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songfell-ut · 1 month ago

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Okay ONE more genderbend

No, I have not embarked upon assembling gay Songfell piece by piece instead of writing Songfell, I just had another brain rot that's actually been incredibly helpful: in addition to moving and my arm possibly needing surgical intervention (ortho is not being super helpful), I've been focused so much on Songfell's plot that what I've got just doesn't look right.

Well, making my teeny AU made me realize that I've been so busy plotting, I forgot the luv. This has reminded me of why I wrote the dang story in the first place: we all want to see a giant monster simping over a determined, musically inclined human. I will be fixing up chapter 35 and hopefully getting 'er up this month.

...but yes with the help of @skyartworkzzz I did dictate and sort of type this huge drabble, almost a one-shot, and you can't stop me it's too late ah ha ha ha

“Yer doin’ it again.”

Frisk was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to realize Sans had said something, and another to properly hear it. “Doing what again?” the priest inquired, sitting up from his half-slouch over the table.

The giant skeleton sauntered over and tapped the wood surface. Frisk thought at first that he meant the plates from dinner they hadn’t cleaned up yet, but no: Sans was looking at Frisk’s hands. “That thing with yer fingers. Ya wiggle ‘em sometimes when you’re really out of it.” Sans demonstrated with a waggle of his own phalanges, seating himself not far away. “Are ya mad about somethin’? If you wanna wring somebody’s neck, I can do it for ya,” he added generously.

Frisk snorted, scratching his ribs through the shirt he wore under his robe, noticing how Sans’ gaze instantly followed the motion. Better stay on topic; he wasn’t eager for more questions about why human males only sort of had boobs or whether there was as much hair on his chest as his head. “I think I’ve made my stance on murder clear, Sans,” said the High Priest, trying very hard to sound stern.

“Nope, doesn’t wring a bell,” the skeleton said cheerfully, and was rewarded with a snrrk that made him grin about a mile wide. “Ha! I win. Now ya hafta tell me what you’re doin’.”

“That was a good one,” Frisk admitted, rubbing his nose. “All right, then.” He looked at his hand, sobering a little, tapping the thumb and forefinger together. “Here.” With no further warning, he snapped his fingers so hard that Sans flinched. “Sorry,” said the priest, offering a rueful smile that made Sans scowl back. “I just took the barrier off the closet in the corner of my office. Would you please go and open it for me, and bring me what’s inside?”

Nonplussed, the boss monster obediently vanished. A few long moments later, he reappeared with something that looked like a toy in his massive hands. “Ta-da,” he said gravely, trying to hold it properly.

Frisk laughed and took the guitar from the skeleton’s loose grasp. “Thank you,” he said, tilting it onto its side. Something rattled, and he turned the instrument over to shake out a small tortoiseshell pick. “This, sir, is the answer you seek. Sometimes when I’m tired, I’ll think about playing it.” He slid off the chair to retrieve the pick and find a patch of floor to sit cross-legged. “I haven’t touched this in months,” he murmured, stroking the long neck.

He missed Sans’ swift glance at his lap, and how the skeleton’s cheekbones flickered with a few shades of red before he said, “Weird. I get bein’ too busy, but why’s it locked up? Habit?”

“Sort of. When I first moved up here, I thought the servants might take it.” Sans made a disbelieving sound, and Frisk clarified, “I don’t mean they’d steal it. I was afraid that if His Holiness knew it was here, he’d have them remove it.”

The skeleton disbelieved louder. “The hell? Does the Church think they’re evil or somethin’?” He settled on the floor a few feet away.

“Not evil, no,” said Frisk, still examining the guitar, “just…frivolous. If I had a piano or a cello up here, that would be one thing, but this is considered uncouth.” The young man plucked gingerly at the top string, and winced. “Now that’s bad. Positively E-vil.” He plucked again, then fiddled with a knob.

Sans had a good chuckle at that, and didn’t hide his further amusement at how the sound wobbled up and down, but he stayed quiet while Frisk hummed under his breath and turned another knob, wibb-wobbling the string’s pitch till it was as accurate as the young man could get by ear. Then Frisk tried the next string, humming, adjusting till it was in tune with the E; when the next string proved accurate almost immediately, though, he caught Sans’ disappointment and very, very gently turned the knob the wrong way to make it go wooooaaaaooo.

The boss monster cackled in appreciation. “Do it again,” he urged Frisk, reclining on his side and scooting closer for a better look.

“I can’t do it too much,” Frisk replied. Far from minding an audience literally looming over him, he found himself rather pleased to show Sans how the knobs worked. “This works by tightening or loosening the strings, see?” He demonstrated again, letting the skeleton lean in close enough to almost bump heads. “I haven’t replaced these in a while, but I don’t have any spares. I should probably take care of that before I play anything.”

Sans cocked his enormous head. There was a long moment of Frisk conspicuously not stopping and in fact continuing to tune the thing, and the boss monster nodded in understanding that guitar strings were probably not okay, either; however, the truth was that he was watching with such interest that Frisk was too flattered to stop. It was stupid to toodle around with a poorly maintained instrument just to show off, but all.he could think was that he should’ve known Sans wouldn’t care whether this was a waste of time or not, or that he could barely play anything.

The skeleton was evidently thinking the same thing. “So your boss wouldn’t want you doin’ this?” he asked. “The hell does he care as long as yer work’s gettin’ done? He’s not your friggin’ dad. …Is he?”

Frisk played a few mildly amused notes. “No. But I was only nineteen when they made me High Priest, and he thought I was going to be easy to manipulate.” Sans snorted in such derision that Frisk felt a little tingle of pride. “It was exactly the sort of thing he would have done to keep me in my place,” the latter continued. “He’d also tattle to my actual father, and he would have said something. But I’m of age now, so…” He tried another chord, and let it trail off.

“Why’d they teach you ta play it if it’s that bad?” the boss monster persisted. “Ya know all yer music stuff from school, right?”

Frisk tapped the pick absently on the guitar’s belly. “Yes, but not from the monks. I learned it when we were all working in the kitchen.”

Sans lifted a browbone. “Was that a normal thing? Learnin’ discipline or humility or somethin’?”

“Well, yes, and no.” The young man tried a short scale, correcting the last note. “Everyone in our dormitory was being punished. We had to go down after dinner and clean up after the entire monastery.” He couldn’t help wincing. “I hadn’t done anything wrong, so they let me sit with a lay worker who played guitar to entertain everyone. I sang with him and watched how it was done, and nobody told on me for a few months.”

“‘Lay’ worker?” Sans’ tone was much too innocent, and he answered Frisk’s don’t you dare squint with a cheerful “I didn’t know gettin’ laid was a church job.”

The High Priest snorted so hard that he almost dropped the pick. “That’s not what that means,” he informed his apprentice, barely fighting down his amusement before he resumed, “It just means someone employed by the church who hasn’t taken any vows.” But his smile faded to a grimace. “You’re actually not far off. That’s…” Frisk played a few more notes at random. “I think I was seventeen. There was a bad cold going around the monastery. Most of the acolytes got over it in a few days, but everyone in charge – the abbot, the higher deacons, et cetera – all caught it at once.” He strummed an overly dramatic chord. “I’m still impressed how bad things got. It was chaos for a solid month. Anyone who wanted to really misbehave had a good time.”

“Yeah?” To Frisk’s disappointment, the skeleton moved away and turned to lie flat on his spine, stretching his huge limbs across the workroom floor. “So who got laid? Thought humans don’t count it if you’re both guys.”

Frisk was now glad that Sans wasn’t watching: his entire head felt beet-red. “No, it was women working in the outbuildings,” he said with decent composure, trying another chord. “They were supposed to stay out of the monastery, but someone bribed the guards into letting them ‘visit’ back and forth. When the abbot found out, he sent off every female in a five-mile radius and had us take over their work. But then they started writing letters claiming paternity—I think there were over thirty acknowledged pregnancies after the dust settled.”

It was Sans’ turn to snort. “Holy shit. That fast?”

“That fast,” Frisk said shortly.

The boss monster scrunched up his nasal bone, obviously remembering what Frisk had told him about humans’ treatment of unwed mothers. “Well, that was a shitty thing to do. Not like any of those guys could marry ‘em, right?”

Frisk hesitated. How to put this? “Yes, but the ladies knew that. For a lot of them, it was a…we’ll call it a different opportunity,” he said, much more rueful than judgmental. “Noble families want their sons educated at the monastery, but it’s also to keep them from having their own children.” He flipped the pick over the backs of his fingers, a trick he was inordinately pleased to still do. “I will say this. If someone does leave a girl in difficulty, he’s expected to provide at least something for her and the child. Their families had a lot of questions.” He sighed in exasperation. “Word got all the way back to His Majesty. It was a huge mess. You could say the ‘lay’ worker was the only one who shouldn’t be called that.”

He expected Sans to laugh, but when Frisk peeked at him, the boss monster seemed more pensive than amused; his sockets were fixed on the basket of letters. It took Frisk a second to guess what he might be thinking, and when Sans finally shifted back onto his side to look at him, he found the priest glaring at him, daring him to even ask about his own participation. “Glad nobody was a hardass about you gettin’ blamed,” the skeleton said amiably, and Frisk relaxed a little. “Ya know what? Never mind all that crap.” Sans shifted and settled onto his side again. “Knock yerself out on that thing, I don’t care. I’m not gonna tell on ya.”

The young man sat for a moment, tapping the pick against the strings one after another. Sans was right: no need to get into how he had had to literally hide from his peers trying to drag him along to meet some of their new “friends,” or how his father – a prolific creator of children – had publicly commended Frisk for behaving like a true man of the Church, but hinted privately that he would understand if his son started sowing some oats in the very near future. It wasn’t just normal for a gentleman of his rank, but more or less expected to prove his manhood and create more magically gifted progeny of his own, whether or not he was married. Being a busy clergyman had saved Frisk from direct pressure thus far, but— “Here’s a good one,” he said to the skeleton, who obligingly scooted closer. “Don’t laugh, if you please.”

“Not unless it’s funny,” Sans said lazily.

Fair enough. Frisk shut his eyes for a moment, letting his fingers arrange themselves the way they had whenever he could sneak in some practice back when he was just a priest, a former student who could have a damn second to himself that he didn’t have to account for. People had popped their heads in to check if he really was just playing a borrowed guitar, but he was regarded as such a goody-goody that nobody gave him a hard time. He had stumbled across a few young men taking private moments for themselves or with each other, but he never told…

Well, no point getting angry now. It was too nice to sit near-ish the fire and do nothing useful, just empty his mind of everything but what to do to make the sounds he wanted to play. He wasn’t alone, either; the massive skeleton looming over his shoulder was a warm, solid presence that made the High Priest feel less like he was being monitored and more protected, accepted for whatever he wanted to do—just the pleasure of his company. That was what he’d told Sans back when he gave him his new clothes, wasn’t it?

Now there was an idea, so interesting that Frisk barely noticed himself picking out the bare bones – ha – of a favorite old song. He should really get Sans another set of clothing, something he could change into that wasn’t ragged canvas or just nothing at all. Not that Sans was particularly modest: he hadn’t been bothered by the notion of Frisk forcibly removing him from the bathroom, reminding the human that they were both male and he didn’t have anything private to see. Was that why he kept asking Frisk questions about humans that he could find in any of his textbooks? The notion of fleshy bits that changed consistency and produced weird fluids at inconsistent intervals couldn’t be an appealing one, not to a being made of solid bone.

