#& go see a star war ( crack threads )

[percentstardust]

remi vc: don’t worry aegon, i can’t do math either. i just smile & forget :)

@maidmyth

"I am not bad a math. I do not know what you mean." He is lying.

[mieldreams]

The Interview

Summary: An Interview with your co-star and childhood friend in the early 2000s.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x reader

Warning: Crack.

A/n: the warning says crack because that's what I was on when I wrote this. more on that later.

*Set sometime in the early 2000s (possibly 2003) after the release of Life as a House and AOTC*

“—Next up we have a special and highly requested interview with Miss Y/N Y/L/N and Mr. Hayden Christensen! They starred together in the 2001 movie ‘Life as a House’ and have previously worked together on the Canadian TV show 'Higher Ground'. And after a quick little commercial break, they are going to be answering some questions sent to us by their fans! Isn’t that exciting?”

Your ears perked up at the call of your name, immediately snapping to attention and smiling politely as the cameraman pointed the camera for a shot.

“Oh, very. We love our fans and it’s nice to hear from them.” The camera switched from the interviewer to show Hayden answering.

 “Yeah, it is. We’ve actually never done this, I think. So I’m kind of excited.” You said with a small smile on your face which quickly turned a little mischievous as soon as the cameras cut to the commercial.

*The cameras cut for the commercial*

“I hope they have some fun questions,” you wiggled your eyebrows at the camera and the crew, “I’m actually looking to get revenge on this guy here.” Hayden rolled his eyes jokingly and turned to you.

“You can’t seriously still be mad at that.” He chuckled.

“I am, actually. And I fully intend on making you pay,” you replied in the most serious tone you could manage.

But before he could reply, the interviewer interrupted, “Oooo what’s this I hear about revenge? Something scandalous we wanna share with the world?” his face had a curious expression.

“It's nothing too serious–” Hayden started,

“—uh, yes it!” you interrupted, manners be damned, the world has to know what a cruel friend your co-star is.

“Do you wanna tell them or should I?” you turned to him with raised brows.

“So basically,” Hayden starts with a defeated sigh, “Y/N here thinks I ruined her one chance at “true love”,” he made finger quotes in the air, “by introducing her—”

“by betraying me—”

“—by introducing her to Ewan McGregor.”

“You did NOT just “introduce” me!—” you shook your head in offence.

“He DRAGGED me to meet him even though I wasn’t ready!” you pointed at him with an accusing finger while looking at the camera crew and then at the interviewer.

While your voice took on a higher pitch to make your words sound as accusing as they did, and your face held an expression of the most genuine-looking offence, your body was quite relaxed, leaned back in your chair with your ankles casually crossed while your hands moved animatedly to emphasize your words. And that was all Hayden needed to see to know you were only pulling his leg.

So he replied with a laugh, “I just introduced you!”

“Uh yeah before I was actually prepared to meet him. I looked like a hooker caught masturbating in church with the way I stuttered and couldn’t get a single whole sentence out the entire time” Hayden and the interviewer immediately burst out laughing at your choice of words while you shook your head, your hands covering your face in embarrassment.  

“And when did this happen?” asked the interviewer, still chuckling.

“A few months back – at this party with all the Star Wars folk. It was a little bit after episode 2 came out.” Hayden answered.

“So if it wasn’t for Hayden’s bad timing, would Miss Y/N have tried to shoot her shot with Mr. McGregor?” the interviewer tried digging further into this little piece of never-heard-before “drama.” 

“Does Ms. Y/N have a crush on Mr. McGregor? And be honest!” the interviewer laughed.

You blushed at the question, a tiny smile appearing on your face that you made sure to hide by averting your gaze to your fingers picking a thread on your dress’ hem, “Uh...no,” you answered truthfully, fully aware that he was a married man and the Hollywood vultures that were always hungry for gossip and drama would definitely turn a harmless joke into some petty story about infidelity or worse, “I wouldn’t have done that. I mean, look what happened when I simply stood next to him! It is true ya girl is an Obi-girlie through and through, but she is not a smooth talker unfortunately.” You shook your head with an expression of exaggerated regret and pity, making the interviewer giggle.

“And how do you feel about that Mr. Christensen?” the interviewer raised his brows at the man beside you, who had surprisingly gone quiet while you had been trying your hardest to not blush and giggle while giving your answer, memories of your unholiest thoughts repeating in your head like a broken record player. (Can you be blamed really? Have you seen him in Shallow Grave? And Moulin freaking Rouge? Oh my god—)

Hayden simply tilted his head slightly towards the interviewer, you assumed he was playing the usual ‘pretend you don’t understand’ card that you both primarily resorted to when it came to vague but definitely not vague relationship questions.

But you were wrong, both ways. Because while that’s what he would have done had he heard the question, he was instead lost in the flashback reel his mind was playing — of the very night he had mentioned. Of how he may have stopped breathing when he first saw you standing across the room in that glittery short black dress. Of how he most definitely stopped breathing when his gaze travelled up your body only for you to turn, your eyes meeting his with a technicolour kaleidoscopic flash in his brain. Of how he felt a blackhole open up in his stomach when your perfectly painted red lips immediately stretched into the most dazzling smile when you realised it was him, and how quickly you had excused yourself to start walking his way.

And turns out the interviewer had, in fact, not been alluding to some “secret affairs” between you and Hayden either (as the magazines always called it, though you never understood how it could be an affair when neither of you were in another relationship, not that you kept tabs on his relationships or such things) as he clarified, “what do you think of the fact that Miss Y/N is an “Obi girl” and not an Anakin fan?”

And while you could have corrected him on how you never said you were not an Anakin girl, you were too curious to know his answer so you remained mum.

 His memory reel ended abruptly, having to force a laugh to buy some time to think about his answer. If he answered too seriously, it could fuel the rumours but if he answered too casually it could fuel the rumours. He knew he couldn’t let any of his actual thoughts be known, not knowing what to do with those feelings himself, let alone trust the world with them. If he had maybe a 0.002% chance by himself, he’s sure the rumour mills would churn it down to a negative statistic. Not that he had actually thought about those calculations before, or any sorts of chances at all for that matter. No, he had never thought about just one chance for the hundred different ways he could love you or just one chance for the thousand different ways things could go wrong, what with both of your popularity and how you seemed to be two people worlds apart in your ways.

There was this queasy feeling in his stomach — odd ball of jealousy? No, definitely not. It couldn’t be. Probably just the milk he had that morning, maybe he should check the expiry date of his dairy more often.

“Um...” he shook his head while forcing a small smile on his face, “honestly? I get it man. Obi Wan’s pretty cool, eh? I mean Ewan McGregor’s definitely got the style. He’s so fun to work with and uh.. yeah, I get it. I get it.” Honestly, he himself didn’t know half of what he was saying, he just wanted to get started with the interview.

And maybe the stars were on his side that day because someone from the crew spoke up,

“Guys, so the commercial’s closing, the cameras and crew are ready. shall we start?”

“Yes.” Hayden replied a little too quickly while you nodded in agreement.

“So, we’re back after the break, and we’ll be starting with the first question to—,” the interviewer started, “– Hayden. From 10-year-old Leni Schmitt, she’s from Germany and she says, “Dear Anakin, why did you kill all those women and children when they didn’t kill your mother? I don’t judge you because sometimes my classmates annoy me too. Did those children annoy you?”

Hayden, who wasn’t expecting such a question looked at the interviewer with his mouth dropped open in shock, eyebrows raised while you sit beside him with a similar expression which you school immediately, or at least try to, but only end up having to cover up your amusement and surprise with a fake cough and clearing of your throat.

“Umm...” Hayden briefly looked at the floor, trying to come up with a suitable answer to this child’s question, he then turned back to the camera, “you see Leni, Anakin is a guy with very big emotions who isn’t allowed to talk about them openly, often. He’s a little conflicted and hurt after what happens to his mother and doesn’t know what to do. So he makes a few wrong decisions and does a few wrong—”

“—murderous” You whisper under your breath which you cover up with another cough, smirking off to the side which earns you a side eyed glare from Hayden who continuous like he never heard you.

“—things. I think he’s a good lesson that we should talk about our feelings first, even the ones that hurt and feel bad.”

“I agree, well said.” The interviewer nodded his head, switching to the next card in his hand. “This next question here, is for Y/N. It’s from 7-year-old Nancy from America. She says, “Dear Nancy, my name is Nancy too.”

“Hello, Nancy” you waved at the camera with a warm smile, understanding that the child was referencing to one of your older movies, where you played a young girl from the 17th century, named Nancy.

“I think you’re really pretty and very amazing. You’re really smart and strong and look very cool with a sword. I know pirates are supposed to be the bad guys but I want to be just as brave and smart as you when you grow up. When I grow up, I want to study space and stars too.” The interviewer continued reading from the card while you melted in your chair from the girl’s sweet words.

“PS. Can you please tell Mom and Dad to get me a sword for Christmas too?” The interviewer read with a laugh to which you chuckled too.

“First of all Nancy,” you turned to look at the camera again, “I can tell that you’re already very brave and amazing and smart. And I think it’s really amazing that you want to learn about space and stars, it’s a very cool subject.” You nodded your head with an encouraging smile, “as for the sword…” you titled your head towards the camera, dragging out the ending of the last word, “maybe you don’t need a sword because you’re already so cool. I needed the sword to fight to protect myself, but maybe you can become so smart that you don’t need one.” You hoped that the answer was sufficient for the little kid and that her parents weren’t cursing your name for their child’s slightly difficult gift wishes.

“Though swords are cool, no?” Hayden interjected with a teasing smile. You turned to give him a look with narrowed eyes, as if to say 'do not fuck with me.'

“Yes, but definitely not as cool as being really smart.” You said with strained laughter and an exaggerated smile into the camera. If the child wasn’t convinced, you were sure her parents would be sending you hate mail next for their kid’s less-than-convenient demands, so you turned to Hayden with wide eyes and an expectant expression.

“...Hmm you’re right.” He finally caved with barely contained amusement on his face, looking right into your eyes. “Nancy is really smart. And she’s really cool and really pretty too...” he broke his stare to turn to the camera, “so maybe she’s right, you don’t need a sword to be cool.” He shrugged his shoulders in a casual way.

“I’m always right.” You stuck your nose in the air and turned away from him with faux arrogance, his lips lifting in amusement as you both looked ahead waiting for the next question, except it wasn’t a question card that the interviewer held up.

“So we know we said we’re gonna have you guys answer questions from your fans,” the interviewer seemed to be holding a sort of small photograph, something like a standard 4 × 6 inches album size, but it was turned so you could only see the blank side, “but we’re your fans too, so we have a question as well.”  

Hayden chuckled at that while you nodded your head, “Shoot.”

“So we have this photograph here,” the interviewer turned the photo around to show it to you both and then to the camera while your expressions immediately changed to that of surprise.

“Oh, wow. That’s really…” Hayden trailed off, still looking at the picture in surprise but now with a growing smile.

“Old.” You finished for him. “How’d you even manage to find this?” you asked.

“We have our sources.” The interviewer laughed and replied in a secretive way.

“No seriously how did you manage to find this? This was what? At least four or five years back. We look like babies!” you said, laughing in disbelief. “Can I see that please?” You wanted to look at the photo up close, the nineties quality not doing much for its clarity.

He hands it over to you and you let out a small gasp, leaning over to Hayden to show it to him as well. Your shoulders touched as you leaned together over the photograph, his fingers brushing yours as he tilted the photo to see it better.

The photo was one from the set of higher ground. It was of you and Hayden – asleep together in the highback armchair of the “common hall.” You were cramped together on the small single-seater chair, sitting side by side. Though practically, you were on his lap sitting perpendicular to him, with his feet on the floor while your legs went over his and over the arm of the one-seater couch. Your face was hidden in the crook of his neck while his head was leaned on yours, one arm wrapped around your back and the other rested on your legs while yours lay over his stomach. You were essentially squished between him and one arm of the chair and it looked somewhat uncomfortable in the photo, however if your memory served you right, it was one of the comfiest places you had slept.

“—in his arms” The Voice echoed in your brain. “Shut up,” you told The Voice.

The interviewer brought your attention back to him with a question, “So this is you two on the set of…” letting his sentence fade to let you complete it.

“Higher ground” you and Hayden replied at the same time as you left the photo in his hands to sit up straight again.

“And can you tell us more about this photo?”

“Um, yeah. This was, if I remember correctly, this was from the set of higher ground – it was the day we had to film those hiking scenes in the forest. This was towards the end of the day, I think. we were really exhausted.” You turned to look at Hayden as he replied, lifting his gaze from the photo to look you in the eyes.

“Yeah, um, funny though because I had no idea this photo existed.” You shook your head with a small laugh, “I guess the rest of them were planning on pranking us or something.”

