#BEN DOES HAVE AN OPTIONAL VICTORY

[swan2swan]

And so it ends.

At 2:57 EST, I have finished recording the Hidden Adventure on Netflix, three minutes before its presumed eternal departure.

goodnight, sweet prince

and may a flight of angels sing thee to a DVD release

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Pt. 15

Viddasala

Trespasser Masterpost Previous: Shattered Library

The PC heads through the eluvian to the inverted island. They’re greeted by a large group of Qunari. The Viddasala stands up head.

Viddasala: Survivor of the Breach. Herald of change. Hero of the South.

PC: The Viddasala, I presume.

Sera: (Nervous laugh.) Wow.

Viddasala: After fulfilling your purpose at the Breach, it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people. Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.

Dialogue options:

General: We don’t have to fight. [1]

General: My mark isn’t a danger. [2]

General: You’re not up to killing me. [3]

1 - General: We don’t have to fight. PC: It’s not too late to put our weapons down and talk. Viddasala: There’s no need to pretend that you’re blind to what you’ve begun. [4]

2 - General: My mark isn’t a danger. PC: The Anchor repairs tears in the Veil. I would think you’d approve of that. Viddasala: Is that all it does? Tell me, why hold your hand as if it’s begun to pain you? [4]

3 - General: You’re not up to killing me. PC: I’ve defeated all your Ben-Hassrath so far. Viddasala: So you have. The repercussions have already begun. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Viddasala: I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the south defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You’ve amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.

Dialogue options:

General: What are you going to do? PC: Then enlighten me about the Qun’s plans for us. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: So you try mass assassination? PC: Is that what Dragon’s Breath is for? Murdering our heads of state just to control our magic? ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: The Breach was a fluke. PC: Corypheus had a one-of-a-kind artifact. The Veil is safe.

Viddasala: Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything, that its consequences stopped there? The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This agent of Fen’Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him!

PC: Who is this agent? Why would you think they work for the Inquisition?

Viddasala: Kill the Inquisitor, then follow me to the Darvaarad.

She leaves, and the PC fights through the Qunari. When they fighting is done, they look around the camp. The PC finds a tattered note.

This scrap of parchment is written in both Qunlat and the Common Tongue, although the letters in Qunlat are shaky: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Please excuse my Qunlat. Its subtleties elude me even with your patient teaching. ㅤㅤ ㅤ We pulled everyone out of the palace. The shem nobles assumed we were servants leaving on an errand. We are hiding where you told us, waiting for signs that Dragon's Breath has begun. Victory is in the Qun.

PC: No wonder the Qunari translated notes into our language. It was for their non-Qunari spies.

Iron Bull: They’d have to. Qunlat’s not an easy one to learn.

They continue to look around and find the Viddasla’s papers.

This sheaf of notes is written mostly in Qunlat. But select paragraphs have been translated into the common tongue: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Those born outside the Qun will not comprehend the seriousness of using mages to help us. They believe the worst that can befall a mage is demon possession. They do not truly understand that the loss of mastery comes with a loss of the self. Those of the Qun since birth do not understand why we risk using saarebas. We have immersed them in a sea of magic until it seems impossible they could ever do anything but drown. It is right that we enlighten you so your purpose here is clear. ㅤㅤ ㅤ We have learned from this place that there lived an elven mage who saw a great wrong and sacrificed all to right it. This mage made the Veil, which protects us from the Fade. This Veil stripped power from his rulers, who had treated their people with such excess that it makes the southern kings and queens seem staid. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Thus does every action carry rightness and all paths converge. ㅤㅤ ㅤ In his greatest magic, the elven mage became an agent of peace through the Veil. In our willingness to brave this place, we may discover how the Veil can be strengthened through our own mages. For that, we risk our lives. The saarebas who have joined in this endeavor understand the dangers and have made their choice. Remember the words of Ashkaari Koslun: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Existence is a choice. There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom. From wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self. Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering. Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it. ㅤㅤ ㅤ For peace, we will endure any horror here. We will create a safer world, or destroy the old one.

PC: These are the Viddasala’s papers. She brought mages here to research strengthening the Veil.

Iron Bull: A way to clamp down magic? No wonder she’s here.

PC: It explains why the Qunari thought it was worth camping here.

They speak with the nearby Archivist.

Archivist: Visitors. Patrons. Welcome. The halls are open.

Dialogue options:

General: Where did Viddasala go? [5]

General: Goodbye. [6]

5- General: Where did Viddasala go? PC: Can you tell me where a Qunari called the Viddasala went? Archivist: Yes. We heard much, although she fooled herself into thinking we could not hear. “Take a keystone to the Darvaarad. I will join you there soon, and take stock of our remaining gaatlok powder.”

If the PC does not have the keystone Archivists: If it is something you would like to see, I sense a key nearby. I have words to open it. [9]

If the PC has the keystone Dialogue options:

General: I have a keystone. [7]

General: Goodbye. [6]

7 - General: I have a keystone. PC: I found a keystone with one of the Qunari. Archivist: Yes. And you need words for their key. “Maraas nehraa.” It glows. It will open the way to the Darvaarad. May you find what you seek. In coming here, you strengthened the paths. I can now raise one, if you wish to go. The pathway raises behind the spirit.

Dialogue options:

General: Thank you. [8]

General: Goodbye. [6]

8 - General: Thank you. PC: You’ve been very helpful… uh… Archivist: “Ghil-Dirthalen” was what the elvhen called me. “One who guides seekers of knowledge true.” I was connection. One city could read the records of another, one elvhen feel the memories of another. When the Veil fell upon us, I marked the end of all they knew. [6]

6 - General: Goodbye. PC: Farewell. Archivist: Seek well. [21]

9 - Scene continues.

If the PC doesn’t have the keystone and speaks to the Archivist again Archivist: If you wish to exchange knowledge with the Qunari, please return with a keystone.

The PC speaks to the archivist after openeing the path. Archivist: Farewell, patrons. Would that I could have greeted you whole.

The Archivist vanishes.

PC: We’ve got to find this Darvaarad and corner Viddasala there.

The PC heads through the eluvian and makes their way back the way they came.

Next: the Qunari Plot

[masked-marauder]

THE BARBER OF SEVILLE (1944)

Director: James Culhane

Story: Ben Hardaway, Milt Schaffer

Animation: Verne Harding, Les Kine, Emery Hawkins, Pat Matthews, Paul J. Smith, Rudy Zamora

Release Date: April 22, 1944

Ah, Woody Woodpecker. One of my favorite, yet also one of the most underachieving cartoon characters of all time.

Despite his appealing design and his fun, if a bit aggravating personality, Woody was never able to achieve fame and praise similar to the likes of Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse (Unless you're in Brazil), and I find that to be a great shame, as I find Woody to be a great character. However, it seemed nobody truly knew HOW to use him after the 1940s were over, as he became nicer, unfunnier, and more simple of a character, despite a few fun cartoons here and there. (Mostly 1954's CONVICT CONCERTO). It seems like they've been trying to return to his classic roots in the modern day and age, but they aren't really doing it very well, as the movie stunk and the Flash show is unbearably mediocre. So what made Woody tick anyway? Why do I find him to be such a great character? Well, look no further than The Barber of Seville.

The cartoon begins with Woody, reading the window of Tony Fig-Ay-Roo.... Figaro's barber shop. As he looks at the different haircut options, he decides to get a "V FOR VICTORY" haircut, because what can he lose with a victory cut?

As he thinks about the haircut, we get some great expressions from him.

As he goes into the barber shop, he finds that Figaro is out to get his physical. "Back soon? That's what he thinks." This cartoon shows its age very clearly with military references such as these, but I find them somewhat endearing.

Oh well. Maybe Woody can cut his own hair! He cuts his own teeth!

As he begins combing his hair, he does a dainty pose as he remarks "Looks like Harmonica Lake!"

This is a neat lil nod to the famous actress Veronica Lake. (Yeesh, check out that... creature next to her!)

Suddenly, a Native-American man walks in, unaware that Woody will be his barber. Despite the controversial nature of this whole sequence, weirdly enough, the official Woody Woodpecker youtube channel has this entire cartoon up with NO censorship. Not even a disclaimer or anything. This whole sequence is somewhat unnecessary to the cartoon, so I won't go into full detail about it.

However, one gag I DO have to bring up is one where, after Woody places a bunch of hot towels on his head, the man's war bonnet shrinks into a shuttlecock.

He takes great offense to this, viewing this as Woody "giving him the bird" (A great double entendre) as he pulls out an axe, threatening to give Woody "scalp treatment".

Woody backtracks on this, pulling out a mallet as he states "No. I give YOU scalp treatment!". He then knocks him on the head with the mallet. Just a great combo of jokes all packed into one big gag.

After this, we find a burly Italian construction worker, who goes into the shop. This is where the cartoon gets good.

As he sits down, Woody asks him what he would like. He asks for the "whole works", a decision he will most definitely come to regret.

As Woody begins the haircut, he holds down the man's helmet, the razor hitting it as both the man and Woody shake around, the razor makin a jackhammer sound effect.

"Remove the hat!.... dope."

As Woody attempts to remove it, we get another fun visual gag as Woody blow torches the man's helmet off, using his own hair as a nob controlling the fire.

Now, while all of the gags that I've mentioned are GREAT, it's all nothing compared to what you'll be seeing next. After removing the helmet, Woody begins SINGING OPERA (specifically Largo al factotum) while cutting the man's hair. He begins by slapping the man with a bunch of shaving cream.

He randomly places shaving cream on the man's shoes as well. While Woody sings, the man looks at him with an incredible expression of pure shock and horror.

He then slaps the brush for the shaving cream into the man's mouth.

He begins polishing the man's shoes with the shaving cream, which is standard barber practice.

Do I really have to say anything about this next part? He pulls out the razor as he points it at the man, resulting in the most iconic still from this cartoon. "V'e la risorsa..."

He then extends the seat to go up higher, to the point where he slams the man into the ceiling. He sticks on there for a bit due to the shaving cream.

He then falls off as a bunch of tools fly across the screen, including.. dentures? Maybe this is just an old-timey barbershop thing, I wouldn't know.

The man tries hiding from Woody in the bib, leading to a really satisfying looking gag where everytime Woody swings the razor, the man changes position, as Woody randomly phases over to that position, with no in between frames whatsoever.

As Woody swings the blade again, the man disappears. Woody begins calling out for him by saying the famous "FEE-GA-ROOOOOO.... FEE-GA-ROOOOO...." part of the song.

As he calls to him, he randomly clones himself as he looks around. A really simple yet genius gag.

As he calls out, we see the man, attempting to walk away, dressed as a stereotypical child from that era, complete with a little umbrella. He spouts "Coming, mother!" If I remember correctly, this is a radio show reference, but I don't remember which one.

As he tries running away, Woody turns like the way a bloodlusted animal turns when they hear a twig snap, dashing towards him.

This is where the cartoon reaches its peak. He begins swinging the razor at him again, now with a fencing stance, as they move across the shop.

After a RIGID haircutting session, the man finally escapes Woody's grasp, running out the shop as Woody laughs hysterically, but not before the man gets his revenge. As Woody laughs, the mangrabs him and chucks him through the window as he slams into a pole.

Now THIS is Woody Woodpecker. There's a reason he's Stanley Kubrick's favorite cartoon character. (That's entirely true by the way... look it up) And it seems many people agree on this being a great Woody cartoon, as it's usually ranked as the BEST one and was ranked #43 in the best cartoons EVER. Another huge selling point to this cartoon is that it was the first to feature Woody's design as we know it today, besides the blue neck (which I honestly prefer). Basically, what I'm trying to say is, if there's ONE Woody cartoon you should watch... it's this one. And you're in luck, because this time, instead of putting some shoddy Dailymotion link, I can send you the entire cartoon from the official Youtube channel! You can view it here!