…

Why did that thought suddenly bother him?

…Dirt, he’d just played a very bad note. The priest mumbled an apology and adjusted his grip, chagrined at ruining a peaceful moment with more of that nonsense. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that it was not all right to let his imagination charge off after someone who was not just under his care, but in his power; it was immoral at best to use Sans to investigate whether his libido – always plenty strong, simply refusing to attach itself to anyone, no matter how attractive they were – might just be resistant to humans. He’d keep relaxing and enjoying his apprentice’s literal support—Sans was close enough that Frisk caught himself about to lean back against his gigantic lower ribs. That was what most top scholars called a “no-no.”

…Was it, though? When Frisk glanced up, he saw Sans closing his sockets, and the skeleton’s expression and body language were so peaceful that Frisk had to smile again. Never mind thoughts of fleshy bits and bones, just enjoy having him here. No more recurring thoughts of how monsters didn’t care about gender or how fond of him Sans might be. No wondering what bone felt like on fleshy bi—on totally normal skin, or whether Sans would let him poke the gaps in his metacarpals…or what bone might feel like on his hands, maybe running along his—

And something happened that Frisk had never experienced before, at least contextually. He was a healthy young man, and he had had his body act out at complete random just as often as anyone else; what had not happened was specifically thinking of one person who was right here and then having a specific reaction to that specific person. And it wasn’t—stopping at all, it was getting worse and he had to focus harder (ha!) on distracting himself. Maybe if he played louder?

There was a sharp sound and a burst of pain, and Frisk dropped the guitar, Sans jerking upright as the priest clutched his hand. “Frisk! What happened?! You okay?”

“I’m fine. The string snapped,” Frisk said tersely, holding it up for the skeleton to see the near-bleeding welt on the back of his hand. At least it was the ideal excuse to rise to his knees and lean forward enough for his nightshirt to hang forward, because the burst of adrenaline had not quieted anything down. “It’s my fault, I even said I shouldn’t play the damn thing—”

And of course, that was Sans’ cue to scowl and give Frisk another jolt by seizing his wrist between his thumb and forefinger, holding him utterly still in a huge, inescapable, but gentle grasp. It was for the best that Frisk froze in place, heat flooding his senses as the boss monster summoned a wisp of green magic. “There we go,” he said after a moment. “All better?” And it might have been okay if he hadn’t absently rubbed Frisk’s forearm with his thumb.

Neither of them would ever be sure exactly how Frisk did it, but the next second, he was somehow on his feet and turning away in a blur of “Thankyouvermch”; before Sans could get a solid look at him, the human was already disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Sans knelt in silence long enough for the blankness to recede and confusion to step into its place. What the fuck was that? Was Frisk really that upset over one crappy judgment call?

…Or…Sans had been watching very close – almost got caught that one time – and he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t seen something. He had read that human males just kind of did that sometimes without meaning to and it was considered hugely embarrassing, which would explain why Frisk had run off like that. Funny, he had never had that problem before in all the time Sans had spent around him, though the boss monster had admittedly tried to avoid looking.

Humans were weird. Sans picked up the guitar very delicately, examining the broken string. Stupid damn thing, he had half a mind to throw it in the fireplace—but that would probably not help. Besides, Frisk had been really happy whenever he wasn’t talking about other humans being stupid. Sans had never seen him so relaxed; it was almost a given that the only people who could boss Frisk around didn’t want him to.

At least Frisk had felt comfortable enough to play with it in front of him. …The guitar. Comfortable enough to play the guitar. Yep. It kind of suck—it was kind of shitty that the dumb thing was unusable now, and fucking stupid that someone this rich and powerful couldn’t get something so simple without…hmmm. Sans daintily retrieved the pick, and got up.

Frisk was debating how to leave the bathroom in the most face-saving way when a sound made him nearly fall over: the workroom’s double doors were open and Sans was talking, presumably to the guards. What the—the priest grabbed a towel, speed-dabbed the rest of the cold water away, adjusted his garments, and…hesitated, milliseconds before striding into view wearing his nightclothes. Instead he listened, and thus heard a guard saying, “…you mean…er…sir?”

“Is there some other meanin’ of ‘Gimme some new strings for this thing’?” Sans’ voice was so exaggeratedly polite that Frisk didn’t know whether to laugh or bang his head on the doorframe. “His Eminence has graciously allowed me t’learn about human stuff, and all I can learn from this thing is that guitars need all the strings or they sound like crap. So the next time somebody delivers stuff up here, they can bring ‘em. Right?”

Frisk could almost hear the guards giving each other uncertain looks. “Er…”

“Right. Thank you!” With obscene cheer, the giant skeleton slammed the doors shut. Then he opened them again. “Oh. Wait. Here.” The dirty dishes flew from the table to the trolley, which was shoved out, and the doors slammed again. “There we go, boss,” Sans said over his shoulder. “You good now?”

“…I am. Thank you.” The human took a deep breath, and let it out. “I’m going to take a bath. Read the chapter on topical analgesics, please, and we’ll discuss it before bed. …Sleep. Before we sleep.” And he shut the door again before Sans could respond. He had a lot to think about.

#songfell #is it disrespectful to call it dongfell #frans #slightly suggestive #fic came before the sketch I just had to have both #dongfell

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fangirlingalittletoohard · 4 months ago

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this blog does not support neil gaiman in light of the allegations against him. this blog believes & supports victims.

this blog continues to enjoy the world of good omens for everyone else involved in it. this blog will try to do so in a way that does not support gaiman, but still allows me to be creative and consume content about my comfort characters & show (much like this blogger does with harry potter)! this blog also understands that tumblr is a space for many people to escape real life (as I do myself!), however i feel that this is a necessary, hopefully one-off serious post.

i know it goes without saying for most people, but i think it’s important to make my stance clear at the moment whilst i’m very active in posting about good omens!

if any of my posts offend in any way/anyone has any frustrations/feedback they want to share, drop me a message.

believe & support victims, push for perpetrators to face consequences for their actions as far as you have power to do so.

enjoy your comfort content whilst trying as far as you can not to support perpetrators.

lots of love,

izzie x

(edit: i should probably clarify as an anonymous ask pointed out - i do not support his actions. i suppose there is no way to enjoy the content without promoting him. i just figured a statement that this blog, which posts a lot about GO, doesn’t condone his actions was necessary. as a victim myself, i am trying to navigate this as i learn more and in a way that isn’t too triggering to me.)

#good omens #gomens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #neil gaiman

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gaylactic-fire · 1 year ago

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Hi hello, I've got a question, what that heck happened this week?? I haven't been active in awhile and I just logged back in here to follow an artist from tiktok, and I happened to see the conservative discord server screenshots on my "your tags" section. Is possible to get the sparks note version of what happened? (Sorry if the ask sounds weird, not very good at putting my thoughts into words)

Sorry I only answered this a few days later! You might already know what's happening by now, but in case you didn't I'll give you a TLDR:

- Tumblr user alasse-earfalas makes a post on LU's main tag advertising a conservative christian LU / LoZ server. She claims to want a safe space for those with similar views. What really catches people's attention is a part of the post that speaks about "Pride ideology" and how such "predatory" views aren't allowed in the server. In the same section she talks about wanting a space where characters are not "queered into oblivion." The vibes are utterly rancid.

- LU fandom immediately begins spiteposting. Everyone and their mother starts making LU queer headcanons or posts showing their support for the queer community. The memes flood in. "Queered into oblivion." is immediately reclaimed and added to people's lexicons. People are speedrunning how fast they can get banned off the server. There's almost a unanimous effort to make fun of bigots.

- Further controversy ensues under the surface. As it turns out, several religious people in the fandom had been interacting with Alasse and other people in the conservative server. It was impossible to know whether or not they shared similar views, but you can't blame people's caution. When questioned whether their blogs were safe for queer people, some gave very vague answers that pretty much dialed down to "I love everyone" or "I don't wanna talk about it." Neutrality in such instances is not reassuring for queer people, especially when the other side is claiming we are predatory. Afaik some people have redacted their statements or gone on to further clarify things. But some people still take a firmly neutral stance on the matter. (Don't ask who I haven't been following closely enough to know).

- A few days later Alasse comes back with a follow-up statement addressing the server. She pulls a mix between "gay people I respect VS gay people I don't respect." and "I'm not homophobic I have a gay friend." By stating that the server is not homophobic, but simply does not support the pride movement. Which is allegedly pushing to show porn to kids in school. When asked for a source on such a shocking claim someone on the server cites Fucking Matt Walsh rather than a non-biased and or scientific article. The transphobia also pops out when she claims the pride movement is trying to push surgeries on children (It's not. Children do not get gender realignment surgeries. You can find this out from five minutes on google). Addressing "queered into oblivion." Alasse goes on a rant about "queerwashing" characters, stating the Links are canonically straight and making them queer invalidates their identity. Alasse conveniently forgets that Nintendo has never canonically given Link a partner. She also forgets that bisexuality, asexuality and other sexualities that may include romantic attraction to the opposite sex do, in fact, exist. The rest of the post is whining about people joining the server to troll and basically just her reaping what she sowed for advertising on Tumblr Dot Com.

Aside for further outrage and memes, that's pretty much where we're up to so far. Things are dying down and hopefully the bigots will keep to their own corner and or fuck off from the fandom entirely.

#askbox #long post #Fuck it I'll tag as LU for anyone who hasnt been keeping up lol #linked universe #feel free to add any tidbits i missed

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literaticat · 1 year ago

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I have a question about your post regarding AI in which you detailed some agents' concerns. In particular you mentioned "we don't want our authors or artists work to be data-mined / scraped to "train" AI learning models/bots".

I completely agree, but what could be done to prevent this?

(I am no expert and clearly have NO idea what the terminology really is, but hopefully you will get it, sorry in advance?)

I mean, this is literally the thing we are all trying to figure out lol. But a start would be to have something in the contracts that SAYS Publishers do not have permission to license or otherwise permit companies to incorporate this copyrighted work into AI learning models, or to utilize this technology to mimic an author’s work.

The companies that are making AI bots or whatever are not shadowy guilds of hackers running around stealing things (despite how "web scraping" and "data mining" and all that sounds, which admittedly is v creepy and ominous!) -- web scraping, aka using robots to gather large amounts of publicly available data, is legal. That's like, a big part of how the internet works, it's how Google knows things when you google them, etc.

It's more dubious if scraping things that are protected under copyright is legal -- the companies would say that it is covered under fair use, that they are putting all this info in there to just teach the AI, and it isn't to COPY the author's work, etc etc. The people whose IP it is, though, probs don't feel that way -- and the law is sort of confused/non-existent. (There are loads of lawsuits literally RIGHT NOW that are aiming to sort some of this out, and the Writer's Guild strike which is ongoing and SAG-AFTRA strike which started this week is largely centered around some of the same issues when it comes to companies using AI for screenwriting, using actor's likeness and voice, etc.) Again, these are not shadowy organizations operating illegally off the coast of whatever -- these are regular-degular companies who can be sued, held to account, regulated, etc. The laws just haven’t caught up to the technology yet.