“Clearly,” Hayden replied with a chuckle of his own, turning the photo to the camera again and pointing at all of your cliffhanger castmates gathered around the couch you both were sleeping on, each of them making funny faces at the camera.

AJ and Jewel were both holding uncapped markers in their hands, leaning over the sides of the couch with mischievous grins, their childish prank obvious. Kandyse and Meghan were standing behind the couch, with Kandyse smiling at the camera and Meghan looking down at the two of you while Jorgito and Kyle were posing in front of the couch. Kyle pointing at the two of you with one hand and making a shushing gesture with his other, and Jorgito was simply smiling at the camera holding a peace sign with his fingers.

You were honest about being completely unaware of the existence of this photo and judging from Hayden’s reaction, he was too. It made you nostalgic even though it was hardly a few years back. Your experience on the show was monumental in shaping your acting skills, specifically with how complex and flawed your character was. You remembered having a lot of fun with your castmates and feeling really good about the kind of story you were involved in showing the world. And since you and Hayden had already known each other from acting school, it made working together on set that much easier (though most people believed you to be fun and outgoing, you weren’t the biggest talker around new people).

The photo was so unexpected however, and you felt yourself get a little self-conscious at the thought that along with you, the whole audience that was watching would now be privy to it. As if the constantly churning rumour mill of romance and drama didn’t put out enough accusations of affairs and secret admirers on the both of you, this was truly the last thing you needed the world to see – you and Hayden in an embrace that looked far too familiar, as if you held each other and fell asleep in each other’s arms every day —which you didn’t. No matter how many times you daydreamed about it when you looked at his arms – his warm palms that were so much bigger than yours, the veins on the back of his hands that disappeared into his thick forearms or his strong and broad shoulders and how you’d wish time would stop whenever he hugged you in greeting. But it didn’t matter. You were friends. That’s it.  

You turned to look at Hayden’s face only to realise he was actually saying something to the interviewer and you barely caught the last of his sentence, agreeing to something about his penchant for playing troubled and conflicted characters, including his character in the show. You felt guilty for spacing out and that made you feel more embarrassed, shifting in your seat to get your head back in the room and trying to clear your throat as quietly as possible.

Your movement, however, caught Hayden’s eyes and his eyes immediately shifted to you, meeting your gaze before shifting again to look you over once, to see if there was something wrong. When he didn’t find anything obvious, he looked back into your eyes, not stopping what he was previously saying but looking at you with a questioning gaze. The attention only flustered you further, so you quickly shook your head as discretely as possible to let him know you were fine but mostly to get his goddamn piercing eyes off of you, you were surely going red in the face as it is.

Thankfully, your reprieve came in the form of the next question from the interviewer.

“So the next question, is for Y/N, this is from 22-year-old Mia, she’s from France and she says “Dear Y/N, I really loved your work on ‘The Venue’, the ease with which you portray both the complex psychological conflict of the character as well as the almost euphoric seeming dissociative state she’s in throughout the movie has immediately made me a huge fan of yours. I can’t wait to watch the sequel! But I want to know – is there anything in the movie that you improvised or any part of the character that you made up yourself?”

You had picked up the glass of water in front of you to take a sip during the question, leaning forward to put it down but instead Hayden gets it for you with a simple, “here let me,” his hand brushing over yours while handing you a tissue for the water you had spilt on your dress in your hurry to put the glass down. You thank him then lean back in your seat to look into the camera with a small smile, “I’m glad you enjoyed my work Mia, thank you. To be fair, most of the ease came from just how well written her character was; so if there’s anyone to truly appreciate, it’s the writers. They helped me to really understand the nuances of her character, specifically emotionally. As for improvisations, yes actually. I did improvise some of her lines, mostly the ones with Chris Pine. With the kind of relationship those two characters had and with the help of our brilliant director, it felt natural really. Plus, Chris is an amazing actor and the chemistry these two characters have is truly something, it definitely keeps you hooked.”

“Speaking of chemistry,” the interviewer started, “this next question’s for the both of you—and this I think pretty much the entire world is eager to know at this point” the interviewer looked up from the card and paused for dramatic effect “are you two dating?”

Hayden sighed in resignation, leaning forward to pull something out from his pant pocket while you let out a joyous laugh, tilting your head back and pumping your fists in the air. He proceeded to pull out his wallet and take out what looked to be a local library card while you made grabby hands at him with a devious toothy smile. The interviewer could only watch in confusion and mild amusement as Hayden reluctantly handed over the card to you.

When you both settled the interviewer couldn’t help but voice his curiosity about whatever just happened in front of him.

“Um…” Hayden started only to be interrupted by you,

“—this is basically one of my revenge plans,” you answered with an all too pleased smile on your face.

“One of? Really?” Hayden asked with a groan tilting his head back, “heavens help me.”

“Heaven only helps NON traitors Hay–bae” you teased with narrowed eyes and your still present smirk. “You wouldn’t know.”

 “I feel out of loop here, and I’m really curious so” the interviewer interrupted, pointing between the two of you “What is this revenge? Was that some sort of credit card…? Is the plan purchasing something really expensive with it?”

“Oh no no no, that would be—” you shook your head with a devious smile.

“—far too easy for her.” Hayden completed with an eye roll. “She took my library card. Her “revenge” is that she’s gonna order a bunch of really embarrassing stuff from the local library—”

You immediately started the list on your fingers, “porno magazines, questionable movies and toddler’s picture books, maybe I’ll try to order banned videos, it’ll be a real fun combo–”

“There would be kids watching this interview too, you know?” he interjected with a sigh.

“Sorry kids,” you winced at the camera, “but anyway– maybe I can order like pregnant mom guides and cult rituals instruction tapes, if they even have those—”

“And then she’s gonna make me collect them, in person,” he rolled his eyes, “cause she’s a cruel person who wants to traumatise the poor old woman who works there,”

“She’s seen things beyond your comprehension, Hayden.” You said in a jokingly patronizing tone.

“And how would you know that? What are you, friends with my local librarian?” he questioned incredulously only to receive a small shrug in response. He looked at you in bewilderment, “Oh my god? When-? How even?”

You scoffed, “We’ve known each other since we were kids, dude. You’ve lived there all your life, and she’s worked there all ours.” As if it was the most obvious explanation.

“Anyways,” you continued, “then I’m gonna make him return those things, in person, only after a week of displaying them in his house for everyone to see of course.”

“I’m not displaying them in my hou–”

“Oh hush, this is my revenge. I’ll say what to do.”

“Well,” the interviewer tried to get the interview back on track, “all the best for that. Now, shall we continue with the ques-”

Hayden leaned forward to grab his bottle of drinking water, your childish antics flustering him this time.

“Not doing it.” He whispered under his breath as he tilted his head to take a sip. You turned to look at him, ready to fire your own retort but stopped short at the sight of his side profile – his perfectly sculpted nose, his stupidly gorgeous long lashes that fluttered every time he blinked. Your gaze then fixated on his lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle, so full and pink and inviting as they slickened with the water, which then brought your attention to his throat, his prominent adam’s apple that bobbed up and down as he drank, his thick neck that looked like the most tempting canvas to paint with the print of your lips.

Your gaze lowered to his wide shoulders that stretched the sweater he was wearing before you realised what you were doing and quickly looked away, clearing your throat which unfortunately got his attention. He turned his head and your eyes met over the bottle that he still drank from and it felt like the whole world stilled for a moment before you had to look down again, feeling as if he might read you immediately, only to see his fucking neck bared enticingly again.

You leaned a little closer to him just as he finished drinking and put the bottle cap back on. sitting right next to each other, it was as if there was some sort of magnetic pull making you gravitate towards the other. You licked your lips, then bit your lower one, a hard-to-kill old habit, his gaze drawn to the movement before he looked back directly into your eyes.

What seemed to you like a moment that lasted forever, was in reality just a few brief seconds of definitely-not-drooling-over-him and way-too-intense eye contact.

“We’ll see.” you whispered with a subtle smile and a sparkle in your eyes then leaned away again, back from his personal space that you seemed to have forgotten about for a second.

He quickly looked to the interviewer and cleared his throat as he leaned forward to place the bottle back, “I’m sorry, we seemed to have gotten sidetracked. Y/N has the attention span of a goldfish.” He joked. And just like that you were back to your usual dynamic.

“If I have the attention span of one, then you have the memory of one.” You replied with a huff and a dramatic eye-roll.

 “But to appease your curiosity, we basically had a bet going on.” Hayden continued.

“That he lost.” You continued with a smug thumb pointed at him.

“That I lost. We made a bet that we would get asked this question. I guess I naively assumed that rumours of us dating would be considered long dead and everyone would have moved on from this topic. Clearly, I was mistaken.” He said with a nonchalant expression that barely hid his discomfort at the topic.

“So then, should we tell them?” you turned to look at him and wiggled your eyebrows with a teasing smile. Your expression then turned serious as you tilted your head towards the camera, the smile wiped from your face, “should we tell them?”

Hayden was still leaned back in his chair to your left, while you sat at the edge of yours, your body entire turned to face his.

He merely shrugged a shoulder in response, as if to say, “Your call.”  

You looked down for a second, cleared your throat then looked back into his eyes again, “We are—,” you turned to face the camera then turned your body towards the camera entirely as well, leaning ahead and further away from him while he still looked at your face, “—not. We are not dating.” You said shaking your head with a little laugh.  

“But,” you wiggled your brows at the camera this time, “I still won the bet! So guess who’s getting special treatment tonight? It’s ya girl!” your thumbs at yourself and did a little shoulder shimmy, “and what’s that special treatment going to be you ask?” You continued the conversation by yourself, your voice taking on a suggestive tone with the raise of a brow, “Of really tasty food of course! And hopefully an even tastier dessert.” You laughed, looking back at Hayden this time, who was shaking his head with a fond smile that you don’t notice, because as soon as you turned to look at him he put on a faux thoughtful expression.

“Hmm… I don’t know. I don’t remember agreeing to dessert in the bet.” He looked at you with a small smirk.

Your head whips to look at him with a comically shocked expression, “Dude! You can’t be serious!?”

“Oh, but I am.” And his face held a calm and composed expression too.

“Oh my god, you promised me—” you start.

“I never promised—”

And your bickering fades as the video cuts off with the screen going blank.

The camera zooms out of the TV screen that had been playing the video.

“So, Y/N–”

“Yes, Tim?” your voice is light, going along with the joking tone of conversation the interviewer set.

“It’s been ages–what, like 15 years?” he asks.

You do the quick math in your head, “A little more than 15, yeah.”

“Wow. More than 15 years! It’s been wonderful watching you grow up to have such a prolific career.” He adds.

“Thanks, Tim. I’m really lucky to have gotten such opportunities.”

“15 years–wow. So, the first time around when we filmed that interview with you, when I interviewed you, we didn’t get to show it to the world–” he points to that same TV screen while you shake your head in confirmation.

“But now, we got to show it for the first time, even if it’s 15 years late!” he laughs. “So Y/N, from then to now, what’s changed?” he questions in a curious tone.

“A lot, Tim.”

You sneak a longing glance at Hayden who's sitting beside you on the couch before looking back at Tim. “A lot.”

“I mean–” you lift your hand, wiggling your fingers to show off the small sparkling diamond on your left ring finger. An uncharacteristically quiet smile graces your face as the audience erupts into screams in the background.

sooo it's been two decades... who's ring do we think it is? Hayden's? or did some other lucky guy shoot his shot first and win?? will we ever find out?? if it's not Hayden's should we change that??? 👀

ps: if anyone's confused about how they were sitting in the photo it's something like this but they're sitting on one of those single armchair types so they'd be forced a little closer so more like this or this (with ur butt on the cushion itself cuz you're still! just! friends!!!)😏😈

A/n: aight so when I said I wrote this on crack didn't mean literally ofc. (though I might as well have been, considering how stupid this is lol)

I wrote this ages ages ago when I watched a bunch of 2000s HC edits and got crazy stupid embarrassingly obsessed with him (again) so I just had to channel all that into some cringe thing. so here it is. after rotting in my drafts for so long. idk might take it down later we'll see. but for now y'all have her (even tho nobody asked for this so im sry)

I had only written this for shits and giggles so if things don't make sense don't bother telling me I already know.

But if you enjoyed it do like and comment! xx

[stargirlrchive]

folklore drabble: i’m unglued, thanks to you ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ folklore masterlist

summary: in which you realize you're in love

word count: 504

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

“I need a break.”

Jake shook his head stubbornly, his hands lightly slapping yours back in place to position you where you needed to be. Your arms were shaking, fingertips sore from the constant pulling of your bow. “I much prefer using a knife, this hurts.”

