apparently Naomi reads the prana left behind in a corpse and translates it into the person's final words via her phone; the worse the damage to the corpse (e.g., skeletonization), the less prana remains and the weaker the voice she hears is

Whether any of this relates to the Healing Touch is not mentioned. IDK man

Technically this was in S01's bio, but it relates more to Naomi: Jacob Tillman originally wanted Naomi to perform his surgery and keep it secret. Naomi was already unable to perform surgery on living people at that point, though, so S01 was Plan B

Rosalia Rossellini

Admired her big brother Erhard :(

Albert Sartre

Adopted Rosalia to study the virus in her blood (that is, he already knew about it by the time he adopted her in case that's ever a timeline question)

Additional Note

If someone with actual knowledge of Japanese corrects me and anything I've written in here, absolutely believe them over me. I'm not the translation hero anyone still in this fandom in the year 2k23 deserves, I'm just the stopgap until maybe one arrives someday.

[witchofthesouls]

tfp idea, or in which the autobots find starscream with a hissy, squrimy beastformer sparklings (preferably a dromeosaurs of some kind), and get shock that starscream is actually very soft and good with babies.

(Okay, this is the initial scene where a few 'bots + Miko meets Starscream and his dinos. Do they agree with his methods? No. Is it effective and far less traumatizing than it could go? Definitely.

So the babies are babies to Cybertronians. Weird ones but still babies. But absolutely huge compared to humans. )

"Hey, guys, you're not going to believe what I found!"

______

Miko was perched upon Bulkhead’s shoulder, watching the epic battle between two metal mini-behemoths. A crocodilian and a raptor circled each other in the dirt. The raptor’s tail twitched, the long panels lining it and along its arms rippled and fanned in a strange amalgamation between feathers and scales. The crocodile rumbled in response, slower than its nimble opponent but far heavier as they were engaged in the ancient art of tug-of-war.

The oil drum between them groaned in protest, bending out of shape from the pressure.

"Scree!" Even across the empty field, the cry was absolutely ear-piercing as the reluctantly coaxed patient squirmed in Starscream’s grip and upon the makeshift medical station of a flattened boulder.

“Hush now. It’s a check-up. It won’t hurt.” It was hard to believe that not only Starscream went rogue, but somehow, someway became a daddy to dinos, but even as a witness, she never thought the Decepticon could have an almost gentle tone.

“Scree!”

“Must you hover us?” Ratchet was curt, hands trying to reach over.

“My hovering, as you put it, is the only thing keeping your servos whole and not a chew toy.” Starscream snapped. Despite the warnings of Decepticon lies, Miko absolutely believed him. That may be the shortest Cybertronian she’d seen, limbs rounded and armor far more simple than the others, even the horns were stubby upon the small helm with the longer set curving over a chubby face, but in the distance, Miko could spot the jutted and jagged fangs out of that mouth and the intense, slitted stare on Ratchet’s hands.

At that point, the barrel gave up and tore apart, bleeding chunks of Energon crystals, which the metal dinosaur babies, Miko had no other way to detail them, began to wolf down.

Ratchet immediately pressed his advantage when the dragon kid’s gaze turned away.

This, Miko firmly thought, was the coolest student exchange ever.

___________

Ratchet found the ports along the sparkling’s neck, digits jacking into them, and her struggles died as he used medical overrides to access everything.

If she didn’t like him before, then this cemented it.

“Sta-scree!” Her mouth was crowded by denta and it caused a lisp, but that word was definitely understandable as she utterly tried to reject Ratchet and dug deep into Starscream’s EM field, frightened and angry.

The other two sparklings heard the fear and immediately abandoned the treats, but partway through the charge, their energy flagged as they both dropped to the ground.

“Right on schedule,” Starscream commented.

“You drugged them!?” Ratchet hounded, even as he brought up the sparkling’s firewalls and anti-virals and scanned her entire systems, looking for damage from the insistent diet of raw crystals and ores. Surprisingly, nothing.

