#last name change for this thread whoop

[ohforficsake]

Down, Boy

A Margay Universe Drabble

series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie's birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie's not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard

Word Count: ~ 1.6K words

Rating: Explicit 18+ / dirty talk, momentary dry humping, jerking off in a dive bar bathroom, mention of oral sex (f receiving), bit of a come fetish (it's these two, they're just like this) / language / drunk!Frankie is the sweetest, filthiest menace with a massive competency kink / Minors DNI

A/N: A little drabble that came up a few months ago but didn't quite fit with the main Margay storyline. Just something fun to tie you over after putting you all through it with Chapter 9.

Divider by @cafekitsune!

Frankie is—

—a bit drunk tonight.

But it’s his birthday.

And he’s always been a happy drunk. 

There’s no falling on the floor. No getting up in other patrons’ faces. Just cheeks ruddy and round from freely-given mirth. 

He’s harmless as a puppy and just as excitable. 

Whooping with cheers whenever anyone sinks a pool ball into a pocket, whether they’re on his team or not.

_____

He had made the trip out to northern California for the occasion, wanting only to spend his day with his daughter.  

But the boys catch wind of his plan and throw in for an Airbnb on the coast for the occasion.

And in the process of planning, Santi and Benny cook up a four-beer deep idea over an empty pizza box to arrange an extra gift.

Aud, what are your thoughts on Fort Bragg? Santi fires off on a text thread between the three of them.

I’m glad that they’re changing that name, guy was a cunt.

Sorry no, California. Benny clarifies. But also, agreed.

Is that not named after the same guy?

Santi sends the house’s address at the same time Benny sends, it is yeah.

Catfish wants to spend his birthday out there with his kid and we couldn’t let him celebrate alone. Pope attempts to steer.

Wondering if you might want to tag along? Last week of June. 

Send me a venmo request for my part of the booking.

_____

Something warm blooms in Audrey’s chest at the sight of Frankie with his friends, quietly strategizing over forest green pool table felt.

He throws his arm around Benny’s neck and thumps Santiago on the back when they win this round, uncaring that he and Will have lost the last three.

“Can you please play this one, this score is embarrassing,” Will leans over on his bar stool with arms crossed against his chest, voice raised just enough so Audrey can hear him over Garth Brooks being played at a decibel below ungodly volume.

“Already told you, if I play, it’s over in one turn,” she takes a swig of beer, “that’s no fun for anyone.”

“Losing isn’t fun either though.”

She studies Will in the haze of neon-red tinged smoke. Audrey’s only known him for three hours, but she likes him already. Enough to grant him this favor.

“Fine.” 

She slips off her bar stool and shimmies her jeans higher up on her hips before shrugging the leather jacket off of her shoulders.

“You playin’, Moose?” Santiago calls with a grin.

“One round,” she holds up a finger, “save these boys some shame,” she finishes as Will hands her a cue. The minute she lifts it off the ground she murmurs “not that one,” and Will swaps her out. 

“There’s no way she’s that good,” Benny quips to Pope as he racks up the balls.

“I—do not have as much confidence as you on that,” Santiago carefully lifts the triangle and slots it back under the table. “You should probably know better, Benjamin.”

“You boys are fucked,” Frankie loops his arms around both of their shoulders as Audrey chalks her cue.

She places the cue ball towards one rail behind the second set of diamonds and glances behind her, gauging the space before leaning down to eye level, bouncing and spinning the cue in her hand to get a feel for its balance before she takes her first shot.

Audrey sinks two balls on the break. 

She quickly assesses the table when they come to a stop. “Stripes, do I need to call the pocket?”

“No need to be a show-off,” Pope quips. 

“Fair enough,” she slips around the far side of the table and sinks the 9-ball in a corner. It lines the cue ball up perfectly and she drops 14 in a center pocket. 

One lap around the table and a glance at the boys to be sure she has clearance before Audrey knocks the cue ball just off its center point, gliding it across felt where it transfers its spin to 15, sending it swirling down the rail into a corner pocket. She slips around to the opposite side of the table, banking the cue ball off the opposite rail and into 13, which slips neatly into the center pocket nearest her. 

“What went in on the break?” Benny calls.

“11 and 2,” Will answers where he’s calmly perched on a barstool against the wall.

She could miss now and he’d still be impressed.

She won’t.

The cue ball is dead center on the table and 10 is sitting a foot short of a corner. Audrey circles the table, chalking her cue as she analyzes angles. The best shot is from the end nearest the three boys but she’ll have to reach for it.

She stands in front of them and murmurs “sorry, boys,” before she hikes one knee up on the side rail and leans down, chest nearly grazing the table. 

Frankie covers Benny and Santi’s eyes from where his arms are still braced on their shoulders. 

His eyes, however, are locked on her ass.

They hear 10 drop in before brushing Frankie’s hands away.

Audrey bounces the cue ball off the edge of 12, popping it into the nearest pocket.

“Oh, that’s done, she’s got it,” Benny murmurs when the white ball comes to a stop directly in line with the corner pocket nearest Will, the 8 ball sitting perfectly in the middle of the shot.

Audrey sinks it and Frankie whoops, clapping both men on the back before rushing around the table to grab Audrey in a bear hug that lifts her up off her feet.

“FUCK yeah, baby!!!” He screams, taking her face in his hands and mashing his mouth against hers.

“Okay, down boy,” she quips with a smile.

“Well played, Moose,” Will holds out his hand for a shake.

“Alright, the rest is on y��all,” she hands the cue off to Will. “I gotta hit the restroom and then I’ll pick up another round.” She makes her way around the table, Benny and Santi congratulate her with claps on the back before she’s off down the hall.

“Hell of a woman you got there, Catfish,” Will chalks his cue.

Frankie answers with the quirk of a brow and a smirk that drips with filth.

One of the patrons recognizes Benny from fight night and it causes a stir. Turns out Will knows him from high school and everyone’s fascinated with what a small world it really is, attention distracted enough to allow Frankie to slip away.

_____

Audrey wrenches the door to the bathroom open and collides with Frankie’s chest.

“Jesus, Francisco.”

He backs her up with his body, kicking the bathroom door closed and latching it as his mouth crashes against hers, twisting his cap around backwards.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, baby.” He smashes her against the wall with his broad form, craning low to kiss at what skin he can get to under her turtleneck before giving up and sucking on her earlobe. 

“Yeah, well, I guess” she pants as Frankie drops to his knees and grabs at her hips, grinding the bulge in his jeans against her shin as he mouths at her stomach through the fabric of her shirt, “don’t play pool with a sniper.” 

Frankie is fully hard as he ruts against her, pulling clumsily at the button and zipper of her jeans. He inhales against her mound and moans before quickly getting to his feet. 

Harmless as a puppy and just as excitable.

He’ll sniff crotches and hump legs too, apparently.

Audrey grabs his face between her hands in an effort to center him, dipping her tongue into his mouth before Frankie pulls back.

“Fuuuck baby,” he reaches down to squeeze his cock through his jeans, “I’m not gonna make it, baby, I can’t–”

“Frankie–”

“Shhh, gatita, please,” he clamps a hand over her mouth as his forehead thumps hard against hers, “fuck,” he huffs, “I’m gonna. Pull those pretty panties down for me, beautiful. Just a little bit.”

Audrey is positively dying to see where this goes. 

She slips her jeans and thong down her thighs, eyes locked on Frankie’s locked on black lace.

“Right there. That’s my pretty girl. Yeahh,” he shifts around to free himself from his jeans and she moans into his palm where he slides the hot, hard length of him against her center.

Frankie indulges for a moment, slipping his cock against the smooth wet of her lips.

“Shit,” he hisses before gripping himself in his fist, brown eyes searching green for permission.

And having it, he starts to pump his cock.

It takes him less than a minute before thick ropes of semen spurt into the gusset of her panties as he groans against the back of his hand where it’s still clamped over her mouth.

“Gatita?” He lets go on a ragged gasp once his hips have stilled and he’s worked himself through.

She puffs an acknowledging breath against his palm. 

“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” he lets his hand drop but keeps his forehead pressed against hers. 

Frankie’s fingers move down to hook in the waistband of her lace thong before he slips it, warm and sticky and reeking of his spend back up into place.

“Keep that for me?” He slips his tongue in her mouth, fastening the button on her jeans and dragging the zipper closed. “I’m gonna come back for it.”

He presses a final, wet kiss to her lips, warm palm resting briefly on her cheek before he slips out of the door.

He leaves her frayed with want. Panting through burning lips as her head thumps back against the wall.

Sometimes she wonders if Frankie Morales is the filthiest motherfucker alive.

Two hours later when he cleans her cunt with his tongue—cap twisted round backwards on his head, wet panties stuffed into the pocket of his jeans—she realizes he probably is.

He probably is.

And he's hers.

Tagging a few lovely folks who are/might be interested: @tinytinymenace @theshensei @jeewrites @oliveksmoked @for-a-longlongtime

@toomanytookas @missladym1981 @harriedandharassed @76bookworm76 @spookyxsam

@soft-persephone @julesonrecord @legendary-pink-dot

[wendynerdwrites]

Pretty cringe on Bioware's part

Okay, so I do not work for Bioware, don't have connections, and what I'm writing is based only on some background and experience in social media and online marketing. I HAVE NO INSIDER KNOWLEDGE AND CLAIM NONE.

But... It VERY MUCH LOOKS TO ME that this new name change is a plot to try and circumvent SEO on the new Dragon Age release being about how delayed the game is and all the layoffs and the severance lawsuits and shit.

And yeah, maybe this'll seem obvious to some of you, but I kind of just want to word vomit: (and this is a further musing on a TWITTER thread I made earlier. Sorry I just have to get this manic-episode cynicism out)

Why else at the supposed 11th hour would you change the game title to one that is just, so bad for so many reasons?

(It should be obvious that I'm editorializing here, but I like to cover my ass more these days)

So yeah, reasons why I think this name change is so bad and nonsensical it could only be made for desperate reasons:

Okay, so because I like to overthink stupid shit like video game name changes and have become quite Dragon Age fixated over the years, I was going over this bullshit too much.

Like, I tried to explain things to myself because sometimes I want a break from feeling cynical even with shit like this.

So I read this and mulled it over:

"BioWare general manager Gary McKay explains that while Solas is “still very much a part of the story of Dragon Age: The Veilguard,” the team wanted a title that reflected a “really deep and compelling group of companions.” --- Kat Bailey for Gameinfomer.com

Okay, fine, well, the last game is called "Dragon Age: Inquisition" and not "Dragon Age: Corypheus" or "Dragon Age: Elder One." And you know, stuff like "Leliana's Song" focuses on, you know, Leliana."

But you what, me? That doesn't hold up.

For one thing, Leliana's Song is a DLC. No one is going to mistake a main series Dragon Age release as being not about an ensemble cast of characters and just being about Solas because of a naming convention in the DLC. Especially given how common that can be in RPG's anyway.

First thing you often learn about Dragon Age as a series is that it's story focused RPG with strong cast of supporting characters and a lot of lore. Granted, that may not be the case for EVERYONE depending on when they or how they got acquainted for the series; but that's how it's commonly characterized.

In one game, Solas was given far more significance plot and character wise than Corypheus had in two.

Corypheus has good points. He's got a backstory that is couched comfortably by the lore and significant to the story. He's got motivation - he's pissed about there not being Gods and Tevinter falling, so he's trying to become a God now to restore the world he wants. He's got one of the most FUCKING BALLER VILLAIN REVEALS:

He also works very well thematically. He's a good symbol of corruption and the results of hubris and tyranny when Thedas is being torn apart by it's various authorities and their abuses of power. Civil War in Orlais. Templars have broken from the Chantry, the mages from the Templars, and they're all at war. From the first game we know that this is what is left of the peace and safety won by your Warden and their people. And we know a few reasons why. In Dragon Age II, we know how that happened and SO MANY MORE reasons why. THERE'S CORRUPTION IN THE WARDENS AND WTF IS EVEN HAPPENING IN WEISSHAUPT??? OR THE DEEP ROADS??? We add in an Orlesian Civil War and also, boom! Whoops! THE GUY WHO CAUSED ALL THOSE BLIGHTS WE'VE DIED IN IS BACK AND HE WANTS TO RIP THE SKY APART! OOH LOOK HE JUST DID!

He's the anthropomorphic personification of all of that.

But, uh, even with fabulous voice acting, Corypheus is not much of a character in his own right. He is more of a device for both plot and theme than, like, a person. As far as more humanizing antagonists, we get that from Samson, Calpernia, and Alexius than Corypheus.

Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter to the Empire he wishes to be God of. He's pissed at there being no Gods. So now he wants to rule over everything (while also destroying it.) "THIS CORRUPT WORLD NEEDS TO BE MADE ANEW BLAH BLAH BLAH I'M AN RPG BIG BAD"

And that's fine with me. Never had a problem with Corypheus turning into Darkspawn Skeletor.

Corypheus is a dick who wants to be God. But he works as a device to save the world from and lead to lore revelations and shit.

I don't know if Corypheus ever had anyone he cared about. I don't know what he like(d?) to eat. He has no goals that don't serve glorifying himself and being a tyrant. I don't know if he hates Thedas as anything other than standing in the way of the Tevinter he can be god-emperor of. I don't know what he really thinks of anything in the world of Thedas other than "inferior, kill it." He doesn't have complex motivations or thoughts on the world we're playing in. We don't know if any of his thoughts or perceptions have changed over the course of the thousands of years he's lived. If there's anything he enjoys. We don't know what kind of personalities he's drawn to. What he actually enjoyed about the world he came from.

We get all of that shit and more from Solas. Even if you don't like him, don't play with him much, he has a distinct personality. And his significance to the lore of the world actually reveals a lot more than Corypheus's. Solas CREATED THE FUCKING VEIL. ALSO THE ELVEN LEGENDS ARE ALL FUCKED UP. FLEMETH IS ACTUALLY HIS ANCIENT DIVINE PLATONIC DOMMY MOMMY FROM BACK IN THE DAY WHEN THEY WERE BOTH LITERAL GODS! DID WE MENTION HE CREATED THE VEIL?! BECAUSE THE DALISH ARE FUCKING WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING! AND TEVINTER DIDN'T DESTROY ARLATHAN! AND WE'RE ALSO GOING TO LEARN SOME SHIT ABOUT THE FORGOTTEN ONES! ALSO DID WE MENTION HOW THE VEIL CAME TO BE????

All this through this Elven God of Bad Decisions:

Also, yes, Solas has got major thematic importance but I feel like that's a whole other rant and this is getting too long.

Point is: Solas is, flat out, more significant to the world all of these characters inhabit than Corypy-tits. The literal fabric of their plain of existence is woven by him. The entire way magic has worked and been handled, (something that is extremely significant character-wise for at least a third of this game's cast) is because of him and his history. There was a century between the fourth and fifth Blights. And, you know, the veil he created played a part in their origins.

Even putting aside that legacy characters like Varric, Cullen, and Leliana all have personal history. Solas is why Circles exist/ed. Those Magisters who started the Blight did so by fucking with his creation. He is why elves age and live as a diaspora.

And that's just what we know him to be responsible for. What about those hints about the Forgotten Ones? Exactly how did his rebellion work? What is his plan for the other Evanuris and will it work? [(No.)] What will that reveal about what the others are/were capable of? And what exactly happened between them and the Titans?

Look, I'd go on, but I don't want to go on too much longer like the Solas girlie I totally am. Point is: Solas's backstory alone has had significant ramifications for everyone in Thedas. And the ways he's affected their lives varies between races, generations, magical ability, etc. And that's through creation of the Veil alone.

And we know a shit ton about who Solas is as a person.

You don't need to be a Solas pro, Solas-anti, neutral, or Solas-mancer for this to be true.

So yeah, I would say he's "very much a part of the story." But also, in a way that informs and contributes to the characterization of the ensemble cast.

Inquisition's antagonist was no Fen'Harel. And you're not going to subtract from your ensemble, but rather enhance them (if you care at all about writing them well) by having a focus on him.

Now, I totally think the idea that the final big antagonist will be the Evanuris or someone else lurking behind the veil has merit. But Solas will ultimately be that catalyst.

"Okay, but maybe Bioware doesn't see it that way. Maybe they saw some social media complaints about too much Solas focus and did a hasty rebrand."

Well, for one, that complaint has been around for years now. And it's valid. The problem isn't a lot of Solas, it's that we got so little else. The promotion is bad, not the character or their role in the story. But if that's really it, why now? Why are they only changing the name now?

Now, okay, but Inquisition was still called Inquisition.... This game is about the Veil Guard. It's called Veil Guard.

Cool, but once again, then why hold onto Dreadwolf for so long? Why focus so much on Solas? Why haven't we gotten any glimpses of companions?

And, um, if this is really what you want, shouldn't the title be... better?

Inquisition is a good, solid, and communicative title. While the Inquisition of Thedas is not exactly the Spanish One, there is enough association there to give a general idea. Origins had a group of dumbass misfit fugitives drawn together to save the world. II was similar except they were mercs who get drawn into shit against their will and unwittingly. Inquisition: okay, so this time they'll probably be more of an official, religious-quasi military organization. It'll probably be controversial.

You can be a complete noob to Dragon Age and figure that out.

Veil Guard sounds like something last minute they got from Game of Thrones at the last minute. Okay, the Kingsguard are cool. They guard the king. We're stopping the veil from being torn down, so Veil Guard.

Here's the thing: none of the main ASOIAF series is called The Kingsguard, and you don't need to know anything about A Song of Ice and Fire to get it. Everyone knows what the fuck a king is and why he should be guarded. So even if there is a book called "The King's Guard" we'll get it. It's a book about fuckers guarding a king.

This game is about fuckers guarding... a veil....? The veil?

If you're up on your Dragon Age lore and are really into it, yes, you know what that means. If you're a noob or a casual who hasn't given much thought to Dragon Age in, say, a decade, uhh...:

Noobs: "The game is about fuckers guarding... a veil...? The veil???? Is it some sort of artifact, like it has Jesus's face on it? Or if they mean veil between worlds like some Lovecraft shit, is the new Dragon Age a horror game? Are people trying to travel to different worlds and we're trying to stop them? "

Casuals: "Or wait, is this about that dream world thing? That demon place that spits out demons? Didn't we just get done fixing that in the last game??? Wow, real original. Bioware Magic! "

It also just sounds uncool. Inquisition is an imposing title. Dreadwolf is an imposing title. The Veil Guard sounds like a sartorial maintenance product.

You want people to focus on your ensemble cast? SHOW IT! Because as long as all the promo keeps giving us new Solas anyways, it's just weak sauce.

Nah, this has panic move all over it.

Now, I'm trying to spin this optimistically in that I think this means we may actually get the game within this decade. Because I refuse to believe a) "Veil Guard" is the best they got out of a proper round of workshopping and b) That if this was truly about trying to avoid focussing on Solas too much, they'd announce this without a bunch of promo for the rest of the cast to accompanying it.

Bioware: "We wanted people to know the story is just all about solas, but more about our ensemble cast! We wanted this enough to change the name this late in the game!"

Everyone: "ALRIGHT! SHOW US THIS ENSEMBLE!!!"

Bioware:

Nah bitch, that's not what this is about. Bioware needs this to be a hit, and they need a hit soon. But they don't want their long-awaited blockbuster release to be mired in bad press. They don't want the general audience googling their new massive title only to find articles and reddit threads about layoffs, labor disputes, Mary Kirby's departure, the massive delays, the contract non-renewals happening in the midst of severance lawsuits.

BioWare wants to get their title out finally and they want to bury all the bad shit that's been plaguing this project. All the stories about the labor disputes, layoffs, firings, and lawsuits have mentioned the "Dreadwolf" team.

And quite frankly, it's just shitty. It looks bad. It's desperate.

[momotonescreaming]

WIP Weekend

It's been a hot minute since I've one of these, whoops. Writer's block is a bitch, huh. But I'm here now and trying my best, so please give me a kick in the pants.

I've been tagged by the lovely @eriquin many a time, and I'm finally doing one.

The Rules

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

The Files

sleepy morning times (steddie)

bra (steve x barb)

KingSteve85 is Online Part 2

Steve & his Mum p2

The Snippet

He perks up at that, eyes brightening. That sounds like it’s right up his and Steve’s alley. They’re both car guys, but in different ways.

Eddie loves the puzzle of it, the physicality. He loves working with his hands and being able to see and feel his progress. Loves getting dirty working on an engine with Wayne, pulling it apart and putting it back together but better this time. Making it work. It’s also nice being able to take the criminal skills his father taught him and turn it into something good. Turn it into some productive.

Steve loves his beemer. Loves looking up a cars specs and stats and engine types. Models and makes, and what’s the newest thing on the market. Love the rhythm of the maintenance. The ritual of it. Spending an afternoon out in the sun, washing his car, waxing it — making sure it sparkles. Vacuuming the insides, cleaning the seats, washing the scuff marks off of the glove box. It reminds Eddie of Steve’s skincare routine. Of the way he does his hair. Steve will happily check his oil and change a tyre, check everything is in alignment and the beemer is making all the right noises.

Steve laughs, light and happy, eyes also shining as he catches Eddie’s reflection in the mirror. “Thought you’d like that. If it’s good I’ll let you know and we can take Wayne next time he’s up.”

No Pressure Tags

@cranberrymoons @hbyrde36 @rejectscanon @nburkhardt @penny00dreadful @shares-a-vest

[fishballnoodlestore123]

OK so. Au dump here but it's mostly inspo-ed by books I've finished.

<<Tag, you're next on the list♪ >>

Sci-fi AU. Subject #H3-871, better known by the name he's given himself. Aoyagi Toya. Running away from the research facilities that have been his haven for the last couple years or so. Too bad he's known just about every secret in the government halls. What's that? The government has been experimenting on unsuspecting human souls? That's crazy.

Shinonome Akito. Leader of a small rebel group. Been tryna link some disappearances to his own sister's. So say, when someone appears and whoops the guards chasing after him...its too suspicious to be a coincidence.

Toya doesn't know whether to trust. Akito doesn't know how to accept help. But information is the one thing they need, and time is the one thing they do not have.

And as they unravel the threads that bind the city's secrets and race against time, they learn to love.

<< Stories of Our Pasts >>

Welcome to Kirabia Academy. It's divided into two realms, one side filled with the prestigious, one with the not-so-prestigious. Akito's doing his best to survive in the not-so-prestigious side, while trying very hard to change his rip off story enough so its readable. All that changes when after a lesson with Mochizuki Honami, the seemingly perfect student from the Debonair side is found murdered, with only the med's report : damaged brain tumor.

So when Akito is offered her spot, to say he's shocked would be an understatement. And he's more than welcomed into the Debonair side, including catching the attention of the hot guy, aka the guy down the hall, aka Toya. But secrets are afoot. Why does Aoyagi Toya keep playing piano seemingly without rest? Why do all of his seniors look so tired? And why is there a weird ination ceremony ? And why does he write his story without even remembering it? Why is his hand tired in the morning?

How far would you go to be remembered?

<< Grimore of Dark Tales >>

Professor Gakupo. Someone who no one really likes. Someone who'swoken up on the wrong side of the bed too many times. But when he's found murdered...

20 students. 6 facility members. How far will you go to protect the truth?

[ocelberich]

. kaeya alberich has joined the adventurer's guild !

# OCELBERICH ━━━ private, roleplay blog for kaeya alberich of genshin impact; interpreted & loved by barely ( any pronouns ); affiliated with gnostic hymns.

portrayal notes.

as stated in the handbook, i prefer to use the chinese dub for kaeya's characterization though i will likely compare it to english & japanese dubs for nuance. though i play the game in english, my preference differs.

a slightly major difference, to me, between the dubs is that, unlike in the english & japanese versions, kaeya sounds more similar to a teasing, older brother figure that you know nothing of, rather than the handsome mysterious companion that i'm familiar with as an english-player. ( though this isn't to say that he isn't a handsome mysterious companion of ours. it's simply a matter of how heavy one mood is compared to the other. ) his inflection is different between performances, of course, but i rather enjoy the tone SUN YE chose to use in his. thus, my kaeya will be written with such.

last canon appearance is, correct me if i'm wrong: version 3.8, secret summer paradise, thus he will be written as of then!

though i keep a document on all muse-related dialogue & information that is constantly updating, i have yet to fully make my document relating to khaenri'ah. so, if you see me yapping incorrectly and want to politely vibe check me, please do! i welcome all vibe checks.

though kaeya's application was written exactly one month ago, i did not expect to write him and, thus, am a bit shy about how i may portray him. this is simply to say that, yes, i will make mistakes, so please be patient with me.

patience, too, comes with shipping. while kaeya is friendly, his ability to recognize certain bonds as real will come late and in due time as a result of his distrust in the world & and himself. while i'm open to shipping romantically, i'll be leaving that to ooc discussions before anything is incorporated on the dash. likewise, my headcanon of kaeya being demiromantic will swiftly be realized, as romance is a wary concept to him.

for now, that's all! thank you for reading and i hope to write with you in the near future 💕

navigation.

i. handbook ━━━ includes mun information, blog rules, art credit, writing specifics, & more! ii. character ━━━ if you click this link, you sell your soul to me in a blood pact because the about doc is nowhere near finished and i made sure to warn you beforehand iii. talents ━━━ necessary talent page, as of the affiliated group's rule

tags explained.

