#that he often ascribes to and takes on himself

[stormofdefiance]

🤔 this boy ain’t right………

[dynamightmite]

you seem optimistic so you think we’re still getting shigaraki back? :( i’m really sad the way hori has handled the izuku tenko plotline as of right now like i just can’t wrap my head around this

I mean, I definitely think it's a possibility. We still don't know exactly what happened to overhaul/decay, and how it may be used in the future. We saw Tenko and Deku touch fists; theoretically there could have been some kind of exchange there, or he could be existing as a vestige in some way.

Then again, (and this is going to piss a lot of people off :')) I kind of... get where Horikoshi is going with it?

BEFORE YOU START BOOING!

I think a lot of the discomfort and hurt from fans comes from the perception that Izuku failed to save Tenko. That, by allowing him to die, the narrative is in fact saying he didn't deserve to be save--that Horikoshi himself doesn't believe Tenko truly deserved it. I have also seen a lot of talk about how it doesn't fit in with the ongoing, overarching themes of the narrative, and (while I'm not saying these people are wrong) I would like to push back on that a little, because I think there is precedence in the story as to why Tenko's death holds up, despite it being terrible.

The culmination of Tenko's arc broaches a crossroad of two major concepts in the story: heroes, and saving, and what both of those ideas mean. And, I think, in Tenko's death, we get and answer to both, and more importantly, an answer to his overall purpose.

What does it mean to save? In BNHA, the concept is a little vague. I've often people ascribe the "total victory" mindset as one of protection, as preventing any tragedy or harm. Through that lens, Tenko's death therefore is an automatic failure--a nonstarter. HE's dead, so he wasn't saved. The end. However, while "saving" might seem like a simple, straight forward concept, I would like to dig a little deeper, because I think what Horikoshi's doing is much more interesting.

Saving (Deku's definition of it, anyway) is a lot closer to freeing than it is to protecting. Which sounds weird, but I'll do my best to explain. I think the two best examples of this particular nuance to his definition are actually in two characters people tend to forget he saved: Shoto and Gentle Criminal.

Because he did save both of them. Not in the really obvious, black-and-white way he saved Eri, no, but he did save them. And both times were... painful, to say the least.

When Deku went after Shoto during the sport's festival, it wasn't, like, nice. He dug his little nerd fingers in where it hurt the worst and dragged out Shoto's biggest fears and insecurities, and then he said GET OVER THEM. Stop letting them control you. Stop letting your father control you. You're your own person, and you get to make your own choices.

He didn't punch Endeavor. He didn't even take pity on Shoto, or say he was sorry. But you know what he did do? Deku cut the leash. AND he damn near killed Shoto (and himself) making sure that Shoto understood that he was free. He gave Shoto back something that he'd been missing, something he was afraid to look in the face; something that Deku picked up, brushed off, and said, "please stop throwing this away, it's important. You're important".

And it works, goddamit.

Gentle is both different and similar. In a similar vein, the way Deku saves Gentle is sort of... not obvious. But I think if you look here:

Gentle isn't a bad person. He's ambitious and a little lax about the law, but he never set out to hurt anybody. But we see over the course of his arc how he gets so tangled up in his own pain and his desperation to be seen that he forgets his own ideals, his own morals. In the face of becoming someone, he loses sight of what matters most to him: just like Deku, Gentle wants to be a hero.

Which, in the end, he is. And Deku's the one who pushes him there.

But what about Tenko? What about the crying child inside him? Why wasn't he saved?

When people talk about child Tenko, they often seem to see him as a symbol of the person that Deku's trying to save. But I think that, just maybe, that's wrong. I think maybe, actually, Deku is trying to save Tenko from that child.

Child Tenko is, in many ways, a symbol of nothing but AFO's power. That is a child stripped of his name, of his original quirk, of his family, of his sense of self. That is a puppet controlled by AFO, without any autonomy of its own. That child is a wound that Tenko cannot escape for as long as AFO still holds any power over him.

That's why this chapter All Might said that maybe Deku did save Tenko, if he no longer saw the child version of him in the vestige realm. Deku did save him. Because Tenko isn't a child anymore, and he isn't AFO's puppet; he's a free man, for the first time in his life.

A free man who chooses to be a hero.

Heroes get talked about a lot in BNHA (duh), but what is the defining quality of a true hero? Someone who wins? Sure. Someone who saves? Yeah, of course. But the actual test of what differentiates a hero from everybody else is their willingness to sacrifice. To give up everything for the greater good. Even if it hurts. Sometimes especially if it hurts. I mean, this has come up a lot through the manga. Deku running in to attack the sludge villain, Mirio giving up his quirk, Eraserhead throwing himself in front of his students, Edgeshot shortening his lifespan to save Bakugo, All Might standing quirkless in front of the greatest evil of his time-- literally the constant refrain from the narrative has been that being willing to sacrifice it all is what makes a hero a hero.

Tenko's final wish from last chapter is gut wrenching, but: he wanted to be a hero for the Villains. The rest of the world can rot for all he cares, but his friends, those disenfranchised, hurt people that everyone else gave up on? Those people who have never been saved, those people who have never been protected... he wants to be their hero. In the face of danger, of certain doom, he is a free man, and he has a choice.

So he makes a sacrifice. His final act is to become a hero. For them.

Cue the sobbing tears.

Additionally, I think it's relevant to point out here how strongly the narrative has advocated for victimhood to be divorced from being a perpetual self-identity. It really emphasizes the power of choosing to rise above your situation and pain to help other people, while also suggesting that your pain does not excuse you from hurting people. You can be a victim and you can be a perpetrator; they are not mutually exclusive. And because of this, after Deku saves Tenko, he does not owe him. He saved Tenko, but he could not keep him alive, and... I don't think that it's about Tenko deserving or not deserving to die. It's just that Tenko had reached a point of no return where his only choices were to die a slave or die free and he broke his shackles. But he was always going to die. Doomed by the narrative, both literally and figuratively. We can argue all day as to what degree of responsibility he holds for his actions as a highly abused, traumatized, often shell of a person. But the point is that at every junction of the story, Tenko (and the story around him) escalated until he was trapped. There wasn't a way out, and it's heartbreaking, and maybe that's the point.

I'm not saying it's fair. I'm certainly not saying you have to like it. But... I don't know. I don't feel like this is some completely out of pocket, off-the-rails end that destroyed all its characters. And who knows! Maybe Tenko will be brought back later. Maybe the epilogue will get progressively worse and I'll hate it. Maybe I'll finally get some sleep and regret writing this at all. I have no idea. Really. But we're all in this together, so these are my thoughts right now :)

[bidisastersanji]

"Zoro gets lost because he uses his red string of fate like a compass- and that's why Sanji always finds him" was one of the first things I posted and now it's real! I got three chapters and here's the first part below the cut. Click here to read it on AO3 if you prefer. each part is around 1.5k words. edit: part 2 here, part 3 here

Zoro has always been a simple man; one of actions over words and of tangible things over what he considers trivial. It’s therefore not surprising that, in a world where certain people are bound by fate, each in their own unique way- some rumoured to share markings on their skin, some with changing eye colours, or even some who feel phantom pains from across the sea- in such a spectacular world, Zoro doesn’t really linger on the red piece of thread tied to his pinky finger. 

The red thread hasn’t ever really been a question in his mind, it just was.  

As far back as he could remember, it’s just been there, infinitely stretching Northwards, unmoving and unseen by others. Subconsciously, he taught himself to use it as a compass to navigate his home island, Shimotsuki. He never had to remember to take it with him, and it reliably was always stretching in the same direction, which was perfectly convenient with the function he’d ascribed it. His odd way of getting around easily became second nature, a habit so deeply ingrained that he barely gave a second thought to the bright cord on his hand. 

--- 

He’s about eight years old when things change. 

The first day Zoro gets lost, he thinks he might’ve missed one of the steps he memorised, jaw tight with repressed irritation at being reprimanded for his lateness to practice. 

The second time he gets lost he’s in the forest, thick trees towering over him in all directions, and when the sun starts to lower in the sky, frustration bubbles up in his chest, tight and sour, stinging his eyes, threatening to spill out as he struggles to find his way back to the dojo. They must’ve cut down some trees or something, he scoffs to himself. 

The third time he gets lost, he’s pretty certain that someone must be playing a prank on him and moved the garden shed from its usual spot. There’s no other reasonable explanation -short of the shed growing legs- seeing as he’s such a natural at getting around. 

From then on, Zoro learns to accept that he lives in a world where people mysteriously move landmarks, buildings and roads around all the time. He tries not to take it too personally, being the target of all these pranks, but he does resent the time he wastes when getting around, as its precious time he could’ve been using to be training. Training to finally beat Kuina. 

It takes him weeks to realise that maybe the string on his hand isn’t pointing in the same direction anymore. 

Once he does notice, he notes that it periodically moves around- sometimes a bit, sometimes a lot, always right when he starts getting used to it damnit and no his sense of direction is just fine thank you. After the first couple of students at the dojo get their asses handed to them for teasing him about it, adults and children alike learn not to poke fun at the glaring, directionally challenged green-haired boy, no matter how often nor absurdly he gets turn around.  

The only person that Zoro reveals his little secret to is Kuina.  

He’s eleven, still a head or two shorter than her, and they’re taking a little break from sparring, sharing some homemade onigiri her mom made her. They’re sat in a tree’s shade, a pleasant breeze cooling their overheated skin, and she asks him about his infamously atrocious spatial navigation. He denies it at first, ears heating up in embarrassment, but after a couple more bites he decides if anyone were to know, it would have to be her. His friend. His only best friend. 

The young Zoro reveals that he’s not really sure why he gets lost in the first place- he's always relied on the thread- not landmarks or maps, as he’s now learned others do- to tell up from down, but one day it just moved. His north star moved, and has kept on moving these past three years, and he still doesn’t know why, just that it’s a real bother. 

“Your... thread?” 

“Yeah.” he eagerly stuffs his mouth with more onigiri. 

Her eyebrow raises quizzically. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

Zoro gestures to his pinky with a tilt of his chin and a wiggle of his finger. “You know. My red string. On my pinky.” 

“Zoro, I really don’t. I don’t see anything...” She furrows her brow, thoughtful. “But mom did give me ‘the talk’ last week- maybe this has to do with your soulmate!” Sensing a certain disinterest from her junior, she goes on. “Based on the examples I’ve heard about; I’d say it’s likely that the piece of string on your finger leads to your other half.” 

Zoro shrugs lazily. “Sounds like a drag, couldn’t this just be like, my inner compass or somethin’?” 

Her eyes crinkle at that, a grin splitting her face from ear-to-ear. “What inner compass, moron? You always get lost. And aren’t you the least bit interested in the person on the other end?” She pokes him in the chest. 

“Not really, no.” Zoro tries to brush off the taunt, lips pursed and palming his neck in a nervous tick. 

“Ok, think about it this way,” Kuina calls for his attention, “Somewhere out there, on this wide, wide sea- or a faraway island, I guess, there’s someone meant for you. Your person. Your equal. Isn’t that the least bit exciting?” 

The young boy’s scowl shifts into something softer, a pout. “I... guess?” He sighs. “I honestly don’t know- all I care about is becoming the best. Right now, Kuina, you’re my goal, you’re who I’m looking to. I don’t really care about this stranger, or fate, or anything like that. I’m gonna make my own destiny.” 

