#but this man has a complex about being controlling so i couldn’t see him keeping them from going | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

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im assuming you're taking requests, so I will bring you Scott, Logan, Jean, Ororo, Charales, Erik with a young kid reader who has a very power mutation and is an omega level mutant, and is now at the mansion because they parents didn't want them

X-Men x Kid!Reader

Their relationship with you—a omega-level mutant

After being abandoned by your parents due to your dangerous omega-level mutation, you arrive at the Xavier Institute, where a X-Man take you under their wing. They help you navigate the overwhelming potential of your powers, becoming mentors and parental figures as they guide you toward self-acceptance and control.

Characters: Scott Summers, Logan Howlett, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Charles Xavier & Erik Lehnsherr

Of course I take requests, don't hesitate to ask again love ♡ And thanks for the idea, I hadn't planned on writing for a Kid!Reader soon but you motivated me to do it. — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

When you first arrived at the mansion, Scott was the one who greeted you. As a leader, he had taken on the responsibility of welcoming new students, especially those who might be difficult to place. But when he learned that you, a young child, had been abandoned by your parents due to your dangerous mutation, something in him softened. He saw a reflection of his younger self in you—alone, scared, and confused about your powers. He was quiet at first, observing you as you sat in the mansion’s common room, staring out the window, your small form dwarfed by the large surroundings. You didn’t speak much either, afraid of being rejected again.

Scott had been through so much with his own powers, especially as someone whose mutation had caused harm in the past. He understood how overwhelming it could be, especially for a child. He approached you cautiously, always careful not to seem too intrusive. "Hey," he said softly, kneeling to be at eye level with you. "I know things are hard right now, but we’re here to help. You're safe here."

At first, you didn’t believe him. How could anyone help with something as destructive as your mutation? But Scott never pushed you, never forced you to talk about it until you were ready. Days turned into weeks, and little by little, Scott became the constant figure in your life. He would check on you every morning, sitting with you during meals when you felt too shy to sit with the other students. He’d take you to the Danger Room, not for training, but to show you that your powers didn’t define who you were.

As time passed, Scott began teaching you how to control your mutation, sharing his own struggles with his optic blasts and how Professor Xavier had helped him. He showed you that even though your mutation was powerful, it could be harnessed for good. The bond between the two of you grew, and Scott became a father figure in your life, guiding you through the complexities of being an omega-level mutant. Whenever you felt overwhelmed, Scott was always there, his calm and steady presence reassuring you that you were never alone.

The more time you spent together, the more you came to see Scott as not just a mentor but as someone who truly cared for you. He would bring you small gifts—a book he thought you’d like, or a new pair of shoes when he noticed yours were wearing out. He’d sit with you at night when nightmares of losing control over your powers haunted your sleep. Over time, Scott became the person you trusted most, the one who saw past your dangerous mutation and saw you as a person—someone worth loving and protecting.

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Logan wasn’t known for being a nurturing figure, but when Charles asked him to keep an eye on you, he couldn’t say no. When you arrived at the mansion, a young kid with a mutation that even the other mutants found intimidating, Logan saw the fear in your eyes. It reminded him of his own past—how he’d been treated like a monster because of his powers. But he didn’t approach you immediately. He watched from a distance at first, letting you get comfortable in your new environment.

You were quiet, withdrawn, and understandably scared of hurting someone with your powers. Your parents had abandoned you, and that kind of rejection left deep scars. But Logan understood that. He knew what it was like to be rejected for something you couldn’t control. Slowly, he began to approach you, always in his gruff, no-nonsense way. "Kid," he’d say, catching your attention one afternoon while you sat alone in the garden. "You hungry? Come get something to eat."

At first, you were hesitant around him. Logan’s rough exterior and gruff voice made him seem intimidating, but over time, you began to realize that beneath all of that was someone who genuinely cared. He didn’t coddle you, didn’t treat you like you were fragile. Instead, he treated you like a person, not just a child. He would take you with him on walks through the woods surrounding the mansion, teaching you survival skills and how to listen to the world around you. Logan wasn’t the type to sit down and talk about feelings, but in his own way, he helped you understand that your mutation didn’t define you.

As your bond grew, Logan became more protective of you. He’d take you out to train, showing you how to defend yourself—not just with your powers, but with your fists. He wanted you to be strong, to not rely solely on your mutation. "There’s more to you than just that," he’d tell you, his tone gruff but kind. "You’ve got a brain, kid. Use it."

Logan was never one for emotional speeches, but his actions spoke louder than words. He’d be there when you had nightmares, sitting silently by your side until you fell back asleep. He made sure you had everything you needed, even if that meant going out in the middle of the night to get you something. Over time, you began to see Logan as a father figure, someone who, despite his rough edges, loved you in his own way. He was the one who taught you that you were more than just your powers, and for that, you loved him back.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

When Jean first saw you, she sensed the fear and confusion swirling around you like a storm. You were so young, yet your powers were immense, dangerous even, and you didn’t have the control to handle them yet. Jean understood what it was like to carry the weight of powers that felt too big for you. She’d been there once, and she knew how terrifying it could be. So, from the moment you stepped foot into the mansion, Jean made it her mission to help you.

Jean was gentle with you from the start, never pushing you to open up too soon. Instead, she made sure you knew she was always there, a comforting presence in the chaos of your new life. She’d sit with you during meals, smiling softly, encouraging you to try new foods or talk about your day. "You’re not alone in this," she’d say, her voice calm and reassuring. "We’ve all been where you are. It’s okay to be scared."

The first time your powers flared up, it was in the middle of the night. You had a nightmare, and your mutation spiraled out of control, shaking the entire mansion. Jean was there within seconds, her own powers calming the chaos around you. She sat beside you, her arms around your trembling form, whispering soothing words until the storm inside you calmed. "It’s okay," she’d murmur softly. "I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you."

Jean became the mother figure you had never known. She was patient, always understanding that your powers were tied to your emotions. She spent hours with you, teaching you how to meditate, how to center yourself, and how to control the overwhelming power you carried. She shared her own experiences with you, telling you about the times she had lost control of her abilities, and how she had learned to harness them with time and practice.

The more time you spent with Jean, the more you grew to trust her. She was the one you went to when you were scared, the one who held you when the weight of your mutation became too much. Jean was always there, offering comfort, guidance, and love. She never saw you as a danger, even when your powers flared up unexpectedly. Instead, she saw you as a young mutant who just needed a little help finding her way.

As your relationship deepened, Jean became more than just a mentor—she became the mother you had always needed. She was there for every milestone, every step of your journey to control your powers. And when you finally began to master them, it was Jean who stood beside you, her smile filled with pride and love. She had taken you under her wing, and in doing so, she had given you a family.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

When you first arrived at the Xavier Institute, Ororo Munroe was one of the first faces you saw. There was something about her calm and regal presence that made you feel a little less overwhelmed by your new surroundings. You were still so young, and with your mutation threatening to spiral out of control at any moment, you were terrified. Your parents had made it clear they couldn’t handle the dangers your powers presented, and now you were here—alone, confused, and unsure of what to expect.

Ororo approached you gently, her voice soft but strong. "Welcome," she said with a warm smile. "You’re safe here. We’ll figure this out together." She could sense your unease, the way your powers hummed beneath your skin, ready to burst forth at the slightest emotional trigger. Ororo understood what it was like to have powers connected so deeply to one’s emotions. Her ability to control the weather had once been wild and untamed, just like you.

At first, you were hesitant. You didn’t trust easily, not after the way your parents had reacted to your mutation. But Ororo didn’t push. She gave you space when you needed it, but was always there when you felt ready to open up. She took you under her wing, teaching you how to connect with nature, how to calm your mind and body to prevent your powers from overwhelming you.

She would take you out into the gardens, her favorite place at the mansion, and together you would sit in the grass, surrounded by flowers and trees. Ororo showed you how to focus on the wind, the rustle of the leaves, the soft patter of rain—small, natural things that helped you feel grounded. "Your powers don’t control you," she’d say with quiet conviction. "You control them."

As time passed, Ororo became a mother figure to you. She was always patient, always understanding. She taught you discipline and control, but more than that, she taught you self-acceptance. She helped you see that your mutation was a part of who you were, but it didn’t define you. Whenever you had a rough day, Ororo would be there, offering comforting words and reminding you that you were stronger than you thought.

The bond you developed with Ororo was unbreakable. She was there through every challenge, every triumph, and every setback. With her guidance, you grew stronger, not just in your abilities, but in your confidence. And no matter how many times you stumbled, Ororo was always there to lift you back up, her gentle smile reminding you that you were never alone.

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

You hadn’t said much when you first arrived at the mansion, but Charles Xavier didn’t need words to understand the storm of emotions brewing inside you. The moment he saw you, he could sense your fear, your confusion, and the overwhelming power you were struggling to control. Your mutation was dangerous, unpredictable, and omega-level—something your parents couldn’t handle. They had sent you here, hoping Charles could help, but you felt abandoned, rejected.

Charles had seen it all before, in countless young mutants who had passed through the mansion’s doors. But something about your quiet demeanor, the way you held yourself as though you didn’t want to take up any space, tugged at his heart. He approached you with kindness, offering a gentle smile. "You’re not alone anymore," he said, his voice soft but reassuring. "This is your home now."

At first, you were skeptical. You had been told so many times that you were dangerous, that your mutation made you a threat. But Charles never treated you that way. He was patient, understanding, and always willing to listen. He never probed your mind without permission, respecting your boundaries even when he knew you were struggling.

He spent hours with you in his study, guiding you through meditation exercises, helping you learn to quiet the noise in your mind. "Your mutation is powerful," he’d tell you, "but it doesn’t have to define you. You are in control, not the other way around." His presence was calming, his belief in you unwavering. It was the first time in a long time that you felt like someone truly saw you—not as a threat, but as a person.

As the months passed, Charles became more than just a mentor to you. He was like a father, always there when you needed guidance or support. He encouraged you to push beyond your fears, to embrace your mutation as a part of who you were. With his help, you began to gain control over your powers, learning to harness them instead of being overwhelmed by them.

Charles never gave up on you, even on the days when you felt like giving up on yourself. He believed in you when no one else had, and that belief made all the difference. Over time, the bond between you grew stronger, and Charles became a pillar of strength in your life. You knew that no matter how difficult things got, he would always be there to guide you through it.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

When you were first brought to Erik Lehnsherr, you were terrified. Not just of your powers, but of him. You had heard stories—whispers about Magneto, the mutant who could control metal with just a flick of his hand, the one who had waged wars for mutantkind. But there was no one else who could understand what you were going through. Your mutation was out of control, destructive, and your parents had given up on you.

Erik didn’t approach you like the others at the mansion might have. He didn’t sugarcoat things or offer soothing words. Instead, he looked at you with a kind of intensity that made you feel like he was seeing straight through you. "You are powerful," he told you bluntly, his voice firm. "More powerful than you realize. And that power is something you must learn to control."

You weren’t sure what to make of him at first. He was intimidating, his presence almost overwhelming. But there was something in his words that resonated with you. He didn’t treat you like a fragile child. He didn’t look at you with fear or pity. Instead, he saw potential in you—potential that everyone else had overlooked.

Erik took you under his wing, and while his methods were harsh at times, they were effective. He pushed you harder than anyone else, refusing to let you be consumed by fear or self-doubt. "Fear is a weapon," he would say during training sessions. "And if you let it control you, you’ve already lost."

As the days turned into weeks, you began to see a different side of Erik. Beneath the hardened exterior, there was a deep well of care—especially for you. He had seen firsthand what it was like to be cast aside because of one’s powers, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to you. He believed in your strength, even when you didn’t, and he was determined to help you harness your abilities.

Erik was a complicated figure in your life. He wasn’t soft or gentle like the others, but he was there when you needed him most. He challenged you, pushed you to the brink, but always pulled you back when things became too much. And over time, you came to trust him, to see him as more than just a mentor. He was like a father to you, albeit one with a complicated history.

Under Erik’s guidance, you grew into your powers. He helped you understand that being powerful wasn’t something to fear—it was something to embrace. And though your relationship with him was often difficult, it was also one of the most important connections you had ever made. You knew that, despite everything, Erik cared for you in his own way. And that was enough.

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eevees-hobbies · 5 months ago

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Heloo I just read your post about the bold reader and I was like HSKFMMSDKDK

can I request hayato suo with the reader who can make him flustered and put on in his place?? Like she leads the relationship? Thank you!! Nsfw or sfw is fine:3

Authors Note: Hi, Anon! I wanted to take my time thinking about this specific scenario because while I don’t consider myself a Suo girlie, I love writing for him, and I’ve grown to love the version of him that I’ve crafted. I probably have him one degree away from being a Yandere, if we’re being honest. Anyway, I’m turning this into a thirst response for now. Still, I also might continue this at some point because it deserves the time and respect to dive deeper into the complex relationship that Reader has with Suo.

Also, my friend Evie did an excellent job encapsulating a similar ask using her style, and I can’t recommend that piece (and everything else she makes) enough.

Let’s get into, babe 💕

Content Warning: Fem! Reader x Hayato Suo. Teasing, dirty talk, fem! receiving oral, obsession, overstimulation, hands-free orgasm. Minors Do Not Interact

Word Count: 1.1K

Control is paramount to Suo’s identity as he’s very well aware of what happens when he loses control: people can get seriously hurt or worse. So it’s essential for Suo to remove any variables that might compromise his cool—and sometimes detached—demeanor. He keeps people at arm's length with ever-changing stories and blatant lies, and it works because no one has come close to cracking the mystery that he is.

But the variable he couldn’t control for? You.

At first, he found himself avoiding you. You brought out feelings within himself that he’d always try to swallow like bile threatening to come up. Vulnerability? Good for others but not for him.

When he couldn’t avoid you because you were absolutely everywhere—you weren’t everywhere, you two just have a gravitational pull towards each other like a planet to its moon—he found himself increasing his meditation.

He’d close his eyes, willing himself to breathe, clear his mind, and…there’d you be. As clear as day in his mind's eye with your sweet smile, the sound of your infectious laughter that makes his heart flutter, and your intoxicating smell.

As soon as you started to permeate his thoughts, even during the sanctuary of his meditation sessions—something that had never happened before—he knew he was a goner.

And if someone affects you this badly, they have to be yours, right? It would be absurd to see you with any of the imbeciles that pine after you. He almost laughs himself silly at the thought of them thinking they have a chance with you: his love, his moon, his reason for breathing, his everything.

If you’re familiar with my work, you’ll know how I describe your intimacy with Suo. He’s a pure pleasure dom; if you’re not coming undone on his tongue or fingers until you’re a sobbing and begging mess, well, he simply has to try harder, and Suo has the stamina to back that threat up.

He considers himself an expert of you, your body, and what makes you cum so intensely that his well-equipped arsenal of depravity has you doing your damnest to crawl away from him and to safety.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you, Dove. Now get back here and spread your legs like a good girl.”

And you’re into it because Suo is your type of crazy—what you two have simply wouldn’t work if that weren’t the case. If a man isn’t obscenely infatuated with you, is he really your man, am I right?

