#i will come up with as many justifications as necessary for me to keep calling him din

[oflgtfol]

yknow what thinking back on the din first name last name thing. i know someone irl who does have the firstname-lastname order to her name but she prefers to go by her last name anyway. which honestly her last name is super cool so i kinda get it. and literally everyone just calls her by her last name to where it doesnt even register as weird or nonstandard and it does come across as her first name anyway. so if it is the case that din is his surname idgaf im still calling him din and if anything then its just gonna be in this way where everyone just calls him by his surname but not in the Referring FormallyTo A Stranger, but in the This Is Literally Just The Name He Goes By Anyway way

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Cullens Dark Triad Test Results

from least to most dark based on this questionnaire (answers were a collaboration between me and my sister).

The Dark Triad is a trio of sub-clinical negative personality traits associated with a likelihood for criminal behavior.

So naturally I decided to try and apply this to the Cullens by taking the Dark Triad test and answering the questions as best as I thought they applied to the individual members of the Cullen family and here are the results!

Lighter than Average

#8 Carlisle

Based on his representation in the books Carlisle has low expectations of others in regards to his own interests. He chooses to live his life in service to others in his own estimation. He has a strong sense of morality and a strong conscience and believes in honesty in most situations, but makes exceptions in regards to keeping his nature and that of his family under wraps. His morality is also flexible due to his sense of justice (as in the case of Rosalie and her vengeance).

#7 Esme

Esme is like Carlisle in many respects. Her morals are a lot more flexible than Carlisle's, though. She has a much stronger sense of justification in, for instance, murders of convenience. She is single-minded in her priorities and she will do whatever is necessary to maintain her family unit, which leads to a fairly high level of machiavellianism.

#6 Emmett

Emmett has an extremely low sense of remorse and morality. He shows little to no regret for the human lives he's taken, and is perfectly comfortable with others in the family bending the rules, hence his high psychopathy reading. This is balanced out significantly by his lack of concern for his own interests (His concern is almost always for the members of his family), and his honesty and lack of guile.

Darker than Average

#5 Bella

Bella your average girl, really is pretty average. I would say she doesn't think of herself as a bad person, but she does, and fairly often, especially in Eclipse. She calls herself selfish and manipulative, and she's been doing it since the first book. That said, she has a low rate of narcissism, and she usually feels bad when she knows she's done wrong by others.

#4 Edward

Edward's results were way more average than I think we were all expecting, and honestly, I love that for him. He's an interesting case because he feels remorse every damn day and is constantly minding his morals, but then goes ahead and ignores them anyway. His machiavellianism is his highest problem point, but for all that he's not particularly deceptive. He has a nice, low narcissism rating, but we all know that's just because of his self-loathing which is a problem unto itself.

#3 Jasper

Jasper is truly a paradox within this scope. His general apathy is at odds with his empathic abilities. We know he regrets when he kills, but it's not precisely remorse, and it's mostly regret on his own count because he has to feel the emotions of the person he's killed. So he winds up with quite a high Psychopathy reading. Nothing more or less than we expected from our best murder boy though. He, like Emmett, is balanced out by lower narcissism and Machiavellianism ratings. Jasper, though shrewd, is still a soldier, not a schemer.

#2 Rosalie

I know Rosalie's actual narcissism is hotly contested, and there's a lot of resentment toward Smeyer for ramming this personality trait home like a tent peg (even in Rosalie's OWN NARRATIVE VOICE), and I actually played it down slightly as I answered these questions. Even so she comes out with the highest level of narcissism of anyone in the Cullen family. While meticulous, she's rarely deceptive: when Rosalie has a thought, she speaks it--loudly. She's openly cool with murder though, and even takes pride in being damn good at it.

#1 Alice

I'm not the world's biggest Alice fan, but even so, I answered these questions as objectively as was within my power and she STILL wound up being the darkest fucker in this messed up family (though I'm sure if I changed one or two answers, she would probably tie with Rose). Alice, love her or hate her, is objectively very manipulative. You can admit that she usually employs manipulation because she genuinely believes that her desired outcomes are the best ones for everyone, but that's still very troubling. She frequently lies to those closest to her, for their protection, but she always rationalizes it. Her other problem point is narcissism. Alice becomes extremely disagreeable if anything prevents her from seeing things to her desired conclusion. Again, she usually does this with the best of intentions, but it leads to her behaving in controlling and other, similarly concerning ways. The good thing is, her sense of morality is fairly stable (she's generally not on Team Murder).

Of course these results are based on my perception of the characters: yours could be wildly different. I encourage anyone interested to try this for themselves, I'd love to see some contrasting results!

[northsouth89]

Decomposing into Primes

-

[I fancy the idea that the linguistic technology of mathematics can be more better. Better in its accessibility, better in the user experience, better suited to the lives we as individuals, as communities, as peoples wish to live.]

-

Before jumping in, I want to note that this is a bold goal. It was meant to be a bold goal. I remember in school learning about great historical figures, being drawn into the narrative of great-man-history. I remember realizing that I too am someone. Alexander the Great, some guy. Euclid, some guy. Me, we'll see.

Over time I developed a taste of alchemical art, history, and philosophy. I appreciated the brewing of the philosopher's stone as an impossible goal, an unattainable goal. Aiming for absurdity made failure inevitable, but effort always available. I was already behind and I was always failing so I could mine that fear for oomph.

Burnout followed, obviously. But by that time I was finishing up a graduate degree, I was in the throws of mastering the preliminaries of statistics and mathematics. I had eaten so many words and symbols that even my vomit was information dense enough to return to and gobble down like a dog and their sick.

Learning a bit more about meditation, finding the roaring guilt and shame church and family had put in me, exploring life on my own terms, I found something out. I don't know what that thing was, oddly enough, but it clicked. The world hasn't lost magic, we've just smeared so much of it over everything that we stopped noticing it, stopped feeling it.

A new love appeared, that of computer science. Machines are just very fast language, questions asked yes or no, one or zero. After I was done with the silly elixir I found I had it, I had my own flavor of enlightenment.

Spores of dormant evangelism bloomed in me, and they grow yet in my garden. Many ideas and urges grow there, it's a bustling ecology that keeps itself (mostly) in check.

I have insights! I have epiphanies! I can help! Listen to me!

But wait, hang on, I'm still having a rather bad time of it, I realized. Between excitements and success I wasn't all that well. If anything I share is worthwhile, shouldn't that complex of ideas be caring for me, nurturing me, helping me thrive? Is my ego, identity, soul, whatever we call it, is it just looking to fuck?

No, seriously, a fuckboy of a worldview is not good company to keep. If I have the urge to appear as though I've figured it out, shouldn't I, you know, have it figured out?

And that's where I am, a few failures and increasing successes in. Iteratively changing or maintaining parts of my life until it's clear what I might want and enjoy. Leaving behind engines that run on should or must. Whether it's hellfire or a basilisk bite, let it come and let me sit with it rather than panicking and helping threats spread.

I don't want to be a full-on monk, but some isolation was necessary while I learned to live without justification. That quarantine was needed, but now I'm turning back and asking how I can better connect. I have amazing relationships with low obligation, both ways. Do I want to change that, do I want to live in touch or correspondence? What works for me, yes, but what also works for you?

And so we come back to my stated goal above. The urge to come up with a framing for that vast artifact we call math that will leave future humanities looking back, wondering how we did as well as we did before we figured out what numbers were actually for.

The proof I've set for whatever idea comes next, is that it should cure our contemporary crisis of loneliness. Allowing us to approach or shy away as the urge finds us, knowing we won't be forced, knowing we can always do different.

There are a cloud of ideas forming a nebula of sorts. When they coalesce, will it be a nothing? Will it be like the other children of Numeracy such as economics, such as city-erasing bombs? That's the danger of invention, of procreation, the future is not written yet.

With this preamble I feel I've said something that's needed saying. I hope I return and continue this decomposition, and I hope I forget it and move on. Either could be exactly what needed to happen, either could help or harm our world. I do not sit in a place so clear as to predict. But I can hope. I choose to hope.

-

Goal decay:

"I fancy the idea that the linguistic technology of mathematics can be more better."

• Some bad grammar here to avoid the false appearance of precision.

• Linguistic technology has been divided into Bureaucratic and Poetic technologies. Each have their merits; poetry is beautiful, but full of passions both ecstatic and harrowing. Bureaucracy is dull and clunky, but as shelter from the anguish of life, these features can be a comfort. (P is exciting, retreat to B for peace and safety. B is draining and lifeless, retreat to P for lightning.)

• An assumption of agency. This is an assumption, yes, but the path we're on (I think) should map to one or more of the following four:

Have agency? y/n.

Believe in agency? y/n.

If we have yy, good. yn, bad. ny, couldn't be different so neutral. nn, couldn't be different but right on accident.

Thus assuming agency is my default.

•

"Better in it's accessibility, better in the user experience, better suited to the lives we as individuals, as communities, as peoples wish to live."

[yandere-daydreams]

cant stop thinking of what was once a dystopian world w/ a corrupted ruler, who was soon taken down by the hero to fix and be rightfully in charge of everything. only for the hero to discover that the corrupted ruler had a lover, who, despite knowing full-on-well how horrible they were — they still were madly in love with them and enabled their behavior. hence the hero feels like it’s justified for them to keep the lover prisoner/force to keep them by their side despite slowly growing just as bad as the past ruler w/ recountless justification because

“they don’t know anything about what’s right and wrong.”

tw - imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, abuse of power, intimidation, yandere essentially says 'y/n lies to everyone. not me tho <3'.

I mean, you weren't blindly spurring on your partner. The world used to be such a cruel place, so harsh, so dangerous, and you're not especially strong, or skilled with any particular weapon, and your mind wasn't made with a thousand tactics waiting to be used or a hundred plans already in motion. You did what you had to, whether that mean calming a monster's temper or spurring it on, whether your lover wanted to play valiant knight or ruthless conquer. When the war began in earnest, when it became clear the life you'd made for yourself wouldn't last much longer, you adapted, foregoing your velvet robes and silk-lined furs for ragged tunics and well-worn cloth, taking your brave, noble, heroic savior's wrist as you guide them through their enemy's fortress, as you dress them in servant's wear and list off all the many weakness of your keeper. You don't take pride in it, and you do mourn the loss of your companion, but you don't cry out as your hero is declared victorious, or sob over the bloodied body of a tyrant, or linger after a new ruler (the hero who dealt the killing blow, predicable) is crowned. The world is cruel, and you've only ever wanted to live to see another sunrise. You'll do whatever you have to do, be whoever you have to be, as long as it means keeping your head on your shoulders for another day.

That's why it catches you so off-guard, when soldiers march into the small village where you've taken up residence, when they tell you they've been ordered to escort you back to the fortress-turned-palace. You feign honored, asking what you should bring, if a gift is necessary, when you should expect to return, but your questions are rarely answered, your cheerful inquires rarely met with such enthusiastic responses, and the moment you step past the palace's gates, your shackles, dragged into the highest room of the tallest tower and told, in no uncertain terms, that you shouldn't expect to be treated like a guest. They come to you, dressed in all their finery, covered by their own insignia, and they try to share their twisted logic, to explain why they can longer trust you the way they once did, to get you to understand why they've begun to question where your loyalties lie. You try to use some of your old tricks, to coo and smile and assure them that you've only ever believed in their cause, but they're smarter than your last lover, they can see through your clumsy words and half-hearted promises.

It only fuels them, only proves that they have to hold you close, that you need to be coddled and contained and brought into the light, brought out of your evil ways. They know you can be good, that can be more than just a liar, and they're willing to help you, to guide you with their own two hands, to keep you in their care until you're so thoroughly reformed, you won't even want to leave. You were the one who called them noble, after all, who went on and on about how brave they were, how you wished you shared the selflessness that must surely lie in their heart. You were the one who so earnestly called them a hero.

It'd be a shame if they couldn't save you, too, right?

[raggaraddy]

Can you Taehyungs version of reader being shot cause of them?

I really like your Jimin and Namjoon Version that you’ve written🥰

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: It is so much longer than I meant for it to be. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Mafia Bangtan other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Jungkook

---------

Deception.

Summary: When you agreed to help Bangtan take down one of their enemies, you never imagined it could go so wrong.

Trigger warning: Smut, violence, blood, murder.

Taehyung

Mafia! Taehyung

"Are you ready?" Namjoon asks, shutting off the car's engine and turning around in his seat.

"Yeah," you nod back, hoping the rocking pit of nerves in your stomach isn't visible on your face. Scanning back and forth between him in the front and Jin sat beside you, you're checking to see if they are showing any signs of worry either. Finding a bit of solace in their surety.

"We're gonna lag behind about 20 minutes to be cautious and stay out of sight. But we'll be close. Just do everything like we said, and you'll be fine." Namjoon summarizes once again. Jin offering you a kind, reassuring smile to accompany the leader's words.

You nod again, sucking your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Running your fingers through your hair to fluff it for the 30th time. Hyperfixated on the time, you see the dashboard clock tick over. 20:21.

"Okay, let's go." You exhale deeply.

It was three weeks ago that Namjoon came to you with a problem that Bangtan was facing. Their weapons dealer was forcefully put out of business, which was Namjoons gentle way of saying he was killed, cutting off their supply to automatics and other bigger guns. Leaving them vulnerable. The man who took over their previous partners supply was known to be working with some of the other, smaller local crews. It was also known that he was a rival of Namjoon's and due to this tension refused to work with Bangtan. Normally, a problem like this would be something that they could handle. However, as Namjoon explained it, this guy was backed and protected by foreign money and was too hot to touch without starting a bloody war.

So the plan was simple. Risky, but simple. The supplier had to die. And it needed to appear to be from natural causes, so it could never fall back on Bangtan. No one directly affiliated could be involved. That meant none of the members could risk doing it. It also meant that it was too high a priority to trust an associate or hired gun with this information. Not with the reach and money the opposition had. No, it had to be someone within the family that could handle this, but someone the supplier would never know.

Opportunely, the supplier was known to have a weakness for women, hence the logical conclusion for Namjoon was one of the member's girls. Trustworthy enough not to turn or rat, not likely to be noticed among the myriad of other women, and except a few of them, all had no record linking them to Bangtan, so they would be complete unknowns.

Jin said it, but you already knew it. Out of all of the girls, you were the one who was the most capable. Your difficult past left you with many emotional scars but made you the best person to handle the responsibility. You're not susceptible to intimidation. Have very few moral hangups. And most importantly Namjoon knows how much you love Taehyung. How you would do anything for him. To keep him safe and happy. He knows he can trust you, and that when the time comes, you wouldn't hesitate to do what they needed you to.

As for you, you knew that Taehyung trusted Namjoon irrefutably and you had seen countless times that he was a good leader. Furthermore, you could appreciate the gravity of the situation. Because you're sure that if Bangtan's brain had any other choice, he would not have asked for your help. But since he had, you were going to do what was necessary to keep your family and Taehyung safe.

The problem was that Namjoon had insisted on secrecy. The only ones to know about his plan were you, him, and Jin. A few years ago, sure, lying would not have been a problem for you, you hardly ever told the truth to anyone. But this changed when you met Taehyung. He was the first person you could be honest with, the first person you ever let love you. And lying to him was something you were genuinely struggling with.

However, you knew Namjoon and Jin were right. There was no way Tae would have been okay with you being put in harm's way and he wouldn't be able to separate his feelings from the urgency of the task.

Although, that justification doesn't make you feel less guilty for deceiving him. And to make matters worse, you expected this to be over with last week already. But on your first date with the supplier, he had left the club early to deal with work suddenly. Giving you no time to spike his drink.

So here you were, attempt number two.

While you were meant to meet the supplier at a fancy restaurant first, Namjoon's plan was to skip that and get to his house as quickly as possible. Before the valet could open the supplier's car door, you leant through the open window, teasingly licking your lips. "I just realized," you purr, noting his eyes drop to your mouth and back. "I'm actually not that hungry. So how about we skip to the end of the night, and then you can take me out for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Your blatant offer works like a charm. 20 minutes and a car ride later, he's pulling you down onto his couch. Hardly able to keep his hands or lips off of you.

Tearing at your blouse he rips the buttons apart, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck. One of his hands roaming and grabbing at anything he can, while the other starts to hike up your pencil skirt. He removes his vest and buttoned shirt, not once parting his lips from yours. His large, hard chest muscles pressing against you as he pins you in between his arms and the couch. Spreading your legs apart, he grinds his crotch into your core and you can feel what effect this is having on him. And you have to admit, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, physically it's having the same kind of arousing results on you.

But this isn't what's supposed to happen. He's moving too fast and it's quickly getting away from you. You only want to get him comfortable and distracted enough that he completely lets his guard down. You're trying to poison him, not fuck him.

Pushing his chest lightly, you spring upright. Slightly out of breath you pull your hair over your shoulder covering up a little and running your fingers through it, trying to regain some composure.

"I could use a drink." You pant, batting your eyes up at him.

"Sounds good." He nods, his gaze dark and ravenous. Suddenly haulting he leans back down to kiss you. His hands gripping your hips as he kisses you back into the sofa. Abruptly leaving you flat on the couch with flushed cheeks.

This is better. One or two drinks from now, you should be able to slip him the ricin. He drinks it, you fake a headache, and skip home.  24 hours from now he has a heart attack and dies from natural causes. Nothing tied to you. Nothing connected to Bangtan.

"I hope you like-"  The supplier calls out, only to be interrupted by a grating smack at the front of the house. You startle upright, sitting alert watching the hall entrance. He comes from the other side, coming back from the kitchen, a curious look on his face. Both of you staring at the same doorway as Taehyung suddenly comes in.

Fuck.