All of the gifs used in THIS review come from animationfan69.tumblr.com. Give em' a watch!

[sepyana]

Jjba Stardust Crusaders ep 16-20 thoughts

Ep. 16 and 17

This one's a two parter. I didn't talk about the portrayal of the countries visited because I don't have much of an opinion on them. I'm not from from those places. I am middle eastern tho so I wanted to talk about some stuff here.

So, Fun fact! Döner and Kebab are two different foods. It's just that joints that sell one usually sell the other. The food is named Döner (Dön meaning spin, -er being the present simple tense or same suffix in English. Meaning It spins OR spinner.) When it spread to Europe and rest of the middle east it got the name "Doner Kebab". I just thought that was cool.

Bargaining bit is pretty funny. Joseph's advice isn't half bad. I've never seen people bargain or overcharge for street food but It's pretty much expected in bazaars. You gotta learn how to do it if you are a tourist because it's expected also you WILL get scammed at some point.

OKAY, now onto the actual episode. The lovers card is not only for romantic/sexual relationships. It encapsulates all relationships and connections. Dan's stand "connects" his target to himself. I thought the lovers would be two people with matching stands or something. This is a fun take on the card though, omitting the romantic/sexual context altogether.

Wow Jotaro is mad. I don't think we have seen him being this brash before. I think it's funny how Polnareff mutters "He just might" when Kakyoin is says "Are you trying to kill your grandfather?!". He never would, but it's funny that Polnareff thinks he would consider it. (The music for this scene slaps btw. if you even care)

This is a nice bit of characterization of Jotaro. He does most of the things Dan says, while also trying to explode him with his mind. The whole time you're watching you're like "Dan's ass will be absolutely destroyed next episode lol"

Stands being able to shrink like that makes sense, Green Hierophant could do it. Not to this extent but still. Having a battle in Joseph's brain is a fun idea either way.

I think Jotaro writing Dan's bs in his notebook was to help him calm his nerves a bit.

I can't believe the jewelers started beating in him up with a bad, telling him to go back to his country and shit. Made worse by the fact that Jotaro is like, 17. I know he doesn't look like it but the characters seem to be aware of it. They call him "that asian kid".

Ep. 18

^ This is probably the most expressive Star Platinum has ben so far.

I have no idea what the fuck is. going on with this episode.

So the first half is really boring. I'd make fun of Jotaro for wearing a black coat in a desert but it's better than not wearing it at all.

I actually thought something bad happened to Kakyoin but no he is fine.

At the end of the episode Joseph was like "Is that it? The end of the episode?" Jotaro just answers "Yeah shut the fuck up old man"

^ They are so normal

Ep. 19-20

I did guess there was gonna be a Kakyoin episode my last post. Well, we get two. I'm not complaining, he is shaping up to be my favourite.

Kakyoin's first instinct when he sees the dog is to pet it, which is the correct response btw. The dog dies in 2 minutes because Araki has something against dogs.

Our stand for today is Death 13! It's a better name than just Death tbh, Death is something you'd call the main villain's stand. It's really strong, like, TOO strong. The crew basically stumbles into victory this time. If the other stands are as strong as this one, they might be in trouble. Making the stand user of death, new beginnings and change a baby was a smart move.

I love that Polnareff sees Kakyoin wake up screaming, hears him say he had a horrible dream and the first.thimg he does is tell him to spill the tea.

I initially thought the Polnareff in the dreamworld was fake. There is no way he is that stupid. Turns out he is that stupid, actually.

Y'know, after the third one you'd think Joseph would get rid of planes as an option. But no

This episode doesn't fall to the same pitfall of being infuriating like other's similar to it. You can see why the crew doesn't trust him. If I saw my friend with letters cut into his arm saying a BABY was a stand user my first thought wouldn't be "Oh, I see. We should kill thr baby then."

It is undeniably funny that the people who thought someone having dusty windows in the middle of the desert made them a stand user didn't think anything of Kakyoin's sudden change. I can't balme them tho. A baby stand user feels like a stretch at best.

Polnareff thinking about apologizing to Kakyoin while he is about to die is strangely wholesome. Their friendship is my favourite part of the show, personally.

Kakyoin is the only one to remember the whole thing. He is so energized by the rush of victory that he makes everyone breakfast. Also makes the baby eat his own shit. He was so wild for this

I'm fighting tooth and nail to get these screencaps from Youtube just.to make this a bit more readable. Typing "jjba death..." on the search bar was like entering a mine field.

Anyways, I wanna make some predictions for my future self to laugh at later. Polnareff is gonna be the first to die, assuming he dies, which I think he will.

[mariacallous]

Nearly one year ago, a 40-mile-long column of tanks rolled toward Kyiv on the orders of Russian President Vladimir Putin. He intended to conquer Ukraine in a few days but instead exposed the weaknesses of his own military. Rather than a further expression of Russian imperialism, the war may now represent a stunning reversal of those ambitions, as Ukraine increasingly considers making an effort to retake Crimea, which Putin seized nearly a decade ago and has since absorbed into Russia. 

In March 2022, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky was open to discussing “compromises” on Crimea if that ended the war and saved his cities from destruction. This January, however, at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, Zelensky said, “Crimea is our land, our territory,” and asked the West for weapons to retake the strategic peninsula. 

Successes on the battlefield have emboldened the Ukrainian president to seek military victories before any negotiated settlement. The fact that Russia has routinely used bases in Crimea to attack Ukrainian infrastructure has cemented the belief in Kyiv that regaining Crimea is essential to putting a decisive end to the threat posed by Russia. 

One Ukrainian analyst told Foreign Policy that there is credible talk among government officials in Kyiv about attempting to retake Crimea even before fully capturing the Donbas region, where most of the fighting is now taking place. Alina Frolova, the deputy chair of the Centre for Defence Strategies in Kyiv and a former deputy defense minister of Ukraine, said Ukrainian political and military elites have increasingly signaled over the last few months that the reclamation of Crimea is their explicit goal. She added that the government is supported in its quest by some parts of the Biden administration. 

“Earlier, our Western allies would say, ‘Yes, it is your territory, yes, we know, but maybe we [can] find a different solution.’ They wanted to discuss Donbas and put Crimea aside. But now we don’t hear any such things,” she told Foreign Policy from Kyiv. “Now the talk is that if we retake Crimea, the front line will change substantially and as will the political process. Moreover, it will give easier access to the east.” 

Retired Lt. Gen. Ben Hodges, a former commander of U.S. Army Europe, has been among the most vocal advocates of the idea. “Crimea is the decisive terrain—that’s what matters. If Ukraine liberates Crimea, which I believe is possible this year, then everything else will follow,” he told Ukrainian media this month. 

Crimea had been relegated to the bottom of the pecking order in the battle plans, the last item on the list to be resolved and perhaps even reserved as a peace offering for Russia. But over the last few months, it has appeared on the radar of the U.S. government as a possible path to end the war this summer and deny Russia a war of attrition. There are concerns in Washington that if the war does not have an end date, then it might be hard to sustain public support for the Ukrainian cause. 

There are arguments both for and against Western support to a Ukrainian mission in Crimea, and it is still unclear which way the United States would finally lean, but the Biden administration has reportedly softened its stand and is war-gaming the option. 

Military experts say the idea is first to isolate Crimea and then, when the Russian troops are battered, to launch a combined forces operation to reclaim the territory. 

This would at first require severing Russian supply lines to Crimea—the Kerch Bridge, built in 2018, and the so-called land bridge that runs through the recently captured cities on the coastline of the Sea of Azov. Both operations depend heavily on the West agreeing to provide long-range attack weapons, among other capabilities.

The 12-mile-long Kerch Bridge was built by Russia to sustain tens of thousands of Russian troops and several Russian bases, including the naval base at Sevastopol, home to Russia’s Black Sea Fleet. (Kerch was already damaged in an explosion last October in an attack that Ukraine said it “did not order,” and the bridge is being repaired by Russia.) Retaking and holding the land bridge, however, would be a much harder operation. Ukraine has HIMARS rocket launchers, which have a range of around 50 miles, and will soon receive GLSDB precision-guided bombs, with double that strike range. Both these weapons can be effectively deployed to take out the command centers, ammunition depots, and rail and road links on the land bridge that connects Russian troops in the east to the south and leads into Crimea. 

“With these weapons, and from their existing positions, Ukraine can attack the area of the land corridor [and the north of Crimea], and if they move troops into that area, that could the basis for trying to seize the corridor,” said Neil Melvin, the director of international security studies at the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI). But without longer-range capabilities, Ukrainian troops could be sitting ducks. “But equally, the Russians can hit Ukrainian troops in the corridor” from the Caspian Sea, Black Sea Fleet, or even inside Russia, he added. 

Military experts say that at the very start of such an operation, Ukraine would need long-range attack capabilities such as the ATACMS, a surface-to-surface missile that has a range of 190 miles. The West would also need to provide other equipment to allow Ukrainians to deploy a large armored force capable of penetrating enemy lines without getting blown up by mines or trapped in trenches dug out by Russians. Presuming such an attack goes as planned, with Russian supply lines cut off, Ukrainians would then carry out a combined forces attack on all remaining Russian troops in Crimea, aiming to defeat them in close-quarter combat and force them to retreat. 

Some experts believe this plan could work, but many others are far more skeptical. It is true that Ukrainians have more than once proved they are formidable warriors and have already struck various Russian facilities inside Crimea. But while isolating Crimea is one thing, entering, attacking, and holding such a heavily fortified region guarded by the Russian naval fleet is quite another.

There is no consensus, moreover, among Western nations about providing longer-range weapons to Ukraine. Few believe Russia will resort to a tactical nuclear strike, yet many are worried that any weapon that can potentially be used by Ukraine to launch attacks inside Russian territory may raise the risk of escalation and drag other Western countries into a direct war. 

Additionally, Washington is concerned it simply does not have enough ATACMS to spare in the off chance that the United States comes under attack from Russia or an adversary like China. Ukrainians, of course, hope that the United States will once again overcome its anxieties over Putin’s red lines and abandon its reluctance. But there are other problems, too. 

Even if Ukrainians are supplied with longer-range weapons and they succeed in pounding Russian bases, ammunition centers, and bridges and railroads, any subsequent land operation would still be a bloodbath. There are two entries into Crimea from Ukraine: the Syvash, also known as the Rotten Sea, which is a large area of shallow lagoons made impassable with mud, and the isthmus of Perekop, which is far too narrow for land troops to survive a Russian onslaught. 

William Courtney, a former U.S. ambassador to Georgia and White House Russia advisor during the Clinton administration, said that from a military standpoint, Ukraine will find it difficult to reclaim Crimea even with Western support. “The absence of amphibious combat capabilities and Russia’s ability to block the isthmus would mean, militarily, the attack would be difficult, more difficult than elsewhere in Ukraine,” said Courtney, who is now with the Rand Corp. 

In a classified briefing, four U.S. Defense Department officials informed the House Armed Services Committee that Ukrainian forces are unlikely to be able to recapture Crimea anytime soon. Gen. Mark Milley, the chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, has said the probability of a Ukrainian military victory, “defined as kicking the Russians out of all of Ukraine to include what they claim as Crimea, … anytime soon is not high, militarily.”

There are other considerations as well. More than 60 percent of the population in Crimea is ethnic Russian, while the rest is a mix of Crimean Tatars and Ukrainians. An uprising against Ukrainian rule in Crimea cannot be ruled out, and there is an imminent fear of pro-Russia civilians being killed in the chaos of war. If that happens, “Ukrainians may begin to lose the moral high ground,” Melvin of RUSI added. Crimea’s unique history and demographics make many observers wonder if its status should ultimately be resolved through diplomacy rather than military fighting. What’s not in dispute is that it must be made far more costly for Russia to hold Crimea.

