#i did think this through i promise

[mildew-dread-mold]

neil josten

[afterthelambs]

I'm not sure if I believe the "Wakaba Isshiki did unethical experiments" theory in the fandom, but I do think this is the biggest proof of it in-game:

Because how the hell would she know that?

The first explanation is that she did experiments by sending people into palaces and then testing what happens to them if the palace collapses. Which is messed up for obvious reasons.

The second explanation is that she did NOT test it, meaning she was just making shit up. Which is funny but also would make her a terrible scientist. This explanation is less believable because everything else about her research is too accurate.

There's also a theory that Wakaba did unethical experiments on Akechi specifically. I'm not sure I believe that, since the evidence for it is pretty shallow (like the featherman game scientist experimenting on grey pigeon). But this scene is once again the biggest argument you could make for that theory. The researcher in the image above refers to palaces by their correct term 'palaces', which they say was based on Wakaba's research. But that's only something you would know with firsthand experience of the metaverse. And the only person they know who could access the metaverse was Akechi (that we know of, but i dont think Shido would rely only on Akechi if there were other options).

So yeah this scene is very sus. It's most likely the writers didn't think too deep about the implications. There's no way they wanted Futaba's mom to be sketchy, right? But even if it's not intentional, the scenes and their implications still exist. So in conclusion those theories make sense, I get it, and I don't blame anyone for headcanoning them and having fun. And tbh anyone involved with cognitive psience was portrayed as some degree of unethical (maruki for example), maybe this is just on-brand

[three-realms-archive]

Dramatic Drama

“What the hell was that?!”

Mammon and Asmodeus yelled in unison, leaning forward to give threatening glares to the characters on screen. The pair continued to insult the male lead in particular, as he fell to his knees and grovelled for the forgiveness of his female love interest. They scolded the actor like he could somehow hear. The woman stood firm despite her former lover grovelling at her feet - and yet her face showed signs of pain and conflict.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, when you invited Mammon, Asmodeus and Satan to watch one of your favourite human-world telenovelas with you. They all seemed to love TV shows and books with plenty of drama, but you were surprised at the intensity of their reactions.

Well… Mammon’s and Asmo’s. Though you had a sneaking suspicion Satan was enjoying your watch session more than he let on.

“Whilst I’m not going to yell,” Satan began, “this is still idiotic. She literally just caught him being intimate with another woman, so how can she still stand there like -“

“Girl, you better not!” Asmo’s screeching cut Satan off as the Avatar of Lust clutched his fuzzy, pink comforter to his chest - Satan snapping his head back to the TV as the words “… but I still love you…” from the male actor floated through the speakers, along with some very dramatic guitar music. As he confessed his love for her, the woman turned look him in the eye with a softened gaze… much to the chagrin of your companions.

“No, no, no!!! Don’t you dare say you love that idiot!” Mammon growled, shaking his fist at the TV. You sighed.

“I’m glad you’re all enjoying this, but maybe don’t be too loud. We’re right next to Lucifer’s room…”

“WAIT!!!” Everyone (now including a very emotionally-invested Satan) half-shushed, half-yelled. The woman had offered the man her hand, pulling him to his feet. The three demons on the sofa leaned forward, in nervous anticipation. Asmo’s comforter was now on the floor, forgotten. Mammon was on one side of you, clinging to your arm like a lifeline. Satan was on your other side, eyes wide, your sleeve balled into his fist so hard the threads had begun to unravel. You decided to just lean back in your seat and enjoy the scene, knowing what was to come next. The woman spoke.

“I…”

Satan was seething. Asmo was chanting seriously under his breath:  ”Don’t do it, girl - don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t -“

“I… I…!”

Mammon had leaned so far forward, he’d slipped off the edge of the sofa - and onto the floor alongside Asmo’s comforter. He hadn’t made any sound, though, chanting with Asmo and gritting his teeth as -

“… I love you, too.”

And hell broke loose.