♛ ━━━ ❝ what is treason to the bloodied plumes of royalty? ・ 【 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 . ( all posts that are "in character", hence the tag )

♛ ━━━ ❝ whoops! the cavalry captain without his cavalry! ・ 【 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 . ( all posts that are "out of character", ex. shitposts, maintenance, meta, etc )

♛ ━━━ ❝ they will know him as the captain with a crown of lies beneath his cape ・ 【 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘 】 . ( reblogged art, including possible art by the mun, of the muse )

♛ ━━━ ❝ the incarnate of a hunted bird's misery ・ 【 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 】 . ( posts centered around a muse's headcanons, meta, etc )

♛ ━━━ ❝ to enjoy is to consume; to consume is to sacrifice ・ 【 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 】 . ( all reblogged posts with prompts, ask memes, sentence starters and the likes )

♛ ━━━ ❝ he is what a father has made him; what a nation expects of him ・ 【 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 】 . ( all posts that are replies to an ask, excluding threads made from certain asks )

♛ ━━━ ❝ thread name ・ 【 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 】 . ( the threads tag )

♛ ━━━ ❝ support tag ・ 【 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 】 . ( support tags for all muses this muse interacts with, always liable to change )

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

Twenty-four things I noted about the Campaign 2 Wrap-Up :

so much lore and so much love

THE LADIES ARE SO BEAUTIFUL, I want what they're all wearing

Marisha in the DM seat is something that is so powerful

Marisha : "I will be lightly steering this round table discussion, making sure we get through as much as possible... and that we don't spend three and a half hours talking about Bowlgate" (with a strained smile, while probably internally screaming)

Liam immediately jumping at the opportunity to ask "WHO'S ON THE TAL'DOREI COUNCIL ???" made me laugh so much.

Like Sam says, this campaign wrap-up will be "people poorly remembering things"

Sam choosing Veth's name because it began with a V, because in Campaign 1 he made jokes about Vex and Vax's names, so it was just to fuck with Laura and Liam and to follow his own private joke, it the most Sam thing I've ever heard.

The fact that Matt had Matt Colville for an important NPC, waiting in the wings to guest, and that he never did because the Mighty Nein said "Crime ? Crime !"... I love it, but also ... in this kind of campaign, where a lot of leniency of choice is left to players, preparing fully like this for a story arc was getting ahead a little much.

It's so good to Ashly Burch again, I love her so much

"What was your favorite moment, as Keg ?" Ashly : "Well, Keg's is obvious. Keg's was... gettin' lucky !" (they put a little window of Marisha silently doing a "whoop-whoop !" gesture, I am SCREAMING)

Liam is answering a question about Caleb's feelings for Jester by be beginning with "I was never going to do romance of any kind, one-sided or otherwise in this campaign, because (he looks at Marisha) I felt like we really explored that pretty heavily campaign one... --" Ashley, jokingly : "Don't you make eyes at her ! (laughter) She's mine now !"

The idea that the beacon was basically the One Ring, in terms of what "a magnet for trouble" it could be, is so fascinating to think about. What could have been if Caleb didn't offered it to the Bright Queen...

Oh, so there was a loose connection between Cognouza and the Chained Oblivion ! The hungry void saw what Cognouza was attempting, and began to influence some of the dreams, because, hey, why not ??

Laura's reaction of Matt's revelation that Sprinkle would have gone with Jester either way, as a stowaway, if she didn't bought him : "I wasted money !" That's such a Laura thing to say, I love her

I LOVE MARISHA AND ASHLEY REVEALING HOW MUCH OF THE BEAU AND YASHA LIFE THEY THOUGHT ABOUT they have a text thread and thought about so much !!!

"What was your favorite moment, as yourself and/or Reani ?" Mica Burton : "Our moments are the exact same which was : sleeping with Beau." (they put another little window of Marisha throwing her arms out in victory, I am SCREAMING once more, all the ladies GOT IT and were happy)

Bonus Marisha, throwing her hair off the shoulders seductively : "I am everyone's legacy."

Matt's answer about the corrupted forest in Aeor (an arcane experiment that failed over and over) and its connection to Molaesmyr was juicy, in terms of what we know in Campaign 3. Matt said "one of these artifacts from this research period was uncovered or brought to Molaesmyr" : by who, huh ? Ludinus is responsible, 100%. And then, " !! and then "something was uncovered and accidentally detonated in Molaesmyr and when it did, it unleashed one of these failed experiments that didn't necessarily create new life, but it just corrupted it wholly and that changed the entire forest". That's what we learned in the Team Wildemount trip to Molaesmyr recently. I love seeing the connections, and I understand why Matt answered vaguely.

I'm dying, they really asked Chris Perkins to come and do an interview for Spurt that lasts the same duration he was on the show : 1 minute. I'm DYING. RIP Spurt, you were the best

Travis revealed the cast minus Marisha and Liam had a text thread, where they were fully planning how to take both Beau and Caleb out, if ever the eyes turned them evil. I WANT TO KNOOOOOOOW

OOOOh I so wanted to have seen one of them have nine yes, and become an NPC under control of Cognouza

Oh my god, if Caleb and Essek hadn't rolled so well on the time-travelling long rest, they could have ended up NOT rested and a day later, still fighting Cognouza, but not in the Astral Sea, in the sky of Exandria...

Ashley, speaking for the people : "Let's just play again !"

Awww, Matt thought about how the Gentleman and Marion would be together, I want to read that novel !!

The answer is, of course, that Vex is on the Tal'Dorei council, as Coin Mistress (yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah) (which I already knew thanks to Campaign 3 but still !! Also it was just so nice to see Laura dancing in celebration)

[kef-meister]

Okay so first of all, thanks for leaving this rant - because I love discussing my favorite thing ever! I I gotta comment!

I'm pretty sure Metroids were originally just a particularly strong enemy that appears in Tourian (...) and then the plot was written afterwards to focus on them because of how tough they were

This one's great, because the way I read this seems to imply that they just so happened to put a jellyfish enemy in the last area of the game and then happened to write the plot and name the game after it -- something that could only happen in the NES era of video games, if so. But then what about making the statues into birds? And the decision to give Samus masculine pronouns in the manual? Why have Samus reveal herself at all at the end of the game at all? (under very specific circumstances, no less!)? Personally, I don't think the original game (or games in general) get designed with random pieces to then weave a story around, even if it's as simple as "get to the last level, kill the boss and the jellyfish".

Actually, to get back on Metroids ... why did they make them jellyfish in the first place? In a brilliant video by "Critical Kate" Willært (linked below) she points out that Metroids aren't the only jellyfish in videogames and what might have inspired them (she also takes a jab at what might have had some influence on Metroid as a whole)!

(PS. that video also sparked my want to look into last century's media. It's about 25 minutes. Kate also has a Twitter thread with bits she didn't include in the video itself.)

In general the franchise's lore seems to have developed by the writers diving into the implications of elements from earlier games, which is something I love about the series

Me too. We never knew THAT or WHY the Chozo made jellyfish to save an ecosystem, only to go "whoops, we might as well call them Ultimate Warriors" until way later into the franchise!

Because the Metroid series barely got any story in the main games and a lot is left up to guesswork, a lot of the fun basically comes from the fandom piecing things together and hoping the next game recognizes/references that.

(I absolutely insist the X parasites were inspired by John Carpenter's "The Thing From Planet X" (JP title). Sakamoto-san, please confirm.)

PS. What makes Metroid even more convoluted a story: 1. The original Metroid Prime in the US had slightly different writing than the EU version, this was finally retconned in the Remaster. 2. The various manga aren't necessarily fully canon either. >:C 3. The Chozo keeps changing writing (and life-styles) and this seems to be partly on who develops the video game. The Prime series has scratches for a script, Zero Mission uses a legible block-based script and Dread uses a triangle-based script (the latter two use the same language rules, btw!)

Bonus: the Chozo used in Metroid Dread has been deciphered and folks have started trying to make the basis of a functional language out of it! The entire language course can be found <here>.

Thanks again for leaving a rant in the tags. I love Metroid.

Metroidposting

I have an immense urge to start digging into Japanese television in the 1960's/70's/80's for the sole reason of finding out what the hell could have inspired Metroid and everything in it.

The only reasons I haven't yet are that I do not understand Japanese at all, and I am afraid of disappearing for months down a rabbit-hole without a spade.

...

Sure, John Carpenter's "The Thing" could explain the X Parasites - since the movie's known as "The Thing From Planet X" in Japan and a number of other staggering similarities.

But how did they decide on "high-science birdpeople got tired of conquering so hard they started inventing a hungry jellyfish to save the ecosystem" ????

[wcrofchange-a]

@gamecn plotted an all for the game au starter.

anakin mcalistar sat in the restaurant he was meeting ‘luje sun-angel’ at. he looked up at the television, snorting at what he what he saw. it was an interview from his last game--the same interview in which he said that he was ‘so flattered’ that lucas di angelo-soalce had taken one of his moves. his eyes found his brother and he nodded to the tele. “i can’t believe they buy this shit.”

[sweetcathedral]

Note: Finally back from my break! Lots of things keep happening in my life that I’ve never expected, so I’m busier than usual, but I have queued up some quick stories for the next few weeks. Although this was inspired by the Are You Am I dresses, it’s more centred around Catholicism that I have a love-hate relationship with. Enjoy!

⚠️: 18+, fem! reader, altar sex, raw, church sex, overstimulation, creampie/breeding

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Cut the act. You’d be fighting me, if you really opposed it,” Sukuna scoffs, admiring the view of your legs spread open—laid on top of the altar. Your ripped stockings, now webs of black thread, running across your thigh, like it’s still trying to keep him from tainting the last bit of innocence you had left. Beams of light fell from the skylight of the church, casting a soft glow on the God that was once loved, but now abandoned and left to be eaten by what he created.

“The hell are you wearing?” Sukuna arched his brow in a grimace expression.

You looked down at your outfit, not seeing what could be wrong with it. It’s your first time wearing something like this; a silk dress with dainty straps and a raw hemming that looks like it’s about to come undone & sheer opaque black stockings. “I don’t see anything wrong with it, does it look bad?” Sukuna strides towards you, analyzing your outfit, even lifting the hem of your dress as if he doesn’t know what’s already there.

“I will never understand the evolution of clothing in this era,” he cocks his head to the side with a placid look in his eyes. Ah, right. He died a long time ago.

“What did people used to wear in your time?”

“Fabrics that actually clothed them,” he tugs at your stockings and wiggles his finger in them, still trying to wrap his head around its function.

“Hey, stop that, it tickles and it feels weird,” you giggled, pushing his hand away.

“I don’t see any point in wearing it. I could rip this off right now.”

“Sukuna, no! This is expensive!” you bicker at him, clinging on to your dress as he tugs at it like a child does when they want their mom’s attention.

“Just ask Gojo to buy you a new one when we’re finished.”

“Finished?” the sound of threads shredding apart startles you.

You scan yourself like a puppy chasing its tail to see if he’d actually ripped your dress apart. Nothing, but something felt off—looking down at your stockings, you see that there was a large slit running down your leg, exposing your thigh.

"Heh, whoops," he flicks the small shred of fabric off his nails, walking you into a corner. The shadow of the room contrasts his face making his eyes glow a deeper crimson. "Don’t look away from me," grabbing your face, his nails dig into your skin as you try to fight off his grip. Lifting you against the wall, he softly drags his nails along your exposed thighs, teasingly drawing circular patterns the higher up he goes.

"Sukuna," you pleaded softly, his hand now on your neck, lifting you ´til you were on your tippy toes & trying to balance yourself so that you wouldn’t fall into complete suffocation.

"Shh, someone might hear you," he whispers in a low octave. You forgot you weren’t in a closed off area. The two of you were originally sent to an abandoned church to investigate a curse user of the Roman Catholic religion, that is until Sukuna took over Yuji’s body.

Your body jolts at Sukuna brushing his knuckles over your clit. The heat of you traces over the length of his finger through the thin fabric of your panties, stifling a moan. "Don’t be shy. It won’t be your first time sinning in front of a God," he cooed in your ears. He told you to be quiet, but he really just wanted to see you hold yourself back as he evokes your temptations & diminishes your composure. He loves seeing you corrupted, especially when it’s in a respectable church built to honour a God who guides herds of blinded sheep.