But sometimes a girl likes to be in control, ya know? And outside the bedroom, you have Suo wrapped around your finger. You say jump, and he asks if you want him to do a backflip on his way down. You use that sweet little voice to ask him for a kiss? He’s on top of you in an instant—and even to Suo, an instant isn’t quick enough. So, while he may have control in every aspect of his life, you are a dangerous variable that supersedes his free will.

But inside the bedroom? He’s much less willing to let you take the reigns; in fact, it might even be a point of contention initially. As you reach for his waistband, you underneath him entirely naked, and he, fully clothed as he comes up from between your thighs, preparing to plant a kiss on your luscious lips; he stops you as your finger coils around the elastic, silk fabric of his pants.

“What are you doing? This is about you.”

So, in what scenario will he finally let you take over? If you ask nicely, bat your eyelashes and use your sweet, honey-coated voice, perhaps, but that’s not always guaranteed to work.

The best chance of getting what you want? When Suo has been working at your pleasure for hours, so much so that his cock is twitching in his pants, eyes shrouded with dark, swirling shadows of desire, and he’s ready to ruin you by sinking into you—he’s uncharacteristically more easily influenced in this state. He’ll do anything you say because, god, he just wants to feel you in any way he can; lips wrapped around his cock? Yes, please. Deep in your silken, cum saturated guts? God, please don’t make him beg because he just might.

So when you tell him to lay down for you, and he falls backward onto the bed without questioning your intentions, you can finally have your way with him.

And as you hover over his face, flirting your swollen pussy lips over his hungry mouth, ruby-toned eyes staring—pleading—up at you between the warmth of your plushy thighs for a taste, you’ll know that you’ve got him right where you want him.

“Eat my pussy again like a good boy, Hayato, and maybe I’ll touch your cock.”

His breath will hitch because fuck he loves when his sweet girl talks filthy like that, and as his tongue once again dives into your folds—his licks desperate—he’ll buck his hips into the air imagining the feel of your pussy—his pussy—wrapped around his dick.

And if you continue to talk to him like he’s a plaything for you—like his pleasure is an optional afterthought at best and unnecessary at worst—until you get what you want in a tone that almost sounds like you’re above him? His eyes are rolling back, and his hands are clawing at the sheets under him.

“Suo, I just want to fuck your tongue with my pussy all night. Will you let me, baby? Let me use your tongue to cum?”

“Y-yes, baby, use me, please. I’m yours to have.”

And before you know it, at some point between the licks, the whimpers (from him), and his bucking into the air, he’ll groan into your cunt because that intense feeling that he was so desperately trying to stave off finally washed over him and he just couldn’t help himself. You’ll look behind you, eyes bright with amusement and something a bit more sinister, as you watch geyser upon geyser of cum shoot from his hiccuping, over-sensitive cock until his seed smothers his well-groomed pubic hair, abs, and puddles beneath him.

You’ll be so proud of yourself for reducing the Hayato Suo into a hands-free orgasmic mess.

But here’s a warning: Suo will only be more insatiable after that, flipping you over with ease, making you wonder how in control you truly were, and after a heated kiss to your lips and feeling his already hardening cock dragging against your folds, you’ll be right back to where you started: at the mercy of someone who thinks that pleasure is infinite.

#wind breaker #windbreaker smut #windbreaker #suo hayato x reader #suo hayato #hayato suo #hayato suo x reader #suo x reader #anon fulfilled #anon #request

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amberlynnmurdock · 9 months ago

Text

The Good In You (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Benjamin 'Dex' Poindexter x Reader

Series Summary: She's the new in-house nurse at the FBI headquarters in Manhattan. The only time she ever interacts with the agents is when she's stitching up their wounds. She's gotten to know almost all of them in this way, but there's one agent who's been harder to get to know. The other agents say what they want about Special Agent Poindexter, but she'll never speak negatively of him. Eventually, she does get to know him; she does get to know the good in him. At least for as long as the good lasts.

Genres: fluff, super angst, betrayal, reader wants Dex to be good so bad

A/N: Dex has got to be the most complex character to write lol, but it's so much fun. This idea dawned on me recently and I had to get it out there. I hope you like it! :)

Words: 3.5k

Ao3 Link

It wasn’t often FBI agents needed tending to their wounds because often they could get the job done without a scratch. Still, the FBI headquarters in Manhattan needed a resident nurse for when some agents got banged up, and that nurse was her.

She liked being a nurse at the FBI—believe it or not, it paid more than her previous job at Metro-General and it was up her alley to be working specifically with the FBI. She hated when her manager at Metro told her she’d yet again be switching departments, meaning she’d have to find a new way to commute to the hospital since it was so large and had different entrances. It was also hard to build a relationship with the patients there since she was often switched because the hospital couldn’t keep its shit together. Why get so attached to tending to the same patient almost every day, just for one day she'd be told she’d never be able to see them again?

It took a toll on her since she was the type of person to get attached to people she cared about. She may not have known her patients for a long time, but the time she spent with them was precious. These people were sick or injured, and they leaned on her not only to help them, but to have someone to talk to when their family couldn’t make it on any particular day.

So one day, she asked yourself, what’s the use? What’s the use in getting attached and being taken away so easily? What’s the use in letting the hospital treat her relationships with her patients as disposable?

When she saw the open position for a nurse at the FBI, she hoped she’d at least be dealing with the same agents now and then. So far, she has. No more switching around—no more connections being cut for no reason.

Being here almost six months, she’s come to know many of the agents. Many of them had families, some were new to the job—and for some, all they had was this job. Despite the only time she’d see these agents was when they were hurt, she looked forward to catching up with them in her exam room as she stitched up or cleaned their wounds.

Ray Nadeem is one of the agents who has a family. When it was Ray she had to tend to, she knew her time with him would be pleasant. He was—no pun intended—a ray of sunshine. A sweet family man, who truly cared about his job and justice.

Ray is in her exam room today. Not for anything serious. A bunch of agents responded to a complaint downtown—gang members fighting at a liquor store. Truthfully, not the worst she’s heard them be called for. The FBI normally had everything under control in situations like that. Ray had a few scratches on his face, and he was pushed into an aisle of white wine. She could smell the wine on his jacket. She already checked for broken glass. She was now tending to the cut on his cheekbone.

“Was it bad?” She asked him.

Ray shook his head. “Not really. We apprehended them pretty quickly. We had enough agents there.”

“That’s good,” she said, focusing on cleansing the wound. “Early night at least.”

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, “just in time for me to tuck Sammy into bed.”

Her heart melted at the mention of his son. No amount of cuts on his face could keep Ray from smiling whenever he brought up his son.

“How is Sammy doing? Is he going to try out for any sports this fall?” She asked.

“Maybe soccer. He’s more interested in spring sports, like baseball.”

“Ah,” she smiled. “I’ve always found that more fun, too. Spring in general.”

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, again. A sigh she’s come to know as regretful, these past few months getting to know him. “Just wish I was able to surprise him in the spring with the pool he’s been begging for.”

“I’ve only been here a few months, and I know you’re due for a promotion,” she said knowingly. “It’s only September. Anything can happen in the next few months,” a hopeful tone laced in her voice. She didn’t have a license in therapy, but sometimes the agents treated her as such. She didn’t mind, though.

“I hope so,” Ray said, exasperated. “Thanks, though. For fixing me up,” he pointed to the bandage she just finished putting on his face. “You make me look less scary coming home to Sammy.”

She wanted to laugh, but she stopped herself. It must be hard being an agent, working a daunting job, and coming home to a family like they don’t risk their life every day at work. Instead, she smiles softly at Ray.

“Thankfully, there wasn’t much to clean up. Just a check-up, I say. Get home safe, Ray.”

“You too,” Ray said, standing up from the exam table. “You going home after this?”

“Hopefully before 10,” she glanced out the window that showed a completely dark sky. One of the perks of working at the FBI, they offered her a service to get her home safely so she didn’t have to worry about going home alone. At night, as a young woman in this city, walking home could be dangerous.

“Good,” Ray said. “You deserve sleep just as much as we do. Everyone appreciates you being here. I hope you know that.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to be here.”

“Night, __,” Ray said. “I’ll be sure to tell Sammy you said hi.”

“Please do.”

With one last reassuring nod, Ray left her room. She quickly filled out his file on the computer and checked off the remaining boxes: no head trauma, no serious injuries, no broken bones, no concussion. Just a good old-fashioned cleaning and bandaging.

A knock on the door brings her out of her focus on the screen.

“Come in,” she called, not looking to see who it was. By how the door was carefully opened and carefully shut, she felt the person was hesitant in their movements.

“I’m sorry,” Special Agent Poindexter said. “I can come in when you’re ready.”

She swirled around in her chair to face him immediately. It wasn’t often Dex said much to her, so on the rare occasion he does decide to speak to her, she’s fully paying attention to what he has to say.

“It’s okay, I was just finishing up,” she stood from her chair. She could see now that his forehead was dripping blood from a cut, and he was attempting to absorb it with the rough paper towels from the bathroom. This indicates why he opened the door to come in—he needed help now. “I’m sorry, Dex. Please sit.”

While she quickly washed her hands, Dex awkwardly shuffled to the exam table and propped himself up on it, holding the paper towel to his forehead. He’s covering half his face and his gaze is away from her, like it always was when it was his turn to be tended to. His dirty blonde hair was pushed to the side. The veins on his hand were prominent.

“May I?” She asked him first, indicating she wanted to take away the paper towel to begin cleaning his wounds. He only offers her a small nod.

Dex was hard to figure out—he wasn't like the other agents she’s tended to. He was quiet. Stoic. He wasn’t rude, but he also didn’t go out of his way to make conversation. That was fine by her. She never wanted anyone in her exam room to be uncomfortable or pressured to talk—these agents worked a hard enough job already. They can’t always be at 100% all the time. She just could never tell if Dex was or not. She chalked it up to him being super serious about work. He’s in, and then he’s out. Sometimes, she's tried for conversation, but it was always hit or miss.

“This may sting,” she says gently. It’s something she says all the time to him, just to fill the silence between them. He faintly nods. His gaze stays away from her. She gently presses the alcohol-absorbed cotton pad over his wound. Ever so slightly his jaw clenches at the contact and he takes a small intake of breath. He shuts his eyes until the sting goes away.

“I’m sorry,” she dabs on it again. “Just one more. It’s a deep cut.”

“It’s alright,” Dex reassures her. “You can do what you need to.”

Maybe it was a good thing Dex didn’t talk to her so much when he was here—his voice was deep, a hint of a New York accent. And his speaking so closely to her made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Now it was her turn to keep quiet.

She dabbed at his wounds until the bleeding stopped. She grabbed fresh bandages and patched them up.

“I have to ask you some questions,” she said carefully, feeling nervous for some reason. Dex had his full attention on her now, his gaze no longer hidden. An unreadable expression on his face.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Does your body hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Is your vision blurred?”

“No.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “Otherwise, was tonight an okay night?”

Dex shifted on the exam table. “Yeah, it was fine. Easier than most.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Well, if nothing else hurts, then you’re free to go.”

“Thank you, __,” Dex says, and she realizes it's the first time he’s spoken her name. For a while there, she wondered if he ever cared to remember it. Maybe he was the type to have to warm up to someone first before he started a working relationship. That's alright—in a lot of ways, she was the same. “I appreciate it.”

And there it was again—another sentence from the agent she thought didn’t like her for the longest time. Sometimes the agents spoke of Dex in passing to her—saying the job went smoothly, save for Dex who was always too willing to go the extra mile when he didn’t need to. She never engaged in negative talk about him or anyone at the Bureau. She respected all their work. Everyone handles this job differently. Dex handles it in his way: by keeping to himself and keeping the conversation at a minimum.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. Dex offered a hint of a smile as he got up from the exam table.

“Guess you can go home now?” Dex asks. He’s standing close to her as she crosses her arms, in an attempt to not appear nervous by the way he's looking at her. She's delighted at the attempts at conversation he’s finally making.

“Yeah, you were the last agent I needed to see.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you,” he says, brows furrowed.

“Don't be sorry. It’s my job,” she reasoned. “I like being here when I’m needed.”

Dex sighs; he looks tired. Despite his tiredness, she couldn’t deny how handsome he looked, even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room.

“Night, Dex. Get home safe.”

“You too.”

***

Another night of tending to wounded FBI agents. This time, the wounds weren’t as simple. Some of them got really banged up—stitches were required this time. She was hyper-focused on the stitching she had to do on Ray on his left shoulder. He had his sleeve hanging off his shoulder and sat stiffly on the exam table, holding his breath at every movement.

“Not a good night, huh?” She asked.

“No,” Ray shook his head. “Not the worst, but I’ve had better.”

“Good thing the bullet was just a graze,” she reasoned, finishing up the last of his stitching. “Alright. You need to take it easy with that arm this weekend.”

“Will do,” Ray nodded. “Good thing I can hide this from Sammy with long sleeves. I hate to see him worrying about me.”

“I know,” she sighed. She got up to take off her gloves and wash her hands. She undid her hair in her claw clip and brushed it before twisting it up again. “It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ray shook his head. “Part of the job. Anyways, got any fun plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” she leaned against the counter and crossed your arms. “Catching up on sleep, probably.” It was already nearly midnight at the Bureau. “You?”

“Taking Sammy to the zoo with his friends,” Ray said. “Should be fun.”

“It will be. I’ll see you Monday, Ray.”

Ray slides his jacket on and exits her exam room. She washes your hands again before preparing for the next—and final—agent she has to stitch up. Of course, it was Dex. He was always the last to be seen. Of all the agents, he managed to always get hurt the least.

Dex is waiting patiently on the chair outside her exam room, anticipating his turn to see her. He enjoyed being around her because he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone—didn’t have to pretend the job was hard. All these men and women around him had families to come home to, or they had someone waiting at home for them. That’s what made it hard for them. Dex didn’t have anyone. That’s what made it so easy.

And his fellow agents could never understand his nonchalantness about it all. He didn’t care. That was on them. He only got checked out by her because he had to—it was a requirement that all agents see the nurse before heading home after a task. Truthfully, he didn’t need to see her. Perhaps he just wanted to.

“Dex?” She calls his name, pulling him from his thoughts. Dex is slouched in the chair, but he perks up when he hears her say his name. She leaves the door open and he closes it behind him when he enters her exam room.

Her hair is up—he often wondered what it would look like if it were down. He's never seen her look casual before. Always in scrubs, always hair pushed back. Her scrubs were dark navy blue to match his FBI jacket, with a small FBI logo near her left shoulder. A piece of her hair falls to the front of her face, slightly framing it. He doesn’t blush, but he thinks she looks pretty. Really pretty. And tired, just like him.

Dex takes his seat naturally on the exam table. She grabs her stethoscope and raises her hands to touch his face, but stops.

“May I?” She asks, like she always did. Dex nods and looks away from her gaze. It was easier to get through these visits if he wasn’t looking at her. He feels her fingertips gently hold his face to get a better look at his wounds that don’t hurt that much.

“Well, they’re not bad. Not bad at all,” she says, unsure if she is saying it out loud for herself or for him to know as well. He didn’t care if he was hurt. “Definitely will need cleaning though. But let me make sure your heart is all good and your head is fine.”

“It’s fine,” Dex reassures her, but he knows it’s no use.