[the-firebird69]

We need the smaller engine version and smaller frame and lighter bike because we need the gas mileage and we need the tank to be bigger for more gas these days you can't go out and rely on something that someone else does not do there's no Good Samaritans around you need to have mileage these Harley-Davidsons don't have gas mileage they sucked down the gas like no one's tomorrow and we have a V-Twin that we are going to install it's from a different motorcycle it's an American made motorcycle and it's not victory it's a smaller bike I didn't say what bike and there isn't one so is idiots are going to terrorist mode like the match want to try and just force their plan as they came up with it and it's not going to work so we have to go into mode active mode now and this bike proves it people still building them cuz they find they can handle it and I find it works good and it using 35 45 55 65 75 85 95 horsepower and 100 lawn mower engines with gears now the best range is around 45 and 55 then it starts to become too powerful and heavy again no all the way up to 95 it's still lighter about 200 pounds lighter then the smallest huge motor and it's efficient and you cool it and it stays cool and they're lying I don't know they're trying to sell the big huge motors which are useless so for now lawn mower motors are going to have to cut the mustard and brings and Stratton and Coleman are owned by Trump bja at about 30% and mac and Ben at 50% and we're at 20%. So if we gained 30% we could do something about it but they don't feel like doing anything so we are going to have to build our own and he's strongly suggested it that we will have a manufacturing base and they won't and their areas go and they're doing nothing and they'll try and get somewhere else and we'll stop them with our Harley-Davidsons as they try and seep out and we'll take the vehicles and we'll go ahead and do it and we're making this model the 737 and it is a smaller frame and there's smaller items on it too smaller rims the tires are still wider smaller fairings and smaller fenders and handlebars but a lot smaller but the smaller the whole thing weighs a lot less and it's going to really fly we might change the Sportster motor options to a 737 first and we will start selling and they'll have to try and compete and he says he approves that and wants to do a test study and we'll get that going and this bait and we have to put it that way

Thor Freya

I'm off of this project and we need to do it and it's new and who wants us to do studies so we're putting together a package for Olympus and really we always get approved but we want them to look at it and to get people going and assigning them it is logic and it works it's a great idea the frame is only 20 more pounds and the engine change will make a big difference in handling it's going to drop about 230 lb off of a bite that weighs about 680 lb so really it's going to come down to 450 or 475 lb and it's a big huge difference and people love it and the motor is efficient and powerful and we build one we have all the molds and everything and we have the code and we're going to test ride and he says to make a company that sells the motor and we can change the heads and people have done that and say it's not a Harley and call it Harley Quinn and sell it as a motor company and probably ruined how the Davidson sales so we have to name him something else so he says Davies and we see the problem so we are going to go ahead and start the motor company up and really we do know who founded it it's our son and daughter so he says to call it Z&H and mac daddy says so copy it and make it and the Motorhead the very top end will look different and it makes the whole thing look different and we will probably have it black with the metal edges and people can't really tell and the transmission will be a bit smaller but it's going to be made just like the evolution really it's a different motor with a different wall thickness and parts and it's completely different than we are using recycled motors now you get from our area and we'll probably grab those piles cuz nobody's using them it's just going to sit there and rot slowly

Frank Castle hardcastle

We're waiting for the proposal and we're going to approve it and we want to be part of it of course we're getting ready for it

Olympus

This is awesome and mac daddy helped and said it should be in the tradition of the big motors and we wanted to purchase some engines so probably send sales people by and tactfully but okay

Thor Freya

We're all interested in this and we want to make it work and we're getting going on it now this is our stuff and we're interested in making it work of course I'm getting involved and I want to get this motor for my guys and switch out the Sportster it's ridiculous and other bikes almost all of them

Zig Zag

There's no law that says we can't switch it out if we start doing it people going to ask about it and cover us up

Zues Hera

It happens very fast folks I want you to know that once you start doing it it takes like two or three days and they start ordering them it's a fanatic thing and it's going to be nuts cuz they're women will go pass Eric we got to get this going we do care how but really other people can do it but they're not

Zig Zag

They say they don't have time and they really don't and we're going to start doing it and see what happens once approved

Thor Freya

We're going to see if we can go with that name it's a good idea

Olympus

[newsbites]

News from Belize, 11 July

The Belize Territorial Volunteers (BTV) ventured to the Belize Defence Force's Forward Operating Base (FOB) at the Sarstoon River, which has been abandoned for over a year.

The BTV wants to maintain a presence at the FOB due to the ongoing territorial dispute with Guatemala and the importance of the area in the ICJ case.

The government has now acknowledged the importance of the FOB and is working to allocate funds for repairs, but the BTV is willing to assist in rebuilding the base.

2. A woman in Progresso Village was stabbed to death during an argument.

3. During a Senate meeting, Senator Kevin Herrera criticized Belize Electricity Limited (BEL) for not exploring alternative energy sources such as solar power.

Herrera mentioned that when Mexico had supply issues, it could have resulted in blackouts for Belize. Herrera blamed the lack of options on the country's policies and regulators, stating that they had not done enough to prevent this situation. He also highlighted that without Mexican supply, there are currently no other viable options, except for domestic supply, which barely meets demand.

Herrera warned that if it wasn't for the rains in July, there could have been a major crisis with severe consequences for businesses and households.

4. Belize has embraced CARICOM's decision for free movement of CARICOM nationals, allowing for unlimited movement among member countries.

The decision does not impact Belize's current laws surrounding migration, as immigration officers will still interview CARICOM nationals to determine if they meet entry requirements.

The implementation of unlimited free movement is expected to be completed by March of next year.

5. The People's United Party is grieving the loss of Winston Smiling. 

6. The Benny's Belize Hurricanes won the 2023 national basketball title, their third championship victory in the Belize Elite Basketball League.

In other news,

Minister of Foreign Affairs, Eamon Courtenay, stated that he is not concerned about Ben Juratowich misunderstanding government instructions.

The Senate approved an inquiry into the Definitive Agreement, with all 13 Senators in favor. Senator Eamon Courtenay supported the motion but expressed concerns about potential issues for the government.

Several individuals were remanded to prison for various crimes.

[creatiview]

[ad_1] Chris Eubank Jr does have a rematch clause to force a second fight with Liam Smith.But his team will use their full allotment of time to decide on the Brighton star's next move. A rematch with Smith is expected to take place eventually, but it will not necessarily be Eubank's next fight, promoter Kalle Sauerland tells Sky Sports. Please use Chrome browser for a more accessible video player Watch back Chris Eubank Jr vs Liam Smith, with an explosive support cast, in slow motion "I've told Ben [Shalom, Smith's promoter] we will be using the full time to consider our options," Sauerland of Wasserman Boxing said."We haven't had much communication on it and we certainly haven't given any indication that we're going to be exercising the rematch clause. Is it an interesting option? Absolutely. But is it the best option? We've got a few more weeks to think. "He's having much deserved downtime with the family at the moment. If you look at it in the grand scheme of things it [the final decision] is going to be quite soon - but just a few more weeks." The immediate rematch is one of Eubank's options, but not his only option. Please use Chrome browser for a more accessible video player A look back at how one of the sport's most intense rivalries culminated in an unforgettable victory for Liam Smith over Chris Eubank Jr Sauerland continued: "Rushed decisions in boxing are the worst decisions. It's all about when it makes sense. Ultimately it has to be the right move for Junior. He's also at a pivotal stage of his career. Yes it's a setback, it's a massive setback when you lose a big fight. But is it a setback that he can come back from? Absolutely. That's what's exciting about boxing."A claim that an elbow allegedly landed on Eubank during the fight has been under discussion."We are still considering the situation regarding use of the elbows," Sauerland said. Please use Chrome browser for a more accessible video player Chris Eubank Jr's promotional team are considering an appeal to the British Boxing Board of Control over an alleged elbow from Liam Smith in his stoppage win "That's not sour grapes because really you appeal for a rematch. We don't need to appeal for a rematch. We have a rematch if we want to use a rematch clause if that's the best option for Junior, which we are still assessing."However to the critics you need to go to Specsavers if you can't see elbows in the combination," he continued."That's not a criticism of Liam Smith. It was in a flurry of punches. To miss and catch someone with an elbow, which is what happened, that's as clear as day and night and I challenge anyone to show me that an elbow didn't land."But that's not to take anything away from Liam. It was a great victory for him and it was his night. That's nothing to do with trying to have sour grapes here. It's just that we represent Chris Eubank Jr. The fact that an elbow landed, I don't think anyone can question." Please use Chrome browser for a more accessible video player

Watch unseen footage of Liam Smith's sensational stoppage victory over Chris Eubank Jr in Manchester at the weekend The rematch does remain high on the agenda, the issue will be the timing of it."It would be different it had been a one-sided beat down. It wasn't. Chris was up a round on my card," Sauerland said."He just came off a very good third round. The first round he probably just edged. The second round was Liam, the third round was Chris', a very clear round and then he caught one. It happens. That's boxing. Can he do it again? I'd like to see that. A lot of people would like to see that. "The rematch is a fight that will happen. The question is when it will happen. There are several options open to Junior. It will absolutely happen in time. I'm sure Liam wants the rematch to show that it wasn't just a lucky punch. Or a lucky elbow, nudge, nudge, wink, wink!" [ad_2] Source link

[jasontoddiefor]

Retranslation of the Sith Code from a Linguistic Perspective

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun. Through passion, I gain strength. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Through strength, I gain power. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Through power, I gain victory. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Through victory, my chains are broken. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. The Force shall free me. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun.

Star Wars has a couple conlangs – from Huttese to Ryl, many cultures in a galaxy far, far away have their own words. The, admittedly, most famous conlang is Mando’a, the language of the Mandalorians. It has recently gained even more popularity due to The Mandalorian and the many headcanons about the clones and their culture floating around in fandom. While Mando’a is undoubtedly the conlang with the most extensive vocabulary, it is not the soundest Star Wars conlang from a linguistic perspective. That honor belongs to the version of the Sith conlang that was later amended and developed by Ben Grossblatt.

The Sith Code, as we know it, was developed by David Gaider in 2003 for the game Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. Grossblatt’s conlang was created seven years later in 2010.

When you consider this, Grossblatt had two options when creating his conlang and translation of the Code. He could translate the Code from English into Sith, or he could pretend the English (or “Basic”) version of the Code resulted from a translation from Sith.

Why does this matter?

[AO3]

This question is easily answered when you think about the various meanings of the words. As every bilingual person knows, translating a text from one language to another isn’t easy because there are no two languages whose vocabulary matches completely. Let’s take an example from the Code:

“asha” (noun) is translated as “victory”.

This translation, however, does not explain what kind of victory “asha” refers to. While English may have only one term for victory, a Sith could differentiate between “victory you achieved on your own” and “victory by decimating your enemies”. Or “victory” might only be one translation of the word and others could be “dominance, control, superiority”. All these words lean into the direction of “victory” through the worldview of the Sith.

Basically, Grossblatt had to decide whether the English version should be the end result or the starting point of his version of the Code in Sith.

In this essay, I intend to treat the English version of the Code as the translation of the original Sith language. This is important because it means that this deconstruction of the Sith Code will be influenced by my own interpretation of the various other meanings as possible Sith word could have, which are not necessarily Canon/Legends based. I will be translating this Code line by line and, in the end, create a new version of the Code which will deviate from the Canon one but hopefully picks up the grammatical cues from the Sith version that the current one is lacking.

