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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years ago

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No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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yujaecha · 4 years ago

Text

BTS at a Carnival Date | Scenario/Imagine

Info: fluff & tiny angst

Pairing: BTSxReader

Warnings: Alcohol, drunkenness, fainting

A/n: Loved doing this request! I loved the idea of a fun carnival vibe, though through writing, I don’t think I’ve ever been to an actual carnival! Can you believe that? Haha, I’m hoping my imagined idea is good enough! I’m picturing like brazil-carnival-colourfulness, like Rio carnival, which may be a little stereotypical, but I love the idea of this kind of energy!

NOTE: Y/F/N = Your friend's name and Y/F/BF = Your friend's boyfriend.

If you would like to make a request for a scenario, imagine, reaction, mtl, ship, or anything really take a look at my faq, and then drop me a request.

Song rec: Carnival B.A.P

Jin

You and Jin had wandered around the carnival for a few hours; the crowd had spread to the side street parties after the main procession. There were so many people around still, drinking, eating, dancing, and generally having fun. It was even beginning to get dark, but the atmosphere was still so vibrant and lively.

“Should we head home soon?” Jin inquired, as you weaved in and out around people. You absolutely did not want the night to be over just yet.

“I’m kind of hungry actually, why don’t we get some food then head off?”

“Ooh, good idea,” he scanned the small and tightly packed street

“There’s a table over there. Let's grab it quick before it gets taken!”

“Good spot!” You said, rushing towards the space. Fortunately, you managed to get there before anyone else.

“We can’t leave this spot until we are ready to leave; it’ll get snatched up so quickly." He said, looking around at the crowd; it even seemed to be getting busier compared to before.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” You asked him. You hadn’t been seeing each other for that long, a few weeks, really. You were still getting to know each other, so you didn’t know if your suggestion to go to the carnival was a good one.

“It was great Y/N, really!” He was all smiles, which made you smile too.

“Ah, I’m glad.” You took a sigh of relief hearing he had enjoyed the date.

“Remember that man in the procession, the one in all blue on the stilts?”

“Yeah! He was super impressive; I couldn’t dance wearing those!” You admit.

“I’d love to see you try!” You both laughed. You continued to talk about the carnival, and Jin, perhaps accidentally, suggested you should both go back the following year together.

“Together?” You repeated, you didn't mean to sound surprised, but deep down, you didn't expect for him to suggest it so confidently.

“Of course!” He says firmly, making you blush. You both ordered some food and continued to talk about everything and anything. The food arrived, and it was incredible! Street food is seriously the best.

Eventually, you were reaching the end of your meals, and Jin noticed your shift in mood.

“What’s wrong Y/N?”

“Oh, I just realised that once we’ve finished the food, we should probably leave. The thing is, I’m just having so much fun.” You admit.

“I suppose… We’ll have to get some dessert then?” He suggested with a smirk. He clearly didn’t want to leave either.

Jin left the table in your hands to get something sweet for the two of you, meanwhile you leant on the table, far more tired than you had realised. You were so zoned out, you didn't realise Jin had returned, only when you felt something pressed onto your nose, buttercream frosting! You wake up out of your daze in shock as Jin giggles.

“Wakey wakey!” He laughs uncontrollably.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” You said, grabbing a small piece of cake and flicking it towards him. He stared in shock as it hits him in the cheek and a mischievous look appeared on his face in response. He flicked another piece towards you and you again back to him.

“Food fight!” you hear someone from the next table shout, and within no time, food is flying everywhere, and the whole of the street party is taking part in the madness!

Once everything had calmed down, you and Jin fell into each other’s arms, exhausted from the long day and then the food fight. You notice Jin staring at your lips.

He leans in “Oh. You have something there…” and picks off a small piece of cake frosting from the side of your mouth with his, rather teasingly. He smirked “got it.”

Suga

Yoongi really was not vibing the atmosphere of the carnival. He was complaining a lot about anything and everything.

“It’s so loud.” He groaned.

“It’s just music and people having fun! Stop being so grumpy.” You replied; it was your idea to go to the carnival in the first place, and you didn’t appreciate his attitude.

“There are so many people, too many!” He added. You decided to just let him carry on and walk with him without. It was your idea to come to the carnival after all, so you weren’t going to let his sour mood ruin it.

You weaved about, walking slightly ahead of Yoongi. There were many food and trinket stalls dotted along the carnival route, slightly away from the main bulk of people. But you couldn't help but feel a little deflated; you were missing the main spectacle to keep him happy. You grabbed some food and stood at the side to eat as all the tables were taken. You attempted to make conversation, but you’re pretty annoyed with him yourself.

“This is so good!” He declared, the first positive he had said thing all day.

“Well, at least one of us is having a good time.” You joked sarcastically, not really paying attention, trying to see the floats over the crowd. Your tone caught his attention, and he finally noticed you looking longingly at the procession and understood what his constant comments had done.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” He looked at you. “I was just hungry, and it's hot. I shouldn’t have complained so much…” he trailed off a little.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh, “It’s not really your sort of thing anyway, is it?”

“That shouldn’t matter. I should have tried more; you wanted to come here, so I should have tried harder, for you.” He said earnestly.

“Let’s try and squeeze our way through? See what's going on?” He suggested, finishing up the food quickly.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and he nodded enthusiastically in response, a complete mood 360; I guess the food gave him a boost of energy.

You both try weaving through the spectators, but it’s no good; the crowd lining the procession is way too dense. Defeated, you decide to give up, but Yoongi knew it was pretty much his fault you didn’t get a spot earlier.

“Ah! I have an idea!” He said as he looks around “Stay right here for a minute, don’t move an inch!”

You stand there for a while wondering what he has up his sleeve, until he returns with a wide smile.

“Follow me!” He said excitedly, grabbing your hand and leads you to a nearby café. Confused, you follow him inside and up to the upper floor. The large room was cool away from the sun, and two glass doors that opened to a balcony with a perfect view of the carnival below. “Much better, huh? I think this is the best view.” He said, leading you out to look down at the procession, putting his arms around you as you both lean on the balcony rail and watch, away from all the crowds and commotion.

“I guess this way it’s the best of both worlds.” You laugh, leaning back into his chest. He really is good at making up for any moodiness. “Remind me to make the most of post-hangry Yoongi again! He's far more romantic than normal!”

J-Hope

Hobi would be so, so excited to be going on a date to the carnival; he’d literally be even more smiley and excitable than usual! He’d dress up pretty “loud,” if you get what I mean, and he would really embrace the day and overall vibes. It’s a place you can both fully immerse yourselves with music, dancing, and fun – his ideal date, really. I feel like he'd be the most likely one to plan this day solely by himself too.

The floats began to pass by gradually as the main part of the carnival began. You were both locked together, and he was pointing out anything and everything excitedly to you; it was such a rush to the senses.

“Ohh, look at that!” He said excitedly.

"How do they do that?" You said, staring at the float passing by.

“Look at that guy’s outfit!”

"He's so flashy!" You laugh together.

"I'd totally wear that." He said, leaning his head onto yours as you continue to look upon the brightly lit festivities.

"You'd look great too." You said matter-of-fact.

"You think so?" He asked excitedly.

"You look good in everything!" You replied, making him squeal cutely.

Suddenly, Hobi's expression changes, as the music, good music began to get louder and louder, more upbeat. You see his expression shift from joy, to curiosity, to a wide-eyed look nodding his head towards the road.

Before you know it, he had pulled you out into the procession, and he was shaking his hips like he’s part of the carnival from the beginning. Of course, he was encouraging you to dance too, you were just laughing at him and the situation. You had just been watching so peacefully, and now you were right in the middle of everything. At that point, what did you have to lose? You danced with him, and, for the most part, blended in with everyone else, but to the two of you, it was as if you are the only two there.

His eyes light up when he sees a nearby bloat with bright glittering lights, and you already know what he’s thinking.

“You can’t!” You said.

“Oh, I definitely can try!” He replied cheekily, giving you a mischievous smile. You couldn't help but cringe at his confidence; you really didn't understand how he did it. He disappeared behind the float, and you walked tentatively alongside, expecting him to come back disappointed, but next thing you know, he emerged atop the float, waving at you to come closer. You approached, so many people’s eyes are on the two of you now. He held out his hands.

“Come on! Get on with me!" And you did, because why the heck not? It was carnival after all, and you were there to have a good time! Somehow the two of you were receiving some of the most cheers from the crowd, or Hobi’s dance moves were at least!

“I can’t believe you!” You said, leaning towards him.

“You love it! Isn’t this way more fun than just watching?” He asked; you couldn't help but agree.

You and Joonie had planned your whole vacation around this one day, you had never experienced a large-scale carnival like this, and you were both so excited. However, there was one issue, the traffic was mad!

You hadn’t really thought about the people, just the celebration. You both sat in the taxi, facing away from one another in silence for a while. You knew how irritated he could get when things didn’t go to plan, so you thought it was best to just remain quiet to avoid an argument.

“I’m sorry,” he finally piped up; you looked at him questioningly. “I should have thought of this; I didn’t think it would be this crazy.”

“It’s fine! We didn’t know.” You assure him. “It’s as much my fault, really don’t beat yourself up over it.” His expression didn’t shift. He began to talk with the taxi driver, seeing how easy it would be to turn around to head back to the hotel.

Defeated, you glanced out of the window and noticed other people abandoning their cars and approaching the carnival on foot. “Wait, don’t turn around!” You suddenly insisted, making both Namjoon and the taxi driver jump. “How long would it take to get there on foot?”

The driver explained it would take about a twenty-minutes to walk, if you were quick and told you a few shortcuts to take too.

“Come on!” You said, grabbing NamJoon’s hand. “If we run, we might make it for the big finale!”

“I don’t know, it’s quite far…” He said, looking in the direction of the carnival. He glanced at you and then his frown shifted to a smile “Do you know what? We’re on vacation! Why not?”

“Yes! Amazing, we’ll have to be quick, though!”