Satan began to throw things - pillows, food and books. Mammon threw his hands up and started yelling at a now-cracked screen; a thick book (courtesy of the Avatar of Wrath) lodged into the glass. A shrieking, livid Asmo caused the door to creak open only a few seconds later.

…

… A few seconds too late, as Lucifer opened the door to a TV remote hitting him smack in the head.

(inspired by a telenovela from my childhood that i've been rewatching, lol. something like this happened to the second male ad female leads, who are love interests - and i remember being so mad, especially since i shipped the second male lead so hard with the main female lead. i was also mad because they repeated this like multiple times throughout the series and i was like, girl no why this is the tenth time you've done this exact same thing. i was also also mad because the second leads being romantic with each other started so ridiculously late in the show i couldn't get behind it - and all of that culminated my young self raging even tho the show was so so good if you just take out that romance)

[wyrmswears]

i finished aai2 (one of these is not like the others)

[bakudekublogblog]

kacchan there is actually a way you and izuku can be together forever i have this crazy inventive solution for you it's called a marriage license

[dizzybevvie]

No bc Warrior Cats genuinely couldve done something with Starclan and generational trauma and romanticising "old times" and the warrior code because Starclan arent deities theyre just dead people but instead we get another 6 books of Will They/Wont They with a TigerStar clone

[fishareglorious]

i do a light chuckle once i remember hofmann and semmelweis are friends but then i remember semmelweis and marcus' suitcase interaction where they talk about her and i am once again inconsolable about this old woman's death

[ghostespresso]

staff logging on to tumblr dot com today

[serpentface]

may i have the 10 wholly unasked for paragraphs of semen retention belief lore please 🙏

Ok

MEDICAL MODEL:

The philosophical core of Wardi medical model revolves around the universe’s primal dualism- it exists in between the extremes of Sea (cold wet dark female) and Sky (hot dry bright male). These forces are sterile and stagnant when separate, God emerged at their interacting boundaries as their synthesis, capable of creation. Life itself required God’s sacrifice of Its living spirit and the shedding of Its blood, which rendered sterile earth fertile and inhabitable and kicked of the perpetual death-rebirth flow of living spirit that maintains all life. The body is a reflection of this primordial state- it is maintained by the flow of living spirit (contained in the blood), and its core matter is an interactive mixture of primordial Hot Sky and Cold Sea, Warm in balance, with male and female physically differentiated by the presence of primordial extremes- the male has Hot testes, the female has Cold womb, the interaction of these extremes allow for creation.

(I promise this will have to do with semen retention eventually.)

Blood is understood as carrying the body’s living spirit, the animating force whose proper flow maintains life and health by balancing the body’s primordial extremes. Semen is a type of blood, given Hot nature by its isolation in the testes, and also carries the living spirit. It functions as the active seed of the living spirit. It is the Hot element planted in the Cold of the womb, the mingling of these forces allow for creation, and insemination with living spirit creates a living body that can host an immortal soul. (Wardi belief describes two souls- a living spirit that animates and maintains the body and an immortal soul that houses the mind).

Male gender designation revolves almost entirely around the testes, the Hot extreme of the body where semen is (assumed to be) produced and stored. In addition to its procreative functions, the testes are an organ whose function is to masculinize and strengthen the rest of the body. Each organ requires the proper flow of healthy blood/living spirit to function properly, and thus loss of this living spirit must be performed with great care- bloodletting in offering is highly controlled, bloodletting in medicine is carefully selected and done in accordance with balancing procedure. Since testes are regulated specifically by the living spirit in semen, semen should not be discharged with reckless abandon.

SOCIAL SEXUAL NORMS:

Cultural ideals for sexual behavior revolve around moderation and self-restraint. Sexuality itself is not demonized. There is nothing wrong with nonprocreative/nonmaritial sex in of itself (unless it is adultery on the part of a woman (male adultery is ostensibly bad too but is rarely treated as gravely), or a girl losing virginity prior to marriage, or it violates a litany of gender-sexual norms), but sexual RESTRAINT is an expectation.