Jake huffed in annoyance, you were making it so difficult. “I prefer to not have you so up close with someone when it comes to a fight.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, blinking dumbly as they warmed you from the inside out. You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not in the way your heart took it. Nerves bubbled in your chest as he gripped at your arms once again, your brain went blank as his entire body engulfed yours. “Come on, focus!”

With the little strength you had left, your fingers pulled back, eyes narrowing in on the low hanging fruit Jake deemed as the target. With a final tug your fingers let go, the arrow snapping forward with high velocity and it hit the target dead center. The fruit cracked in half, your arrow landing deep in the tree bark nearby.

Your tail swished excitedly, running towards your bow to try and tug it out. Jake whistled behind you, your arrow had landed so deep into the tree only half of it was sticking out. “Remind me to never anger you.”

A quiet laugh left your throat, your fingers tracing over the arrow. “You’re a natural.”

Your cheeks burned a dark shade, his words causing your heart to thump rapidly. “Thank you.”

The darkness began to settle all across the forest, and as you moved away from the arrow, your mind felt it hazy. Like the threads that made you, you, we’re beginning to unravel in the presence of the Olo’eyktan.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in your throat as you looked at Jake’s face. The small scars that littered like stars all over him. His once boyish charm now sharpened by the years at war, now a man who aged gracefully despite the cards that life dealt him.

Guilt gripped at your chest at how your heart swirled with hope. Hope that one day he’d see you how you were seeing him in this moment. “Are you alright?”

You were snapped out of your inner turmoil at his voice, he wasn’t even looking at you but you felt so open, exposed to him in the privacy of the forest. Scared he’d be able to read your mind. “Fine. Yes.”

If he noticed the way your voice wavered with fear he did not mention it. “Let us head back? I have not seen the kids all day.”

He only hummed to let you know he heard you, and with quick steps you made your way back to High camp. On your silent retreat back you prayed to the Great Mother to remove these thoughts from your mind. Vowing to yourself you’d never let Jake into your heart, not in the way it so desperately wanted.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HIS BELLADONA treech x mentor reader

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

The coolness on my skin was what woke me from a pleasant sleep. I roughly rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed. With a yawn, I decided to quickly cross the small apartment to the bathroom. I tried to go as quietly as possible so as not to wake my father. Father, I still didn't know if the man sprawled across the old couch was still the same a smiling man who raised me with love. The war destroyed everything, the war took my mother, the war took my father. I slowly wash my face with cold water and stare at myself in the cracked mirror and all I see is the same face as the woman who gave birth to me and loved me, the face of the woman I watched as she slowly died next to me due to lack of food and illness. I remember the helplessness that her death brought because not only did I lose my mother, but her death destroyed the man who had once been her father. After the death of his wife, he began to seek refuge in morphine and alcohol, leaving the weight of the world on the shoulders of his eight-year-old daughter. The only thing that kept her and her father alive was her father's meager salary, the salary was high but father would rather buy morphine than make sure I had dinner and gifts from my father's friend Casca Highbottom. I tried to buy on the black market, I bartered what I could and thanks to that we survived. I was now in my final year at the academy and planned to study at university.I noticed a bruise on my hand in the mirror, my father had another rough night yesterday. Today was one of those days when it didn't fit today was a big day today was harvest for the 10th hunger games. I quickly got ready, chose my mother's favorite dark blue skirt, on which stars were embroidered with yellow thread, on top I took a black turtleneck, which very well covered my bruised arms and neck. I let my hair flow freely on my shoulders and assessed whether it was enough. Unfortunately, there was no time for any shortcomings, so I just grabbed my school bag and headed for the exit from the apartment. Just as I was closing the door to the apartment, I heard the door of the apartment above us close, it meant that Coryo was leaving, so I waited for him to run downstairs, where I joined him on the way to the academy.,,It's a miracle what Tigris did with that old shirt, you look very elegant." I complimented his appearance. Coryo just laughed, "You know snow closets are bottomless." I was the only one who knew about his situation and he knew about mine. I have known Coriolanus since I was a child, our mothers were friends with each other in the days after your mother's death, I lived with the Snows for a while, who helped me a lot at that time. On the way to the academy, we had a pleasant conversation, but when you walked in, Coryo took Clemensia away and I was left alone, but not for long because Lysistrata spotted me. "Hey (Y/N) you look beautiful." Lysistrata was the only one of my classmates that I would believe this compliment.She was very quiet but she was one of the nicest and fairest people I've ever met.,, Well miss Lysistrata it's harvest day of course I have to represent the Capitol." I said with a sneer in my voice. She rewarded me with her smile in return and we left to the hall where the harvest transmission started in no time. I sat in the back row together next to my friend and we waited patiently. But what I didn't expect was the news that each of the top 24 students will be assigned a mentoring tribute. We are going to turn them into a show for entertainment , that made me sick to my stomach. I exchanged a disgusted look with Lys next to me.,, As if it wasn't enough that they are going to die, we're going to force them to make puppets here." I whispered in Lys's ear and she just nodded in agreement. The dean began to read the names and the screens showed each tribute.,, And the male tribute from the 7th district belongs to Miss (Y/N) Belladon.” My breath hitched as I stared at the face of the boy I was to lead to his death. He was tall with dark curls and gorgeous brown eyes.

Treech was the name

Treech was the name of my tribute

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~Chapter 3: Haunted, Hunted, & Other Fun Hobbies~

[Ao3 link below the read more, at the end.]

It begins the day after Maul makes his return to Dathomir. 

The sith is elbows deep in datapads trying to gain background knowledge on the Crimson Dawn's next venture: an escargot farm, of all things, for a particular breed of shellfish. One that acts as a nearly universal aphrodisiac when eaten. Vos had declared the market for it 'an untapped niche' with projected gains in the 'I could buy a moon every other year' category. 

He already has a planet. Dathomir is more or less his, but Maul thinks he might like a moon or two. Besides, one never knew when they might need a spare astral body in his line of work. Perhaps for trade, perhaps for crashing into things. He is flexible. 

One minute he is reviewing zoology documents made by a mon calamari, and then gently, like a cloud over the sun, he is being watched.

His spine straightens and the sith pulls his sense of self tight to his skin, guarding himself while attempting to observe the observer. The presence slips through his fingers, but he too slips through theirs. They go round and round like two predators in the night, stalking each other through the flow of the force. 

Eventually the feeling fades, and Maul is left alone in his office space, perturbed. He waits an hour or more, patient and wary, but the sensation of being sought does not return.

He exhales heavily through his nose and returns to reading about aquarium keeping, stopping only to make snacks, refresh the tea pot, and stretch his back.

Dathomir's red star sinks below the horizon. Domir takes with it the light that had been coming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaving the spectacular view of the sunrise canyon in deepening purple hues. Maul takes this as his cue to end the day.

The sith stalks out of his simplistic office, and heads to the end of the hallway. The decor transitions from plasteel to roughly carved redstone at the doorway, from the soft orange glow of sodium-vapor bulbs to flickering oil lanterns and magelight. He had appointed the bedroom den at the end of the hall with far more dathomirian aesthetics than the modern office space. 

Some furniture he had been able to scavenge from the temple, mostly of carved stone, though there were a few precious wooden pieces left unburnt by the droid army among them. A small table, a few mismatched chairs, and a hefty trunk. The rest of his furnishings Maul had collected from offworld. 

The result is… functional. Quiet and dark. The bed space is large and comfortable, partially carved back into the wall for extra protection. Nowhere is too open. Everything he wishes to be reminded of has a place to sit, somewhere he can see. 

Dim candles light all the cracks and corners without hurting his eyes. There are books and scrolls to read, an orb recovered from his mother’s temple, projects to tinker with in idle moments. It is… good, he thinks. Though he might reorganize his memory items again. Later. 

For now, he plans to undress, bathe, and-

w

  a

   t

    c

     h

    i

  n

g

 

l

o

  o

    k

      i

       n

       g

          f

               o

                      r                                                      ?

                                     y       o       u           ?

Maul whips around, expecting a physical presence, but there is no one and nothing there. He coats himself in a basic spell of obfuscating mist and draws his force presence close to his hearts, under his skin. 

The observer tries to catch him up with a searching pattern that feels like smokey claws and gossamer hairs, winding ribbons and closing jaws. Threads, deceptive in their affectionate creeping. 

"One?" he rasps in the empty hallway, "No… more. Several." 

There are so many aspects of force trying to locate him that surely it must be a ritual, fueled by multiple people. Four or five, at bare minimum. He would guess it was his former master's doing, but surely Sidious would not need to look for him so much as come for him if he decided to spare the effort. 

So who? Who?

But to look with that part of him which can See is to open himself, and Maul is not certain of the wisdom in letting this coven of force users near him just for the chance to find them.

Sweat beads on his scalp, dripping down and sliding off his chin. The effort to remain untouchable, hidden from these hunters, is intensely taxing, but the force vibrates in warning whenever he starts to slip.

Then, suddenly, he is alone again. 

He waits, just as before, shoulders high and breathing hard as he remains watchful. The air remains still, lacking that dark innervation. Maul falls back against the wall, and presses the heel of a palm to his forehead. The effort has earned him a headache and shaking fingers. 

The sith returns to moving down the hall, but changes destination. His den, while comfortable, is not the most secure location available here. That title goes to his mother's sanctum, riddled with runes and steeped in ichor fueled protections. He has not yet deciphered the nature of even half of the witch-made wards from the books and murals that remain of her teachings. 

Maul slips into the sanctum, touching his chest where once her spirit had anchored itself. 

"Mother," he begins, searching for an acceptable explanation for intruding. "I seek… shelter, in your sanctum. I am hunted by a power unknown, and the force warns me to avoid its touch." 

That is an understatement. The force buzzes with indistinct warning, a vibrating drone so deep and ubiquitous it feels physical. Bumblebees underwater, crawling anxiety like marching ants. 

No reply comes. He counts that as permission.

The sith goes to sit on the stone floor at the center of grooved patterns and runes. He will meditate now and gather his strength, assuming that eventually-

It returns! So quickly the threads descend again.

Vitriolic green light bursts to his left, then forward, then above him. Sharp eyes survey the room as sections of sigils light and dim along the walls, like fireworks. The grooves in the floor begin to fill with-

"Ichor," he murmurs, watching the luminous waters fill in the circling patterns. He cannot identify the source of where it flows from. 

This… is not magick Maul has witnessed before. Savage had, reluctantly, described his own rituals, and the healing the Nightmother had done for Maul after Lotho Minor, but this is… different. Carved into Dathomir’s living stone, commanding the planet’s power even in the absence of a witch to direct it. It is wonderous.

The feeling of being looked for slides away from him with so much more ease, and he sighs in relief.

Maul ends up sleeping there, curled in on himself on the stone floor. Every few hours the cloying tendrils return again, and he wakes to watch the wards and push away the hooks that stretch for him.

It is only after a week of being chased back to his mother's room, day and night, that he realizes he is trapped on Dathomir until the hunt is ended. Until he ends it. To do that, he will have to learn to hide all on his own. Without becoming an unhinged, sleepless mess incapable of hunting these new enemies.

Maul faces this reality with easy acceptance. He has survived harsher challenges before, and will again. Mustafar, Lotho Minor, Hypori- the dark sustained him every time. 

This will end no differently.

[rabbitenn]

so you know how Momo got jealous over Yuki and Banri reunited and bonding and felt like a terrible person for it because he still wants them to be happy and together? How about that but this time its Momo's s\o going through the same feelings he did but towards him? Maybe they're jealous because of his chemistry with Yuki or because he has a lot of friends :3

OUR INCOMPLETE SELVES.

You feel at war with yourself. Why is it that your hesitant heart keeps trying to compete with the deserved happiness and friendships he finds?

ft. Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst to comfort.

Thank you for your request, anony ! I’m sorry this took so long. I hope you can enjoy it anyway <3

You don’t deserve him, anyway.

For you to even fathom you could stand next to the sunlight he embodies is borderline ridiculous.

How could you, who has only envy and second guessing running through their veins?

You are destined to walk the shadows, your only company, the monotone padding of your steps against faded concrete.

Why did you even feel like this?

You want him to be happy, and if that means he enjoys spending his time with his groupmate and other friends, then it’s alright, no?

And yet, a small twisted voice at the back of your mind begs to differ.

‘You don’t matter’ ‘He’ll forget you’ ‘How pathetic are you to be relegated to second place after his friends.’

Your breathing quickens, as you shut your eyes, a tense frown forming on your brow.

You shake your head, trying to swat away the shrill laughter that ensues after your deepest fears have been voiced by your wicked subconscious.

A glance towards the window proves how long you have been overthinking; the citrine outline of a dusking horizon has turned to marine now. No stars seem to prevail in a sky polluted by city lights.

You pour yourself a glass of water.

It’s gotten late.

And Momo isn’t back yet.