“I wasn’t going to let your troops bumble into my hideout, and you weren’t going let me into your base.” Starscream hissed back, wingspan flaring, even as his field twanged and curled over the distressed sparkling, trying to soothe her from the first medical check up- a real one, at least. “This was the compromise I could come up with at short notice. Tempest understands. The other two? Not so much. So they can have a full tank and a short nap or reinforced muzzles and inhibitor collars, and only one of those options is acceptable to me.”

As much as it galled him, the flyer was right. These three were unlike any sparklings Ratchet had treated: highly mobile in their alt-modes and capable of using their provided weaponry. It may not be transformative systems of blasters and swords, but Bulkhead could testify to the crocodile’s powerful bite force as it tried to wrestle the toy away and they’ve seen the raptor’s use of its large, deadly talon on its strange pede as it gouged trees, rockfaces, and steel.

The sparklings he was used to were far more dependent on caretakers and slow to develop their systems and frames.

Tempest sniffled between them, and their standoff was interrupted by the all-clear and completed updates he received. 

“With the limitations you had, she needed only minor updates and is fully functional.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was close enough and Starscream tensely nodded.

“Get ready to step away when you disengage.”

The moment he released her systems, Ratchet immediately backed up, just in time for that serrated denta to miss him. Tempest hissed and transformed back into her Predacon alt-mode, darting to Starscream’s side with her wingspan raised high and wide, pink optics blazing.

First visits were always the worst. Hopefully, the other two would stay asleep.

[bohemian-nights]

Between Heaven and Hell

Word count: ~2,003

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nettles

Warnings⚠️: NSFW🔥

Description: A lover's tryst under the cover of a storm.

AN: This is the shortest thing I’ve written in a while, but I haven’t written for Daemon and Nettles in a while either. Enjoy 🐑

Thunder crackled in the distance. To the lovers tucked away in a cottage warm in their bed under the cover of the storm within the Mountains of the Moon, it had become mere background noise. No more than the hum of a distant tune playing during a feast from a chamber above them. Too caught up and consumed by the other in a realm of their own making to care about the early spring storm in a world outside of it.                    

He was trying to kill her. That Nettles knew.         

Knew it in the way that Daemon had caged her in. A set of stalwart pale arms placed on either side of her head. Pinning her to the ruined mess of their bedding as she tried not to shiver underneath him.     

Not that he minded. He never minded her trembling when they were like this. 

Knew it in the way his hands would not leave her. Nor his mouth, or any other part of him. Cleaving himself to her.    

One would have to take a butcher's knife to cut them in two and even then they’d. He was everywhere. He was all there was. 

Pressed up against her with not a stitch between them. Flesh melding into flesh. His and hers becoming mere ideas of being rather than reality. This caging made it pointless.

He didn’t suffocate her. Nettles never would call what he did suffocating. She supposed she then should not call what he did caging either. Was it really a cage when she did not mind it? Even now when she had done what she had. 

When she had closed herself to him. Trembling legs snapping shut with a clap that echoed out round the room like the thunder in the night sky. Frantically trying to relieve her shaking the only way she knew how. Crawling up the bed as she tried to catch her breath from his merciless onslaught. 

A reflex, but it was a reflex that would not go unnoticed or without punishment. If one could call what took place in this chamber turned to an altar of worship a punishment.  

“I’m right here Netty,” her lover whispered into her crown. Her coils damp and slicked with sweat, his and hers as he reigned kisses down from her temple to the scar that grace across the bridge of her nose. Lightening streaked through the window, illuminating the chamber which made the back of his silver head glow. 

He had grown ever possessive over her as of late. Daemon had always been possessive of her she supposed when she thought of it, but now what little restraint he had vanished with the dying days of winter. Leaving a starving man in his place. 

That man pulled her from the intensity of her scrambled thoughts, the hands that had surrounded her going to her hips. Head lifting from its resting place along the slope of her brown neck lined with freckles he kissed each with such tenderness it made her ache for an entirely different reason than the throbbing heat aching at her center. The spot she swore was carved out for him the same as the one that matched hers upon his pale frame. The freckles traded for scars reddened by her mouthing.