“I still have to check,” she gives a small smile. He nods in understanding. She places the stethoscope on his back and asks him to breathe deeply three times, which he does. Everything sounds good, she says. She then places her fingers on his head, searching for any bumps or bruises. He closes his eyes at this—truthfully, if he had a favorite part, this was it. For a moment, the thoughts that swarmed in his head were quieted when he felt her fingers trace over his head. It was hypnotizing almost, a trance he never wanted to snap out of.

And when her hands disappeared, he was brought to reality.

“All good,” she says softly. “I’ll clean up your wounds and you’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Dex tells her. “I don’t need to be anywhere.”

“On a Friday night?” She questions with a smile as she cleans her hands at the sink. He knows she’s being nice, but truthfully he didn’t have anywhere to be. Just home. If he could even call it that.

“Yeah,” he laughs half-heartedly, an attempt to match her attitude. “Got no plans for Friday.”

“Same here,” she sighs as she puts on the periwinkle-colored gloves. “My plans are sleep and more sleep.”

This time Dex laughs—really laughs—because he agrees. He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately, despite how tired all the time he feels. “I get that,” Dex nods. He relaxes a little bit more on the exam table.

She dabs the cotton pad in alcohol and lets it dry before she places it on his wounds. There’s a cut on his forehead, right cheekbone and a little wound on his jawline. She opens her mouth to speak, but Dex cuts her off.

“I know it’ll sting,” he says gently. “It’s fine.”

She smiles sheepishly, “I do give that warning a lot, huh?”

“It’s alright,” Dex shrugs. “It’s nice to be warned of pain before it happens. That’s not always the case.”

“How—“ she begins, furrowing her eyebrows. Contemplating the wording of her question. “How do you brace yourself? For all this? This job?”

Dex sighs. It wasn’t an easy question to answer, because he truthfully didn’t have an answer. Most agents would probably chalk it up to it being part of the job, but it wasn’t that simple for Dex. It… was just a job. If he got hurt, he got hurt. There was nothing else to it. No one would be upset if he got hurt—no one would cry for him.

Plus, the other part of it, despite it sounding cocky… it was rare Dex ever got hurt in the line of battle. He was a sniper—he was part of the SWAT unit. He was the one who did the hurting. He was the one who used lethal force. It was rare he ever missed.

“Mindset is everything,” Dex says anyway. “I know what I have to do. I have a job to do.”

“That makes sense,” she says, believing him. “I mean, if it makes you or any of the agents feel better, despite this being my job—it doesn’t make it any easier seeing you guys hurt like this.”

“It doesn’t?” Dex questions.

“Of course not,” she said. “I’ve… gotten to know a lot of you over the past few months being here. A lot of these agents have families. A wife or husband to come home to. They open up about that a lot. There are other ways to be hurt than just having physical wounds.”

Dex takes in what she’s saying. He swallows hard.

“It’s just me,” Dex tells her. “I’ve only got me to worry about me. That’s why it’s easier for me to come in and do what I need to do.”

As she listens to him say this, a thought pings in her head. She noticed on the file she has on him that he didn’t have any relatives listed as an emergency contact. Ray had his wife, Hattley her husband—all the other agents had someone listed. But Dex had no one listed as an emergency contact. She knew he wasn’t being sheepish when he said he was all he had—it was the truth. Sad, but true.

She doesn’t say anything in return. She continues to clean his wounds and bandage him up in silence—comfortable silence, for once. Dex’s eyes remain looking at the floor as she works her fingers around his temple. She gently lifts his chin with her fingers to get a better angle at the cut on his jaw—his jawline that appears to have been sculpted by the Gods. Being this close to him, she got a whiff of the faint smell of his cologne, now mixed with the smell of sweat. With one last check on his face, she tells him she’s done.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asks him, leaning against the counter and facing him.

Dex rises from the exam table and circles his shoulder to stretch. “No. I’m fine.”

“Alright well,” she sighs, feeling somewhat shy by the way he’s looking at her, giving her his full attention. “Get home safe, Dex.”

“You, too, __,” Dex breathes out. “And thank you. I don’t know if I say that enough.”

“It’s alright—no need.”

With a small smile, Dex is almost on his way out of her exam room—until he hears her call his name under her breath.

“Dex,” she says, hesitant with her words. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re not all you have. You’re not alone. You’ve got me now to be worried about you,” she tells him, offering a genuine smile.

Dex looks away from her, stumped by her words. Regardless if she really meant it or not—it was nice for him to hear. Nice to know that he could be wrong about something he’s always firmly believed.

He doesn’t say anything in return. He holds her gaze for a few moments, holds her smile, and puts it to his memory. He smiles back. And then he leaves. Maybe he would get some good sleep tonight, knowing someone worried about him.

#ben poindexter #benjamin poindexter #dex #bullseye #ben poindexter x reader #benjamin poindexter x reader #wilson bethel #wilson bethel x reader #daredevil #the good in you #dex x reader #special agent poindexter

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justallihere · 7 months ago

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The torture was bruuutaal! Such psycos aetos and gang. Loved that dain here did better than the book dain. Though book dain was good too in this situation.

Liam and vi friendship, loyalty and love is everything. As it should be ! I cannot be more grateful to you for keeping him alive here. I feel like the quality of a man Liam is really tell us about the kind of man xaden is. As Liam is xaden’s brother 😭I loved the soft moments of how much Liam trusts x to rescue them and his relief when he finally comes. Loved how vi and l were both ready to die for each other. Why does Hayes say- liam cares about riorsons life? Just to break her? Is something more complex I ddnt understand?

also why is vi in disbelief that x will come for her? Multiple times? Even when she hears from dain x is on the way?

loved loved violets reaction to seeing the show does. She just cries 😭I would cry too.

why does xaden give her a weapon? For her comfort/ so that she feels safe?

loved loved Lilith here! loved vi wearing x jacket

loved the squad!

loved the Brennan Mira.

my heart absolutely melts and it’s the biggest compliment to someone whenever someone is described as someone’s home and it melted- twice in this chapter.

so excited for next chapters.

I’m glad everyone seems to have liked Dain this chapter! I went back and forth on having Violet kill Aetos instead, but I liked it better for Dain to do it and let his dad suffer given everything he’s put him through. I think Dain and his dad’s relationship could be an interesting mirror to Violet and her mom’s if Rebecca Yarros would actually take the time to explore it. After what she did to Lilith I have 0 hope of that though lmao

Hayes said that about Liam only caring about Xaden to fuck with Violet’s head. Obviously it’s not true but Violet is so vulnerable at that moment they were willing to try anything. Violet wanted to believe Xaden was coming but couldn’t have handled it if she was wrong, so she just didn’t let herself be hopeful for it until it actually happened and she saw him with her own two eyes. Violet isn’t very good at being loved

Yes, Xaden gives her the dagger so she has something to protect herself. Not that she needs it, he’d kill anyone before they ever got close, but she’s been helpless and defenseless for days and he knows her well enough to realize she’s reeling and needs some semblance of control. The weapon helps

Thank you! 🩷🩷🩷

#storm in the quiet

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watchthisqqq · 18 days ago

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My commentary on Let Free the curse of Taekwondo

Of the top I love this show. Highly recommend. The character, the complexity, the messaging, the ending. It’s straight up a banger. I don’t know how it could make me feel so many things in such a short run time. Also despite how brutal and sad the show is the messaging is actually so tender and kind. I genuinely can’t explain why it is so good.

Man you freaking feel for the characters. All of them. The show leads you to a place of understanding about the characters if you are open to it.

I came out swinging for Do hoe in a previous post because I find him very relatable (which was an emotional reaction and I should have just let the show cook). It was never a question in my mind why he would do the things he did. Even the wallet thing where I thought he was being such a dick. Anything past related obviously is a trigger but also status is important to him. He was not raised with innate worth or value therefore degrees or wealth are shortcuts to being valued by others superficially a least. He is aware what others would think of that wallet and does not want him or Juyeong to be seen in that way.

He couldn’t forgive himself for being the type of person that would let Juyeong be beaten so that they could have a relationship with him and do his exams. He didn’t step in when his father was beating Juyeong and the cops ended up arresting Juyeong. I don’t think he expected that outcome but that was the outcome none the less. He had to succeed to make that moral failure worth it. Success and being something was the only acceptable excuse for betraying juyeong in Do hoe’s mind.

Why would he keep trying to break up with him? Do hoe’s words are near violent in the force that he pushes Juyeong away. Do hoe needed proof of Juyeong’s love fair or not and avoidance. Do hoe does not want to see himself truly. Do hoe’s baseline assumption because his own background is his lack of worth so he assumes other think in the same manner about him.

But my criticism's from previous post still stands though even if I don't feel as strongly now. I am confused what the messaging surrounding Do Hoe’s dad is. I do need to rewatch the first four episodes so will re-edit this after that probably.

Was he redeemed? Did he grow a heart and care about Juyeong? Did he continue to beat the local children until he died? Juyeong spending time with him was framed in a romantic way that he was just trying to remain connected with Do Hoe. But it obviously became more and he was weeping at his funeral. Was this supposed to show Juyeong’s own issues because he has a relationship with someone that harmed him? I’m not sure.

I still feel that Juyeong’s relationship with Do Hoe’s dad was a betrayal that was not really addressed. Do hoe’s dad saying we have to let him come to us otherwise he will just be chased away. The meaning of that being he knows his son and cares in some way. Did he know him? Did he care?

Some abusers do mellow with age I guess but you sacrifice a certain level of humanity when you abuse people. It can make you miserable and it's difficult to come back from. The justifications for why you engaged with your child in that way and continued to do so is hard to let go of. Having to face your actions and see yourself as an abuser is deeply painful so often avoided at all cost. Some come up with new justifications why it’s ok to change. But it’s mostly loss of control/consequence. Do hoe is no longer a part of his life and only engages with him if he wants to. Do hoe’s dad appeared to be psychically abusive, neglectful and controlling. The way Do hoe’s dad would call him to buy him cigarettes in the middle of the night is pure display of power. It’s not reactionary or overwhelm which can lead to physical violence. This is enjoyment of having that power. I don’t know maybe it’s meant to be messy.

I will also add some of the editing made it hard for me to processes what is happening. Not a critique just a statement so if someone is like you didn’t notice this? No I did not recognize that was happening. Very quick cuts. Also going back and forth with time jumps is difficult for me. Not so bad in this show but I was completely lost in takara kun to amagi kun.

There is so much more that can be said about this show and I hope there continues to be dialogue.

#let free the curse of taekwondo #korean bl #my words #lftcot

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hwaaaeun · 9 months ago

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𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 . . . have a drink at my table , allow me to tell you stories — stories of dragons and burnt men . tell me about lady hwang haeun .

( jeon somin , cis female , she/her ) : ̗̀➛ twenty-seven years young , a firebender from the noble house of hwang . many know them to be stubborn & judgemental . how unfortunate , truly . . . i’ve always found them to be dedicated & passionate . they oft fulfill the duties of a pianist . oh , i should tell you — they support the rule of house yi . well , you know how every storyteller bends the tale they tell . ✶ eggie , 27 , she/her .

♡ HISTORY ! ♡

♡ haeun’s position within her family has created a complex character left to navigate the uncertainty of who she is . the eldest daughter , the middle child – constantly eclipsed by her elder sibling in the eyes of her mother . when once she fought for the limelight , she now prefers the slink around in the shadows , aware that when you’re in the cool shade you’re less likely to burn up .

♡ she was a dedicated student as a child , stubbornly learning as much as possible so that she could never be looked down upon . she took many musical lesson and is adept with several instruments , the piano being her first love .

♡ her piano teacher was a strict and straightforward elderly man who slowly began to fill the father figure in her early teen years , after the loss of her father at seven . while she was very young when he passed , she felt more seen and appreciated by him.

♡ despite being grateful and , of course , loving her father , there is still complex emotions around the man . she had once overheard him make comments about her and her older brother , disappointed that he couldn’t firebend and she was a female . she had never told anyone about this , especially considering it was so near to his passing , but it left her with an uncertainty – were they loved ? or was being part of a family just fulfilling pre-written roles ?

♡ for this reason , haeun is particularly suspicious of everyone . her eyes are keen and she enjoys watching people expose themselves at moments when they think is safe .

♡ due to her brother’s fame and familial connections , haeun has been given opportunities to play piano at concerts . however , she avoids it as much as possible , only agreeing to when pressured by her family . she much prefers to play as support for singers or just for companions for fun .

♡ DIG DEEPER ! ♡

♡ haeun has a very sweet singing voice , she loves to sing but she will never ( knowingly ) sing to another . sometimes she writes her own music , but once again , it is hidden from the rest of the world.

♡ she is a stark supporter of the house of yi , not because of who they are but because she believes the only way to prosper is to have a strong lead . haeun has an interest in politics but would rather watch other people’s actions and reactions to see who align with her beliefs rather than be an open book in this aspect .

♡ her stubbornness is both a curse and a blessing – to her , she sees it as determination . but to those who have seen that ugly side rear it’s head , they know sometimes she blinds herself to reality to keep from herself being wrong . at least , the few that she allows close enough know that she would never give them up .

♡ her love for music transcends everything else , as mentioned it’s her true love .

♡ she grows frustrated sometimes with her firebending , as it goes against her nature – it’s offensive rather than defensive . however , she has a good grasp at it , especially as ( for the most part ) she’s got a good grasp at controlling her own emotions and manipulating them to serve her .

♡ PLOTS WANTED ! ♡

♡ childhood friends – the one person who may have heard her sing/know about her writing music ( ? ) / fluffy crush or first ‘real’ love / frienemies forever / toxic ex who brings out the worst in her / musical lover unites / people she might become fascinated with watching/trying to understand – im open to anything and everything !

#rs.intro

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my-life-literally · 2 years ago

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Sometimes I think it is easier to remember him as a healthy, good-hearted, hard-working man who just got so hurt. And the reason why we are not together is because of his work schedule. Not because he could do things like pull over in the middle of the highway and leave me in the car to go for a walk because I was upset that he defended/protected his racist brother in law just moments before at a lunch where I met his mother her husband for the first time. Or yell at me in the car, “so when do I get the benefit of the doubt? Are you even ok with this?” Pointing to his arm.

I looked at his mother’s and sister’s Facebook post, and they’re all on vacation together. I am happy for him. He has this family that is together. But I can’t help but think of my own fractured family. My estranged sister. How everyone hates my mother. How my mother has done decades of work to earn that dislike. And I wonder...what keeps families together? Even my sister found a family. To do things with. To go to births, birthday’s and holiday things with. To go camping with and that love her. She can just reinvent herself, and they love her so much.

I am glad to see him with his family. I hope he feels happy and loved. I even saw him in a picture of him and his smiling, racist brother-in-law. They had their arms around each other. I guess with some white people, racism isn’t a deal breaker. And neither is family. I get it. I am not even mad. I am just relieved and sad. Relieved because they’re not my people. And sad because, I feel like I am no fun. I am too quiet about the right things, and not quiet enough about the wrong things.