Your eyes go wide, half not able to believe he is actually here. He wasn't supposed to be!  Namjoon had arranged for Jimin to take him out tonight. And you had told him you were going to meet some of the other girls.

The thing you didn't know; a week ago when you met the supplier at the club, you had also said you were out with a few girls, including Jimin's girlfriend. But she was with Jimin at that time. And Jimin was with Taehyung. And she knew nothing about any plans to go out.

So when you said there was a movie night tonight, he asked around and found out that was also a lie. He wanted to trust you. To trust that it wouldn't be as bad as his worst fear. Still, the more he thought over how you lied to him, the more he worked himself up, getting himself into a paranoid and anxious state. Until he found himself tracking your phone, following you to an unknown house.

Seeing you half undressed and with someone he considers an enemy, his anger and jealously turns to pure rage. It only taking a second for the scene in front of him to confirm his worst suspicions.

Unleashing his gun he shoots wildly at the supplier. Reason slipping from him completely.

Barley able to avoid being hit, the supplier dives behind one of the sofa chairs. Nearly being riddled with the showering of bullets.

Wrapping your hands over your head, you cover your ears from the explosive sounds. Still firing, and keeping the supplier pinned, Taehyung storms at you.

"Tae-" you start. The gun empties, but Taehyung couldn't care less, tossing it aside. All of his attention focused on you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He growls through gritted teeth. His hand flying down smacking your cheek, slapping you back into the sofa. "How could you do this to me?!" He screams, his voice wavering from the emotion in his question.

"I can explain," You ignore the burn on your cheek, running your hands along your body, trying your best to cover and redress yourself.  You never wanted him to see you like this, and the look of betrayal in his eyes is stinging your heart more than any slap could.  "I-," you begin with no next word coming. There's nothing you can tell him. Not while the supplier is right here.

Taehyung's anger aside, you're terrified to think what him being here means. Namjoon's plan is completely derailed. And Taehyung attacked the supplier, creating an entirely new problem. You're not the smart one. You have no idea what to do or how to fix this.

Where the hell are Jin and Namjoon?

Taehyung is so fixated on you that he doesn't see the other man charging from the side.

"Look out!" You scream. Only it's a second too slow. Taehyung doesn't have time to react and the supplier swings a ceramic table ornament at his head. The shattered fragments raining over you, as your boyfriend is knocked to the ground. The shoe of the imposing man booting into Taehyung's torso.

You dive towards them, driving your body weight into the supplier to separate the two men. Pushing him away as his heel scarcely misses Taehyung's face.

He stumbles back a few steps and straightens up, nodding and pursing his lips with a look of revelation. Seeing you spring to Taehyungs defence revealed much more than you had intended.

While you're attempting to help Tae upright, he quickly shirks you off and lunges at the other man diving through him and dragging him to the floor. Fighting for dominance and survival, the two men break into a brutal fight trading blow after blow as they struggle to overpower the other.

While you're relieved to see that Taehyung is the more skilled of the two, and mostly has the upper hand, you're mainly sick with worry. The ramifications of this will play out beyond this simple fistfight.

All you can do is get Tae out of here for now, and hope that the supplier hasn't realised that this was an attempt to kill him. Maybe if you're really lucky he will only think of it at face value. A cheating girlfriend and her jealous boyfriend.

"Tae," you grab his arm, dragging him back with resistance. "We have to get out of here. Please,"

He drops the supplier's collar, who falls back limply. Turning to you he has blood pouring down his face from a cut on his cheek. Intensifying the cold look in his eye.

"We? What we? Don't you wanna stay here with this piece of shit." He snarls, standing up.

"I can explain after." You tug him again. He can hate you all he likes later. But first, you have to get out of here. "Please," you beg for his agreement.

Staring harshly, he retreats from you. A pained look in his eye that cuts you more than any blade could. Anger, hate, rage. You could handle all of it. But there's so much hurt and sadness on his face. It's nothing you ever wanted to be responsible for. It's more than you can bear.

"Tae," you hold your hand outreached, gingerly approaching him.  He doesn't withdraw further, allowing you to rest your hand on his cheek. Your heart breaking further as he leans into your touch. Resting in your palm for comfort like an injured puppy. "I promise, baby, this isn't what it looks like." you coo, "I love you so much,"

His eyes close, his face scrunching in anguish. He wants to believe you so badly. To forget everything he has seen. To take you home and never let you go. He may be the first person you let love you, but for him, you are the only person he ever let himself love.

Turning, you use his softening demeanour to lead him towards the door. But the supplier pulls your attention. Neither of you were paying him any mind and standing in the corner of the room he's pulled his own gun from hiding.

Reacting without a thought you shove your back into Taehyung, covering him. Guarding him.

At the same time, a shot rings out and the bullet hits you. A painful, sharp sensation piercing through your torso that makes you stumble back. Losing your footing you fall into Taehyung, your body never hitting the ground. Taehyung catching your weight, lowering with you. Resting you on his legs.

Taehyung grimaces in pain, his hand wrapping his own side momentarily. The bullet went clean through you and cut his side before flying into the wall behind the both of you. Dismissing his own injury, he leans over your body, ripping off his shirt and pressing it and his palms into your entrance wound. Trying to slow the bleeding.

Looking up at Taehyung with tear-filled eyes, you're in shock. Every breath you take is sore but other than that, your body is numb. Your hands clinging to his, all you can think is that you wished you knew what to say or do to lessen his panic. The sweat on his forehead rolls into the cut on his cheek causing the blood to drip further down his neck and chest. The fear and worry in his eyes exposing what you can't see or feel. That you're losing a lot of blood.

The supplier comes over the top of you both. He presses the barrel of the gun into the back of Taehyungs head, forcing him to crouch lower over you.

"I was searching for a reason to annihilate Namjoon and his pathetic crew. Thank you for giving me one." He digs the gun down harder. Taehyung growls, baring his teeth in frustration. "Too bad we didn't get to finish what we started though, Y/n. Oh well." He smirks, cocking the gun for additional effect.

"I love you," Taehyung whispers, the finality in his voice breaking your restraint, tears gushing down your face.

"I-," you can only begin.

Another blast rings out that makes both you and Taehyung jump. The supplier's body goes heavy and plummets to the ground, smashing through the glass coffee table beside you. Glass shatters everywhere as he falls down dead, blood pouring out of his head, collecting into a pool.

"Fuck sakes." Namjoon sighs from the living room entrance. Standing with Jin, both looking over the destruction with disbelief.

"Hyung," Taehyung calls out, his voice raspy and on the verge of tears. "Help." He looks down at you, your face pale, your limps drooping as the blood loss is starting to make you dizzy.

Namjoon opens his mouth readying to scold his brother, but he quickly stops himself. His own faults glaringly obvious at this moment. Jin removes his belt, wrapping it around your waist he fixes it tightly, making you whine in pain, keeping Taehyungs shirt pressed to both sides of your wound.

"Can you carry her?" Jin asks his younger brother.

Namjoon passes all of you, walking toward the lifeless body of his enemy, shooting another round into the back of his head with a frustrated look in his eye.

Taehyung nods at Jin with wide, panicked eyes.

"Then bring her." Namjoon turns with a flick of his head gesturing to follow him.

Jin supports Taehyung as he struggles to get himself and you to a standing position. Finding more strength once he is upright, lifting you into his arms as you whimper and moan weakly.

"Taehyung-" you start, your words sounding breathless and weak. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Shh baby." He hushes you. "Don't worry about that now."

He gets you into Namjoons truck, laying you down the length of the seat. As Namjoon speeds to the hospital, Taehyung sits in the back, his legs under your head. Holding firm against your bullet wound while petting your head.

Jin takes Tae's keys and follows you in his car. Already calling a cleanup crew to get rid of the supplier's body. Trying to salvage what he can of the bad situation.

"Namjoon," you call out. Even as your mind is starting to slip into unconsciousness your worry over the family is consuming your focus. "the plan. Can you fix the-" you breathe heavily running out of air.

He looks over his shoulder, guilt overtaking his expression. Nodding with an affirming grunt.

"Plan? What plan?" Taehyung muses, the shock steadily drifting away. "What is she talking about, Hyung?" One look at the blame on Namjoon's face and it clicks into place. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." Namjoon reasons.

"Are you kidding me? You organized this?!" He snaps, "How the fuck could you risk her like that?!"

"It was supposed to be easy. She wasn't meant to get hurt-"

"Well, clearly she did!" Taehyung roars, his hands bunching into fists.

"I'm sorry, Tae. I wanted to help." You whine, lifting your arm up to touch his chest, trying to soothe him in any way.

"It's okay, baby. I know you did." He coos kissing your forehead, Taehyung's rage immediately subsiding towards you. He takes your blood-drenched hands in his and kisses them lovingly. Kissing down your forearms, pressing your hands to his head in agony and want to have you closer. Wishing he could absorb your pain and suffering.

Returning his wrath to the leader his voice lowers, coming out like ice. "We're gonna talk about this once she's okay." He snarls, "And know, I hold you personally responsible for every second she's in pain."

Looking in the rearview mirror, Namjoon nods solemnly. "Yeah, I do too."

Luckily for you, you recover quickly, and no permanent physical damage was done. But the damage that was done to Namjoon and Taehyungs relationship, the repercussions caused for Bangtan, and the fall out from the supplier's death... well that's another story entirely.

[cinnamonest]

Kaeya Alberich - Yandere Profile

YES I love my eyepatch boy!! I really like him as a yandere, because he's definitely got several traits and behaviors that would make him a very unconventional/different yet absolutely terrifying one to have. Him or Diluc as your yandere is basically like playing a game on maximum difficulty. He's so arrogant dammit why does he have to make it hot

More importantly, someone take the ability to write n/sfw away from me I s2g... I go from trying to make serious content to nasty weird kinks and completely feral in .002 seconds the moment I add that readmore

tws: gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, mentions of mutilation

tws (below cut): noncon, a good deal of sadism, mentions of an*l

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's actually one of the worst yanderes you could have in almost every regard, for two very simple reasons: his crippling psychological issues, and his intense selfishness. The first manifests as severe abandonment issues. It's the origin of his unhealthy feelings, most likely. Kaeya doesn't like the instability of people - based on his backstory, people always leave, or die, and even if they don't intend to, somehow it feels like abandonment, and he resents it. People leave him all alone and afraid and uncertain. That's generally all he knows, and despite the smug exterior, he's actually pushed people away quite a bit, keeps everyone at arm's length to ensure they can't become someone too important for him to accept their sudden absence. He can't care about someone, because that someone is fated to inevitably leave him, no matter who it may be.

That's why, once you manage to worm your way into his feelings and heart despite his best efforts, once he finally caves to acknowledging the feeling, he's aware. Painfully aware, because be can't stop worrying every waking moment about you, your well-being, your location. It reaches a point where he can't go about his job because he's simply too consumed with his worry.

The solution that kept him safest in the past was to avoid developing emotional attachments, but when he does, he's terrified of both your safety AND you intentionally abandoning him. Really, the latter would hurt worse, since he can't fault you for dying, but to abandon him? It would break him.

And, to some extent, he's developed a lot of  prideful anger about it, deep, deep down. He feels that he doesn't deserve to be abandoned, doesn't deserve to just be left behind under the guise of some greater purpose, and he'll be damned if he just lets you toss him aside like he feels others did. Even if you reject him, he won't accept it. You don't get to reject him. He won't allow that. What has he ever done to deserve everything that's happened to him? Nothing. You're the one person who has stayed with him, and you're going to continue to be with him. Forever.

That being said, he's still somewhat confident because he's got that arrogance about him. He doesn't perceive rejection, because he's always gotten a lot of attention for his looks, even if he's never actually followed through on anyone else's attention out of those same fears. He'll write off any perceived rejection as being for some other reason, something besides an actual rejection, and he'll seek to eliminate whatever he feels is keeping you from just accepting him.

Honestly, one of the most likely to have a full blown, classic-yandere-style psychotic breakdown. He can be driven to a snapping point, if there's enough stress or obstacles, and in case of that, he'll be a lot more willing to kill, and a lot more willing to hurt you, but it's a point that would still take a lot to reach.

But what's really terrifying about Kaeya is his delusions, primarily his ability to mentally justify everything he does without hesitation. Even most delusional yanderes struggle - they feel like it's wrong, they know it is deep down, and they take time to convince themselves of their delusions, tell themselves it's ok over and over, beg for reassurance, and get defensive when called out because they know they're in the wrong. The same isn't true for Kaeya. He automatically justifies his actions by default, and has absolutely zero doubt or hesitation to do so. He doesn't even need a complex reason for justification - it's a simple one. He deserves what he wants. Anything necessary to achieve that is fair.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Highly likely and very quickly, right up there with Diluc and Razor. And he's absolutely remorseless about it. It ties back into his delusional state and ability to justify anything he does - this is what's best for you. If you don't get that, that's your problem, not his.

He's another one to not want to pull some barbaric move like knocking you out, rather, he'd rather just trick you into walking right into your new home. He gets that you'll be upset about it, but to him, that's just part of the process. Not that he'll tolerate it for too long. 12, maybe 24 hours is enough time for you to reasonably be upset, but if you're still trying to fight him on this after that, he's going to get snappy about it, thinking you should already be over that by now.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

You're not leaving.

It's not worth trying, really. How he manages to do it is a mystery to you, but he'll manage to keep you locked in right there at the headquarters with him. How Jean and Lisa haven't found out about you being there, how he convinced all of his guards to be on his side of things, you have no idea. Realistically, if you get out, he's likely to make you out to be some kind of criminal that needs to be found -- just not to hurt you in any way, so goes the order, and the knights know better than to question why.

He has eyes and ears everywhere, it won't take them anytime at all to find you. He's so confident in that, and combined with his pride, he doesn't feel the need to go get you himself. No, it's a lot more satisfying to sit back and watch as they drag you through the doors of the headquarters, slowly pull you to the end of the room and drop you down at his feet, where he can look down on you with that closed-eyed, artificially wide smile that tells you that you have seriously fucked up.

Escape attempts aren't going to be met with a single shred of mercy, really. The thing about Kaeya is he's ultimately a selfish, selfish bastard with a lot of deep-seeded, highly repressed emotional issues, and he has absolutely no problem with keeping you bound hand and foot, or maybe even make some permanent modifications to your body if that's what it takes to keep you. It's not a wise idea to even try unless you're absolutely certain to succeed, otherwise you may find yourself never getting the opportunity again. You don't really need those Achilles tendons intact, you know. And your ankle bones are just so fragile, they'll snap with just a little twist. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, giving you more reasons to be grateful when he's doing everything for you.

He's not one to just let it go, either. No, escape attempts are the one unforgivable thing for him, the one thing that will make him totally and completely snap. You don't get to do that. You're the one thing that doesn't get to just disappear out of his life in a flash. Half the reason he sends the knights to get you rather than going himself is to give him some time to let the rage settle down, otherwise he knows he might not be able to control himself and might end up hurting you even worse than he intends to. He's not going to buy any excuses and won't go any lighter on you if you beg and grovel or anything. But you will apologize -- you get to choose how hard it is. You can apologize the easy way, or, if you don't want to, there are many ways to force it out. But by the end, he'll get an apology, and a promise to never try again, out of you, no matter what that takes. It's by far the worst state you'll ever see him in, and really, once is enough to dissuade you from trying again.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

You'd have to try pretty hard. He doesn't have the sheer amount of years of life experience like Venti or Zhongli, but he's not the captain for no reason - he's perceptive, and highly intelligent.

Rather than simply mastering reading human voice and facial expressions for telltale signs of deceit, he's good at learning individuals in particular - memorizing the patterns of thought and action of a particular individual, and predicting how they will act. He can do it with everyone else with ease, how much more, then, with the object of an obsession? If you're trying to formulate some plan to trick him, he'll already predict what you'll do, if you lie, he already knows. It's creepier than the others, really, because it's not just that he can tell when you're lying, but rather he already knows you're going to lie or try some scheme before you do it. It feels so tailored and personalized to your thought patterns, it almost feels like an invasion of the privacy of your mind, which, really, is the one privacy you thought you had left.

He's great at gaslighting himself, too. He's a very good liar, and can make you believe anything he wants. He'll target your fears and paranoias, make you believe you're going crazy, and he'll do it all so perfectly you'll never suspect a thing. You'll end up coming to him for protection and guidance, exactly as planned.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Pretty strict. He doesn't let you have any outside contact, and you're limited on what you can do when he's gone. He'll bring you some books, maybe something to draw on -- no sharp writing utensils, though. In his mind, that should be enough to occupy you.

You won't get outside walks or visits. It's just too risky for him, and he really doesn't like seeing other people look at you. If you really, really beg, and you've been on amazing behavior, and you're well into your relationship, maybe a few months or so, there's a chance he'll take you out at nighttime, or sunrise, but at the slightest sign of intentions he doesn't like, you'll be dragged back, and you won't see the sun for a long time.

You'll have a very limited wardrobe, he doesn't see why you even need to wear anything, but if you're going to be stubborn, he can get you something simple, like an old shirt and some underwear, but that's about all you can have. Any requests for actual clothing are going to be denied. It's ridiculous for him to spend money on something you don't need, and besides, he prefers it this way, y'know?

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Generally, it's a simple one: obey. You do what he tells you to do, and you don't do something if he tells you not to. This stems to similar rules that develop: be submissive, don't be argumentative, don't be defiant. Follow those, and you can both be happy, and that's what you want, isn't it? It had better be - he's not very lenient, and will harshly punish even small offenses. As for that punishment... most of it isn't going to be sfw. That's just how he is.