Only shame & humiliation wash over you as you avert your gaze from looking at the smaller crucifix hanging over the doorway the two of you came from. He turns to look in the same direction you did, a sly grin stretches from ear to ear. “I have a better idea,” his eyes narrow in defiance as he turns to look at the God overseeing the center aisle.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Cut the act. You’d be fighting me, if you really opposed it,” Sukuna scoffs, admiring the view of your legs spread open—laid on top of the altar. Your ripped stockings, now webs of black thread, running across your thigh, like it’s still trying to keep him from tainting the last bit of innocence you had left. Beams of light fell from the skylight of the church, casting a soft glow on the God that was once loved, but now abandoned and left to be eaten by what he created.

You released a deep exhale at the feeling of something soft and wet trailing over your inner thighs—Sukuna. The warm feeling eases the tension all over your body and you can feel the heat of your blood pumping in your ears, his face getting closer and closer to where you want him the most. “Maybe we should find a more private setting,” you try convincing him.

“Now why would I want that? Just look at how wet you are down here,” he bites on your panties and pulls them off, revealing a dripping mess. It was embarrassing, immoral, but there was something about how good it feels to be doing something so wrong. The thrill of it sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins, your heart beating against your ribcage. More. “Tell me what you want.”

Everything, but even that thought wasn’t enough. “I want you . . . to take me to hell,” you whisper to him.

Taken aback by the words that just came out of your mouth, he brings himself back with that same sly grin and a soft look in his eyes. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

From one moment to the next, Sukuna drove your sanity out from you until you could think of nothing, but only him. The bold movement of his tongue reaching in to taste you, his fingers teasing around your clit and fondling your breasts, his lips pressing on every part of your skin, leaving wet splotches that are deep enough in colour to bloom into an aching bruise afterwards.

“Sukuna,” you lift the hem of your dress over as you fold your legs to your chest—revealing your painfully aching cunt, glistening with desire. The syllables of his name roll off the tip of your tongue like nectar. “More.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” he pulls your hips towards him, enough for your cunt to be pressing against the thick bulge fighting the strain of his black jeans. The altar creaked, as if in disappointment, at the sudden weight change.

Mesmerized by the sight of you laid on the altar like an offering, he takes his time to soak in the image, burning it into his mind; the burnished oak altar with the scene of the last supper carved beneath it, a warm glow cascading from the skylight of the church and the large crucified God, looking down at the lustful act unfolding in his house of worship. But then the feeling of your hips impatiently bucking at him interrupts his thoughts. “You know, they say patience is a virtue,” pleased at your eagerness.

“Fuck the virtues.”

“What a bold thing to say in a church,” he softly chuckles, the sound of his zipper perking your ears.

You reach for his belt, but he laces his fingers into yours, pressing your hand down. The tip of him brushes against your soft folds, lubricating itself with your juices. Without a struggle, his cock unfolds you, pushing a welcoming entrance open between your legs. Your walls flutter in excitement, pulling him in, as the creaking floors of the church groaned in disapproval.

“Oh, God,” you gripped at the altar cloth.

“You should moan louder for the angels to hear,” he thrusted into you harder than when he entered, the sound of skin slapping bounces off the walls. “Fuck.”

All righteous thoughts were purged out of you, like a soul being cleansed anew at adoration. Demon. It wasn’t your first time with him and it definitely won’t be your last. You can feel your body getting desperate to finish as you began to buck your hips faster.

“Closer,” you held your breath, arching your back.

The sound of his name falling off your lips sends a painful feeling of the need of wanting more. He wanted to strip away your senses to see a side of you that no one else has ever seen, the first to discover you and explore whatever you hid away from plain sight. That is what drove the King of Curses, Father of All Sins, to greed.

Echoes of your panting and moaning became a choir of sultry tones, replacing the familiar sounds of organs and bells in the church. Even though your legs were trembling from reaching your limits, he kept on going, ignoring your pleas and begging.

“Not yet,” he grunts in your ear.

“Please . . . I can’t take it anymore.”

Tears stream down your face as you grip onto Sukuna’s arms. The feeling in your legs were no longer there and you were having a hard time controlling your tremors. Just when you thought you couldn’t reach another climax, your cunt began pulsating rapidly as your body uncontrollably tensed up again.

When Sukuna pulled out, a waterfall of cum spilled out of you and pooled onto the altar cloth, dripping down the carving of the Last Supper. The two of you pant in exhaustion, he’s laying on top of you with his arms wrapped around your head, his hand firmly holding you close to him.

You brush your fingers through his hair, reciprocating the same affection back. “Tell me you’re finished for today,” you giggled.

“I wanna say ‘no’, but that’d mean you’d be knocking on Shoko’s door again.”

Both of you laughed as you teasingly tugged at his ear.

“Should we clean—!”

As he helped carry you off the altar, you looked back at the aging oak and crumpled cloth that had been perfectly fine and untainted—now dented with deep inhuman scratch marks surrounding the faint imprint of where you laid.

[skamenglishsubs]

Sorry, I have to wade into this one as well. If you want to criticize monarchies or how it was handled in the show, please have your facts straight instead of making up weird arguments.

@coffeeandsadbooks No, you could not have substituted the Swedish monarchy with some corporation owned by some billionaire family, because Sweden simply doesn't have any dynasties like that, I can't think of any rich family that the general public cares about. Wallenberg? Stenbeck? Bonnier? 😴😴😴

You also wouldn't get the heir and spare dynamic, and there are plenty of very rich CEOs and owners who are openly gay, nobody cares about that. Random rich kid Wilhelm being into guys doesn't have nearly the same pull as Prince Wilhelm being into guys.

Also, the YR royal family is not in any way unrealistically small, because reality is just so much weirder. In the last 300 years the royal line in Sweden died out three times due to lack of heirs, and each time a successor was elected.

@hotarurea Modern constitutional monarchies provide their nations with a Head of State, and it does so in a predictable, long-term, apolitical way. There is certainly value in that, and it's not obvious that a political office of the President would be better or cheaper for the nation. And since popular support is strong, the actual citizens agree.

Your statement that Wilhelm can't have legitimate heirs is simply wrong, there's nothing in the constitution of Sweden that requires heirs to the throne to have been conceived in heterosexual wedlock. Adoption, surrogacy, and "bastards" are all fine according to the law. Your statement that monarchy is fundamentally incompatible with queerness is also wrong, both Sweden and the Netherlands recently stated that there is no issue with any of their royals being in same-sex relationships or marriages.

Yes, the Swedish monarchy requires monarchs to be members of the Church of Sweden, which is nominally a Lutheran Christian church. However, it's so fucking wishy-washy that they're a complete joke. They've had female priests since the 1960's, the last archbishop was a woman, they've been pro same-sex marriages for the last couple of decades, you can be trans and a priest, and you don't even have to believe in the Christian god to be a priest. No-one cares about the church, and everyone assumes that the royals are only culturally Christian, like the majority of the population is.

@myshadesofwrong Keep up the good work!

In Swedish history, I can name three queer monarchs: Queen Kristina, King Gustaf III, and King Gustaf V. I don't think any of them were as flamboyantly queer as the British ones, but we had our fair share of them, and it's quite possible that Gustaf III wasn't the biological father of his kids. Whoops.

@resipsaloquitace, @emberc I would also have loved for the show to go for Queer King Wilhelm and showing how a reformation could look like, and the show absolutely dropped those threads too easily.

However, Wilhelm never liked being in the spotlight from the very first second of the show, so it's definitely in line with his character. He could have changed, but he didn't. I also think Straight Wilhelm would have made the same choice, but maybe a bit later, and Spare Wilhelm would have happily let Erik do all the royal duty shit, while he chilled out in the background.

I'm also seeing the discussion in the comments about how parents would react to bullying at Hillerska. Let me remind you all of the Herlufsholm scandal in Denmark a couple of years ago. Three students were expelled for physical assault of another student, and the school said it went against the school's values bla bla bla. However, the parents of those kids then openly argued that the expulsion was bullshit because the prefect system and peer upbringing and abuse is a part of the schools' culture! They said the quiet part out loud.

Assume that the vast majority of the parents who send kids to schools like this are sociopathic assholes. Vincent makes this point in S3E5, and he is right.

Too busy to write a 5k essay it deserves but neither the audience nor Wilhelm saw the actual monarchy as an institution worth fighting for or at least worth considering it.

The monarchy was completely absent from the show. You could replace it with a billion-dollar publicly traded company and it wouldn't change the plot. Concerns about public image? Check. Out of control sense of privilege? Check. Spoiled children of rich parents? Check.

No one from the unrealistically small royal family was given a chance to demonstrate or explore the gravity and the positive influence a thousand-year-old institution can have. Does the queen have causes she particularly cares about? Does she invest her time into fundraising for them? Does she think certain problems are overlooked by the society and does she use her celebrity status to draw attention to them? We have no idea, we only have been shown her caring about the public image of the institution she represents.

Same with Wille: in the show he was never given a chance to explore how his status could be used for good. Were there young people for whom his coming out meant a lot? Definitely, but we never heard about them. Would it be equally important for others if the crown prince started openly talking about his struggles with anxiety? For sure. This list is potentially endless but the creators were never interested in showing anything positive about the monarchy.

[mashep23]

Traffic Jam Session

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: +1.5K

Warnings: Nat being ridiculously confident and flirtatious? I think that deserves a warning. This is just pure self-indulgent fluff.

Summary: Stuck in a traffic jam, another commuter requests that you turn your music up

Inspired by this meet-cute prompt:

We are caught in an extreme traffic jam and have been sitting next to each other, parked, for the last five minutes. Your radio is playing my absolute favorite song so I ask you to turn it up. We spend the rest of the slow traffic aggressively singing along to the music at each other.

Prompt list found here

A/N: I tweaked the prompt just a little, hope it's still enjoyable. This was so much fun to write!

Thank you to @river-soul for her incredible beta skills and endless patience 😭❤️ and @whisperlullaby for workshopping with me 💗

Disclaimer: gif not mine

It's a decently warm day, sunny and clear, and the azure blue sky is dotted sparsely with clouds. A breeze blows through the car windows, playing with the feathers on your dreamcatcher hanging from the rearview mirror while you're stuck in traffic. You had been creeping along for the better part of 20 minutes, but you've been at a standstill now for almost five.

Typically one to drive home in silence to decompress, today the stillness and lack of road noise makes you want to turn on some music instead. Since nothing playing on the local stations feels right, you sync your car Bluetooth with your phone and scroll through your music streaming apps. A playlist you made simply entitled "Happy" seems to fit your mood and the gorgeous weather so you press Shuffle All and settle back in your seat.

The soothing, light-hearted Put Your Records On filters through the speakers and you can't help the smile that curves your lips as you close your eyes. Propping your arm on the window, head on your hand, you bask in the sun's warmth. You periodically crack open an eye to check on the car in front of you but there's no change. Everyone on the road has parked and resigned themselves to the long wait.

Your playlist contains a wide variety of genres, cherry-picked songs that unfailingly lift your mood. They're radio hits, usually well-known songs, and easy to sing along with. You happily bop your way through your playlist, getting a little more energetic, singing along to each song.

Walking on Sunshine just finishes and the next song is cueing when you hear a sweet voice ask lowly, "Do you mind turning it up a little?" You grin and twist the volume knob so I'm Gonna Be (500 miles) plays louder before looking to the eavesdropper that's enjoying your tunes.

Holy shit. How did you not notice the car next to you? There is no way they were there the whole time. They're all beautiful. Two men, two women - blondie is driving, two brunettes are in the back seat, and a redhead is in the passenger seat. She was the one that spoke and she grins gratefully, leaning closer, head tilted out the window. You turn it up a little more as she starts singing along.

You grin widely and start singing with her. Her companions in the car laugh and join in good naturedly, cheering as the two of you belt the call-and-answer part of the song.

When the song ends, you're both breathlessly laughing, smiles wide. You turn your stereo volume down even as the next song starts to play and stretch out for a high five. She gives your hand a satisfying slap as she laughs joyfully.

"That was so fun! Thank you so much, I love that song."

"I do too! You're a great partner! And the back-ups were awesome!" You playfully finger-gun point at the driver and backseat passengers. They cheerfully laugh and thank you. You don't remember the last time you smiled this hard.

"I'm glad you didn't mind - I could barely hear it. I had Steve try to get closer but that didn't really help much, so I just decided to ask you." She gives you a sheepish but pleased smile and you return it.

"Oh no I don't mind! I haven't had this much fun in ages!" You can't seem to stop smiling but maybe it's okay because she's smiling at you, too.

"I'm Nat," she says suddenly, and you don't hesitate to tell her your name. She repeats it quietly, still smiling softly at you.

There's a stretch of silence, you're both just looking at each other and one of her friends clear their throat, causing you both to blink. You think maybe you should be embarrassed but she doesn't appear fazed in the slightest.