He flashes you a competitive look, a look you know well. “I’ll race you.” He said with a smirk.

“Oh, it’s on, Joonie!” You said back, “be prepared to lose.”

“Hah! We’ll see about that!” He said, grabbing the car door handle, making you do so also reflexively. You both exited the taxi (You paid the driver dw!) and began to run. NamJoon kept grabbing you from behind to sabotage you when you overtook him, and you could hardly run with the laughter between the two of you.

Fortunately, you managed to make it in time, and you managed to beat him too!

“I think looser has to buy drinks.” You insisted, out of breath.

“Hey, that wasn’t part of it.” He replied, also puffed out.

“Well, I’ve just decided that it is.” You said with a smirk and he nodded.

“Whatever you say, speedy.”

You wandered around for ages after the carnival was over, cooling down in the evening breeze. It was absolutely brilliant, more than you had imagined it to be, albeit a somewhat different experience.

Jimin

You had been stood now for a while, and you were cursing yourself for not buying that drink when you saw the seller just a while earlier. It was so hot, and you were feeling a little overwhelmed by all the people, colours, noise. It was a sensory overload.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jimin asked you once again, noticing your change of expression. You really didn’t want to let on that you were uncomfortable, so faked a bright smile.

“Sorry! I was just zoning out there.” You lied. He giggled at you before putting his arm around your shoulder affectionately. He returned his gaze to the floats and sways of people passing you by. Jimin would point out little details, but you couldn’t really focus and found yourself feeling very dizzy and lightheaded. He was so engrossed in the carnival procession, especially the dancing, and you were trying your best to be all smiles and play your part, but the sun shone down hot and heavy onto your head. Someone bumped into you both from behind, pushing you forward slightly.

“Woah, watch where you’re going!” You think you heard Jimin say, but that’s when the world started spinning, and your vision blacked out entirely.

You woke up away from the crowd a little, laying on your back. You weren't sure how long you had been out of it, but the atmosphere was still busy, and the air was still warm.

“Drink this Y/N! You’re okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” You heard a familiar voice trying to comfort you from above, but you could hear the slight panic in his voice too.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” you said, trying to sit up, but Jimin held you back.

“Not so fast! I don’t want you fainting again!” You complied, leaning back into his embrace. He leant forward, fanning your face with a pamphlet for the carnival.

“I’m sorry,” you said, defeated. “I really wanted you to enjoy the carnival, but there were so many people, and it was so hot and-“

“-It’s okay!” Jimin said, cutting you off. “Really, I’d much rather you were okay than anything.” You sighed in agreement, with a pang of disappointment through you.

“I’m really okay now. Let’s go back and watch the rest.” You insisted.

“Oh, no way! I asked some guy to go and find a medic. You’re not moving an inch until they get here.” You couldn’t help but love how protective he was. Just a short while before, he was engrossed in the carnival, but now it was like you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world, as you lay in his arms.

The medic came, gave you the all-clear after a while, noting it was probably heat exhaustion. Jimin promised to take better care of you from then on, and you hated how he seemed to blame himself for not taking more notice when you aren't as cheery as he had expected watching the carnival. You tried to insist on returning to catch the end of the procession, but he wouldn’t let you leave the seat they had found for you. You were all pouty and felt undeniably guilty for ruining the day.

“I won’t let you stand and watch, but I suppose I could carry you?” He said, turning around and holding his arms outstretched for a piggyback.

It was your first date with TaeHyung, and you were really regretting your choice of location. You had only just arrived, but you were already struggling to hear each other or even walk next to each other it was so crowded.

“Why don’t we go over there? It looks a little quieter,” you queried.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, leaning in towards you to hear you better.

“Oh, um, I said-“

“-Why don’t we go over there?” He interrupted, not hearing you. “It seems a bit less busy.”

You nodded in agreement and made your way towards a slightly more open space. It was no use, every time you tried to talk; something stopped the two of you from hearing each other; the band passing by, a child crying, two people stood near you laughing. You were beginning to worry it would ruin your chance with him altogether; a first date is enormously important after all.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asked you, shouting a little to be heard.

“I could have something,” you replied.

“Cotton candy?” he asked, pointing at a vendor.

You headed over together. He ordered one cotton candy and a bottle of water for each of you. You walked around the parameter of the carnival sharing the sweet treat; it was a little easier to hear each other there but still not good.

“Thank you for buying that. I’ll get the next thing,” you insisted, he laughed.

“It’s lively, isn't it? The carnival.”

“Yeah…” You looked around awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped walking, turning towards you. “Why are you apologising? I don't mind it.”

“Because it’s such a bad choice for our first date, we can’t even speak.”

“Hmm, how can we fix this…” He thought hard, “Ah! I know,” He placed his arm around you swiftly, pulling you in close to him. “This is better right?” You panicked internally but tried hard not to let it show. You just nodded; after all, it was a lot easier to hear each other, if nothing else.

You continued, now far closer than before. As you walked, you spotted a group of kids dancing to the carnival band down a small side street away from the crowd. You giggle, looking at them having fun; Tae took note.

“Hey, you guys have some great moves!” He complimented them, approaching them “Do you think you could teach us how to dance like that?”

“Yeah! We’ll teach you!” The smallest one replied eagerly, pulling at his hand “you can be my partner.”

“Oh, I actually want to be Y/N’s partner, see she’s my date for today, and I wouldn't want her to be upset if I danced with someone else.”

“Ohhh, you’re on a date!” The kids replied in unison, eyeing the two of you.

"You’re really cute together!” The little one said with a wide grin. “That’s okay, I’ll dance with my brother, and we’ll show you, just copy us, okay?”

“That sounds great!” He replied to the kids, who had gotten very excited to teach two grown-ups their dance.

Tae took you by the hands, and sort of following your instructors, you danced together, laughing constantly.

“You two! Hurry up, the main float is coming!” A woman’s voice sounded behind you, the kid’s mother presumably.

“Ow, but we wanted to stay here!”

“No, come along now!” she insisted.

“I guess we have to go now.” The girl pouted.

“Well, thank you for teaching us your dance moves!” You said, leaning down to her “you’re a great teacher.” You held out both your hands for high fives, and she perked up slightly. Her brother high fived you too, and Taehyung held his hands to them too.

The kids left the side street leaving just Tae and yourself behind and suddenly the quiet between you seemed even louder than any noise from the whole day so far.

“We could stay here and dance some more?” Taehyung suggested, breaking the awkward space between you and stepped forward, holding his hands out to you again.

“I’d like that.” You admitted and took his hands once again. You began to dance, only he held you slightly closer this time…

Jungkook*

You and JungKook approach the carnival hand in hand; you were so excited. You noticed he seemed a little quiet, but it was the first time he was meeting your friend, one of your best friends from when you were kids too. You had arranged for him to meet her at the carnival; in theory, taking some of the awkwardness away. Plus, she was bringing her boyfriend too, so there was someone for Jungkook to get on with, and he wasn’t left out while the two of you caught up. You spotted them first and ran excitedly towards them. You had known your friend for years, and didn't mind her boyfriend, though you never really saw just what she saw in him.

“This is him then! Nice to meet you Jungkook, I’m Y/F/N” She said holding out her hand to shake, you instinctively laughed at her formality.

He shook it tentatively with a slight giggle. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot!”

“Good things,” you assured her, as your friend shot you a worried look. “Of course! Always good things.”

“So, this is the most recent addition to your long list of lovers then Y/N?” Your friend’s boyfriend joked, mocking your tragic lack of romance in the past, which he and your friend were all too aware of.

“Long list huh?” Jungkook asked surprised looking at you, you thought you saw a speck of jealousy but shrugged it off, he already knew your history, you had both been very open from the start.

“Ha! Yeah, as if!” You scoffed.

The four of you headed towards the carnival, where people are already gathering for the main procession along the main route. You all stood together, you and your friend reminiscing about old times. Jungkook listened to your old stories attentively, laughing along, while your friend's boyfriend wasn't really paying much interest. You looked towards Jungkook, who was staring at your friend's boyfriend as his girlfriend spoke, you could now tell for sure he was a little annoyed towards him.

“Are you okay?” You asked in a lowered voice, so the other two didn’t hear.

“You're not close with T/F/BF?”

“Not really, no. The three of us went to school together but I didn’t really know him much until they started dating.” You assured him. "Why?"

“He seems... uninterested.” He said, trailing off.

“He was just joking earlier, about my love life, I promise you.”

“No, no, I trust you, Y/N, really. I just didn’t appreciate the joke, nor his general attitude.” He admitted.

“Well, he’s just a bit of an overly confident guy; he doesn’t know when a joke is too much.”

You continued to watch the carnival together and decide to head away from the crowd for a drink.

“How much of a lightweight are you then, Jungkook?” Your friend’s boyfriend asked mockingly as you approached a pop-up bar. Oh dear! You look at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes.

“You want to see?” He asked him confidently, not breaking eye contact.

“Oh my gosh! Yes! Drinking game!” Your friend said excitedly, and you groan.

“Really, are we doing this?” You ask. Jungkook shoots you a look you recognise. He’s getting competitive.

Many, many rounds later, Jungkook slammed the glass down first. He had downed that one easy while Your friend’s boyfriend was struggling. Your friend was rubbing his back for encouragement, but it was no good; he turned to throw up.

“I guess I won?” Jungkook said, standing up with a wide grin, leaning towards you for a victory hug.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could drink so much!” You said, kind of impressed.

“Yeah, I really can’t. Please help me stand up straight,” he said with a low laugh; he was leaning on you heavily.

Your friend helped carry her boyfriend off, and they went to grab a taxi home. You left Jungkook on the road curb while you went to get him some water. When you returned, you dropped down to sit next to him. The carnival was coming to an end and the crowds dispersed. He rested his head on your shoulder and let out a big exhale.

“I think I’ll need some help standing up.” He admitted with a drunken chuckle. You sighed but agreed to look after him. It was hardly the way you had wanted the day to go, but you couldn’t help but be proud he put your friend’s boyfriend in his place and won, so you’d let him off this time.