What he will do is emotionally manipulate you, and he's rather good at it. You wanted to escape? Ok. He'll let you have your way, let you be alone. All alone. All by yourself, in a little room, with no one at all, which is exactly how you would have left him, had you succeeded. He knows very well how that kind of loneliness bites. He's not totally cruel, though, and he won't withhold affection from you by the time he returns -- he doesn't need to, you'll already be crying and apologizing, which is exactly what he hoped for. Not that he won't briefly mock you for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're crying like that because you actually missed me. Oh, you did? Being all alone isn't particularly fun, now is it? I'm sure you understand that now."

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Kaeya's an insanely jealous person. It doesn't show on his face, but it eats at him internally. It doesn't matter if it's a love interest, a platonic friend, even a family member. It's all the same -- people who want to take your attention away from him, people who you smile at that aren't him, people you love that aren't him. He's not one to delude himself into thinking everyone secretly loves you romantically, rather, it doesn't matter. Romantic interests are the worst threat, sure, but friends and family aren't much better.

He sees himself as above killing, though. He has people to do that for him, and he likes knowing that he has that much power. He's not going to dirty his hands with it, and frankly, they're not even worthy of his time and effort to kill them. Knights and other connections can take care of it just as well.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

As somewhat previously discussed, the primary form of making him mad is attempting an escape. That's on a whole new level of anger because it strikes at a very deep, wounding insecurity. On a normal day, though, he's more easily exasperated than angry. He gets frustrated somewhat easily, especially if you're trying exceptionally hard to be a brat. He has very clear warning signs. His signature little smirk drops, he gets quiet, he balls his hands into fists and digs his fingernails into his palms. At that stage, he's irritable and might snap at you, but won't get too angry until you ignore those signs and push it.

If you do push him, though, he gets genuinely mad, which is a very quiet anger at first -- he doesn't talk much when he's mad. He acts. You'll know he's snapped when he puts down whatever he's doing, and just silently stomps over to you, face completely empty and flat, looking down at you with a cold expression. It's enough to put fear in you, but at that point, even if you apologize, you're not getting out of whatever he's planned.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Strongly in the "below" camp, a rather unusual stance for a yandere. Like many things with him, there's an inexplicable duality going on there.  You would think that if you loved someone so strongly you'd kidnap them, kill for them, and potentially suffer consequences just to have them, that you would really think highly of them. On the flip side, you would think that if you really saw someone as lowly, you wouldn't care for them, you'd see them as disposable.

But neither is true for Kaeya, no, he balances both obsessive love and complete narcissism regarding you. You're not disposable, no, he can't live without you, he needs you. But at the same time, you're not gonna be on any kind of pedestal. No, if anything, he sees himself on one, more like a throne, and you on the floor before him, how things should be.

He has a similar mindset to Zhongli or Albedo - you're fragile, you're dumb, you're incapable, and you need someone to care for you, protect you, guide you, someone who knows what's best for you, since you clearly don't. However, he's lacking in the attitude those other two have -- there's no seeing you as an angel here. There's no viewing himself as being absolutely honored to take care of you, or viewing protecting and caring for you as some kind of privilege that they're blessed to do, the way those two do.

No, as much as he loves those things, he'll never admit it, not even to himself really. Rather, his mentality is that you should be grateful. Here he is, a very highly respected, accomplished, capable person, and you...? You have what to offer, exactly? That's right, nothing, really, only cuteness and obedience, the latter of which you refuse to give him even though you really ought to. He's taking on the burden of making sure you don't get yourself killed, and how do you repay him? By getting mad about it, throwing a fit like some little kid? He puts up with your tantrums, which are really undeserved, by the way. He puts up with your disobedience and repeated rule violations, your sheer determination to defy him when he's going out of his way to do what's best for you.

One day, he thinks, you'll mature a little bit and understand why he does what he does, and when you do, you'll come groveling and sniffling about how sorry you are, how you'll never defy him again, how you'll be good and obedient from now on, and he'll love every second of it. He looks forward to that day quite a bit.

"Sigh... you know, you're pretty lucky I love you so much. You could stand to show me a little thanks, don't you think?"

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's strongly determined, and yet... doesn't do much to try. It goes back to his mindset that really, you're the one who should be grateful for him, and eventually, you will love him. He's not gonna grovel to you or try different ways of making you love him, no, he's far too proud for that. But he's a smart man. He knows the effects that complete and total isolation other than one other person can have on someone. He's just going to sit back and wait for that effect to kick in, and slowly watch your fragile little mind deteriorate until you're desperate for affection. At which point, well, he can use it against you.

"You were so mean to me before, weren't you? You fought me every step of the way, and now you're just going to turn around and act like that didn't happen...? Well, if you're really sorry, I'll forgive you. But how am I supposed to believe you really are...? Maybe you can think of a way to prove it, hm?"

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Probably the severity of his degradation. As aforementioned, most yanderes, even the more confident or cocky individuals, either worship the ground their beloved walks on and sees themselves as beneath them, OR sees their darling as some sort of fragile, angelic being, and they are simply a protector or caretaker to that being.

It's a bit different with him, ever the narcissist. It's a strange duality born out of a rare mix of neediness, obsession, and pride. You're more like a toy, or a pet - an invaluable pet that he could never part with, but a pet nonetheless. He certainly looks down on you more than the average yandere - he mentally associates you as naive, fragile, even dumb like a lot of the aforementioned protector/caretaker types, but without the reverence to make up for it.

It's a bizarre duality that not even he fully understands - don't think for a moment that that means he'll ever tire of you, or view you as disposable. No, he's actually one of the most obsessive ones, yet very demanding of attention and praise, rather than giving it.

He frequently tests you - things like leaving the door unlocked, waiting outside just to see if you'll try it. Seeing you open that door, watching your face go from ecstatic excitement and drop to wide-eyed terror, it's priceless.

"My, my, you didn't waste any time at all, did you? Why do you look so surprised...? You should know I wouldn't slip up that badly."

Pet names, but in the most infuriatingly condescending way, and uses them more often when he's mad and trying to warn you that you're pushing his limits. Particularly fond of "sweetheart," especially with a low warning tone and clenched teeth.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny fucker, all the way. The man has a lot of stress and frustration in his life already, that much more if you're... less than compliant with your new lifestyle. Sex, especially rough and hard, is a fantastic stress reliever.

Very little reservation. He's not crude about it, but he tends to make subtle innuendos very frequently, and laughs at your embarrassed reactions. Definitely the type to pull the whole shtick in which he says something with a blatant sexual undertone, then elaborates in a way to make it sound like having meant something else, follows with that smirk and says, "Why? What did you think I meant?" It's something he really enjoys doing, and loves to get embarrassed reactions out of people, particularly yourself.

"Touchy" doesn't begin to describe it. Pretty much from the moment you meet him, he's got his hands somewhere on your person. He grabs your shoulders when he stands behind you, he wraps an arm around you from the side when he walks up to you, he's always pressing his hands on your back and sides whenever you're navigating the streets, walking through doorways, wraps an arm around your waist when sitting next to you. It's highly uncomfortable, but really, he's just got something very subtly, but very strongly intimidating about him. You almost don't want to confront him on it. If you do, he'll laugh it off, and stop -- for maybe 48 hours or so, and then he'll be right back at it.

To the surprise of, well, everyone who's ever met him, he doesn't actually live up to the rumors of having been around the block, so to speak. His experience is actually little to none - that kinda happens when you push everyone around you away. Not that he'd ever let you know that, of course, and will probably lie if asked, but you can gleam a little bit of truth from slightly awkward movements and a bit of noticeable shakiness.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Kind of like Razor, the issue is that he loves you, and what better way is there of expressing love? He's not much for gift-giving or words of affirmation - no, he's a lot better with words of degradation, it comes more naturally to him. And he's certainly not one to enjoy acts of service -- well, not doing them, he'll gladly take them as a sign of your love, though. No, he expresses love through touch. It's like how, when you hug someone you really love, someone you missed, you squeeze them extra tight - the love manifests as a physical urge for some strong expression. Humans are physical about their emotions -- we punch walls when we're mad, we jump up and down when we're happy, and when you love someone, sometimes you just really, really want to pound them into a mattress as hard as physically possible. That's normal. That, and really, he's got his vices. He's actually fairly weak when it comes to resisting temptations, and prone to give in to urges for physical sensations like drunkenness and sex.

Is another one to be convinced that, with time, you'll come around. And is absolutely the top candidate to be one for using your own body against you - if you get wet, if you whimper, if you cum, that's just proof that you really do want this, that you're just being difficult because you enjoy being a brat, and he'll be sure to tell you that.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

This is nearly indistinguishable from punishment, sadistic bastard

D/S dynamics

Arrogant fucker wants to be served and worshipped, you could see it coming from a mile away. Anything that puts you beneath him is going to make him happy - anything where you're where you're supposed to be. There's a lot of options, but it doesn't really matter, as long as he feels like he's in control and ownership of you in some way, and as long as you act accordingly.

He wants it to be something that’s not just for sex, but rather, he’ll end up carrying it over into normal life, whether you like it or not. If you just went along with it in hopes of getting it over with once he cums, you’re going to be in for a treat when it starts to carry over. He gets a little too used to being worshipped, and decides he likes that submissive attitude on you enough to want to see it all the time.

Petplay/Collaring

It really helps that he sees you as something of a pet already, but really, the collar is the selling point. Even if you never go outside, there's something unbearably hot about the possessiveness of it all - really, it's there to remind you of your status as property. He wants to own you, and for you to be forced to acknowledge that he owns you, and there's really no better way to do that than something with his name on it. It's even better with a leash, one he can pull on when he's fucking you to pull you back onto him over, and over, and over, hearing it choke you the more he shortens it.

But really, having you crawl towards him on all fours and obey little commands so simple they're humiliating is pretty nice, too.

Impact pain/painplay

There's really nothing quite so powerful feeling as watching you cry and squirm from it, y'know? He's another one that just likes the marks his hands, belts, or anything else can leave all over the skin of your ass and the back of your legs. The thing with him, though, is it's not even always a punishment, he just does it for fun, and that makes it unpredictable. Will definitely make you count, it's a sadistic torture for your mind and body.

Throatfucking

May be used as a punishment measure, may just be because he's craving it, either way, even if you have a gag reflex, you won't for very long. He'll train it out of you gradually, grabbing the back of your head and just slamming all the way down into your throat, holding you there, making you choke - it's a beautiful sound, really, listening to you gag, all while your throat spasms around him, it's the best feeling, really, and will definitely be used as a threat if you need incentives to behave.

Choking

Ties into the dynamics, but really, there’s not much to say on this one. He likes the power trip from having his hands wrapped around your throat, seeing you struggle, watching your face go red, hearing those little choking noises. It puts power over you into his hands, and if you get pleasure from it against your own will, that’s even better.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Absolutely one of the ones to use it as a tool. If you have a baby, you'll be so much more bound to him. You'll need him more, you'll want him around more, you'll be much less likely to leave, and in a way it feels a little bit like a sign of ownership over you.

That being said, he's also acutely aware of his jealous tendencies, and realizes he would also be very likely to become jealous if he felt like you loved a baby more than him, or gave it more attention and affection than you do him. He doesn't like the thought.

So ultimately, the latter side prevents him from willingly trying, but if you really, really have defiance issues even after he's tried everything he can to break you help you adjust, he might consider it.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

If it's mild enough, he can just take the route of extremely rough fucking - it gets rid of the frustration, he likes hearing you whimper and squeal, and he can leave lots of little bruises as reminders of what not to do in the future.

But, again, he already gets off to putting you in pain - it'll be that much worse when you've done something to deserve it. Harder hits, no mercy whatsoever, and he just loves all your little cries, wiping away your tears and smiling at you, right before bringing down whatever instrument of pain he's chosen again. If you really, really make him mad, and he really wants to make you cry, he's not above fucking your ass, either, watching you cry and beg, but you'll learn with time that begging doesn't ever get you out of anything.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Definitely an ass man. Likes fucking you in doggy, seeing the ripple every time you bounce back off of him, pulling your hair or arms to add some force. He likes seeing all the little red marks that his hands and belts and anything else will leave on the skin, views it like marks of possession. Grabbing, beating, fucking, it's all good.

[tennessoui]

You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee

these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k

31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU

anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.

There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.

Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.

Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.

The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.

Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake

Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.

Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?

And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.

Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.

Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.

---

Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.

Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.

They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.

Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.

The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.

On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.

Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?

He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.

“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.

But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.

But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?

What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?

“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”

“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.

“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”

The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.

A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.

Probably for the better.

The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.

“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.

This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.

He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?

The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.

He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.

“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.

“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”

“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.

“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”

“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.

He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”

The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.

He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”

The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”

[hillbillyoracle]

Some Thoughts on Why White Pagans Need to Heal Their Relationships with Christianity

Note: I've been trying to write a piece like this for months and the only way I know how to write this is to be very vulnerable and personal. So just please keep that in mind as you read this. It isn't very refined and it's something I'm still very much in process with, to borrow a phrase from my charismatic Christian upbringing. It's more a diary entry than a finished piece and none of these thoughts are original or eloquent. My hope it's helpful to see someone thinking through these things though.

If you're white and you don't want to further colonization and imperialism in your spirituality, then going back to Christianity in some form is pretty necessary; to do the work of decolonizing it's doctrines and to prevent taking from traditions that aren't ours.

This is just the conclusion I've arrived at after a lot shadow working in and around both my ancestors and my religious trauma. My ancestors aren't all white Europeans. But given that I'm white and I don't have any way to carry on the traditions of those that weren't, I feel like the best way to honor those non-white ancestors is to go back to the spiritual traditions I do have access to and doing the work of reshaping them into something less harmful.

I have read and intellectually understood that culture forms the foundation of spirituality and that when you remove something from it's originating culture, that concept or tool no longer works properly, if at all. In working with my non-white ancestors, I really got it on a practical and emotional level. There was this sense that they'd love for me to know their traditions but that it required an understanding that just isn't possible for me given my upbringing and disconnection - "you don't know the words and there's no way to find a person who can teach you" as one ancestor put it. It was an important reminder that "this isn't for white people" isn't merely a categorical assertion but a cultural and practical one.

They've generally asked I stick to practices I have a cultural grounding in when honoring them, even though it is not theirs - the cultural and linguistic element is that important to them. They would rather an authentic expression of gratitude and care through a ritual that isn't theirs rather than an imitation of one that is or being left out of my practice all together. Which makes sense to me in a relational way I hadn't fully grasped before.

In working with my white ancestors, I've come to more viscerally understand that the present understanding of Christianity is wildly different than other historical understandings. One thing that surprised me was that some of my more recent ancestors have expressed more discomfort around my queerness and transness than many of my older ancestors but both root their understanding in the Bible. I enjoyed one ancestor who, when I explained that I'm partnered with a woman, to mean that I would have a life of service - "no men to distract you from God" - which I mean is not wrong on several levels. It really highlighted for me that Christian doctrine is far more flexible than I'd initially thought. It challenged ideas I'd picked up through traumatic religious experiences. So much of what I'd assumed was Christianity itself seems to be more Christianity right now.

The historical angle is really important me. One of the things that drove my interest in Paganism was trying to understand what came before Christianity, to connect with whatever had been cut off in that process. The more I've come to learn about imperialism within Europe - how various empires conquered and destroyed localized traditions indigenous to parts of Europe - it clicked for me that my white ancestors did to others what had been done to them. It is intergenerational trauma in a nutshell.

It's also striking to me that so many people term the traditions pagans pull from as "dead" religions or at the very least "not living". For years I took that to mean they were "safe" to take from, that I wouldn't hurt anyone by doing so. But I hadn't really understood the weight of what "dead" meant - that there was no one left alive who could teach me, that I can't live in a context where all of the beliefs, tools, and traditions make intuitive sense. And if it was important to my ancestors who had had a connection to their traditions, then what was I missing by reanimating these traditions without that link?

I don't have a full visceral understanding of what I'm missing to be honest. I have a feeling that'll develop as my practice evolves. But that question alone has marked a pretty important change in how I understand myself spiritually.

The living and cultural element to my practice is more important to me now. For me, just given the family, community, and area I was raised in, that means Christianity is the living tradition I have access to and I've been revisiting it. I was reading an interview the other day with someone who is both a Catholic theologian and a practicing Buddhist. I liked the way he put it when he referred to Catholicism as "one of his sources of wisdom". That better captures my relationship with Christianity that's been unfolding over the last few months.

Making sure that intergenerational spiritual trauma stops as much as possible with me is really important. I had mistakenly thought that meant abandoning Christianity all together, that it was the problem. Which in hindsight, is fucking wild - I hugely fucked up there. There's nothing stopping me from just enacting the harm I learned in the context of Christianity in a different context, a Pagan context. It doesn't get to the root of the issue. At the end of the day, I just want to be sure I do not use my religion, any religion, to further the harms of structural inequality and colonial oppression. That's the goal.

In reading around about this, I've come to feel pretty strongly that one of the best ways to work toward that is to strive toward animism. Animism has been a great antidote to the spiritual entitlement that colonial religions cultivate (including white paganism). Animism also builds a relational spirituality rather than a goal/individual centered one. White paganism isn't inherently animistic since white culture teaches values that undermine quality relationships - individualism, competitiveness, and seeking domination of some fashion in order to feel safe. An animistic lens requires you unlearn those values and cultivate new ones - mutuality, respect, and accountability.

So all this is to say that given my current understanding, I think trying to build a practice out of New Age concepts while trying to avoid appropriation sounds impossible and hellish. I also think it doesn't deal with the work that needs done. I'm choosing to take an animist lens to the living traditions I do have to see if that's a better space for both my spirituality and my evolving understand of decolonizing to grow in.