TLDR: I don’t want to just explain the grammar, I want to analyze it.

Now, a brief look at the in-universe history of the Code of the Sith to shed some light on the perspective I’ll take into consideration while translating.

The Code itself was allegedly created by the Fallen Jedi Sorzus Syn. It was meant to be a pendant and an update of the Jedi Code simultaneously. While this is technically speaking fine, we do run into some troubles from a historical perspective.

The Code was first authored on the planet Korriban in 6900 BBY. The Jedi Exiles didn’t speak the language of the Sith species, which were enslaved by the Jedi Exiles. They used translation talismans, which granted them the ability to speak and read Sith as if it were their mother tongue.

…

Yeah, that’s stupid. I know. But it’s space fairy tale science fiction, so we’ll accept it and move on.

If you are bilingual, you might notice that you are more capable of speaking about a given topic in one language than in the other. Therefore, it would make sense if it were easier for the Jedi Exiles to talk about the Dark side in Sith, which was uniquely suited to speak about it. However, when the Code only exists as a differentiating point to the Jedi, they were bound to slip into a rhetoric that would be more along the lines of that they’d used as Jedi. That could explain why the Sith Code in Basic/English seems to parallel the Jedi Code so much. My working hypothesis is that the Sith Code – given that it is supposed to reflect Sith philosophy – can stand on its own with its own meaning. Otherwise, the Sith would only ever see themselves in contrast to the Jedi, which, given their superiority complex, is a rather strange view. Therefore, my translation will focus on staying as close to the original Sith language as possible.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun.

Now tackling that first line of the Code. The interesting part here is that Basic translates the two sentences as one. The first sentence – Nwûl tash – consists of two nouns: “peace” and “lie”. The present tense copula (the “to be”) is dropped, leaving the two nouns. When comparing this to the following sentence, we immediately see the first issue. The verb dzwol refers to “to be”. We also know it can be translated as “to exist”, “to abide”. The question that arises at this point is whether the first sentence drops dzwol or another verb referring to “to be” that we don’t know. What becomes clear, however, is that different emphasis is put on the two sentences. Many languages drop the tense copula. When the copula is dropped, the relation between the other constituents (components of the sentence) is understood. So reading the first sentence, you gain the impression that the statement “Peace is a lie” is a fact of life. “Peace = Lie” would be a mathematical way of writing it down.

Another critical thing to mention here is that Sith, as far as we know, doesn’t make use of determiners (a/the), and as such, the statement could possibly also be read as “The peace is the lie” or “A peace is the lie” and so on. But given that we do not have any information on the grammar in that aspect, I will not elaborate any further.

Now, let’s take a look at the second sentence by comparison. Here we have an explicit present tense dzwol. Unlike the rest of the Code, this sentence follows the VSO word order. Given that the rest of the Code uses topicalization, we can conclude that the verb dzwol is the focus of this sentence. Given that we are also given the translations “to exist, to abide”, perhaps it would be a more appropriate choice to use one of these words when translating to properly show the difference between the omitted present tense copula and the explicit one here.

Following this, we have to deal with shâsot and -kun. -kun refers to the adjective “only” and modifies the noun. shâsot is interesting because we are given the translation “passion” in the Code. The vocabulary list, however, translates it as “struggle”. While both have overlapping meanings, I would argue in favor of the “struggle” translation.

“Passion” stems from the Latin “passio” meaning “suffering, enduring”. Nowadays, it is used­ in Christianity to describe the suffering of Christ, but also, citing Merriam-Websters here, “the state or capacity of being acted on by external agents or forces”, as well as being motivated/moved by intense emotions. However, “struggle”, is defined as “to make strenuous or violent efforts in the face of difficulties or opposition” and “to proceed with difficulty or with great effort”. Given that the first sentence of the Code refers to the idea that peace doesn’t exist, I believe an emphasis on the aspect of fighting, which we find in “struggle”, would be appropriate.

Personally, I’d prefer “to exist” over “abide” for the verb as well. “abide” may imply that only the struggle has to be endured. I’d favor a reading that instead emphasizes the contrast that the absence of peace means the presence of nothing but struggle. My translation of the first line of the Sith Code would therefore be:

Peace is a lie. Only struggle exists. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun.

Now we can consider the next line: Through passion, I gain strength. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk.

Before we can tackle the translation, we have to consider three grammatical construction.

Sith is typically VSO (Verb Subject Object).

Sith has instrumental case, which is marked on the noun with -jontû. Generally, this is translated as “by” or “with” or “using”.

Sith has alethic verb mood, which is marked on the verb with -atul. Alethic mood refers to “the truth in the world” as opposed to epistemic mood, which is “the truth in an individual's mind” (epistemic). While this differentiation is not without criticism, given that all truths in the world are filtered through our perceptions of the world, it is interesting to note that Sith apparently does make this difference.

Now that we have considered these, I will break down the second sentence. The first thing I have to mention is that this sentence and the following ones are topicalized. Shâsotjontû is the word shâsot in instrumental case. As before, I prefer the “struggle” translation. The instrumental case itself is translated as “through” which is an interesting choice as that is not a standard translation. I’d instead go with the “using” translation as it further highlights that a Sith utilizes whatever tools they deem necessary and needed. Objects and people are measured against what value they have for a given person, how useful they are if you want to spell it out. Furthermore, it highlights that the Sith, at one point, actually discussed the Code and the “best” way to use the Dark side.

The verb châtsatul is in alethic mood and translates to “gain”. This, again, also fits well with the “using” translation of the instrumental case. The subject of this sentence is nu the first person pronoun “I”. tyûk translates to “strength”. Here we run into the previously elaborated victory problem as well. The Code gives us no explanation of what kind of strength is meant here. The idea that it’s only physical strength is, of course, ridiculous. It could also cover mental strength and strength in the Force, as well as the words “might”, “courage”, “durability” and so on. This issue concerning the lack of vocabulary will continue to follow us through the complete translation of this text. As I have now elaborated on it twice, I will only make references to it in the future, with perhaps here and there a suggestion for a more appropriate translation.

My translation of the second line, taking -atul into consideration, would therefore be as follows:

Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Using struggle, I necessarily gain strength.

Now we can turn to the third line: Through strength, I gain power. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan.

The only new word here is midwan, which is translated as “power”. Again, the definition of power in this context isn’t clear. The translation of this line would be:

Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Using strength, I necessarily gain power.

We can now turn to the next line: Through power, I gain victory. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha.

I already elaborated at length on the various possible definitions of “victory”. I, personally, prefer a reading that equals “victory” to “dominance”. What I also thought was interesting here is that the morpheme “asha” appears to be very common in Star Wars across cultures and languages. There are multiple people named with variations of that morpheme. And then, of course, there is also the planet Ashas Ree, which is deep in the territory of the former Sith Empire and had a Jedi Temple built on top of a Sith Temple. Ashas Ree could be the Basic version of a Sith term. While we do not have the word “Ree”, phonologically, it would be pronounced /riː/, and Sith has the consonant /r/ and the vowel /i:/.

A side note about Sith phonology: Sometime between the Jedi Exiles taking over and the Prequels era, the Sith lost the vowel /e/ or /ɛ/ as the Sith of that time still had words like “jen” meaning “shadow”, “dark”, and “hidden”. As this word, and others making use of it, are apparently still in use today, their vowel probably changed to /i/, /æ/, or /aɪ/. Or maybe the word “jen” is pronounced as it once was as English/Basic does have these vowels, and people can therefore say “jen”.

Returning to our translation, we can read:

Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Using power, I necessarily gain victory.

And now we’re going to look at a line that made me cry:

Through victory, my chains are broken. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak.

Once more, before we can actually look at the translation, we have to look at the grammar. This is the breakdown Ben Grossblatt made of that sentence:

Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Victory+INSTR break+ERG+LG INAM OBJ chain my+PL. Through victory, my chains break.

INSTR refers to instrumental case I already elaborated on.

ERG refers to Ergative. The interfix -win- is added to a transitive verb to indicate ergativity, meaning that the grammatical subject of that verb is its semantic object, while the true semantic agent remains unexpressed.

LG INAM OBJ means “large inanimate object”. This refers to the fact that the verb kots is part of a group of verbs called “handling verbs”. These verbs mark what kind of object is affected by them. -ot is the marker for “large inanimate object”. When searching for languages that use these “handling verbs”, Navajo was one of the first results.

Sith plurals appear to be marked on the articles or, given the lack of such, on the possessive markers: nuyak is therefore “my” and “the object I possess is plural”.

Now that we have tackled the grammar, I will elaborate on how it applies to this sentence. The ashajontû construction should be well-understood by now, so I will not linger on it.

Interesting is here that the possessive marker nuyak also indicates the number of the possessed object. In a way, this enhances the claim on the object as it is more intrinsically connected to it. The possessed object here is itsu, the “chain”, which only gains its plural through the possessive. It would be interesting here to know what the other verb markers are as “chains”, in this context, are categorized as physical objects. At the same time, their meaning is obviously meant to be metaphorical. Knowing whether Sith can make the difference and might choose to do so here would be beneficial when analyzing this line. However, evoking the image of physical chains here, which are broken, makes the act seem more striking.

And now we’ll tackle the verb. The root kots gets inflicted twice by the ergative marker and the object marker. According to Grossblatt, it can be read as “completely shatter” or “completely break”. As the purpose of the object marker -ot has already been elaborated on, I will now focus on the ergative marker.

Ergativity is one possible way of hiding the concrete agent of action without passivizing the sentence. Consider “The window broke” vs. “The window was broken” vs. “I broke the window”.

This makes the overall translation of the sentence rather interesting. The original translation reads “Through victory, my chains are broken” which is passive and not ergative. Therefore, it would be more correct to follow Grossblatt’s reading of “my chains break completely”. Still, the fact that we do not have an overt agent here makes this sentence quite interesting. While the method – ashajontû – is known, the agent could be either the speaker themself, or another person doing it for them. Given that the adverb “completely” is added to the verb, perhaps this sentence suggests that on your own, you can come quite far breaking your chains but not reach that finalized step. For that, you need victory.

Furthermore, this offers an interesting perspective on the Sith and their teachings, especially on the Banite Sith, if you read “victory” as something closer to “dominance”. In this case, the sentence almost seems to imply that by becoming stronger and surpassing another person, perhaps your Master, you manage to break your chains completely. An even deeper reading might allude to how the Sith conceptualize the chains that keep them. They appear to put their own freedom and thirst for power above everything else. Perhaps that is already too much interpretation for one line, but it was worth noting. In any case, my translation of that sentence is:

Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Using victory, my chains break completely.

After this heavy sentence, we only have one left!

The Force shall free me. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun.

This sentence is relatively uncomplicated. nun is the accusative pronoun “me” and Qyâsik is the Sith word for Force. wonoksh is the word for “to free” in future tense. The future tense is marked by -oksh and this is the part where we get to the slightly complicated/annoying part of the sentence.

Again, we don’t know if this is the only future tense Sith has or what its exact purpose is. As opposed to English, which technically speaking only has the tenses “past” and “not-past”, Sith marks a definite future. However, this future could also have undertones such as an imperative mood. Sadly, we don’t know anything about it. Now for the future tense. As inquires across the globe have told me, “shall” is pretty outdated. In a modern translation of the Code, you’d probably say:

Wonoksh Qyâsik nun. The Force will free me.

But that detail is relatively minor. Now that I have broken down every line of the Code, let’s put it back together.

Peace is a lie. Only struggle exists. Using struggle, I necessarily gain strength. Using strength, I necessarily gain power. Using power, I necessarily gain victory. Using victory, my chains break completely. The Force will free me.