Your grip on the glass turns knuckle-white, perhaps to prevent your trembling hands from dropping the fine china.

Though you have the impression you’re the one that would shatter at the minimum impact.

If you aren’t already broken, that is.

At the same time you put your glass down, you hear the keys click on the front door.

Not long after, your boyfriend’s perky voice resounds through the corridor.

Do you have the right to call him that, though?

“Darling, I’m back! Ah, it’s so cold outside, I want to cuddle-“

Momo’s sentence is cut midway when he sees you leaning against the counter.

Your head is hung low, and your shoulders seem to be trembling.

“Baby, are you alright?” He asks, fuchsia eyes tainted in concern.

Why is he so kind?

You don’t deserve it.

But at the same time, you wonder, is he this kind with Yuki too? With his other friends?

And so what if he is? It’s good more people get to know Momo and see how sweet and caring he is.

You just can’t help the thoughts that find their way into your brain, like vines that spread, corrosion infesting your psyche.

“I’m fine.” You reply, a choked out sound, voice a thin thread about to snap at the minimum oscillation. “I’m fine…” You repeat, more to reassure yourself than your partner.

“Are you sure, [Y/n]?” His hand moves to your temple, feeling for a temperature, his other arm around your form. “You don’t seem to have a fever.” He states, beaming softly.

You think it looks a little sad, his smile.

He pulls you closer, his warmth calming your mind a little.

“Dear, you can tell me if there’s anything worrying you.” Momo tells you, his voice gentle, as he holds your face in between his hands.

And just like that, you break a little.

You lean your side against his torso, silent tears marking the cracks of your fragmented soul.

“I’m horrible…” You mumble. “Because I should be happier… But I… Sometimes I get this feeling that your friends and Yuki… That they will replace me some day.” You bury your head in his chest. “And I’m happy, I’m very glad you have such a good connexion with him and that you always make so many friends, but I’m also… Am I bad, Momo? For fearing being left behind?”

Your boyfriend’s arms squeeze you a little tighter.

Then, he says:

“You could never be bad, my darling.” His hands trace soothing patterns over your back. In their wake, liquid gold remains, putting back together pieces of you that were falling prey to the devils that consume you.

“You could never ever be less than perfect, [Y/n].” He rests his head on top of yours. “Your feelings are valid, and they don’t make you any less loved by me, okay, baby?”

And in those words of his, memories linger.

Not all of them are shades of vivid rose and verdant, no.

Some of them are ashen, stained by the bitter taste of feeling lost.

“You are my irreplaceable lover.” He assures you, hands cupping your face again. “Never forget that, please?” Almost imperceptible tears shine at the corners of his vibrant eyes.

He understands how you feel, perhaps because once, the same dagger that’s dared to graze your heart pierced his too.

But now you have each other.

And maybe not right now, but with time, you’ll put back together the forgotten pieces of your almost complete puzzle.

Outside, two bold stars have dared to brave the city-lit sky.

They are watching over you.

[shadowkira]

Thasmin Fic Recs:

Action / Adventure:

Echoes of War by Eriadu (Series - 2 Works) (T) (Telepathy) ( AO3)

Ghostwalk by Eriadu (E) (3) (Angst) (Spooky)

The Curse of the Pharaoh by Mag_lex (T) (13) (AO3)

Angsty:

A frozen moment by Eriadu (E) (2) (AO3)

are you really gonna love me when i'm gone? by freefallvertigo (E) (4) (dark!Doctor) (AO3)

Cloudbursting by headcanonsandmore (T) (1) (AO3)

Corrosion by Mag_lex (M) (6) (Memory loss AU) (AO3)

Courage & Stupidity by seaunicorn (T) (1) (AO3)

Forever in a moment by Captainswanmycaptainswan (T) (1) (AO3)

The Path Erased by Eriadu (T) (4) (Two of Yaz) (AO3)

time has been unkind by seaunicorn (E) (1) ( AO3)

When it all comes crashing down by Eriadu (E) (1) (AO3)

You laugh like there's hope in the story by freefallvertigo (T) (1) (AO3)

AUs:

A Dark & Verdant Door by Eriadu (M) (27) (faun!13) (sheriff!Yaz) (AO3)

A week (and half a world) away by Eriadu (E) (7) (human!13) (modern AU)(AO3)

chance is the only game i play with, baby by timelxrd (E) (15) (nb!Yaz) (boxing AU) (human!13) (AO3)

honey don't feed it, it will come back by timelxrd (E) (4) (cryptid AU) (AO3)

Love is Blind by Might_Be_A_Zygon (T) (1) (Angst) (Gorgon AU) (Major character death) (AO3)

Never Cruel or Cowardly by Bow_Ties (E) (65) (Fantasy AU) (AO3)

Pink Elephants by TechnicolorRevel (G) (1) (daemon AU) (AO3)

Star by Star by Eriadu (E) (27) (Space Opera AU) (pilot!Yaz) (medicaldoctor!13)

The Line of Fire by mag_lex (M) (11) (Wordpress) (human!Doctor) (bodyguard AU)

where I want to go by seaunicorn (T) (12) (AO3) (human!13) (road trip AU)

Comedy:

don't sound like friends by InLust (T) (3) (AO3)

Halloween Time-Knot by edlweiss (E) (4) (AO3)

home is where you rest your bones by orphan_account (E) (1) (AO3)

Notes to Self by Eriadu (E) (1) (PWP with humor) (AO3)

Fluff:

A Home for the Holidays by mag_lex (T)(2) (AO3)

Astronomy in reverse (it was me who was discovered) by transboytwelve (T) (1) (Fake dating) (AO3)

Buttons by mag_lex (G) (1) (Wordpress)

By the light of the moon by freefallvertigo (G) (1) (AO3)

Candy Floss by Evviejo (G) (1) AO3)

collision by timelxrd (T) (1) (AO3)

Stars On The Ceiling by swallowthecap (G) (1) (AO3)

The Earring by Evviejo (G) (1) (AO3)

Hurt / Comfort:

baby, you could be the death of me by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

dead leaves and the dirty ground by Eriadu (T) (1) (hanahaki inspired) (AO3)

keep me close, love me most by seaunicorn (E) (1) (AO3)

right here, right now by InLust (T) (1) (AO3)

OT3:

baby, it ain't right (but isn't it amazing?) By transboytwelve (E) (1) (human!13) (Riverx13xYaz) (AO3)

begging for thread by orphan_account (E) (3) (unfinished) (Fashion / Model AU) (human!13) (ClaraxYazx13) (AO3)

I've never been a natural (all I do is try) by transboytwelve (E) (1) (Billx13xYaz) (AO3)

the way you react to me - Dirty Little Secrets by how_to_sit_gay (E) (13xYazxRose) (AO3)

PWP:

Ad Astra by Mag_lex (E) (1) (fluff) (wordpress)

A poor substitute by Eriadu (E) (1) (AO3)

A Suprising Lack of Context by Rowanthestrange (E) (1) (AO3)

anodized by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

boiling point by vividfriend (E) (1) (AO3)

crave by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

Drifting by Eriadu (E) (1) (AO3)

Drive-Through by mag_lex (E) (Crack) (1) (Wordpress)

Go Quiet by WinterTheWriter (E) (1) (AO3)

I Read It For The Articles by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

I'm the holy water you have been without by transboytwelve (E) (1) (trans!Yaz) (AO3)

On Begged and Borrowed Time by transboytwelve (E) (Angsty) (1) (AO3)

take a picture, babe (cos I'm already yours) by transboytwelve (E) (2) (AO3)

Tendencies and Bravery by GolM (E) (1) (AO3)

the way that you react to me- Good Clean Fun by how_to_sit_gay (E) (1) ( AO3)

Tickety-Boo by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

Time and Time Again by rowanthestrange (E) (Angst) (1) (AO3)

we're all born naked by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

what will be the signal be for your eyes to see me by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

Romance:

come as you are by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

Discovery by Mag_lex (E) (1) (wordpress)

in the lines of time by fictorium (G) (1) (AO3)

Love found me all disarmed by Mag_lex (E) (4) (AO3)

misplacing home by yazkhan (G) (4) (AO3)

Sneaky Little Ghost Monument by LoadsofCustardCreams (T) (2) (AO3)

Soar (when I lay down with you) by how_to_sit_gay (E) (2) (Angst) (AO3)

through the waters and the wild by TechnicolorRevel (G) (1) (AO3)

your soul calls out in a familiar voice by abcooper (G) (3) (AO3)

Whittaker!Master:

Enter at Last, Master. by Might_Be_A_Zygon (E) (2) (Paranormal AU) (AO3)

Never Cruel or Cowardly - Dangerous Liaisons by Bow_Ties (E) (39) (Fantasy AU) (AO3)

The Unraveling of Yasmin Khan by transboytwelve (E) (3) (AO3)

[mayxthexforce]

⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character

💻 ― excellent writing

🌼 ― creative headcanons

🎙️ ― great to talk to

📚 ― nice threads to read

🎀 ― all-around kind person

🥇 ― well-developed oc

😍 ― admiring from afar

📌 ― a staple on the dash

🏆 ― 10/10 blog, would recommend

🧡 ― sender's choice ( sender can add whatever category they want ) - MICA I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU ❤️ you're the best mwah thanks for being such an awesome and cool friend ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ having you in my life has been PHENOMENAL!!! Thanks tons for the awesome joyride

💜 ― receiver's choice ( simply shout out whoever

🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻-𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑾𝑬𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺. 

*-cracks knuckles-* alright, let's do this!

⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character

Shout-out goes to @prodijedi. I love Callie's Dooku, he has so much depth and layers and cares so much about the people he loves deep down but is too deep in the mess he made and doesn't know how to show it, but Callie doesn't erase the fact that he has done terrible things.

💻 ― excellent writing

Shouting at @tacticalvalor for this one. So far, I've only interacted with Paz but I love him, and I love how well he's written. Jay has a way of making Paz so expressive despite the fact he's covered head to toe in armor and -understandably- unwilling to take it off. His inner thoughts are always a delight to read and the things he says always manage to crack me up.

🌼 ― creative headcanons

I think there isn't a single person in this fandom that's not creative when it comes to headcanons because we're all pretty big brained with them. But if I have to name just one, I'm gonna go with @thrawnur I LOVE YOUR HEADCANONS PJ! And I love the HCs and worldbuilding we've worked on together for Chiss. Our blueberries deserve more lore!!

🎙️ ― great to talk to

Shout-out to @corruptedforce/@crowsandmurder because Tanya is that one person you can always count on to be up to talk about literally anything. Everything I know about baseball, I learned from her. I also always love yelling with her about the stupid Star Wars questions people ask on Quora (still not over the person who had the audacity to ask why Obi-Wan didn't just kill Anakin, I'm outside their house with a baseball bat).

📚 ― nice threads to read

To this day, I still go into @d4gangera's blog just to read the stuff KT writes, and not just the threads I'm in, but everything she writes. I love how she writes Dagan, his inner monologues, his trauma after spending decades in bacta, his issues with the Jedi Order and the Empire and this new era he got yeeted into. I love it all.

🎀 ― all-around kind person

@vendettavalor IS THE KINDEST BEAN EVER!! I'm still absorbing all the analogical horror stuff that you recommended me and you bet I'm going to be yelling in your DMs once I'm caught up.

🥇 ― well-developed oc

Shout-out to @gwiazdowe for Cirz. HE'S BABEY!! I love him and how kind he is and how he sees good in people that nobody else would see good in. But he's not dumb. He's a smart boy and he deserved the world, I'm protecting him at all costs.

😍 ― admiring from afar

Not really from that far because we've actually talked but I have yet to start a thread with @alootus and that is a crime I should be in jail for. But I'm admiring because the blog theme is just so PRETTY, I love the color palette and the graphics.

📌 ― a staple on the dash

I love seeing @kylo-wrecked's posts on the dash. From the aesthetic stuff to replies to answers to ask memes, it's always god tier content!

🏆 ― 10/10 blog, would recommend

@ofthestcrs AMAZING MUN, AMAZING CHARACTERS, AMAZING BLOG! Gee is one of the first people I interacted with in this fandom and honestly, I'm holding on like an orphaned monkey. 10/10 will not be letting go anytime soon.

💜 ― receiver's choice ( simply shout out whoever you want )

[sapphic-woes]

The Zealot pt.1

A/N: Look it's really hard to describe this fic, but think Havi!Eivor but it's you who has a secret entity inside you that Fulke sets free via torture lol.

Word Count: 3k. AO3 Link

_________________

The ___ does not tire. It does not sleep. Flowers wither, seasons change, the stars die out. 

Still, it remains.

A searing pain. It's hot on your thigh. Your mouth is open in a blood curdling scream. No–it twists with a sneer, goading her to do more? What's going on? It hurts so much. It feels like nothing. Does she really think this is enough to awaken me? Am I…awake?