Point being, it's perhaps unethical to "feed" copyrighted work into an AI thing without permission of the copyright holder, but is it ILLEGAL? Uh -- yes??? but also ?????. US copyright law is pretty clear that works generated entirely by AI can't be protected under copyright -- and that works protected by copyright can't be, you know, copied by somebody else -- but there's a bit of a grey area here because of fair use? It’s confusing, for sure, and I'm betting all this is being hashed out in court cases and committee rooms and whatnot as I type.

Anywhoo, the first steps are clarifying these things contractually. Authors Guild (and agents) take the stance that this permission to "feed" info to AI learning models is something the Author automatically holds rights to, and only the author can decide if/when a book is "fed" into an AI... thing.

The Publishers kinda think this is something THEY hold the rights to, or both parties do, and that these rights should be frozen so NEITHER party can choose to "feed", or neither can choose to do so without the other's permission.

(BTW just to be clear, as I understand it -- which again is NOT MUCH lol -- this "permission" is not like, somebody calls each individual author and asks for permission -- it's part of the coding. Like how many e-books are DRM protected, so they are locked to a particular platform / device and you can't share them etc -- there are bits of code that basically say NOPE to scrapers. So (in my imagination, at least), the little spider-robot is Roomba-ing around the internet looking for things to scrape and it comes across this bit of code and NOPE, they have to turn around and try the next thing. Now – just like if an Etsy seller made mugs with pictures of Mickey Mouse on them, using somebody else’s IP is illegal – and those people CAN be sued if the copyright holder has the appetite to do that - but it’s also hard to stop entirely. So if some random person took your book and just copied it onto a blog -- the spider-robot wouldn't KNOW that info was under copyright, or they don't have permission to gobble it up, because it wouldn't have that bit of code to let them know -- so in that way it could be that nobody ever FULLY knows that the spider-robots won't steal their stuff, and publishers can't really be liable for that if third parties are involved mucking it up -- but they certainly CAN at least attempt to protect copyright!)

But also, you know how I don't even know what I'm talking about and don't know the words? Like in the previous paragraphs? The same goes for all the publishers and everyone else who isn't already a tech wizard, ALL of whom are suddenly learning a lot of very weird words and phrases and rules that nobody *exactly* understands, and it's all changing by the week (and by the day, even).

Publishers ARE starting to add some of this language, but I also would expect it to feel somewhat confused/wild-west-ish until some of the laws around this stuff are clearer. But really: We're all working on it!

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as-nowilove · 10 days ago

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the ocean, you

positioned yourself across

today waves me away

after yesterday i

will not complain

enmities fight and surrender our fate, god

is listening, so don’t

write a thing but i can’t stand

to save the excitement,

knowing

you comteporarily, maybe

this whole time could be customary but

now clearly our moon leaves,

all of the

months i flew up by dangled light, waited

there staring at fire so not to look at you

directly, every single night i

do not remember to blink and

clarifying in gold like the stars’, luminary stippling

their running sky blinded me

by then you realize me too, saying

no, i already told you this,

were you not paying attention or

just being polite as discretion, either way

i play by what i know, the sun

is enough so, we don’t have to pray by abandoning time,

but can you

speak the truth to me quietly once more

in the dark to release my senses and

can they let my heart go,

my mind —

on the floor next to

your legs folded

i start to imagine you sitting

comfortably alone

and i want no more of it

unless i am in the doorway

and anyway, what she said

was not personal, i needed to know

so hopefully you heard what

we passed around, where we are

is ignited by the sounds of

other s voices, by

their fervent rapacious eyes but yours

to mine are certain, and

blind, only because

we both want to lie

but cannot spell

any better in either language

engraved or spoken by

longer reasons to forgive my american candor;

i brought to you on paper

the answer, you were my favorite

home by chance and now

could we be held true, i watch your stance,

your footing: wait for me

where you are already complete, where

you are yet, already looking

#poetry #poems #love poems #writing #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #writers and readers #writer and poets #writers creed #readers and writers #readers #my poem #my piece #my poetry #i wrote this really fast and didn’t edit

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woahpinkhorsegirl · 4 months ago

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Hi mlp tumblr and bluey tumblr! Im Pink! Im hoping to share my stuff on here and discover other stuff!

This is my sona! She's a changeling but stays in her pony form almost all the time, just her preference :)

Im gonna start posting OCs and whatnot for both fandoms soon, but i wanna put here the list of Deviantart basemakers i used from at various points, mostly early on when i forgot to credit them. Hopefully I'll make new refs eventually and they'll have proper credits.

I have a huge MLP and Bluey next gen thing to post too so either look forward to that or check it out if its out by the time you read this!

Other information about me, if you'd like to know:

I am 19 years old, white, American, and ace bi. I'm a ciswoman but I go by all pronouns, she/he/they/it and neopronouns are all acceptable, whatever you see fit or comfortable to call me!

Trans people of all kinds are welcome on my profile, alongside queer people in general! I am pr0-choice and pr0-p4lestine, I don't talk about my p0litical stances much but those are the two most important i can think to mention.

Disabled people, with both invisible and visible disabilities, are also welcome (these feel obvious but I've seen people who make it feel necessary)

Non-white people are also welcome (again, unfortunate that I feel the need to clarify that, but I use twitter so :/)

I also saw a random post about this but just in case, anyone with coping mechanisms (like age regression) are also welcome. I won't judge you for doing what you need to do.

If i look like im censoring some words by using numbers or symbols, that's a force of habit. I don't like appearing in search terms unless I actively want to, it usually invites the wrong people, so i "censor" terms that I think might draw the attention of bad apples.

Uh just some boundary stuff I guess? I love OC interaction and I also enjoy RP. I don't like giving my discord to people so any of that is gonna have to happen here. If that's inconvenient or not gonna cut it, then my apologies :(

Uh my rules for RP are a tiny bit strict but not in the way your probably thinking.

Im one of those "planning ahead" type of roleplayers who like to map out a scenario and key events before we begin and occasionally take pauses between major scenes to plot elements of the future. If you can handle that, then I'd say your golden! Im not picky with the length or detail in responses, as long as theres something to work with, I can usually move things along. The only other restriction i can think of is: when it comes to the sexualities of my characters, please respect them. Thats really it :)

I do platonic roleplays, adventure, romantic, and slice of life. I'm not much for action stuff unless its the spice thrown into the other types occasionally. I'm pretty flexible though, so we can talk about it individually if need be.

Oh, and no nsfw RP. I dont do s3x, and im not much for depicting "elicit substances" to put it lightly. Alc0hol might be the only exception, if its kept in small doses. If for some strange reason our characters end up in a s3xual scenario, we're skipping to the aftermath.

Edit: Some of my OCs have romantic interests made/owned by my boyfriend. This element can be removed for romance roleplays if need be (although they will still be with his OCs outside of the roleplay)

So yeah uhm I think thats it! Im not sure if you can edit things on Tumblr but if you can then I guess I'll update this as needed! Thanks for checking out my blog!!

#mlp fim #mlp #my little pony #my litte pony friendship is magic #bluey #oc rp #roleplay #my persona #intro post

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hereticpriest · 8 months ago

Text

Mercy Chapter 9: Acclimate

Rating: Explicit 18+

MDNI

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Chapter warnings: p in v sex, discussion of breeding kink, a ton of fluff. Let me know if you notice anything else that should be tagged. Next chapter will begin Attack of the Clones Arc! I will not be rewriting the movie, but rather, skipping through important scenes where Mercy's presence makes a difference.

Read on AO3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Chapter Nine: Acclimate

“Master Windu, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.” You request as you approach the Jedi Master, hands carefully folded behind your back. He nods, gesturing for you to go ahead of him into the meditation chambers, then taking a seat on one of the cushions.

“What can I help you with?” Master Windu asks, and you hesitate, sitting across from him and crossing your legs.

“Well, I had a question. Something peculiar happened while I was stranded on the moon.” You admit, and he nods, serene even in his curiosity.

“So you seek my guidance as an Alpha, not a Jedi.” He clarifies, and you shrug your shoulders, unsure.

“As an Alpha, but also as a wise Jedi who may have heard stories. I wanted to inquire with you before I troubled Master Yoda with it, as I know he’s been very busy with the younglings.” You explain, and Mace gives a thoughtful nod, gesturing for you to go ahead.

“Then I will do my best to assist you. What happened while you were stranded that has made you so unsure?” He asks, and you project an image towards him of the stance you’d assumed while fighting off the creature that attacked you.

“In the midst of my rut, we were attacked by a creature. I didn’t want to kill it, so I didn’t use my lightsaber. I fought it hand-to-hand, however something guided me into this stance that I’ve never seen another warrior use. Do you recognize it?” You look up at Mace Windu hopefully, watching with unease as he strokes his chin.

“Curious. I believe that Master Lasra discussed this sort of technique after he visited Haelstruum to resettle the Haela slaves he rescued on one of his missions. Perhaps if you were to look at his old writings in the Archive, you will find something about it?” Master Windu offers, “Haela don’t use lightsabers, even those that are force sensitive. Master Lasra indicated that they had a unique hand-to-hand combat style that was… I believe he used the word ‘innate’. He studied it while he was there, and found it came to him so easily it was as if he’d used it his whole life. I don’t remember much else, unfortunately.”

You nod, getting up from the cushion and bowing to him, “Thank you, Master Windu. I appreciate you giving me your time.”

He nods, then closes his eyes and assumes a sitting position more conducive to meditation while you head for the door. You’re tempted by the archives, but you’ve already read all of Master Lasra’s work when you were young at Master Dooku’s instruction, and you don’t remember mention of this fighting style. Instead, you head back to your chambers to collect the datapad that Sav had left for you, hoping you simply missed some clue.

As you peruse the familiar contents of the datapad, you notice an icon on the screen that previously wasn’t there, and you open it to find what appears to be a memoir. You’re instantly engrossed, and you find yourself barely even noticing when the door slides open. Heavy footsteps quickly approach you, and you only just look up in time to whip your tail out of the way as Anakin slams down onto the sofa beside you, nearly on top of you, his shoulder colliding with yours in the unthinking way of a teenager. He drops his pointy chin onto your shoulder, digging it in as he scoots closer to look at the datapad with you.

”Whatcha looking at, Merce?” Anakin asks, and you put your arm around him just to stop his chin from digging into you so viciously. He leans into your side, knocking you in the ribs with his elbow once or twice while he tries to get comfortable, and you roll your eyes, sighing with parental exhaustion as you wait for him to stop wiggling.

”One of the old Haelan Masters left me some things when he died when I was a youngling. On this datapad, he wrote notes about different lightsaber forms for Haela, and I found his memoir. I’m trying to find information he may have left me regarding a form of Haelan hand-to-hand combat.” You explain, and Anakin makes an interested hum as he peers at the datapad.

”Will you teach me when you figure it out?” He asks, and you snort, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

”I don’t know if you’ve got the tail for it, Sprout, but we’ll give it a shot.” You reply as he nestles into you and stretches out across the settee, “Have you grown more? You barely fit on here with me anymore.”