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. “Why am I not surprised- Zoro, all you think about are swords and fighting. You’re hopeless. I kind of worry for whoever’s stuck with you-” 

“Hey!” his nostrils flare with indignation. “They’re lucky to have me as a soulmate! I’m gonna be so strong- the strongest- and,” he slows down, realising she’d tricked him into caring, just a tiny bit, “a-and they’ll be the happiest soulmate ever ‘cause I’ll protect them.” 

She hums in agreement, amused. “And you’ll cherish them, right?” 

“Y-yeah...whatever.” he stands up abruptly, eager to change the topic and get back to training. “But my priority is to be the greatest swordsman- and don’t you forget it! I’ll beat you tomorrow for sure!” 

- 

After Kuina’s death, thoughts of soulmates and red threads rarely ever cross his mind. 

At her funeral, he briefly wonders what’ll become of her soulmate, if she even had one, but it just brings bile to his throat. They’d never even met her- why did they even matter. They were the ones mourning her, the ones robbed of their beloved friend, daughter, rival- they were the ones left behind with a Kuina shaped hole in their chests. The bitter burn distracts from the heavy emptiness he can’t shake off, the cold wetness of grief seeping into his skin. He wholeheartedly leans into the fury, grateful for a target, a temporarily outlet for the howling tempest of emotions caused by the loss of his best friend. 

Zoro’s world zeroes in on becoming the best. Pushing himself to the limit. Sparring, training. Constant practice and meditation. After Kuina’s death, there’s no student at the dojo for him to look up to, no ever-progressing goalpost he can set as a target. If he stays, he’ll continue being a big fish in a little pond.  

Zoro leaves. 

He sails the East Blue, seeking stronger and stronger opponents, cashing in bounties to get by. The Demon of the East Blue, they start calling him. But he’s still the same boy who gets lost, the ghost of a red thread distracting his steps and getting him turned around as he travels from island to island. His odd navigating system is as familiar and mechanical as the way his muscles move when he uses his swords, so ingrained he rarely registers that he’s eyeing the thin, tightly corded rope in his peripheral vision. 

Arms tied back with a much thicker, tangible rope, body sore, throat parched and delirious from the burning sun, Zoro doesn’t have much to do in Shell Town’s military yard. For the first time in years, he lets himself contemplate the implications of what Kuina had explained to him- the implications of having a person out there meant for him. He wonders if they’ll ever meet- it seems unlikely if he died here. Which he won’t, of course. Because he’s going to be the world’s greatest swordsman, and not even death will keep him away from achieving his dream. Then- only then, will he maybe think of looking for whoever was stuck with him, he decides. It’ll be his decision. 

For now, he’ll just keep following whatever path he feels will lead him to greatness. 

And what an odd path he stumbles into. Zoro joins a pirate crew. He makes friends. They get into heaps of trouble, fighting the marines, a crazy clown, a creepy butler... Zoro is happy to test his mettle, to feel challenged once again, the rush of battle pulsing through his veins like the sweetest nectar, the comforting weight of his blades grasped in his hands and mouth. 

- 

It’s been a couple of days since they left Syrup village now, and from her spot on Merry’s bridge, Nami has been giving him weird looks. 

“Did you hit your head?” 

He huffs, miffed at being bothered during his nap. “No. Why’re you asking?” 

“You haven’t been getting lost as much lately.” she smirks when she adds, “And I’ve seen you get lost on a smaller ship than this, once.” 

His eyes roll. Fucking witch. “Dunno what you mean, my sense of direction is great.” 

“And Luffy’s a great swimmer.” 

They glare at each other for a moment. Sensing she won’t get any more info from the swordsman, Nami turns away first and sighing, returns her full attention to manning the ship’s helm. 

Truth is, the thread had barely moved since they left Usopp’s home island, always pointing in the direction the Merry was sailing- not that Zoro had noticed. This rare situation enabled him to get the hang of the ship’s layout relatively well, and he’d been enjoying how easy it’d become to move around, even though he chalked it up to personal atunement to the Straw hats’ already beloved ship. 

A few hours before they get to the Baratie, he thinks it’s a funny coincidence that the thread is pointing in the direction the Merry is going. 

[plussizefantasia]

Troubled Hearts

Read parts One and Two here: Fluttering Hearts Unsure Hearts

Warnings: guy being creepy, threats of violence, drinking (not reader) we're getting into the angst here guys sorry

a/n: hi, hello, I'm alive sorry for falling off the face of the planet. When I went to go grab the link for part two I realized that I hadn't updated this story since JANUARY!?!?! here is my formal apology: sorry. My goal is to have parts four and five up sometime this month so I can be ready to jump into CozyTober when it starts. Anyway, much love I hope y'all are still interested in the story if not I understand.

Kili Durin x Human!Soulmate!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Kili must hate himself, there is no other reason for why he’s putting himself through this. Months have passed since you had kind of sort of opened up to him and he couldn’t get you to do it again. He’d been spending his nights the same way, a constant presence at the bar. No matter the weather, the dwarf prince would be posted up on a stool. He slowly sipped the same pint throughout the entire evening and his eyes followed you like a hawk. 

You would have thought that his attentions would have waned by now, you’ve been busy with the bar, Brant unable to keep up in his old age. You figure that he was letting you take control. You never really planned to set down roots in Dale, it was supposed to simply be a stop on your journey. 

You had stumbled into the town late one evening and needed a place to stay, despite the tavern not being an inn and not technically having an extra room, Brant was kind enough to let you stay for the night, as long as you worked it off the next day. One night turned into a week, turned into a month and you realized just how much you enjoyed working at the tavern.

You enjoyed feeling needed, even if it was just to refill someone’s glass. You enjoyed putting in effort and watching yourself get better at all the different skills necessary for a place like this, and you enjoyed the subtle anonymity of it all. Nobody really knew why you were there and nobody had really asked either. Your past didn’t follow you and if you were lucky it never would. You had worked hard and carved out a little life for yourself here, a life that you loved.

Well, a life that you loved most of the time. Up until those nights when every man was just a little too drunk, every woman glared just a little too much and your skin felt just a little too wrong on your body. You did your best to let it all fall off your back, to push through and let yourself be lost in your work but you didn’t always succeed.

You were not sure what hour of the night it was, it seemed that within these four walls, time flew and stood still all at once. What you did know however was that you were getting sick of Roland’s jeers and jibes. You were sure that it was his way of flirting, but you had never really ascribed to the type of flirting where you tore the other person down in the hopes that they begged you to build them back up. Roland was a dick. It was as simple as that and if he thought he had a chance with you he was sorely mistaken.

He had yet to get that through his thick skull though. You balanced a tray of pints above your head with one hand and a tray of food in the other. You expertly wove in between patrons, making your way to the back where Roland and his men often gathered.

“Ah, here she is. Lovely lady with a body to match.” He didn’t wait for you to place the tray down on the tabletop next to him. He just reached his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. His hand digging into the flesh there and making you move towards him to try and get away.

“What do you think lads? Don’t we make a pretty picture?” There were slight nods from the men around you, most of them had eyes only for the ale you were still holding. You noticed that this was often the case. Roland spoke and told stories, he was loud but nobody ever really listened to him.

“I think… that I have more work to do so if you would kindly remove your arm from my waist…” You looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “Before I have to remove it for you.” 

He chuckled deeply in his throat but followed your instruction and released you.

“Alright Gents, here are your pints and your pies, anything else for tonight?” Nobody spoke up, except for a few mutters of thanks. “Well, you know where to find me if that changes.”

You made your way back up to the front of house, sliding behind your bar and releasing a deep breath.

“I don’t understand how you do it.” You look up and into the eyes of the dwarf who just spoke.

“Do what Kili?”

“How you let him treat you like… that like you belong to him.”

You bristle at this. “I belong to nobody but myself Your Highness.”

“I know this, and you know this, but the brute doesn't seem to get it.”

“The brute is manageable Kili, he and his friends give this place far too much business for me to be anything less than civil with them.”

“Civil is fine, I just don’t wish to see you get hurt.”

“I appreciate that Kee, but I can handle myself.” 

“I never thought you couldn’t, I just want you to know that you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

“I’ve been on my own for a long time, it's not easy to give that up.” You see a customer flag you down a few tables away. “Know this, my dwarf prince, should I need protecting… you’re the one I’d ask.” You smile at Kili and pass him offering him a small smile as you get back to work.

The night continues much the same, people come and go. The group in the back gets steadily more rowdy and you glance at the clock every once in a while hoping that the hands will have moved further than they have.

You serve food and drink to several patrons throughout the night, most kind some not as much. You were being truthful with Kili when you had told him you’d come to him. You just didn't think you’d ever need to. Your past wasn't the nicest and you’d quickly learned to take care of yourself because the people who are supposed to take care of you won’t always be there when you need them to be.

The time flew by faster than you’d thought, you’d apparently been lost inside your head for most of the night. The only light was that of the candles on each table and the fireplace next to the kitchen which was miraculously still lit. You’re not sure how, it's your job to keep it going and you know that you hadn’t stoked it all night. 

The darkness outside creeps into the space and more and more people begin their journey home. All your regulars settle with you or get glared at for their insistence that they’ll pay up next time. Eventually the space empties… mostly. Roland and his friends have settled a little but they still sit vigil in the back of the space, you lost count of how many rounds they’ve had but none of them are belligerent so it couldn’t have been more than eight. 

“Y/N, Another!” One of his comrades yells toward you. You forget his name, Roland’s never-ending cycle of yes men made it difficult to learn names, so at some point, you’d stopped trying.

“I don’t know if you Gent’s noticed, but we’re closed. Go home, I’m sure your wives are wondering where you are.”

“What the old lady doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The same man yelled out, his remark setting off a burst of laughter from his buddies.

“Come Y/N, one more round and we’ll leave when we’re done.” Roland turned his body to face you and what you imagine to be his attempt at a suave smirk graced his face. 

“Sorry boys, but closed means closed, settle your tabs and go home.” You roll your eyes at the grumbling and whining that come from the group of grown men but do not sway in your decision. One by one they come and hand you some coin, some thank you and some say nothing but all of them leave as they were told.

Roland is the last to come up, as he so often is. “I don’t know why you spend so much time here, if you were mine you’d not have to work one more day in this place.”

“Well, I’m not yours and I like working here.” You place your hand on your hips and cock one out to the side. 

“Yet.” Roland leans over the bar and licks his lips. You lean back in order to put distance between your face and his. 

“Not ever.” You firmly reply. “I am your barmaid nothing more, the sooner you get that the sooner you can move on wooing the other ladies this wonderful town has to offer.”

“Ah, but none of these other ladies stir me as much as you do.” His grin becomes sharper and he moves even closer to you. 

The space behind the bar isn’t very large, big enough for one person really, and with how far he’s leaning you can feel your back brushing against the shelves behind you. 

“The only thing I want from you Roland is payment for your tab and for you to leave.” Your voice carried the weariness that was creeping into your heart, men like Roland rarely took no for an answer. You didn’t want to have to hurt him, it would be hard to explain. 

“Such harsh words darling, I promise I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am.” He reached forward and grasped your wrist. You pulled away instinctively and his grip hardened. “I think you might even like it.” Your face screwed up and you bared your teeth ready to rip out of his hold.

“Get your hand off her.”

Your head whipped to the voice. Kili. Why was he still here? How long had he been here? How much had he seen?

“Piss off runt, this is between me and the lady.” Roland didn’t move his eyes away from you.

“Remove your hand from my One or lose it, you oaf.” Kili growled from the corner of the room. The sharp sound of metal reverberated from the space and if you thought the rage on Kili’s face was intense, it was even more striking with a sword in his grip.