Having an active but controlled libido is idealized, particularly in men. A man who is an absolute paragon of ideal masculinity has a libido, but is not ruled by it. He does not masturbate and rather seeks a partner for sexual release. He usually has a wife for this, and otherwise is capable of the patience and restraint to attain a quality sexual partner rather than finding the easiest release out of desperation. His partners are suitable to proper male interest, being good looking women or pretty beardless youths (going for 'unseemly' women or older, masculine men (so long as one performs the penetrative role) is not wholly unacceptable but suggests desperation and a weak control of libido).

This is an IDEAL and not strictly enforced- very few people will think you’re a weak failure of a man for jerking off sometimes or bragging about fucking some random tail, and hiring sex workers is entirely normalized (and will only be condemned if deemed notably ‘excessive’ and disruptive to a normal patriarchal role, or truly symptomatic of being unable to get laid without paying for it). Rather, if someone is already identified as a weak or effeminate man, ‘excessive libido’ may be cited as a cause or symptom, or rhetoric to criticize them.

THE SEMEN RETENTION:

Encouragement of semen retention/regulation stems out of both of these forces. Proper masculine social/sexual behavior encourages a limitation to discharge of semen, and medical thought deems it necessary for physical masculinization. A man who does not 'excessively' lose semen via an uncontrolled libido is thought to be physically more masculine- it is assumed to directly make the testes larger since they are Storing More Cum, but also to deepen the voice, assist in the growth and maintenance of the beard, and generally enhance strength, mental acuity, and vitality. Men are regarded as innately physically and mentally stronger than women, with the medical model slapped on as one of the means of explaining patriarchal norms (in addition to spiritual concerns of pollution and metaphysical vulnerability). Regulating semen is one of many behaviors that allows a man to stay this way.

This is also an element in why 'effeminacy' in men is linked to hypersexualization- there is an assumption that men who are physically or behaviorally non-masculine have exaggerated, uncontrolled libidos. Effeminancy or ‘softness’ in men is a failure to perform a wide set of behaviors and not strictly an accusation of receiving penetrative sex, but this is often an element- a man who receives is presumed so desperate and out of control of his libido that he will submit to debasement and shame for fulfillment (an un-masculine man who cannot be a penetrative partner could at least retain his dignity by having enough self-control to abstain entirely).

Some scholars, high ranking warriors, and politicians will (at least claim to) be functionally celibate and refrain from all discharge of semen in order to function at peak performance. This total abstinence is rare and NOT culturally mandated, and is often looked on with a little snide derision as a tryhard performance. More commonly, men will attempt to live a life with a controlled libido, and may temporarily abstain from sexual activity leading up to situations that require physical and mental acuity (combat, debate, sport, etc).

Of most concern to the average day to day person is accidental loss through nocturnal emission. While this is harmless every once in a while, it is cause for concern if it occurs frequently- your body is discharging part of its living spirit completely outside of your control, you are directly weakened by this and you don’t want this happening on a regular basis. Recurrent, frequent episodes may indicate polluted blood, or outright inhabitation by evil spirits.

The only level on which semen retention tends to be actively, directly enforced is with children. Teenage boys are typically discouraged from masturbating (especially during the early stages of puberty)- retention of semen masculinizes the body, therefore will contribute to a healthy and normative puberty and should be preserved at this vulnerable time. It is considered normal to chastise and punish a pubescent boy for masturbation. This is seen as preventing him from harming his health, and to teach him to regulate desire and exercise self control, one of many facets of shaping a boy into a proper man during this critical time. This norm does not contribute to children developing lingering psychological issues AT ALL.