Anakin laughs, nearly head butting you as he sits up, throws his cloak off onto the floor at your feet, and drops his head in your lap, “Master says I must have grown because my pants are too short again. He told me today that I look ‘unseemly’. I think he’s just mad because I put my elbow on his shoulder and leaned on him.”

It’s almost as if Anakin has summoned him with his insolence alone. The door opens with a shlik sound, and Obi-Wan walks in, eying you both on the couch with a fond and knowing smile.

”I went to the tailor and got you new clothes that you’ll be able to grow into since you’ve decided to emulate a weed.” Obi-Wan says with his characteristic sass, and Anakin grins at him, not-so-subtly using the Force to pull your hand onto his head. You obediently start running your fingers through his short hair, looking up from your datapad properly at your mate and offering him a small smile as he approaches. Obi-Wan examines the lanky length of Anakin across the couch for somewhere to sneak in, and you can see the moue forming as he realizes that he won’t be able to sit next to you. Anakin grins deviously against your leg, giving a series of happy chuffs as he nuzzles dramatically against you. You meet Obi-Wan’s gaze and give an apologetic shrug.

He’s trying to rile you up on purpose, love.

It’s working. He’s been difficult all day. I wanted to come home and relax with you.

Oh, sweetling, we’ll have plenty of time for that. Besides, you know the best way to get Anakin to clear out.

You both share a mischievous grin, and you put your datapad aside, pulling Anakin up from your lap into your arms. “I’ve missed you so much today, Sprout. Why don’t you tell me all about your day? What did you and your Master get up to?”

Anakin cringes, tanned cheeks stained peach as Obi-Wan joins you both. He pulls Anakin’s legs into his lap, patting the boy’s knee encouragingly.

“Anakin was virtually flawless in his lightsaber training today. We went through Soresu, and he made great improvements. I’m so very proud of him.” Obi-Wan praises, and Anakin’s flush darkens, looking both tormented and thrilled. You chuff at him approvingly, feeling the happiness and embarrassment in his Force signature flare as you give him a squeeze. Anakin has always craved the approval of his authority figures, especially yourself and Obi-Wan. You’re always careful to dole out praise to the boy, and have encouraged Obi-Wan to be more generous with his praise as well, and you’ve seen more stability in Anakin since his Master started listening. However, he’s also going through his teenage phase of being embarrassed by the existence of his parental figures, let alone when they show him love.

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to flirt with the cafeteria workers to get him an extra dessert then.” You muse, and Obi-Wan scoffs, pink rising in his cheeks.

“I don’t flirt.” He protests, and Anakin laughs, joining in on the ribbing now that he’s no longer the target. Especially with such an easy statement to refute. Everyone knows that Obi-Wan is a charming man, and that he wields that charm as deftly as his lightsaber. The Negotiator, indeed.

“Yes you do, Master. You even flirted your way out of the Halls of Healing after our last mission.” Anakin tattles, and you gasp dramatically, giving Obi-Wan a faux-scolding look.

“You told me they let you out because I was home to take care of you.” You chide, and he rolls his eyes, pinching your side.

“You knew I was fibbing. You told me so yourself.” Your Omega reminds you, and you snicker, giving Anakin a squeeze that gets him laughing alongside you.

I thought we were ganging up on our son, not on me.

God, you love that he’s started calling Anakin his son, even if he doesn’t do it in front of the boy. You love that he’s both yours and Obi-Wan’s. It’s been two weeks since you got back from being stranded, and yet things have only gotten better and easier between the three of you. Thank god for the soundproofing of the bedrooms, or Anakin might not have been so happy to have you all living together.

But teasing you is so fun, my sweet Omega. You get that adorable indignant pout, and demand I make it up to you. And maybe I’d like to make it up to you tonight.

… Our son is home tonight. We won’t be able to take our time.

Is he?

“Sprout, your Grandmaster is going on a short excursion to Alderaan tonight. He has mentioned wanting to spend some time with you. Would you like to go with him?” you ask, and Anakin lights up, turning his hopeful gaze to Obi-Wan. His Master pretends to think about it, stroking his chin, then gives Anakin a playfully stern look.

“You’ll have to be on your best behaviour for your Grandmaster. He can’t keep up with you as well as I can, and you’ll have to be mindful of his injury. And I want you to write about your experiences, and the things you learn while you’re on your trip, whether about Alderaan or from your Grandmaster in general.” Obi-Wan warns, and Anakin nods eagerly. You gesture to his robe on the floor, and he grabs it quickly, bundling it up in his arms.

“You can’t leave your things laying around with your Grandmaster, else the poor man might trip. Go get packed. I’ll comm him and let him know you’re coming.” You instruct him, and Anakin races off towards his room, leaping over the table with graceful ease. Once he’s around the corner, Obi-Wan slides closer on the settee, and your tail wraps instinctively around his waist, drawing a grin to his face. He grasps your chin, pulling you into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and desire while he presses you back into the arm of the sofa. You gasp into his mouth, then melt into a happy sigh, pulling him closer to you. You don’t indulge for long, but leave a trail of kisses across his jaw.

“I got you a present.” You inform him, nuzzling against his scent gland. He lets out a soft hum that rumbles into a purr, pulling you up into his lap. His warmth seeps into your thighs, and you splay your hands across his chest.

“What’s the occasion?” Obi-Wan asks, brow raised skeptically despite the pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my Omega?” You ask, and his purring grows louder, drawing a groan from Anakin’s room. Apparently he’d left his door open.

“Whatever you guys are doing, can’t it wait until I leave?” He calls, and you laugh, sliding off of Obi-Wan’s lap despite his grasping hands.

“Sorry Sprout!” You call out to him, activating your wrist comm and calling Qui-Gon Jinn’s comm code. He answers swiftly, and you hear the happiness in his voice when you confirm that Anakin will be coming with him on his trip, though he does his best to mask it under some degree of Jedi professionalism. He lets you know that he’ll be by shortly to pick up the young Padawan, and you say your goodbyes, all while Obi-Wan watches you with a fond smile.

“What?” You ask when you’ve hung up, and he shrugs, standing with you and circling his arms around your waist.

“I am just admiring the way my life has turned out.” he replies, and you can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, we did good, didn’t we?”

Later, after Anakin has left and you’ve both gone down to the refectory for dinner, you return to your chambers with a certain eagerness to your steps. You open the door to your bedroom and smile at the sight of your bed, nestled into the corner of the room and piled high with blankets and pillows in a way that only really makes sense to Obi-Wan. He’s had to make due with the starchy, rough fabrics traditional of a Jedi, along with the one nicer blanket you’d had since you were younger as a gift from your old Master Dooku. You know he craves the softer, finer fabrics more traditional of an Omega’s nest, though he makes excuses often that Jedi aren’t meant to have so many personal belongings, and that he’s fine with what he has. Fortunately, you’ve always been good at listening to the truth beneath his words.

You open the sliding door to the closet and pull out a startlingly large bag full of several blankets of different thickness, material, and shades of blue. Obi-Wan starts to purr as soon as he sees it, watching with predator-like intensity as you carry it towards his nest. Your tail wags behind you with how happy you are to have pleased him.

“I got you lots of different options. There are pillowcases as well. Let me know which ones you like best, and I’ll get more of those. I didn’t know which colours you might want, but I know you like blue, so they’re mostly shades of blue or teal. If you’d like other colours, I can get them. I made very good friends with the woman who owns the fabric store on the higher levels, though I don’t know whether it was my natural charm or my deep pockets that endeared me to her most.” You explain, and Obi-Wan’s purring only grows louder as he takes the bag and begins pulling blankets out to look at them, rubbing them between his fingers. Stepping up behind him, you dip your head to rub your chin against his scent gland the moment he exposes it, your arms circling around his waist.

“You’re too kind, darling. This is…” Obi-Wan trails off as he touches a dark teal blanket made of a fabric soft as silk, and you feel him stiffen in your arms, his signature bright with excitement.

“Exactly what you deserve, love. Give me whatever you want scented. You go ahead and take your nest apart, fix it up how you want it. We can give something to Anakin to scent when he gets back. Please tell me what fabrics you like best, and what colours you want.” You tell him, knowing if you give him leeway, he’ll try to act like he doesn’t want anything more. If you make it a request, he’s more likely to acquiesce. Obi-Wan hums his agreement, already pulling his old nest apart, putting his favourite pieces aside to reincorporate while discarding the others carelessly to the floor. Laughing at his antics, you pick up the discarded pieces, carrying them to the laundry closet once you’re sure he’s gotten rid of everything he doesn’t want.

First, your Omega replaces the discarded pillowcases, then carefully climbs onto the mattress to ruffle each pillow into place against the walls to outline the nest. You help him anchor the pillows on the wall-less edges of the nest, chuffing when he approves of your placement. With a dainty sniff, Obi-Wan tucks a soft, waterproof sheet around the mattress to protect it, and to keep the pillows outlining his nest in place. You catch a peek at his cheeks and ears, sweetly flushed pink knowing the waterproof nature of the sheet is mostly needed because of his slick. Once the base of the nest is made, you watch with keen interest as your sweet Omega fusses with the blankets to decide what goes on the bottom, still a little unsure. This is only his fourth time building a nest, and his third time building one from the ground up. He’s finding his preferences with every new build, and you’re learning along with him what he likes. You had one last gift, but you would give it to him once he was finished, like the icing on top of the cake.

Obi-Wan chooses a thicker but less soft blanket to go over the fitted sheet, and he tucks it into place, then pulls a creme blanket from his old nest materials, using it to cover your half of the thicker blanket. A cornflower blue, silky blanket goes on his side. Blanket after blanket, you watch as your Omega carefully builds his nest, something innate driving him. Obi-Wan fusses two pillows into place against the wall where your head goes, and you notice with some amusement that he chose the softer pillowcase for himself. How cute.

“I can feel you laughing at me.” He reminds you, and you grin, giving him a not-so-subtle pat on the ass that has him blushing and stuttering. You give him a gentle squeeze just to watch him fluster.

“I just like watching you make your nest, sweetheart. You’re so cute. And you do such a good job making it soft and cozy for us.” You praise, gripping his hips tightly just so you can feel him shiver with pleasure, “I’m not laughing at you - not really.”

Obi-Wan huffs, feigning annoyance while he shuffles your old blanket into place around his edge of the nest, then using his old blanket to line your side. The nest is topped with a large, soft blanket of a medium blue the same colour as Obi-Wan’s eyes, and you smile proudly as you survey the nest.

“Are you happy?” You ask him, and he fusses the edge of a blanket, considering. He doesn’t look completely satisfied, something missing from his creation, but you know he’s reluctant to complain.

“It’ll do.” he murmurs, then offers you a guilty look, “I’d like some more colours, if you don’t mind.”

You snort to show he hasn’t offended you, pressing a kiss to his pouting lips, “I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart, don’t look so upset. I’ve got one more present to top it off, if that will make you happy?”

Obi-Wan truly tries to look like he isn’t excited by the prospect of another gift, but you see right through him. He’s had so little his entire life, always subsisting off the little offered by the Jedi Temple in the name of the Jedi’s monastic lifestyle. As if owning things would make you less charitable. Perhaps for some, it would, but you’d never had that problem. You’ve been slowly, delicately encouraging Obi-Wan to want, whether it be affection, attention, gifts or simply you. Luckily for him, you’ve found a gift you know he’ll love. It takes a moment to pull the bag out of the closet, and you gesture for him to leave the room.