"In the spirit of introductions, hello beautiful. I'm Sam." The male brunette sitting behind Nat says smoothly after his light cough. "This is Wanda, up there is Steve." He gestures to the woman beside him and to the driver, respectively.

Your gaze never leaves Nat. You can't tear your eyes from her even as Sam speaks, catching the quick tightness around the edges of her mouth before it relaxes again as you smile and respond to her rather than Sam.

"It's nice to meet you," you say sincerely to Nat. Her answering pleased expression as she returns the sentiment warms you. A pleasant tightness fills your chest as her lips quirk at something Sam mutters under his breath. The woman next to him, Wanda, laughs quietly.

"So, you know, we're gonna be here for a while. Let's see what else you got to listen to." Nat grins expectantly at you with a raised brow and you mirror her expression as you turn the knob.

You're pretty sure you've found your soulmate when her eyes spark in delight and she belts along effortlessly to Sweet Caroline, arms spreading dramatically as she almost nails the driver, Steve, in his face with the back of her hand. Sam and Wanda cackle as he shoves her arm away in mock affront and she sticks her tongue out at him.

You can't help but laugh at their antics, watching her perform, directing her friends' involvement ("bah, bah, bahh") before she turns to you ("so good, so good, so good!"). This is quickly becoming one of the best times you've ever had.

The song continues, both of you sharing the lead, absolutely ridiculous and uncaring of the scene you're making. If anyone in the surrounding cars felt disgruntled at the impromptu concert, you'd never know it. The girl in the car next to you has your undivided attention.

You're not sure how long it's been, how many songs you've played and sang along to, but after a while, traffic slowly creeps to life. Steve taps Nat on the arm during a lull between songs and you lower the volume as she turns to him. He gestures at the line of cars ahead, the ones directly in front still unmoving but in the distance you see brake lights releasing, vehicles rolling forward.

She turns back to you, chewing the inside of her lip as she looks at you thoughtfully. She seems to make a decision and reaches her hand out to you.

"Here, let me see your phone real quick." She makes a single gimme motion, fingers flicking closed then open as you hand the device over. Your lips spread into a wide smile at the triumphant look that crosses her face.

She beams at you before dropping her gaze to the phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen. You hear an unfamiliar notification tone and she pulls a phone from her lap, holding it up to show you.

"I text myself from your phone. Now we have each other's numbers. I wanna be able to call you later." She's unabashedly smug as she hands your phone back and you wonder if your face shows just how pleased you are.

You look down at the message thread she left open for you, the unsaved number displayed at the top.

"Traffic Jam Hottie 😍"

The single line of text and emoji sent from your phone to the number makes you bite your lip and shyly cover your smile with your fingertips. You look at her with raised eyebrows and she correctly interprets your unasked question and shrugs.

"That's your contact name. I'll probably never change it, not even after we get married."

It's sly and nonchalant, how she slips that in there, smooth as you please. Your jaw drops and her friends all seem to choke on air but her gaze, locked on you, is unwavering. The flirtatious expression on her face is simultaneously sincere and mischievous as she watches for your reaction.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, your chest feels tight and pleasantly warm. Your smile stretches so wide your cheeks hurt as she winks and you're so giddy, you don't care how eager you look in this moment.

You quickly save her contact information and smirk, wiggling your phone at her.

"I'd hope not. I think having matching contact info is pretty cute and kinda romantic. A fun story for the wedding toasts." You grin cheekily.

Her expression shifts, full of mischief, a quirk of her eyebrow that makes your breath hitch and sets your heart racing as her friends whoop with glee at your banter. Her lips spread in a sly smile and you can't help but return it. You're positive you've never smiled this much in your life.

Too soon, the gridlock lets up and you both start moving with traffic. The cars in front of you begin to roll, the lane speeds varying enough to cause you to separate. She's still grinning at you as they get further ahead. You can faintly hear their teasing and you catch a glimpse of her profile, smiling and laughing, before she's no longer visible.

They take an exit as you continue on and you barely have a moment to mourn that they're out of view before your phone vibrates in your lap. Picking it up, you grin madly at the screen, the contact "Traffic Jam Hottie 😍" scrolling across the top.

Accepting the call, you hear it connect through you car speakers, her friends still audible in the background. Your heart stutters when she purrs her greeting.

"Hey hottie."

-----------------------

Tagging some of my amazing discord family: @buckyownsmylife @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf

Word Count: 1800

Summary: The calm before the storm

A/n hello, and thanks again @sillyrabbit81 for reading and editing for me :)

Chapter 11

Henry was angry. It was truly the first time he had allowed himself to feel such anger in almost fifteen years. Everything that was happening, all the pieces coming together to paint a picture of that night, it didn’t bring healing like it should, instead, it just bought more pain. All the locked away feelings he had tried so hard to forget from the past kept coming up, especially when he saw Tom’s face. Everything in him wanted to go full wolf, ignore human laws and decimate his friend’s abusers. If he had not felt a strong need to comfort Tom, to help heal some of his wounds then he would have snuck out right there and then.

But Jessie had different ideas, even after the boys left, she insisted he stay by her side. It was as if she knew what he was thinking, knew he would be reckless. When they arrived at the house, he did a quick sniff of the perimeter before feeling secure that there were no new smells. He found Jessie in the kitchen making a coffee. What he wouldn’t give to taste the magic brew again, it had been so long since his last sip. Wondering if she would understand him, he padded over to her and bumped her leg, put his nose in the air, sniffed at the cup she had finished pouring and then yipped. For the first time in a few days she smiled, a genuine large smile. “Did you want some coffee, Henry?” He yipped again, this time emphasising it with his tongue panting.

She found a small ceramic bowl and poured some coffee into it, she picked it up and placed it on the coffee table in the living room. It was the perfect height for him to first sniff the delectable scent, then hesitantly dip his tongue in. It was perfect, she had made it smooth, bold, and milky. He turned his head to her and almost laughed at the look on her face as she watched with anticipation. “Is it ok? I can change it if you don’t like it that milky.” Her nervousness was real, and he wanted to show her how much he liked it, so instead he turned around and lapped the whole bowl up before jumping on the couch and giving her a series of long sloppy kisses on the cheek. Giggling Jessie squealed, “Henry! Stop! If that’s a yes you liked it then great. But if that’s just a reaction to the coffee then no more for you mister.” He stopped immediately not wanting the coffee to stop.

Henry curled up next to her on the couch laying his head in her lap. It was the only intimate thing that he could do whilst he was still in wolf form. He wanted her to know she was safe. Her fingers began to caress his fur, threading through massaging his skin. The tension and anger melted, all that mattered at that moment was his mate.

She softly cleared her throat, “Henry, I need to let you know about something important. Please yip if you are understanding me.” It had been a while since her voice had not made sense, another sign he hoped that he was closer to the surface. “Yip” was his reply. Her body sagged a bit. “Good, I have insisted Tom come to live here for a while until he is safe to go home. But that might be a long while. I learned something this morning and I need to tell you, but I don’t want you to overreact, ok?”

Overreact, what was she talking about? Henry listened intently a soft growl intimating he heard but was not happy. “Tom, well Tom is my secret admirer.” At that comment, Henry leapt up sitting his full height on the couch. His eyes bored into Jessies, looking to see if what she said was true and not a horrible joke. But the seriousness on her face confirmed her words. Both her hands came up and cradled his muzzle, keeping his eyes on hers as she spoke with authority. “Now listen to me Henry, I know you have been jealous and I appreciate you trying to protect me from Boyd. But you know Tom, he is sweet, caring, and young. You have nothing to be jealous of. I see him as more of a younger brother, heck even as a son. So, you have nothing to fear, I want you to continue to care for him just as you have been. He needs our love and affection right now, not more rejection. Ok?”

Not sure how he felt about it, on top of everything else, he flopped back down in her lap. Not willing yet to acknowledge what she was asking of him. She didn’t know how much it hurt to see her with another, to know outside of a dream he could not hold her. He settled enjoying her hands once again scratching behind his ear and smoothing his fur. They stayed like that until the sound of multiple footsteps sounded at the front door, Henry jumped up and ran to the door his fur heckled and a low growl sending out a warning. “Hey Jessie, Wolfy, it’s just us.” Jessie walked past him and opened the door showing a mountain of bags hiding the two boys behind.

Henry’s heckles stayed up as he watched the wall of bags shuffle into the room. It wasn’t till the bags had been placed down, and Tom’s face was shown again, that his fur smoothed down, at that moment he made his mind up. No matter how painful it was seeing someone else fawn over his mate, he would treat Tom as family. He walked up to Tom, rubbing his body up against him then gave his hand a quick lick. Tom’s hand rested on his head-scratching behind his ear. “Thanks, Wolfy. I missed you too buddy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jessie with a soft smile on her face.

Joe stayed for dinner, the foursome enjoyed steak and veggies, with ice cream for dessert. After dinner, Joe tried to convince the party too, “Have a fashion parade.” A chorus of no’s including a growl from Henry had him lifting his hands in surrender,.“Oh, you guys are no fun. At least let us get dressed in our pj’s.” Jessie frowned at this comment, causing Joe to explain, “We thought with everything going on it might be a good idea to have a slumber party. You know an extra body in case you know who decides to turn up.” Henry was surprised at Joe’s gesture. As excitable as the boy was he was a true friend to Jessie. Jessie, he could see, was struggling and if he guessed her problem, it was accepting help. She had been independent for so long, had to be strong for herself, work everything out for herself. He could only guess if she was anything like himself that she would try to back out of this extra support.

Before she had a chance to speak, he pushed towards her, growling low making her look at him. He put as much feeling behind his eyes as he could trying harder than ever to push towards the surface. The message he wished to convey was one of “please, accept their help.”

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side before her ridged stance melted and her soft voice yielded. “As long as Dillon is ok with it, Joe that’s fine. Heaven knows this house has enough rooms to have 3 separate guests so I’m ok with you having a ‘slumber party.” Joe whooped at that and ran to ring his boyfriend.

Henry had to snigger, here she was surrounded by boys, Tom was 19, and Joe 22 they had gone and changed into PJ’s that had caused Jessie to giggle, the Pokémon images outlined on the two-piece top and pants make them look like overgrown children. Confirmed by them pulling the cushions of the chairs and creating a fort with blankets for them to sit in and eat popcorn as they watched movies. It truly was a sight to see but Henry could tell she was slightly uncomfortable with the interaction. But with his body surrounding hers, she began to relax and enjoy the constant chatter of Joe and Tom.

As the clock chimed 11pm, the party began to go quiet, and eventually, Jessie put on her boss hat. “All right boys. Time for teeth, toilet, and bed, and I want this room set to rights before you head upstairs.” Yawns and tired agreements grumbled as Henry got up and yipped to Jessie. “You need to go out Henry?” It was the first time she had addressed him with his full name in front of the others.

Joe was the only one who made any note of it as he was picking up the last cushion. “I like that name, Jessie. It suits him.” She smiled at Henry, then let him out.

When he was back inside, they locked up the doors and walked silently upstairs. She poked her head in both rooms saying the good night before moving to her own room. After looking after her own needs Jessie snuggled under the covers. Henry positioned himself so he was stretched out next to her ready to hold her in his arms he shut his eyes pleading for sleep to come fast.

Trees, trees, and more trees, the more he pushed the thicker they grew as if they were alive and deliberately holding him back. Henry began to grow angry again, how dare they stop him from seeing his mate. His anger hit a point causing him to turn into his wolf while in the dream state. This allowed him to duck under the branches until he finally broke free into the clearing. There was Jessie, patiently waiting for her man but the look of shock on her face when wolf Henry broke through into the clearing was evident.

“Henry? Are you, ok?” He looked up at her, the anger still burning hot in his eyes. She stilled for a moment then sat patting her lap in an invitation for him to join her. He passed back and forth for a moment before his heart rate began to settle, then he walked forward, and laid down beside her. His head in her lap she gently caressed his fur before he was fully calm. At that moment his desire for her pulled to the front so much so that he began to shift, she stilled as his body creaked and popped until Henry’s head laid in her lap his naked body stretched out for all to see.

Chapter 12

[luke-shywalker]

OKAY @blackberry-command-cap YOU ASKED FOR THIS SO…

Ask Ben Solo @askbensolo

(Here’s the link to read Ask Ben Solo in chronological order)

The backstory:

It was 2016, TFA had just come out, and Emo Kylo Ren memes were all the rage, most notably the Emo Kylo Ren Twitter account which was iconic. In the early-to-mid 2010s on Tumblr, character ask blogs were in vogue—kinda like roleplay blogs but different—instead of roleplaying with other roleplaying blogs, it was more focused on the character answering asks from the readers. (Ask culture on Tumblr used to be bigger, because this was before we had DMs on Tumblr—omg am I old??)