Does this Code sound better than the original work? Probably not. I have to say, I do prefer the “struggle” translation and I like the first line more in my version, but otherwise, this Code doesn’t sound particularly great. However, it was also not meant to sound good. The purpose was to create a translation closer to the Sith language version, to reverse-engineer it if you want. I do think that this endeavor was worthwhile as, for me, it has shed some more light on the thinking of the Sith.

And also this:

Sources

Star Wars: The Sith

Sith Language

Speak like a Sith article

Sith Code

Ben Grossblatt’s breakdown of his translation

Sorzus Syn, author of the Sith Code

History of the Sith Dynasties

Wookiepedia Search of asha

Translation talisman

Ashas Ree

Temple of Ashas Ree

Grammar

Zero copula

Merriam-Webster on passion

Merriam-Webster on struggle

Alethic modality

Navajo Handling Verbs

Navajo Classificatory Verbs

Ergativity

Instrumental case

Color Coded Version of this Essay

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point. 

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up. 

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my incredible beta and to @maybege​ for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content! 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control) 

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss. 

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother. 

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine. 

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet. 

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments. 

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

 In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

  But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

 He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

 You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

  You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you. 

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be. 

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway. 

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well. 

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from. 

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life. 

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby. 

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead. 

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least. 

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes. 

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours. 

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things. 

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project. 

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any. 

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!” 

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize. 

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen. 

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way.  “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?” 

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you. 

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. 

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving. 

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch. 

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru. 

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…” 

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.” 

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod. 

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves. 

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own? 

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area. 

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him. 

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house. 

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working. 

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him. 

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours. 

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in. 

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent. 

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away. 

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams. 

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence. 

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest. 

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall.  “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover. 

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to… 

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs.  Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it,  meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso. 

 And you begin to weep with him.

 *********

 The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut. 

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth. 

 You cannot tell him for a long while still. 

 *******

 It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.  

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.  

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it. 

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

 At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words. 

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

 And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

 *****

 The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air. 

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance. 

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors. 

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.  

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”  

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.” 

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet. 

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist. 

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.  

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface. 

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.  

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.  

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality. 

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.” 

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him. 

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss. 

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you. 

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all. 

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features. 

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him. 

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth. 

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest. 

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him. 

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern. 

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in. 

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first. 

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there. 

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy. 

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity. 

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other. 

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other. 

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived.  With more than ever to lose. 

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course. 

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down. 

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile. 

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away. 

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating. 

“I can feel you staring, little one.”  He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.” 

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively. 

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest. 

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.” 

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.” 

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from. 

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter. 

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms. 

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches. 

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy. 

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin. 

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously. 

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted. 

 With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too. 

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed. 

Although first you needed a blank canvas. 

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up. 

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance. 

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created. 

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this. 

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him. 

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises. 

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful. 

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods. 

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing. 

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors. 

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now. 

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?” 

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.” 

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you. 

 You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat. 

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay. 

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan. 

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold. 

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know. 

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen. 

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it. 

Gentle. 

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again. 

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow. 

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him. 

Stars, how you want to let him. 

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture. 

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach. 

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is. 

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind. 

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother. 

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him. 

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble. 

Confident. 

Steadfast. 

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you. 

Nothing can. 

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you. 

Treasure. 

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion. 

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying. 

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him. 

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.” 

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons. 

“Darling, I’m…” 

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now. 

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping. 

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before. 

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself. 

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly. 

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists. 

“Allow me.” 

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head. 

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves. 

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening. 

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind. 

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did. 

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples. 

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing. 

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked. 

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.” 

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it. 

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again. 

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone. 

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is. 

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night. 

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him. 

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care. 

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple. 

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all. 

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control. 

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand. 

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.” 

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him. 

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all. 

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.” 

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.” 

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body. 

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips. 

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you. 

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you. 

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own. 

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time. 

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this. 

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed? 

Anchor. Anchor against me. 

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before. 

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck. 

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge. 

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought. 

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him. 

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit. 

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear. 

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back. 

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under. 

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up. 

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you,  how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this. 

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion. 

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths. 

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it. 

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth. 

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes. 

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations. 

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.” 

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough,  how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied. 

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.  

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you. 

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it. 

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity. 

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force. 

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all. 

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind. 

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them. 

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been. 

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time. 

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke. 

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair. 

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand. 

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke. 

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment. 

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over. 

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too. 

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms. 

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it. 

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle. 

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.” 

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef. 

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses. 

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day. 

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving. 

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning. 

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite? 

So is the promise of the return of the Light. 

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

[jesyblack]

Klaus and Ben: Five’s friends.

Hi guys, I just wanted to come bring information because I love these guys and I really think the world deserves to know how much they mean to each other.

I think many people are unaware that for young Five, there were three people who meant a lot to him, which is not to say that the other three siblings are not important. Five has a certain weakness for protecting the weakest of his siblings, which is why Vanya, Ben and Klaus are an option for him. Even their narcissism can be alleviated by protecting them.

Let's start with who I think shows a weakness that would have been nice to see in his adult version: Ben.

During the bank robbery scene, the only one uncomfortable is Ben. Luther insists that Ben go to the vault where there are more thieves. He is fearful and looks at his brothers before moving towards the mission.

Ben goes into the vault and does his thing, then the subtext comes in here. The subtext is everything that is not written but that can be observed in detail in the scene. It may also be my paranoia, but given the scene I think it is quite reliable that it is.

There are a few seconds where the camera zooms towards the door where Ben is and in that micro second, Five turns to see his brother on his left: Klaus. This image may mean nothing if you look at it in a common television way, but whoever knows the story or who got into it, can read a little subtext. I have the impression that Five is worried about Ben. He is very sensitive and does not want to hurt or this power, he always denied it but used it (unlike Klaus who inhibited him), so I think Five was looking for an ally to express his concern. We will see this later as well.

I want us to see this sequence of images. I know you see Five is looking back, but he doesn't seem to be looking at any of his other siblings, I think he was looking at Ben if he was okay.

While the rest of his siblings seem concerned about posing on camera and looking nice, Five seeks the support of Klaus and Ben in his eyes, it also seems that he wants to know if they are okay. In the first image Five looks back looking for Ben (surely), in the second image Five looks directly at Klaus. Then, in the third picture, turn to see Ben again. In the fourth image Klaus and Five look at Ben, in this personally, Klaus rests his arm on Five's shoulder in the form of victory or 'we did a good job'. In the fifth image, Five looks at Klaus, smiling at him. And in the sixth picture, Five looks at Ben again.

There is also the body shows a lot about human feelings, the gestures. Klaus rests his arm on Five showing a delimitation, a belonging. Here's my group, the three of us. It does not mean that the other three siblings are not loved, but they are probably very full of themselves, they are brave and they are individualists. Klaus, Five and Ben are part of a triad in the group pictures.

I could start talking right now about the trust between Five and Klaus in the series or how Ben influences them, I didn't even put Vanya here because it would be another great text, but I hope it was understood. Many believe that only Five-Vanya or even Five-Vanya-Ben are friends, but I think Klaus always played an important role in this relationship.

Sorry for English, it's not my first language.

[malfoysmaybank]

richie x reader where he pretends to hate her but actually doesn’t and the losers don’t know why he hates her but he’s actually in love with her

The Quarry - Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

a/n: of course!! nobody died/ moved away in this and some street layouts were changed to help with plot details!! also, this is in she/her pronouns as of the request, but lmk if i need to make an alternate version with different pronouns for anyone!! enjoy, and ty to this anon who sent in requests for a bunch of underrated characters!!

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Finally, the last day of sophomore year. The Losers burst through the front entrance of Derry High School and headed towards the trash cans, like usual, to dump the contents of their school bags into the garbage. Y/N, the only other girl loser besides Bev, joined them as she had done since the 5th grade. 

------

Y/N had been brought to the group by Stan, the shyest but most friendly loser. The others had been suspicious of her at first, but she soon proved herself worthy of being a loser when she stood up to the Bowers Gang, who were making fun of the others.

Richie instantly liked Y/N. With her fiery personality and sarcastic humor that in ways rivaled his, how couldn’t he? They grew close fast, soon becoming best friends. They did everything together: homework, skating, they even killed Pennywise together when they were only 12. 

But in the 8th grade, he started pushing her away and blowing off plans with her, he never even told her why. They were obviously in the same friend group, so he couldn’t ignore her forever, so he went for the second best option: being a dick.

Now Y/N had very thick skin, but when he started hating her all of a sudden, she started to become very insecure and upset over him. Alas, she wasn’t about to let a man talk to her like that and not do anything. Eddie was the only one who knew how Y/N truly felt about how Richie treated her, having confided in him early on. But in the eyes of the other losers, Y/N didn’t give a shit what he said about her.

------

“Dude, why does she have to tag along for everything?” Richie groaned when he saw Y/N approach. “I don’t know, maybe cause these are my friends too? An odd concept to you, I know, since you think the world revolves around you.” She shot back and turned to the rest of the group. “What are you all doing tomorrow?” She asked. “I-I don’t know yet. I was thinking we sh-s-should go down to the quarry if everyone else is c-cool with that.” Bill said, still stuttering but only slightly, as he was growing out of it as he got older. 

The rest of the group agreed, including Richie, (surprising, considering he never agreed to anything if you did), and you made a plan to meet at the quarry with food at noon for a losers-only picnic. Y/N bid goodbye to her friends and walked back home.

------

“Bye, mom!” Y/N headed out of her house, backpack over her shoulder and bike in tow, to meet her friends at the quarry. As she neared the end of her street, she hopped on her bike and started riding down the sidewalk. “Yo Y/N, wait up!” She looked back to see Mike riding towards her, a couple of the others trailing behind. 

Mike, Ben, Stan, and Y/N all lived in the same area of Derry, while Bill, Beverly, Eddie, and Richie lived on the exact opposite side. Going anywhere usually meant each half of the group gathering and then meeting halfway. Speaking of the others...

------

“I still don’t understand why we can’t do anything without Y/N. She always makes everything so boring!” Richie complained as he walked to the quarry with the other 3 losers in his half. “Dude, you were just fine and dandy with her until the end of middle school when you started acting like she’s worthless!” Eddie argued back. 

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but you need to learn to at least deal with her, got it? She’s our friend and no matter what reason, you need to tolerate her because we love her.” Eddie gestured to Bill and Beverly who nodded, and then to Y/N and the other 3 losers approaching, who were all laughing at some dumb joke she said. I do too, he thought.

Richie’s heart skipped a beat and butterflies erupted in his stomach as he looked at you. Fuck, why does this always happen?! He suppressed the urge to hug you (why the fuck did he want to hug you for no reason?!) as he greeted the other three losers with a smile and wave. When she saw him smile, it was her turn to get butterflies in her stomach, as per usual. But forget it, she thinks. He hates you.

Y/N stripped down to her bathing suit and waited for the others to do the same. Richie subtly checked her out as he pulled his shirt off and turned to talk to Eddie and Bill. His muscles became more toned since last year, so Y/N was surprised when she saw him. She not-so-subtly checked him out as well. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Richie calls behind him. “Could say the same to you, Tozier. I saw that, earlier!” Richie’s face flushed and he turned to Eddie again. That whole ‘jumping in the water with only undergarments on’ thing ended in 7th grade when everyone hit puberty, it just wasn’t going to work anymore (and for obvious reasons). 