“Do you trust me to set it up?” you ask, and he nods, slipping out the door of the bedroom with a bit of a spring in his step, and then closing it behind him. You’re not exactly the handiest person in the world, but the shopkeeper promised the set up was simple, so you take each part of your gift out of the bag and begin to follow the holovid instructions displayed on the holoprojector you keep on your night table. By the time you’re finished, you can’t help but beam, proud of your achievement. Hanging from the ceiling is a series of rings upon which navy fabric is draped, creating a canopy around the bed. Inside, you’ve carefully strung a circular holoprojector based off those in the map rooms to display countless systems across the interior of the canopy. Stewjon, Haelstruum and Coruscant are among them.

Come see, love.

The door opens swiftly, and Obi-Wan’s answering gasp could fuel your happiness for a decade. He grasps at your arm, and your tail circles his wrist, sharing his excitement as he stares in awe. You laugh as your Omega shoves you into the nest, crawling in with you and closing the canopy around you both. He purrs, the soft vibrations rumbling through your chest as he holds you close while he observes his gift. Through your bond, you feel a spike of desire, though it isn’t accompanied by his usual embarrassment this time. You don’t fight as Obi-Wan begins undoing your belt, his pupils blown as he lays beneath you.

“I want-” he pauses, and you tilt your head encouragingly, stopping his hands, “I want you to fuck me.”

Good boy, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.

It takes nearly no time at all to peel the robes from your Omega despite his attempts to get yours off first. You run your fingers through his chest hair, looming over him so that you can press kisses to the well-healed bite mark you’ve left on his mating gland. He uses the opportunity to open your robes and push them off your shoulders, tossing your tabards to the floor shortly after. Kissing your way down his chest, you pause to gently swirl your tongue around his nipples, stoking the fire inside of him.

“I want you to ride me, Alpha. Want you to take what's yours.” Obi-Wan moans, and you smile against his skin, proud of him.

“Do you want me to touch you first, or do you need it so badly you can’t wait? I know it’s been a while. I’ve only been able to take you twice since we got back. My poor, sweet Omega was too sensitive for that first week after his heat, wasn’t he?” You coo teasingly, and he gasps, reaching for you to pull you up into a kiss.

“You were sensitive too.” He accuses between kisses, and you grin cheekily against his lips.

“Mm, I was. My Omega is perfect for me, nice and thick, making me feel so full.” You distract him with praise, and you feel through the bond that he knows exactly what you’re doing even as he preens under your attention. Your lips find the spot just below his beard where his pulse thrums, kissing at first before giving him a gentle bite.

“You took care of me in between, though.” He reminds you, and your answering smile is all predatory pride, “You let me fuck your sweet mouth before I went on that day mission with Anakin to the lower levels. And you touched me in the shower before my council meeting. I’ve barely had the chance to look after you properly. Even the two times you had the chance to take me were too quick.”

Stars, you love when he says anything naughty.

“What do you want, then, my little love? I’ll give you anything you ask for.” You promise, and Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting around an eager moan. You close your hand around his weeping cock, thumb tracing over the head to collect the slick precum dripping from him to ease the glide as you begin to stroke him. He shudders, clinging to you while he struggles to get the words out of his mouth. Eventually, he gives up.

I want you to take your pleasure from me. Ride me. I want to come inside of you, and then I want to lick it out.

You’re such a good, generous boy, aren’t you, baby?

Through the bond, you feel your Omega’s pleasure knowing he’s going to get exactly what he wants. You straddle him with ease, using your grip on him to line him up, then letting gravity take over. You’re wet enough that it’s a relatively easy glide, though you still feel right on the border of too full. As you begin to move, you gasp as Obi-Wan adjusts beneath you, planting his feet into the mattress and using his grip on your hips to guide you as he begins to thrust up. Shaky moans tumble from your lips as you squeeze Obi-Wan’s pecs and hold on for the ride, head falling forwards as you try to collect yourself. He sets a rather brutal pace, knowing how desperate the both of you are. Each thrust drives into you to the hilt, bumping gently against the deepest parts of you as you struggle for some semblance of control. Your Omega gives you little. He guides your hips to meet his thrusts, and he moves one hand slightly inward across your pelvis so he can rub his thumb against your aching clit.

“Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan, Stars, you’re so good. So good for me, baby. Love you. You’re so strong, s’like I don’t weigh a thing. Not even breaking a sweat.” Each word falls from your lips unfiltered, pure stream of consciousness, and you can feel the sparks of pleasure catching and burning inside of your Omega in response. He loves being able to do this to you. You can feel how much he adores that he can drive you to this point so easily. That you trust him enough to let him.

“Come for me, Alpha. Need you to come for me, so I can fill you up. Need to get it in deep so you can feel me inside of you for the rest of the night.” Obi-Wan groans as you clench around him, and he starts to lose a bit of his depth for speed, each thrust making a wet slap as his thighs collide with the meat of your ass. His thumb moves faster, and you gasp for breath, digging your nails into his chest as you feel the overwhelming rush of pleasure crashing through you. You come with a shout, and Obi-Wan joins you only a couple of thrusts later, then rolls you both over in one easy movement despite his trembling. He wedges his pillow under your hips, then lets himself rest in your arms for a few moments while you both catch your breath, letting you press soft kisses across his face.

“Obi-Wan, sweetheart, you know we’re eventually going to need to talk about your… interest in breeding me, right?” You whisper, and he flushes, burying his face in your neck.

“Oh, I’d really rather not.”

You laugh, full of affection as you pet his hair, and he shifts his hips back enough that his softening cock slips free of you. He cuddles closer as he begins to catch his breath.

“I know, love. I’m not against it, you know? But I do want to know if it’s something you actually want for your future, or if it’s just something that gives you gratification. Does it turn you on to think of breeding me, or do you want children?” You ask, and Obi-Wan groans, but you can feel him thinking about it through your bond.

“Is yes an appropriate answer?” He asks, and you smile as you kiss his temple.

“Both, then?” He nods, and you run your fingertips along the edge of his red ears, “Well, I believe we’re on the same page then, sweetheart.”

Obi-Wan hums happily at that, a purr rumbling in his chest as he begins to sit up, “You can keep interrogating me after I finish with you. I believe I promised to clean you up.”

You grin, relaxing back into his nest, “Well, you’ll never hear me complain about that.”

Promises, Alpha.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x original character #obi-wan kenobi x oc #obi wan kenobi x alien reader #obi wan kenobi x oc

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apollos-olives · 10 months ago

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wow thank you again for the great reply. i honestly never knew gender dysphoria could be like that so please forgive my ignorance. i was aware of it's existence but like we both said, my not being trans will never truly understand your being trans. i also appreciate the analogies because that does put it into perspective as well. Suicide of course should be prevented, and if transitioning is truly the only way to prevent it, then Allah knows best.

religious trauma is something i greatly identify with - having attended a Muslim school and being subjected to blatant misogyny as well as being the daughter of a revert who married into a culturally Muslim family, and growing up in a household that didn't really practice either - i totally understand why queer Muslims may feel distant from Islam and I do not judge them whatsoever because someone leaving the folds of Islam truly says more about their community. However, what I learnt from my own trauma and healing from that is that at the end of the day, we do have our own choices and we can choose whether to open our hearts back to the religion or not. ofc this statement is easier said than done.

Regarding queerness and children - I did not word myself correctly and forgot to mention what you have mentioned. I don't believe that being queer is inherently sexual and I apologize if it came out that way. You are right in saying people don't have a problem when heterosexual people make assumptions but will immediately have a problem when someone who is non-hetero does. It is hypocrisy and I admit that, I am not against children learning about people who are queer or even what queer means, my concerns are merely with people who hypersexualise under the guise of being lgbtq+ activists and in the same breath I will say that I feel the same way about heterosexual people who sexualise kids.

Where I stand, as long as Bi'dah is not committed, for example, free mixing in salah or roles of men and women interchanging when it comes to the practices of Islam, I genuinely have no qualms with anyone.

I have honestly learnt so much more in these two replies than I have learnt through media and discussions with people who identify as part of the community and for that i am truly grateful. many of your points allowed me to question my own perspective of queerness as well as to challenge myself regarding how I actually view people who are different than myself.

All in all, my stance on lgbtq+ hasn't changed much in the sense that I can agree with anything and everything that the community preaches but I have become more aware that not everyone who belongs to it shares the same opinions and not every Muslim who is queer/non-hetero hates or blatantly chooses to reject Islam. I do think that this discussion has been fruitful and it's a conversation I'm glad to have had, especially since it's civil, hopefully from both our perspectives.

Allah truly knows best, regardless of my view or your view and we all are Muslim and hopefully striving towards the end goal in the Hereafter. We should focus on the issues on hand and spread Islam through its meaning and not on our own prejudice because you as a queer Muslim may be doing much more good than I, a heterosexual Muslim, am currently.

Thank you for the discussion and may Allah bless you ♥️

no worries thank you so much for being so respectful and understanding! most muslims i meet aren't willing to listen to people they don't agree with so it's very refreshing that you're being so open to trying to listen to me. it's very heartwarming :)

alhamdulillah i'm glad you understand the struggles of being trans and how queer muslims may stray away from islam because of religious trauma. and you're absolutely right that at the end of the day, allah knows best and it is always up to the person to choose the right path for them.

and thank you for clarifying your stance on the whole children situation. and yes you are correct that people do use the lgbtq+ community to try to get away with stuff that is deemed unacceptable! unfortunately the community is facing hardship because people are abusing the openness and acceptance of the community and sometimes are using it as an excuse to do bad things, which most people in the queer community condemn and are actively trying to fight against! and even then, those situations are kept to a minimum and are handled as best as possible, and the occurrence of those problems are not as common as people think, actually. but i do understand how you may be concerned and that's totally fine, but i want to assure you that it's not common at all and most of the lgbtq+ community want to protect kids as much as possible!

i don't have much of an opinion on bi'dah and whatnot, but your beliefs are very valid and i totally respect them as well :)

i'm so happy that i could help educate you and give you insight about how queerness affects me and other muslims. i'm so glad that you were open to listening. it's totally okay if my insight hasn't changed your opinions very much, i'm just glad to have been able to be given an opportunity to share my perspective as a queer muslim. and you are right that the muslim community as a whole must drop their prejudices and all reach to strive for jannah in the afterlife. inshallah we can all have good discussions like we did in jannah as well :)

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gwemmieee · 3 months ago

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If you prefer not to receive feedback or discussion, it might be helpful to consider how the spaces of tags for minority communities operate instead of attributing responses to being "watched" when you’ve initiated the conversation in our space.

I tried expressing appreciation (arguably even cheering) for your capability to learn, grow, and change as a person, that I'm willing to help bridge the understanding gap, and you think I'm not humanizing you?

As I mentioned, you've been asked to clarify your stance more than once. When you do, there is a tendency to either agree with the harmful points you initially denied, or focus on your trauma with the seeming expectation of consolation, which can be harmful in itself (majority fragility).