She was going to hell. That she knew and he was trying to send her there. 

Oh, she knew what he said. In his eyes she was the Maiden, or whatever was the equivalent to his Gods. “You do not have a stain upon you Netty,” he’d tell her as he gazed down at her like she had hung the moon. Not in the way he had stained himself from a lifetime of battles and wars of his own making, but she was not made of sugar. 

She was the daughter of no one and she had survived that. She had seen her home turn ash before her eyes and she lived. She had survived a war. No one comes out of that without a mark upon them. She was not proud of her actions, but she had not taken a life that was undeserving and she had not stolen from those in need. Still, a thief was a thief and a murderer no matter how black the heart that had been taken.

A sinner she was as all the rest. The gates were barred the same as any other with only this brief mortal's respite left to her.

There was pleasure to be found in this realm. A pleasure that she had taken and grabbed hold of between. Never letting go. A consolation in the sin and the eternal damnation that surely awaited her afterward. Eagerly lapping at its saccharine taste. 

Better to enjoy her time here. Better to give what she could. Better to be a saint here if she could. It could never hurt at any rate. She could be the Maiden come to life. 

Though Nettles wondered if the Maiden would find herself in such a position as this. Spread out, a feast for her husband's eyes, naked and wanting. The Warrior taken her for his own. She would not be the Maiden if she did. Corrupted by the sins and lusts of mere mortals, but she could still bring love forth as she would now. 

“Sorry,” It was shakier than she would have liked. Horse, but as the Maiden would have she tried to apologize, but as the warrior would he shushed her, knowing just how pointless it was when she had lost this war nor was she very sorry for it. 

Lips skimmed the tops of her heaving breasts as she tried to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. An endeavor which failed at that when he nuzzled into the plump brown flesh and took a nipple into the warmth of his mouth. Laving her skin with his tongue. Only releasing the engorged flesh when she had begun to pant. 

She tugged on silver strands for more with a whine. Trying to pull his lips back to her breast, but he moved himself to her ear. 

“It’s rude to hide yourself from your husband little wife,” Husband. Little Wife. Nettles would have giggled at his whispering if her head hadn’t felt like she was underwater. 

She still had not gotten used to that. She did not know if she ever would, but she supposed she had a lifetime to get used to it, but right now she was having a hard time keeping her mind from drifting off into the hell they were making. Going blank with each carasses. 

With those fingers of his that had found their home in her sopping cunny once more. He had already Thrumming with her arousal under his stare and lips that seemed to have found its place upon hers breathing her in. Drinking up her moans and whatever little whimpers she would give him like the sweetest ambrosia. 

She would not make it to the end of the night much less another five and twenty years and two others after that like this if they were so lucky. 

Gods, he really was trying to kill her, but she would not go quietly. Or without him. 

Daemon faired little better. 

That she had noticed it. Him rutting into the sheets and her thighs like a dog in heat from the sight of her pleasure at his hands and tongue. “It’s rude to torture your wife husband.” In her haze and between pants she managed to wriggle a hand out from under his grip to bring it between them. 

Letting it trail down the pale skin of his abdomen softened by age and her attempts in their kitchen at domesticity all of which he greedily gobbled down before she took him in hand. She wasted no time swiping her thumb across his swollen cockhead.

Nettles was gifted with a groan for that. His head fell back down upon her breasts as he breathed out. He now the one leaning into her touch. 

Good, if he was going to kill her why should she not return the favor? They could both bask in their sin then. And sin it was. The most delicious kind that swallowed one whole and left them aching, but Daemon would be all too happy to oblige her. He had twice already. Drinking up much more than her moans.

It was a wonder how he had not spilled himself onto her thighs and the sheets though it was quite the relief and she wished to keep it so. Nettles was too selfish to allow him to make like a green boy and empty himself in his hand at the first sight of a woman. Or in her hand in this case. 