Before anyone could battle her, she ran towards the edge of the cliff and jumped off. Her body hit the cold water and it felt amazing compared to the sweltering summer heat. She swam out of the way for the boys to follow and unsurprisingly, Richie was next. He was always the daredevil of the group. This was followed by Beverly, then Bill, Ben, Stan, and then Mike and Eddie at the same time.

After they all ate lunch, Y/N sat on the little shore on the edge of the water. She soon heard her name being called. “Y/N!! We’re playing chicken, get over here!” Beverly yelled. Y/N swam over and hoisted herself onto Bill’s shoulders. Beverly got onto Mike’s shoulders and the game started. Richie sat next to Stanley as he watched the game from the rocks. “You like her, don’t you?” Stan said gently. “What?! Of course not? Why would you even think that...” Richie wasn’t convincing him. “Whatever you say, my friend.” Stan said and patted him on the shoulder. Richie rolled his eyes and turned back to the game.

Y/N defeated Beverly for the second time and raised her arms in victory. That’s kinda cute, Richie thought. And he didn’t even second guess or correct himself this time. “We play the winner!” Stan yelled towards Bill and Y/N. “We do?” Richie whispered to him. “Yep, we do.” Stan replied and swam towards them. Richie soon followed suit. 

“Okay Richie, get on Stan’s shoulders. Whoever wins the most rounds out of 3 wins.” While Bill explained the game and all the rules, Y/N looked at Bev on the rocks. Bev gave her a wink and a thumbs up, whatever that was supposed to mean.

The game began and she tried her hardest to push Richie off of Stan’s shoulders. “Damn Stan, you got grip!” She laughed and Richie laughed too. Why was he being so friendly all of a sudden? She decided to talk to him about it later, she was having fun and she didn’t want to ruin it. 

Richie finally got her off of Bill’s shoulders and she tumbled into the water. She came back up and started laughing along with everyone else. “Y/N, we should clean that up real quick.” Eddie said and pointed to her elbow, which was scratched up. “Oh okay, that’s fine.” She said. “It must have happened when I was fighting Bev because it looks like it already started to heal up. I didn’t notice it at all.” She laughed and went up to the rocks to clean the small wound.

She grabbed the rubbing alcohol from Eddie’s backpack and started pouring some on the edge of a spare towel she brought. “Well, this is gonna hurt.” She said and hissed as she placed it on her elbow. She felt a hand rubbing her back and leaned her back onto the person’s chest, thinking it was Stanley, only to realize as she was reaching for the Neosporin and a bandaid that it was Richie. Since the other losers were maybe 10 feet away, she thought now would be a great time to confront him.

“What’s with you being all chill with me now? I thought you hated me.” She said and Richie sucked in a sharp breath. “Eddie talked to me earlier as about you. He said that I should ‘at least put up with you’ because you were part of the Losers Club and you deserve to be treated with respect because you’re their- our! Our friend.” He explained. Her heart sunk as she thought she realized what he meant.

“Oh, so you’re just being nice to me because you have to be?” She asked, dissapointed. “No no no!! Not at all, I’m genuinely sorry. To be honest... I don’t know why I was such a dick to you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve had a mature conversation with you on why I was feeling so insecure and shit instead of ghosting you. Not only did it fuck up our friendship, but it fucked up any chances I had of being with you, as more than friends.” Wait, what did he just say? 

“It wasn’t cool and I feel so stupid knowing that I-” “Just shut up.” Y/N cut him off and placed her lips on his. He got over the shock fast, brought his hand up to hold her face, and kissed back. Their moment was cut short by Beverly. “Yeah Tozier, get some!!” She yelled and Y/N giggled as they pulled away and stood up. Richie laughed and flipped her off. 

“I know I’m not off scot-free, but does this mean you’ll at least give me a chance?” Richie asks hesitantly as they walk towards the other losers. Y/N put a finger to her chin and pretended to think. “Hmmm... okay. But only one. And we’ll be discussing boundaries and all that jazz tonight when I sneak you through my window and you stay the night.” She says with a serious tone and Richie nodded. He picked her up and spun her around. “Thank youuuuuuuu!” He sets her down and kisses her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Ewwww, do we have to deal with all your gross PDA now?” Ben and Mike say in sync and all the losers laugh. It’s not perfect, she thinks, but it’s pretty fucking close.

[in-tua-deep]

Vanya is so tired of all the bullshit at this point in unviable au and like just Vanya being a tad bit p snarky is great

honestly if you hang around Klaus long enough you have to develop snark in sheer self defense. ESPECIALLY a Klaus who talks to not one but TWO ghosts so you only get like, a whole half to a third of the conversation and have to fill in the blanks yourself smh

And Vanya?? she protective where it counts. In the show itself, Leonard gets there first and when Allison questions him, Vanya gets defensive. In the unviable au, Klaus gets there first and makes Vanya feel included. So even though he’s an absolute pain in the ass she comes down resolutely on his side

And Klaus, who is used to having none of his (living) siblings on his side... it’s nice. When Allison accuses him of just wanting to grift Vanya for drug money... she defends him.

Even Diego, who also loves Klaus, would probably just gruffly say that that’s his problem.

So Vanya and Klaus get pretty close in this au actually, and you know what that means???

It’s Klaus who technically stops the apocalypse. Just by being there for her.

Actually now that I think about it, this might genuinely be an everyone lives au?? Except Five ofc, but like. Leonard Peabody hasn’t been able to get close to Vanya yet, so he probably doesn’t kill Helen Cho so that Vanya can be first chair. Wow like, so far no one except Five and Ben has died what a wild ride.

So they get team apocalypse together and recruit two more (hello boyfriend Dave, who is going to help Klaus keep clean!!) and then... what?

With all the stress and everything going on, Vanya probably... forgets to take her pills. She doesn’t even think about it in between trying to figure out what they’re supposed to be doing to prevent the apocalypse when their only clue is that someone related to Vanya might cause the apocalypse? And even then, could be a chain effect so the number of people who could end the world is like... weirdly high. 

And hey, Vanya has other things to worry about than her pills anyway. Klaus keeps trying to raid the fridge, if Diego puts a hole in her walls with one of his knives she’s actually going to commit murder, Dave keeps politely asking where she keeps various things so that he can make everyone tea. Five keeps rattling things to prove that he’s there (and he really needs to stop because being physical with items takes energy he needs to conserve)

Anyway, since Hazel and Cha-Cha were asking questions about Vanya, they realize that Vanya’s place... probably isn’t the safest? So they all end up going to the library to camp out because lets be real the library is an excellent public resource, and lots of libraries have private rooms - nowhere better to brainstorm

“If they know about my apartment, then they know about the mansion.” Vanya points out, absently rolling a marker across the table. 

(The room came with a whiteboard, presumably to help students or something, that Five has already capitalized as his own personal writing surface since Klaus tends to prefer paraphrase over direct translation.)

“The mansion?” Dave asks politely, because he really has no idea what the fuck he’s in for.

“Where we grew up.” Vanya informs him, because she’s a nice person and figures he doesn’t deserve to flounder considering he’s literally out of time here. 

“I told you about how dad sucked.” Klaus says offhandedly as he swipes a purple marker from thin air so that he can continue doodling flowers on the whiteboard.

“Okay okay,” Dave says, waving his hands, “Slow down. Was everything you told me true? Because I will be honest I thought most of it was like. Your uh, vivid imagination.”

“Probably true,” Diego says over Klaus’s outraged squawk, “But very... embellished. Klaus has that effect.”

“I resemble that remark!” Klaus pulls himself together admirably.

“I know you do, babe.” Dave says, leaning over to take Klaus’s hand in his own, smiling fondly. Klaus absolutely melts and a large E W is written across the whiteboard in bright red ink. 

“Mind your business, junior.” Klaus says, sticking his tongue out in the direction everyone assumes Five to be. Immediately after this comment, Klaus gets beaned in the head by said red marker.

“Children, children.” Vanya rolls her eyes, “Can we get along for five minutes?”

“In this family?” Diego snorts dismissively. And then starts because Vanya smacks him on the arm for being an ass.

In the last few days, Vanya has attended the funeral of the man who emotionally fucked her up, found out that her two dead brothers were hanging around, found out the apocalypse was incoming, is being stalked by time traveling assassins because she is somehow related to the apocalypse happening, lied to people to get info on an eye, bailed on practice, crawled out a bathroom window, rescued her kidnapped brother only to watch him vanish before her eyes. Honestly she is all out of fucks to give. She’s tired, cranky, and more than a little stressed.

“Can you order pizza to a library?” Klaus muses absently, head turned in a way that means he’s probably talking to Ben. 

“No, Klaus. Stop.” Vanya all but begs.

“Not that I don’t love the library.” Dave observes, looking around. He looks around a lot, constantly marveling at the differences between the world back in his day and now. “But if Vanya’s apartment and uh, ‘the mansion’ aren’t options. Where are we supposed to be staying?”

Bless Dave for keeping them on topic.

Vanya and Klaus look at each other. And then as one they look at Diego.

“No. Absolutely not.” Diego protests, crossing his arms. “I live in a boiler room. That doesn’t even count. It can’t have four people staying in it.”

“Six people.” Klaus emphasizes, gesturing at thin air. Diego mumbles apologies, which is in self preservation really because Five really does have fantastic aim and doesn’t give a fuck about manners. 

“We can have a sleepover!” Klaus cheers, clapping his hands like he’s at a one man party. 

“No.” Diego emphasizes.

They all end up in Diego’s boiler room. 

“Five says he wants the bed.” Klaus claims as soon as they walk in.

“Five is dead.” Diego growls, “He’s not getting the bed.”

“Ben says that’s dead-ist.” Klaus accuses pointing a finger at Diego, who slaps it away. 

“Well I suppose the youngest should get the bed.” Vanya muses out loud, which just makes Klaus burst into laughter. This in turn means that the pillow on Diego’s bed seems to move on its own in an attempt to smother the lanky man.

“I’m fine with the floor.” Dave offers, “Used to way worse in the jungle. This’ll actually be pretty nice. No bugs at least.”

Klaus pauses in wrestling with the pillow, “Aw, babe. That’s so sweet. I’m on the floor, too!”

Diego sighs deeply, “Ugh. Fucking. Fine. Vanya can have the bed.”

“Thank you.” Vanya says gracefully, picking her way through Diego’s... place is a generous word, to sit on the bed. 

“Do you have any movies?” Klaus asks, and has has somehow transitioned to being sprawled across the floor kicking his feet in the air with his face in his hands, “Oh! Or popcorn! Nail polish?”

“This is not a sleepover.” Diego growls, “This is... this is a tactical base.”

“I have some hairties in my pocket?” Vanya offers, fishing out one and tossing to towards a squealing Klaus. 

“Yes!” Klaus cheers, holding up his prize with great victory, “Vanya, can I do you hair?”

“Sure.” Vanya says shrugging, scooching over to allow for Klaus to scrabble onto the bed to sit behind her. 

“Hey Diego do you own a hairbrush?” Klaus asks, pulling Vanya’s hair out of her ponytail and running his fingers through it. Diego scowls. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Klaus scooches over enough so that Dave can sit behind him and they manage to cram three adults onto the bed as Dave starts ruffling at Klaus’s hair, humming thoughtfully. 

“I hate all of you.” Diego growls, crossing his arms and definitely not pouting. 

“I love team apocalypse.” Klaus says as cheerfully as possible.

“Don’t you have two other siblings?” Dave asks, brow furrowed in slight confusion. Klaus probably told him all about his fucked up family while they were in Vietnam together, to pass the time. At the time Dave hadn’t actually believed Klaus (body of a monkey? teleportation? tentacle powers? but you know what he’s in the future and he’s either having the worst acid trip, he’s dead, or this is real and why not roll with it).

Vanya, Klaus, and Diego all grimace as one.