Anyway I always wanted to run an ask blog, so I came up with the idea for Ask Teenage Kylo Ren (later changed to Ask Ben Solo). It started out as a joke blog purely meme-ing on Kylo for being a teen emo loser who was in the throes of puberty and obsessed with Darth Vader and had trash takes on politics.

I was also a teenager at this time. Over the course of the next couple years I ended up pouring a lot of authenticity into Ben’s character, and fleshed him out as a kid who was terrified of growing up and struggled with mental illness and was being preyed upon by Snoke. I think my characterization of him resonated with a lot of people. He really took on a life of his own, and I have no idea if this is the Ben Solo anymore, but he is my Ben Solo and I love him. The blog is a weird mix of comedy and character drama. Crack-treated-seriously, I guess? This Ben never went to Jedi school, lived with his parents, was homeschooled, and chronically online. He started as a fifteen-year-old and aged up every year.

Things that happened on Ask Ben Solo:

Uncle Luke gave Ben a stuffed animal bantha that the anons named Ren and it was his only friend for a long time

Ben became really into writing poetry

Ben got braces

Ben was aromantic/asexual (until the 2024 reboot whoops SORRY)

Ben kept having dreams about Snoke/hearing Snoke in his mind and basically just wouldn’t listen every time the anons tried to warn him

Ben visited Jedi school and didn’t become a Jedi but made a few friends (my OCs haha, this was before there were any canon Jedi students yet)

Ben gave into Snoke and ran away from home, but changed his mind at the last minute and decided to quit Snoking for good

Ben went to therapy (THANK THE FORCE)

The Solo family adopted REY

Around 2018-2019 Ask Ben Solo got abandoned because I was in college and having a rough time and then TROS came out and sucked and I tried posting once in 2020 but it just didn’t feel the same so I left the blog (and my main blog) to rot.

Then in 2024 I got an ask on my main (so I saw it in my email—hadn’t opened Tumblr in years) where someone told me they really liked Ask Ben Solo and I was like :’) what. After all this time??

I’d been in a creative rut for years so I decided to come back and reboot the blog. I don’t really draw anymore…for reasons unknown to me…so it’s mostly text-based now. And since the sequel trilogy hype is long dead, there are way less people reading it now, which has been a bit of a challenge for me to adjust to, especially since such a big part of the project was the reader interaction.

But, it’s been so interesting to revisit and reinvent Ben as an adult!!! Now he’s 23 and lives on Naboo where he graduated from college. Some of the current story threads are:

Adulting™

Ben is in his first relationship (kinda?) with a former Jedi classmate

Rey is now the cringe teenager!! She’s obsessed with Twi’ktok

Ben has conflict with his mom because she’s very protective of him after the Snoke thing

Poe and BB-8 are Ben’s housemates now. Also Threepio is there. (Leia sent Threepio to spy on Ben)

Hux exists. But he goes by “Armitage Arkanis” and works at Spacebucks. Not much is known about him. …Yet.

Snoke might be back?? Ben doesn’t want you to think so though

Ben just wants to live his life and ignore the Force and forget what happened when he was a teen and try to be happy—and he’s trying—but it just feels…empty.

One thing I super miss is Ben living with his parents. I think that was one of the best parts about Ask Ben Solo. The most interesting thing about Kylo Ren was that he was Han and Leia’s kid and to this day we still don’t have a lot of canon on their lives as family. I have some machinations to force Ben back into living with his parents (as an adult rip) hehehehehe

About once a week I question why I’m still running Ask Ben Solo because it will never be as good as it was in 2016-2018 and I know this. But I think continuing it is better than ending it…haha… I also think a lot about adapting it into a true fanfic that could be posted on Ao3 but I don’t think this is possible. It’s Ben’s blog! Where he has bad takes and is cringe and spills his emotions and updates it in real time and answers your questions! That’s like the whole concept haha

There are also three sister blogs to Ask Ben Solo that are updated much less frequently. Two for my OCs who are Ben’s friends from Jedi school, and one for Rey.

SO YEAH THAT’S ASK BEN SOLO. hahahahaha

And here is the gold star my friend gave me a couple months ago for making her care about Kylo Ren. Multiple people have said this to me about this blog. I say this to me about my blog. Behold, my award:

@blackberry-command-cap

NDNSJSJCNJDKCBDJDJJDJFNDJ OH BOY YOU ARE SO GONNA REGRET ASKING ME THIS HAHHAJAJAHA

it’s my fanfic project basically. I need some time but let me write up the full explanation hdhdhsjdjsj

[hamletteprinceofdenmark]

I don’t care if it’s been months. Technoblade was fucking wrong and I will die mad about it. 

Let me start this off by saying that I really like Technoblade as a character. I think he’s very interesting and acts as a great counterbalance on the Dream SMP, but drawing a parallel between c!Tommy and Theseus was wrong and it drives me up the wall that it’s become an established thing both in canon and fandom.

If you are going to draw a parallel between c!Tommy and a Greek hero, the clear parallel is Achilles. 

Here we have a man. This man has anger management issues. He is known to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, hold grudges, and deliberately goad others in a way that can feel petty and immature. On the other hand this is a man whose fatal flaw is his unwavering loyalty to others. A man who, when properly motivated, will be the first to charge and the last to retreat. A man who feels everything to the fullest, known for his passion rather than his thoughtfulness or strategy (though don’t let that fool you, he has those qualities, they are simply not as “on display” as others may be). 

This is a man with a very close personal male friend. This friend is perceived as being sweet and calm, a balm against their rather abrasive counterpart. This is misleading. The friend is also violent and chaotic, but hides it better than most, and certainly better than their friend. 

Everyone loves the friend. Not everyone loves the man. 

The man goes into a homicidal rage when that friend was harmed and killed.

Is any of this sounding familiar at all?! 

Do you know what the name “Achilles” means? 

“He who carries the distress of his people”. 

The triple meaning of which is either: “he carries the burden of the distress of his people”, “he creates that distress himself”, or “he brings distress to others on behalf of his people”, and have you ever, ever in your life heard a more accurate description of mr tommy innit. 

Here’s the other thing. Theseus is a dick. He is the biggest fucking dick. He’s a manipulator. An opportunist. He never considers the consequences of how his choices might affect others. He betrays allies at every opportunity and takes credit for anything and everything that may reflect well on him, regardless of who actually thought of it. 

Do you want to know why Theseus was exiled by his people? Why he died alone? 

The way Techno tells it, it seems like the people are in the wrong. Why would people betray and exile their Hero? Seems pretty ungrateful. I’ll tell you why.

TLDR c!Tommy’s parallel in Greek mythology is Achilles not fucking Theseus

Please understand, Theseus doesn’t go to defeat the Minotaur for any noble reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that the people under his care are being taken on a regular basis by an opposing city state in order to be fed to an Unholy Monster of Death (who’s actually a victim in all of this but that’s a whole other post). It’s for his ego. It’s because he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Mediterranean Basin egging him on to be the biggest best Hero Prince there ever was. 

It’s also important to note that the term “Hero” does not have any moral standing connected to it in the world of Greek Mythology. Being a Hero does not mean you are a good person. It means you make a good story. 

At the time he goes to defeat the Minotaur, Theseus is actually fairly new to the whole prince gig (long story) but it means that the people of Athens aren’t exactly attached to him. He kind of just turned up. He hasn’t earned their loyalty or respect. They don’t know him enough to love him, let alone reviere him.  

His dad does want to know if he succeeds though. 

This tribute is a great tragedy for their people so the ships that carry them away and come back empty always have black sails, both in mourning and in recognition of their sacrifice. So Dad says “Hey, if, against all odds, you end up succeeding and defeating the Minotaur, switch out the black sails for white sails, and I’ll know even before you arrive that our people are safe. I’ll keep a look out on that cliff. See you soon ... or not” Then he probably patted Theseus awkwardly on the shoulder or something.

So Theseus boards the ship with all the other miserable 20 somethings who think they’re as dead as freshly plated steak tartare with the expressed intention of destroying the Minotaur in a blaze of self reflecting Glory and making his name as a Hero. 

Theseus only defeats the Minotaur, by the way, because Ariadne, a Cretian princess, did practically all the heavy lifting for him. She’s the one who figures it all out. She’s the one who understands the intricacies of the maze, and she is the one who comes up with the plan of using thread as a guide back out of that maze. She’s also the one who stands sentinel at the entrance and makes sure he doesn’t run out of said thread. All of this help and guidance is given upon the understanding that, having utterly betrayed her own kingdom, Theseus will take her back to Athens and marry her, ensuring her safety. 

Except Theseus doesn’t want to marry her. He never wanted to marry her. He’s a young prince in his prime with years of Heroing ahead of him. Ariadne was only ever a means to an end. 

So they defeat the Minotaur. Big Whoop. 

The ship stops off on a little island before returning home and Theseus sends Ariadne off to get supplies (there’s a dear). Literally as soon as Ariadne is out of sight Theseus is in such a hurry to avoid his responsibilities and promises that he pulls that ship straight back out onto the open sea, before his crew can do anything else (such as change the sails perhaps, remember that).

He abandons the one person who actually helped him, completely alone, without any resources, in a foreign land, and unable to return home even if she wanted to. 

Dad now sees the sails that he’s been on a look out for this whole time, hoping and praying for white. Instead he sees black and is so overcome with despair that he throws himself right off the cliff, commiting suicide and leaving Athens leaderless.

So when Theseus does rock up, the people of Athens understandably want nothing to do with him. He’s only recently become prince anyway. No one cares about him or is loyal to him. The king has just commited suicide because of him, leaving the city state in complete disarray, he’s just abandoned a key ally, proving that his word is worthless, and has demonstrated beyond a doubt that he is not fit to be a leader, let alone their Prince. 

So they exile him. 

He goes on to have more adventures of course, and he does become one of the most well-known “Heroes” in Greek Mythology, but don’t for one second think he improves.

Theseus is a dick. He will always be a dick. 

He never learns, never grows, and in the end, dies alone and abandoned, just as he abandoned so many others before him. 

TLDR c!Tommy’s parallel in Greek mythology is Achilles NOT fucking Theseus 

[fallen-gravity]

Aftermath

A whole summer later, and Mabel's still having nightmares about being trapped in her bubble. One unfortunate morning, Ford just happens to be the one who overhears her crying in her sleep.

Notes:

A huge, huge shout out to @ariasofelegance

A little white ago I reblogged a silly post that said something like "come into my inbox and tell me what my writing brand is", and without hesitating she dragged me into the dirt. Got me so on the nose that it backfired and whoops, I wanted to write it.

Said ask can be found here

Hope you’re happy with the results, Rin ;)

AO3

It’s the sound of sugary pop music seemingly wafting in through her bedroom window that wakes Mabel first. She assumes it’s just an alarm she doesn’t remember setting, and frantically waves her arm out for her nightstand so she can turn it off and go back to sleep for another minute or ten.

Then it’s the fact that her hand smacks something that squeaks, and okay, maybe Waddles accidentally left one of his toys in her room. He’s got plenty, so she can shrug off that as long as it’s not his favorite then he can go another few minutes without it. She’ll bring it downstairs to him when she wakes up, or if Dipper rises before her he can bring it downstairs instead.

It’s fine. She can brush those things off, and to prove it to herself she turns over on her other side and brings her blanket up to cover her ears. If anyone needs her they’re gonna have to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic and tell her themselves. She smiles to herself at the thought, and settles easily back into her sleep.

It doesn’t really click that something’s…off until the sun shines in through her window. Despite knowing that she’s facing away from her window, the sunlight still pierces through Mabel’s blanket and lands right into her eyes. Even for the mid-summer Oregon sun she’s gotten accustomed to, it’s uncomfortably warm and unreasonably bright for so early in the morning.

…Stranger still, she’s sure that Dipper would’ve already complained about it before she did, or at the very least, she’s sure she already would’ve heard him shuffling around the room by now.

Mabel takes it to mean that he must already be awake and downstairs, and groans. It still doesn’t explain why the sun is so painful in her eyes, but she guesses that could be a result of her sleeping in later than she’s used to.

“Alright, universe, you got me” Mabel mumbles, and stretches as she finally pushes herself into a sitting position. Opening her eyes is a bit tougher with the sun still harshly shining into them, but it’s manageable, and…

…This doesn’t look like the attic.