The air is toxic with burning flesh. It heals. It melts. It molds. You go back under.

The ___ was born of the Sire's desire.

"Remarkable." Drool mixed with crimson drips from your mouth. Your vision is blurry, and your head feels like it was smashed in with a war hammer. There's a sharp pain in your chest as you breathe, no doubt a broken rib. The black spots scattering across your vision clears, and you're met with bright, intrigued blue eyes.

So blue you can see the harrowing frost within them.

Fulke. You would have never believed it if anyone told you this was the woman's true nature. She spoke of God in a charismatic, mesmerizing way, with her glorious grandeur and convictive gaze. Her teachings were sound, and her company was like sweet honey on your lips. You became her disciple because she believed in you–or so she said–certain that you were destined for greatness.

If only you'd known what such “greatness” entailed. Perhaps you would have been able to escape her grasp.

Or at least, the hot, bright red knife cutting into your skin.

"Tell me what you are." You shake your head. You hiss sob. You frantically plead as she brings the tip of the knife back up again. You answered this question before, and you've said every answer you can possibly think of…but still, she isn’t satisfied.

"I-I don’t know what you want–but I'll be whatever you wish! Please, p-please Fulke I–!" Slow and steady, she lets the hot metal pierce, melting through your skin. It divides tissue and muscle with ease. Your cries pierce the walls, but there's no one to hear them other than the woman beside you. Fulke watches you with wild eyes, slicing down your thigh without shifting her focus. 

"Let it clear your mind. Let it set you free." You don’t understand. You never understood Fulke anyway. Not in her puzzling inquiries, or her roundabout speech. Not in the way she'd thread her fingers through your hair, leaning down to brush her lips against your ear with a playful whisper.

"Tell me what you are!" Now, her voice is a frightening roar. 

"I s-swear Fulke, I do not know–!" Your lurch forward. You snarl. Your eyes burn with something ghastly. There's a pounding in your head, a ringing in your ears. Your thigh is slick with blood and fiery with pain. It doesn't get any better when Fulke digs her own fingers into the wound and claws, demanding you embrace the "truth." Blood oozes out in waves, sickening squelches filling your ears as she plunges in and out, thick fingers torturing your flesh. It hurts! It hurts, it hurts it–

Where is my Sire? You black out.

The ___ snaps your neck toward Fulke, and the ___watches the paladin's eyes widen with a spark of joy. A shiver rocks through your body, but the ___ pays no mind. You may be afraid, but the ___ is not. How can a being that cannot die fear death?

Instead, the ___ leans forward to bare your teeth in Fulke's face, a mixture of blood and spit hitting her cheek.

"The ___ serves none but the Sire. None." Before Fulke can answer, the ___ goes back under. 

You snap awake. Tears well up in your eyes as your vision comes back. Not again. With the pain being too much for you to bear, you keep fading in and out of consciousness. But was Fulke always this close to you? 

"Huh? Uh–" With a sudden tsk from Fulke, your skin is torn apart. Her rough jerk with the knife makes thick red blood spill out onto the floor. Your voice cracks with an agonizing yell, and you beg for the pain to subside.

"F-Fulke please! I truly do not know what you want–" Your consciousness fades again, and instead of sniffling, you growl so sharply Fulke jumps. It's an ominous and animalistic rumble, and you furiously jerk at your chains, kicking your legs as if a knife isn’t embedded there. 

"It is the sword. It is the spear. The hand of the Sire. Always, the ____ remains. I remain."

"Yes! Yes that's it, you–you who is trapped in this measly prison of flesh! You who have persisted, who have remained���and I do the honor of awakening you." Your eyebrows furrow with confusion. What was Fulke talking about? It seems you can hardly stay awake during the torture to know. You mumble Fulke’s name, but she doesn’t respond, fervently muttering to herself as she unceremoniously jerks the knife out of your leg.

“Ugh!” You wince, panting as you feel blood ooze from the wound. You need to close it somehow, before you lose too much blood and–

The wound…what happened to the wound?

“Now then.” You flinch, abruptly looking up from the wonder of your healed leg to see Fulke with an odd bottle in her hand. She opens it, and the smell makes you gag–certain whatever is inside is toxic. 

“Let’s see how fast you can heal from acid, shall we?”

_______________

On the seventh day, you feel it shatter. The fragile consciousness of the mortal girl born into this body.

So it begins. You think as you open your eyes, feeling your severed fingers slowly growing back. The world is different from last time you walked upon it. It’s aged. You can tell by the structure you find yourself awakened in, regardless of the blood and guts splattered about. Surely, it’s been quite a few centuries since you were last here.

“Y/N?” You're called a name you do not know. You assume it was yours before you became you and "you" shattered. As was the nature of your existence. You stole and did not return. Not unless your sire commanded you to. 

My Sire. You look up, staring into bright, intriguing blue eyes. So blue you can see heaven in them.

Fulke. The one who awakened you stands tentatively. You bow your head in a greeting.

“Sire.” 

“So it’s true.” Fulke speaks, fingers wet with that girl’s your blood, moving to tilt your face up. She moves it back and forth, examining you with sharp precision. “You are not Isu, but something different?”

“I am the Zealot.” Fulke frowns, nose scrunching up in confusion. You find it adorable.

“Where do you come from?” You sigh, listening to the shifting octaves of her voice. It’s a perfect melody, and you let yourself keel into her touch. She does not discourage you.

“I have no origin. I was not, now I am.” You speak as if that explained everything, and Fulke sighs, mumbling to herself about going over her scrolls. 

“Then…this Zealot you claim to be. What do you do?” You smile, happy she asked more about you. You shift eagerly in your chair, ignoring the clack of chains as you sit up straighter.

“I am my Sire’s will. Her fury and her desire.” Fulke blinks, seeming to just realize your use of the title.

“Sire…am I–did awakening you make me–” 

“You are the sole purpose of my existence. The object of my worship.”  You close your eyes, humming softly, “For you, I would burn this land down to ashes. I’d destroy every last remnant of their false god. I would make them understand the wrath of the Forgotten One, and the sin of ostracizing you.” You open your eyes, fixing Fulke with a dark, promising stare. 

“Should you order me to, that is.”

They’re cracks of blue lightning, those fervent, wild eyes. They shine like priceless jewels, glowing with ambition. Fulke slowly nods at first, but then her mouth twists into a sinister grin–and with it she throws her head back in a full on laugh, fingers brushing through her hair. How hauntingly beautiful. Your chest flutters at the sight, full of butterflies at her obvious joy. You watch as she strides over to you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to jerk your head back. 

“How ironic that I, a heretic, is graced by the Isu with a zealot?” Her grip is wonderfully merciless, and the heat of her body is addicting. She’s pleasantly intimidating as she sneers, giving you her first command of many.

“Tell me again. What am I called?” You let out a breath, loving how she speaks down to you. With this proximity your lips brush against the metal of her armor and against the blood of your past self. It makes you shiver with delight, and you speak a prayer to her flesh and bone.

“You are my Sire. My god…and I, the Zealot who worships at your feet.”

_______________

Fulke uses you well. You like that about her. Then again, you like everything about Fulke.

“You’re back?” You stand at the doorway of her room, body in one hand and a relic in the other. Mud, blood, and some substances you can’t identify cover your body from head to toe. Of course, you do not mind. You nod, attempting to take a step inside before Fulke raises her eyebrow.

“Little lamb,” you flush at the nickname, having earned it after being so obedient, “what did I tell you before?” Oh, she minds.

You let go of the body with a thump, waving your hand immediately. The dirt and grim dissolve into thin air, and you resume dragging a now clean body into her room.

“Forgive me,” you sheepishly say, coming before Fulke to kneel and offer the relic, “at the sight of you, I was filled with longing and had forgotten your commands.” 

Fulke’s eyes sparkle, taking the relic and eyeing it with awe. It was much easier to send you out in search of relics than her without raising suspicion of her heresy. Plus, you were capable of finding more relics than she could do alone. However, Fulke had never anticipated you’d be this resourceful.

“Is that so?” She says absentmindedly, still studying the relic. With her free hand, she brushes calloused fingers through your hair, as if she were petting a dog. You close your eyes in bliss, melting against her knee as you practically purr. This task had taken you some days to complete, and you feel as if your insides had been rotting without her.

“Have I fulfilled your will?” You murmur, ready to do more if she was unsatisfied. Fulke lets out a soft laugh, fingers tickling the back of your neck. You shudder with delight, looking up to meet her warm gaze. 

“You have. As always my lamb–you have done what no other has done for me.” Ah. Her happiness is electric, making you giggle with joy of your own. After following your Sire for some time, you learned that Fulke was utterly alone. Sure, she was a part of the Order of the Ancients, and even King Alfrred respected her–but in her desire to uncover the truth of this world?

She was without allies, and that made her lonely despite being so revered. My lovely Sire, isolated from the rest of the world. 

“And I shall do it again,” You vow, moving to hold the hand in your hair and press your lips against her knuckles. The flesh is worn, it's rough–carrying the proof of her toiling work, the proof of her resolve. Savoring her warmth, you sigh. You would do whatever it took to protect Fulke's dreams, and make them come to life. Such was your duty as the Zealot. 

“Wherever you lead me my Sire, I will follow.” 

_______________

You're unsure when it started.

Perhaps it's after you're bested by this “Eivor.” The two fools–Basim and Sigurd–had wanted one of Fulke's relics, but not for Fulke’s own goals, and so she had sent you to kill them. It was the first time a mission failed, and Eivor left you beheaded in the woods. 

You hate beheadings. It takes forever for your head to reattach itself again.

When Fulke finds you hours later, head just about to fully connect back onto your neck, she hits the ground with a strangled gasp. 

Her eyes.

Those mesmerizing blue eyes. They were delicate back then.  So wide and glistening with what you'd recently learned were tears. However, Fulke did not let her teardrops fall.

Instead, she silently gathered you up into her arms and carried you back home.

_______________

After that Fulke is different. Somehow.

Before, things were clearly defined as master and servant. Fulke sent you out on a task, and you returned upon its completion. She rewarded you with the one thing you desired: to bask in her presence, and you were content with this routine.

Such was the way of the Zealot. You exist for her goals, and you yearn for her happiness. Nothing more, nothing less… 

“My Sire, forgive me but…what are you doing?” At least, it used to be.

The situation is unfamiliar. Pressed against the wall, your heart pounds against the bars of your ribcage. Fulke stands–no, corners you–looming with an unpredictable edge. 

You're dwarfed by her, and you nervously swallow. The Zealot does not feel nervous. But then, what is this hammering in your chest? You’ve never processed Fulke's full height like this, feeling awfully tiny under the weight of her stare. This vessel…it's too small. 

Or perhaps Fulke was simply too tall, too wide, and too…well, big. Even her alluring voice seems too much for you, and you shiver as Fulke mutters. 

“Studying you. Am I not allowed?” Like this? But why?

Fulke confuses you. Ever since she saw your neck half sliced open, she changed. Despite knowing how quickly you heal, she insisted you stay in bed for days. She completely abandoned kidnapping Sigurd, which she had told you she'd plan to do after killing Eivor. She stayed by your bedside until she deemed you able to walk again, and after that?

She never stopped touching you. 

It isn't in the way you know. Without completing a mission, Fulke never rewards you. But she does now, and it's all the time. 

In the mornings, her lips brush the crown of your head while her fingers intertwine with your own. She whispers good morning little lamb with a slightly rough voice, and you forget how to breathe. Throughout the day, her hands regularly gravitate to your hips, lingering over your thighs. But why? Fulke's interactions leave you dizzy, and this case isn't any different, hot as you force out an answer.

"Of course Sire. If–if it helps with your work, um." You tentatively speak, and Fulke encouragingly hums, fingers tracing the curve of your neck, her touch makes you jerk in surprise. "Ah! Uh, please feel free to…study me…?" Fulke smiles softly with a tinge of mischief, and you swallow.

"It won't help. Not in the slightest, actually." You blink, eyebrows furrowing.

Huh?

"Sire, forgive me for asking, but then why–" 

"Fulke." You sharply inhale as she pushes flush against you, making your neck crane back just to meet her gaze. "I want you to call me Fulke." 

You stand like a fish out of water, finding the idea absurd. The Zealot doesn't call their Sire by their name. However, Fulke has no problem convincing you otherwise.

The towering woman simply raises an eyebrow, and her voice is a low, commanding drawl.

"Say it." You don't know whether your shiver is from fear or awe. 

"...Fulke," her hum of approval makes your heart skip a beat. Her large hands brush over your cheek, and you swear she smirks when you quiver in response.