This isn’t about what you've said regarding just one group; it’s about how your continual focus on how difficult it is for /you/ to consider the possibility of saying something hurtful dominates the discussion, making the issue out to be that minorities are just being mean and bullying you.

"what you're so certain I believe" I’ve made two attempts to clarify that it is about how things are "taken as" and "how I see it," rather than being certain about your beliefs.

You don't have to imagine, as I am willing to explain how what is coming across is harmful, hopefully from another perspective that works this tim, as many have already tried explaining only to be met with trauma dumping (as you do not consider the harm in talking about how much masculinity has traumatized you [and that transmascs are a part of it], that trans women have "extra bonus oppression" on a post discussing how transmasc oppression is erased or otherwise minimized, a group who may struggle to accept, often due to punishment and demonization for, their masculinity)

You have so much to say about what I'm doing wrong, but you continue to ignore power imbalances in this situation.

Firstly, I feel deeply uncomfortable with your repeated decision to only communicate with me via anonymous asks, as it puts me in a position in which I cannot engage in this discussion without publicizing my every word. I'm not going to engage any further if this pattern continues.

If you want to insist that I've done something wrong, then have an ounce of consideration for the visibility and cruelty of online public conversations. We all know what I'm talking about. Say the wrong thing, and you're met with dogpiling and abuse. I've already been dogpiled once. Which is the entire reason why this has gone as poorly as it has, and created another power imbalance.

I'm literally afraid of not responding to you because you claim to speak for a collective, without any clear indication of who you are, and I've already been made to feel very backed into a corner. Every time you continue to ignore this and make claims of what I've said that I don't agree with, it constitutes what looks from my perspective like gaslighting, ostracization, and abuse. And the longer you make me fill my blog with these interactions, the more I worry that I'm going to be dropped by a lot of people and left behind in obscurity for being too "weird," too "dramatic," etc.

I began my entry into that discussion very deliberately practicing and showing consideration for everyone who I imagined might read it and how they might feel. As a fallible human, I didn't do a flawless job. What followed, however, was a total lack of consideration for my feelings. The longer you ignore the realities of dogpiling and what kind of deeply paranoid and torturous mental state it puts me and many others in, the more you prove that my own well-being is only worth anything to you if I can be made to perfectly believe exactly what you want me to.

Please either be considerate of these things, and stop being anonymous and making this even scarier and trickier for me, or leave me the fuck alone. There is nothing I have heard about the struggles of the trans masc community that I have not understood and agreed with. I'm not the dangerous transandrophobia denier that you seem to be afraid of. That post I made earlier that triggered this chain of asks from you was not for you. It was for me and everyone I can trust to treat me fairly.

I genuinely apologize for anything I've said that anyone feels was hurtful. Is that enough to make you either go away or engage with me in a fair and respectful way? Please?

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eroticcannibal · 5 months ago

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Hello, I was wondering about how to learn more about the subject matter of Zionism and the complexity of it as a term because your post about it interested me. For reference I'm not Jewish and I'm new to learning about it, though I'm staunchly against the genocide being committed against Palestinians by the Israeli government.

I've seen the way the term is used and I'm aware my information on the subject is limited, as is my personal stake in it as someone who is non-Jewish and non-Palestinian. When doing research on the subject of zionism as a historical movement, I find a lot of descriptions of it as a colonialist movement with the goal of developing an ethnostate. One sentence from the Wikipedia page on Zionism reads: "Zionist nationalism drew from a German ethnic-nationalist theory that people of common descent should seek separation and pursue the formation of their own state."

When thinking about forms of Zionism, and in relation to your post about it, what do you mean when talking about how it's a more complex issue than Zionism being bad inherently? Or is your belief more that people with Zionist beliefs should not be seen as inherently bad? I suppose I'm unsure how to conceptualize the idea of Zionism not having inherent issues if it is based on those ideas, though since I'm no historian, I'd like to learn more about the topic and complexities surrounding it.

Pre-emptively clarifying that you're under no obligation to reply, and that if I've said anything offensive, please let me know so I can learn, as that's not my intention. I'm also not trying to argue (people often think I am); I want to learn more about this topic, and I'd rather openly admit when I want to learn more rather than being performatively "educated". Thank you!

First of all thank you so much for being reasonable and curious about this

I will preface this with i am perpetually tired and a bit stupid and I dont always word things how I want to so everyone be patient and understanding especially on such a diversive topic. Ultimately everything I say is based on the view that genocide bad, peace good, people in power suck and normal people have more in common than they have differences.

Now I am not the person to go to for a proper explanation on the broadly accepted kinds of zionism and the history of it and how that feeds into the ideas around zionism that people believe *now*. Hopefully someone else can add something useful wrt that.

My experience is largely with individual zionists and their personal beliefs, motivations and actions, and what these people have made of zionism. I will also stress that I am not going to argue if zionism broadly, or any specific version of zionism, is right or wrong. I think it is a perfectly legitimate stance to argue that all forms of zionism may have inherent issues (show me an ideology that doesnt) and im certainly not informed enough to argue against that. (Maybe someone else can offer some input here). Not only is it fucking complicated, its something that does (in the case of "zionism that supports everything happening right now") and would (for any other form of zionism) affects so many different aspects of life for different groups with different priorities that I dont think anyone is going to come up with anything that everyone is happy with. (This is mostly just disclaimer for anyone pissing on the poor lol)

So when I say that zionism is too complex and broad a term to be viewed as inherently bad, I am talking about the specific nuances that individual zionists have with their beliefs. While not a zionist, I think what other tumblr users (typically those falsely accused of being zionists) said wrt being neither zionist nor antizionst helped it click in my mind how fuzzy the boundaries between these ideologies are, where you can explain your beliefs to a zionist and an anti zionist and both could think you are on "their side". Their is overlap in ideas, a state can exist in so many forms and ultimately the promise of israel to zionists is simply safety, that does not *have* to exist as a detriment to others.

I know zionists who just want to know they have somewhere to go if they need to. Others who value the Jewish claim to the area but not at the expense of palestinians who they believe also have a valid claim. I know others who *dont* believe palestinians have a valid claim but are not opposed to living alongside palestinians. Some support seperate states bordering each other due to fear of continued violence if everyone shared one state. Some simply do not see a way of dismantling Israel without the death of Israelis and non Israeli Jews who would otherwise flee there, so support the continued existance of Israel even if they are opposed to the idea of Israel. Some want to start over with something better. Some are ideologically zionist but think that everything that has happened so far has been done wrong and is doomed to failure. Some want a religious Jewish state and some only want to guarantee enough Jews in charge that it remains a haven for persecuted Jews. Some dont even want *that* and just seek a state in which some sort of constitution enshrines the right for Jews to seek safety regardless of who is actually in charge. And there are many, regardless of their particular flavour of zionism, who are educating, donating, protesting and doing direct action in support of palestinians. Very few genuinely believe that they will gain safety through genocide.

And of course with any broad ideology there will always be the extremists, those who do want palestinians dead. But this is far from representative of everyone.

But also while I wasn't explicitly trying to talk about it in that post, I do *also* think, even if someone is opposed to zionism in all its forms, it is important to not see zionists as inherently bad people. (To be clear, for this next bit i am strictly talking about the fears of Jewish zionists and their allies, not christian zionists or those weaponising zionism to support anti palestinian sentiment or antisemitism). Ultimately zionism comes from a place of cultural and current trauma. Much like I refuse to see someone with a general wariness or distrust of men due to trauma as a bad person unless they go full terf, I will not see a zionist as a bad person unless they are calling for genocide. Jews have every reason to fear for their safety and not trust any country other than Israel to protect them. History has shown that these fears are not unfounded. How can we expect Jews as a whole to reject zionism when so many feel it is their only hope for safety (especially when there is practically no talk of an alternative?) It is human to want yourself, your family and your community to be safe. I know that I would do far more than just hold a political belief, over far less than a proven history of my people being slaughtered, to protect far fewer than everyone I care about. As would most people.

(Slight tangent here but why this is so important to me is largely driven by my belief that understanding this is vital for peace so)

I also think it is simply not beneficial to palestinians to treat every zionist like their beliefs make them an inherently bad person. It further polarises things when you tell people that wanting safety means they support the very worst version of their ideology which makes them easier to radicalised because you strip them of any more moderate community support (again to make the terf analogy, they use the "if you are critical of men you are spouting terf ideology" shit as a way to recruit traumatised people), all this feeds into people pushing ideas like "all Jews must be zionists (for their own safety because no one else cares)" and therefore "all Jews are bad (because they are all zionists and zionists must support genocide)", creating that kind of fear will only lead to Israelis and palestinians being more fearful of and more radicalised against each other, which just fuels and supports violence. Us vs them has always been an effective method of radicalising people towards violence and supporting the violence a state commits. And like. Thats something that innocent normal people always lose on both sides and that only benefits people in power.

I genuinely believe that an effective way forward is to support peaceful zionism that addresses the trauma and legitimate fears that have led to zionism as an alternative for radicalised zionists (and more realistic than trying to push them towards anti zionism) but that cannot happen while all of zionism is seen as inherently genocidal.

(Also just to touch on christian zionism and the weaponising of zionism briefly, I think it does a disservice to the discussion when people do not distinguish between these and Jewish and Jewish supportive zionism. So much of the discourse around zionism, either explicitly or implicitly, targets Jewish zionism, when so much of what feeds the violence and especially financial and logistical support of violence is these other zionsims. There are more christian zionists specifically in the US alone than there are Jews in the world. And honestly it just kind of feels very wrong that these kinds of zionism get conflated to the detriment of Jews as a whole, when Christian zionism is motivated by the desire to harm Jews and weaponised zionism seeks to harm both sides.)

Anyway I hope I've addressed your questions properly (I struggle with long asks and long responses because memory issues and I have to keep scrolling up and down to reread anything). Feel free to re ask anything I missed or ask for clarification, hope I did not ramble too much on tangents. Its just one of those topics where you talk about one thing and you have to talk about everything else that connects to it.

And everyone else please be normal about this. Ultimately everyone involved in this conversation opposes genocide and supports peace, and I do not make my space welcoming to people who believe otherwise, so we can be civil and nuanced about this.

#OH I SURE HOPE THIS CAN DOESNT HAVE WORMS IN IT #long post

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thejockout · 1 year ago

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So I’m pretty smart and non-confrontational but stand my ground when necessary, yet it can be stressful and when I’m off work and just having fun I would like to be a himbo. Also while I like having what I want clear, I find the idea of being a sub really hot. Is there any way to have it both ways? Can I be the intelligent professional and also the sexy, happy himbo when I just want to stop thinking and have fun? And should I call you sir?

Short answer: yes to the professional/dumb duality, and "if you wanna" to the Sir thing, but I can tell you do want to.

Longer answer: It's early and I haven't been up long, so be warned this isn't going to be the most eloquent response in the world. Howeverrr. To make things easy, my stance is that the risks of 'dumbing' in hypnosis are hugely overblown by subs (including myself once upon a time) and represent a misunderstanding of how causing such an effect could actually be done. To be perfectly honest, if all the depth a hypnotist gives their dumbing is to put you in a trance and tell you over and over again that you're an idiot or that you love making mistakes, etc etc, you have nothing to fear from that kind of suggestion ruining your life. Are there files which represent a potentially dangerous level of dumbing? Sure. I'd probably shout out Vive's dumbing conditioning series as an example of that, where I believe that file system's engine really could have a lot of knock-on effects outside of trance.