She wanted him inside her before he did so. Every last drop till she overflowed with him. 

Bringing her slender hand back up to her parted lips and took the tips of her now glistening fingers into her mouth to suckle upon as she caught his eye. He stared at her. Entranced by her lapping. 

Mouth agape. Only another crack of thunder broke him from the listful spell that had rendered him incapable of speech. Scrambling to give her what she wished. 

“You little minx.” His voice was as horse as hers. Daemon had plunged his fingers back into her heat in one thrust. Not giving a moment to adjust, not that she needed it. Nettles arched her back into his touch as she gave into him. Letting him lead her into oblivion. 

“Tis rude to keep your wife waiting my prince.” She had managed to stutter out between breathless moans. A fresh peak gripping its claws into her spent form.  

He chuckled at the sight of her whimpering and shaking.

Nettles thanked whatever God that might be listening that her husband was in a benevolent mood. Daemon decided to take pity upon her as he leaned down to take that nipple still hard and wet and waiting back into his mouth.

Doubtless, he could not hold back. Newly wedded bliss not yet worn off. She hoped it never would. With the way they went on, attached at the other's hip, it would not for a good while.

“You’re so beautiful Netty.” Mouth upon her neck again. Kissing every freckle under his violet gaze. “So so beautiful.” 

She bit into the plump of her bottom lip to stop from letting out  Nettles had given up on trying to hide her pleasure, but she liked to keep a bit of sense left. “Too beautiful to hide yourself from me.” She laughed breathless as it was, but full of life and that laugh gave way to a moan. Losing her resolve, but for this too she no longer cared for it. 

“My sweet Netty.”

A kiss this time was placed on her temple while his fingers pushed in deeper. It’s gentleness juxtaposed with the roughness of those digits. 

At the contrast, Nettles clamped down on his thick digits as she began to cream around him. The calloused pad of his thumb found the bundle of nerves at the apex of her quivering mound. Drawing circles into her pulsing nub that drew her closer to her climax. It stole the breath from her lungs before pulling from her and stealing it again when he gave her something else to milk dry. 

His cock had entered her the same way as his fingers. Taking her all at once as they clung to each other. “My sweet girl.” 

“You’re all my sweet girl.” He had reached her hilt as he whispered it upon her lips. Swallowing his cries upon his tongue. His length nudged against the spongy spot within her as he pushed deeper still. The lightning in the sky dotted the backs of the midnight of her eyes. The time for teasing long gone. 

All yours. Sin turned to heaven in the land of the damned and what a blissful heaven it was.

Ao3 Link:

[yemme]

Hasegawa Hiroto, this scene shot is captivating. I don't know you from a can a paint... but you've tripped my ass and I've fallen. Bravo.

The Shortest Distance is Round ~ Ryoma

[fayn3ko]

Roundabout Series│Akira & Ken

[twig-tea]

BL/QL Ask game : The Ugly, the Bad and the Worst

Thank you for the game, @clara-maybe-ontheroad! And thanks for tagging me @clara-maybe-ontheroad and @lurkingshan! I started out by saying to myself that I'm going to do my best to ignore my urges and just answer the first thing that comes to me rather than treating this like a quiz. And then I went into a fugue and worked on this for >5 hours. WHOOPS.

Original version here for anyone else who wants to play!

Also quick warning, this is asking about the worsts, so TW for mentions of horrific plot points below.

Worst soundtrack / weirdest song choice in a BL

Ohhhhh man, ok so the first thought that came to mind was Never Let Me Go, which mostly had fantastic background music, and that's maybe why when it didn't hit it stood out so badly (sorry to my man Pond, not all BL actors should be singers! And having his OST play over their kiss in Part 7 4/4 was just mean). For the record I love this show (actually maybe it should go in one of the below categories because so many tumblr folks dislike it) but this was rough.

Most cringe-inducing line (cute)

These don't tend to stick with me...there are so many, and I am allergic to sincerity so everything earnest is various levels of cringe to me. So with that in mind, basically everything Gavreel ever said in Gameboys counts.