Last year he asked me to go with them. I absolutely couldn’t because as a selling-point he told me that his family is protected because the Mexican government and local cartels had struck an understanding not to disturb white tourists in that area, so not to worry because “white people are safe.” What is it like to enjoy that type of privilege? To know that you can walk alone at night, and have an idea that more powerful groups than you, will protect you. To feel so safe in the world. A holiday to enjoy his white privilege. And to be so aware of it. I remember I said, “well, I’m not white....so...” And he said, “aww don’t worry.”

Sometimes it’s easier to think of myself as being the wrong type of girl for him and myself as a “no-fun,” “boring” person, than to remember that one time at the mall, he mentioned how his Uncle and his Uncle’s girlfriend were telling him how when they went to Mexico, they were touched that the people in the town began going door-to-door and singing Christmas songs, and people would come out of their houses and the town would end up in the church for Midnight Mass. And his Uncle said, “Even though they don’t have wealth, they have culture. Isn’t that great?” And I rolled my eyes and was like this is such a classic western view of poverty in tropical places. And we talked a bit how there is culture here, etc. And we agreed that culture here is “crappy” but the truth is, I think culture here is complex - good and bad, but he said, “even when white people take your side, you’re still not happy. My Uncle said culture here sucks. And that they are better over there.” And that totally wasn’t my point. To him, I am just no fun, and I can see that if I kept thinking then I would be seen as too much, and always negative. -Which I think a lot of white people think. But we just see reality, and layers. When they just get to be white, and smile upon the world, and the world smiles back. And if they don’t then they’re “weirdos,” or “difficult.” I don’t get how he thinks these governments and cartels are controlled by whiteness, and that the biggest threat to him is me?

Sometimes it’s easier to just remember him well. As a good and happy man. Who didn’t yell at me because when he told me he wanted to get a gun to prepare for conscription and nuclear fall-out, I asked him where that was all coming from, and he told me that I “didn’t understand the rules of engagement.”

He is really handsome. And sometimes it’s easier to smile and think, wow I can’t believe a guy that good-looking liked me. He doesn’t know my personal history of dorkiness. He just looks so happy and harmless and strong, just like I remember.

Sometimes it’s just easier to not remember all the sexist things he said. That felt like he was lying to me. And that I think he really hated me. How can he hate women so much, and like his mom so much? And hate his mom so much? It’s easier to remember his story about how him and his four buddies stopped a sexual assault in an alley one night, and why couldn’t women appreciate their allies more?

Sometimes it’s easier to think of him and a confident guy who was in a terrible predicament with a toxic, alcoholic ex and was helplessly trapped in a separation and was just doing his best to pick up the pieces of his heart. Sometimes it’s easier to think, paperwork really is “just paperwork.”

Sometimes it is easier to just think that I was the ungrateful one. I am too political. I am too dissatisfied. I am too strict. I am too demanding. Than to think that this handsome, smiling, hard-working guy has a single flaw.

I remember I was much stronger when I was younger. I would cut guys off the minute I saw some bullshit. I think S really changed me. That was the first guy whose logic and behaviour I couldn’t comprehend, and spent the longest time trying to understand. But lately I feel like all the realizations about love in my family have just undercut me. I think something is wrong with me. I know what good treatment is (I think), but I also feel like I will give a guy a chance to be kind to me.

I had a thought, that he doesn’t have me, and he doesn’t have his ex-wife either. And she was beautiful and I bet she was fun. I wonder if he misses her when he goes there. Sometimes it is easier to think that he misses her, misses their good times together. Maybe everything he said about her was true. Maybe he misses the healthy version of her, the way I miss the healthy version of him.

Anyway. Even though my heart started pounding, and I heard blood behind my ears when I saw those pictures, I was happy for him. I am so happy he is with his happy, laughing family. They’re not strict, they think strippers are funny, they don’t mind if there is a racist in the family. They’re relaxed and fun and hilarious and loving. And he looked happy. And between my heart and sternum, I felt relief. And that made me smile.

I think I keep looking at things because I want to brace myself for something. Or make sure I can handle something. Or know that it doesn’t effect me. It effects me less than it did months ago....so that’s good. I guess I am just curious about this life I could have participated in. He just really hurt my feelings. I hurt is feelings too. And I am sorry for my part. There are some situations where I wished I said things differently. I wish I broke up with him sooner. I wish I trusted myself more.

One day I will look and only feel relief. No sadness. One day I will look and not feel anything. No missing. No confusion. Nothing. One day I will not want to look and not look at all.

#everything L.

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stolenavalanche · 1 year ago

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I remember losing my faith. It was little things that at the time didn’t seem to add up to much. But those little grew and festered in my mind. They tempted me to ask more questions, to do more research.

My parents probably ask themselves every day where they went wrong. The answer is glaringly obvious, even if they don’t wish to admit it. They raised me to think for myself. All those years, they tried to shield my eyes from literature and media that was “ungodly.” They monitored my phone for years, trying to catch anything that might be too worldly. They were picky of who my friends were, scared I might be drug into hell due to the wrong people.

When you try to monitor a child as closely as they did, rebellion happens. How dare they try and tell me what to do and think and believe? It started off innocently enough. A random gay couple in a NCIS episode. One of my close friends coming out as a lesbian. Thomas Sanders being the gay icon that he is. Picking a library book prize titled Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda. An lgbt+ fanfic.

My parents were right in trying to control what I read. Books and literature in general is a gateway. But I couldn’t be the horse obsessed, mystery reader forever. SvTHSA, Bloom, and many other books, made me feel seen. Made me feel heard. Forever, I had felt guilty for the way I would look at girls and guys and everyone in-between.

“But who prays for Satan?” A Mark Twain quote that hit home everyday for years. I remember asking my father, “If the devil was to apologize to God and change and really mean it, would God forgive him?” My dad couldn’t answer that. Strike one.

I would lay in bed at night and sob, begging God to answer me. Those answers never came. It frustrated me to no end. So when I reached out to the universe, asking for signs from other pantheons and they answered within the week, it hurt. Strike two.

The breaking point was my gender. I realized I was trans. I hid it from my parents as long as I could, but they figured it out. It was one of the hardest conversations of my life. I got kicked out. I was told God doesn’t make mistakes. So why did I feel like one? Strike three.

I hated him. I still do. I try hard to not let that hate bleed into my interactions with his followers, but sometimes it’s hard. That bastard has allowed so much hate and filth into the world. Why should his followers, who primarily spread it, be cut any slack?

“Not all Christians are like that.” Bullshit. Even the ones I think I can trust are hiding a knife in their sleeves. A sly comment from a coworker about supporting anti-trans laws. Blatant disrespect for pronouns disguised as “I’m trying, it’s hard.” It disgusts me and it’s so hard to understand. How can people be so awful? I recognize that I was raised to hate just like these people do. But somehow, I don’t feel hate towards the groups they tell me to. If I can change, why don’t they?

It’s because they choose not to. They enjoy hating others, they enjoy making people’s lives difficult. They are cruel and unkind and not what Jesus, the man they admire so much, told them to be. I make a better Christian than the majority of Christians out there. I wish I could cut all contact with them. The world would be so much better without their hate. But I can’t.

Call it a hero complex, but I have siblings who still could be good. It’s my responsibility to help them see that the outside world isn’t full of evil. It’s my responsibility to try and guide them out of the hate they were raised in. Maybe I can keep them safe, somehow. I care about them so much and only want to see them thrive.

I don’t know how to end this. I never do. But I do know that this was a well needed vent. The world is cruel and unkind and that’s somewhat due to those trying to save it. I can’t change it, but I can hope. I can enjoy living whilst I have the chance. So I will.

#christianity #faith #loss #lgbtq #transgender

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locallepidoptera · 2 years ago

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Droplet and the red heart!

i realize now i probably should’ve introduced all my ocs before doing something like this. so basic context. pearl is the (terrible) “mentor.” donna is her yes-man (and girlfriend). mauve (college student that dropped out) is the sweet and cheery one. lime (high-school student that ran away) is the mindless complainer. edison (also a high-school student) is the realist. and thyme (also a high-school student) is. hard to describe. he’s just my favorite delusional little guy. he’s just a weirdo. weirdo protagonist.

(droplet) random angst headcanon

pearl - her weird god complex has lead to a distant relationship with her parents. she just wants to pretend they don’t even exist. they’re not needed and so they don’t exist.

donna - she used to spend most of her time cutting coupons. it was her favorite hobby. she didn’t really enjoy it though. she just wanted to see pearl happy. pearl had a sweet tooth and donna just wanted to save on all the different shit they’d need. nowadays, donna really just bakes 24/7. except she doesn’t actually like sweets. she bakes them all for pearl’s sake. donna’s actually got a really bland taste in food. girl’s favorite food is unbuttered toast.

mauve - she used to have a really good therapist. she would cancel the appointments pretty frequently. she never really ‘opened up.’ but she definitely appreciated their presence. until she dropped out and moved into pearl’s house. pearl had already decided therapists weren’t allowed. why visit a therapist when you could just. rely on pearl.

lime - the thing she misses the most is actually all the different trophies she used to own. she couldn’t take any of them with her. she won’t ever admit it though. whenever the topic of trophies comes up she likes to complain about how they’re just a waste of time. she’s one of those people who loves to hate on participation trophies. she doesn’t understand why people love celebrating. but she does like having “undeniable proof” that she’s “worthy.” that’s what her trophies were to her. proof.

edison - she doesn’t like eating. she thinks eating is tedious. she really likes taking her time except eating just takes too much time and everything keeps getting soggy too quickly and everything keeps getting cold too quickly. she’ll eat regardless because she knows it’s good for her. but she won’t enjoy it. she’ll hate it. the whole experience. she’s got a pretty admirable diet. she makes sure she’s well-fed. and adequately hydrated. she always keeps a million water bottles in her room. but that’s just because of an overwhelming fear of death.

thyme - this man’s life is a random angst headcanon. he daydreams about being a beloved philanthropist in a huge mansion living together with his best friend who diligently takes care of all his needs in exchange for an endless love. said best friend doesn’t even like him irl. thyme’s controlling and self-centered and paranoid and his friend is just here to keep him sane. once thyme starts getting irrationally bold the friend just leaves. thyme thinks this is the third act disagreement inside the disney movie they’re both living in. and is convinced that he just has to wait a week or two and his bestie will come back. he probably won’t. all of that isn’t even a ‘headcanon.’ that’s basically his whole deal. it’s a big part of his character. this is all context for the angsty headcanon. he’s liked drawing him and his bestie as a happy family since he was a kid. it’s how he got good at drawing. he keeps all the drawings in one big box. he keeps drawing similar things even after his bestie leaves. he draws them spoiling the local children. he draws them eating dessert together on their big fancy table. he likes putting having disney movies playing in the background as he draws. he has a lot of disney movies on dvd. he owns a weird amount of straight-to-dvd disney sequels. the movies all remind him of his bestie. he’s sure they’re both destined to live a beautiful movie-like life. he thinks this is all normal behavior.

(red heart) their love language

pearl - words of affirmation. she’s very much a sweet-talker.

donna - gift giving. overzealous gift giving.

mauve - acts of service. you might not think so at first glance though. she’s very touchy-feely. and a flatterer. and a longtime gift-giver. and almost never alone. her love language seems indiscernible. but eventually you realize. her being so loving is an act of service.

lime - quality time. you kinda just gotta tolerate her complaining. make her appreciate your presence. she’s subtly affectionate.

edison - quality time. the kind of person that thinks all the other love languages are just too shallow.

thyme - well. the problem with thyme is. he’s in love with love. he’ll accept any form of love. he’ll provide any form of love. that said. if i had to choose one. one that surpasses all others. physical touch.

#sorry for taking so long!!! i kept procrastinating.#original charas #original content

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autumnmobile12 · 2 years ago

Photo

I want to talk about this character. There’s a lot to unpack. Look at this entrance. She is fabulous. She quieted a whole room even when Dracula couldn’t. From the moment she appeared, we all knew she was going to be trouble. But from there, her demeanor of power and poise began to slide downhill and rather than subtracting from her character, this adds a beautiful complexity.

Remember that line in Game of Thrones? “Any man who must say ‘I am the king’ is no true king.”

This line by Carmilla has the same meaning. It plays into the element of ‘show, not tell.’ The way she entered Dracula’s council was impressive and intimidating, and that is all she needed. If she truly was a powerful, confident character, she wouldn’t have felt the need to brag about this. By explaining her actions to Dracula, she cheapened her own tactic to mere theatrics. With this one line, she went from a powerful woman to a power-hungry character who unknowingly displays her own insecurities.

When we hit Season 3, we see she does seem genuinely happy to see her sisters and, at first, it’s heartwarming. However, she keeps them at arm’s length and tries to ‘control’ them as if she’s afraid of betrayal. She is the one who presented the idea to conquer Dracula's old territories, and then she denies the credit to any of the others who made it happen. Lenore secured Hector's loyalty, Striga commands the armies, Morana developed the strategy. All Carmilla did was essentially say, "Here's an idea, let's do it." We can even see Striga’s anger with Carmilla for her refusal to acknowledge any of their help, especially Morana’s.

Now we see her desire to conquer the entire world. This is paranoia. Her need to control everything has fully manifested, and in all fairness, we get a glimpse into the reasoning. Styria has been invaded multiple times and when the Sisters asked for allies, they went ignored. At this point, Carmilla wants to eliminate every possible threat so nothing can ever hurt her again. Even Lenore is alarmed by this change in her behavior here.

We also get into her backstory a bit where she talks about how men ‘took things’ from her. For the medieval period, this checks out. This line could mean anything. Her father could have taken her freedom by arranging a marriage that advanced his own interests but the match offered her no form of happiness. It could be she was the sole heiress of a substantial territory and someone forcibly married her to claim that territory. It could be much worse. Any of these could be the case.

And then there’s the vampire who turned her. We don’t get much information other than he promised her everything but then ‘became mad and cruel.’ Two ways we could look at this is 1.) Carmilla genuinely loved this vampire when she was turned and when he revealed himself to be cruel and insane, she killed him or 2.) she was already disenchanted with the idea of love when he turned her and she used him until he ceased to be useful.

And finally, she takes her own life. She says, “I win,” but nothing can be further from the truth. She mocks Isaac and his Night Creatures for being unable to kill her, but Isaac wasn’t done fighting. He wasn’t mortally wounded. He wasn’t even slowing down, he had a lot more monsters to face her. What happened was Carmilla could see which way the wind was blowing. She knew she was losing the battle, she could not stand the humiliation of dying at the hands of a human, a being she viewed as inferior to her, and so she took the coward’s way out by taking her own life instead of fighting to the bitter end. And it demonstrates that she truly loved nothing, not even her sisters, in the end. Once she sees Isaac, there is not an ounce of concern for Lenore. She doesn’t demand to know what he’s done to her, there’s no nonverbal moment of realization that if he’s here, he may have killed Lenore first, there’s no anguish at the possibility that her ‘beloved sister’ has died. Lenore meant absolutely nothing to her.

This is a great complement to both Isaac and Trevor’s character arcs in the finale. Isaac and Carmilla both rose above their traumas, just in opposite ways. Carmilla chose to intimidate and control everyone around her and never allowed herself to love ever again. Isaac chose to let go of his anger and began a new future. Contrasted with Trevor, Carmilla had nothing to protect and killed herself, and he put everything on the line and essentially said, “If I’m going to Hell, you’re coming with me.”