She attempts to rub the sleep out of her eyes, in case she’s still not fully awake yet, but no, the image in front of her still doesn’t change. She’s about to try standing up to see if walking around will help snap her out of her haze, but before she can even kick her feet over the edge her bedroom door swings open.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mabel sighs. “Can you close the window? I can’t see a thing”

“Sure thing, Miss Mabel!” a cheery voice that is decidedly not Dipper’s replies, and with a snap of their fingers the lights go out. Now that her eyes finally adjust, Mabel’s able to glance around her room, and…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

There are stone statues of her face in every corner of her room, piles of rainbow plushies stacked all over the floor, a collage of sweaters all over the wall, inflatable furniture scattered everywhere, and most notably, a large rug with a bright shooting star embroidered into the center.

“Miss Mabel?” the strange voice asks again, and a bright pink hippo steps into view towards her bed. “Is everything okay?”

Mabel frantically scoots backwards in her strange bed. “Stay back!” she tries to shout, but everything comes out as more of a panicked waver. “Stay back or I’ll grapple hook you in the face!” she frantically pats all around her body for any sign of her trusty weapon.

The hippo tilts its head in confusion, a squeak emerging from it. “Oh, Miss Mabel, you’re a riot! Don’t you remember?”

Mabel freezes in her frantic patting. “Remember what?”

The strange hippo laughs. “Our volleyball match! You promised you’d play with me, but then you took a suuuper long nap instead!”

Mabel shakes her head. It can’t be. It can’t be. She knows Dipper already came to rescue her, she knows they already took the bus back to Piedmont together, she knows they promised to stick together through thick and thin.

Or…did they? What if that was all part of this sick fantasy too? What if Bill just made her believe that Dipper came to her aid, when he’s actually been captured, or hurt, or worse, and Bill is still pacifying her for as long as he can to keep Weirdmageddon going?

She can’t breathe. She tugs at the collar of her turtleneck, but that only makes things worse, because it’s not until she notices the hot pink of her collar that she realizes she’s wearing her shooting star sweater. She wants to rip it off and claw at it until it comes apart thread by thread.

“M-Miss Mabel?”

She has to get out of here.

“Of course!” she replies, just to avoid suspicion. “Let’s go play some volleyball!” She claps loudly, and the pink hippo grins, seemingly unfazed by her behavior.

“Great!” it beams, and bounces happily out the door. Mabel follows more slowly, casting nervous glances everywhere she looks for any signs of creeping yellow eyes.

“Oh, shoot!” the hippo shouts once they’re outside, and Mabel nearly jumps a mile out of her skin.

“What is it?”

“We don’t have enough players,” the hippo pouts. “I can go see if I can find anyone who-”

“No!” Mabel shouts, and a few beachgoers freeze to cast glances her way. She blushes, and tries again. “I...I mean, we could always get my brother to play with us! Where’s my good ol’ twin brother?”

For the briefest of moments the hippo’s eyes flash yellow, but they’re back to normal just as quickly.

“Over here, sis!” Dippy Fresh waves, approaching them on his skateboard.

Mabel steps back, shaking her head. “Where’s my real twin brother?”

The crowd of beachgoers begins murmuring uncomfortably to each other.

“Aww, c’mon sis, don’t be like that!” he grins, jumping off of his skateboard and taking a step closer.

“You’re not my real brother” she hisses. “None of this is real! I know it isn’t!”

She’s shouting now, but she doesn’t care. “Come out and face me yourself, Bill! I know you’re out there! I don’t want to take part in this sick fantasy anymore!”

Everyone around her gasps, and between one breath and the next she’s painfully tackled to the ground.

“Mabel Pines!” an unfamiliar voice shouts, mixed seamlessly with the shrill echo of Bill’s. “Not only have you broken the one and only law of Mabeland, you have also spoke up in defiance of Bill Cipher, the true creator of this land. A simple court trial will not be enough. For these transgressions, you will be taken straight to the Fearamid for proper punishment”.

Mabel’s face pales. “W-wait! I was only just kidding!” She pleas, but a strong pair of arms is already lifting her into the air. She kicks and thrashes, but no matter how much she fights back, more pairs of hands seem to grab onto her and keep her in place.

“No!” she shouts. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise! I’ll do anything you guys want! I’ll never leave you again!”

“It’s too late!” Bill’s voice finally separates itself from the crowd, and he manifests himself in front of her. He lifts her into the air, and she starts thrashing even harder, but nothing she’s doing is working to free herself from her grip.

At the very back of her mind, she thinks she can hear someone shouting her name. But she’s sure that’s all just part of the illusion, that Bill’s using the sound of her own family against her to torture her one last time before she never sees them again, and-

Something brushes against her forehead.

Something soft, and warm, and comforting, and so humanlike compared to everything else around her that it’s enough to make the every single aspect of the illusion disappear into thin air all at once, even Bill himself.

Everything’s black, and then, with a blink of her eyes, she’s staring into Ford’s eyes, soft and loving and pooling with worry. It doesn’t take long for her to piece together that it’s his hand on her forehead.

“Mabel?” he asks, and she realizes quickly that it had been his voice shouting her name in the bubble.

She gasps, bolting upright, and does her best to recover her breathing. Ford doges out of the way to avoid smacking heads, but stays right where he is beside her, rubbing soothing little circles into her back.

Her throat hurts. She must’ve been shouting in her sleep. She wants to cry, but she can’t even do that right, because  the moment a sob tries to escape her throat her chest feels like it’s closing up, and she can’t take a breath anymore, no matter how much air she inhales.

“It’s okay,” Ford whispers to her. “Deep breaths”

Mabel shakes her head. “I…I can’t”

“Yes you can,” he replies, firmly but kindly. He scooches closer to her, slowly as not to re-startle her. “Mabel, look at me”

She does. His eyes are so soft, conveying so many grounding, human emotions that the single moment of eye contact alone is almost enough to completely ground her back to reality. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, once she’s finally able to maintain eye contact without her eyes trembling. “You’re awake, I promise” he offers his hands out to her. “Reach out and squeeze my hands if you need to, but I promise that I really am right here”

Mabel reaches out and takes his hands in her own. They’re so much bigger than hers, and they’re rough with calluses and there’s quill ink stuck under his nails, but they’re so comfortably the hands of her great uncle, all the way down to the extra sixth finger on each hand that the sob stuck in her throat finally breaks its way through. He’s not just another illusion, he’s not a perfect copy that Bill sent to keep her complacent, he’s just…Grunkle Ford.

Mabel throws herself into his arms as her sobs overwhelm her small body. She buries her face into the collar of his turtleneck, and forces her eyes to focus on a little loose strand sticking out at the back of his neck. It’s just a tiny little imperfect detail that could easily be snipped or sewn back into place, but a little imperfection like that to let her know she’s home is more comforting than she’s willing to admit.

Ford wraps his arms around her and holds her closely. He gently runs a hand through her hair, whispering I know and it’s okay over and over again into her hair, and she just buries her whole face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of coffee and ash and ink coming from his sweater like it’s a lifeline.

She stays in his embrace until her sobs finally calm, and they pull away gently. She wipes at her nose with her wrist.

“I’m sorry”

Ford shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, dear. I know firsthand just how awful it feels to suffer through a panic attack alone”.

Alone?

She glances to the other side of the bedroom, and finds Dipper’s bed empty. Her heart drops to her stomach. “Wh-where’s..?” she starts, but Ford places a gentle hand on her shoulder before she can finish that train of thought.

“Dipper’s okay, he’s outside with Soos”

“Grunkle Stan?”

“He ran out to the store, but he’s okay too”  

Mabel buries her face into her hands. “You didn’t…come in here because you could hear me from downstairs, did you?”

Ford shakes his head, a fond smile itching to spread across his face. “I came upstairs when I’d heard you were still asleep and didn’t want my favorite niece to miss out on such a beautiful morning,” he pauses, the smile on his face vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. “But then when I came in to wake you up, you looked like you were having a panic attack in your sleep, and…” his voice trails off. “You started…crying out names.” He winds a protective arm around her shoulder, and gently squeezes her arm. “I’d never want to make you recount something so awful, but if you want to talk about it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon”

Mabel sighs. It isn’t even close to being the first dream she’s had about the bubble, so she should be used to all of these strange feelings by now. But this particular dream felt the most based in reality, and it’s the first time Bill’s actually shown up and threatened to hurt her to her face.

She returns his gesture, winding an arm around Ford’s back and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. She scooches just a tiny bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. “I…” she begins, squeezing her eyes shut to brace herself. “I was trapped in Mabeland again. Except it wasn’t like all the other times I’ve had nightmares about it where I knew something was off and I hit the ground running as soon as I realized where I was, it was more like…I felt like I’d always been there.”

With her free hand, Mabel brings the collar of her sweater all the way up to her nose. Anything to distract her from her uncle’s worried expression burning into her. “It was like everything we did last summer was for nothing. I woke up in my bed in the castle, and everyone was acting like it was peachy keen. I tried asking someone about where Dipper was, just for some sense of normalcy, but all that did was summon that dumb clone Mabeland created of him so I wouldn’t get too lonely. I know it’s dumb, but the whole thing just felt…too real. Like I was still stuck there, and the apocalypse was still going on out here, and the whole rescue mission was just a sick dream that Bill put in my head to trick me into believing everything was okay”

Mabel squishes her face into Ford’s sweater and just forces herself to focus on his scent, on the soft material of his sweater, on the gentle pattern of his breathing. “Everything was ripped away from me, Grunkle Ford, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I tried speaking up for myself, but that only made things worse, because Bill showed up, and he-”

She’s suddenly painfully aware that she’s trembling again, and can’t help the tears building in her eyes. She tries burying her face even further into Ford’s sweater to collect herself and keep going, but before she can she feels Ford’s hand at the back of her head, gently holding her in place as she cries.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, his voice a soothing presence among her racing thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going.” He’s back to gently petting her hair, and the gesture is consistent and familiar enough to ease Mabel’s crying. “I’m so sorry that you’re still having nightmares about this”.

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and finally finds the strength to pull herself away from his sweater. “It’s not your fault”, she says, and her eyes drop to the hardwood floor of her bedroom. “I’m just so scared, Grunkle Ford.” She grips onto the edges of her skirt. “I know that I shouldn’t be, because I know Bill’s been gone for a year and I know everything’s okay now, but I just can’t help but feel that everything’s not.”

Ford nods solemnly, and for a moment he doesn’t respond, until he shifts in his sitting position so he’s facing directly towards Mabel rather than beside her. “Mabel, may I show you something?”

Mabel blinks, her head tilting slightly in confusion. “Sure, Grunkle Ford, what is it?”

Ford rolls the sleeves of his turtleneck up to his elbows. His wrists are covered in faded white slits, and the rest of his arms are covered in burn scars, scratches, gashes, and decades-old bruises that never healed properly. Some of them are still red and blistering, and others look so faded that she could just as easily mistake them for birthmarks.

It hurts Mabel’s heart just to look at them. Her hands hover cautiously over them, and she glances at the wonderful great uncle that they’re attached to. “C-can I…?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Mabel gently runs her fingers along each of them so lightly that it’s almost as if she isn’t touching them at all. She knows that he’d been hurt in the past, and she knows that it couldn’t have been easy roughing it out in the multiverse for thirty consecutive years, but it breaks her heart to see the evidence of it all up close.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ford sighs, cutting into her thoughts. “But most of these don’t come from the portal” he pauses to rub at the back of his head. “Or, rather, they do, but not in the way that you probably think”

Mabel pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…sometime after Bill betrayed my trust, but before I was able to get the metal plate in my head to keep him out, he’d take advantage of our deal that let him into my mind whenever he pleased,” he taps at his forehead. “He was furious that I shut down the portal, so any time I fell asleep he’d use the opportunity to hurt me as much as he could. He never wanted to kill me because he was convinced I’d change my mind in due time, but he felt the need to torture me so I’d never act against him again. He’d slit my wrists, he’d burn me, he’d do just about everything he could to make sure I could feel the repercussions of his actions when I woke up.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “Thankfully he was never able to break a bone before I woke up in time to stop him, but…” he trails off, and for the briefest of moments he looks as though he’s lost in thought.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” Ford blushes, snapping himself from his own thoughts before Mabel has any time to ask if he’s okay. “The point is,” he says, “Just because you know he’s gone now doesn’t mean that he never hurt you. Your nightmares are your scars, and they’re just as real as the scars under my sweater.”

Mabel wants to respond with a proper thank you, because she’s genuinely touched by the validation, but there’s a part of her that just can’t move past all the gashes and scars on Ford’s arms. She knows she’s seen similar cuts elsewhere, maybe not nearly as dire, but she knows in the back of her mind that’s just because she was just barely able to stop them from becoming much, much worse.

“I don’t think it’s just the nightmares” she mumbles, just barely loud enough for Ford to hear.