Most cringe-inducing line (actually bad)

Anytime someone said "Once I start I won't be able to stop" or some variation.

Most stupid decision made by a character

Jun Ho deciding to die rather than bite Min Hyun in Kissable Lips. Min Hyun was offering. it would have made Jun Ho human. He could have had his friends around to make sure he didn't go too far and kill him. Instead he decides to fade away in his arms like a dick. WHY.

Special mention to NuengDiao going back to his hotel where his murderous uncle is waiting with no plan other than to walk in wearing a suit and a cocky expression in Never Let Me Go.

[@bengiyo and @wen-kexing-apologist are correct about Teh giving up his spot to Oh Aew in I Told Sunset About You as the actual correct answer, btw]

Worst plot line

Every penultimate episode crises resulting in the leads splitting up so that they can reunite in the finale that are not earned and significantly detract from my enjoyment of a series [this list is not comprehensive]: 2Gether, Minato's Laundromat S2, Enchanté, Love Class, Plus & Minus.

The most problematic show you've watched

I've seen literally all of them so this feels like an unfair question lol there are layers of problematic; like, is it even worth considering all of the problems with A Round Trip to Love, or The Shortest Distance is Round, or What the Duck s2? I wrote out summaries for these and then decided no thanks. If anyone wants to know they can DM me.

In terms of series that are problematic but not often considered problematic, I'm calling out Love Area the series. It hits two of my pet peeves: shitty treatment of a poor character by an oblivious rich love interest that directly affects their sources of income, and an ableist subplot. I think it also has an unearned separation in the penultimate episode but honestly I remember thinking they should stay split up so maybe it was earned.

A show people love but you find bad

Vice Versa. Sorry to all who love that show. I wanted to like it; the colouring and cinematography are beautiful and the alternate universe was neat worldbuilding. But the plot makes me so, so angry.

Ditto Cutie Pie the series. I just can't enjoy it.

A show people find bad but you will defend

Honestly there are several, but the one that is most disliked that I will ride hardest for is probably Secret Crush On You (which I argued ended with one of the most healthy relationships in a BL here LMAO). I get why people find this show hard to watch, the cringe is real. But the gender expression! The found family! The "he's a weirdo and that's why I love him" dynamic! The mutual lusting! The body dysphoria! The fact that both start by playing into BL tropes and it's only by throwing those out that they can actually have a meaningful relationship! The way both characters have real growth! And like yes Toh is a fanboy stalker but that is problematized in the show! It gave us the growth from fanboy to faen that Be Mine Superstar didn't. I have a lot of emotions about this show.

ALSO because I cannot stop, I will forever to my dying breath defend Color Rush. I don't care what you say about dead fish kisses I can't hear you over the incredibly powerful metaphor about the queer experience!

A show that is just objectively bad but you enjoyed it

Bahahhaha. Um. So many, my friends. OH I'm going to take this chance to shout out the lesser-known webseries Discipline Z: Vampire (Korean, YouTube, 2020). It's ostensibly a sequel to Discipline, but the only thing they share is a single character so you don't need to watch it to understand what's happening in Discipline Z (they are entirely different shows in every way; Discipline is more youth slice of life with a queer story as part of the ensemble). Listen, I'm talking about this show in this category for a reason; it's about a vampire who falls for a street dancer, whose motley crew of hacker friends help rescue the vampire from an evil corporation that wants to experiment on him to understand his immortality. It is BAD.

But. BUT! I love it. Everyone is so pretty. There is a cute hacker girlie. There is scifi nonsense to explain immortality. There is a good kiss. There are characters willing to sacrifice to do the right thing. I am a simple woman. [Fair warning to my happy ending only pals: this ending is ambiguous at best; there was supposed to be a follow-up epilogue for the couple, but it never got filmed.]