"Would you believe me if I say I've had a change of heart? I thought I needed you to carry out my plans, to use you as a pawn…but when I saw you like that…" Fulke's deep eyes are like crashing waves, threatening to pull you under.  It’s a stare that tingles your entire body. This is something I do not know. What was this feeling? You're hot, breaths growing heavy as Fulke murmurs.

"It hit me. Just how much you mean to me. Y/N…" her hands cup your cheeks, easily covering both sides of your head. Fulke’s long fingers are like sparks on your skin, and you worry you'll burn her with how hot you are. 

"I want to kiss you." What?

“I–what–uh–” Your insides are a flustered mess. How could such a simple sentence be so damning? Your cheeks feel like they’ll melt off your face, mouth dry as you stutter. Fulke lets out a breathless chuckle, taking in your reaction.

"…Now even more so. Will you let me, little lamb? Or should I continue to gaze until you do?" I don’t understand.  You simply lived to fulfill another's wish. There was nothing to want from you, let alone anything to love. Love was something only a person could have…

…Yet here Fulke was, asking you to love her. 

"I, no–the Zealot–it lives to–" A finger presses against your lips, making your words die in your throat. Fulke stares into your eyes as though searching through your soul. She speaks with such conviction you can't help but tremble.

"I'm not asking the Zealot, I'm asking you. What do you want? What do you desire from me?" 

Have I ever been asked that before? 

You can hardly speak. The words feel hard to say without guidance. Without a role. To say what you wanted, when you didn’t know if you were a person? 

"I…" The Zealot was born of the Sire's desire. I am the sword. I am the spear. I am the…I am…I…

…What am I?

"I–I want, I need…" You heave, hands gripping Fulke's wrists as you try to understand what this burning is. It makes you restless, panicked even. How could you desire what the Sire did not? You did not want anything but Fulke to be happy, so what was this yearning? What was this pain? 

What do I need?

"That's it love, say what you want. You're allowed to have desires and chase after them. You're more than a tool or pawn… You're a person."

I am? You gap up at Fulke. You had never heard such words before. You didn't think they'd ever apply to you. Yet warmth fills your chest, and you don't realize you're crying till she wipes your tears away. Fulke smiles, gentle as she whispers.

"It's okay. Tell me, little lamb. I will do everything you ask. Everything." Her words are the final nail in the coffin, and the words rush out in a frenzy.

"I want you to pet me. Tell m-me I've been good." You're bawling, clinging onto Fulke as she hugs you tight. She hums in encouragement, lips brushing against your temple.

"You have been good. So good to me love. My precious baby." Her immediate compliance makes you melt, leaning into her body. You look up, and whatever expression on your face makes Fulke groan, eyes dark with lust.

"What else? Tell me." She knows the answer. You both do. Yet it's necessary to speak aloud. To have it come into existence.

"Kiss me. I want you Fulke. Make me yours, hold me–" Her lips capture your own before you can finish the last word. It's a possessive dance, and you grow weak under the will of her devilish tongue. 

Fulke hardly relents. She takes and takes from you–your strength, your burning core, the very air you breathed–as though fervent to claim the entirety of your being. The kiss lingers when she pulls away, haunting your lips with a hunger for more. The paladin seems to be plagued with the same ghost, heaving as she gazes down at you.

"You've done well. Now…let me take care of the rest."

[squidhominid]

Deltarune thread: One More Final

So, a year and a half later, I've done it. I figured it out.

My Ralsei posts from October 2021, right after Chapter 2 came out, they gave METANARRATIVE threads as to Ralsei's actions. But not STORY-LEVEL MOTIVATION. The HOW, not the WHY.

I think I've cracked it.

Before we get started, if you haven't seen or don't remember my past Deltarune posts, here's a refresher: Part 1 Part 2

It all goes back to the theory that's been bouncing around the fandom for ages now, that Ralsei is the horned headband Kris had as a child.

For the sake of brevity, this video will take the place of an explanation. It's about a minute long

My realization is, this theory gives Ralsei CLEAR MOTIVATION for wanting to create an omni-narrative like I speculate about in these posts. That being that Ralsei, as the horn headband, is a literal manifestation of Kris' desire for wish fulfillment.

Ralsei, then, is acting in a way that he thinks satisfies Kris' desires. Kris demonstrably is the less-loved and less successful child. Asriel's side of the room is far more decorated, he's much more loved by his family and by the town as a whole. He is the model citizen.

Ralsei, then, by instigating the narrative of Deltarune, by having secret talks with Kris, who is then going on to create yet more dark fountains, may be acting in Kris' believed interest. Creating the framework for Kris to experience something fulfilling and interesting.

However, Kris seems offput by Ralsei. If we assume Ralsei is the headband this makes sense. Ralsei appears as the Kris Kris wishes they were. A boss monster, like their family. Like Asriel, their brother, the perfect child to their parents, who is everything they are not.

Even if we take Ralsei at face value and assume he is not behind the dark fountains, throw my theory out the window, the fact you are combining all the Dark Worlds into Your Castle Town, that Ralsei is bringing Kris on this adventure, is a sort of wish fulfillment.

No matter how we analyze this, either Ralsei and Kris are complicit, or their ends seem to run parallel to each other, even if on the surface their motives seem to be contradictory. And no matter how you slice it… This drives the point home, that Ralsei, and Your Castle Town, are representative of fans engaging with fiction. What is fanfiction, what is death of the author, what are collaborative canons like the SCP Foundation, D&D, Star Trek, Star Wars… If not ultimate wish fulfillment?

And so it all comes together. Whether Ralsei is complicit with opening the fountains, whether Ralsei and Kris are complicit or working together, both opening the fountains and building up Your Castle Town are narrative parallels to how fans interact with stories.

This even allows my theories to function free of the need for Ralsei to be dishonest. He can still be trying to fulfill his role in the prophecy, he can still be working towards sealing the fountains, as part of the narrative. Everyone playing their role.

Ultimately this fits with the themes we've seen so far beautifully. The player is not the protagonist, the player is an intrusive force in the world. But then, there is still the story. There are still forces beyond our knowledge or control. Gaster, Ralsei, the Knight.

As Toby said, there is only one ending. But there's something more important than reaching the end. The story would occur in the context of the world, with or without us. The forces inciting the narrative exist either way. We are interlopers, but also only participants.

So then, what is Ralsei? That's a question I think unanswerable until further chapters are out (this year, I hope?). But, these Tumblr posts have indicated some narrative threads left for us to pull at. And, well.

THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT SEEMS VERY VERY INTERESTING

I'll see you all again when Chapters 3, 4, and 5 are out. :)

[reapcrbunny]

DAHLIA AND SCARS

hello it is time for a masterpost of this gal's scars which, at this point, are rather extensive after all the trauma her body has gone through.

SCARS FROM A REALM REBORN. her scars from arr are an energy / fire blast scar she received from midgardsormr in the cs's post the keeper of the lake when he flavour blasted her into next week and took away her gift of light for a time. formerly her hands were burned during the praetorium when lahabrea flavour blasted her with that big ol attack of his with the revamped solo duty fight we get.

SCARS FROM HEAVENSWARD. haurchefant died. emotional scarring.

SCARS FROM STORMBLOOD. her scars from stormblood mostly come from the various fights she undergoes with zenos, the main one from the cutscenes following ghimlyt dark. the attack that ultimately takes her out of the fight ends up slicing through her WAR armour from her clavicle down to her navel which ultimately left her bleeding out with only the remains of her armour holding her guts in. the scar itself healed rather poorly due to her running around because trouble on the star never slept even when she needed it. she also picked at it because she has anxiety and she picks. at her scars. she sports other scars that she gained from their fights throughout, though none as bad as that one.

SCARS FROM SHADOWBRINGERS. cracks knuckles, here we go hoss. so basically throughout the expansion, from the moment she consumes the light her skin begins to crack. it isn't a big deal at first, at least to her, but the more she takes the bigger the cracks get and the more they spread. they begun at the small of her back and spread akin to a virus over the rest of her ; up and down her back to to her shoulders and back of her neck. the scars at first are a glowing white only to change to gold once the light has been expelled in full ( even though her troubles aren't over ). while not a scar, her eyes turned from emerald green to icy blue. her fight with elidibus leaves her, for a short time, with chain mark bruising around her arms where she was held in place when yeeted into the space between worlds before emet clicked her back to the fight.

SCARS FROM ENDWALKER. besties she's emotionally spent throughout lmfao, she's ( gordon ramsey vc ) RAW. but physically ? the fight with zenos wrecked her significantly as she returns to the ragnarök alive by a thread but broken with nyx'ael covering her like a sheet with their wings. seeing her reveals a sorry state that takes months to heal and tataru gifts the island to her for recovery over anything else. bloodied hands / claws, scars reopened and torn with fur from her ears missing in places - neck sliced through where had it been any closer to her throat she would have been unsavable as the damage would have been too extensive. for awhile after she has trouble walking as everything hurts, using her scythe as a support or allowing fray or nyx'ael to shoulder the pain she would feel so that she could even move to do things for herself. she suffers from chronic pain even worse than she had it after shadowbringers which is ongoing into 6.3

[the-rovarians]

Fare Thee Well

//final thread for @redemptionofthefallen

Draco could recall very few times he had ever seen-or rather, heard, as she couldn't actually do it, but she still made the sounds-her cry. Really truly cry. But this one was the worst for him. Because he was the reason she was doing it. He was the reason she was breaking down, her usual strength failing her. And for once, she wasn't even trying to fight it. Before, she'd put on a brave face and saved her breakdowns for later, when it was just her and him.

But not this time. This time, she couldn't wait until later, or until it was just the two of them. There wouldn't be a 'later'. Not now or ever again.

Because by the time 'later' came, he would be gone. Dead.

She'd known this was how it would go. They both had. They had always known she would outlive him by far. It was to be expected, with her being a creature of metal and struts as opposed to flesh and bone. She had made the effort, though. So had Aries, who, though still very young for his species, was physically and technically an adult and was now a technology scientist and technology engineer. He was also Lily's best friend.

Draco and Lily had spent the vast majority of their lives on Mars or on other worlds, or on starships voyaging across the galaxy. It was like a rebirth for both of them once they left Earth behind, becoming official, legal Rovarian citizens, meaning an attack on them by anyone from Earth could be treated as a war crime. A new life on a new world, filled with people who were welcoming and accepting of them, and of course a family in the twins. Draco had accompanied Spirit on many adventures, even charged into battles with her and fought at the great warrior's side. He'd gone through ACTUAL training with the Rovarian warriors, and in doing so had earned the custom made suit of Rovarian armor (which Spirit herself had insisted on making and dressing him in at the ceremony where he received it) that marked the completion of his training and his new place as a Rovarian warrior, and he had worn it in many of their battles.

Lily had thrived in their schools, also completing training like Draco had, and joining the Rovarian Star Fleet. Captain Mutou upheld his promise and had a post aboard the Meronym waiting for her. This meant they weren't always together, but everyone stayed in touch, and the distance was worth it to see his pup well on her way to accomplishing her dream. It didn't take her long to rise through the ranks, and soon Lily was promoted and fitted with three separate gold bands around each upper arm with the Command symbol on them, marking her as a Captain, and placed in command of the science and medical vessel Lupus. Spirit had remarked to Draco how fitting it was that the ship named for the wolf constellation (completed before her promotion was confirmed) was now under the command of the wolf girl.

Lupus was now docked in the ground-based Meridiani Shipyards, her crew on shore leave while her captain went with her family to the place where Draco would pass on. She stood on one side of Spirit now, one hand on the Rovarian's shoulder, the other holding one of Draco's.

On Spirit's other side was her brother Opportunity, an arm around his sister, always there for her, and now wishing he could ease the pain he knew she was feeling. But he was feeling it too. That sort of cracking and breaking inside, and he knew his sister felt it much worse than he did.

Spirit was lowered to the ground, not trusting her trembling axles to hold her up. She wanted to say something but she didn't know what. Draco liked telling her she always knew what to say, and many times it turned out she did. But this time, her words were failing her. But she had to say something, dammit. She couldn't let him go with nothing.

"M'sorry." she choked out, "I don't have some big speech or anything......hurting too much to think of one. But......you did it Draco. You have proved everything people on Earth said about you wrong. You are an amazing and brave warrior. It's been such an honor to know you. To love you. And to be loved by you. You're an amazing person, and i.....I was so lucky to meet you. I....I wish I had more time......But even if I could get it, it would never be enough. I'd always want more time with you. So.....instead, I'll be thankful for the time I got. I love you, Draco. So much." There was something else she wanted him to hear also.

"And I'm sure......when you meet her again, because you're about to........I never knew her, but from what you've told me, I know for sure she's going to be so proud of you. She's going to be so happy for you, for all that you've done."

"We certainly are." Opportunity said, "You brought my sister so much happiness and joy, and in doing so, you brought me joy for her. You've been like a brother to me, and it's been an honor to have you as one of our people."