Both you and Roland were looking at the dwarf now. Your lips had parted and your eyes widened. Not only because you were sure blood would be spilled tonight but because of what Kili said. A thousand thoughts ran through your head all in the same second. You had to shake yourself back to the present.

Roland’s grip on your wrist slacked a bit and you took the opportunity to bring your arm to your chest. Your eyes bounced between the two men. You looked around behind the counter, searching desperately for something you could use. You let out a breath when you caught sight of the wooden handle resting on top of a wet rag.

“Pay the lady and leave, like she asked.” Kili took a step closer to the brute his posture reminding you of a coiled snake, muscles tight underneath his skin and ready to strike. 

“I do not take orders from dwarves.” Roland’s voice had deepened, his frustration bleeding through into every syllable. His hand reached out towards the axe holstered on his belt.

“You will either leave here with your dignity, or you will not leave at all. That I can be sure of.”

“Mighty words for an imp.” Roland pulled his axe from his belt and took a step towards Kili. As much as you might like to see the two fight, and you really did.  You needed to stop this before it started. 

You grasped the knife that had been lying on the towel and firmly drove it into the counter in front of you. The noise stopped both men in their tracks and they turned their heads to you, not yet dropping their battle stances.

“Enough. I will not be cleaning any blood off these walls tonight. Roland, you're drunk and daft-  a combination no woman in her right mind would want. Leave and don’t show your face here again. There are plenty of other places to drink, choose one.” You look into his eyes as you rip the knife from the wood, pointing it towards him and gesturing towards the door. 

He grumbles but holsters his axe and begins to leave.

“Oaf, you forget something?” Kili called out to him. You cut your eyes to the dark-haired prince narrowing your gaze on him. “Or are you the type of man to run out on his debt?” 

Roland turns slowly and his hand flexes by his side. He takes a large breath before grabbing a small leather bundle from his coat pocket and throwing it up on the counter. Kili smirks and nods his head. 

Roland lets out a low growl but continues on his path, pushing past the doors and onto the street. You don’t move until he turns the corner. At which point you deflate. Your head falls forward like a puppet without strings and you take a deep breath to soothe your racing heart.

“What was that?” Your question, head still bowed.

“What?” Kili takes a step toward you and you shoot up.

“What was that Kili!?” Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I had it handled, I don’t need you coming in here and threatening people!”

“He put his hands on you!” Kili shouts.

“So you pull your sword?! I do not need a bodyguard Kili let alone one with a temper as bad as yours.” You throw your hand up and drag one across your forehead. “Know this, Your Highness, I have no intention of being claimed by you.” Kili’s eyes grow wide and he opens his mouth to speak, “Do not think I don’t know what a One is, I have traveled these lands for a very long time.” You interrupt him. “I have been claimed by far too many men far too many times, I told you, I belong to nobody but myself now. Do you understand?” You look into his eyes, waiting for a response.

“I have no intention of claiming you, I simply wish to share my life with you.” 

“That is very sweet Kili, but you don’t me. You cannot possibly wish to spend your life with me.”

“Then let me get to know you.” He pleads, “I have never felt like this before.” He takes several steps towards you, pulling your hand into his own and looking up into your eyes. “They say that being with your One is the greatest joy a dwarrow can know. I have had a taste now, being in your space, speaking with you, hearing your laugh, and seeing you smile. It has made me feel more alive than any battle and made my heart more full than it has ever been. I will not force you into anything, I care for you too much for that but I will plead with you. Please amralime, give me a chance to make you as happy as you make me. Let me stay by your side and know you not just as a friend but as a partner, through all things.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs and the beat from your heart. They make you feel like you're flying and sinking all at the same time. There is a part of you, deep down that is screaming for you to give in, to let him love you. 

“Kili I-” You pause, “I am tired. Tired of a great many things. I-I I think you should go.” You turn from him and blink back the tears that flood your eyes. You hear him sigh followed by the creek of the floorboard he stands on as he shifts his weight. He does not speak though, simply drops his arm from where it had been holding your hand and makes his way to the door. 

You hear it open and your shoulders tense, the chill air floods into the room and nips at your skin. Then the door shuts and you're alone. Not for the first time, you question if this really is all for the best.

taglist: @bunnybabe-babydoll @kokochanel111 @shiinata-library @oneiratxxia10 @targaryenteam @sunnysidesidra @shadowrose13-blog1-blog1

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

P5R Random Thoughts #3: Annoyance, Anger, and Conviction

Or, just a couple more random thoughts about Joker.

I actually do enjoy that Joker seems to sometimes get genuinely frustrated with his friends' antics - I don't know if it reads that way to anyone else, but a combination of his dialogue options and character model body language definitely reads that way to me.

He's gotten mildly annoyed with Ryuji's loudness on several occasions - often having dialogue choices that are essentially some variant of "keep your voice down!" Much as Joker feels what I suspect is quite a lot of gratitude for Ryuji's unflinching support and passion (he was his first friend in Tokyo, after all - no deal, just friendship), his dialogue options also become a lot more passive aggressive during early Kaneshiro arc - and small wonder, because Ryuji's eager carelessness actually did get them caught; thankfully by Makoto, and not law enforcement. Of course, he still cares a lot about Ryuji; I think he's just a little frustrated right now.

He's usually pretty chill with Morgana bossing him around - for what reason, I honestly couldn't tell you, but he does pretty much anything that not-cat recommends. However, when Morgana spontaneously invites Yusuke to stay with Joker without asking him, Joker kind of "!!" and looks at him. It's then followed up with everyone deciding to invite themselves to Joker's place, again, without asking him and Morgana encouraging it. The scene ends with Joker straight up elbowing/jostling Morgana in the bag after everyone's left for Leblanc. Pfft.

He tells Yusuke to hurry it up in Mementos when he gets too in the zone... and much as you can't rush an artist, they do near immediately get jumped by Shadows after that, so, you know, he does have a point.

Even with Ann, Joker frequently sweatdrops at her kind of out-there ideas of how to strengthen her heart. While I wouldn't call it annoyance, per se, there is at least one scene I can think of where two of the options straight up shut her down, and the last is basically a sarcastic "good luck with that", which Ann proceeds to take at face value as encouragement, leading to Joker sweatdropping once again. Lol.

So many of these are basically the equivalent of Joker going >:( at his friends and them typically completely not noticing which is funny as heck.

Also, because I'm the kind of person who loves to read into things, I think it can tell us a little more about Joker. What actually frustrates him here?

Drawing attention to the group in the real world - something he actively tries to avoid, at first, because of consequences for him, and then, because it puts the thieves at risk

Getting himself and the group into unnecessary trouble - so we've got two instances of Joker being mindful of potential consequences

People getting invited over without being asked first - this one's a little ambiguous as to why. Could be a simple courtesy thing, could be related to Joker's earlier obvious discomfort with people getting in his personal space without permission, could be that he likes his privacy. Personally, I suspect he's actually somewhat embarrassed and a little concerned about what his friends' reactions will be to where he's staying - I do have some reasons for this interpretation but ultimately, no matter what reason you ascribe, he's definitely not initially happy about this spontaneous invitation by Morgana.

I think we can even condense the first two and say that Joker seems to be a little more focused on outcomes and consequences than much of the rest of his group, who (before Makoto joins) very much people who act in the immediate moment. He's not quite on par with Morgana's brand of pragmatism, but he does seem to always be at least thinking ahead.

There are a few exceptions, however.

Joker's actual anger is something he is evidently not good at hiding. He has an excellent poker face, but his eyes and, apparently, the way he speaks give it away entirely. To hide his anger, he outright has to not say anything and obscure his face. That actually does not seem like someone who is especially good at hiding strong emotions, even if he can school the rest of himself.

Ann, of all people, has to make excuses for his obvious disdain towards a cop. Every single dialogue option is some flavour of snippy comment. His character model continues to stare directly at said cop, even after Ann interrupts.

He is not thinking about consequences here. Joker fucking hates cops, and he is either very bad at hiding it - or he has no desire to. A very similar thing happened with Kamoshida too. He has nothing but disdain for abusers with power and authority over those they hurt. He also outright doesn't trust the justice system at all after seeing how it failed him and so many others ("They do more than the cops" <-hello. on live tv no less.).

And this leads to something else that's actually a fairly interesting facet to his character that I'm curious to see if it'll get acknowledged in some way.

For the most part, despite the Metaverse confidence and flashiness (which I feel isn't a great metric anyways - all the thieves are like that), Joker responds to most compliments and successes by either complimenting the whole team in turn, or brushing it off as luck or not a huge deal. This is likely in part a cultural thing, but when it comes to genuine appreciation being shown, he does seem to have some semblance of humility about it all - which is why it's almost hilariously shocking how pushy he can be about helping others.

He chases after Ann because she's upset, even though initially she told him not to. He corners some of the students getting exploited by Kaneshiro and won't leave until they tell him the details, even resorting to playing into the rumours about him so that they'll talk. He overhears his confidants in some kind of trouble on several occasions and near immediately asks them about it, and then continues to bring it up if they don't elaborate. It's notable that these instances are some of the few things he decides to do himself, without Morgana's explicit encouragement. I suspect a lot of this is because he has so little faith in anyone else to do the right thing - he has no trust in the justice system, and most adults don't seem to care. But Joker cares, and he will listen to what happened, and he will do something about it, and he will help, and he does so by refusing to let up - he does not wait for someone to ask for help necessarily, he just kind of goes and does it. It's not like I can't see the rationale here, but it's also, kind of, a little bit... presumptuous, in a way.

Again, it's a fascinating contrast with his typical (at least apparent) humility, and his kind of wishy-washy dialogue from early game - Joker has always been firm about this.

The official forming of the Phantom Thieves at the buffet is a scene that really caught my eye for this. Again, much as Joker has the same level of anger as his friends, his answers are still largely "probably"s and "maybe"s. He "hadn't even considered" continuing to act as Phantom Thieves. But interestingly, there is one dialogue option that is stated with none of the usual hesitancy or vagueness - "I want to help people". <- It's the crux of his awakening. This is Joker's true conviction. And he's willing to do anything, be whoever he needs to be, to see this through. He wants to help. He can't bring himself to look away.

Asserting the Phantom Thieves' brand of justice is a conviction that arises later on through proof of the effectiveness of changing hearts, and as a natural extension of his growing familiarity and confidence in their methods. Joker nearly always needs a little push to get started, but once he gets going, he's kind of relentless. He doesn't seem to be truly all that angry with either Makoto or Akechi for their questioning of the thieves' justice (barring his initial reaction), but he does, again, get annoyed at the assumption that the thieves are somehow a threat to people who aren't inflicting harm onto others - Joker says the thieves only target "criminals", implying that even though others may see them as criminals themselves, Joker does not agree. And when Makoto winds up joining them, there appears to be no residual hard feelings from him - she's like them, and she's come around.

It's likely too soon for me to state with any certainty, but I do think that's what Joker is hoping for - that people will come around if he gives them undeniable proof that they help instead of harm. Every character has at least some "selfish" motive to being a Phantom Thief, in addition to the shared goal of providing courage for those left abandoned by society. Ryuji wants positive instead of negative attention for once, Morgana wants his memories, Ann wants to alleviate her feelings of guilt surrounding Shiho, Yusuke aims to understand the human heart, and Makoto wants to feel useful and needed. What about Joker?