People will rightly question my use of the term "shadow work" given this perspective. Shadow work is a problematic term for a lot of different reasons that are beyond the scope of this piece.  Where I'm at with it right now is that most western religious traditions seem to have some understanding of what we might call shadow work which points to it being important and useful. However they all used different terms given their contexts so I'm still unsure of what term might be the most appropriate given where I'm at. So for right now, you might see me use it less in the title or body of work I write from here on out, but I still might use it as a tag to make it findable. There's a good shot this doesn't go far enough and I'm not sold on this approach. Just know it's something I'm trying to figure out.

So that's where I'm at right now. I think white pagans really need to be more serious about animism at minimum and hopefully also looking at the role living religious traditions play in their current practice as well. I think white pagans' unhealed reactivity around Christianity too often serves as a justification for spiritual appropriation and furthering colonial harm. Changes are definitely needed. What that looks like in practice for individuals will likely vary a ton. I'd love to hear from other folks doing work in this vein. What's worked for you so far? What hasn't? Where are you in the process?

[rayofsunas]

Hey so regarding inazuma and Baal I have some head cannons and your my favorite writer so I thought I’d just dump them all here.

Insazuma is the nation of eternity right? And Baal is basically the second archon after the original one died off somewhere presumably 500 years ago during the destruction of khaenri'ah.

The vision hunt decree was created for the Perdue of “eternity” and subsequently the people who’s visions were taken lost all their ambition. You get where I’m going here? Maybe Baal isn’t acting out of greed, but are justificing her actions to protect her people? The people of khaenri'ah had ambitions greater than anyone in that world could comprehend; they lived withought the guidance of a God, sought knowledge well beyond their limits and created destructive machines capable of “tilling” an enter battle field. Already we can see a shift in the archons perspective towards celestial- venti stated outright that he doesn’t like celestial, and Zhongli not only retired from his role as an archon but placed several meticulously planned tests to gouge his nations strength and stability in the face of a destructive god. Both nations, in a way, are becoming more similar to khaenri'ah in that they are both Godless, independent, and free from omnipotent influences.

Here’s my theory; The Goddess Baal, before inheriting the title of Archon, had witnessed the massacre and destruction of the khaenri'ah people and in order to prevent her nation from suffering the same fate she had launched the vision hunt decree to remove the people’s ambitions before it consumes them. She has witnessed the power of celestia, and in order to avoid the same fate she has made it her goal to separate Inazume from khaenri'ah in all forms and that’s why she continues on her role as archon instead of watching from the sides like venti or Zhongli.

Another thing, a small spoiler warning for those who haven’t finished the quest

I think people who are emotionless used to be the most emotional and heartfelt kind of individuals. Ayaka describes the Raiden Shogun as a cold and emotionless being, akin to a manager or something (I can’t remember her exact words) and I think that’s because Baal had been planning the decree for a long time now and had to steel her resolve knowing the impact it would have on the common folk. In her mind, what she is doing is better for the lo run and is necessary for the survival of her people.

This is just a theory, I haven’t finished the quest myself but it’s been weighing on me for quite sometime now. Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!

SPOILERS + be prepared for my declarations rambles.

YOU’RE SO SMART, AND YOU'VE SPURRED ON MY LOCKED AWAY THEORIES THANKS. and I thought similarly, though now that you mention it, baal behaving selfishly seems like she could be protecting her people. after all, the vision hunt decree only happened recently (I think months to a year before the traveler’s arrival in mondstadt), so something shifted dramatically between the archons and celestial for baal to do that in the first place.

me and my friends chat about theories like this all the time on discord and everything you said makes so much sense! I also thought zhongli stepping away from his role as an archon was not just his way of freeing himself, but his way of seeing how his people would fair without a god (this is legit confirmed i think); and they’ve done just fine, proving to celestia that they’re wrong in believing nations and people need a ruling governing body, like an archon. but I feel like baal is still just selfish, even if she’s doing this to protect her citizens, my gut is just telling me she could be both selfish and also be doing this to protect her people.

but about the archons; my friends and I have tied the archons to tons of real life lore and myths, and something that keeps popping up with all the archons is different types of religion and beliefs; we found out that they each represent or are similar to the seven princes of hell (and there’s something about them coming up in demonology a crap ton too, and the similarities are a bit too similar... PAIMON IS MENTIONED TOO AS A KING OF HELL IN DEMONOLOGY LORE AND THAT'S NOT VERY CUTE.... I HAVE SO MANY THEORIES FOR PAIMON YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!). but I think the archons are like 50/50 bad and good (like they’ve done bad things willingly or not before the travelers arrival aka destruction of khaenri’ah) but celestia is the main antagonist, I’m 100% positive of that.

the hydro archon is said to know not to make an enemy of celestia/the divine, so I feel if any of the gods were to back celestia, it would be the hydro archon. but, this leads me to my first question; what in the world does celestia think about the gnosis’ being taken? I’m gonna assume they may care a little less about venti and zhongli because they’ve basically retired, but the other archons? they’re still active and actively represent celestia, so I’m curious to know what celestia would do when baal’s is taken (we know that she’s the next target, because one of the tsaritsa’s goals is to take them all). will baal be punished since she’s still an active ruling archon, or not? something is telling me she will, but who knows...

and this may sound obvious, but i think the archons represent celestia’s own ideals, although over time with the change of archons and maybe shifted opinions in celestia, said archons have changed and now their actions contradict what their title is, I think the reason behind that is because they’re the original and last reigning archons over their respective nations, but the others? they represent ideals, and some of their actions or just people interfering (harbingers talking the gnosis') have contradicted what they stand for entirely.

for example,

venti (ideal is freedom): his is so ironically obvious, but his gnosis was taken from him, against his will; there's nothing free about that. and he also retired from being an archon, and because of that went into hiding, also nothing free about that either; yet he represents freedom. you see what i'm trying to say? lol.

zhongli (ideal is contracts): nothing for him because i don't know much, but i think it's funny how he represents contracts, which are usually very tedious and there's a lot of depth in them, and he just gave his gnosis up so easily and willlingly (even if he has his reasons) by creating a contract like ???? it's funny to me.

baal (ideal is eternity): I haven’t started the archon quest yet for her, but I know she says she is the most eternal of all and sees herself as everlasting, but she’s legit younger than a good few of the archons (venti and zhongli so far!). I also think the original archons ideal was eternity and that’s what they had hoped for their people, but after the fall of khaenri’ah, war, and their death, baal came into power and realized it would be a threat to celestia if the people believe in eternity (like I said, something shifted severely after the war, because a lot of the original archons died or disappeared and their ideals almost became shrewd and a thing of the past with the new ones who took their places) therefore creating the vision hunt decree to get rid of visions; with more people coming into contact with visions, or maybe even when they realized humanity would be fine without an archon ruling over them, war would break out again and this time celestia would be the target. speaking of targets, this is random, but there’s an overwhelming presence of military surrounding/in inazuma and maybe that’s not just to collect visions and because war broke out amongst the people there, but it’s for protection against celestia and the harbingers (I think the other archons know about venti and zhongli's gnosis' being taken, so they're all weary). if baal were to overthrow celestia or betray them somehow, I’m sure since she’s an active archon they would retaliate.

the dendro archon (ideal is wisdom): the dendro archon is way more obvious, as dainsleif says he’s less than wise, but that’s his ideal... he’s also the youngest, so that’s another contradicting fact; young people are often called unwise.

the hydro archon (ideal is justice): I know nothing about her, but she represents justice. I don’t have a solid explanation for her, but based off of theories and if for a moment we assume celestia is the main antagonist, she is said to be afraid of celestia but seemingly backs them by not leaving like venti and zhongli... considering what they’ve done, I’d say she can’t possibly represent the ideal of justice correctly if what had happened to khaenri’ah was far from just, especially since the archons and celestia were behind it but her ideal is justice?

murata (ideal is war): I have no idea about her at all either, there's not much... but considering vanessa was able to pass into celestia when she died and she's considered the children of murata, I think we'll get more info on celestia then too, and more about khaenri'ah, since she's the god of war. she's gonna have the DEETS I tell you!!

the tsaritsa (ideal is unknown): nothing contradicting for now! she is a bit confusing because of how little info we have, but I have reason to believe she's against celestia, hence her taking the gnosis'. for now, until confirmed, I think her ideal or rather goal is to get rid of celestia. i don't think she has a gnosis or vision tbh, maybe the archon before her did and she's assumed to have one as well or maybe it even got taken away... but, i think that's one of the reasons she's created delusions, they're said to be a lot more dangerous and powerful (i think) than visions too. there's also this thing I found out about the gnosis' being designed after chess pieces, and how although there are 7 archons, there are only 6 chess pieces (pawn, rook, bishop, knight, queen, and king)... meaning one of the archons (not venti or zhongli, because we know what their gnosis' look like) has a gnosis that isn't designed after a chess piece... or in my words, doesn't have one at all. aka the tsaritsa... I think the tsaritsa not having a gnosis fits too snugly with her actions so far. and don't get me wrong! if we assume she doesn't have a gnosis, I don't think she's retaliating because of that, i think she just wants to change or get rid of celestia entirely. like this makes perfect sense because the tsaritsa is the only active archon seemingly and openly going against celestia's ideals, whatever they may be...

and about me saying the archons are "evil" or in the wrong for what happened to khaenri'ah (even if they were forced by celestia), in the archaic petra set, ZHONGLI IS SAID TO HAVE BEEN AN EMOTIONLESS AND MERCILESS GOD WHEN HE SLAUGHTERED COUNTLESS OTHER GODS DURING THE ARCON WAR, in order to fulfill a contract of sorts. this is why I think there were ulterior motives during the war and although yes, for now, it seems the archons were forced into complying during the war, I really think they had some willingness too.

at the end of my ted talk I have come to the conclusion that we can't trust the archons until we know more or celestia like... ever AND I STAND WITH THE REGULAR DEGULAR PEOPLE!!!

[electronicathletepizzaapricot]

It hits very hard. You either say how you feel and fuck it up or say nothing and let it fuck you up instead.

It is literally killing me inside because with the fear of losing you I’m not able to tell you how much I’m missing you. Every night I thought I should message you and check if you are ok. If you want to talk, I’m ready to listen but that fear not allow me to do so. It has been almost 15 days, not able to see you anywhere. I have your one of the photo’s screenshots but that is so small and not so clear. I hope you are dealing well. We can just morally support you as this is your battle and you only have to fight, I know you are strong enough to handle yourself. Last night, siting in the hall and staring moon outside, so many thoughts are running, making me crazy. But look at that calm moon like he wants to tell me something, he wants me to calm down myself, deep breath and try to heal from all those worries, sorrows, and pain I have been going through. Life was never so easy on me. Every time was like a battle, give your best otherwise you’ll lose kind of situation but still every time there was one person, and that person is no one else but it was ME only who asked many times to look up and keep going, you’ll get it what you want. The reason I’m sharing is I sense your pain that day, I feel like you are showing OK but you are not, may be I’m wrong. It is not just coz of health problems but there is more. I’m not sure, may be wrong again.

Let’s not discuss that coz more I talk about your problems you’ll feel low. Night, being lost in thoughts one beautiful thought came in my mind and it settled me down somewhere. You and Me, on the beachside.no one else around,

Talking about memories, fun we had not together but common, future plans about our individual life, crazy things which made us laugh and no one else knows it about. Some emotional moments where we were so strong and make ourselves so proud that we were the warrior in the worst situation. Holding hands and still no commitments, no promises, no expectations only acceptance.

Next moment there are so many tears are ready to roll down coz they know the reality, asking repeatedly is this going to be happened? Heart said Yes and Mind said NO. Every time this confusion hits me hard, but confusion is  good coz that means you are listening to Your heart. And heart is still in that Misunderstanding, one day will surely come.

This feeling is different, it is ok if no one wants to understand, if people judge you, it is ok if someone call you crazy, selfish, cheater and whatnot but you are making yourself Happy in that moment. And while thinking about others, whole life, if you take a moment to make yourself happy, what is wrong in that, isn’t it?

So many untold, strange thoughts but Yes Pure one, no bad intentions.  Will you understand me and these feelings ever? Or you’ll run coz you are beyond on these feelings, but why should I even ask you these questions. You are more than a friend to ME and it is not necessary that you have to feel the same way.

Everything is just a DREAM, the other night when I awake, I’ll realize it was just a happy dream where I have already spent all those moments which I imagine. Where nobody stops me, no one tells me if I’m wrong, where I’m listening to my heart, allowing my heart to fall for you, to feel you, no more clouds in the head, no pain no tears, no explanations, justifications. Only you and ME in that world.

[pyrobane-fandom-space]

Significant Strides in Relations

Author: Merlyn Bane

Word Count: 10.3K (shut up, don't @ me okay)

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi manages to catch the attention of his attache on a diplomatic mission.

Warnings: Adult Content™. Strong language, smut. Virgin!Obi I guess. Unprotected sex--wrap it up!

A/N: Did I come back from the dead just to post some completely self-indulgent bullshit? Yes I did. This is like 3.7K worth of smut with like 5K worth of justification and like 1K of Skywalker bullshit at the end and I'm not sorry about any of it. I would also just like to blame @no-droids and their Open Door series for giving me a Thing for Obi-Wan in the first place.

(gif found on google, not mine)

You want to fuck the Jedi.

And, yeah, sure, you feel a little bit bad about it. You know enough about the Order to know that that's something the Jedi don't do--if the poor man knew the direction your thoughts had taken, he'd probably be scandalized. You can clearly imagine his face turning, just, scarlet, especially because you do mean fuck. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi is visiting your planet on a diplomatic mission that you haven't been briefed on the particulars of, and you've been assigned to him as an attaché during his stay--tending to his needs, making sure he's comfortable while he's here. It's a function you've performed many, many times as part of your duties to the royal family, but Kenobi has been...particularly pleasant, to work with. The Jedi is kind, treats you like an equal even though you're technically working for him for the time being, and he's funny. You hadn't realized the Jedi were allowed a sense of humor, but Maker, this one is sarcastic, constantly teasing with a playful glint in his blue eyes that is...not helping you with the whole 'wanting to irredeemably corrupt him' problem that you're currently having. 

You show up at his quarters just before breakfast to collect him as you have for the last two days and he's already there waiting for you, opening the door just as you're coming to a stop in front of it.  Kenobi gives you a gracious smile as he steps into the hallway with you, letting the door slide closed behind him, and you return it before turning to start making your way to the dining hall. He falls in step next to you and despite the fact that he really isn't walking that close to you, you swear you can feel him there. "Good morning, young one." 

You snort softly, scrunching your nose up as you give him an unimpressed side-eye. "Young one? You realize I'm within five years of you? I think you spend too much time with your old padawan and not enough with your peers, Kenobi."

The Jedi chuckles next to you, looking suitably sheepish as he grins over at you. "My apologies, my lady," he says, and you can tell that he's teasing you lightly. You roll your eyes but don't correct him--no, instead you internalize it, and his innocent my lady gets cataloged away with the rest of the impure thoughts that have been plaguing you since you saw him in the great hall upon his arrival. "I meant no offense."

"None was taken."

The conversation sort of just...drifts off, and you take the time to study his features out of the corner of your eye while he's looking ahead. The Jedi is...handsome, and frankly you think it's very unfair of the Order to lock all of that up under a chastity vow. The lines of his face are classical, look like they could have been carved from marble--only accentuated by the scruff of the beard lining a jaw you kind of want to sink your teeth into. 

And, Maker. His eyes. The clearest crystal blue, like twin glaciers, piercing directly into your soul every time you meet them but...gentle. Always gentle. You know he's as talented a warrior as he is a negotiator, you've heard the stories, but you would never know it from his pretty eyes. 

"What are your plans for the day, Master Kenobi? Since there won't be any official matters taking place today." It's the third day of the week, and on your planet it is considered inappropriate to do such work then. Most of your people will be in services today, to include the royal family. You probably should be, but you had offered to stay behind and continue to assist the Jedi--you've never cared for such things, anyway, and you certainly think he makes for better company.

Kenobi turns his head just enough to give you a small smile before he looks forward again, humming softly as he considers his answer. "I will likely confer with the Council this afternoon, update them on how the negotiations are going. Perhaps I will take some time to meditate, as well. You may have most of the day to yourself." It's quiet for a moment, then: "And you may just call me Obi-Wan, if you wish."

Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan--

It does not escape your attention that this isn't an offer that was even extended to your employers, who he's supposed to be here on the sole purpose of brokering an agreement with. They've still been using titles with each other, you know they have. Fuck. "Obi-Wan," you repeat, hoping that it escapes his notice how much you find that you like the way it feels on your tongue. Obi-Wan. "If you find you have the time, later, maybe I could show you around a little more. There are some places on the palace grounds I think you might enjoy."

The Jedi hums again, and you can see that he's still smiling when you look over at him. "I will certainly keep that in mind."

You reach the dining hall only a few minutes later, and go your separate ways once you've gotten your food. You find a seat at one of the far tables tucked into a corner that's already populated by a couple of your fellow staff members, making sure to sit so that you're facing him so he can get your attention if he needs it. You're being elbowed almost the second your ass hits the seat, the girl to your left clearly desperate for whatever gossip she thinks you have as she leans in and whispers at you in hushed tones. 

"Maker, you've got a dreamy one. You're so lucky, I was assigned to--"

You're not even listening, not really--tuning her out while you tuck into your breakfast. You suppose you don't have any real right to be so annoyed with her, truthfully, given that you've been having similar thoughts about him yourself all morning and for most of the last couple of days, but you find that you are anyway. The girl doesn't even seem to realize that you're ignoring her, continuing to chatter at you until one of the other people at your table manages to redirect her attention, if not the subject. 