But generally speaking, when tists like me or most other muscle/jock/himbo tf boys talk about dumbing, it's either done in so abstract a sense that it's up to the sub to decide what dumb actually means to them, or it's explicitly clarified to be more about becoming laid back, not giving a shit, etc. than it is actually 'losing intelligence' or something.

And to be honest, even that concept is so vague it's hard to make firm statements on - what does 'losing intelligence' mean, in a specific sense? Does it mean flubbing your words, changing your hobbies, losing the power to count past ten...? Everyone's going to have a different answer. But for my money, I believe THAT kind of dumbing to be the more unattainable kind. It can be achieved by hypnotic conditioning, but conditioning always fades with time, and the level of work required to keep someone in that state is just too much. (Sleepingirl's "The Brainwashing Book" covers a lot of this in more detail.)

SO.

All this is to say that in my dichotomy, the question isn't "can you be a drooling moron for half the day and a regular, competent person the other half?" Instead, it's more "can you be dumber, codeword less in your head and less inhibited by shame and higher thought, in specific circumstances and retain your normal self-awareness in others?" And the answer to that one is definitely yes. I'm not going to dig into how that'd be done right now because I've written enough and that wasn't your question, but hopefully this answered... something.

Basically man, you can do what you want. The only limits with this kinda thing, beyond common sense ones, are the ones you imagine for yourself. I mean, if nothing else, hypnotic triggers exist and can be very effective; why shouldn't you be able use some to be dumb sometimes and not at others?

(Also, as for whether you can sub while having a clear idea of what you want and needing that to be respected... yes, you can. And you should. That's just having good boundaries. You should never submit without knowing that ultimately, even in a domsub dynamic, you are PLAYING the role of a submissive/inferior and the truth is that you both get equal say in what happens.)

#dumbing #asks #hypnokink

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ashes-2-ashes57cba · 2 months ago

Text

The Bad Batch: Valkyrie

Episode 3: The Solitary Clone (part 1)

This is something new. While the title may be the same, this episode does NOT follow Crosshair and Cody's story. This is an original episode that will follow Specter! I hope you like it :) warnings: references to Cher, references to the Great Gatsby, smoking

Tech carefully concentrated on his work; the flight console needed maintenance, and he was more than happy to take the time and accomplish the task. He rather enjoyed the silence and peace of working alone. Wrecker and Echo were relaxing at Cid’s parlor, and last he knew, Specter was giving Omega another combat lesson with Hunter’s supervision and participation.

“Hey, Tech,” Specter’s voice cut through his silence. He startled a little, jumping his head on the panels above him. “Sorry!” she sheepishly apologized as he slid out and rubbed his head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with worse,” he said. “I thought you were training Omega with Hunter.”

“Oh, uh,” she hesitated. She thought of the two now, currently in their bunks after an exhausting sparring session, resting their sore bodies and nursing any bruises. “They’re taking a break,” she excused, running a hand through her hair. “How’s the leg?” She gestured to the bandages still wrapped around his left leg.

“Ah, much better. I will be back to a more than satisfactory status with some exercise,” he said.

“Great!” A silence passed between the two as though Specter were waiting for something else to happen; she wrung her fingers together, and her feet shifted. “Do you need any help?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“I do not. I am quite capable of finishing repairs on my own,” he answered. Specter deflated, but she tried not to show it.

“Oh… okay then.” Tech’s head tilted in curiosity, analyzing her stance and tone. He knew he may not always be emotionally aware, but Specter’s downtrodden demeanor was quite obvious.

“Specter, you have now started to find constant activity and stimulation more than you usually would and more than I usually would,” he said, “What appears to be wrong?” She slowly sat down, hugging a leg and resting her chin on her knee, facing him but not meeting his concerned gaze.

“I still can’t read it. And now, if I’m not doing anything, I end up thinking about it when I don’t want to,” she admitted. He sighed, knowing she was talking about what they dubbed, the Valkyrie File.

“If I may be blunt?” he asked, remembering Omega’s advice that not everyone wants honesty all the time.

“I can’t stop you.”

“You must get through that obstacle and either read it in full, or completely purge it from your mind. Otherwise the distraction will make you a liability,” he said. Specter scoffed.

“Well, that’s putting it gently,” she said with a rueful smile. “I know you’re right. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to move on once I read it. I don’t want to change.” Tech took a breath, hoping with sincerity that his words would reach her.

“Specter,” he started, adjusting his goggles, “change is inevitable. The chances of whether the change will be good or bad is perfectly balanced. Although, knowing you, I do not think your change will be a negative one.” It seemed to strike a chord with her. When she didn’t respond, the words echoing in her head and throughout her body, Tech ducked underneath the control panel again and began to work once more. She sat there, watching him in silence until her comm chimed.

“Go,” she answered.

“Cid asked for you. Said she’s got a job,” Echo reported.

“Yeah, and she said that bringing the others are ‘optional’,” Wrecker added. Tech didn’t react to the message and she knew Omega would still need to rest.

“Okay, I’ll bring Hunter. En route,” she sighed, standing herself up and making her way over to Hunter’s bunk.

“So you want us to steal treasure, again? After what happened last time?” Hunter questioned, incredulously.

“Of course not! I want her to steal a particular piece of treasure. There’s a difference,” Cid clarified, pointing at Specter, then the projection of the diamond she had tasked her to steal.

“It’s not even the real diamond. Why bother?” Echo asked.

“Because it’s an excellent copy,” Cid said, quieting everyone and gaining their interest. “Very few people know it’s a fake. And those who know it’s a fake are smart about it and keep it to themselves; it passes every test and inspection. I need it so I can dupe a buddy into thinking I’m paying him what he’s owed.”

“Well, how much is this fake one worth?” Wrecker asked.

“A million credits, give or take,” the Trandosshan shrugged.

“Then how much do you owe?” he asked, stunned at the amount of credits.

“More than a million,” Cid rolled her eyes. “A lot more.”

“How do you end up owing that much money?” Hunter asked, seething. Cid waved it off, obviously ashamed and unwilling to go into much detail.

“It was a recent business venture that didn’t turn out so good. But who cares—are you doing it or not, sweetheart?” Cid wanted a final answer, turning her sneer to the woman, who had only been listening and absorbing rather than contributing to the conversation. Hunter noticed she was gripping her arm rather tightly and bore her eyes into the image of the diamond and the mansion it was housed in. Specter turned and walked away.

It was dark inside and out; most of Ord Mantell City was asleep, including the occupants of the Marauder. All except for Specter, who had gone straight to her bunk after walking out of Cid’s, but had failed to fall asleep. No one had tried to talk to her about the mission or anything else, probably at Hunter’s request.

Tech’s warning—the possibility of her becoming a liability—echoed in her head, along with every other troublesome thought. Cid trusted her with a job, they all trusted her with their lives, and yet she couldn’t even trust herself. Tears escaped from the corner of her eyes as she willed herself to reach over and grab a datapad, plugging in the Valkyrie file. Anything beyond the introduction was a mystery.

“Change is inevitable,” she heard Tech’s voice. It was amplified by whispers, more and more of them until she realized it was the Valkyries.

Now I’m really going crazy, Specter thought, shaking her head. The Valkyries—her sisters—refuted the fact, encouraging her to read the file. Here goes, I guess.

Supplementary log: Author: REDACTED While training regimens and weapons have been designed for the Valkyries to achieve the utmost success, it will all be made moot if the sororal bonds are not properly cultivated and implemented. Individually, they must all be able to withstand near-extreme strains that would be caused by frontline combat while also being able to excel within coordinated team attacks. Yet, that is merely the physical aspect that must be trained; the emotional relations—best described as that of a sisterhood—must not be forced, yet its presence is imperative. Without that bond, the Valkyries as a whole will fail. Even if individual specimens are strong enough to succeed, they will not be able to meet the expected results set forth by the program. In the case of the project’s failure, it is possible for an individual to excel without the desired support from the Valkyries or any other teammates, but too many variables are present to accurately calculate the possibility. That is all to say that this is an attempt to do something never done—intentionally—in the history of Kamino’s cloning: to create a family.

She stopped reading, unable to see through her tears. She put down her datapad and took a steadying breath, wiping her eyes. Not just because the information was too much for her, but because it had taken her months to reach this moment where she figured out what was wrong and accepted it.

She was grieving. For the life she never had and the part of her she thought she knew. It was a life she would never be able to get back; even if Crosshair came back and they were together once more, it would not be the same. She had to let her brother go and embrace what she had now.

The Valkyries—her sisters that never made it to life—haunted her dreams, whispered in her ear as Cid had shown them the diamond she wanted stolen, sang to her on Serenno to calm her. Throughout the time she had “known” them, Specter did her best to ignore their presence and shut them out; it had only ever brought her turmoil, nothing she did felt right. But now, as she let them dry her tears, she wanted to listen to them and let them guide her. She wanted to see what kind of Valkyrie she could be, rather than keep living the lie that she was a clone. It’s why she turned down Cid’s job; a clone, even one of her standing, would have no training for anything the mission could entail, let alone be assigned to anything of the sort.

But Specter knew it was what the Valkyries were made for: what she was made for. Whether she liked it or not, she was born a Valkyrie, and it was time she started acting like it.

The Trandosshan groaned, stirring her porridge as she entered her office. Cid was still slightly hungover from last night and getting up in the early morning was no help to her. She was still riding on the bet that Specter would change her mind and take the job, but with the way the boys have been worrying about her, she couldn’t be too sure. Cid would either have to find someone else to do the job, or find a way to accumulate the money she owed, which was not preferable in her taste. Placing her breakfast on her desk, she turned, grabbed one of her checking books and went to take a seat.

Cid gasped in surprise, startled by Specter’s sudden appearance in front of her.

“Jeez, it’s too early. What do you want?” she hissed.

“I’ll do it,” the woman simply said. Cid smiled, interlacing her claws.

“Well then, I can’t wait to get started.”

“The plan itself is so simple, if you somehow managed to get it wrong, I would be very insulted. I came across an invitation to some rich and pretentious party, hosted by some fellow with the name Jaerono Gatsaebyn, and swiped it before it got to its destination. It’s well known that currently possesses the… ah the name is too long-”

“The Heart of the Eternal White Point Star.”

“Thanks, Shorty. Anyway, it’s not as valuable as the real thing, but my ‘buddy’ and Mister Gatsaebyn are idiots, so they’ve got no clue. Security for the night is going to be loose enough so our leading lady here can sneak right in.”

“So I get in while you guys monitor me, get the diamond, and get out.”

“And you’re sure you can do it, Specter?”

“More than sure, Sarge.”

Specter gingerly made her way up the stone steps leading to the grand manor, picking up her dress so she wouldn’t trip on the fine fabric. She wore heels and a red, shimmering, floor length gown that hugged her torso and hung down from her hips with a slit up the side of her leg. A fur wrap covered her collar, shoulders, and back. Shimmering gloves covered her arms, and more importantly, her tattoo sleeve; and much to her protest, the maroon and teal dye was washed out of her hair and styled to the best of their ability. She carried herself as though she were a noble socialite like the guests that made their way up the stairs. Her confidence never faltered as she approached the single guard at the door, calmly handing him the invitation. The man scanned: she knew he would find the invite genuine.