Bonus, En of Love was absolutely trash and it has a very special place in my heart. It's not good (like, at all), but it's great.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were intrigued/fascinated

Let's go with Physical Therapy the series. At some point I just kept watching like a car wreck to see how bad it could get. Also shout-out to Dinosaur Love, which was...similarly bewildering.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were horny

@lurkingshan already stole my first answer for this, but oh man I stay a Why R U apologist for the Fighter/Tutor chemistry. I actually think somewhere in there is a really interesting show, if the pandemic hadn't made it impossible for them to film the ending that they wanted to, but based on the Korean version and the parts that we were told had to be cut, maybe it would have actually made it worse. But just to get on my soapbox for half a sec, Tutor was in debt, working himself to exhaustion, and Fighter (after he got over himself) protected him at his one job, joined him to help him meet his sales targets at another, hired him for a third, paid off his debt collector to take the pressure off, and then took him on vacation to help him relax--twice. I have issues with depictions of poverty in BL but at least my man secured the bag while also pursuing love or whatever. Also he whispers "get inside me" while they're making out, sorry, Tutor will forever be a fave of mine.

Since that's taken, I'm going to use this as an excuse to shout out the hotness of My Day the Series. It was predominantly not great but the heat moments....

A bad show that you kept watching because of that one character

I'm giving this to Noey Watplu from I Will Knock You. I was obsessed with him. I want his confidence so badly. I love how he's essentially a dork in cosplay but gets away with it because of his rizz. Truly iconic. This man decided he was being seduced and said "bet". I really enjoyed this show because of him and him alone.

A bad show that you would still recommend

I'm going to put Ghost Host Ghost House here. It's "bad" in the sense that it had low production values (like, really bad, so bad the time of day changes at random because they lost the light while filming). But the romance was cute, the story around the romance was interesting, the worldbuilding around the merit credits was fascinating, the side mystery was so heartbreaking, the various characters actually had a lot of difficult emotions to portray, and overall I think this show is underrated.

I also already have and will again recommend YYY as a fun and fascinating watch to anyone who asks about it, @waitmyturtles is correct on that call.

The character that ruined a show the most

There are several annoying sides in BL, but I'm giving this to the side hets in My Oxygen. A fujoshi who records people without their consent for online clout is bad. A doctor using his role as a doctor to get closer to his patient is really bad. Pretending to be interested in his friend because the girl he likes is a fujoshi is worse; then using her brother as his friend's stand-in when his friend won't put up with it anymore is the WORST.

Most awful character that you hated

I mean, Lhong in TharnType takes it for not only arranging the gang rape of Tar, but being forgiven for it in the series. Neung in Tonhon Chonlatee comes a close second for attempting to rape Chonlatee and then claiming the moral high ground against his homophobic "friend". Tony in History 5: Love in the Future doesn't get enough hate for trying to murder someone just because he was his love rival. Namning in La Cuisine had her love rival bullied, beaten and who knows what she was going to do with that gun. Also shoutout to @wen-kexing-apologist's answer of Korn, in KinnPorsche, he was so insidiously evil, it was so well done.

Most awful character that you loved

I'm going with "awful" as not necessarily (just) morally bad but that people didn't like: Jaime from Win Jaime's Heart. Objectively he's a fuckboi of the worst calibre. He agrees to go on a webshow in which he dates Heart so that he can seduce the creator of the show Winston. And Jaime is so charming that I don't care about his bi wrongs (partially, to be fair, because the premise is ridiculous so it's hard to take too seriously).

Special mention (because it's not a series) to Wine in Red Wine in the Dark Night. I love a murder twink (speaking of, things are looking really good for me to stay in love with Ai Di from Kiseki if it keeps on this track).

If we're interpreting "awful" as characters that other people don't like, it'll probably go to Toh from Secret Crush on You or Gus in Diary of Tootsies. They're flawed, they're femme, they're fantastic.

A character that wasn't awful but that you just don't like

Can in Love By Chance and the sequels. Tinn is an asshole and knows it; Can is an asshole but is also self-righteous, but in all honesty his biggest flaw for me is that he's not competent and I have little patience for that.