 You tell yourself that the reason your attention stays focused on the Jedi is in case he needs you for anything but you're not very convincing, even to yourself. Your mind wanders while you eat, formulating scenarios that all seem to end with Obi-Wan between your thighs. Most of these thoughts are generally nonsensical, idle flashes and half-strung together images, but some of them come through with alarming clarity. 

I want to suck his cock.

The Jedi suddenly chokes on whatever it is he's just eaten. 

You instinctively shift to stand up to try and help him but his companion is already there, smacking his back with more force than you think is probably necessary and laughing loudly enough that you can hear him from your table. Skywalker, you think his name is. He's still chuckling when they settle back down, despite the thoroughly unamused looks Obi-Wan is shooting him. You snort quietly to yourself and Skywalker turns his head to look at you like he can sense your eyes on them. Your eyes meet for a second, two, and then to your horror he winks at you.

Your stomach sinks. No. No, no. No. He's just winking at you because he caught you looking over at them, right? Jedi can't. Jedi can't read minds, right? Surely not. The younger Jedi raises an eyebrow at you, the edge of his lip curving into what can only be called a smirk, and you really. Just need the ground to open up and swallow you whole right here. Maker. You're going to have to work with Obi-Wan for the next couple of days--how the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eyes, now, knowing that he's heard you this entire time? 

 Breakfast passes both entirely too quickly and not near quickly enough, and before you know it, both Jedi are getting to their feet. You curse quietly under your breath and stand yourself, disposing of your tray before you manage to make yourself walk back over to join them. You still have a job to do, regardless of whether or not you want to dig yourself a nice deep hole to die in right now. You do your best to force a smile once you reach them, really trying your absolute hardest to pretend that none of...that, had just happened. Like you haven't been caught lusting over Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi by the man himself. 

Skywalker is the first to speak, that Maker-forsaken grin still plastered firmly in place on his face when he does. "Hello,"

You think he's having entirely too much fucking fun with this, frankly. 

Obi-Wan seems to agree with you, if the look he gives his companion then is anything to go by. You swallow, doing your best to reign in your composure as you raise a hand to wave at him in response before turning back to the man you're supposed to be assisting. "Are you--" you pause, clearing your throat before continuing. "Are you ready to return to your rooms?"

Maker. Maker. Why did you have to say--

"Quite," Obi-Wan answers before you can stutter out an apology, giving Skywalker what can only be described as a warning look before he turns back to follow you. Your gaze stays all but permanently affixed to the floor as you start making your way down the hall, the only thing indicating that he's still beside you the sound of his boots on the tile. 

You can feel his eyes on you when you reach his door but you still can't bring yourself to meet them, clearing your throat awkwardly and folding your hands behind your back in a bid to stop yourself from picking at your thumbnail from the nervous energy that's suddenly coursing through your body. "I. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day," you manage to stutter out, taking your leave before he can say anything to stop you.

You end up having a couple of hours to yourself to stew in the privacy of your own room before anyone comes for you. 

You groan quietly when you hear the knock at your door but haul yourself to your feet and make your way over anyway, pushing your hair out of your face. You frown minutely when you find one of your coworkers standing there. Kaljova--she's assigned to Skywalker, if you recall correctly. She seems vaguely concerned with the state you're in but is kind enough not to comment on it, giving you a polite smile instead. "Master Kenobi has asked for you," Kaljova tells you, and has the grace to pretend to not notice the way your face falls with it. 

"Do you know what he needs?" you ask her, blessedly managing to keep your voice even. You reach down to grab your cloak from the table by your door and tie it around your shoulders without waiting for her to actually answer, stepping out into the hallway and letting your door close behind you. 

She shakes her head, shrugging a little bit. "Master Skywalker didn't say, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, sighing softly but giving her a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay. Thank you for letting me know."

She returns your smile and nods once before she turns around and leaves you to your own devices again. You groan quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose as you work up the nerve to actually make your way to the visiting diplomat wing where you know he's waiting for you. It takes you a couple of minutes but you do manage to make your feet move eventually and they carry you there far faster than you'd have liked them to. 

You swallow harshly and close your eyes for a second before reaching up to knock on his door, bracing yourself. Maker, he probably wants to talk about it, clear the air or whatever, and you are just...absolutely not even a little bit equipped to deal with that right now, frankly. You're able to school your features as the door slides open but just barely, and you stop breathing altogether when you look up and meet those pretty blue eyes. 

And he seems...surprised to see you. 

That kriffing--

"You...didn't send for me, did you?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head, looking more confused if possible, and you just sigh quietly, giving him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I think there was a...miscommunication." And I'm going to kill your fucking padawan. "I'll just--I'll just go." You raise a hand in a very awkward not-wave and turn on your heel to go, but then.

The Jedi gently grabs you by the elbow, and everything stops for a moment. 

Goddammit.

"Wait," Obi-Wan says, softly--like he's trying not to spook you. You take a deep, stuttering breath, and sigh it out, relaxing where you stand as you give up on getting out of this. "I believe...it would be a good idea, if we talked."

Yeah, that's. That's pretty much what you figured, unfortunately. 

"I'm very sorry, if I made you uncomfortable, I...I didn't know you could--" Didn't know you could hear me. 

"I know," he tells you, just as gently as before, and you reluctantly turn just enough to be able to face him. His eyes are soft when they regard you, and you find your breathing evening out despite yourself--wondering idly how much of it is actively his doing. "Just...come inside. Please."

You can't find it in yourself to deny him so you nod, letting him lead you into the room and trying to pretend that you can't feel your heart stop when the door slides shut behind you. Obi-Wan seems to notice you not knowing what to do with yourself because he gestures to one of the chairs in the sitting area, sitting down in the one opposite it once you're settled. It's quiet for a moment as both of you seem to search for the right words. 

"I would like to begin by apologizing for Anakin," he says finally, and you snort as the words register.  He gives you a wry smile in return, and continues. "He means well, but he can be...thoughtless, in his humor, at times. Particularly when it is at my expense."

"He sounds like he must have been a joy to train."

That earns you an almost startled sounding laugh out of the Jedi, which manages to get a real smile out of you. "I fear he may have also misled you, to an extent." He tells you, not quite meeting your eyes now as he scratches at his beard. You give him a questioning look and he sighs softly, leaning back in his chair. "We...can hear thoughts, but only if we go looking and it is considered very inappropriate to do so without reason."

You feel your eyebrows knit together in confusion, then, and you tilt your head at him. "But you…?"

Obi-Wan winces, and nods. "You may have...projected, this morning, inadvertently. It was...rather loud, and my guards were not as firmly in place as they probably should have been."

Oh. So you'd shouted it at him, then. Great. "Oh."

"I had...gotten a sense of the direction of your thoughts, before that, but you were acting very professionally so thought it best to pay it no mind."

That's...very kind of him, actually, to have simply ignored it even though it must have made him uncomfortable, especially when he so easily could have just told you to knock it off or requested a different attache. You clear your throat, finding yourself picking at your thumbnail again. "I appreciate that."

"You needn't be embarrassed, you know." the Jedi murmurs softly, and you look up to meet his gaze despite yourself. He smiles at you a little bit, then, and it brings something very warm into those blue eyes of his that almost makes you just a little lightheaded. "These things happen. You're only human, you can't be expected to have complete control of your thoughts all the time."

"You do," you point out, just because you feel the need to. "Jedi do. So I'm told."

"We spend our whole lives learning to try." he amends, and there's something so human in the way that he grins that suddenly, all you want to do is lean over and kiss him. "It is a constant exercise, not a skill that can be mastered."

"Still. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable this week."

"Uncomfortable might not be the right word for it, speaking truthfully," Obi-Wan admits, so quietly that you're almost not even sure he's really said it at all. And--Maker, is he implying what it sounds like he's implying? You know your eyes must be just about bugging out of your head with the shock but he mercifully either doesn't notice or pretends not to, scratching at his beard again as he seems to consider his next words, and you...really need him to stop doing that. It's becoming hard enough to maintain your focus as it is. "There were times where I was perhaps...tempted."

You stare at him, blankly, blinking slowly as the words process. Tempted tempted tempted-- "I thought Jedi couldn't…"

Obi-Wan clears his throat, and suddenly he's the one looking unsettled. "Technically, the Code prohibits intimacy, attachment. It...says nothing about the act itself."

Oh. Oh.  

You're still staring at him, just completely dumbstruck, so the Jedi seems to decide to take it upon himself to continue talking and fill the space. "For most of us it ends with the same result, functionally, but. Technically." 

Maker, get it together. You feel like you're on a several second delay, having great difficulty processing this new information, let alone giving him the verbal response to it that he's clearly waiting for, now. "Have you--"

"Almost. Once. When I was a padawan myself. My master and I were stationed on Mandalore at the time, assigned to protect the Duchess." 

You're grinning, now, you can feel it tugging at the edges of your mouth. Maker, you suddenly need to know this story like you need to breathe. "What happened?"

Stars, you swear you can see the tips of his ears turn red. "Qui-Gon caught us. It has...certainly dissuaded me from making any attempts since."

You laugh. You can't help it. Suddenly you're laughing so hard it nearly hurts, grasping your middle with one hand while wiping tears from your eyes with the other. You would feel worse about it if Obi-Wan didn't look so amused himself. "Oh, you poor thing." you snort before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and you feel your own face heat when you realize the implication of what you've just said to him. Way to go, Ace. 

Except...he's still grinning at you, amusement dancing in those blue eyes, and all the air seems to rush out of the room when they lock on your own. Kriff. "Are you suggesting that I'm missing out, then?"

He's teasing you, the bastard, and all of sudden it makes you feel bold. You lean forward in your chair, then, resting your elbows on your knees as you encroach on his space and pull your lower lip between your teeth.. "I'm not suggesting anything, Master Kenobi," you all but purr at him, "but should you be interested in finding out for yourself…"

The offer hangs in the air between you, then, like a lit fuse while you just stare at each other, both waiting to see if the other will make the next move.  

"And what might this...demonstration...entail?"

"Nothing you aren't completely on board with," you tell him immediately, because if this happens--Maker, if--it is absolutely imperative to you that he enjoys himself just as much as you do. Which...gives you an idea, actually. "I make sure my partners have a good time. Haven't done my job if they don't."

Fuck, the Jedi's eyes are blown. His pupils have nearly overtaken those pretty blue irises and it makes your breath catch with how much you want to ruin him. You can feel the tension rising in the room between you, feeding on and feeding into your arousal in a vicious cycle. He swallows, and you watch his Adam's apple bob with it and narrowly resist the urge to bite him. "Oh?"

Kriff, you need to leave before you fuck him right here and ruin your plans. You give him a small, soft smile and stand, padding over to him. His eyes track each movement, his head tilting back to gaze up at you when you come to stand between his knees, and you can see how ragged his breathing's gone at the sudden proximity. You reach out and let your palm wrap around the line of his jaw, your fingernails scratching lightly through the coarse hairs of his beard, and the Jedi's eyes fall closed before you even lean in. He gasps when your mouth brushes against his own, the faintest whisper of a kiss, and your smile widens. "I think, that you deserve to be seduced properly, Obi-Wan," you breathe. "I'm not going to fuck you, Baby, not just yet. When you really want it--then I'll give it to you."

 It takes several seconds before he's able to get words out again, and when he does you can barely hear what he's saying from the rasp in them. "I think, my lady," he pants, "that you are being exceedingly cruel."

You chuckle softly, letting your thumb brush across his lower lip before you straighten up and take a step back, ignoring the almost whine that escapes his throat when you do. "Perhaps."

For the rest of the evening, you act as normal--as if none of the events of the day had taken place. You meet with Obi-Wan and escort him to the dining hall for dinner as usual and go your separate ways once your trays are piled high. You do your best to resist the urge to glare daggers at the other Jedi, particularly when he grins and waves at you, but you are able to content yourself with the sharp look Obi-Wan gives him for it as he sits down. Dinner is uneventful despite Skywalker's best efforts, and passes quickly. You give Obi-Wan this time to...come down, essentially, to gather his wits back about him before you really set your plans into motion in the morning. You had left the Jedi absolutely wrecked this afternoon, and not only do you think it would be just a little unfair to begin your seduction in such a state, you're a little concerned that you might actually kill him if you overwhelm him so much all at once. So, you give him time to breathe. 

Or at least, that is your intent. 

The sudden drop almost seems to have the opposite effect. Obi-Wan's composure is, outwardly, as impeccable as always. No-one but you and Skywalker--you're sure--would be able to tell that anything's up. The only reason you do is because you still can't take your eyes off him so you notice the way his haven't left you, either. And, Maker, the way he looks at you. You almost want to give in, drag him back to his rooms now, but. You meant it earlier, when you said you thought he deserved better than that. The concept of virginity as a special thing is not one you've ever particularly put much stock in, yourself, but you know that this is, will be, a big deal for him whether he's willing to admit it or not. You want to give him at least this much. He might not be allowed true intimacy or emotional attachment, but that doesn't mean the sex has to be careless. You meant it, when you told him that you take care of your partners.  

The next day, you start slow. Obi-Wan is actually fairly busy with the diplomatic mission he'd been sent here on in the first place, which makes that relatively simple. The only time you really get with him that morning is when you're escorting him to and from meetings, so you spend that time finding excuses to touch him. Subtle things, like adjusting already-straight the collar of his robes. 

"Good morning, Obi-Wan," 

The Jedi steps out into the hall with you and lets the door close behind him, returning your greeting with an easy grin that makes your heart skip a beat. "Good morning. Where are we off too?"

"You have a meeting with the Chancellor, first. It'll be long and likely boring assuming Skywalker behaves himself, but productive." You give him a soft smile, stepping forward and looking up at him from under your lashes. He watches you intently, almost seeming to stop breathing for a second when you reach up and adjust the tan collar of his robes, your fingertips brushing lightly against the skin of his throat when you do. You let the moment linger a second longer than it needs to before you step back to a respectful distance and nod down the hallway. "Shall we?"

Brushing his hair out of his face when it's fallen into his eyes.

Obi-Wan looks about as tired as you expect him to when he comes out of his meeting a couple of hours later but he has a small smile for you when he sees you waiting for him in the hallway anyway. Skywalker follows him through the door seconds later but barely pays either of you any mind, grumbling something about breakfast as he follows Kaljova down the hall. The two of you stand there for another moment, glancing at each other and chuckling at the younger Jedi's irritation, and you notice idly that some of his blond hair's managed to fall out of place. You reach up to brush it back out of his eyes and bite your lip when they zero in on your own, and you find yourself leaning in further before you can stop yourself only for you to jump apart when the door slides open again. The Chancellor gives you both a polite nod as he takes his leave, completely unaware of what he'd interrupted, and you have to shake your head to clear it once he's out of sight. You can still feel the Jedi's eyes on you when you turn to make your way to the dining hall.

It continues this way, more or less, until lunch, when you decide to kick it up a notch going into the afternoon. You remember what he told you about being able to pick up on your feelings, at least in a general sense, whether he went looking for them or not so you decide to lean into that and let your mind run wild with the things you want to do to him. You're careful not to project any particulars at him this time but you can tell that he definitely takes notice when you start letting your thoughts wander. 

You're still sitting in the dining hall at your separate tables, and you smirk lightly when his eyes snap up, watching them narrow when he realizes what you're doing. You maintain that eye contact shamelessly, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you try to imagine what's waiting for you underneath those robes. Skywalker's glancing back and forth between you and grinning but Obi-Wan ignores him completely, raising an eyebrow in your direction that you merely shrug at. You see him shift slightly in his seat after a little while of this and decide to lay off a bit--for now, at least. 

Obi-Wan has to consult with the Jedi Council after lunch so you decide to have some mercy on him immediately leading up to that and take a break from your little game. You're sure he's still aware of the arousal boiling low in your belly while you walk him back to his rooms after lunch but you're not actively focusing on it now, letting yourself relax and the Jedi by extension. 

It's during dinner that evening that you really kick it into high gear. 

You're not even fully sure this is going to work, since you've only ever done it once and by accident, but watching Obi-Wan converse with Skywalker at their table, you know you want to try. So you focus your attention on the Jedi, and hone in on the thought of what you think it might be like to kiss him until you see him stiffen and you know he's got it. You keep going, feeding him different images that only grow more explicit as you grow bolder. Sucking and biting bruises into the skin of his throat and chest while you grind down against his cock. Looking right into his pretty blue eyes while you stroke that cock, watching him come apart when you finally take it into your mouth like you've wanted to do practically since you laid eyes on him. Riding him, burying your hands in his hair and swallowing his moans while you bounce in his lap. 

Obi-Wan grits his teeth across the dining hall, gripping the edge of the table he's sitting at tightly and pointedly not looking at you while he tries to regain control of his breathing. Skywalker is staring at you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in total shock, and you only smirk back at him in response as you let the projection drop. You didn't necessarily want the other Jedi to see those things, truthfully, but you don't know how to control the projection well enough to block him out and he's been enough of a dick about the whole thing this week that you really don't feel all that badly about the fact that he looks like he kind of wants to bleach his brain, now. 

You simply go back to your meal once you've dropped the projection, though you can't help the small grin that stays plastered on your face. The next few minutes pass that way, but then.

But then.

Well, projection goes both ways.

It feels sort of like a tickle, at first, at the edge of your mind--easily ignored. Then it turns into a gentle prodding, and when you look up to confirm your suspicions, his blue eyes are locked firmly on yours and it takes your breath away. He's...being remarkably gentle with you, knowing that no-one's ever been in your head before like this, waiting for you to relax and let him in in a complete roll reversal that shocks you. You barely manage to contain the gasp when you do, because he's suddenly pushing images back at you. Obi-Wan thinks back to how your fingers had felt in his hair this morning, and then reimagines that feeling with you in his lap, tangled in his hair while you kiss him. Then, fuck. With his head between your thighs. He stops and focuses in on this one, imagining as many details as he can manage as he pushes it to you. Your hands pulling on the blond strands while his grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue laves through the folds of your cunt. 