Carmilla is a tragic character and brilliantly written.

#castlevania netflix #carmilla #castlevania carmilla #vampire sisters #character analysis #tragic characters #lenore #striga #morana #isaac #trevor belmont #castlevania

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bastillewolf · 4 years ago

Text

Shinigami Eyes (II)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: After you distastefully kill Corpse in a game of Among Us, he wants you to make it up to him and invites you to come over for the week.

Notes: Thank you so much for the love on the previous chapter, I’ve never gotten this many notes before. I hope you enjoy, and maybe leave an ask if you want to? I can’t promise I have time to do them, but I’ll pick out a couple.

Also, I might rewrite this. I kinda rushed it because I wanted to finish it by tonight, but there will be a final and third chapter to this afterwards. Please do let me know what you think.

Tag list CLOSED!

Shinigami Eyes - Pt. II

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

You were teamed up with Sean.

Your fist violently slammed down on the desk. “Goddammit! I don’t want to be impostor anymore! This game has no compassion for my poor nerves.” It was the third time in a row now, and you were really craving to do normal tasks now without all the scheming. “Fuck it, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m just gonna do my thing without thinking about it.”

You decide to follow Toast for a bit to watch him do some task. You kill him in Laboratory. You vent back to Launchpad and take your time walking towards MedBay while the kill button restores. You meet up with Corpse, and follow him while pretending to do wires in the Y-hallway. You watched the green bar go up, and continued. Sabotaging and then fixing lights, you made sure your place with Corpse was settled. Then the body of Lily was reported.

As you expected, Corpse easily vouched for you as he’d seen you do a task. The round was skipped, though Rae was sussed for ‘chasing’ Sean, by his own words.

“Corpse, you’ve grown weak,” you muttered to chat.

You were in Greenhouse, and decided it would be best to kill him there and sabotage Reactor. “Sorry baby, but I can’t keep following you around.” You quickly set off Reactor and murdered him in front of the plants. “Your blood shall keep the plants hydrated.” You did an evil laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works, though.”

You vented down to MedBay and as you walked out you met up with Rae. She’d be the vouch who would confirm you weren’t anywhere near Greenhouse. “I’ll just have to fix my own sabotage so they’ll never suspect me.” You helped her with the handprint, and noted Sykkuno and Felix being there. Sean sabotaged lights, you killed Sykkuno, and ran out to follow Lily into Laboratory. Felix reported the body.

“Holy shit,” Rae gasped. So far, five people had died. You only needed to kill one more person. “It was Felix!”

“Wait, what?” the man in question asked. “I was fixing Reactor!”

She mentioned that only you, Sykkuno, Felix and herself had been there and that you’d helped her do handprint. “Sykkuno must have fixed it, and then you killed him!”

Sean asked if you’d seen anything.

“No, the lights were out. I followed Rae into Laboratory after the scan.” Your voice didn’t tremble or raise, a tactic you’d taken up from the best lair in the group. Well, the one who was now dead. Oops. “I haven’t seen Felix this entire game, though.”

He was evidently at a loss for words, so the group was quick to vote for him.

Pewds was ejected.

Victory.

You thanked Sean for a good game who was laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did Corpse like that! Poor guy!”

“I deadass thought you were innocent,” Corpse replied, “I’m hurt.”

“Why do you still sound dark and menacing when you say something like that?!”

You agreed with Sean heartily, “He’s just salty I’ve bested him at his own game.”

“Hey now, no need to actually insult me.”

The group laughed. You decided to call it for the night, right before Corpse did the same.”

***

He was calling you again. “What is it this time, you salty?”

“Salty? Nah, never,” he said, but you weren’t convinced.

“Then why you calling?”

“What, I can’t call my friends after playing a nice round of Among Us?”

“Not when you lost the game and you call the person who you lost to. Kinda sus, dude.”

“Alright, maybe a little salty.” You smirked.

“Aw, you need me to make it up to you?”

He laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

A bunch of thoughts, most not rated PG-13, crossed your mind. You were suddenly starting to feel uncomfortable. This was probably just something innocent, which got twisted in your fucked-up mind. You shrugged, “Uh… I don’t know.”

“I got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come over this week. You said you needed a break, right?”

“That sounds more like you’re doing me a favour instead of me making it up to you.”

“I don’t have any friends. You’d be making it up to me by being the first physical person here in years. I usually don’t invite people over.”

“Wow, I’m flattered. So, you don’t consider me to be your friend after all?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chuckled.

“Sure, sure. Tell me that again when my presence suddenly brightens your life making you not want to get rid of me, ever.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

***

You walk through the gates following a hoard of people, all the while still feeling drowsy from not getting any sleep during your flight. At least you didn’t have any turbulence and landed safely. Glancing around here and there with no result, you figured Corpse would be waiting outside, until you spotted a figure clad in black a little ends away by the escalator. You were glad you were still awake enough to have found him, because he appeared to silently linger halfway behind a fern.

At least, you hoped it was him. The only indications were his clothes, mask and dark hair. You saw him run a hand through it, and identified the chipped black nail polish and familiar rings. Oh yea, that was him alright.

He seemed to be paying more attention to the floor until he saw two feet appear in his line of sight. “Hey,” you awkwardly greeted. A bit taken a back, he replied, “Oh, wow. Hey.” A mask was covering the bottom of his face, but as far as you could see his eyes were a very dark shade.

“Wow?” you repeated. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yea, sorry. It’s a compliment.” You held your elbow out in a safe-distance gestured hello, but he shrugged you off. “You’re gonna be staying with me anyways.” Suddenly in a daze, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and instantly hugged him back. His baggy sweater felt warm and soft to the touch, and strands of hair tickled your face. You very much tried to repress your smile and blush, but how could you? Hugging someone wasn’t supposed to feel this good. When he pulled back he reached down to take your suitcase from you. “I don’t own a car, is it okay if we take a cab?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” you stuttered, “But it’s on me. Same with food and stuff.” “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re letting me stay with you and a hotel would’ve been a lot more expensive than this. It’s my treat.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gave you a look and even with the mask you could tell he was smirking underneath it.

It’s about half an hour drive to his apartment complex, and it’s rather nice. “All that YouTube money paying off, huh?” you asked in amusement. “You’d know,” he replied. You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the stairs yourself, which he silently shook his head at, until after a few flights he noticed you struggling and settled on carrying the thing in between the two of you. “How many clothes did you bring?” “Oh, it’s mostly filled with bricks I might need to throw at your head.” He laughed at that.

His apartment was simple, but cosy. “Home sweet home,” he said, almost sarcastically. You furrowed your brow at him. “I’m sure you could’ve had it a lot worse.” He reluctantly agreed.

He helped you set down your luggage in what appeared to be his bedroom, where the curtains were still closed and the black bedsheets fresh. He had a few pieces of fanart up on his wall, and some on his closet. You turned to him and gave him a look. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

He quickly shook his head, “You’re not sleeping there. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“If you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. “What?” “Nothing.”

He suggested playing video games as you were both too tired to do anything else. You’d landed quite late yet were still confused about what time it actually was. Flying is weird. You hopped onto his couch and grabbed a controller.

He sat down next to you, but suddenly seemed tenser than before.

“You okay? You can just go to sleep if you want to.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t sleep a lot. It’s fine.”

You didn’t stop looking at him, though. He was still wearing that mask. “You don’t have to take it off, if you don’t want to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that, I just…” He took a deep breath. You hadn’t expected him to take it off then and there. You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, controller barely held by your numb hands.

“Disappointed?”

It was as if he was expecting you to make a face or something, but you didn’t give him anything, except for a blatant “Nope” and an “Are we gonna play now or what?”

“You don’t have anything else to say?”

You shrugged, and looked him up and down again. “You’re kind of what I imagined you to be.”

“What’s that?”

“Handsome.”

Neither of you could stop smiling for the rest of the night.

You eventually forced him to sleep in his own bed, even going as far as to shove him into the room and keep your weight against the door so he couldn’t get out, so he eventually relented. “Inviting you here was a mistake.” “How come? All I’ve done so far is look after you!” “You’re a nightmare.”

You mostly stayed in for the week, which you didn’t mind at all. Being in such a closed-off environment with someone you got along with was nice. He attempted to get you to lift the weights in his room and succeeded for around fifteen minutes until you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot. You ordered take-out from his favourite restaurant, watched horror movies until you adapted to his sleeping schedule because you were too scared to close your eyes now, and even streamed a bit together with your friends.

“Wait, is Corpse with you?” Rae had asked.

“No, I’m at Corpse’s. He’s sitting across from me so I can��t see his screen but we’re gonna have to share the Discord unless you want to hear an echo.”

“Ah, man! You got to see his face, too?” Sykkuno whined.

“Stop simping, Sykkuno. You get enough attention from him already.”

“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Corpse said.

“Huh?”

It was probably a good thing that you got teamed up again, because you could indeed start to see his hands shaking right as the word ‘impostor’ appeared on the screen. You reached over and stroked it with your thumb. He smiled gratefully back at you.

“Just please,” he pleaded later that day, “Sleep in the bed. If only for one night.”

“No. I’ve heard about and now seen your sleeping habits. If you take the couch you’re never going to get any sleep.” You made a real effort to show him how comfortable you were – even though your back had started to hurt already after the first night – by crawling underneath your blanket and rubbing your head into the soft pillow. He snorted.

Next thing, you feel yourself being lifted by an arm underneath your knees and one around your back. “Corpse! Put me the fuck down!” you shrieked. You knew he lifted weights, but how the hell did he still have the energy as an insomniac? He ungracefully dropped you onto the matrass and turned the lights off. “Good night.”

You quickly got hold of the back of his hoodie before he could leave and pulled. He fell down next to you with a low huff. “Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed. But only if you sleep here too.”

“I snore.”

“Don’t care.”

For some reason, there wasn’t any tension or awkwardness. You were comfortable, and the soft rhythm of his breathing seemed to soothe you. He called out your name, to see if you were still awake.

“Hm?”

“…Thanks for coming over.”

“Any time.”

This was how you would spend the rest of the nights, and whenever either of you woke up suddenly curled up around the other, you didn’t mention it or move away from it. It was the first time in years Corpse got a few nights of complete rest.

#corpse husband #Corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #youtube #youtube fanfiction #pewdiepie #jacksepticeye

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yellowocaballero · 3 years ago

Text

Obi-Wan’s a teen dad and Anakin DESPERATELY wants to do crime

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s intention to spend a week lying in bed - or, at times, lying on the living room floor. Or staring blankly at the stove, or holding a toothbrush as he forgot what he was supposed to do with it. It had been his intention to handle the new...arrangements. Put on a brave face. Take care of business. There was so much to do, and Obi-Wan really did want to do it. But he stood in front of the stove staring at its knobs instead, lost.

Anakin had been a good sport about it, at least. He figured out alarmingly quickly how to work the stove and fry up the sliced fruit in their cupboards. Anakin didn’t understand that you didn’t fry fruit, but Obi-Wan ate it with little complaint. He put food in front of Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan ate it. When Anakin asked him, somewhat fearfully, how to use the shower, Obi-Wan showed him and then took one himself. After the third day he left the living quarters semi-frequently, which would have been worrying if Obi-Wan cared.

Obi-Wan’s depressed, grieving, and has an inferiority complex the size of an Alderaanian mountain. Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does know that the power grid failure was not his fault. Can Obi-Wan ever be a true Jedi and a competent master? Or is his backstory, as told by the Jedi Apprentice novels, too fucking weird?

Rest under the cut.

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

On day six, Obi-Wan worked up the energy to turn on his datapad, and was promptly bombarded with messages. They scrolled down the screen, a new one popping up every second.

A lot of them were from his automated specialized education classes. Obi-Wan had finished the required padawan courses when he was sixteen, breezing through each course at his own pace virtually during downtime in transit and on missions. He had signed up for some Knight-level specialized education courses afterwards, loading as many on his plate as he could and managing special permission to complete them all virtually too. Apparently, he had a great deal of assignments due.

Many messages from the Temple administration. Notification for mandatory forms to complete for requisitions, medical care...reports on the Naboo mission...a mountain of forms to complete for the promotion...a mountain of forms for the new padawan...a mountain of forms for processing Qui-gon’s death.

Messages from his friends. How are you doing, Obi-Wan? Are you okay, Obi-Wan? Can we come over and talk, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, you stupid bastard, how dare you fight a Sith without me?

Disturbingly, even the master of mission assignments had messaged him. Xe wanted to know if Obi-Wan was going to file for extended reprieve from missions to train his underage padawan in the Temple, or if he wanted to continue taking missions. Decide quickly, Knight Kenobi. Xe are willing to grant three years of light to no missions to help ‘facilitate Padawan Skywalker’s integration into the Jedi’.

The thought made Obi-Wan dizzy. No missions for years? He and Qui-Gon had barely gone weeks without a mission. But Obi-Wan had been thirteen, and Qui-Gon had a particular talent of taking an assignment to mediate standard legislative disputes and turn it into a three month embroilment in an endangered animal trafficking scheme. Staying stuck in the Temple for that amount of time made his skin crawl. Staying at home in the Temple so Anakin could integrate into the Jedi, become the Jedi he dreamed of...

Obi-Wan turned off the pad and tossed it across the room, letting it land on Qui-gon’s private meditation mat. Somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Five hours later, Obi-Wan dragged himself out of Qui-gon’s room to find Anakin lying on the floor with what looked like an entire droid disassembled over the carpet. He was kicking his feet in the air, lying on his stomach, stripping some frayed wire.

Obi-Wan stared at him blankly, forms dancing behind his eyes. Anakin needed clothing. They had already processed him through his vaccinations - thank hell - and prescribed him some antibiotics for his multitude of intestinal parasites, but there was no way he was taking the pills. He needed to teach him how to braid the padawan braid. He needed to get them some food for the cabinets. He needed to…

“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan rasped. His hair felt disgusting.

Anakin’s head snapped up, eyes widening. He scrambled off the rug, brushing a suspicious amount of dirt off his knees. “Yeah! I’ll make us that green thing!”

He shouldn’t let the nine year old work the stove. But Obi-Wan let him anyway, as he managed to somehow dump water in the kettle and place it on the stove, standing beside Anakin and waiting for it to whistle.

I must be doing very well, Obi-Wan thought hysterically, as he stared at the old-fashioned durasteel kettle that Qui-gon had favored. He was releasing his emotions into the Force with perfection. He wasn’t feeling anything at all. He wasn’t thinking about Qui-gon. He wasn’t thinking about anything at all. His mind was clear and empty, and he was perfectly at peace.

Obi-Wan tried to pour his tea, but he just couldn’t move. He stood and stared at the kettle for so long that Anakin eventually walked in and, straining on his tiptoes, sloshed the steaming water into the plastic white cup.

***

On day seven, Obi-Wan managed to wrangle both himself and Anakin into some semblance of hygiene and clean clothes. Anakin needed a lot of help, which clearly embarrassed him, but Obi-Wan was too dead inside to be frustrated about it.

He ended up tying his obi for him, as Anakin wriggled and tried to turn around to see it on the back. He’d have to show him how to do it himself later, but that was for later.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Anakin whined. “It’s so heavy.”