Wardi traditional medicine is a holistic methodology of spiritual/physical treatment, using a base system of items (foods, animal parts, herbs, metals, stones) with Hot or Cold properties and individual Essences to manage imbalances in the body and it's blood/spirit flow and dispel evil spirits. This medical system (and related subdivisions of folk medicine) is commonly used to treat nocturnal emissions, and may also be used to lower libido and/or discourage teenage masturbation. These are largely medicines with Cold properties and noted anaphrodisiac Essence. Eels are a big one- given that eels, obviously, are sexless and emerge from river mud, their bodies are anaphrodisiacs and consumption of eel meat/eel based tinctures can lower libido (this should be done with caution, as it also lowers fertility in humans and animals). Medicines may be directly applied to the penis, this does not interfere with the intended function of the testes but subdues excess lust. Phallic amulets are worn regardless of gender and have holistic nonsexual protective properties, but may also help defend against nocturnal emission. Other medicines are worn in sachets that are tied around the hips during sleep, often weighted with lead. In very severe cases (mostly associated with other dysfunction), the penis or testes may be infected with polluted blood and should be bled.

---

Tangent: If the Wardi community had reddit you would occasionally see threads like "DAE eat their semen after masturbating so you don't actually lose any?" and most responses would be "no wtf" but there would be a decent number of people going "omg yes I thought I was the only one" "I mean that's kind of weird but I guess it makes sense if you really think about it" and then one very angry commenter ranting about how, No, eating your semen DOES NOT suffice as mitigation of the loss, this is why so many boys are SOFT AND EFFEMINATE these days, the men of old NEVER jacked off and NEVER ate their own cum and had MUCH FULLER BEARDS AND LARGER TESTICLES.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hear me out guys james mcavoys charles in the krakoa charles fit…

the ideal timeline is where instead of getting dark phoenix we waited like two years and got a krakoa movie and then i get escorted out of the movie theater for being Not Normal about bald mcavoy in the black suit and fuck-off chrome-dome helmet

[youngpettyqueen]

do you ever think about Garak waking up and seeing Julian in that chair, uncomfortably crammed in and slumped over asleep, and wonder how he must've felt when he realized Julian wasn't going to leave

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

the planes of existence

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 2, 2021 1:00 p.m. grant's house / henry's house

[tvckerwash]

idk how much of a trend it is nowadays, but back in 2014-2018ish I was always confused about why people decided to give tucker a hostile attitude towards wash prior to s11 when we don't see him having any strong feelings towards him until chorus (though I'm pretty sure they don't actually interact until chorus sans that one scene at the end of s8 but that is besides the point).

like don't get me wrong, I understand conceptually why people give them a rocky relationship, but tucker—and the rest of the bgc—don't treat epsilon and alpha as separate people despite understanding that they're separate people. to them, church is church, so when epsilon looks like church, acts like church, and sounds like church, tucker has no reason to treat him as different from alpha even though they are different. he also didn't spend enough time with epsilon to gauge the nuanced differences between them, so from tucker's perspective wash isn't the reason church was gone—church dies all the time, who cares about him doing it again? s11 hurt so much because epsilon's outburst in s10 made it look like he left because they weren't up to his standards anymore, the bgc weren't good enough to be church's friends anymore.

tucker wasn't good enough to be church's friend anymore, let alone good enough to be his best friend.

they trusted epsilon, they went back for him and carolina when they didn't have to because they couldn't in good conscience abandon them when they needed them, and the two of them returned the favor by abandoning them without so much as a goodbye.

wash didn't though, even when he had multiple opportunities to do so. wash didn't /have/ to stay to pick up the pieces and fill the void church left behind, but he did—and /it hurt/. it hurt that wash was trying so hard and cared so much when it wasn't his place to do so. who /the hell/ did he think he was, trying to fill in for church while simultaneously completely failing at it? why /the hell/ did tucker have to get stuck with him when he all he wanted was his best friend?