The moment feels like a tipping point, and both of you know exactly what is going to happen once this meal is over. 

You're so pent up and aroused when it's finally time to leave that you're lightheaded with it but somehow you manage to get to your feet anyway, and thankfully you don't end up having to deal with Skywalker at all because Obi-Wan is out of his seat first this time and meets you halfway. There's something in the air between you, something tense and charged, and you know you need to get him back to his rooms now. He seems to be on the same page because he wastes no time in following you out of the dining hall, and his strides are longer enough than usual that you actually struggle just a little bit to keep up. 

And there's something so…juvenile about this, rushing off and sneaking around, but it's...fun. You feel almost like a teenager again, truthfully, so eager to get him alone somewhere private so you can get your hands on him that you're all but running down the hallway to get there. 

You're on the Jedi the moment the door closes behind you but he's right there with you, pulling you in for a kiss that's all enthusiasm and little finesse but heats your blood anyway. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you tug him closer and he moans with it, his own hands finding your face and framing it gently. You run the tip of your tongue along his lower lip and press forward when his mouth opens into it on a gasp, licking into his mouth until he has to pull away to breathe. 

Maker, he already looks a mess; beautifully flushed with his hair all askew and his pupils blown wide. It makes you want to do, just, unspeakable things, but you know you still have to take your time and ease him into it or this will all be over too fast and you can't have that.  

"Go...go sit on the bed," you murmur, putting a hand on his chest as you step back and take a second to try and get your wits back about you. "Take your boots off. And your cloak."

And, Kriff, he does it immediately, nodding at you with that just fucking wrecked look in his eyes before he turns to do exactly what you told him, laying his cloak over the back of one of the chairs and padding over to the bed where he sits on the edge before leaning over to take his boots off. You watch him the whole time, almost high on the heady feeling that comes with this hyper-competent Jedi Master doing whatever you tell him to. 

You take your time in joining him, partially to tease and partially just because you need those extra few moments. His eyes track every movement as you remove your own cloak, laying it next to his as you toe your shoes off, and you give him a small smile as you make your way over to the bed. Obi-Wan's breath hitches when you climb up onto it and seems to stop altogether when you carefully settle yourself on his lap, his hands fisting at his sides until you reach down to take them gently and guide them to your waist. "You can touch me," you purr, running your nose along the line of his jaw and grinning to yourself when his grip suddenly tightens with it. "It's encouraged, in fact."

He snorts quietly, so breathily that you almost miss it, and starts rubbing circles into your sides with his thumbs. "Noted," he rasps, and you grin wider before you press a kiss just under his jaw. The Jedi shivers with it and the reaction emboldens you so you continue downward, pressing kisses along his skin until you reach the collar of his robe and then you're working at the belt of his robes, eager to get at more of his skin. Obi-Wan seems to still have enough presence of mind to help you, shrugging out of the first two layers once you're able to get them open and discarding them to the side carelessly. You reluctantly have to pull back so you can yank his undershirt over his head but then his whole torso is exposed for your viewing pleasure, so you decide you're alright with the short interruption. 

"See something you like?" Obi-Wan quips breathlessly after a few seconds of you shamelessly studying every line and pane of his chest and you only smirk at him an answer, leaning back in his lap to get a better view and darting your tongue out to wet your lower lip. 

"What are the odds of anyone seeing you without the robes?"

His eyebrows knit together momentarily like he doesn't know what you're asking, but he seems to put the pieces together when you suddenly duck back down and lick a broad stripe along the line of his collarbone. His hips jerk up with a broken moan before he's able to manage an answer, his head tilting back and further exposing his throat. "Un-unlikely," he gasps out, and you're grinning again as you start pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses lower until you find a spot on his pec that pleases you and you stop and suck. The Jedi gasps raggedly, his fingers digging into your waist as he tries to ground himself, but you don't stop until you know a bruise will bloom there. "Something to remember you by?" he hisses, and you chuckle softly as you trace the round little blemish with the tip of your finger. 

"Oh, Baby, I don't think you're going to have any difficulty with that with or without a few little...reminders." 

Obi-Wan moans again, low in his throat, when you start pressing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest, gasping out and trembling the first time you let him feel teeth. His hips buck again and then it's your turn to gasp when his cock rubs right up against your cunt--already so, so hard. And, Maker, it is not a small bulge. What's he hiding under all of those neutral fabrics? You leave a meandering line of bites and hickeys all the way down his chest, ignoring the way he whines when you shift back off of his lap so you can continue down to his stomach. He leans back on his palms, then, watching you intently with dark eyes that make your pussy clench between your thighs, and his breath catches in his throat when your hands find the ties of his trousers. "What are you--"

"Told you I wanted to suck your cock," you remind him, biting your lip as you start undoing them--slowly enough to give him ample opportunity to stop you if he wants. "That alright with you?"

The Jedi nods mutely, suddenly seeming at a loss for words, and you smirk as you sit back on your knees and start pulling them down his thighs until he springs free, and--

Kriff--how fucking dare the Order deprive the galaxy of this magnificent cock? 

He's not the longest you've ever seen, per se, but he's thick enough that you almost wonder how you're going to take this thing and beautifully flushed, with defined veins that you just know are going to feel incredible inside you. You lean in to lick a stripe right up the underside of it before you can stop yourself and Obi-Wan cries out at the sudden stimulation and shakes, falling backwards onto his back. You moan softly at the response you pull out of him and lean up until you're able to take the head into your mouth, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut and grips the bedspread until his knuckles go white and unravels. "Watch me," you tell him, taking him in your palm and pumping slowly while you wait for him to respond, "Wanna see those pretty blue eyes."

He forces them open just like you told him to, keeping them trained on you as he bites down on his lower lip and takes a shaky breath and you take him into your mouth again, satisfied. He cries out again but a little quieter this time, and you hum around his cock as you start bobbing up and down on it slowly, almost teasingly so, holding his hips down as best you can so you control the pace. You definitely want to feel him come down the back of your throat at some point, but this isn't the time for that. You have every intent of him coming buried deep inside you tonight. 

It becomes something of a game, figuring out exactly what he likes. Hollowing your cheeks to make your mouth tighter around him and moaning until he gasps. Teasing the slit at the top with the very tip of your tongue until you swear you hear him curse. And then you take him to the root.

And, Maker, he swears when he bottoms out and it shouldn't be so insanely hot hearing those words come from this ordinarily so well put-together Jedi but it is. You realize how close he's approaching his end so you reluctantly pull off of his cock, then, ignoring the whine that escapes from high in his throat when you do so. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand while you try and catch your breath, which is not made any easier by the way he's looking at you. You know you must look just as wrecked as he does, now, all flushed skin and swollen lips, but if you didn't know better you would genuinely think the man was about to eat you alive. "I think, my lady," he rasps finally, after several seconds of staring at each other, "that you may be slightly overdressed."

Kriff. You glance down at the tunic and trousers that you are, in fact, still wearing, before looking up to meet his eyes again. You maintain that eye contact as you sit back up on your knees, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you slowly start undoing the laces holding the top closed. Obi-Wan watches each movement like it's the most mesmerizing thing he's ever seen, pupils blown so wide they've almost completely obscured the blue. He groans quietly when the tunic slips from your shoulders, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip when your breasts come into full view. "Is that better?"

He shakes his head mutely, swallowing harshly as he seems to try to gather the words. "I want--may I--kriff, lay back. Please." His gaze follows you closely as you slowly lower yourself down onto your elbows, intensely curious what he's about to do. The Jedi takes a deep breath like he's steeling himself and then he's shifting forward until his body stretches over top of yours, kicking his trousers the rest of the way off in the process, and it's your turn to gasp when you feel his lips brush against the underside of your jaw. He's holding himself up enough that you can't necessarily feel him press against you, but Maker, you can certainly feel the heat coming off of him and his warm breath against your throat. "I believe it's my turn," he murmurs by way of explanation, chuckling softly when your next breath comes out ragged.

"You don't--you don't have to do that," you moan, and Stars--you mean it, you do, especially this first time, but you will be just absolutely fucking inconsolable if he changes his mind right now especially after he went and put the fucking image in your head during dinner earlier. 

He doesn't grace that with a verbal response but you're hardly complaining because he starts trailing kisses down the side of your neck instead, and Maker he must have been paying attention when you were doing this to him because you swear he's replicating the technique. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs lowly into the skin of your throat before nipping at it experimentally, listening to you gasp as he keeps talking. "Tell me how to please you, Darling."

His fingers find your nipple before you're able to even begin trying to formulate words and you cry out at the sudden stimulation, arching up into it. "F-Fuck, you're doing a pretty kriffing decent job already," you pant and he chuckles again, running his tongue along your collarbone like you'd done to him and moaning when he gets another ragged gasp for it. "Maker.  U-Use your m-mouth,"

You think for a second that he's going to make some smartass comment about how he already is, but mercifully Obi-Wan seems to know what you're asking him for and decides to be kind about it. He continues exploring your breasts with his hand while he returns his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking his way down the column of it until he reaches your sternum where he stops to suck a bruise into the skin. He gets you so worked up by the time he reaches your breasts that you almost don't realize how close he's gotten until those blue eyes are flickering up to meet yours and he's taking your nipple into the blazing hot cavern of his mouth. You open your mouth on a wordless shout and start to writhe under him but he's right there, both hands coming down to your hips to hold you in place as he laves his tongue around the stiffening peak. Obi-Wan focuses his attention on your breast until you're whimpering and then switches to the other, moaning around your nipple when your fingers tangle in his hair. 

"You like that, don't you?" you purr down at him, watching the Jedi through half-lidded eyes as he moans again in an affirmative. You pull, then, gently--experimentally, seeing if it's something he'll even like, and then he. Fucking bites you. "Fuck, Obi-Wan!" 

"About as much as you liked that," the asshole grins at you impishly as he pulls away from your breast, leaning in to kiss you before you can call him on it. His hands find the top of your trousers once you relax into it, and he leans back to look at you as his fingers dip into the waistband. "May I?"

He starts pulling them down as soon as you nod your consent, sitting back and watching as every inch of skin is revealed until he's removed them completely and he tosses them to the side with the rest of your clothes, leaving you totally bare in front of him. Obi-Wan just...sits there for a moment, taking you in, and you let him, relaxing back against the mattress and smiling up at him. 

"Beautiful," he breathes finally, returning your smile with a small one of his own before he's shifting down, keeping his eyes on yours as his lips brush against your hip. He reaches forward and runs one finger through the lips of your cunt lightly, almost teasingly, watching you gasp and try to grind down into it. "Would you like it if I tasted you here, Darling?" Obi-Wan hums, continuing to press kisses along your hip and the insides of your thighs while he waits for an answer and, Maker, the coarseness of his beard against the sensitive skin there robs you of all conscious thought. All you're able to manage is a nod because you're so strung out and you need him there right now but that seems to be enough for him because he starts leaning in, one hand on each of your thighs as he licks a broad stripe right through your cunt. 

Stars, you can't even form the words right now to talk him through this like he'd asked, but he...doesn't actually really seem to need your help, here. The Jedi focuses in on your clit right away, swirling his tongue around the little bud before he sucks it into the wet heat of his mouth and you nearly sob at how good it feels. "D-Doing so good, Baby," you manage to get out, and the words almost come out as more of a mewl as he hums around your clit, sending jolts right through you. 

You whine in protest when his mouth leaves your clit but his thumb replaces it soon after, rubbing slow circles around it like he's trying to drive you insane on purpose. And then, Maker, his tongue dips into your entrance, licking up inside you while all you can do is sob your pleasure into the air. He keeps going this way for several minutes, steadily working you higher and higher with his tongue buried in your cunt and his thumb strumming your clit until your thighs start to tremble and you feel that coil inside you start to wind tighter. Obi-Wan moans between your legs as when he realizes you're approaching your end and steps up his ministrations, his thumb picking up speed until your back arches underneath him. The orgasm burns its way through you, slow but intense, until you're nearly cross-eyed and delirious with it and he keeps working you through it until you're shaking with overstimulation and pushing his head away. 

The Jedi goes willingly when you push him back into a seated position once you've managed to regain your bearings, and Maker, he's a sight like this; his hair just hopelessly disheveled from your fingers in it and your slick coating his chin and kiss-swollen lips. You take a moment to just look at him, committing this image to memory for all of those nights after he leaves when you know you'll look back and picture this with your hand between your thighs. His hands find your hips as you crawl into his lap and settle there, squeezing gently and letting out a soft moan when you lean in to kiss him. Obi-Wan is the one that licks into your mouth this time, mimicking the way your tongue had tangled with his at the start of this until you're moaning into it. 

He gasps into the kiss when you reach down between you to take his cock in your hand, stroking it slowly while you shift in his lap and Stars, you swear the Jedi underneath you stops breathing entirely when you line him up and the head of his cock presses right up against your entrance. "Maker, please," he begs then on a broken moan, pulling out of the kiss to catch his breath but leaving his forehead pressed up against yours. He opens his eyes to hold your gaze intently as you start to sink down onto him, crying out at the fucking stretch of it. You take your time taking his cock, both for his benefit and your own, and the slow intrusion into your cunt has you shaking before he even bottoms out. 

"Fuck, you feel so f-fucking good," 

And it does. You have to take a minute to adjust once you've taken him to the root before you can move, gripping his shoulders tightly in an attempt to ground yourself, and his hands tighten on your hips in response. The Jedi looks like he might implode if you don't move so you take pity on him, sweeping him into another heated kiss as you roll your hips forward and swallowing his ragged gasp that escapes his throat. You keep the pace slow at first, steady, working yourself open and easing him into the motion and the way your pussy feels wrapped around his cock, and you manage to keep that pace for a few minutes until it becomes too much for both of you.

Obi-Wan's hips buck up at the same time your hips rock forward and you choke on a loud cry, throwing your head back when the head of his cock suddenly hits you right in the sweet spot. He seems to realize that you liked it because he does it again and again, his hands suddenly becoming vices around your hips as he starts thrusting up into you. You keep bouncing in his lap as best you can with his hold on you, meeting him thrust for thrust and Maker, nothing you'd imagined has anything on this. You bury your face in the side of his neck in a pitiful attempt to muffle the sounds that are leaving your throat, sucking and biting at the skin you find there and enjoying the moans you get out of him in return.  

You suddenly find yourself on your back with the Jedi above you, swallowing down the gasp that tears out of you as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss. Obi-Wan starts thrusting again immediately as he lets instinct take over, leaning forward on his elbow next to your head to give him better leverage. You nibble on his lower lip as you bring your legs up around his waist, gasping into his mouth when he fucking growls at the feel of your teeth and knotting your fingers in the strands of his hair again. His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face, holding you in place while he kisses the breath from your lungs. 

You're not going to last much longer, if the way your cunt is already starting to tighten around him is anything to go by. He shifts his hips just slightly, down and to the side, and you almost scream when he manages to find an angle that has the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot straight on at the same time as the warm skin of his torso brushes against your clit on each thrust in. Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did he get the hang of this so fast? He's going to kriffing kill you, if he keeps this up. "Stars, Obi," you sob out, "I'm gonna--"

The Jedi presses one last firm kiss to your mouth before he's pulling back to watch you fall apart, his hand leaving your face and moving down your body until he's stroking your aching clit with his thumb again, rubbing it in fast, small circles like he's learned you like it as he continues fucking into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do. "Right behind you, Darling," he grits out, his voice coming strained and wrecked and you know he means it. It only takes one, two, three more thrusts before you just fucking shatter, crying out into the air and trembling as the orgasm obliterates you. He follows not half a dozen thrusts later, burying his face in your neck and gasping as he fills you with everything he has, his hips still pumping lazily as he comes down. 

Eventually, the Jedi collapses down on the bed next to you, reaching over to brush some of the hair out of your face and giving you a dopey grin that's such a wild juxtaposition from his usual composure and his reputation that it makes you giggle, unable to help yourself. He raises an eyebrow at you playfully but it only makes you laugh harder, shaking your head. "Maker," you breathe, finally, because you can't seem to string together anything else. Obi-Wan chuckles next to you and reaches over to pull you back into his chest, burying his face in your hair while he tries to catch his own breath. "You are...a very quick study. Maker."

You can't see him grin, but you can hear it in his voice when he speaks again. "I'm glad you're pleased," he teases, and you only roll your eyes before letting yourself fully relax against him. Your eyes start to droop but you don't have the energy to fight to keep them open, and you end up falling asleep right there in his arms.

He lets you.

You wake up the next morning almost unbearably warm, and when you go to try and sit up, you find that you can't. You freeze as a half-baked realization suddenly comes over you, hesitantly cracking your eyes open.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Oh, kriff. 

You fell asleep here last night. In the Jedi's bed. With the Jedi. He, it turns out, is the reason that you can't move. Obi-Wan's got both arms wrapped tightly around your middle, holding you against his chest with his legs tangled up with yours, and Maker you would never have pegged this man for a cuddler but you couldn't be more wrong, apparently. It does, however, create quite an interesting problem for you.

This is his last morning here before he leaves to return to Coruscant. He and Skywalker are supposed to leave early, before even breakfast. Skywalker will, doubtlessly, be coming around to see what's what's holding his old master up, and soon--and you are still here. 

Where you are. Definitely. Not supposed to be.