He started off this story just trying to help. No one believed him. He was punished for "hurting" someone and there was nothing he could say or do that would convince anyone otherwise. It was his word against society's. And when the Phantom Thieves' motives are brought up, it's the same questions: aren't they going to hurt people? Aren't they dangerous and untrustworthy? And this frustrates Joker in a similar way to the rumours surrounding his own arrest, but now - now he has proof. Proof that they helped, proof that this works. It's undeniable, to him, that real good is coming of this. And so now he has a leg to stand on; he can actually argue his point by saying "the Phantom Thieves aren't like that; look at the people they're helping, and how the people who should've done something can't do half the good they do". It's no longer his word against the rest of the world. He's counting on people being unable to deny what they are forced to witness.

In a way, Joker now has grounds not just to plead the Phantom Thieves' justice... but also his own innocence and good intentions. His defense of their justice is also, I believe, a defense of his own ego, to an extent.

[enchantedescapist]

Theodore Nott Headcannons/Background

IT'S KINDA MESSY WRITTEN BUT I LIKE IT SO GIVE IT A CHANCE :)

Theodore Nott was born on October 26th (scorpio) at Florence,Italy and he was raised at the city of Salisbury in Southern England .He is quiet, exceptionally intelligent, and a pretty handsome boy; he doesn't have a superiority complex like others in his friendgroup, but he is very confident and charming carrying also a pride for his house (Slytherin). He has his friends ( Mattheo Riddle,Draco Malfoy,Blaise Zabini,Enzo Berkshire) - but he is a quiet loner an introvert but without that making him antisocial..in fact he is very good with words and fast come backs.He’s very much an observer of the world around him, judging everyone and making wry, snarky, generally sarcastic comments about them in his head and sometimes not only in his head.Theodere might seem the most cold and distant in the friendgroup but he is in his core a kind person ,with humour always making his closest people laugh and generous you just need to know him first and make him feel comfortable otherwise he is very mysterious and private with his life.

Despite being labeled as a "fuckboy" in his friend group and the whole Hogwarts do be in fact ,due to his flirting tendencies,his attractive appearance and his charming words, Theodore craves genuine love and connection. He enjoys attention, especially from girls, but deep down, he desires a meaningful relationship.

Theodore’s mother Rosalina died when he was a young child. She had a rare illness that gradually caused her to lose the ability to use magic - weakening her and pretty much turning her into a Squib, although Theodore didn’t see it that way, but his father did: Tiberius Nott refused to visit his wife in the hospital and basically pretended that she didn’t exist (although he did pay for a private suite in St. Mungo’s.) Theodore, although perhaps six or seven, visited his mother alone, learning how to take the Floo Network to St. Mungo’s to visit and often staying there.

He was present when Rosalina Nott died, providing him with the ability to see thestrals. It also gave him the determination to become a Healer when he graduated from Hogwarts.: it’s his overriding ambition, and he’s utterly driven to succeed. He was particularly good at Potions, and eventually became Potions Master for St. Mungo’s.Its important to mention that Theodore was a good student but he wasnt studying for hours like others ,he was simply doing the bare minimum and that was enough for him.

Theodore’s also a skilled Occlumens - and self-taught, since it’s a skill he found both interesting and useful. (As other skills go, his best subject is Potions; he often finds himself second in the class behind Hermione - third behind Harry in sixth year - something he resents Hermione for. He’s rather baffled by Harry’s sudden sixth-year success but ascribes it to Slughorn’s favoritism.) 5. Is known to everyone that Theodore loves quidditch, he is probably the best beater in the slytherin team.He is very passionate about it and its also a way for him to let his anger out and feel more free ( just go to therapy you have alot of job to do darling) 6.Theodore Nott is also a pragmatic realist but he doesnt believe in blood purity ideology,he is nowhere near as gung-ho as Draco. In fact, he hopes to wait until the war is over and thinks of joining the DEs as something that he’s obligated to do rather than what he genuinely wants to do. (The masks, the grandiose speeches, the pretense of anonymity when he knows practically everyone in the Dark Lord’s inner circle - it’s all utterly ridiculous to him.) 7. He spent the most Christmas alone if he is not invited to the Malfoy manor (which is very grateful for Narcissa and Lucius wanting him), his father is in Azkaban for the Department of Mysteries attack and…many other things but its whatever for him they were not getting along ever ( childhood trauma), and Theodore has no surviving relatives, family members and he doesnt prefer to stay at Hogwarts to face the pity of someone like Albus Dumbledore.Theodore's childhood was marked by loneliness, especially during the holidays alone in an empty house, his only gifts from the family house-elves who rummaged through the attic in an attempt to cheer him up - his Christmas holiday was generally cold, lonely, and sad. 8. Theo was also having a difficulty producing his patronus ( a Husky ) but there was always a memory which made him succeed and find peace the same time …(In the sitting room of the Nott Manor, the young Theodore sits beside his mother, Rosalina, at the grand piano. The room is filled with the soft glow of candlelight. Rosalina's fingers gracefully glide over the keys, coaxing out a melody that fills the air with warmth.As Theodore watches his mother play, a small smile graces his lips, and his eyes light up with admiration. He listens intently, completely enraptured by the music flowing from her fingertips.

With a gentle nudge from Rosalina, Theodore tentatively places his own small hands on the keys, mirroring her movements as they play together. Despite his initial hesitation, he soon finds his rhythm, the music becoming a harmonious duet between them.In that moment, young Theodore feels a sense of peace and contentment wash over him). It's a memory he'll carry with him always, a precious reminder of the bond they share and the joy found in the simple pleasure. Still that day, you can find Theodore playing piano when he feels valunerable or misses his mother a lot, he also doesnt say he can play piano but merlin knows why.

**REPOST AND LIKE IF YOU WANT PART 2! I was so happy while writting it haha.

[valerileygreen]

Sometimes I just get blown by how much of what Arthur does is motivated by his sense of protectiveness. Even more than his loyalty, though they go fairly hand in hand.

Loyalty means he would never sell or otherwise betray his teammates, nor abandon someone he considers a friend or a job/mission/goal he has already committed to. But protectiveness is his driving force, the real motive to all his hard work behind competitiveness and perfectionism, the thing that informs and shapes how his behaviour and choices during said job. And there are so many instances of it during the movie, how he readily and kindly checked on Ariadne's well-being and tried to reassure her after she was first killed by Mal; how he was the one who tested the new compounds; how he freaking flipped when Eames got shot at even while believing there was no actual danger (though that is symptom of other feelings too); how after all cards were on the table on that first level he immediately sprang up to action to defend the fort and everyone inside; and just about everything that happened in the hotel hallway, his concerned how do I drop you without gravity? and how carefully he handled his sleeping team.

I'm willing to bet, even if it was never shown, that he does all sorts of little things to make the jobs go as smooth as possible and make sure everyone is comfortable. Just look at the warehouse he found, spacious and with a lot of light and well furnished. And he's also very attuned to when the others are flagging and need a break, even though he's crap at following his own advice.

And yes, most of it can be ascribed to his role as a pointman, but I'd argue that it's this basic trait of his, this protectiveness, that drove him to fill in those shoes. It's an extremely important job, research and security, but it's certainly the less glamorous and the most fastidious. I imagine that in normal circumstances, with other teammates, while people would end up being grateful for his thoroughness at the end of a job well done, they would also kind of resent him during the planning stages as he always has questions and finds holes in their plans.

But he took it upon himself anyway. He chose it, preferring to have teammates a little frustrated with him but healthy and safe than the alternative, needing to provide that care for them - maybe because of past trauma when he couldn't protect someone and blamed himself, maybe because he's used to take care of others and actually likes it (the mom friend), maybe because he's just wired this way.

I actually headcanon that he sort of tailored the pointman role for himself, gave it a proper shape and definition, distinguishing it fromother roles, and then it took and spread as an 'official' role after the dreamshare community saw how much smoother things went without having to split research and security among the others.

And maybe he doesn't get to indulge often in other more creative areas of dreamshare even if he has the skill (I love the quite popular headcanon that Arthur makes a fine architect too but filling both roles is too demanding, at least on the bigger jobs we saw him performing), but though he sometimes misses it, it's worth it when the sight of everyone safe and sound puts such a relieved smile on his face.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Crush Symptoms

idea, but no pressure: Touch-starved analogical? Maybe a bit of hurt/comfort where they both think the other doesn’t like hugs/other touch, but really they just don’t know how to ask? love your work! ��� amateurmasksmith

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Virgil as the comforter, since he’s rarely in that role. I was thinking Logan starts working more and taking worse care of himself, and instead of processing his stress and feelings he holds the stress in his body, which combined with sitting more and shit is causing him physical pain, and Virgil, being anxiety, helps him relax and relieves the pain. No pressure tho lol I just thought it’d be interesting to see some physical comfort since you write mental comfort so well – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: chronic pain, not-actually unrequited love

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 3306

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' This does not prevent him from developing quite the crush on Virgil. Now, if only he could find a way to talk about it that didn't involve having s mental breakdown...

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' He does not invite the same camaraderie that a few of the other Sides do, nor does he make himself approachable for things such as hugs or other forms of physical affection. By and large, he is content to remain this way, as it allows him to perform his duties and adhere to his schedule without being waylaid by those who will not be named that are quite fond of occupying laps or other physical spaces as would a particularly affectionate pet. That is, offended by any sort of dislodging or movement that impedes their ability to use him as a pillow.

Now, this does not mean that he is averse to offering physical affection, far from it. If Patton is in need of a hug, or if Roman insists on sweeping them all into some form of ballroom dance, he will oblige. Firstly because often it is no hardship, secondly because if it is a hardship, complying usually gets it over with a little quicker. However, there are certain forms that he resists wholeheartedly, namely being tackled onto the nearest surface, soft or otherwise. He has several bruises from the trial and error period of figuring out how best to avoid such circumstances.

While this serves him perfectly well the majority of the time, he would be remiss in his conclusions to say that it works out all the time. He is still human, metaphysical or otherwise, and as such, is subject to the same things that all humans are when it comes to his health. He must still endeavor to eat relatively healthily, he must get an adequate amount of sleep, and yes, he must socialize. This can typically be achieved by attending the 'family dinners,' as Patton is fond of calling them, regularly scheduling movie nights for everyone, and partaking in whatever events the twins conjure in the Imagination for them to enjoy. Recently, however, he's been noticing something amiss.

He's begun to get quite cold. At first, he ascribed it to the changing seasons; despite the fact that Thomas lives in Florida, the coming of the winter months is accompanied by some decrease in average temperature. It made sense, then, that he would be colder if it were colder outside. However, the general feeling of the Mindscape did not alter significantly, nor did adding sweaters or cardigans make any sort of meaningful difference. He tried switching his water intake with hot tea, keeping a blanket on hand to drape over his lap when he worked, even trying to make his room warmer using a few extra heat lamps Janus deemed insufficient. Nothing worked, in fact it made it worse. Now he felt both too warm and too cold at the same time, which was endlessly perplexing. How could he be sweating and still feel cold?

It became clear this was not a typical issue of temperature. There is something else at work here, clearly, that is giving him the sensation of being cold without the physical symptoms present. Perhaps some sort of latent emotional response due to something happening in Thomas's life. But as much as he tries to investigate that avenue, he fails to find anything significant enough to warrant this sudden feeling. None of the others imply that anything's wrong, Thomas isn't undergoing any significant struggle, and even checking in on the status of his own work fails to result in anything useful.

The last option, then, is that the problem is entirely internal.