*Not implying Jungkook os a drunk or anything just FYI!

33 notes · View notes

deadontheinsidebut · 4 years ago

Note

Can I also request shiratorizawa, inarizaki, msby black jackals boys at a sleepover? I love your previous one!

Hi anon!💗💗✨ I’m so happy you enjoyed reading it. Im replacing the black jackals with Aoba Josai since Atsumu is gonna be in the Inarizaki one already and etc! I hope you enjoy it regardless!

a/n: MWUAHAHA chaos part 2

this is all fun n games!! My banners were messy for this one because I made them so last minute but next time they’ll be better :(

Previous one

—Sleepover w/ Shiratorizawa, Inarizaki, and Aoba Josai

Oikawa is CEO of sleepovers

everyone knows he’s big on team bonding and bringing out the best of his team so why not get the team together and get them to spill their deepest, darkest secrets

he’s the most prepared mf istg

when the team gets to his house, he’s already laid out the face masks that come in 7 different colours with lofi music in the background

this man comes off as whiny but he’s actually so smart and knows just how to set the mood to get them to open up

everyone is cautiously making their way into his living room and settling onto the couch

“Oi, Shittykawa, what are you up to?” Iwaizumi starts

“oh Iwa-chan~ stop being so suspicious and just sit down.”

the boys collectively decide on the blue face mask because of their team colour and are impatiently waiting for it to dry

In the meantime, Oikawa is taking pics of everybody to update his fans on twt and Instagram !!

No one is amused

Kindaichi is just sitting there anxiously because he wants to please his upperclassmen and Mattsun and Maki are teasing Oikawa about how lame the sleepover is

and then the team is arguing about what they should do instead and everyone is pitching ideas until...

they decided on an arm wrestling challenge

and ofc Kyotani is taking this opportunity to beat his upperclassmen at some strength challenge

Despite Oikawa’s protests, the team was all for it

they even put a bet on it: whoever loses all the challenges has to treat the rest of the team to ramen

and an arm wrestling challenge evolves to a push up challenge and everyone is really into?? except flattykawa because the lofi music did NOT fit the atmosphere no more

and Iwa-chan is dominating the competition ofc

But like?? Mattsun is a close second?? And Kyotani too!

and the lifting challenge? they’re lifting any object they can find in Oikawa’s house

it’s a mess because no one is putting the objects back in its original spot so Oikawa is trying his best to fix it instead of joining the competitions

BONUS: because Oikawa refused to participate, he was the default loser and was forced to buy everybody ramen (im so sorry i love you Oikawa)

They REALLY thought they could escape Kita’s cold demeanor if they didn’t invite him to the sleepover??

Nahhhh bb. Aran was ON that real quick

So when the twins were fighting over absolutely nothing, Kita burst in through the door, staring dead in their eyes

Suna was already calling an Uber out of there because he didn’t want to go in the first place

his current concern is LITERALLY how he doesn’t want to be caught up in the twins’ antics so why would he stick around for the scolding

so while Suna is calling an uber and shouting profanities in his head about the situation, Atsumu and Osamu are trying to put on their best innocent faces

Hitoshi is not having it and he’s praising the twins for their chaotic behaviour to which Kita turns his attention to him

the sleepover becomes a boot camp tbh

and it just happens. Kita and Aran don’t even know why they’re doing this and the team just follows suit because it’s the new vibe

the twins are fighting over who is actually doing better in the KiRan Bootcamp for Chumps and it turns into a full blown competition

but you see, Kita takes this as an opportunity to get them to take care of themselves

Akagi is just trying to maintain his friendly persona and encouraging everyone to do well but Kita is kicking his butt for being a wuss and now they’re having a cooking competition???

whoever makes the healthiest meal wins

okay OF COURSE Osamu wins who are we kidding

but now whoever scarfs it down first is the winner and Atsumu is like “yes this is rematch time!”

and smh Osamu wins again because our food addict here is thriving

so Kita has managed to trick them into eating a healthy and hearty meal so what’s next

the rest of the team is eating THEIR meals with Suna grumbling agan but he’s lowkey enjoying the chaos

and Aran is on the same boat as Kita and he suggests a vball competition (but he’s thinking about how he can turn this into extra practice for his boys)

ok this is a rematch fr

all the boys are trying to show off their best form in regards to their position and it just looks so silly because they’re trying so hard in the middle of a living room

And Atsumu is a perfectionist so he was precise and accurate with each position and he won

Basically the entire team was done with the twins’ bs and just let them win but no one got any sleep and the whole night was just useless competitions made up by Kita and Aran

BONUS: the prize was a tofu hamburger Kita brought over as a snack and the whole team groaned in frustration

ok I just know Shiratorizawa would try to have the most wholesome sleepover and Tendou would be the one setting it all up

he genuinely wants to have a normal sleepover okay?

so here they are, sitting in a circle drinking their tea and snuggled up in their pajamas when Tendou brings up “tea time”

He even has a talking stick and everything but the “talking stick” is a vball keychain

And you think okay, so everybody is adorable like that we’re just gonna have a normal heart-to-heart

And it honestly starts out like that

Tendou is telling stories about his friendship with Ushijima and how it’s made him comfortable with himself

But Shirabu took the talking stick and went “I don’t like Goshiki’s hair”

And all hell breaks loose

Goshiki is like “tf you say about my hair?? Look at your mf bangs??” But he’s secretly crying inside and sneaking looks at Ushijima in hopes of gaining the favour of the ace

But then Ushijima grabs the keychain and he’s like “I just want Oikawa to come to Shiratorizawa”

And Goshiki is like ON THE VERGE OF TEARS

and then Semi is like “well since we’re on the topic of what we want, I want my setter position back. I don’t want to give it to some inexperienced player who won’t even listen to my advice”

And now everyone just wants to throw hands because it’s so shady

And Tendou is lowkey loving it because he rejoices in the soul breaking of others

And tbh, I think Tendou secretly wanted this to happen

Ohira really is trying to calm everybody down before this stupid game breaks up the entire team

But Goshiki and Shirabu are deadass about to throw hands

And Ushijima is preaching about whoever the strongest is will win

And Goshiki just wants to make his senpai proud and he goes hard

Semi is secretly cheering for Goshiki because Shirabu stole his spot

Tendou is videotaping the entire thing for ahem future purposes (like soul crushing purposes)

But yo it’s the match of the century

Bad bangs vs Bowl cut

I’ll let you decide which one’s which

BONUS: everybody went to sleep before the match ended so no one knew who won and that lead to another war not long after

Taglist:

@janellion @personality-still-downloading @darkdinosaurpeanut @sugacookiies @anianimol @sstardusty @fangirlwithlissa @flavoredmilktea @millie-mint

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musingsoftheheart · 4 years ago

Text

No song that I could sing but I could try for your heart

Edited by @evoedbd Jo thought to herself how did they get here?

How did she get so incredibly lucky to to have Darla's arms trying to guide her hands to move across the piano keys.

Jo was an enthusiastic learner for someone that didn't know a thing about the instrument. A sigh escaped her lips as she pursed them hard in concentration trying to move her hands to basic scales Darla was trying to teach her.

It certainly did not help that Darla's arms were currently encircling her generating some sort soft cocoon of warmth that she unwittingly craved. Not to mention the soft flowery perfume that wafted from Darla was always prevalent in the air reminding Jo of sweet smelling lilacs.

“I'm sorry I'm so bad at this. You must be tired of showing me the same thing over and over again.” Jo looked disheartened at her lack of progress.

“Not at all! Look the only reason why Kashi was able to pick up the Lute so quickly is because it basically an old school version of the Ukulele he is used to playing on!” Darla exclaimed.

Jo seemed to still be down about it. It would be so easy to miss that look of unhappiness if Darla wasn't paying such close attention to the other girl. Hoping to perhaps alleviate the misery she began to explain.

“Besides the Harp is nothing like the Piano! I think really all it is the placements of the chords that is getting you confused.”

“I'm not even sure how the scales work? I know you said it was like waves with the fingers but it seems harder than that...perhaps if I watch you do it it will make sense...”

“Alright so starting from here the thumb goes down like so until you get to your pinky then you must manuver your thumb to the key next to the pinky finger and do it same thing over again.” As Darla demonstrated it slowly she spoke again.

"Once you get the hang of it you should be able to do it forwards and backwards like so..." Darla effortlessly played the scales.

Jo smiled as Darla continued the exhibition of her skillful playing of the piano.

The way Darla's dexterous fingers effortlessly glided across the keys was enough to captivate the Princess. She found herself wondering how each delicate stroke might feel playing across her skin.

Biting her lower lip just a bit Jo continued her idle observation of Darla's hands which seemed so gentle in contrast to her rather sharp tongue. Nothing made Jo more delighted than an individual with a razor sharp wit.

Jo shook her head trying to clear her mind from such thoughts.

Certainty didn't help that Darla was also considered from an aesthetic point of view, a pretty girl. While normally she seemed antagonistic or aloof, Jo got to see a softer more caring side of Darla.

Focusing on the motions of the hands Jo noted how quickly Darla was moving; as if she was driven into some sort of trance. It was a no brainer to Jo just how proficient Darla was with this contraption. It bought out a passionate side of Darla that Jo had never seen before. A side she wished to see more of.

“I think perhaps it's time for a break from learning...perhaps maybe you could what an actual master can do?” Jo inquired.

“I am...n...”

“YES! Darla got accepted into Julliard and The Royal Academy of Music! It had been all over the news! Genius prodigy!” shouted Kuri from her spot on the couch of the living room. Both of them had forgotten that the others had decided to host a Sunday Brunch as a victory celebration in the defeat of Gothel.

Darla couldn't help the blush on her cheeks whether if was because of her close proximity to Jo or the fact that Kuri just blurted a part of her past so loudly in front of everyone. Luckily, Nora coughed to get Kuri's attention.