You don't know how much time you have but you know that it isn't much. You have got to get out of here before Obi-Wan's pain in the ass prior padawan shows up, and the Jedi looks so peaceful like this that you kind of wish you could just let him sleep but you really don't want to just sneak out on him after last night. So you sigh, reaching up to shake his shoulder gently. "Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, we have to get up."

It doesn't take much to wake him, thankfully, and he lets go of you to prop himself up on his elbow as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice still hoarse from sleep as he peers down at you, not quite as surprised to see you there as you'd have maybe expected him to be. 

You don't even get a chance to answer him because there's suddenly a knock on the door, and both of your eyes widen at it. Skywalker. "Obi-Wan?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, where the fuck are your clothes? You're out of the bed before Obi-Wan even has a chance to stop you, frantically trying to find your clothes and put them on. You toss his trousers at his chest when you come across them and that seems to be what finally spurs him into motion, standing up so he can get them on as he calls back to the other Jedi. "What is it, Anakin?"

There's a moment of confused silence, then: "Cody's landing the transport now."

Obi-Wan opens his mouth like he's about to tell his old padawan that he'll be out momentarily, but doesn't get a chance to get the actual words out before you both hear the hiss of the door starting to slide open. Thank the Maker, you just manage to get your tunic back on before Skywalker comes into sight, and you do your best to try to look fucking normal as his eyes flicker between you but your heart fucking stops when you glance to the left of you and realize that Obi-Wan still isn't wearing a fucking shirt. His entire chest is exposed, which means that all of the marks you left scattered across it are also exposed. Fuck, fuck, fuck--

"I'll just. I'll just see you on the transport."

Skywalker is gone before either of you can react, the door sliding shut behind him. Your next breath leaves your lungs with enough force that it's almost a wheeze, and you have to bend over and put your hands on your knees for a second while you try to process what the fuck just happened. Obi-Wan blinks next to you, looking directly ahead for a second or two more before he suddenly starts chuckling, and you stare at him incredulously. "I'm sorry," he says finally, "That was just…"

You're laughing too, then, shaking your head as you step back over to him, ducking down to grab his shirt from where you can see it on the floor. You place the fabric in his hands and lean up on your toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, giving him a small smile. "Until next time, Master Kenobi?"

He gives you a small smile in return, and surprises you a little bit when he leans in himself and presses a soft kiss to your lips. "Until next time."

Mercifully, no-one questions him when Obi-Wan finally makes it to the transport. He intentionally doesn't look at Anakin even though he can feel the other man's eyes on him as he finds his seat and sits down, straightening his robes. He finds it difficult to keep the smile completely off his face so he just ducks his head instead in the guise of settling in for the flight and studiously ignores the way Anakin is still staring at him. 

"How was your trip, General?" Cody asks, leaning around in the pilot's seat to look back at him once they've left the planet's atmosphere. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to answer but Anakin's there first, suddenly grinning ear-to-ear in a way that makes him distinctly uncomfortable. 

"Oh, the General had a wonderful time." the younger man drawls, looking him right in the eyes as he does, and Obi-Wan wonders not for the first time if Qui-Gon died and left Anakin in his care as some inhumane form of punishment. "Made significant strides with relations and learned a lot, I'm sure."

"Oh, well, that's good, Sir." Cody responds, and Obi-Wan really dearly hopes he's as unaware of the insinuation as he sounds. Cody really does not need to know these things. Anakin does not need to know these things. "I'm glad your mission was productive."

Anakin opens his mouth like he's going to say something else but closes it abruptly and grins instead when Obi-Wan glares at him and shakes his head slowly in warning. "Thank you, Cody." Obi-Wan says instead, leaning back in his seat and letting his eyes close as he tries to relax. Maker, he can still feel the effects of the night before, his muscles are more sore than he would have expected and he finds that he's very aware of the bruises you'd left behind and it's...strangely pleasant. 

He's not allowed to have emotional attachments, but. He kind of does hope that he'll see you again one day anyway. Until next time, Master Kenobi. 

[ddarker-dreams]

Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better. 

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you. 

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you. 

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind. 

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea. 

That is, until this very second. 

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have. 

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor. 

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out. 

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior. 

What are you hiding from him? 

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry. 

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time. 

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me. 

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before. 

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.” 

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries. 

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me. 

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human. 

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.” 

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him. 

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on. 

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck. 

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower. 

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it. 

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.” 

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income. 

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you. 

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it. 

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me. 

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco. 

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not? 

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.” 

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno. 

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom. 

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left. 

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help. 

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day. 

Having him to talk to is nice.” 

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him. 

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on. 

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal. 

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory. 

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco. 

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment. 

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion. 

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation. 

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’ 

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for. 

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--” 

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore. 

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath. 

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that. 

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity. 

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted. 

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either. 

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up. 

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?” 

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight. 

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

[crackinglamb]

Hi! I hope it isn’t too much trouble, but I’d like to ask how or why you decided to write Twist? And then also how and why you decided to write Wicked Games a little bit after. Did you wanna explore different relationships with characters when having a different personality in your ‘Modern Girl’ or different goals, because Carly talked Solas down and guided him into a different path, while Imogen seems to want him to go through with his plans with her help and a large dose of “what the heck is the canon timeline?” I love both of the stories, I might reread them again to help with the Modern Girl in Thedas withdrawals.

I ask because I’ve been reading “Modern Girl/Person in Thedas” stories and really wanna try my hand at them, I just feel like I am only writing it for little one shot type interactions between characters, and don’t really know why I’d actually have a “Modern Girl” be sent to Thedas, how and why, and what they would do, If your willing to give insight I’d love to hear it. I just hope I’m not a bother.

Oh no, you're not a bother at all! Thank you so much for this ask!! I love to talk about how I fell down this rabbit hole! I hope you're ready for a dissertation, because this got really long. 💕💕💕

I came to Dragon Age backwards. I didn't know anything about the series other than a lot of people liked it and had very strong opinions about it. Then a fellow writer began to write a Varric/Hawke story and I read it because I wanted to support her return to posting.

And I fell in love with a world I'd never seen.

I realized that, due to its age, I actually did know more about the games than I thought I did. I knew the ending already, and who this bald dude was that had the fandom so divided. A classic villain, right? Wrong. Some people think he's just terrible and some people defend him to the death. Some people think he's terrible but don't let that stop them from defending him to the death. So what was the real deal?

I did some research (because at that point I was writing my own Varric/Hawke fic and I'll still die on that ship hill. Anyways...moving on). I discovered that everything I thought I knew about Solas was skewed by fandom interpretation. Which is valid. I mean, all our opinions end up that way when it comes to fandom, right? All interpretation is subjective. But the fact remains that Solas interprets the world around him through the eyes of the Inquisitor and how they treat him. And that is player based. Low approval proves his opinion that this is a world not fit to live it. High approval shows him that his decision is going to destroy something beautiful, but he still feels he needs to do it.

I got to thinking about what it would take to stop him. Through the course of watching his romance, reading a lot of meta and lore posts and listening to his companion banter, I had a headcannon emerge: Solas could only be stopped by someone who knew what he was doing from the start.

But that's not gonna happen in canon. He already allegedly killed the only person who knew. (Seriously, #saveFelassan) So who else would make him rethink it?

The answer that came to me was a person he needed, so he couldn't risk eliminating them. The Inquisitor who bears his mark. I then went a step further, and decided that someone who knew all his secrets and plans, and who could possibly help him shift them, would have to be from our world. Enter the Modern Girl in Thedas, because I love a good romance, and I wanted a happy ending to this otherwise tragic love story.

And Carly was born. A modern gamer girl, sucked through to a fictional world because the universe is vast and unknowable (and certain wisps of certain Evanuris like to nudge). I'd read a bunch of fic by the time I started writing Twist, including some self-insert types. None of them told him flat out from the beginning. So I determined that she would. She'd tell him what she knew and try to persuade him that his plans were awful and that if he wanted to claim he wasn't a monster, then he'd have to find another way.

I knew from the start that I wanted her to save the orb, because losing that is what tips the scales for Solas. Losing that means he has to find power from somewhere else and sets him on his path of death. Saving the orb meant his plans, while derailed, weren't ruined. Yes, I know in Trespasser he'll tell the Inquisitor that the world would have burned in raw chaos while he rewrote it, but considering the nature of magic and reality on Thedas, I think that's more due to human reaction than any actual destruction simply based on the lifting of the Veil. Demons are real and represent emotion. Humans look down on elves and do everything they possibly can to oppress them. Like the colonizers they are. Of course they'd react to an elven demigod rewriting the world to give his people back their strength poorly.

And then covid hit. Twist rapidly became a beacon of fluffy stability to my readers. It was an escape from the literal dumpster fire that my country was, so I was highly motivated to keep writing it. To keep it light and happy and epic in a way that felt satisfying to everyone. So that's what I did.

But...

I still hadn't played Inquisition when I started (and I still need to play the other two). I was missing so much of the nuance of the world. In the end, Twist wasn't the story I really wanted to tell. I mean, I'm proud of it, and I love it. I am deeply humbled and gratified to know how many people look at Carly with love and admiration. I love hearing how many times a reader has opened it up and binged it. That kind of feedback is the lifeblood of a writer, as I always say.

Wicked Game is the story I wanted to write. A little grittier, a little more plausible in keeping with the lore. Having Imogen be human gave her the power to call out other humans on their bigotry. And to show Solas that he's not the only one who can see how damaged the world is and want to fix it. Having her be a scientist gives me a chance to explore how magic works, and what the Veil really is after a year of immersing myself in this world. Yeeting canon so thoroughly came from thinking about the major plot points and what could be changed about them from the POV of a character who knows how this is all 'supposed' to happen...and the resultant fallout from her decisions.

Imogen can see the forest for the trees. Her outsider perspective gives her all sorts of insights on her companions and the world at large. The fact that she falls ass over teakettle for the Dread Wolf against her own better judgment is just a good trope. Having him do the same is my clapback against his racially locked romance. (Here's where I'm gonna throw out my own extra kudos to writers who also portray Solas as bisexual, because dammit, he should be. Immortal beings would not bend to any heteronormative conventions.)

Carly and Imogen have rather similar motivations behind them: they want to save the world and not lose him. They often go about it in similar ways too. I guess the biggest difference between them is that now I know what I'm doing and I have more confidence in my storytelling ability. Neither of them is a self-insert. Plenty of people do that and that's totally valid. I'm just not really a fan of it myself. These two characters are no different to me than any other OC starting out at the beginning of the game. They just have slightly more backstory than the average Inquisitor.

Now, in regards to you writing your own and feeling like all you have are oneshot ideas. Go for it. Doesn't matter if they're oneshots. A story doesn't have to be hundreds of thousands of words to be awesome or complete. Write what YOU want to read. The best reason to make a character be a certain way, like being MCIT, is because you want them to be. No other justification is necessary. The only rules in storytelling are grammar ones, and even those are iffy at best. The only courtesy if you decide to go ahead and share it is don't plagiarize and tag it properly. That's it. The sky's the limit and up for grabs. Go forth and be bold.

[itsclydebitches]

The lack of action from our "heroes" is eerily similar to a Nostalgia Critic sketch I saw when I still watched his show. The idea was that to parallel what was reviewed in the episode, Fantastic Four, where the heroes barely did anything for most of it, Doug and his friends got superpowers and only choose to sit on the couch and watch Netflix while the world is under attack. The only difference is that was meant to lampoon the movie, and wasn't meant to be taken seriously.

Massive replay incoming! I haven’t seen the Fantastic Four, but I do still have a lot of thoughts on this choice and how badly it came across... 

Though we can absolutely debate the merits/detriments of having 3/4ths of your title characters keeping to the sidelines while the Big Bad is here, I 100% believe that this could have been improved immensely if RWBY a) were more consistently written and b) allowed its characters to tackle conflicts central to what’s currently going on, not conflicts made up just for the sake of having a conflict (Yang randomly fights with Ruby, Ren has criticisms and then never brings them up again, etc.) 

So what do I mean by this. I mean that the fandom isn’t necessarily wrong to argue things like, “RWB needs to be there to help Nora and Penny” or “They need time to regain their aura.” The problem is that the show never established these needs as necessary. The viewers have simply assumed those needs are there and judge the group’s actions accordingly. But for those of us asking questions like, “But how does Ruby standing by the window benefit Nora?” or “How long does it really take them to regain their strength?” we’re never given answers and thus are left with the belief that these needs do not exist and the group’s choices are not justified. It becomes, as you say, akin to a parody. 

So how do we fix this? By having the show acknowledge those questions and provide believable answers. A few minor tweaks might include: 

Having someone ask how long they’re just going to sit there. Let another character argue that they need to rest up before they do anything else. They can’t help others if they’re collapsing themselves. Then, keep these limitations consistent across the volume. In the last episode, Ren was suddenly using his semblance again, despite his aura breaking with very little time having passed between the two moments. So if he only needs a tiny chunk of time in horrific conditions to recover, why does team RWB supposedly need the whole day and night in complete safety, with heat, food, etc.? If “We have to recover” is meant to be a justification, show us elsewhere what lacking that results in: Ren, Jaune, and Oscar do not get their aura/energy back, they’re making mistakes, at the end of their rope, and generally not functioning because look, their conditions are so much worse. This is why a mansion break is necessary. 

Have the group actively be trying to solve their problems. We didn’t start with “Someone needs to watch over Nora” we started with “Nora is incredibly injured and needs help”... but no one ever tried to get her help. Have them cycle through and reject some possibilities. Then have Weiss think of calling Klein and approach Whitley to see if he knows how to contact him. There, your protagonists are active and Weiss is helping to repair this relationship. As it stands, the group appears content to continue sitting around while Nora suffers, despite knowing she needs medical attention. We know, emotionally, they’re not actually content, but that’s what the actions imply. Where’s the scene where Ruby frantically asks May if the Happy Huntresses have any doctors and is it possible to bring one here? Where’s Blake hesitantly asking if it’s worth going back to Ironwood to get her help? The fandom assumes that sitting in the mansion = devotion to helping Nora, but we don’t actually see them trying to help Nora. Not in any meaningful way beyond putting cold towels on her head. What are they willing to risk and sacrifice for their teammate? Because sitting drinking tea while they hope things will magically fix themselves doesn’t convey much. We’re not talking here about how much the fandom assumes the group will do for Nora, we’re talking about what their actual actions read like. 

Establish then why it takes three powerful fighters to watch over one unconscious woman already being cared for in a comparatively safe environment. The fandom acts as if Nora is a target when she’s not. No one is explicitly after her. If anything, given the initial assumption that the Hound was after Ruby as a SEW, she puts Nora in more danger by hanging around. Have the group debate the merits of being here to defend her if, by chance, something happens vs. putting their skills to use during a battle where very few huntsmen remain. 

This debate should include the fact that half their team is missing. Not gone, missing. Last RWB saw they were going down to Mantle to help with general needs and low-level grimm activity. Now they’ve been MIA for hours. Blake, as the assumed love interest, and Ruby, as the sister, should be particularly desperate to find out what’s happened to Yang. If the group has to stay in the mansion for plot reasons, have Weiss talk them out of running into Mantle without a plan. What if what happened to the others happens to you too? The point is, May shouldn’t be the one concerned about the rest of the team and May shouldn’t be the one out looking for information. 

Let the group actually decide something for once. Show us that they were going to help Mantle or Atlas and then, oh no, Penny interrupted those plans. As it is though, that scene frames it like Ruby will happily continue hanging out in the mansion until something else  — something more dangerous than May’s demand to choose  — forces her to take action. Indeed, that’s precisely what happened with the Hound. 

Have Weiss or Blake begin to question why Ruby isn’t doing anything. Weiss has a whole conversation with May about how she wants to protect her home now. Blake is all about faunus rights and protection, with a whole faunus population freezing to death down below. Have one of them threaten to walk out, or actually do it with a, “You don’t need me to watch Nora sleep. I’m going to go do what I can.” These characters are supposed to be people with differing motivations and goals, yet whenever that should matter they’re suddenly happy to follow Ruby, even if by all logic there should be disagreement. 

Have Nora wake up and tell them to do something other than waiting by her bedside. Let her be the one to get them back on their feet, showing them that she’s fine  — she will be fine  — and imploring them to help even though she can’t right now. 

Explain to the audience what the group plans to do with all these civilians once they’re in the ships. Are they coming to the mansion? Try to fly them out of the kingdom? This is the one thing they’ve done since Amity and we’re given no indication what the actual plan is, let alone any debate about its merits. 

Have Ruby be the one to see Penny in her controlled state, not Whitley, and give us some insight into what that means for her. I’ve likewise seen a lot about how Ruby doesn’t just need to look after a sick Penny, she needs to be there to protect Penny and others from her... but does Ruby even know what’s going on? Penny clash-lands without an explanation, she’s busy with the Hound, Whitley and Willow see her heading to the vault, the Hound knocks Penny out, Ruby is distracted by reunions and Ironwood’s threat. The imagined scene where Ruby learns what’s happening to her friend and weighs the dangers of leaving a controlled Penny alone in the mansion are just that: imagined. 

That’s really just a small sampling of options here. As said, there are plenty of ways to tweak this plot to make the heroes seem far less passive than they come across here. The fandom often claims that those who criticize this plot-line don’t understand “show don’t tell.” Meaning, RWBY supposedly showed us something rather than telling us in a hand-holding way and we just didn’t understand it. It becomes more of an insult than an argument, the claim that RWBY wrote something nuanced, it’s not their fault you couldn’t grasp it. But it’s not that we missed the answers here, they simply don’t exist, and the fandom has made up their own answers instead, mapping it onto the canon and assuming that’s what RT intended all along. One individual’s ability to come up with a answer does not mean the story actually gave one, it just means we’re all writing RWBY fanfic in our heads while we watch the show. 