[billdenbrough]

fundamentally disinterested in the recurring discourse about kevin's drinking that aims to a) make it his Specific Problem To Focus On And Overcome when it is a crutch and coping mechanism to get him through a Much Bigger Problem (emotional fallout he can't square with by himself, culture shock, trauma, loss of his extremely wildly co-dependent relationship w riko, losing the structure of the nest, mourning a future he was meant to have, processing a grave injustice, anger and fear and desperate grief, all of which is his Actual Specific Fox Problem) while he builds himself back up, and b) thinks that even if it is a problem (more on that later), it's the foxes' problem to deal with.

like. it's just not.

yeah, he doesn't drink until he meets them. they gave him that habit, and in traditional terms, they're (the monsters specifically) a 'bad influence'. but these are the foxes. this is kevin day, son of exy, whose meteor is crashing spectacularly through no fault of his own. there are no traditional terms to be found here. the framework for it literally doesn't exist. neil comes into the foxes with more conventional expectations—appalled at the athletes' substance use, his horror at matt's trip to columbia, his steadfast and early repeated stance that none of the foxes should let andrew treat them the way he does, and certainly not nicky—and tends to engage with them less as the series goes on and he folds himself into the foxes. the thing about the foxes is that they've all been in pits deeper than they are tall. and some of them got a helping hand on the way—erik, andrew's extreme intervention methods, stephanie walker—and wymack was always waiting for them on the other side, ready to throw down a rope, but all the foxes dragged themselves out of their own holes. often not alone, often not without assistance, but at the end of the day, they have to do it.

there's that line neil has about aaron in that scene that got deleted when the timeline shifted around, when he thinks about how aaron got this far in life on his own, surviving on willpower and sheer desperation. that applies to aaron in a way that's a little more acute than some of the rest of them—boy who doesn't let the foxes in bc of andrew, boy who doesn't let nicky in bc he doesn't know how, boy made of flinching and seeking an escape and grieving the one who hurt him—but is broadly true for the foxes en masse.

this isn't to say the foxes can't help each other, but it's not their job. it just isn't. they'll keep kevin alive, keep him safe, keep him flanked and contained within their ranks. they'll fight tooth and nail in this battle with him, fight to get him to that championship game, fight to get that trophy in his hands. but that's all they've agreed to. that's all they're responsible for, in this covenant they've made with him. he says they can make this happen, and they're going to get him to that final game, but it's up to him what state he's in when he gets there.

like. they're foxes. they've been triaging their whole lives. they hate each other and they hate everyone else more. they're the kids with their backs up against the wall. half of them are addicts. i don't think kevin is comparable, personally; he's getting through a horrific situation with a coping mechanism. that's not the same thing as battling yourself to stop using. but that's not really the point of this. what i'm getting at here is that to the foxes, it's easy math: kevin who can lean on vodka and andrew and wymack and the foxes to stay upright when he's not ready to stand on his own two feet is still a kevin who is standing. a kevin with one less piece of scaffolding to lean on is a kevin who falls over, a kevin at risk of complete collapse, a kevin one phone call away from running back to the master, a kevin one crucial loss away from not ever making it back to himself at all. they're triaging. this is low on the totem pole of things they have the room to care about. they very much have bigger problems, both individually and even just kevin-related. if alcohol makes seeing the boy he knew best in the world and moved in tandem with his whole life and who destroyed their entire legacy and his entire life in one move — if alcohol makes facing that boy easier to stomach, then, fuck, why would they take that away? they're foxes. they've all got their demons. this is what kevin needs this year and a half to let him face his, that's all. they can understand that. it doesn't have to be pretty, as long as it keeps him in the fight. that's the priority.

i think there's absolutely space to explore this in fic and art and fandom in a way that maybe does explore it as a Problem, both that it's an active problem for kevin & that it's something to explore other foxes helping him with (there's a t&n fic that i've been gnawing at the bit to read for months that seems poised to explore this premise, and that's super up my alley)! i just think we're in different territory when we're talking about the series—and its characters and dynamics—in a conversational rather than transformational way, and end up talking about this like the foxes are responsible for kevin's choices. i love kevin day. i read these back at the start of 2015 & he's so dear to me that loving him was the blueprint for how i feel abt kageyama. but it's been pretty weird to see how the conversation has been translating Loving Kevin Day into... thinking the foxes are doing wrong by him with respect to this in actual canon. like that's just not how it operates there

[tennessoui]

more hunger games au anyone?