The place they had picked was the place Spirit showed him on the Artax's simdeck so long ago. She'd taken him to the real place as promised and he'd loved it as much as she had. They had considered taking him to the Whitsunday Islands, his favorite place on Earth for his passing, but he'd said no. Too many bad memories on that planet. So instead, he'd chosen Jadis Two, the subterranean bioluminescent world Spirit loved. They were now on the beach there, the jungle alight, as was the incredible world beneath the sea. He wanted to explore this amazing place one more time with her. His force field bracelets she'd made him were already on his arms, and Lily had a pair of her own.

When he said he was ready for their final trip, Spirit lifted him in her arms, held him close to her, and activated his bracelets. Flanked by Lily and Opportunity, she then rose up on her axles and drove into the warm clear water, then dove beneath the surface. Held against her like this, he could really feel how powerful a swimmer she was. Deceptively graceful in her movements as they traveled the vast undersea world again. Just as they had that day on the simdeck.

On their first visit to the actual Jadis Two, she had added to the experience, and they used that addition again now. A special device worn on her back activated as they rose from the water again. A pair of huge, lighted wings spread from each of them's back. But Spirit's were the most impressive. She'd had their appearance designed as a surprise for him the first time they did this. While Lilly and Opportunity had their own designs, Spirit's were great fiery red and orange wings. Two long, ribbonlike tails extended behind her. And the lights of Jadis Two's nature reflecting off her armor gave her the look of being on fire.

Like what he always called her, she had been transformed into a blazing phoenix. This, she had decided, would be his last image of her. In what they'd often joked was her true form. He would pass in the sky, flying in the arms of his mighty Phoenix Queen.

[the-starry-seas]

Comfy-vember Day 2

Prompt: Favourite song — Holding hands — Walking and talking

Star Wars, clone OC & clone OC

Check out this post to request a prompt!

What’s the use in having a tall brother if you can’t see him in a crowd? Racer considers trying to hop, before deciding that’s a little undignified even by her standards. So she does the next best thing, which is also probably going to be much more effective. 

She cups her hands around her mouth, tilts her head back, and hollers, 

“Fury you idiot, you lost me! Hey! I’m over here! Hey!” 

He finds her in no time, of course he does. She’s hard to ignore when she puts her mind to it. And whenever she’s around an open flame. But Blue confiscated her flares and her grenades last week, and she hasn’t figured out how to get them back yet. Whisper won’t help until she apologises for stealing those leftovers, and she’s not about to do that. 

“You’re so loud,” he complains, and holds his hand out to her. 

“Yeah, well, wanna guess how I know your boyfriend’s name?” she asks as she threads her fingers with his. Harder to lose someone when you’re holding onto them. 

“Gross little weirdo. When I was your height–” 

“When I was your gender–” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, and yanks her around a trio of adults trying to wrangle what seems to be a few too many children. One of them makes a break for it and is promptly chased down by one of their fathers. Privately, Racer is rooting for them to get away again. They can’t get in too much trouble at a festival, right? 

“I’m getting some of that melon juice,” Fury decides, and drags her along to a slightly crooked line of temporary food stands. 

She doesn’t complain, but she is going to make him get her some juice, too. 

“Hey, is your creature gonna be here?” she asks after taking an obnoxiously loud and rattling sip of her drink. 

“Which creature?” 

“You know, the big one.” 

“If you’re talking about my boyfriend, no, he’s helping Jules with verd’goten plans.” 

“You’re gonna get dizzy if you keep rolling your eyes.” 

“You should try it, it might air out your brain a little.” 

She snorts and steps on his foot, and ignores when he elbows her in the side. It’s how they say they love each other. Of course, Blue thinks they’re ridiculous, but he thinks that about a lot of things that they do. He’s obviously never been right. 

“What are you doing later, anyway?” she asks. “Me and Ember are taking a speeder out to stargaze after the second moon goes down. You could take another crack at that astronavigation you’re trying to learn.” 

“Sure, yeah,” he says after a considering moment. “I was always good with a compass, I don’t know why this is so hard.” 

“Maybe you should try airing your brain out a little bit.” 

“Dumbass.” 

“Dipshit.” 

“Ooh, hey, they have cinnamon flatbread.” 

She buys, this time, because it’s only fair. And because then, she can claim that she can get away with stealing pinches off his bread, because she paid for it. 

The festival is loud and bright and has more people than she’s ever seen in Mos Espa before. It’s a good thing they’re holding hands, because she can count five or six times that she would have lost him if they’d been separated by an arm’s length. 

“You hear that?” she asks, scrubbing her hand on her pants to wipe off the cinnamon powder. “They’re playing our song.” 

First time they’d all gone out after the war. The whole squad clustered together in a club, clinging to each others’ hands as she and Fury do now, laughing at each other over the music and trying to mimic the dancing of the people around them. Poorly, at the time, but they’ve all gotten a little better sense. 

He spins her under his arm, and she laughs as she ducks to fit, wrapping her arm around his waist as she nudges into his side. 

“Still a good song,” she says, spinning him this time. He has to duck even farther to fit under her arm, since he is, irrationally, a head taller than her. But she doesn’t mind. He’s always been her favourite brother. 

They dance to the song in the street, and the festival is all the better for it, and she loves, like she always does, that people are staring. 

[dvotdovetre]

✔ { holds up hideki/@worldatourfeat }

plotting guide

My muse(s):

A servant that should not exist, a error in the system.

Do I know your muse(s):  yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

I've read about your boy but i always love hearing about other peoples muses, i think it be fun to plot something more like for instance maybe aoibhe hints at using loopholes, I can see aoibhe growin to genuinly care about hideki's plight to protect his sister.

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

Aoibhe is a versatile muse and i think it would be fun to play with the fate moon cell story. Sakura in the game is an "Npc" and i wanted to leave Aoi's role vague due to not messing to much with the story outside of plots.

But I can see aoibhe offering her help as much as she can while still being neutral if hideki choses to befriend / make a bond with her.

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

I'm a shipping whore i don't mind what happens as long as your willing to yell with me about them XD

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other 

I can see aoibhe getting after your boy if he does stupid shit, as a nurse / apothecary she will make him rest be warned.

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

I say this with my whole chest , give me all your ideas, i'll take em all.

Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!

as i said before come yell at me XD

My muse(s):

A time traveling dragon

Do I know your muse(s):  yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

again tell me about your muse ! Let me fall in love with them !

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

I mean we can play with the idea of a time traveler in a grail war, maybe they meet in a future he's happy and she's doing her best to not spoil anything. Time loops are a thing so maybe she has to do something small or noticeable to make time go the way it should -

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

I'm open for anything ngl.

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other 

Once again, give me all your ideas XD

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

Gib the muses

Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!

Again , come yell at me

[tseneipgam]

"Close-ups of nail art, a pebble from outer space, a tarantulas compound eyes, a storm like canned peaches on the surface of Jupiter, Van Gogh's The Potato Eaters, a chihuahua perched on a man's erection, a garage door spray-painted with the words STOP! DON'T EMAIL MY WIFE! Why did the portal feel so private, when you only entered it when you needed to be everywhere? She felt along the solid green marble of the day for the hairline crack that might let her out. This could not be forced."

"Where had the old tyranny gone, the tyranny of husband over wife? She suspected most of it had been channeled into weird ideas about supplements, whether or not vinyl sounded "warmer," and which coffeemakers were nothing but a shit in the mouth of the coffee christ. "A hundred years ago you would have been mining coal and had fourteen children all named Jane,"'she often marveled, as she watched a man stab a finger at his wife in front of the Keurig display. "Two hundred years ago, you might have been in a coffee shop in Göttingen, shak- ing the daily paper, hashing out the questions of the day--and I would be shaking out sheets from the windows, not know- ing how to read." But didn't tyranny always feel like the hand of the way things were?"

"It was a mistake to believe that other people were not living as deeply as you were. Besides, you were not even living that deeply. The amount of eavesdropping that was going on was enor- mous, and the implications not yet known. Other people's diaries streamed around her. Should she be listening, for in- stance, to the conversations of teenagers? Should she follow with such avidity the compliments that rural sheriffs paid to porn stars, not realizing that other people could see them? What about the thread of women all realizing they had the exact same scar on their knee? "I have that scar too!" "

"A person might join a site to look at pictures of her nephew and five years later believe in a flat earth."

"As she began to type, "Enormous fatberg made of grease, wet wipes, and condoms is terrorizing London's sewers, " her hands began to waver in their outlines and she had to rock the crown of her head against the cool wall, back and forth, back and forth. What, in place of these sentences, marched in the brains of previous generations? Folk rhymes about planting turnips, she guessed."

"Every time she passed the model train store she clenched her fists and said, "You did this…" And it was true, it was tris life as we knew it was coming to an end because 160 years ag% of whatever, some old weirdo who was obsessed with trains had to invent trains because trains didn't exist yet. Choo-choo, motherfucker, are you happy now?"

"The only thing that bound us together was this belief: that in every other country they eat unspeakable food; worship gods more see-through than glass; string together only the most meaningless syllables, like g00-g00-g00-goo-goo-goo-goo; are war- like but not noble; do not help the dead cross in the proper boats; do not send the correct incense up to the wide blue nos- trils; crawl with whatever crawls; do not love their children, not the way we do; bare the most tempting body parts and cover the most mundane; cup their penises to protect them from supernatural forces; their poetry is piss; they do not respect the moon; slice the little faces of our familiars into the stewpot."

"The Cairns must be holy, she thought when she visited, for the air around her was doubled, tripled, with remixed and humming life. Old robes and old bones swished past her on their way to cookfires, a mist of eyes looked up to mark the place of the sun in the sky, and the ruddy cows on the oppo- site hillside spoke to each other in words that were almost comprehensible: life, death, Im spilling over, green grass. They said all you needed to be remembered was one small stone piled on another, and wasn't that what we were doing in the portal, small stone on small stone on small stone?"

"On the Isle of Skye, she and her husband ate langoustines at a restaurant overlooking a long gray ridge of rock with a light- house at the tip of it, and laughed at the herds of tourists who insisted on visiting lighthouses wherever they went. "Some things!" her husband whispered. "Are the same! No matter where you go!" But later, taking an afternoon out of the portal to read Virginia Woolf, she realized that that must have been it, the lighthouse the family sails to on the final page. Was that the final page? Or did the book end with herself and her hus- band, cracking the red backs of little sweet creatures, cutouts of each other and all the same, and laughing at the people who moved in one wave, the family who went to the Lighthouse?"

"Your attention is holy," she told the class, as her phone buzzed uncontrollably in her back pocket, for a long-ago joke she had made about a Florida politician "who nearly died during elective taint-lengthening surgery' was receiving renewed at- tention that morning. "It is the soul spending itself,"

"Context collapse! That sounded pretty bad, didn't it? And also like the thing that was happening to the honeybees?"

"CIA Confirms "Charlie Bit My Finger" Was on One of Osama bin Laden's Computers Also a file called assss.jpeg."

"We were being radicalized, and how did that feel? Like we had just stepped into a Girl Scout uniform made of fire. Like the skies had abruptly shifted to the stripes of an old Soviet poster, and the cookies we carried through green and well-watered neighborhoods had been cut by the guillotine. We were being radicalized, yes, even though we owned personalized goblets that said Wine O'Clock, even though we still read the Old Gray Lady every morning with not nearly enough of a sneer on our faces! SHOOT IT IN MY VEINS, we said, whenever the head- line was too perfect, the juxtaposition too good to be true. SHOOT IT IN MY VEINS, we said, when the Flat Earth Society announced it had members all over the globe."

"The portal's favorite stories, now, were about interracial friends who met playing online Scrabble and eventually invited each other to Thanksgiving dinner. One of them must be very old, old enough to have been on the wrong side of the civil rights movement, and one of them must be very young, young enough that their face was like a fresh lightbulb. They must encounter each other's traditional dishes with an equal amount of surprise and familiarity, they must take pictures of them- selves sitting down at the feather-flocked table, and, most im- portant, they must do it again next year. We reveled in these stories, which were not untrue. But there was some untruth in the degree to which they comforted us."

"Modern womanhood was more about rubbing snail mucus on your face than she had thought it would be. But it had always been something, hadn't it? Taking drops of arsenic. Winding bandages around the feet. Polishing your teeth with lead. It was so easy to believe you freely chose the paints, polishes, and waist-trainers of your own time, while looking back with tre- mendous pity to women of the past in their whalebones; that you took the longest strides your body was capable of, while women of the past limped forward on broken arches."

"Our enemies! ... Had they made us weak with intermittent fasting? Had they wasted our evenings with the detective show that no one could understand? Had they done this to make American novels bad for a time? Were they distracting our anarchists with polyamory and meal replacement drinks, so nothing could get done? Had they bloated us with homebrew? Had they made Christianity viable again? Had they brought back snap-crotch bodysuits?"