“How about we help the boys with breakfast making hmm?” Nora shot the other girl a quick look while sauntering off towards the kitchen. Kuri apologized before following after Nora.

“...what does she mean by that? Are they good schools?” Jo asked politely genuinely curious of Darla's past. As open as Darla has been with her since they've met she's been rather quiet about her time before arriving at Whitehorn University.

“Umm two of the top schools....in the world?” Jo's eyes practically lit up with utter delight. She was baffled by Darla's quiet admission of her proficiency with this instrument. Usually Darla was so full of confidence and exceptionally smart but now she seemed withdrawn a little bit.

“Okay now you really need to show me what you can play. Pretty please?” Jo begged hoping to bolster Darla's spirit.

“...well..” Darla looked sheepishly down towards Jo's face.

“...what would you like me to play?” As Darla took a seat on the piano bench next to Jo.

“hmmm....” Jo looked away from the piano towards the group in quiet contemplation but in doing so she missed an affectionate look from the girl beside her.

“How about your favourite song. Something you know by heart...that you can play with you eyes closed!” dared Jo.

“Are you suggesting I actually play with my eyes closed?” Darla inquired cheekily.

“...well only if you can.” Jo shrugged rather happily.

“Alright but you'll have to scoot over a bit so I can be in the middle of the piano...it does sound better on a Grand Piano but we can't fit one in this living room...”

Darla rolled up her dress shirt sleeves. Her usual blazer jacket was resting over the back of the nearby couch. Her silver bracelet clinked softly when she moved to remove her very expensive designer watch, which she laid across the ledge for the piano sheets.

Darla started off playing notes that were slow and methodical but it did invoke a jazzy type vibe that Jo recognized from the music Darla played whenever they had to research together. However so slowly the music started to creep up to a crescendo of utter happiness.

Jo intently studied Darla's hands as they flew across the piano like she was flying. Watching the speed of which Darla moved them so dexterously kind of made her blush for some unknown reason.

Well she'd be lying to herself if she didn't know the reason but such a marvel Darla is in the current moment playing without a care in the world. Her lips curved into a soft smile and her eyes vulnerable as she swayed her head from side to side in tune with the song.

“She looks absolutely content in this moment.” Jo thought to herself.

Jo shook her head trying to stop her lurid thoughts and blush from completely consuming her.

In doing so she looked over at the kitchen in which was a sight to see she nearly wanted to laugh out loud as both siblings were staring at Darla playing with their mouths completely opened in shock.

Nora and Lucas were bobbing their heads in tune with the song as they watched Omar perfectly flipped the pancake over. They clapped and congratulated him.

Ezra was leaning against the fridge with his eyes closed and arms crossed but his tapping foot gave away his enjoyment of the current atmosphere.

Smiling softly at the scene Jo redirected her gaze towards the object of her affections and sure enough Darla's eyes were closed and yet definitely still utterly focused at playing the song at hand.

Jo couldn't deny her attraction to Darla any longer. She's never felt this infatuated with someone before man or woman. She was in trouble.

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

To be continued.

#Ever After Academy #Darla Pratt #Eaa Jo #Jo x Darla #Lovestruck #fanfiction #Evo told me to write this #and so I did #woo #here you are

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tragedynatural · 3 years ago

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Hey I know you posted it like a month ago but I would love a detailed song-by song reasoning/annotations for your Sam/jake mix. If you have time it would be great to hear your thoughts!

anon i've never jumped so hard at the chance to explain my totally normal thought process in depth before. thank you! yes of course! i will try to be as brief as possible! but probably not!

the first caveat i have to give you is that this mix was based mostly on a concept where cold oak lasts for ~2 weeks. so there's time for complicated relationships and despair to set in and a lot of this won't match the like..two days? it takes in the show. also this tracklist might be different from the post. i was editing.

we must be killers (mikky ekko) - "children of the wild ones" - references demon blood and my loose interpretation of what it might feel like to have these burgeoning powers, and then the "killer" refrain is because imo a key part of boyking4boyking is about how they both Know one of them is going to die, probably by the other's hand. also i'm compelled by similarities i see between jake and sam and both have spent their adult lives (hunting, military) being trained to kill. and i think neither of them want to do that, and in this situation they're forced to consider killing their peers..oof. thinking about jake's face when he has to kill ava, thinking about how sam and jake have been in situations where they've needed to kill someone in order to ensure the safety of someone else (in the logic of spn universe's approach to hunting & military)

like real people do (hozier) - this is abt that sense of knowing i was talking about. in the 2 week cold oak au jake and sam both find out from azazel early on how things are supposed to go. and they spend a week not killing each other! but they don't know each other very well and each fears that the other will snap first. "i will not ask why you were creeping / in some sad way i already know" - a sense of like, scorpion-and-frog anticipation that the other's going to turn on you but wanting to prolong the peace before it happens. also this dynamic is a product of a horrible time for them, they know that they probably won't both make it out - the "kiss like real people do" refrain is about an idle wish of like, what would it have been like if we were normal?

damn these vampires (the mountain goats) - i just like this song i think. this was rlly about the atmosphere, capturing the sense of being changed against your will that jake is reckoning with for the first time and sam is still struggling with. also, you know, there's a little bit of a defiant feel to this song. "scream when captured... let this whole town hear your knuckles crack." at this point they think maybe they can refuse to play along with azazel, and that it might be possible to get out anyway.

our time is short (gang of youths) - look, you know, rn they've been here for a ~week? they're not sure if they're ever making it out. the other kids died in the first couple days so it's just jake and sam and i think they're going through 'last 2 people on earth' feelings at warp speed. this is .... a moment of feeling good b/c they know it won't last very long, and there's a bit of last hurrah energy. "so let's drink the best wine now..before lightning strikes us down" etc.

another place (bastille) - the jake/sam connection is a genuine feeling but it's also very much....a foxhole thing to quote bobby. they like each other genuinely but both are aware this is the result of an extraordinary situation. even if they were both getting out alive...they live completely different lives. this song is about, don't make this more than it is because even though maybe we'd both want it to be, it's not attainable.

heavy in your arms (florence + the machine) - "who is the betrayer? / who's the killer in the crowd?" is absolutely my concept for the 2 week cold oak. sam and jake being plagued by dreams from yellow-eyes, and they don't want to suspect or betray the other but. well. they'll be stuck here forever. this is both of them wondering who'll crack first. also "heavy in your arms" is a little foreshadowing for when jake stabs sam and holds him while he bleeds out. thanks!

as the world caves in (matt maltese) - look. they're going to nuke each other up boys till old satan stands impressed...on their final night alive it's YOUUU that i lie with.... this is last few days of peace before Inevitable Conflict as the tension hits a peak. it's about "i like you and i care for you and i know eventually one of us is going to kill the other but i can't be the person to pick up the knife first. so every night i sleep across the fire from you and hope you fall asleep before i do." and azazel is there.

no one would riot for less (bright eyes) - "everything is eclipsed / by the shape of destiny" - the fact that the lives of the special children have been counting down to this moment! their hopes, dreams, personal morals, affections for others are eclipsed by fate baby! inescapable! the whole "little soldier" section is again about how both of them have been made into weapons to fight for various causes, and now they're being. pitted against each other. "love me now / hell is coming" and "help me out / hell is coming / could you do it now / hell is here" is obviously about them knowing shit is going to go down soon and also this sense of like. just kill me if you're going to. don't prolong the inevitable.

have to explode (the mountain goats) - similar theme here, feeling like you're counting down to the inevitable - "the stage is set / someone's going to do something someone else will regret" sam and jake are pieces in a plan that's been in motion for years and everyone's just waiting for them to buckle down and play the role. "the fuse will have to run out sometime / something here will eventually have to explode" - dean only finds sam once sam's been stabbed and jake has 'won'. if no victor emerges they stay here until one does, and they know that they can't hold out forever.

tusk (fleetwood mac) - i put this on every playlist sorry about me! also it's, okay, jake wakes up in the night to see sam stuck in a nightmare and he knows the demon's visiting both of them. what's it saying to him, he thinks, what's sam going to do? this is about creeping dread, and this sense that the person you're with maybe knows something you don't. that they're planning to betray you, that they already have. and musically the frantic melody and vocalization just ups the tension.

bite the hand (boygenius) - jake's pov. sam is the one who pushes for a truce and holding out for another option out of cold oak, and jake is on board. at first. but as time kicks on he realizes that there's no other option whereas sam is still a little bit in denial. so the "i can't love you how you want me to / i'll bite the hand that feeds me / you want what i can't give to you / who do you think you are / who do you think i am / maybe i'm afraid of you" - is about him doing a heel turn where he realizes like, i can't do this (stay indefinitely here to find a dubiously-real other way out for a guy i just met) and sam can't do it either, and one of us is going to snap, and i'm afraid it'll be sam first.

i bet on losing dogs (mitski) - sam's perspective on ^ - he does know how it's going to end but he can't quite. give up on hoping that it won't. he doesn't kill jake when he has the chance. he must know jake'll kill him if he's not dead or knocked unconscious, but he hopes. that he won't. anyway. and he's wrong. he knows he'll be wrong, i think he can sense that jake is doing a heel turn but also, they're getting played by azazel who's planting seeds of doubt and they're stuck in this depressing place alone, and sam's not sure how much he can trust himself. he's betting on losing dogs.

samson (regina spektor) - "you are my sweetest downfall / i loved you first" - jake's pov on a guy he genuinely likes who he knows he's going to kill. before the fight & the cemetery they cared for each other. "we couldn't bring the columns down / we couldn't destroy a single one" - in the end trying to hold out against azazel does nothing, the gate opens, the apocalypse happens. it's futile. and the story never mentions jake or cold oak again - i think the fact that sam tried to like, help & protect the special kids & then had to watch andy, ava, and lily die, & then jake tried to kill him, & he had to kill jake is like. pretty fucked up. those are the last people like him on this earth man he was 23!