“Enjoy the party, Miss Valentine Pierce,” he said with a smile and a nod. She jutted her chin and entered the lively house.

“‘Valentine Pierce’? She seems a bit pretentious, Tech.”

“She is an heiress and debutante. She bears a similar likeness to you, surprisingly.”

“How do we know the real Valentine won’t turn up?” asked Hunter.

“Miss Pierce was last seen on a private cruise with her current lover.”

“I didn’t know you read the tabloids.” Tech glared at Specter. “Well, with the dress I’ve got, I think I’ll be convincing enough.”

“I’m in,” she muttered into the comm hidden beneath her glove. In her other glove, a beacon that would allow Tech to track her and ping her signal throughout the household, allowing them to map out the household.

“Copy. Standby while we find the control room,” Omega came through her hidden earpiece. Specter grabbed a flute of champagne as she stepped into the ballroom; she couldn’t help but marvel at the architecture and atmosphere. Polished floors, light fixtures of crystal, intricately carved wood: she’d call it a palace. A small group of musicians were fixated on a circular stage in the center of the dance floor, guests danced in rings around it.

She was both enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life, Specter knew at least Omega would find the whole thing entertaining, and also knew the boys had no taste for such finery; the Valkyries fluttered in her thoughts, seemingly enjoying themselves. She wove in between guests, nodding to those who acknowledged her presence.

“Spec?” Hunter came through.

“Go.”

“Head towards the eastern stairwell, just past the kitchens.”

“Copy.” Specter finished her champagne and placed the empty glass on a passing tray; as soon as she stepped to leave, someone tapped her shoulder.

“Might I have this dance, Miss Pierce?” A bright blue Pantoran with golden hair offered his hand to her. She wanted to refuse, but didn’t want to risk appearing out of character to the real Valentine. So she smiled and placed her hand in his.

“You may indeed,” she said in a lilted accent. The man escorted her to the dance floor just as a waltz began to play. Specter had taught herself to dance as an imaginative girl, but she had brushed up on any information she could cram in before the mission. The whirling 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, was more fun than she’d like to admit, but she couldn’t help but smile as she danced with the man. “Have you been to many of these before?” she dared to strike up conversation.

“Believe it or not, I haven't,” the Pantoran admitted. “I’ve been to a few here or there, but nothing as grand as this.”

“Mister Gatsaebyn knows how to throw a party,” she said with a giggle. “I’ve never actually met him.”

“No one has, from what I heard,” he said as he spun her around. “Apparently, no one even knows what he looks like. People just know him from his parties and wealth.” Specter only hummed in response.

“I wonder why a recluse would host a party, but attend like a mere guest,” she wondered.

“Perhaps for the chance to dance with a lovely woman like you,” the man said with a smile. She was caught off-guard by the compliment, almost missing the end of the waltz. Specter quickly recovered and bowed to her partner, walking with him to the edge of the dancefloor as another dance started… right by the kitchens. “I suppose I should offer to get you a drink, but then I’d be jealous of the glass,” he flirted.

“I wonder how often that line works for you,” she teased, having to give him credit for the bold approach.

“As often as you'd like, Miss Pierce,” he said with a wink. She smirked.

“...If you're patient enough, good sir. Until then, if you'll excuse me for some air?”

The man chuckled and kissed the top of her hand. “As you wish.”

Specter smiled and turned to go, casually heading toward the doors to the kitchens until whispers in her head turned to shrieks of caution. The Valkyries were restless; instinctively she wanted to ignore them, but considered their warnings to abandon the set path.

He’s still watching me, she realized. Specter winced as she passed by the kitchens and opened the glass doors to the balcony.

“I need a reroute. I had eyes on me and couldn’t go through the kitchen,” she reported into the comm, leaning over the rail. The Valkyries quieted to their dull hum, though she could easily imagine at least one of them smugly telling her they told her so.

“You're on the balcony closest to it?” Tech asked.

“Yes.”

“On your right there is a window. Do not go through that one, enter the one below it. That will have you bypass the stairwell and place you in the hall where we need you,” he instructed.

Specter looked over, indeed finding a window that looked into the kitchen. Staff hustled to refill drinks and organize hors d’oeuvres; something broke, followed by shouting. Below the scene was a window into a dim hallway, with one side opened; it was about fifteen feet off the ground, a fall she wouldn’t easily walk away from. She hissed, finding there was no easy way to climb into it, especially in heels.

The window ledge from the kitchen stuck out far enough, but the staff would see her hands, and the frame from the window below was just under half an inch, her fingertips would never be able to hold on. With no other leverage, Specter considered cutting her losses and sticking to their original plan, even if she was spotted.

But she took a breath and looked again, tilting her head before formulating an idea. Glancing behind her to make sure no one saw her through the glass doors, Specter climbed over the rail and wedged herself between the two windows, forming a solid triangle with her heels on the bottom frame, and her hands pressed against the upper ledge.

Just as she was about to jump down, the other side of the window opened—her hand slipped as she quickly recovered—and a raspy voice was heard.

“Hey, the boss said no distractions,” said a man.

“I’m just taking a quick smoke. What are you, my professor?” said another, more playful voice, closer to the window, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath.

“Please, like you ever made it to school.”

Specter held her breath as a wisp of smoke flew up to her face; her hands and ankles ached, her fur wrap tickled her neck, but even so, she stayed perfectly still. Another puff of smoke rose up.

“Where did you even get those?” the raspy one asked.

“The boss gave ‘em to me.”

“No he didn’t.”

“Fine. I found them in the study. You know, for a rich guy, this is one of the cheap ones,” the playful one said.

“Who cares? Come on, we’re behind schedule,” the raspy one hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He took one last huff before flicking away the cigarette and walking away. Specter waited a few seconds, listening to the footsteps grow further away from the window, before swinging herself inside the hallway and pressing herself against the corner.

“I’m at the hallway, now what?” she whispered into her comm.

“Third door on the left side,” Tech instructed.

“Copy. Standby.” She waited as the guards’ footsteps disappeared past the other end of the hall, before cracking her neck and getting into character.

“Ddo You beilieeeeve in life after luuuuuv?!” Specter drunkenly sang, bursting into the room, stumbling in her heels.

“Guest, you can not be in here,” the droid on guard stood up and replied, waving its arms as she wobbled closer.

“Oh quiet you,” she muttered, smacking at its hand. “‘M jus gonna be a bit, gotta fix mah haiyrrr.”

“Guest, you can not be in here,” the droid repeated.

“Yooooo sssound like a funny butler, hahaaa,” she draped her arms over the droid’s shoulders, brushing her fingers on the back of its head.

“What do we do about the security system?” Omega had asked.

“That’s the hard part. Gatsaeban has an older system, one that can’t be hacked into from any network or external force. It’s all controlled and monitored from a room inside,” Cid explained.

“Human or droid?” Specter asked.

“Droid. I found receipts of custom work he had done. It’s a combination GU-series Guardian police droid and a KX-series security droid; normally it patrols the property, but for the party, he’s keeping it in the security control room.”

“I can create an override switch, but Specter will have to access the charging port on the back of its head,” Tech offered.

“Done. Plus then we can kill two birds with one stone and find where exactly the diamond is,” said Specter.

“Guest, you must leave,” the droid ordered. Specter only smiled, slipping the chip out of her glove and inserting it into the droid’s charging port. The droid flailed its arms—she took a step back, ready to fight—before it went limp where it stood.

“...Okay?” Specter whispered, wondering if anything went wrong.

Suddenly, the droid's eyes flickered and it hummed back to life, standing up straight and observing the room. It came upon her, slowly raising a hand and robotically waving it.

“That you, Tech?” she asked.

“I have access to its motor functions and data retrieval,” Tech said through the comm. Specter giggled.

“Alright then. Well, how much access to the house’s systems do you have?” Droid-Tech turned to the control console, taking inventory of what he could and couldn’t do.

“Not much. I can keep you off of cameras and get you through most doors. Cid was right, this system is old but secure.”

“What about the diamond?”

Droid-Tech walked—albeit, much like a newborn—to the access port, plugging in and scanning through the data with flashing eyes.

“Second floor. West wing. There is a private vault you should be able to access from the master closet,” Tech reported. “There is a service lift on your right when you exit this room; I'll be able to override it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when I’m up there,” Specter nodded, heading out the door and slipping into the lift. Once the doors closed and she started rising, she slouched and took a breath.

It felt strange to be on a mission without the others, but Specter also realized that she was excelling. The Valkyries fluttered and whispered their praises, though she swiped away at them.

Maybe I’ve just gotten too into it, she sighed to herself.

The lift stopped and the door opened to a dim hall. Specter peeked out the doors, finding there weren’t any guards in sight, before heading toward the Western wing. Oddly enough, doors were opened just enough to see what was inside. She passed by the study the guard from earlier had mentioned, as well as an observatory and a display room filled with antiquities and other treasures. But Specter continued on to find the-

“Master closet,” she whispered to herself, coming upon a large room, filled to the brim with luxurious clothes and accessories. “I’m here, Tech, but I don’t see any vault.”

“Try the right-hand wall,” he said. Specter pushed aside designer coats, capes, and everything that was in her way, growling in frustration when she was met with only a blank wall.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not possible. You’re standing right in front of it.” Specter clicked her tongue; if Tech sounded confused, then they were in real trouble. She knocked on the wall, finding that the section in front of her was indeed hollow, but there was no way—at least that Specter could see—to access the vault. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to figure out some sort of plan.

I hate to do this, but we’re running out of time, she thought to herself, taking a breath and closing her eyes, listening to her inner self and the Valkyries. They whispered, convincing her to move.

“Specter, where are you going?” Hunter came in. Her eyes snapped open.

“I guess to the main showroom. There’s something in here…” Specter slowly entered the chamber, marveling at the glittering jewels and exotic weapons. The Heart would not be in there, she knew that, but the Valkyries were restless nonetheless.

Something out of the corner of her eye got her attention. A beautiful, single-edged axe was displayed on a pedestal; scratches and wear on the blade and handle told her the classic weapon had seen combat, and without any chips or cracks, had survived for many years. She took it off the display and felt its weight in her hands. It felt almost… familiar. If not familiar, then correct. The Valkyries urged her to take it, they too praised its correctness. It had called to her.

And it would do nicely to break down the wall.

“Wrecker, are you ready with that cover?” she asked, walking back over to the master closet.

“Oh yeah! Just tell me when!” he eagerly replied. Specter shifted the weapon in her hands, raising it up and testing her swing before giving the order to-

“Light ‘em up.”

“I do have one more question.”

“What is it, Shorty?”

“...How would they feel about impromptu fireworks?”

Cid grinned.

Guests ogled and cheered for each color flash; no one noticed Specter striking the wall with the axe with every boom and bang. The wall chipped away, enough to where Specter could pull away the panel to climb inside the private vault.

“...No...”

See what happens next in part 2! I had to split this episode in two parts because this covered 14 pages in my master doc lol

#f!oc #star wars #star wars oc #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x oc #the bad batch #sw tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb oc #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb omega #clone force 99

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