A hero that should have been a villain

Tempted to give this to Ko from Love Poison for essentially trying to love spell date rape his love interest--this is only not that bad because magic isn't real so of course it doesn't do anything.

Possibly Athit (Boun's character) from Even Sun? I put a question mark there because this was so convoluted and hard to follow I'm not even 100% sure I remember it right, but from what I remember, this was not a romantic story at all.

Taking a totally different approach to the question, Joke from Hidden Agenda should have been a secret villain (in the sense that he should have been scheming and sociopathic but hiding it, ineffectually, from Zo) in order to make the series make sense, but apparently I can't have nice things.

And finally, special mention to Phu in The Promise for being the villain for so many of us already.

A morally bad character you're into

Zhu Zi Shu, canon war criminal and child murderer from Word of Honor. He thought he was doing bad things for good reasons (protecting the people he loves), realized he was just doing bad things and the people he loves were all dead anyway, and crafted a convoluted plot to get out of the secret society rules that he created to prevent anyone from leaving. And then he wanders aimless until he meets Wen Ke Xing and becomes as loyal to this equally morally dubious man as he was to his secret society. I love him (and them) so much.

Same type of deal, different scale of crime: Akk from The Eclipse. I have a soft spot for this trope.

A morally bad character you're not into and you wish people would stop being into

Xue Yang from The Untamed. Also a mass murderer, but doing it just for the vibes/to avenge his finger, so he gets zero love from me. People woobify him just because he's sassy it's...rough.

The show that disappointed you the most

From hype to execution? So Much in Love / Ni Yam Ruk. I slogged through such awful subs TWICE (because they claimed they redid them, but they are still terrible) to try to give this show a chance, because the premise sounded right up my alley. I still think there's a show in there that I would have liked, but it is literally unwatchable.

Most disappointed from what the show seemed like it was doing at the start to what it delivered in full is a tie between The Shipper and Step By Step.

The Worst Show of Them All Because of Your Own Reasons

That's My Candy. I've only ever dropped/not finished I think 3 or so shows? And this was the most painful and the one I am least likely to ever finish. The pairing was overplayed, the comedy was heavy handed, and the plot was absolutely cringe inducing. It was literally torture trying to watch this.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading!

Tagging @visualtaehyun @nothingsbetterthancoffee @lurkingteapot @snidgetwrites @formayhem @slayerkitty @respectthepetty @ginnymoonbeam no pressure as always! And if you play and I didn't tag you but you're reading this, tag me anyway! I love reading everyone's answers.

[gillianthecat]

someone in the thaibl subreddit asked for recommendations for "toxic and disturbing" bl and some people are saying theory of love and others are saying the shortest distance is round. the range is hilarious.

[dalliansss]

Fingon 🐅🦄

Unusual Headcanons Ask Game!

🐅 - Characterization: character habits, personality, etc.

Prim and proper. Fingon was raised by Nolofinwe and Anaire under a very strict and formal household, and so he grew up not like his cousins Maedhros and Finrod. He is usually a stickler to rules, protocol and etiquette, every bit a prince in his demeanor. Emotions are kept tightly under wraps, and even with his immediate family, he has a palpable formal distance with them, which meant Turgon and Aredhel grew up not quite close to him, as they both deemed him often unapprocheable. He was especially close with Argon, and when Argon died, Fingon was the most devastated. Argon to him was how Aegnor was to Finrod.

As a young elf, he had trouble learning under classic instructional methods. He had little to no close friends, at least until the time came when Feanaro accommodated him during summers in an attempt to teach him. Under Feanaro and Nerdanel's schooling, he began to blossom in skill and learning.

Yet, compared to Maedhros and Finrod, he was not as academically inclined. He had a few Loremasteries under his name, but Fingon preferred to serve in Finwe's royal court, unlike his two other cousins who equally divided their time and mind in many, varied pursuits. Of Finwe's eldest three grandchildren, he is considered the boring one.