heaven or hell (digital daggers) - vibes! also: "i’ve got the same deep wounds as you / my love can double as a weapon too" - jake and sam's similarities are so key to me. either one of them could have been the person to turn first. i'm anti-trying to make jake into a bad guy for stabbing sam! he wanted to go home! "show me the side no one else sees / turn it back on me" - what's it like for sam to be around other special kids? does he feel more normal or less than he does with dean? thinking about that "it doesn't matter if we believe it only matters that they do" scene- SO interesting! what a cool moment of jake and sam connecting on a level of both being leaders, both knowing what a lose-lose situation looks like, both knowing how to keep the hope alive, and do what has to be done. of course this is also the trait that leads to jake killing sam / sam killing jake. they're the same.

old college try (the mountain goats) - this is specifically like, night before jake stabs sam. he knows he's going to kill sam by now. "i want to say i'm sorry for stuff i haven't done yet / things will shortly get completely out of hand" - jake thinking about this last like, goodbye. and "i will walk down to the end with you / if you will come all the way down with me" - seeing it through till the end, sam has a burgeoning sense of something wrong.

it seemed the better way (leonard cohen)- again i literally just put this one on everything i can. also you know, it's jake thinking about listening to azazel and killing sam. it seemed like the better way then, but now, when azazel's threatened his family and he realizes he can't get out of it, it's too late to go back in time and do it differently. he has to obey azazel + play along. "i better hold my tongue / i better take my place / lift this glass of blood / try to say the grace". yes i know this is about religion i'm not trying to make light of the song i just think. i'm squinting okay.

don't let me be misunderstood (nina simone) - LISTEN! JAKE'S INTENTIONS ARE GOOD. this is like, meeting in the cemetery and sam is alive and they both know what's passed between them and what can never be and where it has to go now, and jake's thinking "just remember that i'm not evil. just remember i have a family that i wanted to come back to like you, don't let where this went eclipse the fact that you cared about me, that you know i'm a good person." it's also me holding a large stick and pointing it at everyone in supernatural so that they remember that he did nothing wrong.

say goodbye (fleetwood mac) - okay bear with me. in my version. of cold oak jake doesn't get killed by sam. he kills azazel and sam and dean let him go. this is a retrospective on the whole thing for both of them. "i let you slip away / there was nothing I could do / that was so long ago, yeah / still I often think of you" and "so don't let it get you down / just a time within a time / just a scheme within a scheme / a little world within a world / yes, a dream, just a dream" are the thesis lyrics for this song. cold oak's done, azazel's nuked, back to the real world now. it's a bitter way to say goodbye to a person you cared about after they killed you/you killed them, even though you both sort of. expected it to go that direction. by this point i was just like IT FEELS RIGHT (adds to playlist).

#THIS IS SO LONG? i've never felt more charlie_day_pepe_silvia.png in my life #anon. i...this is a little deranged. i hope it was what you were looking for #mevoice why don't i make a playlist chiefly about an au that i will never finish or post!#boyking4boyking #long post #if this shows up without a readmore on mobile i'm so desperately sorry

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chemicalarospec · 4 years ago

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A Look At Dan’s Recent Branding

AKA I Make Up a Bunch of Stuff About Media and Perception and Promotion and Branding and Say the Same Things Over and Over

I’m so sorry this is actually horrendously long. I’m a loquacious a$$hole.

So I started rambling in the tags of this post began thinking about Dan’s presence recently. The reason so many of us fell for the red chairing was because it actually seemed possible -- perhaps not a proper joint video, but a cameo or side role.

Now that the video’s out, I can see it has very strong Solo Phil vibes, but I can still imagine a few different ways Dan could have been in it if he wanted to be. (Side note: It also feels like a run-of-the-mill, everyday, video, though seasonal, and not a festive special, despite the content. idk, I blame it on the lack of decoration and boring grey wall. cue clowning for more spoopy content though.) Dan is not in the video, so he must not have wanted to be in it. Why?

Before I talk more, let’s just talk about “branding” for a bit. I use it interchangeably with “image”/”public image”/”public persona”/”common connotations”/”associations” here (kinda wrongly), but I default to “branding” because it’s what the phandom (possibly even Dan and Phil themselves?) use the most frequently -- “image” is perhaps the best-fitting term. Regardless, in a very general example, if Stephen King wrote a fluffy teenage romance book, it would be “off-brand” for him. That’s what we’re talking about here. Except with Dan and smaller differences.

It’s also worth noting that Dan and Phil were not always Dan-and-Phil -- I remember seeing an early liveshow clip where Dan says they’re not a double act. I’m pretty sure the radio show in 2013/early 2014 followed by the launch of the gaming channel in 2014 is when they became a “double act” -- the BBC absolutely billed them as such.

You can see what I’m getting at here: Dan is trying to drop the “and Phil” in a softer way than he dropped the “isnotonfire” back in 2017. However, it’s definitely worth noting that he had already distanced himself quite a bit from it before the official name change, with first the shorter fringe and then the curls being a visual representation of that. And it’s probably just a mental thing on my part, but curly Dan now looks different from curly Dan-with-Phil.

Okay so first, why is he trying to change his image? Like his first evolution, a major component is being more mature -- llamas and malteasers didn’t simply not represent Dan anymore, they represented a younger, less mature Dan. He didn’t like it anymore. Does Dan not like who we view him as now? My first instinct is “no,” because his current connotations are fairly empty, but I don’t really know, so I’ll just move on.

What do we associate with Dan right now? i. e. what’s “on brand” for him? Well, again, there’s not a lot of strong specifics, at least for me. After two years for being nearly absent from the internet and very clearly growing a lot as a person, Daniel hasn’t talked enough for there to be only the basics left: tall, British, memes, and gay.

Okay, but the gay. Dan and Phil have been out for one year, but being part of The Gays is a pretty big part of their branding. This is because of their already long-standing reputation, more specifically their attachments to the community -- all those teenage girls turning out to be lesbians and, of course, the shipping.

The Gay is also an answer to the next question: What different aspects of his image is he pushing? Again, that he’s more mature and serious -- the UN talk, for example. I’m not counting the book here because that’s the product of the changes, not content being used to create a shift.

The big thing I want to focus on is the attitude video series. I’m very curious as to how this came about to be and don’t know enough details to say some things, but one thing I can note is that the plug for You Will Get Through This Night is a really small part of it. It’s literally the last thing he says, and they don’t even show the cover. It’s so skippable, and while it’s good that means they all really care about the important content of the series, it does create some questions.

To be honest, all of the attitude/This Night content is kind of strange to me. For example, the quote they used to promote it doesn’t mention the book, which just looks bad. This Night isn’t really the center of the collab -- it’s more general mental health awareness and activism.

So that’s the first thing Dan’s trying to put into his image. The podcast (Get Britain Talking or something like that) is, I feel, more directly part of marketing This Night, though of course, like with the video series, the content itself is emphasized and important and I should treat it as such.

Back to attitude. attitude is “the UK’s best selling gay magazine.” Why is Dan trying to build connotations to things he already is? No, but actually this gives insight on how he’s trying to be perceived: he’s a confident gay man. This magazine with its connotations (formal media, queer, well-established) will come up should someone new search up Dan -- obviously that’s not the direct reason; it’s a representation of his public image.

Why is he trying to create this image? Right now, us in the phandom are probably 90% of the people tuned into Daniel’s actions. We’ve already built up a lot about him, and though we don’t want to admit it, we do like Dan-and-Phil, the double act. Overall, I do think Dan will not change our image of him as much as he’d like, but he has changed it more than we might think -- for example, people talking about how “mature” and “grown-up” he is in new photos.

I think I’m just stupid, but these pushes don’t seem to be needed for You Will Get Through This Night. Okay so the problem here is “how do you get people to buy a book?” An author’s broader public persona doesn’t really impact this. I’m not going to hear about a mental health book written by an ex-Youtuber and search up the author. I’m not going to hear about a mental health book written by an ex-Youtuber in my normal book searching, period.

You know where I could see myself finding out about a book like this, and what would get people to buy the book? Doing mainstream interviews specifically about it; I’ll read TIME interviews with anyone, so long as it seems mildly interesting. But Dan’s not doing that, not a lot, not yet. (I bet he will later.)

I guess what I’m saying is the attitude video series is periphery media that impacts his branding but does not reach a large audience; it’s impact is atmospheric, not promotional.

(Dude it’s 10:30 at this point I’m not sure what I’m saying.) (also I rearranged these paragraphs sorry if it reads poorly)

Dan is a private person. He has made this extensively clear throughout the years and in the most recent content. What this means is I don’t believe he wants to update his branding just for the sake of accuracy to self.

So it’s (partially) for something else, but the public framing clearly goes beyond This Night. The obvious answer is that Dan’s just trying to return to the public eye, but then I still ask why???

The attitude series is not an end goal -- i. e. it is a building block for something. I mean, I just don’t think Dan’s like “yeah I want to create content again and this is the content I want to create,” simply because it started out seeming like an extension of the interview and now it’s clearly more than that, but it’s still like, for the magazine. It’s not his.

So what’s Dan going to do with this status of being a queer content creater and mental health advocate he’s curating? So remember how there’s a 99% chance he’s doing something w/ television but there’s been no official announcement? Yeah, that.

I had a few paragraphs talking about book-adjacent media (interviews, reviews, ect.) vs television-adjacent media but all of it was me 100% making stuff up so it’s gone now. Basically, I *think* if he were to make a show, fiction or non-fiction, people would search him up and write a small description of him, and I *think* this is less likely for You Will Get Through This Night, so I *think* this reputation-building is in preparation of the former, not the latter.

Isabelle, you spent over an hour on this, do you actually have anything interesting to say?

Freaking *waves hands* promotional-- social dynamics-- what the heck actually is branding at this point-- Dan show.

TL;DR: It might just be the French in me (or just *my* French relatives?), but life is manipulation and Dan is trying to drop “and Phil” from his name and is manipulating his public image to be more mature, with a focus on being one of The Gays and a mental health advocate. Because it’s not vibin’ as This Night promotion/set-up, it is likely setup for promotion for another project, probably the TV one.