At first, the conclusion makes Logan scoff. What could he be doing or not doing that would result in him feeling cold? He was maintaining his physical fitness, his general health, even his social requirements. He'd just come from movie night, after all, where all of them ended up on one of the large mattresses the twins could summon, huddled under blankets while some generic action movie played on the TV. He hadn't felt cold during that, had he?

Logan sits down at his desk, fingers steepled in concentration. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he felt a few minutes ago. He'd been sitting with his back against the couch, yes, with Roman and Remus cuddled up near the edge of the mattress as Janus quietly explained to Patton what was going on. Virgil had been on the other side, twisting his hoodie strings back and forth as he watched. Logan hadn't been cold, how could he have been, what with the twins acting as space heaters under the blankets? The only time that he had even approached getting cold had been when Remus got up to use the bathroom, pushing his way through the pile of them and the blanket had flipped up. Virgil had leaned forward to pull it back down and brushed against Logan's arm.

Logan blinks.

Virgil's arm had been warm. Distressingly so. As though someone had taken a hot water bottle and pressed it against him. It had lasted barely a second, as Virgil had quickly pulled away with a muttered apology. But that is, to date, the only memory Logan has of actually feeling warm instead of cold.

Glancing at the clock, he sighs and opens his laptop, quickly typing something in and adjusting his glasses. The cold feeling reemerges as he reads, one hand unconsciously going to the front of his chest as he takes in the words on the screen. He amends his conclusion about what's going on both too quickly and too slowly.

He's touch starved.

Had someone brought up the possibility even an hour earlier, he would have scoffed. He wasn't the type of person to become touch starved. He had all the options for physical affection he would want, how could he be touch starved? His role didn't give him any sort of predisposition to it either, that was reserved for Patton, Roman, Remus, even Janus. Logic, touch starved? The very notion was preposterous.

And yet, once you have eliminated the impossible…

He closes the laptop again and sits back, the hand still on his chest now feeling woefully inadequate. There are solutions to this problem, obviously, his disbelief at its existence signifies as such. He would be able to receive assistance from at least three Sides if he went to them right this moment and informed them of his predicament.

He sits in the chair, unmoving.

Patton would baby him. Treat him as though he were a child, someone to be smothered and cooed at, perhaps even forbid him from being on his own for a while until it was solved. That in and of itself might have the complete opposite effect and make him resent the idea of touch altogether.

Remus would be more aggressive. He might be wrestled down and held until Remus deemed it alright to let him up, which wouldn't be for a considerable amount of time. Besides, he's seen Remus's choice of affection and he's not sure such treatment would work to resolve the problem.

Janus would tease him. Or at the very least, hold it over his head in some way, no matter how innocent or playful it would be, in exchange for his help. He's embarrassed enough as it is, he can only imagine that having to watch Janus smirk and chuckle at him as he tried—badly, because that is all he can do at the moment—to make himself ask for physical comfort.

Roman…might be alright. Out of all of the Sides, Roman is perhaps the only one who Logan can actually imagine struggling with touch starvation. Roman would understand and probably wouldn't hold it over him in any way, or make him uncomfortable about it. He would understand the severity of the situation and the significance of Logan coming to him for help, but…but…

But if Logan is being very honest with himself in this moment, there is only one Side he truly wants to go to and ask for help, and it isn't Roman.

He gets up then, going to the bathroom to finish his nighttime routine, turning off the light and settling into bed. He sets his glasses on the side table and turns over. After a moment, he takes one of the spare pillows and tucks it against his chest. If he closes his eyes, he can attempt to imagine someone else here.

His crush on Virgil is an open secret between him and Roman at this point. Ironically enough, it was one of the first things that solidified this new friendship between them. Roman wouldn't betray his trust, he knows, nor would he actually bother him about it if he knew it was causing him this much distress. Sure, he'd coaxed Logan into doing one of those horrifically cliched rants about how much he liked Virgil once or twice under the justification that it was better to get it out in some way before it spilled out uncontrollably, but other than that, he left it alone. Which was excellent, because then there's a smaller chance that Virgil will find out, but also, that almost definitely rules out going to Roman for any sort of help.

Because Roman is, contrary to Logan's insistence, quite sensible, and he will no doubt suggest that Logan go and actually talk to Virgil.

Even the thought crossing his mind is enough to make him scoff again, burying his face in the pillow. Virgil is not one for physical affection either, which renders the entire solution pointless. If by some miracle he actually accepted Logan's affections—he does not dare give himself the hope that Virgil would return them—that was no guarantee that anything beneficial would become of it. He would simply have to deal with this on his own, or find some way to achieve a solution that would stem the worst of it until he thought of something better.

The cold feeling in his chest spreads a little bit as he falls asleep.

He does not, in fact, succeed at doing either of these things. Instead, he decides that the best way to avoid dealing with this problem is to devote himself to his projects, reasoning that if he has less brain space to worry about it and dwell on his inability to resolve it, it will become less of a problem. In doing so, he forgets three key things: one, you cannot reason or think your way out of being in pain, two, ignoring a problem does not make it go away, and three, ignoring this particular problem makes it much worse.

Much, much worse.

The first time he tries to get up and has to wince at the pull in his shoulders, he doesn't think anything of it. Perhaps he was sitting for too long. He rolls them a few times to stretch them out and continues about his day as though nothing's gone wrong.

The first time he gets up and has to immediately sit back down, he has the thought of reaching for his water bottle and a snack. He looks at the clock and realizes he's been working far longer than he anticipated. Perhaps that was it, just losing track of time.

The first time he wakes up and every single muscle in his body aches, he knows he's gone too far.

He has half a mind to scold himself the way he does the twins for neglecting his physical health in favor of his work, but just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, another pushes itself to the forefront. The physical manifestation of stress has not only caused him to become virtually immobile, but it has a high likelihood of directly alerting the one person Logan would really rather not know about any of this.

A dread that is instantly realized when he feels something soft and warm brushing his hair back from his face.

"Hey, L? L, can you hear me?"

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, it's me." He must be imagining the relief in Virgil's voice, why else would he sound like that? "Sorry to come in without asking, but it seems like you're really not having a good time right now."

He manages to pry his eyes open and sure enough, there is Virgil, looking down at him with concern written plainly across his face. He swallows and his throat protests. Virgil seems to take that as an answer.

"I think you've overworked yourself a bit," he says in that soft way that isn't teasing, not really, but enough to make Logan flush, "can I help you figure out something else?"

"Like what?"

"You're in pain right now, yeah? Shh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like a bad thing—I mean, it's a bad thing you're in pain, but I'm here to help you not be in pain, not make fun of you for being in pain."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize for reacting like you're hurt when you are." His hand cards through Logan's hair again and he has to bite his lip at how warm the touch is. "Can I help, though? I know a bit about making this sort of pain go away."

This is a bad idea. This is in fact a terrible idea. This is not something Logan should agree too.

"Okay," Virgil says, when Logan nods because of course he does, why should he stop making bad decisions now, "here's what we're gonna do, okay? I'm guessing there's a lot of pain just sort of in your limbs, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Got it. I'm gonna start stretching them out, okay? You let me know if anything hurts too much and I'll stop right away."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna start with your arm." Virgil's hands are so warm and solid on his arm that he almost bites back a whine. "That okay? Not hurting too much?"

"N-no."

"Okay. Let me know if that changes."

He starts lifting and rotating Logan's arm, bending and straightening it and massaging the tender skin. Some part in the back of Logan's brain recognizes he's trying to restore regular blood flow and a decent range of movement, but the rest of him is currently swallowed in the dry warmth of Virgil's touch. He lays that arm down after a while and moves to the other one. But this has him leaning over Logan with his shadow falling across Logan's face and he can't stop the slight rush of breath that escapes him.

"Hey," comes the gentle voice and that isn't helping matters at all, "hey, what's wrong, bud? You doing okay? Am I being too much?"

"No," he says far too quickly, "no, you're…you're fine."

A bemused smile comes to his face and he nods, continuing to work on the other arm. Logan's torn between letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the sensation of just someone else touching him and keeping them open so as not to miss a second. Virgil seems mostly oblivious to his dilemma, patiently working his way up and down the arm until he lays it flat once more. He sits back on his haunches, a hand resting on Logan's knee. Even through the covers, the touch burns.

"How're your legs doing, bud? They hurt too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm gonna need to take the covers off so I can see 'em, is that okay?" Logan nods, but as soon as the cool air hits him, the swelling sensation in his chest buckles and he's gasping for air in the next second. "Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, shh, shh, L, it's okay, look, there, the blanket's all back, see? Shh, it's okay, you're okay."

"Sorry," Logan gasps out, "sorry, I'm so sorry."

Virgil shuffles closer, a furrow between his eyebrows. "You've got nothing to apologize for, L, I mean it. I'm here to help, okay? If something I'm doing isn't helping, then you tell me and I stop it. That's what you did, you're doing great."

"N-no, I'm sorry you—you have to help me like—help me like this."

"Like what?"

"You have to—to touch me."

Virgil goes quiet. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the telltale noise of sinking out. Instead, he almost loses his entire composure when a hand gently cups his cheek.

"Logan," comes the voice, soft, too soft, too sweet, "open your eyes, look at me, sweetheart."

Oh, no. Not the pet names. Literally anything but that.

But Logan is weak and already doing what Virgil asked. The thumb brushing his cheek does make him want to shut his eyes again, because this cannot be real, but Virgil is smiling at him.

"I don't mind touching you," he murmurs, "that's not a hardship for me. Is it that you don't like being touched? Is that the problem?"

"You…" None of his brain wants to work so long as that hand is on his face. "Can't think."

The hand leaves and the cold makes him whimper. Virgil's hand touches his knee again. He blinks.

"You don't like being touched."

"What makes you think that?" Logan just stares at him. "Just because I don't like being tackled by Remus doesn't mean I don't like being touched."

"O-oh."

"Besides, if it were you, I don't think I'd have any problem with it at all." Virgil chuckles when a flush decides that now is the perfect time to spread all over Logan's face. "Wow, okay, I wasn't expecting that."

"You—you—what?"

He leans forward, both hands reaching this time, and they fit gently around the curve of Logan's neck. The rush of warmth is staggering, not helped at all by Virgil's soft voice still murmuring to him. "I thought you didn't like to be touched, sweetheart, that's it. I'm happy to help you, I promise. And Princey's definitely gonna tease the hell out of me when he hears about this."

"Wait, why?"

"Because he knows about the big fat crush I have on you and if he could see me right now…" Virgil trails off when he notices Logan's eyes brimming with tears. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, don't cry, I'm sorry, that was too much to dump on you right now, here, let me help you with your legs and you can—"

Logan doesn't let him finish, surging forward to clumsily press his mouth to Virgil's. The hands cradling his face stutter and for a moment, he thinks he's made the worst mistake of his life, but then Virgil sighs and kisses him back like it's the only thing he wants to do.

"Well," he says softly when they break apart, "I think Princey's gonna be teasing both of us, then?"

"Probably."

Virgil chuckles and rubs their noses together. "How about this, then: let me help stretch your legs out, get you some painkillers, then we'll cuddle in bed and not worry about how smug Princey's gonna be until later?"

"That sounds perfectly adequate."

"'Perfectly adequate,' alright, I can work with that."

Roman does indeed end up being very smug, but he's quietly smug about it, which Logan will take as a win.