“Luther and Allison... have their own issues they’re working on right now.” Vanya says diplomatically.

“Hold up.” Klaus says, craning his head around to look at Diego, “Is Luther still on that ‘dad was murdered’ bullshit?”

“Your dad was murdered?” Dave asks, looking a little shocked.

“What is Allison even doing?” Diego tilts his head a little bit, ignoring Dave’s question entirely.

“Judging my life choices.” Vanya mutters reproachfully. Klaus, as the terrible life choice in question, pats her shoulder sympathetically. 

“In all fairness, if it weren’t for. You know. Everything. I probably would have robbed you for money.” Klaus admits with a simple shrug, and gets a pat on the shoulder from Dave in return.

“I know she cares or whatever.” Vanya says sighing, “But like. The way she goes about it. Like she knows everything and has to impart her wisdom on us lesser beings. Like she didn’t ruin her own life.”

“Wow.” Klaus hums, tugging on the end on Vanya’s new braid, “I didn’t realize we were onto the shit talking portion of the sleepover.”

“This isn’t a sleepover.” Diego’s protest falls on deaf ears.

“I’m open to building a relationship.” Vanya says firmly, “But that’s what it needs to be. Building a relationship. Because quite frankly, we don’t have one. She acts like, I don’t know, the fact that we’re sisters should trump the fact that she ignored me at best for like, the last twenty-nine years of my life.”

“Go off, queen.” Klaus says gleefully, running his fingers through Vanya’s hair and undoing the braid he just finished entirely. “Where have you been hiding all our lives?”

“In my room, mostly.” Vanya deadpans, “Sequestered away like all of Dad’s boring treasures.”

“If your dad was still alive I’d fight him for all of you.” Dave says very seriously. Seriously enough that it makes Vanya snort, and Klaus burst into giggles, and even Diego shakes his head. 

“I love you so much, Dave.” Klaus says seriously, and then looks over Dave’s shoulder, “No I don’t - it’s a different sort of love Ben. You’re still my favorite brother! Wait, no Five - actually yes Five because Ben is everyone’s favorite brother - ”

“Confirmed.” Diego immediately says, which makes Klaus whirl around, his hand at his chest and gasping like a Victorian maiden. 

“Sorry Five.” Vanya says, nodding along mock seriously. “Ben never lost my violin bow and tried to blame it on the monster under the bed.”

“Hold up, hold up hold up.” Klaus says immediately, eyes pingponging between Vanya and someone the rest of them can’t see, “I smell a story. Pray tell, Vanya. Do you have a tale that paints the illustrious Five in a... less than pristine light?”

“Oh Klaus.” Vanya practically purrs, mischief lighting up her eyes, “I was Five’s favorite sibling. I know all the dirty little secrets.”

And that’s the moment when Diego’s shitty bed flips and dumps Vanya, Klaus, and Dave onto the floor.

“Five!” 

[reylo-solo]

Ok so Concept/Prompt: Ben and Rey’s baby daughter saying “dada” first?

Okay so I may have written this lil thing sometime after midnight last night. Enjoy!

“Mama. Can you say ‘mama?’ Ma-ma!”

“Mmm-mm—”

“Mama. So close, my love! Come on, say ‘mama!’”

“Mmmm-pbbthhh!”

Rey wrinkled up her nose and swiped the sprayed spittle off of her face with her arm, casting a look of bemused doubt at her daughter’s charming face.

“You’re fighting a losing battle, you know.”

She looked up to see Ben leaning against the doorframe, handsomely arrogant in his repose. He had that smirk on his face—the one that almost always made Rey question whether she wanted to smack him or kiss him in order to remove it. Normally she went for the latter option, but there were times he enjoyed testing her limits on that theory.

Carefully, Rey set their daughter back down onto her play pad. Instantly the infant reached up to grab one of the many plush stars that dangled from the arch of the pad. It jingled and crinkled as she squeezed and shook it in her small but mighty fist. Her chubby legs kicked ferociously with excitement.

“It’s going to be her first word. I know it will be,” Rey argued quietly. She may have been speaking as much to herself as she was to Ben.

“I have to politely, and affectionately, disagree, sweetheart.”

He took a seat on the padded floor beside her, crossing his long legs with ease. Rey watched him for a moment as he smiled down at their child. To see such tender love in his face and to know it was as fierce and everlasting as her own filled her heart with warmth. Their child would never know loneliness, or a life without love.

“And why is that?” She asked, deciding that yes, she loved him enough to take his bait, for the millionth time.

“Because,” he answered simply, “her first word is going to be dada.”

“Like hell it is!” Rey cursed.

Ben raised his eyebrows, staring pointedly in her direction.

“Oh! Sorry—like heck it is,” she corrected herself and gently rubbed the small belly of her daughter. “You didn’t hear that, did you, my little love?”

Their daughter babbled at her toy.

“That will not be her first word!” Rey bantered, pointing her finger at him.

“Oh, but it will be,” He smirked, and kissed the tip of her finger. “Trust me.”

She pulled her hand away and narrowed her eyes at him, though the corners of her mouth fought off a smile.

“She’s been trying to say mama for days now. And in all that time, she hasn’t even said so much as ‘da’, which is a pretty common term for babies,” Rey said matter-of-factly. “So what makes you so confident?”

“Who said anything about plain old confidence?” Ben quipped. “Maybe it’s just an intuition.”

“Well, your intuition is wrong.”

“Is it? I had an intuition about you once, you know. And it turned out to be right, even though you doubted it.”

“That does not apply here! Are you trying to use our love story to win this argument?”

“Depends. Is it working for me or against me?”

“Against you. Very much against you.”

“Damn. I thought it was worth a try.”

“Nothing is, when your argument is just plain old wrong.”

Rey leaned over their daughter and gently tickled the little one’s belly, making her squirm and squeal in delight.

“Yes, Daddy’s wrong, isn’t he? Isn’t he? Yes he is! We know he is!” she cooed.

Ben chuckled—a soft, warm sound that Rey loved, much like the laugh of her daughter. She smiled affectionately at the cherubic face of their wondrous creation.

She felt Ben’s fingers skirt along the side of her throat, pushing her loose hair back to tuck it behind her ear. Goosebumps erupted down her arm and her heart soared in her chest. When he spoke to her, his breath was a warm current that purled along her sensitive skin.

“Shall we make a bet?” He asked temptingly. “Who do you think I can make say daddy first: the baby, or you?”

Heat bloomed in her face and she smacked him playfully in the chest. He made an exaggerated noise of injury and fell backwards, grasping her wrist so he could pull her down onto him.

“Benjamin Solo,” she chastised as she loomed over him. “Resorting to bedroom talk? You must really be nervous.”

“Never.”

“Come, now. Just admit what you already know,” Rey purred. She ducked her head to plant three carefully-placed kisses down his throat to his clavicle. “She will say mama first.”

“Mm...in your dreams,” he sighed happily.

“‘Dada’ isn’t even in her sights yet,” Rey teased, plucking at his loose black sweater. “I’ll have her saying rhinoceros before she ever says ‘dada.’”

“Oh, you’re cruel, woman,” Ben grinned beneath her.

Without warning he grasped her by the waist and pulled her over him as though she weighed hardly a pound more than their baby. She squealed once before she felt the floor at her back and saw Ben looking down at her victoriously. That rogue grin and those dark eyes sent her mind into a tailspin, and she felt inexplicably breathless.

“But I can be cruel, too,” he murmured, ducking down to nip at her ear lobe. “And she will say dada first.”

“She will not say dada!”

With deft fingers she ran her hands up his sides, tickling him so that he squirmed and retracted on instinct, struggling to maintain his hold on her.

“She will!” He argued through tinkling laughter.

“No!”

Back and forth they fought and flirted, rolling on the floor, all while their daughter watched and giggled at their absurdity. She, with the power to end their argument once and for all, stuck her tiny tongue between her lips and blew a loud raspberry between laughs.

When Ben and Rey discovered that they were entertaining their child immensely, they continued their performance with gusto. It went on for several minutes more until finally, when her parents were nearly out of breath, the child blurted out a noise that sounded strangely recognizable.

“Da-da!”

The new parents froze in place and locked eyes with one another.

“Did she just—”

“No...”

“She said ‘dada,’ Rey. Dada.”

“She did not!”

“Oh, but she did!”

Ben practically jumped to get to their baby, happily hoisting her up in the air above his head so that she squealed in delight.

“Dada! You said dada!” He exclaimed.

He hugged her to his chest, where the little baby happily slobbered on his sweater.

He heard some sniffling and quickly turned to look at Rey. She had tears in her eyes and a shaky smile on her face, though it was half-obscured by the hand she had employed to wipe at her nose.

“Rey, are you—are you crying?” He asked worriedly, scooting across the floor to get to her, baby still in hand. “Why are you crying? Is it because she said dada first?”

Rey shook her head hard. “No, no; it’s not that. I’m crying because she just said her first word,” she explained through a bubbling sob. “She said her first word, Ben.”

His expression changed as the weight of it landed on him. This was no longer just playful teasing between two new parents. His daughter had just spoken her first technical word, and it had been his name.

“Oh, my god,” he whispered, holding their baby girl aloft and looking at her like she was glowing from within. “Oh my god.”

Rey couldn’t withhold the laughter that erupted from her chest. It wasn’t what she’d been striving for, but the moment remained perfectly blissful all the same.

As Ben embraced their daughter in a hug, she embraced the both of them. Her family. Her life. Her everything.

[frumfrumfroo]

Saw an argument presented that the Skywalker saga is actually about violence vs nonviolence, and not about redemption; because redemption is 'a given' in SW. They also state that Rey is the main character, not Ben, and the ST is basically about her choosing the Jedi way and following the nonviolent path. Rey's character to me has never read as non-violent/ non-confrontational, so this reading of the ST doesn't make sense to me. Would be interested in your thoughts as you have good insight

SW is about compassion (’love people, that’s all Star Wars is’- George Lucas), but you’d find yourself tied up in knots fairly quickly trying to argue it preaches non-violence. All of the aspirational characters use violence and they are not condemned by the narrative for doing so. The moral line which it is never okay to cross is murder (you are never justified in killing anyone in cold blood for any reason whatsoever- no one deserves to die), but armed resistance to tyranny is celebrated. And armed resistance to tyranny will result in casualties among those who fight to preserve it. Those deaths are considered so morally acceptable that it gives no one any pause whatsoever.

Star Wars does not allow its heroes to ever kill or attempt to kill a humanised character without it being a very bad thing, but it is 100% okay with them killing faceless mooks by the thousands. If it were about non-violence, this would not be okay. The story never questions that use of force can be necessary, in fact it condemns complacency and neutrality, it only insists that violence isn’t the answer and will never solve the problem. Or it did, until TROS told us that violence is the answer.

Rey never learns a single lesson about non-violence and never chooses a non-violent path. In this movie she explicitly trains to be a warrior intending to use those skills, endeavours to be worthy of a ‘legendary’ weapon which is revered in spite of its history as the sword Anakin used to mow down children and murder Jedi, the Force is changed from pure Being and an expression of one’s spiritual connection and relationship to all life into an inherited superpower you can charge up to fight bad guys, and she never chooses selflessness or compromise or non-violent resolution of any kind. Rey is the aggressor in every single fight and the story has no problem with this.

Luke threw down his sword in RotJ, Rey picks up an extra one because to really defeat evil you need two lightsabres.

The Jedi way is not non-violent, it is the judicial use of violence. Leaving aside the prequels and their entire plot, Yoda and Obi-wan tried to manipulate Luke into killing his father without him ever knowing the truth. They told him there was no hope for Vader and violence was the only answer, that pragmatism must come before love and love would not be enough to help anyone. It is Luke who rejected that and chose a third option. It’s Luke who consistently refuses to sacrifice people when his Jedi masters try to teach him it’s necessary.