TL;DR 2: Just read the tags on the original post I literally didn’t have to say any of this except for “television theory”.

#dnp #dan howell #daniel howell #you will get through this night #dan and phil #sorry dan #but i know our people lol #u can't escape i apologize #I said this #things I've said #my writing #god why the frik i hae al;flkajdsf;lkj acan't type 100 million tags #dan #dan book #this night #hey actually just reaidng the bolded parts and skimming the rest words well #that was a smart move on my part #for readability

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mimicteruyo · 4 years ago

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Yo guess who replayed all the mainline Windows Touhou games to see if their opinions had changed/evolved

To begin with, I should say that all my opinions are extremely subjective and more based on vibes than anything else. With that said, the things I usually look for in these games are the following, in no particular order:

Characters/Story

Atmosphere/Seasonal rep/Sense of identity

Music

Gameplay (less scoring and more things like general difficulty level, resources, gimmicks, the aesthetic beauty of the patterns etc.)

Even then, a game can be great in three of these departments and still be something I don’t really enjoy playing (*coughs* LoLK *coughs*), and a game that only really hits the jackpot in one can still be precious to me.

EoSD (Normal, ReimuA, 1cc just barely)

I'm always surprised by how much this resembles Mystic Square, but hey I'm on the record as someone who really likes MS. I recalled the patterns being both denser and faster than they really were, but tbf I played Crimzon Clover like an hour before I played EoSD so that may have influenced my judgement. I don't play this one much, but I'm not gonna front: I really enjoyed my playthrough and the soundtrack is a classic.

PCB (Hard, ReimuA, choked with 25 seconds on the final timer lol)

When I list my favourite games of all time, PCB is the one which gets to represent Touhou as a whole. And yup, I still love everything about this game (except Charming Domination Who Done it? whoops). For a while, I thought I had finally gotten sick of playing it, but turns out I was only bored because I was playing it on Normal for some stupid reason even though I have already 1cc'd it on Hard. Beautiful and atmospheric and great fun.

IN (Normal, Border Team, guess)

Hard Mode actually kicks my ass in this one lmao. Stage 4 Powerful is still one of the most fun stages in the series, and the Extra Stage is a personal favourite (yes, even with Fujiyama Volcano). In general, it basically does everything right. Even then, it's not usually the first game that comes to mind when I think of my favourites, but I have a great deal of respect for it.

PoFV (Easy, Reimu [usually Normal + Yuuka but meh])

I... don't actually like playing this one that much? In fact, if I have to play a Phantasmagoria game for fun I'm probably going to pick PoDD. With that said, the story, characters, the atmosphere and music in the later stages, and all the additional fluff are so much my jam that I still cherish this game deeply.

MoF (Normal, ReimuA, 1cc)

For all that this game has a reputation for being easy, I have a terrible track record actually beating it (in fact, my previous clear was from 2015, which... wow.) However, by utilising such cunning strategies as "actually looking at the screen" and "using bombs sometimes" I made it through with just two misses. This game captures autumn the same way PCB captures winter a.k.a. really well, and in general has a unique beauty to it.

SA (Normal, Reimu + Yukari, Utsuho blasted me into outer space)

Love the atmosphere, love the soundtrack, love the characters and especially how well the spell cards in this game support characterisation. Punishes mistakes harshly and doesn't offer that many resources, which means I stink at it lol. Still a personal fave.

UFO (Normal, SanaeB, choked on the final card)

Similar to SA except not as much my cup of tea. I really like the characters and think that the soundtrack may even be slightly underrated. Generous with resources, which is nice since I desperately need them all, but the UFOs are still kinda a pain. I actually did well against Murasa this time, but Shou slaughtered me and Byakuren finished me off.

TD (Hard, Sanae, multiple continues)

As a proud member of the PoFV/SWR/TD Character Niche Hell (yes that's a thing now and yes that's what it's called), it's likely a surprise to no-one that I love the characters and atmosphere in this one. Normal is too easy, whereas my sucky skills at resource management guarantee that I'll never 1cc it on Hard. With that said, the patterns and gameplay feel really good and rewarding on Hard so I still prefer playing it on that.

(As an aside, I also played this on Lunatic to re-unlock cards for practice. Basically everyone after Yuyuko gave me grief... except for Futo, who was still easy. Futo what r u doing?)

DDC (Normal, SakuyaA, 1cc)

So much fun! I was lukewarm towards the demo back in the day, but nowadays I like all the characters, and the back end of the OST is just a banger after banger. The gameplay really shines in this one.

LoLK (Legacy Mode Easy, Reisen, 1cc)

Basically I like everything about this game except the part where you actually play it.

HSiFS (Normal, Reimu + Winter, destroyed by Satono and Mai)

I still don't really like this one. Sorry. I think I'm sleeping on some of the characters (Aunn and Narumi especially seem like characters I could appreciate more), and Crazy Backup Dancers is an absolute banger of a track, but the difficulty spike that is the Stage 5 bosses and my general lukewarm feelings towards everything else made me think I was over Touhou.

WBaWC (Normal, Reimu + Otter, 1cc)

...yeah, no, still not over Touhou. Another game where I basically love everything and I'm still shocked that I ignored it for so long even after Ephemeral Unnatural Balance proved I wasn't just old and crusty and unable to appreciate new games. Still in the process of warming up to the characters, but that's nothing new. I should probably move onto Hard Mode pretty soon: my first crack at it took me to Stage 5.

UM (Demo, Normal, Sanae)

Feeling optimistic.

#teruyo talk #i guess my opinions haven't really changed #but there you have it

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camptony · 3 years ago

Text

Memories Ignite || SEBTONY

Tony hummed under his breath while his fingers strummed with ease over the chords of his guitar, trying to make sure it was perfectly tuned. Not that playing at that bar was exactly doing it at the Madison Square Garden, but to him a much smaller crowd meant they would be able to hear whatever tiny mistake he would make, and he didn't want that. Especially not that night. The night when Sebastian was suppose to come to hear him play.

Not that he was absolutely sure the other would show up. There was no commitment to it, only a few spoken words. But he felt it was only fair to invite him, since he had been polite enough to invite him to his art show gallery. He would had been lying if he said the fact of seeing Sebastian again was making him tickle in the pit of his stomach, but he chugged it all down to the simple fact that they hadn't really talked all that much since they met again recently, and he definitely didn't want to suck, not that night.

“Tony! You're up in five, man!" a voice told him from the other side of the door of his small dressing room, and that snapped him back up. "Coming" he simply replied and took the chance to give himself a final check in the mirror. Light brown pants, a pastel tones floral shirt completed with a dark blue vest on top, and black boots. Casual. He ran his fingers through his hair. always messy as it was, then he threw his guitar behind his back and walked out of the dressing room.

Sebastian walked into the bar, hands in his pockets as he looked around. He wasn't normally an awkward person - a bar by himself wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. Normally he'd easily strike up a conversation with a cute guy, offer to buy them a drink and see where the night took them... well, he used to, at least. He was sure he'd still be able to do it with ease, he knew he was charming in all the right ways, he simply had no interest in it any more. So now he stood, unsure what to do with himself.

He supposed a drink was still easy so he took himself up to the bar and ordered the house beer, sitting down at a table with two chairs which had a good view of the stage he assumed Tony would be performing on. He was early but the bar had some nice vibes going. It was neither too loud nor too quiet and it was an easy atmosphere to just blend into the scenery as he waited.

When Tony walked out onto the stage area, Sebastian swallowed. Why did he always look so good. In five years he certainly hadn't got any less attractive... if anything, he was somehow more attractive. Part of him felt guilty for thinking that. He had a boyfriend, after all but it wasn't wrong to appreciate the physical attractiveness of other people, right? Besides, Ritchie and him had only been together for just over six months so maybe... maybe he just hadn't fully settled into that idea yet. Something like that.

@rockcreeksmythe

A light round of applause welcomed Tony onto the stage, and he smiled and waved at what part of the crowd he could see with the spotlight focused on him like it was. "Hey, everyone. So glad you could join us tonight. I hope you all get to enjoy it." He tried to make it if he could spot Sebastian amonsgt the sitting people at the tables but there was little he could actually see, so there wasn't much for him to do but to focus on his set. And he did just that. As his friend played the initial chords on the piano, he closed his eyes and let his fingers strum over the strings of his guitar, the tune of a light folk tune soon echoing around the room. His first piece would be an instrumental one, the second and onward he had planned to sing, of course if the crowd agreed with him doing that.

Sebastian had heard Tony play the guitar before of course, five years ago while they sat beside the lake at moonlight. Sebastian had been sketching and Tony playing the guitar. But still, he hardly remembered what it had sounded like, the memories from the camp fond but distant. So sitting here, listening and being reminded of the other man's skills on the guitar was a welcome throwback. He applauded loudly, along with the crowd, at the end of the first piece but he hadn't been quite as prepared for Tony to sing. He knew he was going to - the other had invited him with the promise of hearing him sing. But back at camp, it had just been the sounds of the guitar breaking the otherwise silent night but now, of course, Tony had to one up that and be a great singer too. Of course.

Truth be told, Tony always found himself in his happy place whenever he got the chance to sing. He nejoyed playing the guitar, he loved his little store and was happy with his life in general, but there was something about singing that did it for him. And having the chance to show the audience that fact that night made him extra happy, especially knowing Sebastian was out there, sitting in the crowd, listening. There was a slight warm th in the back of his stomah when he thought of that, of him being there. Even if there was the small chance that he wasn't which would had been completely normal. He was sure the man hadhis hands full with his art exhibits, and of course, with his boyfriend.

As his set came to an end and the lights fully went back up, he immediately spotted Sebastian sitting by the bar and his face light up. After taking a couple of bows he jumped off the stage and walked up to where the other was. "Hey! You actually made it" he said, still unable to wipe the smile off his face. "I didn't think you- I mean.. I know you're busy, so thanks." He hopped on the stool next to Sebastian and signaled the waiter. "Give whatever he's having and serve him another one. So... What'd you think?"