"What do you mean you've been spying on me? she thought- hot, blind, unreasoning, on the toilet. What do you mean you've been spying on me, with this thing in my hand that is an eye? How were we supposed to write now that we could no longer compare anything to a phantom limb? Was the phrase "the Braille of her nipples" to be absolutely retired? Were we just never to say that someone "inclined her head like a geisha" ever again? Could we not call the weather bipolar without risking the prison of public opinion? Not imply that bird- watchers are autistic? Could we not say the crescent moon was "as slender as a poor person"? Not say the sun "crashed inevi- tably into the mountains like a woman driver"? Take all shades and strengths of coffee away, if we could no longer hold it up to people's faces!"

and the only way it was possible to comfort herself anymore was to stand in front of the mirror and say out loud, "Cows don't know about him."

"

"MY SAFE! she found herself screaming two days later, kneeling below her husband's work window with a needle standing in every pore, a pair of balled-up panties stuck to one leg and clutching to her chest what appeared to be a dictio- nary. "GET DOWN HERE AND OPEN MY SAFE!" She had tried every number that she could think of-_the sex num- ber, the antichrist number, the twin towers number-_but he grimly took the safe from her and freed it with 1-2-3-4. "Oh," she said, slumping with relief, her body unlocking as soon as the phone was in her hand, "that's good, that's funny. Like learning to count. Like Sesame Street." That night the safe went in the back of the closet, where the words NEW EN- GLISH could not wink at her any longer, and they never spoke of it again, and that was love, that was what love was now."

"Self-care, she thought, and sprinkled in her tub a large quan- tity of an essential oil that smelled like a Siberian forest. But when she lowered herself into the trembling water, what she would have referred to in the portal as her b'ole began to burn with such a white-hot medieval fire that she stood straight up in the bath and shouted the name of a big naked god she no longer believed in, and as strong rivers flowed off her in every direction she did not remember the conditions of the modern moment at all, she was unaware of anything ex- cept the specific address of her own body, which meant either that the hot bath had worked to restore her to herself, or else that she would have sold out her neighbors to the regime in an instant, one or the other."

"and tell him to go suck a poison pussy, sweetie Was it entirely his fault? Lately it seemed every man on the planet was about to burst from a supplement sold to him by another man with exactly the same set of opinions. "Mom, I want you to check Dad's medicine cabinet," she said one day during her weekly call. "Check and make sure he's not secretly taking some supplement with a bullshit name like Destroy Her with Logic 5000 + Niacin."

"It's nonsense!" a man hollered at her, rising unsteadily on his cane. He had read about the event in the physical newspaper. He signed every one of his texts, Love, Grandpa. "It's not nonsense! It's folk art!" she hollered back. Like those early American women who painted kids with enormous fore- heads, either because they didn't know how to paint regular foreheads or because it was a stylistic choice!

"Our politicians had never been so authentic, so linked arm in arm with the common people. "My favorite meat is hot dog, by the way," one told us. "That is my favorite meat. My second favorite meat is hamburger. And, everyone says, oh, don't you prefer steak? It's like, I know steaks are great, but I like hot dog best, and I like hamburger next best." And we shivered with recognition, and a vague vote grew solid in our hands, for we too liked hot dog best, and hamburger next best. We were the common people, on whom it all rested, and we lived in diners, and we went to church at the gas station, and our mother was a dirty mattress in the front yard, and we liked, God dammit, hot dog best."

"Her cousin, born the odd year before her, was autistic, at a time when they still blamed refrigerator mothers. Before he got too strong and was sent away, her aunt had built for him in the basement of her mansion a miniature kitchen. It was thought, somehow, that this bright and well-ordered corner of verisimil- itude would help him break into real life. Little T-bones, shaped like South America, dewy ears of corn, false cans with actual labels. But he cared nothing for this, he cared only for music, he slapped his temples to the pulse, and as he grew taller and turned the beat louder and louder it became clear they had it all backward: real life was in him, trying to burst the miniatur- ization of the body, little T-bones, dewy ears."

"A certain look used to come over her aunt's face as she crossed and held her son's wrists behind his back, in that imitation kitchen full of imitation food. It made her wonder if she ought to have children, for anything could happen, and you didnt know if you were up to it, how could you know if you were up to it? But she thought just as often of a little girl with pigrails who came running down the aisle of a plane toward her once, and patted her all over her arms and legs as she passed, and it was like a rain of soft blue bruiseless plums. She felt the surprise of it long after the girl was gone, and as she contemplatively sipped vodka from a shampoo bottle in the bathroom, a bloom came suddenly all over her skin: maybe she was up to it, after all."

"Her wish for the next generation was for them to be spared an age when numbers got sick- swarmed, clumped together, went plummeting off cliffs-_and the numbers were human beings. But could what they had started be stopped? "

"because when a dog runs to you and nudges against your hand for love and you say automatically, I know, I know, what else are you talking about except the world?"

"The theme they had chosen was swans, serene and graceful, though the only swan she had ever per- sonally met had stared her down outside the Kafka Museum in Prague and then attacked. It had chased her all the way down to the water, its half-a-heart neck stretched out in a scream, but of course, she had understood later, its nest must have been somewhere near."

"She held the little hand and waited for its wilted pink squeeze, like the handshake of a lily. She stroked the heaving back--how hard it was, to haul the body through even a single day- and traced the new brown down on the baby's forehead. She leaned over the child and said something; she said, 'It is going to be just like your mother."

[kuiilandtorch]

For the Author Commentary, a few snippets, all from A different kind of blood! (One from each chapter instead of a huge slug :P)

ch 1 Finishing his ministrations, Luke wiped the sticky, pungent residue of bacta from his hands and stowed the supplies back into the medkit.  Placing it back into his bag, he pulled out the canteen of water and considered how to compose his next offer, since all he had to go on were assumptions drawn from Grogu’s memories and the context of their parting on the cruiser.  In all of Grogu’s experiences, at least the ones he’d imparted to Luke, the Mandalorian had always worn his helmet, even on occasions where other parts of his armor were removed.  The fact that Grogu had asked to see his father’s face before leaving with Luke meant that he had never seen it. The Mandalorian’s decision to grant his son’s request had likely been as sacrificial as his choice to surrender him to Luke. Just for once…let me look on you with my own eyes. And Luke hadn’t turned away from it then, too caught up in his own memories and fighting to wrestle them under control, lest he show weakness at a crucial moment. ch 2 He’d promised Grogu he’d see him again, and while knowing it was at best a placating lie to comfort the child, perhaps one he’d forget if enough time passed, Din did not give his word lightly.  That was one thread he could grasp.  He’d thrown away his honor for the life of his foundling, and no matter how deeply the Creed was etched into his mind and spirit, somehow he could not imagine a universe in which it mattered more than that. ch 3 Grogu squealed with glee and made grabby hands for the canister, and Luke sighed in amusement.  “I guess Yoda didn’t have bad taste because he lived in a swamp, he just had bad taste.”  That you share, kiddo, he thought, but charitably kept that to himself.  He supposed he was one to talk — he thought womp rat tasted just fine in Aunt Beru’s stew, but he knew people outside Tatooine would be disgusted.  “We should probably take this outside so we don’t stink it up in here.”  He could see now, peering down into the canister, that it held some kind of fermented fish, which explained the intense odor. Sitting out on the walkway, Luke settled for some more of his own jerky, though the reeking fish had stolen any appetite he might have had.  He only kept up appearances so that Grogu wouldn’t be distracted from enjoying his meal.  The child tucked into the canister with gusto, digging his claws into the fishmeal, and Luke hoped he wouldn’t get it onto his smock, though he knew he probably wouldn’t be that lucky.  Unless Luke successfully managed to clean him up in whatever facilities were available in the room given to them, Din was going to have a very noxious son on his hands. “Did you know I went nineteen years without ever tasting fish?” Luke said, just to make idle conversation.  “The first time I ever tried some, I couldn’t get enough.  It was like the first time I’d seen rain and puddles of water after growing up in the desert where there was nothing but sand everywhere.”

OK- *rolling up sleeves*

Ch. 1: I will forever foam at the mouth at all the missed opportunities in the S2 finale, and the fact that we have to imply them ourselves. Like, don't even think about the crack shipping for a second, THEY MADE MR. STAR WAR HIMSELF STAND IN FRONT OF A GUY TAKING HIS HELMET OFF FOR HIS KID, SHARING THIS BLATANTLY EMOTIONAL MOMENT, AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT HE TOOK THAT WITH A DEAD-INSIDE STRAIGHT CGI FACE?????????

That was the biggest, most painfully obvious parallel and all jokes aside, it would not have stolen the thunder from Din and Grogu connecting and it would have only enriched the moment to take a second to show Luke's facade cracking to show the haunted, bittersweet joy and grief you know he had to have been feeling witnessing this. No matter how many versions of this scene I rewrite into different WIPs, I always have to include this framing because it's essential and inescapable to me. Luke survived and the galaxy was saved because his father ultimately chose selfless love, and he saw that beauty again; he was inadvertently included in this extremely intimate, powerful moment and it's such a profound honor. And he had to hold himself together because he knew this guy giving up his kid was devastated enough, he didn't need the stranger he was trusting with Grogu to fall apart too. (At least, that's what he tells himself.)

That's really the driving motivation Luke has to do what he does for Din in this story - yes, he wants to be a compassionate Jedi, but like his father, Luke holds strong loyalty and love for specific people, and while he wouldn't or doesn't want to name it as such at this time, Luke already loves this man on a soul-deep level for being a selfless father to this traumatized child, even if he knows nothing about him, and if he can show kindness to him in any small way, he'll do it. He wants Din to feel appreciated for everything he had to go through and give up.

Ch. 2: ok here's the thing-

I get the face-value notion that when Din said those words, he really was determined to see Grogu again. For me personally, I think something very very important about the S2 finale - removed from anything that came afterwards - is viewing it through the lens of Din and Grogu mutually agreeing they need to separate for their own good, no matter how painful it is. Yes, we see Grogu being sad and clinging to Din's leg, but he's a kid, it's understandable, yet he's showing great maturity in being willing and ready to leave with the Jedi. He's the one who urges Din to let in whoever's on the other side of the blast doors. He's the one who mentally informs Luke that he wants Din's permission, not that he's resisting departure. And as badly as Din's heart is breaking, I think the pragmatist in him would be accepting the fact that this was likely the last time he'd ever see Grogu. He would at least be preparing himself for that. It was literally his quest: return the kid to his "kind," and then it's over.

Din is absolutely a man of honor who does his best to keep his word, and if somehow, some way later on he'd get the chance to reunite with Grogu, he wouldn't turn away from it. But I took the view that Din said that more as a reassurance to help Grogu feel better about leaving than anything else. That moment was about Grogu, that was the entire reason for him putting the final nail in the coffin of his creed and taking his helmet off right there, to grant the kid a parting gift of love and respect for his wish. Din realized and accepted that he loved Grogu more than his own soul, regardless of the fact that his own creed does hold children in the utmost importance. If he saw any contradiction in his principles, he was going to fall on the side of preserving an innocent life no matter what the cost, fuck himself and everything else.

But that's why Din was crying in that scene. He felt this was goodbye. He'd fulfilled his obligation, and it was tearing him apart, but this was what needed to happen, this was what was best for Grogu. The kid was still so little; he thought maybe, eventually, if he was content wherever he was, Din would just fade to a blip in his life and Grogu would move on to better things, and that would have to be okay.

The other parallel I don't see talked about nearly as much in this scene is that Din is Shmi Skywalker. Din is ripping his heart out of his chest and handing it over to a Jedi, and being as brave and reassuring as possible to his son to see him walk towards a more promising future, away from strife and misery.

Ch. 3: I COULDN'T NOT GIVE MANDALORIANS SPACE SURSTRÖMMING >:D

And look, for the record, I fall squarely in the "Luke is domestic enough to be functional in a rural capacity because you can't exist on a farm and not know basic useful life skills along with farm chores" camp. No, he's no chef, but he can skin and dress a varmint like nobody's business and make a decent stew and cheese because he wants to keep his aunt's memory alive. No, he's not much of a fashionista and he couldn't make couture, but he sure as fuck knows how to mend shit to keep it going and sew some basic patterns. He's fond of his fair share of pickled and fermented and dried and heavily spiced foods from back home, but nothing on Tatooine can touch Mando space surströmming, that's for sure. XD

I love to showcase Luke idly telling Grogu silly anecdotes about himself and trying to inject some fun into Jedi teaching because he just wants to make this kid happy, and it buoys him to see Grogu being happy at whatever, even if it's super stinky fish.