“Hmm?” Ford hums. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mabel runs two fingers gently around the white scars on Ford’s wrist. “I don’t think it’s just that he hurt me, I think it’s that he hurt a lot of people that I love, too.” She shakes her head. “I know there isn’t a lot I could’ve done to prevent it, but…I was so oblivious to it, Grunkle Ford. I had no idea he was hurting so many people until it was almost too late”.

She keeps rubbing gentle circles into his wrist, like she can make the scars and all of the memories of the pain he went through vanish into thin air with her loving touch alone. “Dipper’s got these scars too. I know he’s okay now, but…” the sigh that escapes her is broken and shaky. “I know that much worse things could’ve happened to him, too”.

Ford frowns. “He…did tell me about being possessed, yes. But he also told me that he couldn’t have gotten his body back without your help. Bill’s a master at trickery, Mabel, it’s not your fault you couldn’t recognize him in Dipper’s body”.

…But she also knows that the reason Dipper was possessed in the first place is because he was up all night trying to crack a code that she told him she’d help him with, and she also knows that if she found out that it wasn’t Dipper controlling his body until it was too late, then…

“He wrote a letter”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she slaps her hand over her mouth, tears building in her eyes again.

“Who did?” The soft smile slips off of Ford’s face. “Dipper?”

Mabel shakes her head. “Bill wrote a letter when he was still in possession of Dipper’s body. I’ve never shown it to Dipper before because I didn’t wanna freak him out, but I just…couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, because I was so afraid that if I did, Bill was going to find out, and wait until the moment my back was turned so he could…” her voice trails off, and she can’t finish the sentence no matter how badly she needs to get it off of her chest.

“Mabel?” Ford asks, his voice dripping with worry.

She shakes her head, and hops down from her bed to reach underneath. She grabs a seemingly useless crumped up piece of paper, and carefully unfolds it and pats down all the wrinkles before she offers it to Ford. “Before he could do this,” she replies, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Ford takes the letter from her, and Mabel takes her seat back on the bed beside him. All she can bring herself to do is just watch as Ford’s expression becomes more and more horrified as he reads further down the letter, and the hurt in his eyes when he looks into hers when he finishes reading is palpable.

“I’m scared, Grunkle Ford” she repeats, her mouth continuing to speak before her brain can stop her. “I know Bill’s gone for good, but how can I be so sure that everything’s okay when I know that this is what he could’ve done to my brother?”

For a few painfully short moments Ford says nothing. Mabel’s sure he’s at a loss of words, or that it was a mistake showing him the letter because he’s freaking out now too, but much to her surprise  Ford’s next move is pulling her into his arms again and hugging her so tightly it’s as if he never wants to let go again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, but doesn’t give her enough time to respond before he keeps going. “Mabel, I’m so sorry you’ve been burdened with this. You’re the last person I would ever wish to feel so unsafe that you can’t even trust the quiet moments.”

His breathing sounds broken and shaky, but if he’s tearing up at all he’s doing a really good job at hiding it.  “You don’t deserve any of this. You’re too young to feel like you have any responsibilities over anyone’s life or death. I’m so sorry that he made you feel this way”

She knows he’s not the kind of person to use his words carelessly. She knows that he’s phrasing it this way because he recognizes his own behavior in her. She doesn’t respond verbally, but she reciprocates the hug best she can, and a heavy sigh escapes Ford when she does. They stay there in silence for a few short minutes, just reveling in the comfort and safety of the other’s arms.

When they finally pull away, Ford seems to have gathered his composure again.

“I promise, Mabel” he takes one of her hands into his own. “I promise you that he’s gone. He can never hurt you or me or Dipper or Stan ever again. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t, and it doesn’t mean that recovering from that sort of pain will be easy, but if there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that he’s never showing his face here again”.

Mabel finally crumbles in his arms. She’s sobbing again, but it’s a cathartic kind of sob, and she’s gripping onto Ford’s shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping her together.

“And even if he does, I know just the grappling hook to scare him away”.

Between her sobs, Mabel can’t help but giggle.

[tennessoui]

omgggg yes number 45 gimme some number 45 obikin PLEASE

ok,,,,,,this is no. 1 Soulmates + no.45 in love with best friend's partner but it kinda got away from me so it's almost 2k and also like there's world-building im awful at snippets. This is obikin but also mentions of qui-gon/anakin BUT it's a fake relationship. it's not in the story, but the premise obi-wan doesn't know is that anakin needed coruscanti citizenship to get their healthcare for his mom, and qui-gon decides to help him out by marrying him to give him automatic citizenship i uh might continue this if people like it because it was fun to write whoops

“We met at the spaceport three days ago,” Anakin says with a demure little smile, curling further into Qui-Gon’s outstretched arm. The soft lamplight glints off the golden band Anakin’s wearing on his finger. Obi-Wan has had a hard time looking anywhere else since arriving in his old master’s quarters, has had a hard time thinking of anything else except that he’d always imagined Anakin wearing a more bronzed shade of gold.

It had been a shock to hear that while Obi-Wan had been out on a mission, Qui-Gon had returned to Coruscant with a husband in tow. Yes, alright, short courtships aren’t rare anywhere in the galaxy, especially between soulmates.

But Obi-Wan knows intimately well--better than anyone else in this room--that Anakin and Qui-Gon aren’t, in fact, soulmates.

Mace seems to be thinking the same thing because he states, with a slight question in his voice, “I was under the impression that your soulmate had passed into the Force, Qui-Gon.”

“We’re not soulmates,” Qui-Gon corrects placidly, arm moving away from Anakin’s shoulders--Obi-Wan can breathe again--so he can fiddle with the cuff around his wrist, which hides the faded name of his mate. “But now that the Jedi Order has lifted its marriage ban for non-Soulmate couples, I thought, why spend the rest of my life alone?”

Anakin catches Qui-Gon’s hand and places a kiss on the back of his fingers. Obi-Wan is going to scream.

When Anakin looks up to the assembled Jedi watching, he doesn’t look at Obi-Wan once. It’s the worst thing in the galaxy, the fact that other than very briefly an hour ago, Anakin hasn’t looked at him at all. It’s been five years. “And I’ve met my soulmate, but they…decided they didn’t want to stay with me, that they didn’t want me.”

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at this and forgets to bite his tongue. “Maybe your soulmate had other obligations that they had to fulfill,” Obi-Wan bites out.

He’d thought Anakin ignoring him had been awful, but that’s nothing compared to the pain of having him look at him with eyes as cold as Hoth. “I think I’d know more about my soulmate than you would, master Jedi. Ah, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Obi-Wan almost tells him to check his wrist if he needs a reminder about Obi-Wan’s name, but the words get stuck in his throat.

It’s probably for the best.

Obi-Wan’s spent five years and the duration of a war hiding the name of his soulmate from the Jedi Order, and he can’t say it now. His other half has made it quite clear that he can’t say it now.

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan says, standing suddenly. He knows he should stay, should sit through the rest of the intake interview the Council gives to all non-Jedi sentients that marry a Jedi, soulmates or no, but he can’t. He’s the youngest person to sit on the Council in written history, he’s survived a war, trained the stubbornest Padawan of her generation, and this--this--looking across the table at Anakin Skywalker, dolled up and petty and full of hatred for him as he wears another man’s ring, Obi-Wan’s former master’s ring--this is going to be the thing that kills him.

Luckily, no one tries to stop him as he leaves. Maybe they think he’s just reacting to the fact that his fifty-eight year old master came home with a twenty-five year old husband. Maybe everything he’s feeling is written out on his face. Maybe he should never have tried to hide Anakin away. Maybe he should have called for extraction from his deep cover mission as soon as their hands had touched and their soulmarks had appeared. Maybe these past seven years should never have happened.

Force knows Obi-Wan would sleep easier if he had never walked into that Tatooine bar. If he had never met Anakin Skywalker.

He tries to meditate in his favorite spot in the Room of A Thousand Fountains, but it’s an impossible task. Mostly, he sits in a classic lotus position and broods.

A few hours later, when Obi-Wan thinks he’s recovered some of his composure, the person who’s always been able to ruin it sits himself down in front of him with a lot of unnecessary noise.

“When you talked about this place, I thought it sounded like the biggest waste of water in the entire galaxy,” Anakin’s voice sounds...normal. Like they’re picking up the thread of a conversation they had just dropped a moment ago, as if five years and a wedding and a war don’t stretch between them.

But if Anakin wants to talk to Obi-Wan like they had before, he’ll try his hardest to meet him there. Slowly, he opens his eyes. Anakin’s lounging back, still wearing the ceremonial robes of a Jedi’s bride, the loose blue silk barely hanging onto one of his shoulders. Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes again, immediately. “The greenery wouldn’t be able to survive without the water.”

Anakin nods, looking around as if slightly disinterested by it all. When he’d been eighteen, he’d soaked up every story Obi-Wan could tell him about the Temple, about the Jedi. Those piercing blue eyes find him again. It’s as if he knows Obi-Wan’s thoughts, because he smiles in the most humorless way. “I used to think I’d live here, and then I could see for myself if the beauty was worth the excess.”

“And?” Obi-Wan asks. It’s all he can get out of his throat. It’s very clear what Anakin isn’t saying. That he used to think he’d live here with Obi-Wan. That they'd be--that they'd be.

“Now I understand that there’s no winning that argument. What one man sees as a waste, another might see as a treasure.”

Obi-Wan can’t do this. He thought--maybe he could--but. He can’t. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, moving to stand on his feet. “I hate to leave, but I must attend to--”

Anakin scrambles to his feet and latches onto Obi-Wan’s covered wrist. “Do you?” he asks intently, his hold tightening. “Did you?”

“This--this is most inappropriate, Chosen Skywalker, please remove yourself from my person.”

Anakin, blast him, moves even closer. Obi-Wan wonders if he can hear his heartbeat from that far away or if it’s just in Obi-Wan’s ears. “You have to tell me,” he demands. He’s always demanded things from Obi-Wan. Stories, and kisses, and comfort, and promises. Obi-Wan had given him everything he’d asked for, up until the very end.

Unsurprisingly, nothing has changed.

“Tell you what,” Obi-Wan snaps, yanking his wrist away from Anakin’s touch. Even through the covering, his skin feels burned. “Tell you that I hated having to leave you? Tell you that I’ve thought about you every night since then? Tell you that there was a war, that I had to fight, that I didn’t choose to go? That I had a duty to the galaxy, to the Jedi, to my family?”

“You had a duty to me!” Anakin snarls back, squaring his shoulders and shoving forward into Obi-Wan’s space. “I was your soulmate and you left me and I waited and you never once called me, never once tried to visit! And then the war ended and you never came back!” His voice breaks and the flood of words Obi-Wan desperately does not want to hear breaks with it for just a second. “Why didn’t you come back? I don’t...I don’t care that you had to fight. I knew I couldn’t leave with you, not until I had freed my mom. But you just. You left.”

“I’m not the same man I was, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says softly. His voice shakes and he has to turn his head away from his soulmate’s watery blue eyes. “The war--it changed me. It hurt, to fight and kill and strategize on how to more effectively fight and kill the next day. Four years of that, and I knew at the end I wasn’t fit to be anyone’s soulmate, least of all yours.”

When Obi-Wan had first met him, Anakin had been laughing. His head had been tipped back, curls falling over his shoulders. The noise had been loud and honest. He’d been radiant in the Force. It had taken weeks for Obi-Wan to really believe something so bright could be the other half of his soul.

“I wanted to,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Every night I wanted to, and it only got harder after the war ended. I never stopped wanting to. Wanting you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan wants to ask him why it matters if he believes him or not, but Anakin’s words from earlier float back to him. They decided they didn’t want to stay with me, that they didn’t want me. He can’t let Anakin continue to think Obi-Wan didn’t want him, not when he wanted him so badly he ached from it.

With shaking fingers, he moves to pull down the collar of his robes, just far enough that he can pull out the japor snippet he’s worn around his neck since the day Anakin gave it to him. He slowly lifts it over his head and presents it to his soulmate. Anakin’s eyes are wide with wonder as he stares down at the necklace, worm almost smooth by how often Obi-Wan had rubbed the carving with his thumb. “Always, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, reaching out to grab Anakin’s hand and dropping the wood carving into his palm. He carefully folds the man’s lax fingers around the necklace.

Hating himself for doing it, but needing to do it anyway, he brushes his lips over his fingers in a ghost of a kiss. Beneath his mouth, the wedding band feels warm from Anakin’s body heat. It’s a shockingly cold reminder.

“May the Force bless you and your Chosen, and reunite you at every end of your every day,” Obi-Wan whispers the Council’s official blessings for newly-wed couples into Anakin’s skin.This is the last time he’s ever going to touch him. He doesn’t want to let go.

He must. He does.