Sebastian couldn't help but return the grin on Tony's face, it almost feeling infectious. "Of course - I said I would and I wanted to see you sing." He was about to protest when Tony ordered him another drink but stopped himself. It's not like he wanted to leave any time soon, so another beer was a perfect excuse. "You're really good," he said, downing the last of the beer he had been nursing before Tony had finished so he could be ready for the next one. "Though," he looked over at Tony with a laugh and winked at him, "something tells me you already know how good you are. You should record something... sell it at your shop."

Tony raised his bottle. "Thanks, man" he said, then chuckled. "I suppose I did at some point, otherwise I wouldn't risk public shame, you know." He laughed heartedly, then shrugged. "Nah... I'm not really interested in that, man. I'm happy just playing whenever I can, and people come to hear me, and then move on with their day, and with mine." He looked at the stage and shook his head. "I'm happy with the way my life is right now. Although who knows, right? Never say never, and all that..." He looked back at him and smiled. "I thought your boyfriend was coming too."

"Uhh," Sebastian shrugged, looking down at the bottle in his hands, "to be honest, I didn't even tell him I was coming." He looked up at the other man, "he had a show tonight - he's in a musical, I can't remember if I ever said - so he wouldn't have been able to come anyway." And that was the truth. Ritchie worked most evenings and it wasn't like they always told each other where they were going. They'd only been dating six months and Sebastian wasn't sure how serious it was - he liked Ritchie, sure, but he wasn't rushing to move in with other man, or move their relationship forward. "Is it weird I came alone?"

Tony's smile went bigger. "Ah... Sneaking up, aren't we?" he said with a chuckle, then shook his head. "Sorry, couldn't help it." He took another swing at his beer and nodded as he put it down. "Yeah, well.. If he got busy what else could you do about it, right?" He tilted his head. "It's not weird, unless you make it weird" he said, then leaned a bit closer. "Besides, I kinda like the idea of finally having your full attention." He shrugged, then also looked down. "I mean, we met again after all these years, and I feel we haven't really had the time to.. you know, reconnect and all that. There has always been... something." He bit his lip down a bit as he looked up at him to see his reaction.

Sebastian looked at Tony, surprised the other man actually said it. He couldn't exactly deny Tony's words because he knew they both knew it was true. They'd only known each other for two weeks, five years ago, and yet there had been something then and there was still something now. Sebastian had enjoyed his fair share of one night stands, hook ups and friends with benefits over the years but they'd always just been fun. There had never felt like anything more. And Ritchie was only his second actual boyfriend in the past five years since he had seen Tony, the other only lasting for about eight months. And still... he was drawn to Tony. "Honestly, Tony," he finally said with a sigh - not one of annoyance, but one of admittance almost, "if I hadn't been in the middle of the biggest exhibition of my career, you would have had my full attention the other night." The fact that both of their partners had been there the other night went unsaid because it didn't change the statement. Ritchie had been his date and yet Tony... Tony was the one he had wished he could have seen more of that night. "So I'm glad it's just us too."

Tony's face lit up with a huge smile. "Are you kidding me? That was your big night, man. You had to have your head in the game, or things would've gone south." He licked his lips slightly. "But... it's nice to think that would had been an option. I mean, I wouldn't have minded it at all-" He swallowed hard when he felt that tug in his stomach, that weird pull that was starting to make him hot under the collar. Only later he would thought about it and say he hadn't felt that way... in five years. "Yeah... I'm glad too" he said at first, then one of the group who had just performed with him called him up to pick his guitar, that they needed the stage for the next act. "Shit, hang on. Be right back-" he said as he stood up, then turned around and looked at him, a hint of a smile in his eyes. "If you want you can come and see my dressing room. You know, see how a wannabe musician dressing room looks like." He chuckled, then made a motion with his head.

Sebastian nodded, downing his beer in one swift movement. "Nothing wannabe about it," he said, standing up to follow Tony - first to the stage so the other man could collect his guitar, "they always say if you make art you're an artist and you make music so," he shrugged, "you're a musician." He waited while Tony took his guitar from the stage, following him down the hallway near the stage, which no doubt lead to the dressing room. As they entered the dressing room, the three members from the band that were playing next were just finishing up, one of them clapping Tony on the shoulder on their way out, "nice set, man. Good song choices." As they were filtering out of the room, Sebastian looked around, "so this is where the before stage magic happens?"

Tony looked at him with a raise brow. "Oh, I'm nowhere near that artistic vein of yours, man. But thanks for saying that." He grabbed his guitar and led the way through a long, sort of narrow hallway that took them to the back side of the club, where a series of doors were. He pushed the door open to one of those and greeted the group of people there as they were on his way out to perform. "Thanks, man" he told the one who had praised his choice of songs, then he closed the door and made a geture with his hand. "Yeah, this is it. The magic is shared, as you can see, not much room really to be, but cool enough for me to chill, before and after a gig." He took his jacket off, the white tank he was wearing underneath it marking the curves on his chest from his tight it was. He leaned against the desk and looked at him. "So? What'd you think?"

Sebastian's eyes flitted down when Tony removed his jacket, and then he groaned, shaking his head, "what do I think? I think you should be fucking illegal, Tony... I swear to god, this," he gestured at the other man, "isn't fair." He leaned back against the desk just next to Tony, brushing his arm slightly as he did. "You were good. Really. Honestly, it's stupid, we barely know each other and yet..." he turned to look at him, "you owning a record shop, performing in popular local bars and making all the girls swoon is almost exactly how I pictured you."

Tony felt a soft warmth climbing up his neck when he told him that, the way he was looking at him also giving tickles on the back of his stomach. In a single second his mind flew back to those days, five years ago, and the feeling was exactly the same. "I feel like I should apologize for that, but- nah" he said with a soft chuckle. He looked at him and smiled. "Hm... I didn't know you thought that way about me back then- To be honest, I kinda felt jealous about all those handsome French boys you would be swooning with your gorgeous self and inspriring art. It made me wish we had taken advantge of our time at the camp more than we actually did."

Sebastian snorted, "French boys? Please, I make the boys and girls swoon... I just disappoint the girls when they find out I'm gay. And to be fair, we probably would have been caught and very sensationally kicked out if we had screwed around more... we weren't exactly anywhere hard to find. We were just lucky it was a thunderstorm." He remembered the night well... far too well, really. He didn't like to dwell on one night stands or hook-ups, for they were fleeting and gone in a moment (as he wanted them to be) but with Tony he had never managed to quite shake the memory of that night. Though he supposed he hadn't really tried either. He turned his head to the side, realising now how close they were, especially with Tony looking at him. And then it was almost like it happened both in super speed and slow motion and honestly, he wasn't sure which one of them moved in first but he didn't matter. Because all of a sudden the gap between them had closed, their lips crashing against one another. Sebastian moved so he was in front of Tony, standing in between his lips, but had no other sensible thoughts going through his mind.

Tony chuckled. "I just mean because you went back to France at some point after that there would be some swooning. And yes, all those poor girls' heart you left broken on your way..." He laughed softly and ran his fingers through his hair, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip. "Yeah... A thunderstorm" he said, and they were lucky indeed it swallowed all the sounds they made inside that shower room. And the way it felt when Sebastian was inside of him was something he had never felt again, although if he had been honest he hadn't been with another guy since Sebastian. Only girls, until he met Cleopatra and that was it. There was a sudden moment when there was silence, and the sound of their breathing could be heard inside the walls of that small room. How it happened, who initiated it neither knew then, but within a second their bodies were pressed together again, their lips taking claim of one another again with the same hunger.

He grabbed the lapels of Sebastian's jacket and pulled him closer, his tongue parting the man's lips and sinking in, sucking all that sweet taste that only then he realized he had actually missed. He hooked his leg around the other waist and pushed himself up to sit on the counter, their moans and groans muffling the sound of the door opening behind them.

Sebastian groaned, his body pushed closer to Tony when the other man hooked his leg around him. His hands found their way to Tony's body, one hand sliding beneath the thin fabric of the (should be illegal) tank top and he was nearly lost in the moment. That was - of course - until he heard a thud and then a quiet "fuck" which startled both men out of their haze. He turned and saw one of the members from the band from earlier looking apologetic, "sorry. I was trying not to interrupt... uhh. Just forgot my water. Our set goes for 30 minutes but until then... please continue." He winked at them and then ducked out the room as quick as he had arrived. Sebastian turned to Tony (and oh god he looked about as wrecked as Sebastian felt), the interruption making what they had just been doing sink in, "I should... I should go."

Tony groaned when he felt Sebastian's groin pressed between his legs, and his own body was responding to that eagerly, when all the sudden the voice at Sebastian's back made both men startle, and they pulled away from one another in a hurry. He simply raised a hand at the man who was leaving the room, all while trying to catch his breath back. His face was flustered, and his hair a mop of mess. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, then sighed and made a slight nod with his head. "Yeah, I- I'm sorry about that..." he said quietly.

Sebastian shook his head, "don't be... it's not ... it wasn't just you, Tony. I'm sorry too. I-" He paused. He what? Found it hard to control himself around the other man? Felt this pull to him that he had never quite felt before which was ridiculous in itself. That wasn't how life or attraction worked, was it? He had never felt like he didn't have control over it before. Or was it that he didn't want to leave? That part was true, at least. "I'll see you around," he said, almost reluctantly and finally stepped back from the way their bodies had been pressed together. He stood there for another few beats before relenting and walking towards the door. He turned back to Tony, his hand on the door handle, "you were really good tonight. Thanks for inviting me." He gave him a small smile before ducking out of the room, needing to get out of the bar before he changed his mind and made good use of that 30 minutes they may have had.