It’s about redemption (and by extension the idea that it is never right to sacrifice someone else) not pacifism because these choices are personal and are about our attitude to individuals. The previous films never condone passive martyrdom. Luke doesn’t lay down his life and the fate of the whole galaxy at Anakin’s feet because ever fighting is bad, it’s because killing his father is bad. It’s because the ends don’t justify the means and he believes love is stronger than fear- he’s willing to die to save Anakin, to avoid becoming him, to show another path is possible, not to avoid fighting. He has faith his grace will change the outcome, it’s not suicide to avoid impurity.

He rejected the terms of the argument Palpatine set out, he rejects Palpatine’s worldview that power and pragmatism are the only means of victory. And he’s vindicated and the impossible tide turns because this is an idealistic story about absolute right and wrong. Luke could not win with might, his attempts to use might ended in total failure or becoming the very thing he was fighting against, he wins with right.

But Rey’s path of growing in conviction and forging her own identity so she could have the same kind of faith Luke had and thus the same kind of spiritual power (strength in the Force is about FAITH not training) was abandoned so she could ~train~ in fighting and lifting rocks. Because apparently now it is about who has the coolest lightsabre skills, the biggest muscles, and the highest Force Power Level. She doesn’t take a third option like Luke did where he is neither victorious because he was mightiest nor is he a pacifist sacrificial lamb; she gets a power up, then she kills the bad guy with violence and she’s suddenly a sacrificial lamb out of nowhere (with NO AGENCY) solely so Ben can take her place on the altar and DIE.

There is no good message to dig out of this movie no matter how hard you try or how much charity you give it and the idea that Rey became a non-violent hero in it is frankly laughable.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

To you, how good are the vault crew at duelling and how do they duel? I think that Tonks is someone who uses more unconventional ways like in a courtyard making use of obstacles rather than a normal duelling club, Barnaby has strong spells and is able to tank damage, Chiara is the underestimated one who spams protego and episkey, takes no damage,winning through occasional offensive spells no one sees coming, and Merula duels offensively with cunning. I also can't believe MC just wins every time.

A very good question! Let’s go through the gang one by one. 

MC - This is definitely open to interpretation. All we know for certain is that they’re either very good at dueling, very lucky, or some combination of the two. They’ve defeated acromantulas, dragons, unexplained ice golems, the list goes on. They’ve only ever lost to one person. So their style is open to interpretation (I think this was customizable during Aurelie’s quest) but in general, they usually win. This can be amended with head-canons, and I do have some of my own. Luca Fawley totally loses to the Red Cloak, to the Horntail, etc. But canon wise? Yeah...it is what it is. 

Rowan - They’re not much of a duelist. I can’t imagine they have any experience in combat magic apart from helping MC prepare to face Merula all the way back in Year 1. Given their extensive knowledge however, they probably know more magic than the average person, and they’re probably the most skilled at casting spells nonverbally. To translate that to game mechanics, maybe that means they know all of the exclusive dueling reward spells? In terms of style, I feel like they’d favor defense.

Ben - This one is all about confidence. We’ve seen that Ben’s prowess at dueling seems to depend on whether or not his anxieties are holding him back or not. Most of the time, he seems like he would completely fail, but when he actually fights - either in Y6CH18, when he’s let go of his anxiety, or when he was the Red Cloak (So it wouldn’t come into play) he actually kind of kicks ass? I feel like he specializes in charms and would know which ones to use in combat. I also think Old Ben favors sneaking, New Ben favors offense.

Penny - Another character who wouldn’t specialize in fighting, but the inclusion of the Wiggenweld Potion as an option that is known to be useful in dueling suggests, at least in HPHM canon, that adept potioneers can use their talents in a fight. I don’t really see how that works, personally (The animation takes forever, why wouldn’t the opponent just hit them mid-swig?) but I can roll with it. Penny’s style would therefore be highly unpredictable, which would be her main advantage. No one would know what to expect because it’s not her spells that they’re primarily fighting.

Merula - Like you said, she’s cunning. She probably knows a fair few hexes that most people don’t know, at least early on. Similar to Snape, she would have had an early advantage thanks to learning stuff on her own (or probably from her mother) and while she’s not above using the dark arts, that also takes talent and an edge that I feel like Merula doesn’t usually have. She would have a blend of offensive and sneaking, and would play without any honor at all, which would be her main advantage. But she’d also get cocky, and probably celebrate a victory before it’s confirmed. 

Bill - Here is someone who, at least to me, probably excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts. He’d have been in the D.A. if it was around during his time. But strictly light side magic, of course. He plays honorably, probably with a blend of offense and defense to help him manage particularly long fights. But he has a lot of natural talent, so that’s able to help him out. 

Skye - As one can expect, her primary strength in dueling isn’t her magical prowess, it’s her physical fitness. Catch her dodging every curse like a bludger, ducking and rolling over. Throwing a punch because her opponent doesn’t expect that at all, and if she can snap a broomstick in half, odds are she also has a mean right hook. As far as magic actually goes, I figure she’d favor offense and be straight to the point. If there was ever a character to live up to the “Spam depulso” meme, it’s Skye.

Murphy - The opposite situation would apply here. Murphy can’t rely on dodging curses or moving around quite as easily. But I also feel like he wouldn’t spend a lot of time studying dueling itself. But he also knows a lot of trivia. Similar to Rowan, he’d pull out a spell that no one expects or has even heard of. He could also probably keep a few potions on his person, especially if he ever hangs out with Penny. 

Orion - I’m going to be real with you. I think Orion does not duel. Period. This is similar to a head-canon I used to have about Yoda never carrying a lightsaber (which the prequels debunked, but that’s neither here nor there) I believe Orion is a pacifist and will never pick up his wand to harm another person. The most he will ever do is disarm or cast a shield charm. Even then, it’s not common. He prefers to talk his way out of situations, and something tells me it works more often than one would expect.

Rath - Here’s another case where physical prowess would be on her side. Not only that, there’s the intimidation factor. Rath is taller and bigger than most of her classmates, and it seems to be canon that she intimidates them for that reason. Beyond that, she also seems to have an ability to just shut down and go into a mode of focus, which includes focused rage. I know curses aren’t bludgers, but I feel like her training would still have an influence and make her aim, for example, twice as deadly. Yeah, she’d be a tough opponent and probably favor offense. 

Andre - This boy has never dueled in his life, and I doubt he’s any good at it. His magical talents and creativity are undeniable, but when it comes to combat? He should probably just hide behind MC. If it comes to it, I think he’s going to favor sneaking more. Just seems more like his style, considering that by his own admission, he likes to spy on people.

Tonks - Okay, the main thing holding her back here is going to be the opposite problem that someone like Andre or Diego would have, and that’s dexterity and grace. We all love Tonks, but she’s almost certainly dyspraxic. I can see her aiming a finishing hex, only to trip over a nearby pebble. Apart from that, I agree. Her style would be resourceful and unconventional. I can see her transfiguring herself into different people to throw off her opponent. Definitely a sneaky type. 

Tulip - Meet the most versatile duelist at Hogwarts. Seriously, with her inventive mind, her resources, and the influence of people like Merula and MC. Tulip can do anything that occurs to her, and she will. I feel like she favors carrying dungbombs and other pranks, to incorporate them into her dueling style. But she’s no pushover with magic, either. I’d say she doesn’t specialize but switches freely between offense, defense, and sneaking.

Ismelda - A more exaggerated version of Merula’s problem, in that in the early years, Ismelda would be simply terrible at dueling because she would attempt to use dark curses that she has neither the talent nor the cruelty to truly master. Other than that, we’ve seen that she has at least marginal talent for dueling and the use of curses and hexes. Practice doesn’t make perfect in this case, but it counts for something. She definitely strikes me as more offensive. 

Barnaby - He plays most similarly to Bill in this case. I think he would focus more on offensive magic, given what he’d learn as a Slytherin rather than being in the Gryffindor Common room. But his code of honor would be the same as the Weasleys, and while dueling isn’t his passion the way creatures are, he does seem to enjoy it and is very good at it. 

Liz - On the contrary, Liz is like Andre and Penny. This is not someone who ever draws her wand because she wants to, even for practice. That being said, that doesn’t mean Liz is not the argumentative type. Because she clearly is, and she’s clearly sensitive about being stereo-typed. In general, she seeks to protect the misunderstood and mistreated. If it came to it, she would draw her wand in those circumstances and likely play defensively. But she prefers to resolve conflicts verbally.

Charlie - Growing up a Weasley, you’d pick up a thing or two, of course. Especially being so close in age to Bill. These brothers definitely clashed and went to war (all in good fun) throughout their childhood. Fred and George probably ignited it, but Bill and Charlie do seem to exchange jabs with Percy as well. The main thing here is that Charlie would have learned a number of spells to subdue a dragon, and at least some of those probably translate to humans. So he’d be able to restrain an opponent in a duel.

Talbott - He holds back. He always holds back. Let’s think about this - his greatest secret weapon is one that he will always need to keep a secret and is constantly anxious about. He’s anxious in general, so similar to Ben, I think he could be a lot more powerful if he let loose. As a human or as an eagle. Seriously, golden eagles are fierce. Of all the animals to be in a fight, you could do a lot worse than a golden eagle. (I know this because I’m an Animorphs nerd.) So yeah, his biggest weakness is a mental one.

Chiara - Assuming that this is human Chiara, and not in her wolf-form, I feel like she’s another character who’s all but useless in combat. Though you’re right, this would lead to people underestimating her, and she is a Healer. There’s such a thing as army doctors for a reason. Between healing herself and setting up shields, she could probably tire out her opponent by tanking and playing defensively. 

Jae - The embodiment of the sneaking archetype. Seriously, he is a living, breathing example of the Thief build from RPGs. While I don’t think he’d stoop to using dark magic, he definitely knows some less scrupulous spells. Probably Deletrius, and whatever spell is needed to break into Alohomora-proof locks. As for dueling? Here’s another character who would probably depend on potions or other tools that he has on his person, to supplement his own magical talents, since dueling wouldn’t be something he studied too much. 

Badeea - In so many says, she is the most dangerous opponent on this list. Because her primary talent in the case of dueling makes her even more unpredictable than Tulip. Badeea...is a spell inventor. That alone gives her an edge, and she’s clearly an intelligent, talented witch otherwise. I don’t think dueling would be her first choice, mind you. Similar to Orion and Liz, I think she would see other methods to resolve conflict. But if it came to it, there’s just no way to prepare for an opponent like Badeea. 

Diego - He’s probably one of the most talented duelists on this list, if I’m being honest. We know that like Barnaby, he enjoys dueling and probably gets a lot of practice. Combined with his talents in dancing, he would be physically fit and know how to move. I can see him having an extremely graceful dueling style where his wand is nothing more than an extension of his arm, and his preferred style would be whatever he felt like that day.

Beatrice - She would get destroyed. I love her, but it’s true. Her magical education is a year behind, and who knows what kind of long-term effects her time in the Portrait could have on her physical body. Not to mention that outfit looks a little too big for her, which would restrict movement. I think in terms of raw talent and overall effort and motivation, she could score a few hits, catch someone by surprise. But in a real duel? She’s not winning. 

Alanza - I have no idea what Alanza’s levels of talent would be. But in general...she does seem to land on her feet, does seem to shrug off most things as water off a duck’s back. Survival skills apparently come easily to her, and she seems to just overall be a person who leads a charmed life. This is all assuming that there isn’t some other shoe to drop with Alanza, I think she would win duels entirely by accident.