“I’ll see if I can requisition you an outfit with less layers,” Obi-Wan said. A lighter outfit wouldn’t cut it, as Anakin had ramped up the temperature controls in their quarters a week ago and the rooms haven’t dipped below boiling ever since. “Hold still. Hold - hold still, please.”

“What does requisition mean?”

Anakin held still eventually. He managed to untie the obi in the first ten minutes, but Obi-Wan really couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Then they had to worry about brushing their teeth, and Obi-Wan had to teach him how to do that, and why was this so hard, why was everything so hard -

But when Obi-Wan eventually got them both out the door, he found no relief.The Temple felt different. Obi-Wan didn’t know how; just that it did. It was identical in every worldly way, yet mismatched in the Force. As if it was a different Temple, a pale echo from another dimension, that was the home of a different Obi-Wan. Or maybe Obi-Wan was different: maybe his Force signature was so warped and polluted that he tainted everywhere he went.

They were all parts of the great whole of the Force. The Force was composed of every Jedi, every sentient being and eddy of wind. There were tens of thousands of Jedi in this Temple - how could the death of one man change it so thoroughly? Or had it just changed Obi-Wan?

Somewhat suspiciously, Anakin seemed to know the way out of the dormitories and into the main thoroughfare of the building. Obi-Wan kept a death grip on his little hand the entire time, slowing his steps so Anakin could keep up without having to jog. It didn’t stop him from trying to run forward every few steps, only for Obi-Wan to gently tug him back.

“You weren’t supposed to run around the Temple by yourself,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin grinned sheepishly, in what Obi-Wan was already beginning to recognize as his ‘Busted!’ face.

“Why not?”

“You could have gotten lost.”

“I did get lost,” Anakin said proudly. “But then I found a secret service tunnel for the droids and I crawled through it and I found a server room and -” He stopped abruptly. “But that was way after the power outage yesterday. That I had nothing to do with.”

Obi-Wan...should probably care about this.

He didn’t. He was too busy releasing his emotions into the Force, and returning his dark thoughts to the Force, and maintaining complete control over his body and spirit. There was no room in that for caring about Anakin, maybe, destroying the Temple.

Wasn’t he a teacher? Shouldn’t he be teaching?

“First rule of being a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted, “learn to lie.”

There. That was a lesson. Qui-gon had said the same thing to him when he was fourteen. Obi-Wan was doing great at this. Anakin beamed and made a weird motion with his hand, clenching it into a fist and sticking his thumb out. Obi-Wan stared blankly at him until he put his hand down.

Maybe it was because Obi-Wan was releasing all of his feelings and thoughts into the Force so well, but he couldn’t help but feel a constant prickling at the back of his neck. It felt like everybody was looking at them. A group of gossiping knights downright stopped talking when they saw Obi-Wan and Anakin approaching, and they broke out into whispers when they left. Padawans and initiates openly stared. Masters were too polite to stare, but their interest clearly peaked in the Force.

By the time they got to the quartermaster’s and slid in line, Anakin was practically hiding behind Obi-Wan. Anakin had likely gone his entire life without anybody noticing him, blending into the background. Obi-Wan had learned almost a decade ago that it was a useful survival tactic for slaves. Although how he had ever done it, Obi-Wan would never know. The boy was a sun in the Force. Blinding and burnt, as broiling as the temperature he kept their quarters at.

“Oh my. Padawan Kenobi, is that you?” Meela, the Quartermaster’s knight assistant, stopped and stared at both of them. She was carrying a large box of fabrics, and all of the other Jedi waiting in line stopped talking to crane their heads and stare too. “Oh! It’s knight now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, before coughing. He hadn’t realized his voice was so hoarse - he hadn’t spoken to anybody but a nine year old in a week. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Meela.”

“Of course,” Meela said quickly. She was looking openly at Anakin, who was pointedly looking at Obi-Wan’s belt. “And you must be Anakin Skywalker! I had no idea you were so young. Is he even old enough to be a padawan, Knight Kenobi?”

“We determined that the creche wasn’t the best place for him.” Obi-Wan quickly grabbed his datapad, brought up the catalogue of items to requisition, and shoved it Anakin. “Pick out what we’re going to get. I’m certain you must be very busy, Knight Meela, so -”

“My, Padawan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan refrained from gritting his teeth, before rotating on his heel. He stuck his hands in his sleeves, bowing to the aged Togrutan Jedi behind him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Master Hashi.”

“My condolences for your master’s death,” Master Hashi said sympathetically. His watery old blue eyes were large and perfectly pitying. “It must be so difficult for you. And taking on a padawan so soon after your knighthood, as well.”

“He’s with the Force now,” Obi-Wan said. Smiling. He was smiling. Turn it down. Just a gentle smile. Remember Rishi. “But I appreciate your condolences.”

As it turns out, half the line just needed to express condolences for Master Jinn’s death, how sad, how tragic, how avoidable. He was so young. Obi-Wan was practically sweating by the time they got to the quartermaster’s desk, at which point he was promptly told that he was missing three forms.

Obi-Wan stood in front of the quartermaster’s desk, gripping Anakin’s hand in his, trying not to unwind. “But I filled out the application on the portal -”

“Yes, but you need your knight’s identification code,” the Quartermaster said briskly. “You input your padawan code.”

“How do I find out my knight’s identification code?”

“It should be on your identification card, son.”

“I was only knighted a week ago.” They were staring. They were all staring - “They haven’t issued me a card yet.”

“I’ll refer you to my assistant, Knight Kenobi.”

Anakin tugged on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “Are we not getting my new clothing?”

A horrible tremor rose in Obi-Wan’s chest: a choking, sinking feeling. It crawled up his throat, making his trachea burn and his head pound. It felt like a balloon expanding, splintering his chest cavity and threatening to crack him apart.

Everybody was watching. They could not see it. Think about Rishi. Do not let them see it.

After fifteen humiliating minutes sitting at a sympathetic Meela’s desk, Obi-Wan finally managed to secure them some clothes. Anakin also received the standard pack of Jedi personal items, including his own toiletries and datapad. They secured an identification code for Anakin and input him into the database, and gave him his own lanyard and set of cards. Older Jedi tended to keep them in a hidden pocket in their robes, but for obvious reasons they affixed them to the neck of younger children.

But, without the identification code and five hundred more hoops, Obi-Wan couldn’t request a new living quarters and new furniture. He thanked Meela for her time anyway, stopped Anakin from attempting to requisition a B900-A40 droid with HyperFlex specs, and escaped something as simple as the Quartermaster’s trying to avoid rattling apart.

Obi-Wan only exhaled when they were outside, looking at his datapad and marking off the first line. The to-do list scrolled down the screen, and onto another page. Anakin was already shifting from foot to foot, bored.

“One down,” Obi-Wan said. “Three more.”

“Do we have to?” Anakin whined. “Why were the other Jedi so mean?”

Obi-Wan stopped short. He looked down at Anakin, who was fiddling with his obi again. “Stop messing with that. And they weren’t being mean, Anakin, they were just concerned.”

But Anakin just wrinkled his nose. “They were being mean. They were making you feel bad.”

How had he even - “If you keep quiet through the errands, you can have some fruit for lunch at the commissary.”

“Wizard!”

****

It quickly became obvious that nobody approved of Obi-Wan and Anakin.

Whispers followed them everywhere. Masters, old friends of Qui-gon, subtly disapproved of his choices. Which was nothing new - Obi-Wan had silently suffered almost everybody in the Temple disapproving of Qui-gon to him for years - but somehow it made Obi-Wan want to tear his hair out. The knights - the other knights - expressed incredulity that somebody knighted that morning received a padawan that afternoon. The padawans refused to even talk to Anakin, and he very quickly stopped trying.

Obi-Wan’s own friends...he did not have many. He was never in the Temple long enough to significantly interact or make connections with any other padawans or knights. He was never home for longer than a few weeks, and if he was planetside for longer than a month then it was because Qui-gon was recuperating from getting blown up when Obi-Wan hijacked a pirate ship and crash landed it on a small moon.

He used to have friends. Bant and Garen and Reeft and Siri...but a small and horrible part of Obi-Wan hated talking to them. A conversation with them always felt like they were trying to communicate with an Obi-Wan who hadn’t existed for a very long time, crying out over an impassable canyon. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan had begun resenting people who saw through him.

Anakin was a stubborn and implacable kid, but he was very perceptive. He clung tighter and tighter to Obi-Wan’s robes the further they walked into the temple, and eventually Obi-Wan had to disentangle him and give him a quick talk about appropriate behavior. It was his tenth talk to Anakin about appropriate behavior - about everything from using utensils to washing his hair - but this was the first time he seemed to understand why.

“So they don’t like you if you don’t do all the dumb stuff they do?”

“It’s not dumb,” Obi-Wan hissed. “And keep your voice down, this is a library.”

Judging from Anakin’s impressed gawking, this was his first time in a library. He clearly didn’t understand why they were supposed to be quiet either, and Obi-Wan was beginning to understand that Anakin refused to do anything unless you gave him a reason.

Obi-Wan carefully placed him in a small chair in the children’s section, in front of a brightly colored plastic table. Some other initiates were sitting around coloring, or working their way through children’s books. Anakin squinted up at him judgmentally as Obi-Wan frantically grabbed the clunky and friendly library datapad and scrolled through the catalogue until he found a likely suspect. Bugs of Rainforest Planets, light on the words, perfect.

“Just stay here until I come back,” Obi-Wan whispered, after a hurried explanation of why they were quiet in libraries. “Don’t leave this chair. Please.”

“I want more fruit,” Anakin warned.

“You will have more fruit. Now please don’t move.”

This was not how you Jedi masters taught padawans. This was not how it was supposed to work. Obi-Wan was not doing this right. He was doing this terribly. And everybody knew, and everybody was judging him.

The children’s librarian was a kind, plump older Twi’lek with long silver lekku down to her waist. Madame Hallan had been a personal favorite of Obi-Wan’s when he was a youngling, and he knew that she still had a soft spot for him. She was probably the only librarian who didn’t explicitly distrust him.

He easily kidnapped her for a meeting - or, maybe, she took one look at his face and kidnapped him - and she shepherded him into her office. He had never been inside, and Obi-Wan felt weirdly on the other end of the fence of his childhood. It was bright and cheerful and had datapads scattered everywhere with tax forms.

“I understand you have a new padawan,” Madame Hallan said kindly. “I saw him reading. He seems like a wonderful boy.”

She and half the temple understood that he had a new padawan. “I need your help,” Obi-Wan said, excruciatingly impolitely. Since when was Obi-Wan impolite? Since when was he lost? “It’s Anakin - I need to enroll him for lessons and I need some introductory literature for him and -”

“Dear, you’ll want to talk to Master Ravenholme for that.” Master Ravenholme was the Master of Education, and personal blight of many. “He’ll likely ask Anakin to take a placement test to determine which classes he joins.”

“Anakin can’t take a placement test,” Obi-Wan said. “He can’t read.”

To Madame Hallan’s credit, and raising a lot of questions about what exactly the other Jedi knew about Anakin, she accepted the information with a thoughtful look and a nod. “Does he know his letters and some words, or is it total illiteracy?”

Obi-Wan scrubbed his face. He was perched in the uncomfortable metal chair across from her desk, elbows propped on his knees. “It’s sporadic. He’s not totally illiterate, and I think he can read mechanical instruction manuals and labels and signs and that sort of thing...if it has to do with starfighters, he can write the instruction manual...I don’t know, I haven’t checked, but I can’t send him to class like this…”

“Calm yourself, Obi-Wan. Release that tension into the Force. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Madame Hallan said firmly, as Obi-Wan carefully breathed. “I will schedule a reading and writing assessment appointment for Anakin for an assessment. Knight Fu and Knight Kili are available to administer personal tutoring until we get him up to speed.” Fu and Kili were two teachers in the special education department, which was somewhat lean for children over the age of ten or so. Most of the ‘delayed’ children were quickly assigned to the Jedi Corp. Obi-Wan was highly educated on this, and shamefully bitter. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Madame Hallen typed something out on her computer, making Obi-Wan’s datapad ping. “I’ve sent you a few of the handbooks that we give new knights and first-time teachers. Hopefully they’ll be of some use to you.” She smiled reassuringly at him, oozing serenity. “I think you will make a wonderful teacher, Obi-Wan. Our Temple’s never seen a young Jedi as dedicated and hardworking as you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I’m certain that once you and Anakin get settled in, no matter where he came from, he will make an excellent student. We’re all Jedi here, after all.”

Betting was not Jedi-like behavior, despite the fact that Obi-Wan was a world-class betting champion on three Outer Rim worlds (there had been a diamond heist), but Obi-Wan would bet five hundred credits right now that Anakin was not in the chair where he had left him.

In the end, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. Anakin, obviously, was not in the chair where Obi-Wan had left him, but he was within easy searching distance and hadn’t destroyed any droids yet. Instead, he had just meandered to the large picture encyclopedia propped up on a wooden stand, flipping through the flimsi with wide eyes.

Obi-Wan stood next to him, unable to smile but amused all the same. “Do you know what that is?”

Anakin nodded fervently. “It’s an encyclopedia! The padawan guy said it has pictures of every smart species in the galaxy.”

There were, of course, digital databases for these things, but kids loved flipping through things. “Sentient species. Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah!” Anakin lingered on a picture of a Togruta before flipping further at light speed. “The padawan guy said that Qui-gon was a ‘rogue Jedi’ and that he taught you how to do crime and conquer planets and backflip and stuff.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. “Please don’t listen to Temple gossip, Anakin. It’ll jump down Coruscant while the truth takes an airlift.”

“But you can do backflips, I saw it.” Anakin turned to look at him - eyes wide, unjudging. “What does ‘rogue Jedi’ mean?”

What did it mean? Obi-Wan had spent half his life wondering. “It means that Qui-gon and I had a lot of adventures,” Obi-Wan said tactfully. “My training was somewhat unconventional in comparison with many other Jedi.”

But Anakin just beamed. “That’s so cool! Is my training going to be uncon - unconvectional?”

“Unconventional.” Obi-Wan sighed. “And at this point, I’m afraid so.”

Was Anakin going to resent him for this once he grew older? He must. Anakin would never be a real Jedi, a proper one. Just like Obi-Wan wasn’t. And Obi-Wan had spent almost a decade now frantically, fervently, desperately trying. He had done everything: mastered the art of saber-fighting, excelled in as many topics as he could. He was an expert in diplomacy, politics, ecology, and tactics. Everybody who met Obi-Wan found him charming, graceful, and handsome - and nobody who ever met Obi-Wan liked him. He topped his classes, was better at saberplay than most knights, and had personally saved the lives of three princesses and a memorable duchess, and he couldn’t figure out how to be a Jedi.

Obi-Wan couldn’t teach what he didn’t have. And he would never be able to give -

“Cool! I want to backflip and conquer planets too.” Anakin grinned up at him, yellow teeth flashing in the soft library lights. “I already know how to do crime, I’m really good at it!”

“Jedi have diplomatic immunity, so technically I’ve never done a crime,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat testily.

“What’s diplomatic immunity?”

“Lesson number two, padawan, is that it means we can do whatever we want so long as we can justify it in the mission report.”