(first snippet) (1.6k) (dark. hunger games. canon typical violence for both sw and thg) The cannon rings out over the arena. It’s a sound Anakin has heard so many times before that he hardly even registers it now.

The Anakin on the television screen does not recognize the sound either nor does he seem to understand what it means. From an outsider’s perspective, he looks wild, eyes flashing, nostrils flared from his heavy breathing as he stabs the hunting knife again and again into the chest of the tribute from District Two, long past the time he has died. 

So long in fact, that even members of the Capitol audience turn away during this replay, looking vaguely sick. 

Anakin watches though. Anakin knows what’s coming. 

Anakin had not lost his mind at all, but from an outsider’s perspective, he can see how this must have looked as though he had. 

But everything had been calculated. Every stab had been with intent. Anakin had been in control the entire time.

He wonders if that would make the citizens of the Capitol more scared of him, if they knew that. If they knew how in control Anakin was then and is now. 

On the screen, a girl screams for the fallen Tribute. Anakin makes sure to deaden his eyes, to straighten his posture, to flinch at the noise. 

On the screen, the girl reaches out to clasp at Anakin’s shoulder. She probably thought she could out-manipulate him. She probably thought he would never kill her outright. After all, his entire strategy had been to convince everyone he was hopelessly in love with her. He couldn’t just kill her after weeks of loving her. Hell, maybe she even bought his act. Maybe she thought he really loved her. 

She should have just stabbed him in the back.

On the stage, the couch, Anakin watches as the girl’s hand falls onto his shoulder. He watches as the Anakin in the Games turns around and stabs her in the throat. 

The hunting knife goes clean through. She is dead in seconds. 

The audience sobs as one. There are screams, though this is just a rerun. Anakin wonders about their reactions during the live showing. Did they faint? Did they care? Did they care so much they thought they would die? Was he a tragic character? Was he a villain? 

After all, they just watched him kill the love of his life.

Obviously, he had not meant to. Anakin on the screen recoils in horror. He pulls out the knife and watchs his fellow district 4 tribute drop to the ground.

Dead. 

The cannon goes off at the same time he begins to scream, eyes wide and mouth wider, bloody hands scrabbling useless at her open throat. He is still screaming, dry sobs leaving his parted lips as he tries to repair what can never be fixed.

Anakin on the victor’s couch watches his breakdown dispassionately. He should have cried, he decides. And right as he puts his face down to muzzle into her hair, the cameras pick up a hint of a smile.

Amateurish.

“Anakin,” the host says, as the screen fades to black. His tone is commiserating, sympathetic, pitying. He leans across the space between his seat and Anakin’s couch and puts a hand on his knee. Anakin does not have to pretend to flinch away. He is sick of people touching him. There is only one person in the entire world he wants touching him right now, and that man is in the audience watching. 

Anakin wonders suddenly if Obi-Wan had screamed when he watched him kill the girl. If he had cried out. If he had been relieved.

Anakin had been relieved, but he makes sure to hide that relief now. 

“Anakin,” the host says again. “I am so very sorry that I had to show that to you.”

Anakin turns his head away. He clenches and unclenches his jaw. He makes fists with his hands and then uncurls his fingers. “You watch it,” he says. “I have to live with it.”

The audience makes appropriate noises of sympathy. There are a few jeers, some boos. The girl from his district had been some people’s favorites to win. He knows this now. 

He bites back the urge to call them all idiots. Every last one of them who thought she could win. She never could have. Not when Anakin was there. Not when Obi-Wan told him shakily, that last night before the arena, lips pressed to his forehead and face wet: come home to me.

“What was going through your mind, Anakin?” The host asks, still in that same sympathetic tone. “You’d just killed your sixteenth tribute. It was just you and Robin remaining as soon as Diamond died. We were all so worried for the pair of you, weren’t we?”