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[actual-changeling]

david tennant and michael sheen are perfect as aziraphale and crowley, and i am incredibly happy that they love the show, the characters, and each other.

however.

as michael himself has said on numerous occasions, his personality often flows into azirapahle and the other way around, meaning that people take how he behaves with david and ascribe the characteristics of their relationship to aziraphale and crowley's relationship.

aziraphale is not a good person by any means, he behaves horribly towards crowley, is emotionally immature, and so selfish it's way beyond usual egocentricity.

it is all RIGHT THERE on screen, we are shown and told over and over again how unbalanced their relationship is and how much he hurts crowley.

people either cannot or refuse to see it because they project not only their own feelings & behaviour on aziraphale but also david's and michael's relationship dynamic onto the characters.

if aziraphale were played by literally anyone else, there wouldn't be such a big lack of media literacy and overabundance of ignorance in regards to his character.

[afk-n-shit]

"You'll take care of them, won't you?"

Merlin had warned everyone upon arrival that this part of the house didn't often host visitors. Mostly private workshops and laboratories, they'd said, and they hadn't been lying-- they never lie, not really, strategic omission of the truth is far more their style-- but they also hadn't said this wing of the house was off limits, and for Valen that's practically permission.

"Of course I will. Do you even really need to ask?"

Hogan's stern tone is unmistakable, so the new, breathy voice must be one of Merlin's many disguises. Valen doesn't stop suddenly, but he lets his otherwise careless footsteps slowly quiet, slows his breathing and his heart until he can lean soundlessly against the wall next to the door.

"Usually I wouldn't, no. But after everything..."

"You worry."

There's a hum, musical, even with the weight behind it. Valen can see it in his mind's eye, because Merlin and Hogan always stand too close even in polite company. In private they're no doubt propped up against each other, maybe even with Merlin's head on Hogan's shoulder.

"They're just..."

"Children?" Hogan offers with a laugh. Merlin scoffs, and a delicate hand smacks Hogan's big chest.

"Young, I was going to say young, you insufferable--" Merlin sighs, and it's. It's so many things, exasperated and fond and exhausted and hopeful and despairing. "I had hoped-- we made mistakes, but I had hoped--"

"We did what we thought was right--"

"Maybe at first. Everything that came after? Is... Debatable."

Valen frowns. He's always hated having to patch context together, but this feels more important than any spy mission or idle information gathering. He knows that Merlin and Hogan are old as balls, Merlin is older than the gods are dead, there's so much they don't even need to say to one another. And Valen is smart, he's good at this, as much as he hates it. But he thinks of Merlin, aglow with golden power, of dark berries sapping magic from seals and the grief on Merlin's face as they reinforced the Seal over Ryeham and he thinks, I'm missing something.

"It isn't like you to doubt so," Hogan says, soft and gentle and all the things Valen wouldn't ascribe to his Captain, and Merlin's chuckle is airy and heavy.

"It's not every day one has to piece their memories together from bits and scraps, you know. All these old feelings..."

"And old regrets, yes yes..."

Valen'd have to be deaf, maybe, or concussed beyond measure, to miss the sound that comes next-- wet and soft and slightly smacking-- and, really, he doesn't know why it surprises him so. But it makes him jump nearly out of his skin, and its luck that he does not bang his head loudly against the wall behind him, though his heel does scrap against the floor as he finds the purchase to scramble away before he hears anymore. Because he knew-- knows-- logically, through rumor and watching them interact, that Hogan and Merlin were-- are... close.

But there had also been-- been a hand on his elbow and a soft, fond smile, been indulgent attention whenever Valen dragged them around to show them this or that and very real concern when Valen had taken blows and

By the time he makes it back to his room his heart it bleeding in his chest, and he can't rightly lie to himself as to why.

[fanfic-obsessed]

In Clones we trust

After Melida/Daan, Obi Wan learned to distrust the Healers. His time with the Young had left him distrustful of adults in general, but then several of the temple bound healer trainees react badly to the scars he earned in various battles (in their defense much of the reactions was horror at scars that should have been easily treated, Obi Wan simply ascribed the worst possible meaning to their reactions). This is compounded when, over the course of decades, almost all the healers found time to lecture Obi Wan on his self care habits (of which he has none), but without actually giving him any support to figure out what healthy habits are (Look, Obi Wan hasn’t felt safe to fall fully into sleep since he was in the sewers with Cerasi and Nield to watch his back. Telling him to get more sleep is true but not helpful).

Then the Clone Wars arrived.  Obi Wan was handed a Battalion. At the first available opportunity the head medic, Med, makes a point to sit down with Obi Wan. He knows that the Force gives his General the ability to do things that Med would consider insane and impossible.  He wants to get a baseline so that can make sure he can treat Obi Wan correctly.  And Obi Wan may not trust healers, but Medics were different.  Med gets his scans. It helps that Obi Wan quickly learned to trust the troopers, his men.

Med talks to Obi Wan about what exactly he can use the Force for, what he can heal in himself. When it would be realistic for Med to step in. What the effects of various types of suppressants would be with Obi Wan using the Force to take care of basic needs and what to do if he gets dosed.  Because Med’s every step focused on what Obi Wan’s reality actually is instead of what he wanted it to be, Obi Wan is much more likely to go to Medical and let himself be treated. 

Sometime later he sits down with Obi Wan, and Cody (with Obi Wan’s permission), and briefly goes over what Cortisol, the stress hormone is, what it does to a body in the long term, and healthy vs unhealthy levels.  He shows Obi Wan his cortisol level, which is in dangerously high territory, even with the Force.  Med goes, “In a perfect world I would want your numbers to be a quarter what it is, but in a perfect world I wouldn't be patching my brothers to go back to battle.” and “Based on the scans we’ve taken if you can get two more hours of sleep per week, your cortisol levels should drop below the extremely damaging point. If you can do that and get one more hour of something you find relaxing every three days it should drop those levels into a high healthy.”

This, more than anything, was something Obi Wan had not been given by the healers. The temple healers focused on getting someone healthy, but often got too caught up in how to heal to think about what the patient thinks healthy should look like.  And Obi Wan might not know how to get something as nebulous as ‘more sleep’, but something concrete such as two more hours of sleep per week is a goal he can accomplish (It made him want to try ).

[princess-nobody]

I hate Quaritch but I also really adore him but I also want to bash his head open with a rock

So I have a lot of thoughts on Quaritch as a character as well as what he represents in the greater message of Avatar; I want to clarify that I admit that I have many biases, due to my very strong connection to my ethnic background, many of the themes of Avatar affect me on a more personal level. Though I usually try to put my own reactionary feelings to the side and stay objective, when it comes to this character I simply cannot do so, and therefore this will probably be my most emotionally charged Avatar take 😭

So I hate Quaritch, like deeply, as in my biggest dream is for his story to end with him being shot in the chest 2384884933 times by na'vi arrows, preferably Neytiri's arrows. Now, I've tried to unpack why he of all villains gets to me so much, because despite all of his infractions, he's not as bad as other villains that don't nearly get as much visceral hatred from me. Quaritch is far from the only unempathetic, xenophobic maniac that jumps with glee at the chance to kill some natives if it benefits his side in media, yet he's the one I want to strangle with my bare hands the most. After some deep reflection I've finally realized why.

It's because he's so real.

It's a simple answer, but it really opened my eyes to how and why so many of Avatar's themes hit such a personal cord with me; it's all so real. I remember being told by an old history professor of mine that many people have the capability to be Hitler, but few have the power to do so. He said that there are many diet Hitlers walking around, people with the same ideology, people with the same thirst for power, people with the same hatred and bigotry. It could be your barista, it could be the lady sitting beside you on the train. Hitler is not a rare individual, he was simply a politically powerful version of an individual we encounter everyday. That is to say, these evil people in history are not really uniquely evil nor are they these one dimensional beings, they are in fact what you get if you give some ordinary people more power than they need.

Now what does any of that have to do with Quaritch and how "real" I claim he is? Well, it all makes me understand that the reason my dislike for Quaritch is so much more deep-rooted than most villains is because he represents a very real, very common person. He is the overly patriotic military fanboy that treats indigenous lives as disposable, he is the America first guy that defends any and all invasions into other (often times less powerful) countries if he feels it benefits the nation. He is the anti-indigenous racist who thinks modern natives are larpers and believes historical natives were savages and that they deserved what they got. He is the terrifyingly ignorant guy who's views are so outdated that you wonder how he functions in modern society.

Now, Quaritch himself isn't really all of those things and doesn't outwardly ascribe to all of those things in either film, but his personality, position in the military and his role in the narrative of Avatar seem to – at least to me – represent what happens when you give this archetype of person the power he has. With that, as much as I hate him, I also love him for this.

Quaritch isn't unrealistic, he isn't this cartoonishly evil bad guy who only feels rage and hatred and wants to destroy Pandora just because, in fact he doesn't even want to destroy Pandora. James Cameron could have easily went with making both him and the RDA out to be these soulless evil entities that destroy and kill everything just for the fuck of it. Instead, he went with the more realistic approach, the RDA represents real life corporate greed that destroys the planet and seeks to devour anything that can make it a quick buck, and Quaritch represents the sort of bigoted, ignorant and VIOLENT man you may encounter at least once or twice a week depending.

The only difference is the one you think of when you read those words is just some guy, whilst Miles Quaritch has the power to actually act on those things. I genuinely adore this type of writing, because I feel it's very easy to detach ourselves from stories like Avatar because the antagonists are always so one dimensional and evil just because. You can't do that with Avatar, because most of what you are watching is based on and inspired by reality; there are many Quaritch-like people walking around, they just don't have the power and backing he does.

So yeah, TLDR: I hate Quaritch because of how evil he is but I also love him because of how evil he is. He's a really good villain that makes my blood boil and I actually don't mind him being the antagonist in the coming films.

[merlyn-bane]

For Foelu snippets stuff (if you're still doing) -- I adored how you handled Obi-Wan's dysphoria in the story. Do you have anything about him getting his implant back or his dysphoria settling or, idk. I just kind of crave some resolution to Obi-Wan's lack of agency over his body and the dysphoria situation. I hope that made sense. Thanks!

So another fill got a little out of hand in terms of the length, whoops 😅😅 Thank you so much for this prompt, it was super interesting to work on, and I really really hope it's everything you wanted @bluemaskedkarma 🥰🥰 Also thank you so much for the compliment, because it really was so important to me that the queer themes inherent to the story were handled respectfully.

This fill does get spicy as a heads up<3

~~~~~~~~

“And have you given more thought regarding what you might like to do regarding your implant?”

Obi-Wan, already part of the way through re-shouldering his tabards under the apparently false assumption that his yearly check-in with the chief healer had reached its natural conclusion, pauses to turn and blink at the woman. “I’m already on an implant, Healer Che.”

“I’m talking about your androgen and enzyme blocker, Obi-Wan,” Che says, flipping through his file again as though she doesn’t know it by heart. “You said yourself that you think Kai-Tal will be done weaning soon, right? Have you thought about what you might like to do when that time comes?”

The thing is, if you had asked him at the start of all this, back when he’d first become pregnant, the answer would have been incredibly easy. He’d have done almost anything just to return to his own self-determined baseline. But it’s been nearly five years, now, with his daughter having just turned four—the Jedi typically ascribed to the notion of allowing the child to lead such things wherever possible, and while she’s been quite contentedly enjoying solids for some time now she’s also been loathe to give up milk entirely and he’d simply been glad that his beloved parasite had at least ceded his nipple once she’d grown teeth. 

He’s had five years to get used to the anatomy he has now, to adjust to the small changes it’s brought about in his day-to-day life. Five years with incredibly supportive partners and the extraordinarily satisfying sex that he has with them, often utilizing aforementioned anatomy. Force knows that producing his own lubricant has been incredibly convenient. 

He’s had five years to make a whole lot of headway on really internalizing that having a cunt does not make him any less of a man than when he doesn’t. 

The question becomes, then, he supposes, whether or not returning to that self-imposed baseline is truly that important to him. And he—doesn’t know. Not for sure. Not yet.

“Take some time to think about it,” Vokara suggests, sensing his indecision. “There’s no timetable here except your own, and you can always change your mind later.”

Obi-Wan ticks up one eyebrow, a touch sardonic. “What, no reminder to make sure I’m only making the decision for myself?”

The chief healer raises a brow right back at him. “I’ve met your partners, Obi-Wan. I seriously doubt they’d let you do anything else.”