“Wizard!”

Maybe Obi-Wan should just never repeat anything Qui-gon had ever said to him. Ever.

In a roundabout act of bribery, Obi-Wan finally led Anakin towards the cafeteria. It wasn’t lunchtime, but few Jedi strictly followed the guidelines of breakfast, lunchtime, and dinnertime. This was mostly because the creche and Initiates did, and nobody wanted to be in the cafeteria while children were everywhere. Obi-Wan was somewhat infamous in certain circles for braving the cafeteria at 0500 hours, when the space was completely overtaken by retired and venerated Masters sipping tea and playing intense grudge matches of shogi. Obi-Wan had been forced into the matter by his habit of waking up at 0430, but the shogi skills he learned had once settled a trade negotiation between two tribal groups with an ancestral grudge on a Mid-Rim planet, so he had no regrets.

Anakin was practically crushing his hand in excitement. His head whipped around everywhere, eyes wide and drinking in the sublimely banal and boring sight. There was the salad bar, there was the meat bar, there was the drink fountain...but to Anakin, it was the most amazing thing on Coruscant. It almost made Obi-Wan smile. When was the last time he had that expression on his face? Even the beautiful spires of Naboo were commonplace to him.

“And they just -”

“Yes, they just give you the food.” Obi-Wan stopped in the center of the crowded thoroughfare - where, thankfully, everybody was far too focused on their meal or their friends to care about the Temple’s newest spectacle. “I’m sorry, Anakin. What do you...eat, again?”

Anakin suffered this atrocious act of caretaking patiently. What had he been eating until now? Just the self-stable noodles? Had he been handling boiling water?! “At home we ate jinjaraak and ekijun. People with money had fruit and stuff.” He looked around hopefully. “And they just give you fruit -”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said. He struggled to remember the food Shmi had served them. It had been mostly gruel. Obi-Wan had been around the block enough to see that she had been an adept cook of terrible ingredients. “Could you give me an idea of what those are?”

“Uh…” Anakin made little slapping motions with his hands. “Jinjaraak is from clay and lard and spices. I help Mom make little cakes. Like this, see?” At Obi-Wan’s dubious expression, he quickly clarified, “From the good clay. Near the dried up rivers. Not the bad clay. That stuff makes you sick. O’la’rek ate some of that and she got super sick and she barfed up blue -”

“Let’s get you some fruit,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin got as much fruit as he wanted. Obi-Wan was too busy thinking about what ‘good clay’ could possibly mean to stop him. He could take the extra back to their quarters, anyway.

There was a line for medical diets, and Obi-Wan eventually shuffled an ecstatic fruit-chomping Anakin into that line. He had to present the script the Halls of Healing gave him to the friendly yet belaboured Padawan working the booth that day, and waited patiently as the Padawan squinted at it and ran off to go get his supervisor. Anakin was in Rylothian Heaven, complete with the trees of plenty.

Eventually the supervisor shuffled out, and when Obi-Wan recognized Master Law he bowed. The gruff Patitite squinted at Obi-Wan, then down at the effervescent Anakin with jogan juice staining his sleeve. It was a good thing Obi-Wan thought ahead and ordered extra robes.

“Kenobi,” Master Law finally said, with an air of crisp memory. “Iron deficiency.”

“Yes, Master.” Please don’t remind him. “I’m here with a prescription for my -”

“And the Vitamin D deficiency. And malnutrition?” Master Law squinted further at Obi-Wan, as if half-convinced that he couldn’t possibly be remembering correctly. “I had you eating Lo’rok paste for a month.”

“Yes, Master. After I was stationed on Neskar.”

“How the blazes was a Padawan stationed on -” Master Law cut himself off abruptly, staring down at Anakin instead. He looked him up and down with sharp eyes, seemingly picking out a dozen things that Obi-Wan just couldn’t see. “I’ll get you the nutrient shakes. See that he has one with every meal, three meals a day. I’m prescribing extra vitamin gummies, he’s a bit yellow. Those dietician hacks at the Halls of Healing don’t know anything about real food.”

Obi-Wan really didn’t want to get in the middle of that, so he just nodded. But Anakin blinked up at the man, flecks of seeds caught on the corner of his mouth. “What’s a gummy?”

“A very sweet, tasty candy,” Master Law said gravely. “Which young Padawans only receive when they are very brave.”

Anakin brightened. “What’s candy?”

“The best food in the galaxy.” Master Law’s stern countenance split into a sharp smile. “Seems like that’s just what the doctor ordered. If you’ve never had any, then that means I have to prescribe you a double dose.”

Anakin grinned to match, bright and wide, with yellow teeth and crinkled eyes. “That means I’m brave! I’m super brave! Padme said so, and you said so, so it’s like I’m extra brave!”

For some reason that he just couldn’t parse, Obi-Wan found himself anxiously saying, “I think you’re brave too, Anakin.”

“Triple brave!”

The cafeteria was quickly proving to be Anakin’s favorite place in the Temple. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain that this was a good thing, because it made Anakin happy and happiness was good. That was a reliable fact of the universe: when happiness was scarce, sweet food could usually supply it. Sometimes you took what you could get.

Obi-Wan made an uncharacteristic move and placed a great deal of sugar on his oatmeal. Dumping sugar on oatmeal was crazy. This was probably what going insane felt like. Obi-Wan felt like a criminal.

“You’re very boring, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said judgmentally.

“I’m afraid so,” the ten time war veteran agreed.

It could be worse. Nobody was around to see his shame but Anakin, and the small child wouldn't squeal. All he had to do was ply Anakin with nutrition shakes and fruit, take him back to their quarters, not leave their quarters again for another two weeks in order to recover from this experience, and -

“Obi-Wan! Goodness, Obi-Wan!”

Both Obi-Wan and Anakin jumped a foot in the air, Anakin fighting to keep his food balanced on his child-sized tray. But Obi-Wan recognized the voice, the smooth familiarity soothing his panicking heart and calming down his padawan by connection.

Despite the fact that the voice was the last person he wanted to see.

Bant didn’t run, because she was a respectable Knight, but she did speedwalk in a dignified waddle towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin subtly slid closer to Obi-Wan, which he should really discourage.

“Obi-Wan! Oh, goodness, you - you jerk, you big jerk!” Bant wrung her flippers, jowls shaking with the clear uge to wrap up Obi-Wan in her patented tight hug and foiled only by the tray that Obi-Wan was holding in front of him like a shield. “You’re an absolute bantha’s - oh!”

She had just noticed Anakin, who held his tray tightly. He was frowning at Bant, and Obi-Wan could feel a twinge of childish bad emotion across their still nascent bond. Wait. What bond?

Bant was oblivious, or put on a good show of it. “You must be Padawan Skywalker,” she said warmly. She bent down a little, and Obi-Wan was struck by nostalgia for her glimmering eyes and bright smile. Bant loved kids. Obi-Wan never had. “It’s so good to meet you! Have you been taking care of your silly master for me?”

Anakin pursed his lips judgmentally. “My teacher’s not silly,” Anakin said, a bit loudly. “He’s great and smart and does backflips. It’s not his fault he’s a jerk!”

Never mind. Obi-Wan was never taking Anakin out in public again. He carefully destroyed the urge to wince, settling for smiling weakly at Anakin. Bant looked a little taken back - shocked by the idea that Anakin could have taken her friendly teasing seriously. Or maybe that he would openly call Obi-Wan a jerk. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to contest it. It was fair.

“Bant’s my best friend, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, with as much warmth as he could muster. His smile was looking more pathetic than anything, so he dropped it. “She knows how good my backflips are.”

“The best in the Temple!” Bant immediately swore up and down. “I’m awfully sorry, Anakin. I think your master’s the coolest guy here. Come on, why don’t you two come eat lunch with me and the rest of Obi-Wan’s friends? We’ve all been dying to meet the newest member of the family!”

A stone sank in Obi-Wan’s gut. He looked over the crowd, effortlessly picking out the familiar table in the back center. Sure enough, he saw the telltale gawks of Siri and Quinlan.

Joy. The two people he wanted to talk to the least. Those two ate Obi-Wan for breakfast on a good day. They would devour him now. They could smell weakness on him. He couldn’t get anything past them. They would take one look at him and know, just know -

“Obi-Wan has friends?” Anakin asked dubiously. “But he just stays in his room all day.” Went tactfully unsaid: and nobody likes him.

Somehow, the emotional obstacle course his friends were going to put him through was more appealing than the cold judgement of the nine year old. “I have plenty of friends,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth. “Let’s go say hi.”

It felt like walking to the guillotine. Actually, Obi-Wan had walked to a guillotine before, and this was - no, it wasn’t worse. Hadn’t he done it twice? The first time was stressful, because he wasn’t sure if Qui-Gon had seduced the prison guard yet. The second time was fine, since he had hidden his lightsaber in the loose floorboard under the guillotine before he set up his own capture. So - better than the first time, worse than the second time.

Bizarrely, Siri and Quinlan grinned when they saw them. Obi-Wan was actively fighting the urge to hide behind the nine year old. The nine year old who he couldn’t possibly have formed a training bond with - he had been his padawan all of a week, it was impossible - but who had undoubtedly sensed his anxiety anyway.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t fucking believe it,” Quinlan shouted, far too loudly. He and Bant’s trays were empty, while the slow eater Siri’s bowl of grains were half-eaten. They had been there for a while, probably hours, talking about life. He had always left after thirty minutes. He had stuff to do. “I must have left you ten damn voicemails -”

“You son of a varnaak.” Siri had a death grip on her spoon, wielding it like a lightsaber. “I’m strangling you with your intestine. Not inviting me to your own knighting -”

“If you’re going to be mean, we’re leaving!” Anakin interrupted, voice high and reedy. “I already said so! I will stomp your feet!”

“You’re not allowed to stomp their feet, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted beyond measure. “Hello, all. Save the interrogation for after we’ve eaten, please.”

And maybe it was the sheer power of Anakin and his mighty feet, but his friends quieted enough for Obi-Wan to shove sugary oats into his mouth and for Anakin to polish off his fruit before starting in on his nutrient shake. Obi-Wan had to stop and take a napkin and wipe the seeds off the corner of his mouth, and help him to insert the straw in the protein shake, but the act of sucking on a straw amused Anakin and he didn’t hate the taste. There were friendly animal species on the cup. Special nutrient shake for chronically malnourished children - now with bright colors!

His friends just watched them, without even food to make the environment faux-casual. Their dark eyes seemed to follow him, and Obi-Wan felt his skin crawl. He didn’t want to deal with this. He could barely deal with Quinlan on a good day, much less...today. Any day, lately.

Finally, his grace period seemed to tick down to zero, and Quinlan broke the ice with a fishing spear and an excess of exuberance. “Is this the famous little guy we’ve heard so much about? I hear you’re a good pilot, kid!”

And, just like that, Quinlan was Anakin’s favorite person on Coruscant. “I’m the best pilot,” Anakin asserted arrogantly. Obi-Wan mentally noted the tendency for arrogance and pride down in the ‘Goal Setting!’ part of his brain that was half-heartedly drafting a training curriculum. “I can blow up anything and anyone.”

“Sounds like Quinlan,” Siri snickered. Unlike Bant, she was terrified of children, but she hid it well. “He and your master are Joballian twins that way. Those two could start a fire in deep space.”

“So who are you people?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan put ‘unbelievably blunt’ in his mental training curriculum. “Are you really Obi-Wan’s friends? He doesn’t like you.”

“I like them very much,” Obi-Wan said rotely. Quinlan pantomimed a shot to the heart.

But Bant just smiled down at Anakin, unflappable. “You’re a padawan, young one. You should call Obi-Wan your master. It’s good to be polite.”

“Why should I have to do that?” Anakin’s voice tinged a little louder, and at a pointed look from Obi-Wan he toned it down. Siri’s eyebrows rose. “He’s my teacher, not a master of no one.”

Bant winced a bit, and all three of them rippled discomfort in the Force. So they knew, even though it wasn’t totally public knowledge. Quinlan had undoubtedly used his ridiculous clearance as a Shadow to access the Naboo mission records and spilled the details to them. Keeping it professional, as always.

“Master means something very different to Jedi,” Bant said gently. “It’s a special relationship between two people. Every Jedi teaches and learns from each other, but your master is the person who guides you and makes sure you go to bed on time. It’s just the same word for a very different thing than you’re used to.”

“What do you mean by that?” Anakin gnawed on his straw suspiciously. “I thought Obi-Wan was the one who taught me.”

Quinlan, who had far more experience with the wider world than Siri and Bant, caught on first. He propped his elbows on the table, and Obi-Wan saw him visibly struggle for the ‘wise teacher’ tone before giving up. “The Jedi have different relationships than you’re used to, kid. Who took care of you and watched you all day back home?”

This was heading into dangerous territory, and Obi-Wan frowned dangerously at Quinlan, but Anakin just hummed. “Mom took care of me and we moved around together. But Old Lady Hun watches me and the other kids in the gathering space when Mom’s busy. And when Jipol was sick, Mom and I took care of her two daughters. And Old Man Wa taught me how to fix things. And -”

“Right. So the Jedi are like that. Instead of a very small number of people raising kids, every adult raises every kid. So, for example, any Jedi would tell you to stop running in the halls or stop you from misbehaving -”

“And every Jedi did, with this one,” Siri added.

“ - but any Knight or Master would help you with your homework, too,” Quinlan finished, elbowing Siri. “We all help each other here. We share food, stuff, school, and teachings. That’s why we practice nonattachment - everything’s everybody’s, not just yours. Make sense?”

Anakin’s brow was furrowed. He paid close attention to everything - chewing everything over again and again until it made sense. Obi-Wan shoveled oatmeal in his mouth, glad Quinlan was doing this. “Why does nonattachment mean you don’t get moms or dads?”

Dangerous territory. Bant opened her mouth to say something soothing, but Quinlan beat her to the punch. “Well, to Jedi, we think the idea of just putting two or three people in charge of kids is pretty crazy. Kids are loud and bouncy. One or two people would get totally stressed out and make mistakes. And imagine just a few people teaching you about life. They could believe all this crazy stuff, and then so would you.”

“And what if the parent’s being a total jerk?” Siri pointed out. “Then the kid’s stuck with that. But when there’s other people around, they can stop and tell the parent that they’re being a total jerk. Then they have to cut it out.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. “So nobody beats their kids here because the other Jedi would get mad?”

Awkward silence loomed. Finally, Quinlan said, “Yeah, totally. Anyway, that’s why our way rocks and makes sense. Boom. Teaching moment.” Quinlan slapped the table in victory. “We are so good at this. We’re going to be the greatest teachers ever, Anakin. Forget lame old Obi-Wan, he’s going to lead you down the path of boring. Stick with Knight Vos, I’m gonna lead you down the path that rocks.”

At Anakin’s deeply confused expression, Bant put a hand on his back. But when she spoke she spoke to Obi-Wan, gleaming eyes boring into his. “We’re Obi-Wan’s best friends. We’re going to be here for you almost as much as Obi-Wan is. None of us have padawans yet, so we’re all really excited to help you! Did you know I’m a doctor?”

Anakin perked up. He respected doctors highly - apparently it was a very prestigious position on Tatooine. “Wow! Obi-Wan’s friends with a doctor?”