And this is by no means an isolated incident. It happens every episode. Our latest bout of headcanons has come about due to the questions, “Why does kinetic energy only hurt grimm?” and “If it only hurts grimm, why was Hazel supposedly destroyed?” Each viewer is providing a different answer  — “Kinetic energy is different in this world,” “It has to do with the amount of dust in Hazel’s body,” “The blast went in one direction, towards Hazel, and decimated everything in its path, but the aftershocks only hurt grimm”  — all of these complicated, unsubstantiated, and ultimately noncanonical explanations... rather than just saying, “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense based on what the show has told us.” The mansion issue is just a particularly egregious example because we recognize that there’s a major problem with taking your main characters out of the action like that. Yet rather than acknowledging the problems with the writing, many fans are determined to fill in those answers themselves until it makes sense. And it does make sense! So many of these explanations would work, but right now they do not exist within RWBY. If we’re supposed to have an answer like, “The group knows they need to go help, but they’re just too traumatized and exhausted to do it. They know it’s wrong, but they can’t move” then tell us that. Show us that. Make it clear for the audience what the takeaway is. Because when you leave it entirely up to viewer interpret, you might indeed get a lot of “They’re just traumatized and need a break” explanations... but you’ll also get a lot of, “Wow, they’re a really cowardly and callous group, huh?” explanations too. One half of the fandom shouldn’t be mad at the other half for interpreting a completely subjective plot-line differently from them, everyone should be mad that our writers didn’t bother to include the canonical explanations from the get-go. 

[mostlycompetentwriter]

“Small Things”- A Phobia Sequel

F/M Pairing: OC x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of violence, mature content

Genre: Mafia AU

Summary: The birth of his first child puts a lot of things in perspective for Chan, and he’s determined to do everything in his power to keep his family safe.

There were a lot of things in Chan’s life that he could’ve never predicted. For example, when he was just ten-years-old, he met two younger classmates in Mrs. Park’s fifth grade group who he never imagined would become his most reliable confidants. But hindsight was 20/20, and Han Jisung used to be a mess of small limbs and puffy cheeks who had an uncanny knack for sweet-talking the assistant teachers into allowing him an extra portion of chocolate. Meanwhile, quiet and leering Seo Changbin was the shortest kid in class, but it certainly never made him appear any less intimidating. Together, the three of them were a formidable force, and they found it very difficult to stay apart. Yet, Chan’s only regret when it came to his friendships was the harsh and demanding mafia world that he had brought them into as business partners.

Likewise, when Chan met his future wife for the very first time, she was nothing more than the daughter of the man who had murdered his parents and threatened to harm his friends. It was surely enough justification to convince Chan that he should stay away from anyone associated with that vile and horrible man who he was forced to serve. But his daughter was nothing like her father - and Chan was always the type to observe people from a distance and learn as much about them as he could. He listened with patience, and he was quick at sorting his enemies from his allies.

It wasn’t long before Chan found himself completely enamored with the daughter of the man he hated the most - and Chan was determined that she should never have to suffer anymore. In fact, it only took one stupid decision from her father before Chan was leading her as far away from that horrible life as possible. They settled down together, and Chan started to build his own reputation in a competitive world where survival of the fittest was taken quite literally.

Consequently, Chan learned to keep his wife near him at all costs, and she was never in the direct line of fire. Chan only brought her along when he knew that there would be no danger to her well-being, but even that eventually had to stop with the unanticipated surprise of her pregnancy. Thereafter, Chan worked tirelessly to ensure that his future child would have a good life, and he was determined to keep his personal life completely separate from his business affairs.

But after so many close-calls with rivals and partners alike, Chan decided to take a huge step down from his role as the prime authority figure in their organization. Jisung and Changbin were more than willing to fill his shoes because that’s the kind of the friends that they were - perhaps even more like brothers at the core. In any case, Chan’s role became minimal, and he wanted to be there for every step of his child’s life - even if that meant giving up what he had once prioritized and considered most important.

But life had a way of constantly changing - and Chan’s priorities shifted as well. Gone were the days of late-night stakeouts and meetings with buff and angry drug dealers who always wanted more than what they were worth. Instead, Chan traded most of his responsibilities for the simple pleasure of waking up next to his wife with their daughter sleeping in the middle of the bed.

It always brought a smile to Chan’s face: to simply glance over and see the tiniest and most innocent face in the entire world looking back at him with wide eyes that promised an unequivocal love. For his entire life, Chan had always fought for what he wanted, and he used his fists and cunning tongue to help him in most situations. Yet, when it came to his wife and daughter, everything was so much easier - there wasn’t any stress to burden his shoulders, and he never felt the need to constantly survey his surroundings for any sign of trouble.

None of that was necessary anymore, and Chan was beyond grateful for the inclusion of his own little family to cherish. Some might say that his world got a lot smaller, but Chan didn’t quite see it that way. His leadership of a mafia organization meant danger and deception around every corner, but being a husband and a father promised a future full of happiness as opposed to the constant risk of death and destruction.

It was a massive upgrade in his opinion, and Chan widened his eyes when he saw his daughter start to squirm around on the bed as if in discomfort. But Chan’s fatherly instincts were surprisingly natural, and he carefully collected his little girl into his arms for the short expedition to the bathroom. Chan gently laid her down on the changing table - starting the process of providing a fresh diaper while his daughter studied him with big, brown eyes that looked a lot like his own.

“There you go,” Chan said, smiling down at the joyful bundle who allowed a series of incoherent gurgles to escape.

It was at that moment that Chan’s phone chose to go off, and he sighed because he knew that it meant he was needed elsewhere. But he allowed the call to go to his voicemail while he brought his daughter back to bed, brushing a kiss across his wife’s forehead as he watched them both journey back to sleep.

In the meantime, Chan walked downstairs to stand on the outdoor patio, choosing a more private area to return Jisung’s phone call. It only rang twice before his familiar voice was offering a greeting: “Chan, we’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Chan said, trying not to let his annoyance bleed through his tone as he allowed Jisung to explain the complicated meeting they were planning with one of the area’s biggest drug lords. Apparently, he wanted to meet with Chan directly, and Chan briefly wondered what could be so important than neither Jisung nor Changbin could satisfy this impossible man. “I’ll be there tonight,” Chan said, ending the call with an exaggerated groan of displeasure.

The club that had been chosen as their designated meeting place was one of the raunchiest in town. It made Chan uncomfortable to see the scantily-clad women waltzing around the joint, even if Changbin and Jisung were clearly enjoying themselves. “This is my type of place,” Jisung remarked, eyes shining with mischief while he plopped a blonde onto his lap. She was young and beautiful, and she certainly had no qualms about giving Jisung an impromptu handjob through the front of his skinny jeans. 

Meanwhile, Changbin hadn’t taken his hands away from the attractive brunette who had spent a good solid five minutes complimenting his biceps before Changbin was pulling her along to their designated table. His lips were glued to the side of her neck, and Chan was growing slightly annoyed with the sound of her pornographic moans as if Changbin was somehow capable of giving her an orgasm simply by painting her throat with love-bites. “Let’s be professional,” Chan said, even if he knew that it would be hard to convince his friends to turn their attention away from two very willing women.

It was actually a good tactic on the part of their host - a useful distraction to lower their guards. Too bad Chan had outgrown these tasteless maneuvers, and he could handle himself while his friends had a bit of fun with their women. Of course, the host himself was rather extravagant with introductions, and Chan rolled his eyes when a richly-dressed young man marched himself through the entrance with several women attached to his arms and a big, burly bodyguard trailing along behind him.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said upon his arrival to their table. “My name is Don, and it’s an honor to meet the infamous leader of the Miroh Organization.”

Chan forced a smile in return. “Likewise.”

“Well,” Don continued, taking a seat next to Chan. “I can see your men are taking full advantage of our offerings.”

Chan grimaced when he realized that Jisung and Changbin had yet to acknowledge the presence of their host. “I’m sure they’re very grateful.”

“But you don’t seem to be sharing their opinion,” Don remarked. “Are they not to your satisfaction?”

“I’m not interested,” Chan said, and it was hard to notice - the barely visible upturn to Don’s upper lip as if he wasn’t happy to hear Chan say that.

“I see,” Don said, glancing between the two girls standing at his shoulders. “I didn’t want to believe the rumors, but I guess they’re true.”

“Rumors?” Chan repeated with an admirable level of patience.

“About your wife and child,” Don said, and Chan felt a sickly shudder creep down his spine. Because nobody was supposed to know about his daughter. “What a great risk for you,” Don continued. “How can you even ensure their safety?”

“We’re here to negotiate a deal,” Chan said, and he noticed that both Changbin and Jisung had finally tuned in after hearing mention of his family.

“And I’m simply proposing a few useful bargaining chips,” Don said with a sardonic sneer. “Let me say this, Mr. Bang: your asking price is outrageous. We want $10,000, or else you might never see your family again.”

Chan felt the entire world come to a standstill at Don’s declaration - like a dark curtain had suddenly eclipsed all the light left to guide his path and there was nothing left. For his entire life, Chan had never really valued his life all that much; in fact, he didn’t fear death or the prospect of what came after this existence. But the idea of hearing his wife or daughter’s lives threatened? Well, Chan had never felt a comparable rage to the one suffocating his lungs and igniting a fierce passion deep down inside of him. “This is not good business, Don,” Chan managed through the haze of red. “You won’t see a single penny from my organization, and if I see you or any of the scum associated with your shady dealership again, then I won’t hesitate to put a bullet straight through your head.”

He exhaled slowly when he stood up from the table, feeling some satisfaction when Jisung and Changbin dismissed their playthings in return. Because their loyalty was far more profound, and they would always stand by his side. Then, he gave Don one last warning glare before he led his men out of that horrible place - with no intentions of ever coming back. 

Chan was still shaking from adrenaline when he walked into his bedroom later that evening, and there was a sense of relief when he saw his wife lounging on their shared bed with his daughter steadily falling asleep in her arms. It was everything that mattered the most to Chan, and he took a step into the quiet room while running a stiff hand through his messy hair. “Hey,” Chan whispered to catch his wife’s attention.

She smiled at him, and it was enough to clear the earlier tension that had rested heavy on his chest. “You were gone for a while,” she said.

Chan nodded, and he paused next to her bedside. “Can I hold her?”

His wife seemed to notice the latent fear and uncertainty in his tone. “Of course,” she said, and Chan brought the wriggling bundle closer to his chest, looking down at his daughter because there was an undeniable innocence reflected in her eyes that dispelled all the cruelty of the world that he was forced to endure during his meeting. “Did it not go well?” his wife asked, studying him with the same look that he had grown used to seeing - the one that told him she was not at all satisfied with whatever was happening.

“It...caught me off-guard,” he replied, reaching down to adjust the collar of his daughter’s shirt. 

“Do you need to talk about it?”

Chan shook his head. “I think it would upset you.”

His wife inhaled sharply. “That bad?”

“It’s nothing that I can’t handle,” Chan said, and he was fiercely determined as he lowered himself down to the bed. “I’ll always protect my family.”

It was a solemn promise that was often difficult to keep in his world, but he had never felt this much love for anyone else before. Yeah, the mafia world was full of constant danger and seemingly endless trials and tribulations, but Chan wouldn’t dare say that he preferred that world to the one he kept safely hidden away from harm. Because his wife and daughter? They were his greatest adventure - and he would do everything in his power to give them the best that life had to offer.

[fallout-lou-begas]

Questions for OC Creators

Shamelessly stole this from @tarberrymentats​‘ post because I’m always a sucker for behind-the-scenes character inspiration and meaning stuff, so if you steal this in turn, feel free to tag me!

(I’m also stealing Halk’s usage of lovely art by @yesjejunus​ for this one 🖤)

Agnes Sands, Courier Six of the Mojave Express

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Agnes was an opportunity to create what felt like a very unorthodox OC, and it’s an opportunity that has certainly paid off. She’s not young, and she’s not a particularly pleasant or easygoing person to be around, but she’s also not the endearingly tragic loner type or a badass army-of-one. She’s not “spunky” or “fun” and isn’t the kind of Fallout character who’s necessarily motivated to do every quest, meet every companion, accomplish every thing. She’s not an important person; being an important person is anathema to her, and the looming, overarching themes of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ are these ideas of the hard limits on unlikely heroism, and how you really can’t fly that far on circumstance and luck. I’m very excited for everyone to see how it goes when the going gets tough.

Furthermore, the design and writing process for Agnes was very informed by finding justifications, reasons, and origins for all of her personality traits, skills, and various hang-ups. The result is a character that feels, to me, so deeply real and well-rounded and alive, that Agnes is a person who has lived every one of her 34 years of age, and that in each of those years were key developments that molded her into the person she is. When I write her, I feel like I know her because of how intimately I’ve researched and come to understand the life she’s led. I don’t want to say it comes effortlessly, but there’s a very genuine, sculpted depth to her character that I’m proud of, and it forms the bedrock of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’.

It is also very important to me that Agnes is a trans woman, and is a trans woman who looks the way she does with a strong jaw and a big nose and long face and a wide body and hairy arms and so many other “masculine” features, because I wanted to create a character with a very real, visceral, visible transness to them, and for this transness to be a meaningful part of her character that informs her relationship to other people and the scarce world of the Mojave Wasteland instead of just an auxiliary character trait. She is no less of a woman for existing the way she does, but I simply wasn’t interested in creating a character or interpreting the Mojave Wasteland in a way that wouldn’t meaningfully grapple with what it really feels like, to me, to be a trans woman.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Many of Agnes’ character traits actually come from mechanical and specialization decisions that I play in game. I often joke that Agnes “just plain sucks,” but it’s true that in my Fallout: New Vegas game, I have encumbrance set to a measly 25 lbs without backpacks (necessitating her shoulder-slung duffel bag), use a directional flashlight instead of the Pip-Boy light (necessitating the shoulder-mounted flashlight), play with dramatically decreased total S.P.E.C.I.A.L. and skill points per level (which is why she’s so bad-to-average at most things except key specialties), and so on. This was the most obvious level of inspiration, and much of Agnes’ personality and backstory is reverse-engineered to justify the aspects of her character suggested and represented by her mechanical stats.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Epiphanies have come over time, but ultimately I more or less hammered out Agnes’ whole “story” upfront. I have a detailed character bible saved away that covers not only her entire life pre-courier, but the story beats of her experience as the courier thrown into the center of the events of Fallout: New Vegas and the seismic geopolitical power plays leading up to the second battle of Hoover Dam. So, uh, stay tuned for each new issue of IKROAH!

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

I wouldn’t say that I’ve meant to meaningfully change her appearance over time, but as I’ve been working on the comic, I’ve simply gotten better at drawing and the result has been an Agnes that more consistently looks like how I want her to look. One deliberate change to her appearance has been that her hair is a lot fluffier and voluminous than it used to be, just because a few other peoples’ fanart of her would be like that and I really liked how it looked.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Hard to say. Agnes has such a defensive, prickly, and particular personality and is so shy and anxious that she’s someone very hard to get along with in general, regardless of who you are. Cass could only ply her through a combination of drunken genuineness and total embarrassment that razor-cut right to her trauma. I don’t think I’d have the...audacious wherewithal to be that blunt with her if we’d just met. The best case scenario is that she imprints on me as a younger trans woman and feels compelled to look out for me because if there’s one soft spot she has, it’s that.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

Pride at the amount of work I’ve put into developing her and crafting her story so far, pride at how it’s been such a rewarding and enjoyable vehicle for getting so much better at art and writing since this summer, and occasionally sadness just because, man, I really let her fucking have it sometimes, huh.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Her solitary lifestyle made it necessary to find a way to write Cass into the story, just so that there would be some more dialogue while she traveled. She has a lot of interpersonal flaws, her habit of going from totally reclusive and private to hollering mad with no steps in between would certainly be off-putting to me especially. She gets a bad, sad, crying kind of angry, and she doesn’t get there quick but she goes get there suddenly.

H) What trait do you admire most?

She has a dedication to her and a commitment to what she’s good at. She understands the value of stability, good work and a good job. Sometimes this value is so much to her that it keeps her stagnant, and she’s very much a person who’s stuck in their ways in so many regards, but there’s a resilience to her that may not be obvious at first, but that she simply wouldn’t have gotten this far or survived without.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Agnes’ story is so tailored to the source material of Fallout: New Vegas that I thought that transplanting her into other AUs would be difficult, but it’s actually been pretty seamless inserting her into the a modern AU with a few friends called Courier House, where instead of being a courier, she kept up her medical training and works as an EMT. That also spun off into a modern zombie AU, which is just fun and tragic in a lot of juicy ways.

I also have a lot of thoughts on an AU in which she makes it to the Commonwealth, in which she’d become Nick’s partner at the eventually-renamed Valentine and Sands Detective Agency, helping to solve cases of burglary and theft, B&E, and advises on various security concerns. She’d also get extremely invested in tracking down missing children. There are a lot of parallels and dramatic development potential between Agnes Sands and Nick Valentine that I’d kill for more time to explore one day.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

I didn’t have to, no, but I chose to and at least filled in some holes. My theory on transitional health care in the wasteland is all my own (the Followers are the primary manufacturer and distributor of hormones, which can be inefficiently synthesized from Auto-Docs so they’re not impossible to find but are considerably rare) and I’ve taken some liberties in the IKROAH canon so far for convenience, such as Primm never getting taken over by convicts and the Cassidy Caravans buyout offer being a letter at the Mojave Express instead of something she’d have had to get personally from Alice McLafferty later on. Expect a lot more little twists like this in the future.