~~~

Obi-Wan thinks about it.

And then he…rather forgets to, in-between rearing his daughter and serving on the Council and spending time with his family and teaching classes. Life goes on as it always does, and later he will realize that the ease with which he puts it out of his mind again likely should have been something of a tip-off, but he doesn’t yet.

It isn’t until he catches sight of himself in the ‘fresher mirror one morning some few weeks after the last time he pumps and realizes that his chest is flat once more that it crosses his mind again. He twists to the side just a little further, smiling completely unconsciously at the total lack of rise beneath his undershirt, and Rex must notice because he pauses in brushing his teeth long enough to spit into the sink and lean over to kiss the side of his head.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” the blond offers, grinning before he swats playfully at Obi-Wan’s rear. “Now get movin’ before you’re late for another Council meeting.”

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan retorts, raising an eyebrow even as warmth blooms in his gut. It only grows when he folds his arms over his chest and finds fewer obstacles in his way. And when there’s every bit as much heat in Rex’s eyes now as there’d been before his breasts had receded. “And who was it, pray tell, that made me late?”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t move your cute little shebs—”

Obi-Wan dances out of the way of his partner’s grasping hands, huffing and elated and feigning annoyance. “Alright, I’m going—”

Rex reels him in for one last kiss first. “You look good, sweetheart,” he reiterates sincerely, and then he’s knocking their foreheads together gently and hustling him out of the ‘fresher. “Have a good day, I love you, I’ll eat ya’ later.”

Obi-Wan lets out an inelegant snort but lets himself be prodded anyway, and if he’s smiling like a dolt through the rest of the morning, well—that’s his business.

~~~

Being able to fit completely back into his old robes, the way he remembers them fitting is—another sigh of relief.

His body will never be exactly as it was—he is not expecting it to be, nor does he particularly desire it to be, not when he bears the marks he does and perhaps the little bit of extra pudge around his middle through giving life to their daughter—but. He’s really starting to recognize himself in the mirror again, and. It’s…nice.

~~~

The last facet of Obi-Wan’s decision making is perhaps not, he thinks, quite what Healer Che had had in mind when she’d sent him off to consider his options. 

To be fair, it isn’t exactly what he’d had in mind himself, either.

Obi-Wan finds his partners congregated in their bedroom one evening after he drops Kai-Tal off for a sleepover in the créche—not particularly unusual, and really, to be expected with a planned night all to themselves. The surprise comes in when he’s presented with an almost alarmingly elegantly wrapped box by a grinning Waxer and immediately bid to sit down and open it.

“Dare I ask?” he teases dryly, even as he takes it and lets Boil guide him down to sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s tempted to shake the box lightly just for some kind of hint but resists the urge; even just the wrapping looks expensive and he’d hate to accidentally break something.

“It’s nothing we haven’t already talked about, mesh’la,” Waxer assures him, grinning wider. 

“Just took some time to save up for it,” Boil murmurs, piquing his interest—and his apprehension—further. The two of them sit down on either side of him as he finally caves and starts carefully peeling open the paper.

“It’s a strap-on,” Waxer tells him somewhat sheepishly as Obi-Wan blinks down at the mostly phallic-shaped object in the box. “But it’s—supposed to be a real nice one. There’s this piece here that goes inside you, and the lady at the store—I didn’t really understand a lot of the technical stuff, but she said there was some sort of nervous feedback system so you’d actually get some sensation from the shaft, too.”

“We thought something like this would be the best compromise, if you wanted to top without having to go through the process of growing the real thing back,” Boil adds, “like we talked about. It’s totally up to you, of course, but we thought this might give you more options.”

Obi-Wan runs his fingers across the—device carefully, touched. “This must have cost you—”

Cody cuts him off before he can even finish getting the words out. “Do you like it, cyare?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then that’s what matters, mesh’la,” Waxer grins again, and leans in to kiss him softly. “I told you, we saved up for it, and it’s not like we don’t all live in the Temple for free. Besides, any amount of credits would be worth it if something that makes you happy or more comfortable in your own body.” A wicked glint enters his eyes, then. “And this in particular really is just as much for us as it is for you, anyway.”

A few years ago, at the start of their relationship, Obi-Wan may have felt the need to continue pressing the issue. Now, well…he’s learned to take them at their word on things like this, even if he personally feels like they’re spoiling him unnecessarily. Force knows that he enjoys spoiling them, when the opportunity presents itself. “Well when you put it like that,” Obi-Wan drawls, fisting a hand in the fabric of his partner’s shirt and tugging him back in close to lay claim to his smiling mouth. 

~~~

“Aren’t you going to join us?” 

Cody grins, ducking down to kiss Obi-Wan softly. “This was all Waxer and Boil’s idea, cyare. The rest of us are just here to watch this time.”

“You can bet your pretty ass that I’ve already called dibs on the next time though, sweetheart,” Rex winks as he settles down on the sofa they keep across from the bed with Helix and Cody.  Obi-Wan chuckles a little, even as he feels his face flush slightly. Being watched is something he’s always been a little embarrassed to be quite as into as he is, but of course, his partners had figured that proclivity out rather quickly and had hardly hesitated to take advantage. Though he supposes that it is rather convenient that they enjoy watching as much as they do participating, with there being so many of them and but one of him. 

Waxer grins and settles back on his elbows, spreading his legs a little bit. “If you’ll pass me the lube, mesh’la—”

“I’m quite offended that you seem to be under the impression that I’m just going to sit here while you work yourself open for me, my dear,” Obi-Wan sniffs as he leans over to dig the lube out of their bedside table. “Why don’t you get naked for me, darling, and then I’ll finger you myself.”

Waxer’s breath hitches, and Obi-Wan grins wickedly at the rustle of fabric that follows as the other man eagerly obeys. When he turns back around, lube in hand, Waxer’s laying back against the pillows again blessedly nude and holding his knees back and open with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Obi-Wan scoots forward on his knees until he’s settled between his partner’s thighs, stripping out of his upper layers as he does so. “Hi,” Waxer breathes, and Obi-Wan’s grin widens further. 

“Hello there,” he croons. “Ready?”

“Very, mesh’la.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan slicks fingers up without looking away from Waxer’s face. “I’m going to take good care of you, darling.”

~~~

Obi-Wan takes his time with getting Waxer ready for him, working him open on his fingers until Waxer’s panting and gasping and squirming and pleading for more that Obi-Wan is loathe to give him just yet because he’s just having so much fun doing this. He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed taking his partners apart in this way.

“I’m gonna take your pants off now, Ob’ika,” Boil murmurs, plastering himself to Obi-Wan’s back and pressing a kiss to the place where his neck meets his shoulder. “Help you get set up with the strap while you keep playing with Wax, how does that sound?”

Obi-Wan nods, drunk on the rising lust in the Force and each sound he manages to pull from his partner’s lips. Boil kisses his throat one more time and then starts working his pants down his hips.

“Kriff, you’re wet,” Boil groans when his fingers find their way between the Jedi’s thighs, his other hand tightening around Obi-Wan’s hip, and Obi-Wan groans when the tip of one finger dips into his pussy. “That excited to fuck him, are you, Ob’ika?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasps out as one finger becomes two, the sound echoed by a drawn-out keen from Waxer. Boil grins against the Jedi’s skin and then his hands are disappearing from Obi-Wan’s skin while he retrieves the strap-on from its box.

“Good,” the former ARC says, “because we can’t wait to watch you do it.”

~~~

Boil is careful to avoid touching the shaft of the toy as much as possible even as he’s fitting it into place, pressing the bulb portion into his cunt until Obi-Wan moans and clenches around it. “There you go,” he murmurs. “We did get you a harness as well, by the way, in case you feel like you’d like the extra support.”

Obi-Wan is touched by the thought, but really, it barely registers. Especially when Boil’s hand does wrap around the shaft of the toy and strokes oh-so-lightly. It sends a shivery sensation up his spine, and Obi-Wan finds himself bucking his hips forward into it and gasping.

“Oh does that feel good, Ob’ika?” Waxer grins, the expression turning sharp with interest when the Jedi nods wordlessly. “Good. Now fuck me with it.”

~~~

The strap is, of course, not quite the same. The sensation is a little duller and a little different than it would be with his own cock, something almost phantom about it.

But the first slide in is still—indescribably good, all tight heat and delicious friction. It’s almost too much, with his cunt full at the same time like it is. He and Waxer both moan as he bottoms out, and Obi-Wan shivers and drops his forehead down to rest against his partner’s sternum as he gives them a moment to adjust. 

“Kriff,” Waxer whines above him, bringing strong legs up to wrap them around Obi-Wan’s waist. “Move, please, mesh’la.”

“As you wish, darling.” Obi-Wan presses a kiss to the skin over Waxer’s sternum and then carefully draws his hips back as far as his partner’s hold will allow, rocking back in slowly as he adjusts to the way the strap feels and moves with him. After a few experimental thrusts he props himself up onto his elbows and leans up to capture Waxer’s mouth with his own, picking up speed and confidence as he goes. After only a few moments more he finds a steady pace that feels good for them both, panting and groaning into each other’s mouths with each smooth thrust in and slow drag out.

Obi-Wan’s eyes snap up at the sound of a shivery moan that doesn’t come from either of them, and feels his hips buck forward out of rhythm all on their own when he sees three sets of dark eyes intensely focused on them. Force, they’re—all stroking themselves, just watching him fuck Waxer into the mattress. Waxer lets out a ragged cry at the hitch in the rhythm, and Obi-Wan is helpless to do little other than to fuck him harder. 

“Gonna come,” Waxer gasps out, and Obi-Wan ducks down to kiss him again as he works to drive them both over the edge.

~~~

“How was that?” Obi-Wan grins as he collapses over onto his back, still breathing heavily. He turns his head over to look at his partner, who’s still staring up at the ceiling and panting just as hard.

“Holy kriff,” Waxer whistles. “So fucking good. Sweet Force.” He turns his head over to look back at Obi-Wan, smiling just as wide. “Good for you, too?”

Obi-Wan reaches over and runs the tip of an index finger along Waxer’s bottom lip. “Exquisite, my dear. Truly.”

“Good,” Boil growls, wrapping a hand around the strap Obi-Wan hasn’t gotten around to removing yet and tearing a ragged cry from his throat. “My turn.”

~~~

In the end, Obi-Wan makes the decision to go back on the enzyme blocker in the interest of avoiding another spontaneous shift, but ultimately decides to skip the androgen—at least for now. He’s comfortable in the body that he’s in, and it serves him well, and he knows that he can always change his mind in the future if that ever stops being the case.

Even though the decision he comes to ultimately is not to take an action, he still finds that he feels more settled for having made it. It feels good, to have made the choice. He wonders if perhaps that isn’t why Che had pushed him to do so, ultimately, rather than letting him dither over it forever even if it would’ve essentially been the same end result physically. Force knows that he probably wouldn’t have appreciated it if Che had pointed it out explicitly how little agency he’s had over his own body in all of this. 