“And I’m a superspy action hero, kid!” Quinlan flexed, tossing his dreads. “I can teach you how to hack into anything!”

“I’m a better pilot than anyone at this table.” Siri awkwardly waved her fist in the air in a pantomime of excitement. “I’ll help you...fly things. Which you can apparently already do. But I’ll teach you how to do it better.”

The idea was heady to Anakin. His eyes widened, filled with possibility and excitement. Of smiling adult faces, wanting to help. But he looked at Obi-Wan instead, fear sneaking in through the gap bored by long experience with misery. “So what does a master do, then?”

Obi-Wan smiled wanly at Anakin. Experimentally, he tried sending him as much warmth as possible. He didn’t have much to spare, but Anakin seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “I’ll protect you, Anakin. And I’d like it if you continued calling me Obi-Wan.”

And he knew that meant more to Anakin than all the rest. At least Obi-Wan won there.

Although Obi-Wan had gone his entire life despairing for Quinlan’s future padawan, he somehow handled Anakin wonderfully. Even Siri awkwardly asked a question about Anakin’s favorite kind of ship - clearly expecting an answer along the lines of ‘a big one!’ or ‘one that shoots lasers!’ - and sat through Anakin’s ten minute scientific dissertations on the difference in engine ports between Genoshian Special X100 and Genoshian Special X200.

When’s the last time Obi-Wan had a long conversation with Anakin, where they just talked about nothing? He’d been so selfish, focusing entirely on himself and not even thinking about Anakin. His friends were doing this a thousand times better than he was. They should be the one with a padawan, not him. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought he was ready for knighthood until - well, until it was convenient, but if it took him this long to be knighted he ought to be forty before he got a padawan.

In a characteristically deft maneuver, Quinlan had flagged down a friend of his - Ku Lun, a friendly face and teacher to the Initiates - and gave Anakin a real world lesson in Jedi togetherness by asking him to walk Anakin back to their quarters. Anakin shot a panicked look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan deeply wished to send a panicked look back, but he just nodded supportively.

“Don’t you want to ask Knight Lun about lessons?” Obi-Wan said. “You can work together to design your school.”

The concept of school, and the power to choose it, was obviously heady to Anakin, and he jumped off the bench with only a tinge of reluctance. “Come back to the room in thirty minutes or you’re fired,” Anakin told Obi-Wan gravely, yet nonsensically, before running off with Knight Lun.

It wasn’t until the sounds of Anakin’s chattering faded, then disappeared completely, that Obi-Wan turned back to his friends with a sigh. Their plot had worked. Quinlan and Siri’s perfect score in tactics - second only to his more than perfect score - had won again. He was subject to the masses, and the masses were stressed over his wellbeing.

Better make the pre-emptive strike. “Greetings, my honored friends,” Obi-Wan said dully. “My very best friends in the galaxy, whom I have not spoken to in months.”

“And whose fault is that, you asshole!” Quinlan thumped the table, making the plasteelware rattle, and cuing a withering look from Bant. “You drop out of contact. You leave on a routine diplomatic mission. You get wrapped up in an interplanetary war, obviously, because that’s how your routine missions always go. And you come back with a kid and the head of a Sith?”

“You have the situation well in hand, Quinlan. There’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“Idiot! I’m not asking for a mission report, here.” Quinlan set his mouth, as tempestuous as ever. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay?

Maybe Bant caught something on his expression, because she placed a reassuring flipper on his arm. “We’re sorry about Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. We know how much he meant to you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You can’t get rid of us just because you don’t talk to us.” Siri scooped the rest of her oats in her mouth, clearly regretful that she no longer had something to hide behind. “Reeft and Garen feel the same way. You’re lucky Garen’s on a mission, or he would have staked out your door.” He would have. Garen was insane. “I know they waived the two weeks in solitude considering your circumstances, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Anakin needs -”

“As his master, I have the best idea of what Anakin needs.” Obi-Wan kept his voice flat, dispassionate. He wasn’t a child anymore, not that impetuous Initiate who yelled and stomped and screamed. Obi-Wan had drowned that anger under thick layers of Jedi robe years ago. “I appreciate and understand your concern. However, I ask for faith in my abilities to handle my padawan.”

“Oh, no. Not the ‘I Am A Perfect Jedi And You Are The Irresponsible Bugs Beneath My Feet’ voice.” Siri didn’t sound amused, as she normally would be while making fun of him. What was funny about speaking properly? “Don’t shut down on us.”

“I’ve never understood where you got the impression that Jedi don’t have feelings, Obi-Wan,” Bant scolded, “but you know it’s not true. Jedi feel their feelings. They feel them and release them. This is you repressing them. They’re just going to fester and get worse if you do that.”

“Yes, Bant. I recieved top marks in Philosophy 101, same as you.” Obi-Wan picked at his sealed up, the rims of thick juice sloshing in the corners, before forcing himself to stop. He forced his hands still on the table, pressing them down hard on the linoleum. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what good a confession would do to all of you. Obviously I miss my master. Obviously I’m all…very sad about it.” Obi-Wan jerked his shoulders in a half-shrug, ignoring everyone’s unimpressed looks. “What good will talking about it do? I have to remain focused. In the real world, you don’t get the luxury of hermitage.”

“Luckily, you’re not in the real world.” Bant’s wry tone imparted the air quotes around ‘real world’. “You’re home. You and Anakin are safe here.” Obi-Wan snorted. “Knight Kenobi, what was that?”

Uh oh. But Siri unknowingly came to his rescue, leaning forward with as intent and sympathetic expression as she could wring from her usually severe countenance. “Don’t give me that dung, Obi-Wan. I cried for a month after Master Tahl died. You were there for me every second of it. What, are you so special that you don’t need help? Are you so much better than us that you don’t feel what every sentient feels? Your ‘better than you’ attitude doesn’t make you better than yourself.”

Bant made a warbling sound of frustration. “Siri, let’s not insult the person we are trying to help.”

“It’s not my fault he’s so - look, this is about Anakin -”

A tightly wound rope of...of something bad snapped in Obi-Wan’s gut. “You don’t think I can handle him.”

“Nobody’s saying that, brother,” Quinlan said, placating for the first time in his life, “but it’s like I was just telling the little guy, right? Nobody can do this by themselves. Cultures that try to do it are - they’re just crazy!”

“None of you think I can do this,” Obi-Wan whispered harshly, trying to keep the - the bad thing locked tight inside, incapable. It wouldn’t stop overflowing, a cup that runneth over. “Nobody in this Temple thinks I’m capable of taking care of him. They don’t think he can be a Jedi. It’s my fault. It’s because he has such a fuck-up for a master.”

Everybody around him suddenly radiated extreme alarm in the Force in unison. Was it really that unusual for him to say the words that swirled around in his head every hour of the day?

“Obi-Wan, we’re the fuck-ups. I mean, me and Siri and Garen. You and Bant are the Rylothian angels here.”

“That’s not what everybody else thinks,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “I’ve always been tainted because of Qui-Gon. Now just being around me is going to taint Anakin. Everybody knows it.”

“Tainted?” Bant asked with alarm. What was alarming? “What are you talking about -”

But Obi-Wan barrelled through her, unwilling to hear whatever sweet and placating words she had for him today. He stood up, carefully stepping off the bench and fussily fixing his robes with hands that did not shake. “We are going to prove it to them. Anakin will become a Jedi. I will make Anakin a Jedi, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He swept off, feeling a little bit dramatic, feeling as if he had expelled the smallest amount of emotion he could. That was the least he could give, portioning out bits of himself to the hungry and braying crowd.

Why did they want these pieces of him so desperately? What was valuable about these hideous parts of Obi-Wan - the fear, the insecurity, the nightmares shaking him awake each night? People like Bant and Quinlan dug and dug and dug until they found what they were looking for, as if they wanted to prove something to themselves, to him, to the Jedi.

Prove that he was inferior. Prove that he was just as wild and angry as everybody always said. Prove that his flimsy mask of ‘A Perfect Jedi’ was nothing more than a stage actor placing a pulp-mache bantha’s head mask over his face and strutting about as if he was a king. Prove what Qui-Gon had always thought of him: that any love for him could only be held at arm's length, that a kid who needed to prove himself never required support or a helping hand, that there was no such thing as ‘good enough’ when you lived in competition with ghosts and shadows.

Prove what everybody knew, and what Obi-Wan could not hide.

***

When Obi-Wan got home, Anakin was lying on the ground committing atrocities upon the ravaged corpse of a pilfered library droid.

“Please start putting down a tarp when you do that,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve been getting oil into the carpet.” He paused a beat. “And please stop sneaking away from chaperones.”

“But I need to practice sneaking away from good guys so I can be good at sneaking away from bad guys! And it’s not like I was caught.” Anakin didn’t look up at him, absorbed in his work. “That’s Jedi lesson three, right? ‘Do whatever you want, just don’t get caught’?”

“When had - why do -” Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the one day exposure to Qui-Gon. But..in the face of that logic, Obi-Wan was forced to concede. It was objectively true. “Yes. But make an exception for me. Just don’t get caught by others.”

“You got it! Hey, pinch this wire for me.”

So Obi-Wan lay down on his stomach across from Anakin, staring at him from over a sea of rusty machinery. His round little face, somehow still clinging onto baby fat, was smooth as only a child’s could be. It was flaky and rough from the blistering heat of twin suns, but he had ointment now. His featherly light blonde hair would darken without its sunshine bleach, and it would grow long in limp brown shags. He would look like his mother - if, apparently, there was no father to speak of.

His expression was screwed up in concentration, tongue poking out of his teeth as he carefully screwed in a bolt where it likely was not intended to go. There was something strangely beautiful about him in that moment - an intelligence at work, a powerful focus rarely applied. He glowed in the Force like a sun, overwhelming and breath-taking.

But when Obi-Wan’s breath caught, he wasn’t sure if it was the Force. Maybe it was just Anakin. Could you fall in love like this? Just by looking at somebody, just by feeling how great they could be? Stronger than Obi-Wan, more righteous than Qui-Gon? Kinder than Master Dooku, more vibrant than Grandmaster Yoda?

Could he be better? Or would Obi-Wan only make him worse?

“Do you like my friends?” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Gimmie a min’.” Anakin finished screwing the bolt, huffing at the piece. “Bad. Gotta redo...what didya say?”

“Do you like my friends?”

“Oh!” Anakin brightened. “They’re super cool and awesome Jedi! They’re just like I thought Jedi would be. Bant’s a doctor! Did you know that?”

“I did.” A pang shot through Obi-Wan’s heart. “They’d be better teachers than I. I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m sorry you’re stuck with…”

“No way! I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s expression crumpled a little, although he bravely tried to keep it straight. He was already picking that up from Obi-Wan. “I’m why everybody keeps looking at us weird...it’s all my fault. All the Jedi hate us.”

“Anakin, no. The Jedi love all sentient beings.” Judging from Anakin’s expression, Obi-Wan was speaking straight bantha poodoo and acting as if the Corellian moons were made of cheese. “It’s true. They’d - they’d all help you. You don’t need to rely on me.”

Wires hissed and sparked. Anakin was quiet for a moment, stripping some wires with a deft, chubby hand and tying them together. He reached out to grab a blowtorch, but at Obi-Wan’s dangerous expression he carefully retreated his hand. It was a matter of time until he was using his lightsaber to solder metal. Incorrigible. Finally, Anakin said, “What Mr. Quinlan -”

“Knight Quinlan.”

“Knight Quinlan was talking about how you’re just there to guide me and teach me the Jedi way for a few years. And they all acted like the master and padawan thing is so special and great, but…” His face crumpled a little, overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name. “When we had to leave Mom behind...I thought that meant that you were going to be Mom now. But they aren’t going to let us. They’re going to make other people teach me because they don’t like you, and - and - and!”

Fat tears were rolling down Anakin’s cheeks, no matter how hard he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Obi-Wan quickly sat up and moved closer to Anakin, wrapping him in a hug and letting Anakin press his head into Obi-Wan’s tunic. He would probably have to get this one cleaned with Anakin’s robe. He didn’t know why he was focusing on that instead of Anakin’s hitched breaths as he tried to control his tears.

“Nobody’s going to take you away from me, Anakin.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. That was far too possessive. That hadn’t come out right. But what had Obi-Wan meant to say? “We all just want what’s best for you. You might be happier with the others.” Obi-Wan faltered. “You could be a normal child here. Take lessons. Play with the other children. Learn and grow and be happy. My padawanship, Anakin...it was dangerous and isolated. That’s the kind of life I’ve always lived. I don’t want to expose you to that.”

Anakin separated from him, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “They aren’t strong! All the kids and the old people here - they’re weak! Nothing bad’s ever happened to them, so they think sad people like us are freaks. But you’re strong, Obi-Wan. I want to be strong and just like you. I’m not embarrassed to be your padawan.” He faltered a little, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s okay that you’re sad and that I had to make food for a little bit. Mom would get sad sometimes too. She couldn’t leave bed and stuff. I would take care of Mom and make her food. I don’t mind making you food. The slaves all had each other, we did, but...Mom and I took care of each other. We can take care of each other. It’s just you and me. Right?”

Obi-Wan embraced Anakin tightly, fighting to control his breathing. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the correct way to do this. He had to be more like Qui-Gon - professional and strong and affectionate. Qui-Gon would have never let Obi-Wan cling to him like this, swearing an oath that neither of them should ever make.

Nobody was going to help them. None of them had ever forgotten how Obi-Wan had been a failure as a child, and none of them were ever going to forget where Anakin came from. No matter what they all said, their bright smiles and helping hands - none of them understood what it was like. It was just Obi-Wan and Anakin from now on.

In some strange way, it felt as if it had always been. As if Obi-Wan had only been alone, because he had not met or loved Anakin yet.

This wasn’t the kind of master Obi-Wan should be. He should be discouraging this desperation and neediness. But he couldn’t discourage it in himself, and he had no idea how to quench it in either of them.

As the Rylothians would say - if this was a sin, then hell had greater need of him than heaven.

He would put in the request for active mission duty. If Anakin grew up like he did - in the midst of adventure and hardship - then he could attain the strength he so desired. That was all Obi-Wan knew how to offer, and that was Qui-Gon’s legacy.

“It’s just you and me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan swore, and damned himself. “It’s just you and me…”

#star wars #sw #star wars fanfic #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #bant eerin #siri tachi #quinlan vos #this is the first and last star wars thing you will ever get from me #please don't ask the rationale i have secrets #i like to think that nothing bad happens in this universe #(it's not an AU but it's not NOT an AU? up to interpretation)#because Obiwan in canon is on anakin's ass about everything #and here he's just one of those single parents who's like 'ok so long as you're fed and not on fire i don't have energy to care #about anything else'#I think this was written from joking about how comedically and weirdly terrible obiwan's childhood was #and from my own personal feelings about the weird way the sw fandom understands communal childcare #and nonattachment #It Does Not Mean What You Think It Means (Because George Lucas Is A White Guy Buddhist!)#if you're wondering if the behavior by the jedi here is realistic or nomal or if it's positive or negative #I have lived in a monastery and it is the most accurate thing you will ever see in a SW fic #my writing

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