Like a classic aristocrat, he can play the long game. He isn't above schemes and manipulation to get what he wants, though he has little enemies and sought ever to keep harmony at the Noldorin court. However in Beleriand, Fingolfin's long kingship and lax policies gave him difficulty when it was his turn to wear the crown. By then, Maedhros and Finrod had gotten away with much, and Hithlum was lagging behind politically and economically, virtually at the mercy of Nargothrond and Thargelion in economic matters. It was too late for him to do anything then, as Maedhros and Finrod subtly prevented him from exercising any influence more than they deemed necessary over their own sovereignties.

🦄 - Characters’ physical appearance.

Fingon is the third shortest in the House of Finwe. In his family he is the shortest of the lot. He is small, a bit round in the middle, compact. His lack of reach he makes up for with excellent archery and speed in combat. He also resembles Finwë the most, from their lustrous black hair up to their dimpled smiles. He has gray-blue eyes. He wears his gold ribbons to distinguish himself from other Noldor and from his kingly grandfather. Without his braids, Fingon has thick black curls of hair that hangs to his bottom. His complexion is pale.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Round 2: Eighteenth story for @badthingshappenbingo ~

We have a Bingo!

Title: His Weakness

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Character(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott, Leah McCoy, Chris Scott

Relationship(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott/Leah McCoy

Rating: ?

Words: 570

Prompt: Lured into a Trap

Warnings: Betrayal, ???

(You can also find this story on AO3)

~ His Weakness ~

His heart was racing as Robert "Robbie" Scott ran through the dark complex of halls, using every cover he was able to find on his way. With shaking hands, he kept the phaser close to his chest and tried to breathe as calmly and quietly as possible.

He swore silently. It had been a bad idea to come to this place. The Scotsman should have known it right from the start!

But Robbie had been stupid. And that was the reason why he was fighting for his life now, eliminating one foe after the other.

Not much longer and he would be able to escape the building. He glanced at his watch. He only needed to survive five more minutes.

He let his eyes wander around. There! A good hiding spot! If he stayed hidden behind that corner, Robbie would be sure to make it out alive. He quickly, but carefully crossed the short distance.

A weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. Only five more minutes until it was over. He'd just have to wait.

However, Robbie's blood froze in his veins when he suddenly heard a familar voice screaming for help. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized to whom it belonged.

Leah!

It was his girlfriend's voice! Robbie's eyes widened in shock. She was in trouble!

He hesitated for the shortest amount of time, a bad feeling spreading inside his stomach, but eventually decided that he couldn't just stand there and wait when the love of his life was obviously in danger!

Taking one deep breath, Robbie got out of his hiding place and started running into the direction the voice had come from.

What awaited him was a horrible sight to the Scotsman.

Leah. Lying motionless on the ground.

Robbie shook his head in disbelief. No... that couldn't be.

As fast as he could, he got to Leah's side and dropped to his knees next to her body.

"Leah! Lass!"

His breathing fastened and he slowly reached for his girlfriend's shoulder to touch it.

But he didn't get that far.

A loud noise and the green light on his vest turning red settled Robbie's end and he couldn't help but frown when Leah's shoulders suddenly started to shake and she turned around, laughing maliciously.

"Gotcha!"

Robbie looked over his shoulder to see his son's head emerge from behind an obstacle. He was grinning widely.

He... he had shot at him! Chris had actually taken him out of the game!

But...

Robbie's head whirled back to Leah and he saw that the light on her vest was blue instead of green.

"Wha-... when did ye switch sides?!"

Leah slowly sat up, brushing a strain of hair out of Robbie's face. She gave him a pitying look.

"When Chris offered me the chance to do so," she returned with a shrug of her shoulders.

Robbie couldn't believe it! His girlfriend and son had actually lured him into a trap! Just to win!

"Ye tricked me."

"We sure did, sweetie, we sure did," Leah chuckled before she pulled Robbie closer to her to whisper into his ear. "But thank you for coming to my rescue, my handsome knight."

Robbie just sighed. They just knew about his weakness too well.

But one thing was for sure. He'd never play laser tag with Leah and Chris ever again.