It feels good to take that agency back.

[babygirltangerine]

i often think about how the environment plays such a big role in the storytelling of the bullet train movie while also shaping the story itself, and all of the characters have such a unique way of interacting with their surroundings, with their belongings, and with objects in general. i'm also interested in the meanings they ascribe to these objects, so of course i have to make a post about it.

for the wolf, objects remind him of where he's been, what he's been through and what he's accomplished: we see his identity tied to the wolf pendant he'd been given as a boy, and he takes clothing articles from the people he kills (like the sunglasses, shoes, and hat) as he rises through the ranks of el saguaro's organization. it's also very meaningful that he wears his wedding suit to the train (and part of that is a belt that says mexico on it).

objects for tangerine signify who he wants to be - a lot of his identity management is wrapped up in portraying himself as polished, as wealthy, and as in control, and again, clothing and jewelry is a big part of this. also important to mention is his kleptomania and his compulsive need to accumulate as much as possible (which i interpret as a symptom of his growing up in poverty) and this is just one way the story clarifies that his image is an expression of desire and a crafted self rather than an authentic one. tangerine is constantly grappling for control and objects play a large part in establishing this theme, but objects are mostly in control of him, not the other way around.

objects for ladybug are tied to survival, not only for himself but for those around him. they're distractions and decoys, they buy time and disarm his opponents in intentionally non-lethal ways. he doesn't like guns. he doesn't like to kill, and he is incredibly resourceful in his pursuit of nonviolence. ladybug is in a constant state of damage control and the objects he chooses to discard or keep in his possession give him some sense of control over his bad luck.

objects for lemon provide a means of communication and a lens for understanding the world and the people around him. the sticker book objectifies the role thomas the tank engine plays in his life, and acts not only a reference for him to categorize personalities but also as a way to express his beliefs to those around him. percy sticker, diesel sticker, thomas sticker. i also like that objects for lemon tend to have protective qualities - the bulletproof vest saved him from the gunshots and tangerine's medallion saved him from drowning. when i rewatch the movie, i appreciate how this makes me feel like he's never in any real danger despite the massive target on his back as a black man ("i don't bleed").

objects for prince provide a way to get what she wants. she uses weapons - taser, rigged gun, explosives in the briefcase - and disguises to achieve her goals. she uses objects to manipulate people and paint a picture of herself as innocent and harmless. at the same time objects reveal her true nature, such as the shibumi novel she reads and the dangerous scissors-inspired hair clip. the hornet uses objects similarly. for her it's also all about stealth and weapons and disguises.

objects for shigeru relate to his past, the knowledge he's gained from it, his goals and his beliefs. thinking of the cane with the sword inside, how he fights with both, and the flowers - how he went into hiding and became a florist. we see him with flowers at various stages in his goal to get revenge on the white death (in the hospital room with wataru, as he boards the train, and when the white death has finally been defeated). when i think of shigeru and flowers, i also think of his trust in fate, the natural world and the forces of the universe.

for the white death, objects signify beginnings and endings. i associate the white death with his mask (again, identity management, the mask signals the birth of a new criminal empire and the emergence of its new leader) as well as the car he was meant to be in, and his robe and slippers. the beginning of his reign and the end of it, how objects symbolize his rise to power and the consequences he's now facing.

the importance of objects in the story can also be seen through the prominence of the briefcase, the water bottle, the rigged gun, the wolf's knife, and the tangerine and lemon truck, all of which serve a narrative purpose and have a presence in the story from the beginning to the end.

[ot3]

Ok, now after all that Phoenix dad asks, i can't help but share my own unnecessary opinion. I feel like the rapport between Beanix and Trucy is too good for him to be a shitty parent, but the game strongly implies he has alcohol problem. Like no matter how I squint at the source material Beanix is alcoholic. And it's really hard to imagine him being a great dad if he' s spending their meager funds on "grape juice". ( Although with his life at this period I would really wish that at least he did the parenting gig right)

oh man i have been getting a lot of asks on this subject over the past coupe days and mostly avoided answering them because i just sort of more or less said my piece on the matter and didn't want to keep dragging out the same points but this take. is a really insidious one imo. and i feel like you've unwittingly touched on The Elephant In The Room regarding this entire discussion.

I don't think you really meant any harm by this and i hesitate to ascribe any real-world politics to people based on how they interact with fiction, but it's really difficult to see people talk about addiction in fiction this way and imagine they would have more sympathy for real addicts.

Someone being an addict does not de facto make them a bad parent. Someone being poor does not de facto make them a bad parent. I would also argue that someone being too poor to fully provide for their children doesn't de facto make them a bad parent either, because poverty - especially child poverty - is a structural problem and not an individual one.

But I digress, that's not really relevant, because there's absolutely nothing in ace attorney 4 that suggests that the wright's financial problems are caused by phoenix's drinking! Nor is there anything that suggests his drinking has caused him to in any way mistreat Trucy. Anything we see that could be loosely interpreted as neglectful parenting, such as bringing Trucy to poker games or leaving for long stretches to work on the jurist system, can be linked to their financial situation. And you're immediately correlating between the financial stuff and the addiction. Not illogically, but what you have to remember is that alcoholism is often a symptom of poverty, rather than the other way around.

Addiction is obviously very bad even if its not at the point where it's causing your entire life to fall apart! But phoenix is clearly functional and competent during the events of aa4, so i think to act like struggling with addiction is in and of itself enough to negate all of the good parenting he does is just suuuper shitty.

There's really a lot of bizarre distaste for anything resembling Addiction and Poverty amongst ace attorney fans, I've seen really nasty sentiment from people wrt aa4 that, once you cut through what they're actually saying, boils down to 'implying phoenix could ever be an alcoholic made him a fundamentally less good/less likeable character' and man. i just think that really sucks.

especially considering the fact that shu takumi has been pretty open about the fact that 1. he writes phoenix with a lot of Himself in there and 2. he's had, to say the least, a somewhat involved relationship with alcohol. He talks about drinking through work extensively in a pretty cavalier way. I don't expect everyone to know these details but i think anyone who has ever laughed about how shu takumi wrote most of JFA drunk needs to stop and wonder why they think making phoenix an alcoholic crosses some sort of moral line. Along those lines, I also feel similarly uncomfortable when people try to insist non stop that 'its just grape juice, there's no way it was supposed to be implying anything, it's just a joke.' it just feels super disrespectful to try and ignore the narrative implications here coming from a creator who has struggled with alcohol because you think it somehow taints the wholesomeness of a character he based off of himself.

i would urge you and everyone else who has had similar thoughts to please just sort of take a moment and re-asses the opinions you have on this subject and see if you're not just voicing some pretty harmful kneejerk responses to seeing alcoholism depicted or alluded to in ways you're not really used to. Because this just is not the take in any way, shape, or form.

[missciato]

“I’ve spent all these years training for a duel with a corpse.”

[CW: discussion of death and loss]

One thing I really like about Azure Moon and Azure Gleam was the exploration of grief and how a single individual’s death can have rippling effects on a family unit. Felix and Rodrigue’s significantly different responses to the event alters the way that they interact with each other in the present. It casts a pall over all of their interactions; it has tainted their relationship.

Often, in times of hardship, family disagreements can spiral out of control, causing minor rifts to become major ones. As someone who has dealt with a lot of death in the family recently, I have seen this time and time again. Especially as a young person, platitudes about the death of a loved one can feel hollow and ring as insincere and hurtful even if the deliverer was trying to say something that would help in the moment. The tragedy of the Rodrigue/Felix interaction is that both of them are grieving and could use each other’s company and love in hard times, and yet their fundamentally incompatible ways of grieving make it impossible for Felix to reconcile with Rodrigue. 

I looked at the coin that my aunt handed me, with a cross on the front and back. “Everything happens for a reason, dear. The Lord was just callin’ your brother home. Let this coin remind you of him.” She gave me a pat on the back, an affectionate gesture. I admit, I had trouble comprehending what ‘Lord’ would see it fit to take my brother from this Earth at his young age.

After my own brother passed away, I found myself understanding much more vividly why Felix was so upset and so ready to bury himself in his sword training rather than interacting with the people around him, who seemed to be grieving in this way that he found unconscionable. He felt that they were trying to try to justify Glenn’s death using the norms of their culture, which was to say “He died like a true knight.” or “He was the very picture of a perfect knight–noble and virtuous. In the end, he laid down his life–the ultimate sacrifice. I feel proud of him in ways that words can't quantify.”  

Much like in the example I gave above, an event that happened at my brother’s funeral in 2021, there are cultural explanations for death that can seem comforting to those who ‘buy’ it. Most of us can accept that our older loved ones will sooner or later die, and then when we become old we will die as well. But when it happens to people who are young and have a life ahead of them, the religion/pseudo-religious in the case of Faerghus justifications become more incomprehensible. And make you angry.

Rodrigue and Ingrid, in these instances, are simply trying to square how such a horrible event could have occurred. They aren’t trying to be hurtful or mean spirited, but they are a product of their cultural upbringing. I think trying to ascribe one side as being 100% wrong or 100% right misses the point; all of them are struggling with the same grief, but are finding different ways to cope with it.

And Felix is struggling to understand the way other people are grieving. He’s young and has trouble putting himself in other people’s shoes. He’s also 17 at the start of the game and trying to cope with the senselessness of his brother’s death. As he talks about in the Seteth support, he doesn’t want to be around people who remind him of the thing he hates, the thing his brother died for, the thing that his father uses to justify said death.

Felix: My brother was doing his job. My father is the real problem. When my brother's armor was brought back to the castle, do you know what he said? "He died like a true knight." Chivalry begets the worship and glorification of death. Am I alone in finding that grotesque?

Ironically, the Dimitri/Ingrid support chain sheds light on the fact that Dimitri himself is not fully on board with Ingrid and Rodrigue’s logic, and because of his mental illness he is also struggling to cope with this event. Felix and Dimitri would be natural allies in grieving, except that Dimitri is turning into the boar, which also triggers Felix! 

So Felix is left to stew in his own thoughts. Left to build a wall around himself to protect from the hurt that his friends and father have inflicted upon him with their careless words. And yet, he does try to mend fences with them, in his own way. 

Ingrid: Why are you taking over my cleaning responsibilities?

Felix: You're wounded, and you're going too slowly. I couldn't stand to watch.

He wants to rebuild the relationships!!! He just finds it difficult because he’s so angry!!

In Hopes, we get a support between Felix and Rodrigue where those differences are splayed for all to see. While I’m not a big fan of Azure Gleam, I like how there are two possibilities:

The path of reconciliation 

or

Words that go unspoken because of death

It really fits in with the themes of grief and loss; sometimes you are angry with your loved ones and when they pass from this Earth, there is no turning back the clock. I was angry with my brother when he died; he was a Trump-loving anti-vaxxer who fell into the maw of the cult. I was frustrated and sad at what he had become. Stopped contacting him much at all. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

One of the really important things about the whole situation, at least to me, is that no one in this situation is ‘wrong’ to grief in the way they do. It’s not as if Rodrigue’s coping mechanism – which is a logical one, given the culture he is part of – is horrible, it’s just the coping mechanism that Felix did not need. And Felix pushing his family and friends away is not good for his mental health or long term grieving, but it’s the thing he felt like he needed to do given the way he cannot cope with the way other people have processed this event that he finds so triggering.

And if Rodrigue ends up dying, it makes the whole situation even more tragic.

[reposted to add some stuff]