He turns to the audience and the audience screams back. Anakin sits there. Anakin thinks. 

“I know more than a few of us were hoping the Gamemakers would create a rule change, just for the two of you. What I would have given, to see you and your beloved go home together.” The host shakes his head, hand on his chest. His eyes remind Anakin of the sea predators he pulled from the ocean in his district. He has shark eyes.

Anakin has killed and gutted a hundred sharks. Anakin is still in control.

What the host does not know is that he will go home with his beloved. And no one in the Capitol will ever bother them again.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Anakin says emotionlessly. “It was instinct. It—”

He swallows and shifts on the couch. From the pocket of his pants, he pulls out a thin slip of paper. It’s dotted in blood. It had come to him in a silver parachute, folded neatly within a thick blanket: his only gift from his mentor.

ROBIN. is all it says. 

But it’s in Obi-Wan’s handwriting. And Anakin knows what it means. He’d pulled it out countless times during his days in the arena, rubbing his thumb over the ink. To an outsider, it must have looked like he was worrying over the girl’s name, a token of his affections, visible proof of who he was thinking about at night when he stared out into the manufactured desert instead of sleeping.

Only he and Obi-Wan knew who he was really thinking of. Only Obi-Wan knew he would forget the girl’s name without a concrete reminder in his hands.

He runs his thumb over the word in Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more. He must get this right. They are so close to being able to live forever happily undisturbed. He just needs to lie for another few hours. Then he will get his reward.

“It changes you, the arena,” he says quietly. “I felt…entirely like a different person. And I was always on my guard. I had no allies—” he had killed all his allies— “and I was alone. I cared only for one thing. One person.” This isn’t a lie. “And then—it’s so hard to keep count. When—” he glances down at the paper in his hand. “Robin touched me, I thought I had counted wrong. That there was another tribute, not her and not me. It was…instinct. I thought I was eliminating a threat.”

“I am so sorry,” the host says with his cold, dead eyes. “I cannot imagine killing the love of your life.” Neither can Anakin, of course. He’d chew off his own arm before he hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi. Instead of saying this, he looks down. He needs to cry, but the tears won’t come.

“It feels like it was someone else,” he mutters. The microphone attached to him will pick it up. “Someone else’s hands.” “But they were yours,” the host presses against the perceived bruise in what Anakin can only describe as restrained glee. “They were your hands.”

“Yes,” Anakin agrees. He looks out into the audience. He cannot see Obi-Wan, but he knows the man is there. He had been the first to hug him once he exited the arena. He had hardly been more than five steps away from him since then.

He keeps shooting Anakin looks, as if afraid that he will suddenly collapse into tears and shatter apart. After all, he just killed seventeen people in the span of one week. Obi-Wan had made it through his games with only three kills under his belt, and each one haunted him to this day.

But Anakin is fine. Anakin won. Anakin was back. Anakin had Obi-Wan, and so Anakin is fine. 

His hands start to shake when he thinks about losing Obi-Wan, and tears of fury gather in the corners of his eyes. He would burn the world down if they were to try and take Obi-Wan away from him. Seventeen people would be nothing.

“And what do you have to say to the people who think you planned to always kill Robin?” the host asks. “That you never wanted her to win the Games?”

Anakin shakes his head and then rubs at his eyes, brushing the tears away. “I loved her,” he lies. His thumb rubs over Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more, the swoop of the ‘o’, the slant of the ‘b’. “When you love someone the way I loved her, you’d do anything for them. It makes you crazy. To love like that. You’d do anything for them.”

“Are you saying you thought that you would die in the arena so she could live?” the host prompts, hands folded neatly into his lap.

Anakin shakes his head and then nods. And then he shakes his head again. The host takes pity on him. “Now that you’ve won your Games, Anakin, what will you do?”

Anakin’s thumb swipes once more over the writing on the paper. “I just want to go home,” he says. And this time, it’s the truth.