Tony looked up and right into Sebastian's eyes, that brief moment of hesitation making his heart do a small flip inside his chest. What was that? But just as soon as it came, it was gone, and Sebastian was stepping back. One steps. Then two. The distance between them seemed to him a lot bigger than it actually was. "Don't go..." almost fell off his lips, but he knew he shouldn't do that. Plus, it was now obvious Sebastian wanted to leave as well. "Sure. No problem" was what came out instead in response to the other's words, then he took a deep breath after the door was closed behind him and turned around to look at his own reflection in the mirror. "What the hell are you doing...?"

END SCENE.

#para #discord para

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hatsukeii · 4 years ago

Text

OH MY GOD I JUST HAD A GENIUS SONGFIC IDEA

I am once again disregarding requests-

I’m sorry I love you guys but I HAVE TO DO THIS

Due to popular demand via a vote on instagram, I have decided who to write about:DDD

Disclaimer: This fic is inspired by a Levi one I’ve read before, I don’t remember the author but if you find them or they find me props to you!!

Remember When // Modern!Todoroki Shouto x reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Cursing, idk if this is a warning but aged up characters

Summary: In a world where everyone is reincarnated, your search to find someone special ends somewhere nostalgic.

The memories shouldn’t stay.

They just shouldn’t.

That’s not how the world works.

What was supposed to happen, was you were supposed to die, forget everything, and get reborn. Start a new life, with a new face, meet new people, fall in love all over again, get married, have kids, grow old, die, repeat.

So why didn’t that happen to you too?

Why did all the memories come flooding right back the second you turned three? Why did you look the exact same? Throughout your teenage years, you desperately tried to get rid of everyone in your memories. Mina, Bakugou, Deku, Kaminari, Jirou, and most importantly, Todoroki.

Ah, Todoroki Shouto, your first and last love. How could you forget him?

For fifteen years of your life, you’ve been trying desperately to find him.

But who’s to say he remembers you too?

That possibility didn’t stop you from seeking out every opportunity to figure out whether he was still the Todoroki you used to know. The Todoroki you used to love so dearly. You prayed every night, that you would finally meet him again, not in your dreams, but in real life. No matter how hard you tried to burn the memory of him out of your mind, he just wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t let go of how he stared at you, those heterochromatic eyes staring into your soul as it lit on fire. You craved to feel his hand on your cheek, his lips on your head, his arms around your waist, you wanted it all back. It made you feel greedy, it did, but could anyone blame you? You had everything taken away from you the minute he died. You wished to pass away, so you could forget about him and start a new life, but ended up with this mess. Your emotions are hard to suppress. You’re just as in love with Todoroki Shouto as you were in another life.

You were unlucky to be reborn like this, all the memories from your past life mixed with new ones. The school days at UA high, fighting villains alongside your best friends. The day you got married. The day you had kids. It was terrible, having those images in your mind, but being unable to fulfil the hunger and constant longing to do it all over again.

Walking down the street, you stop at a cafe. It’s a really nice cafe. Reminds you of the one you used to work part time at in your past life. Warm, dim ceiling lights, timber wall lining, Swiss cheese plants, a nice little island where baristas were busing brewing up steaming hot mugs of coffee, plush couch seats and wooden chairs accompanied with marble tables, and a little platform for occasional guests that would perform. The entire cafe radiates a nice vibe. It reminds you of what you used to have. Giving yourself a tiny grin, you push the door open, letting the little bells ring. Grabbing a couch seat, you settle yourself down, putting your headphones on in an effort to block out the noise other customers were making. “Good evening, miss. Would you like anything? I suppose you wouldn’t want coffee at such a late hour.” You position one of the sides behind your ear. What time is it? You bring your phone up to your face, squinting a bit at the bright screen, showing 7:15 in bold, white numbers. “It’s fine, I’ll just have a latte and your apple pie.” The waitress looks at you in confusion. “Miss, I haven’t given you the menu yet?” Eyes widening, you go silent, before plastering a smile on your face. “Regular, just not at night.” Did that convince her? The waitress bites her lip, tilting her head a bit, before jotting down the order and shuffling away quickly.

The cafe is buzzing with excitement, talks of a band performing in a bit filling the air of the cozy space. You roll your eyes, not wanting to deal with it. You just got back from five lectures that you surely didn’t enjoy. The cafe is supposed to be a way for you to get some downtime, not for a band to ruin the peaceful atmosphere. Pulling your headphone back onto your ear, you mindlessly go through your phone, bored and uninterested in anything on your timeline. Every single post is about your friends with their valentines date. To you, valentines is truly, the worst thing to possibly celebrate. Not only is it is about a man that was tortured and eventually killed, it is also a reminder, that you’ll never be able to love someone normally because of those stupid, idiotic, utterly pointless memories that held you back. It doesn’t matter how many people your friends set you up with. You’ve had to reject over eight guys you were set up with, all because you simply can’t let go of Todoroki. It doesn’t matter whether he remembers, as long as you do, you’ll never be free of this hell. You get made fun of for being too uptight, too picky, too dense, when in reality you can’t help it at all. Whenever you even have the slightest thought of a different guy, Todoroki’s name plays in your mind like a broken record. Thinking about it now, maybe you don’t want to leave the memories behind. Maybe you want to remember them, no matter how annoying, shitty, and irritating they can be. Losing them would be like losing a part of yourself, and you didn’t want that.

“Miss, the latte, and the apple pie. Enjoy your food.” Picking up the tiny spoon, you fiddle around with the utensil, admiring it in all its simplicity. It isn’t a peculiar spoon or anything, just a normal coffee spoon that has a gold brimmed green end. Sticking it into the latte, you give the drink a good stir, not even paying attention to the coffee foam art that was there a second ago. Leading the brim of the cup to your lips, you carefully take a sip of the hot liquid. Nothing about it has changed. It tastes just as good as when you worked here. If only you could introduce this to Todoroki all over again. Eyeing the pie with lidded eyes, you cut out a chunk, taking it into your mouth as you reminisced the days, where you would feed him the exact pie. It was pretty impossible not to feel nostalgic in this place. Way too many memories were made here. First dates, first kisses, first mini concerts, this was like a shrine of key events in your past life. You continue to savour the rest of your food, saving the drink for last. Exhaustion is taking over as you hear the sound of cheering, a guitar strum, and a half recognisable voice. Slumping into the couch, you doze off, headphones slowly falling off. From onstage, heterochromatic eyes stare at your figure, mouth hanging as the band sets up their instruments.

He finally found you.

After all these years, he finally found you.

Never has he ever been so thankful for fate.

His situation was the same as yours. He was reborn, then regained memories from his past life, except he was never able to get a certain someone out of his head. For years, he performed at this particular cafe, hoping you would be there to watch him. He hasn’t been able to fall in love with anyone, despite having hundreds of fangirls craving for his hand in marriage. He spent immeasurable amounts of time delving deep into those past memories, trying to scrape together the song you oh so loved to listen to. The song that represented your life with him. Hours upon hours of bass practising, just for the sake of reuniting with you. Uncertainties burdened him night after night. What if you’ve already become a different person? Would all his work have been for nothing? Would the only place he can ever meet you again be his dreams, and the piles of the memories he still had with you? All those doubts were washed away with the look he gave you. That was definitely the (Y/N) he knew. From the iconic band hoodie, to the order of the cafe’s secret apple pie and latte. That was undoubtedly you.

“Guys, please let me play one song first.”

“Hah? Todoroki, you’re seriously changing it now?”

“Do me a favour, would you? Let me do that song first?”

The drummer’s eyes widened in realisation.

“O-oh! Yeah, sure thing. Good luck, you get one shot.”

Hands on the mic, the cafe goes silent as the first riff comes on.

Headphones fully slipping off your ears and onto your neck, your ears are no longer protected from outside noises.

This song.

Letting your eyes flutter open, you shake your head, rubbing your eyes a bit from your little nap. Adjusting your headphones to hang nicely around your neck, you sit up from your position, steadying yourself with your hands. How long have you been asleep for? You groggily grab for your phone, wincing yet again at the bright light that shone through. You weren’t even able to fully comprehend the numbers on your screen, when a voice rang loud and clear.

“Thought I saw your shadow under the door,”

This song, I remember it.

What is this? You absolutely love it. The way the lyrics resemble a long lost friendship, it makes your heart clench with every word. You pull your phone up, trying to Shazam the lyrics. The song sounds familiar, yet so, so different from anything you’ve heard before. Typing in the lyrics rapidly, your search fails as nothing comes up.

Dammit, what is this?

“I can never tell what’s real anymore, anymore, anymore.”

There’s no way. It has to be a real song. You swear on your life you’ve heard it somewhere. It’s lingering in the back of your mind, waiting for the right time to pop out. Cold sweat drips from your forehead as you go through all the songs you know. Your head hurts, your sight is blurry. Hands go up to grab your head as you squeeze your eyes shut, your phone dropping onto the plush couch.

No, I know this, I definitely do.

“It seems so long, it seems so long,“

Colours flash in front of your shut eyelids, almost giving you an epilepsy. Your mind travels into those god forsaken memories from your past life. Mina, Jirou, Kirishima, Bakugou, Deku, Todoroki, everything crashes right down on you. Panting heavily, you grab the cup of coffee, downing it in one go, hoping it helps with easing your mind. An image flashes in your head, sending jolts to your body. You and Todoroki in a cafe, listening to Wallows perform for the first time. That was your first date. Remember When became your song that night. It was a staple of your relationship. It was like the background music of your life story. Was there no Wallows now? The nostalgia that song brought you was immeasurable, yet you didn’t know it would have such an effect on you.

Oh my god.

A moment of epiphany hits you like a truck.

“All the places I’ve returned to,”

“All the faces that remind you,”

Letting your head spring up, your eyes dart around the cafe, desperately trying to find where the song is playing from. You should know fully well it’s coming from the band that is intriguing the audience excellently. However, you’re still in a state of complete shock, refusing to believe your ears. The familiar tune resonates in the cafe, a silky voice serenading couples in the audience.

It’s him.

Your eyes lock onto the band.

Heterochromatic irises stare back at your watery ones.

He looks just as good as before. His hair is still groomed, red and white parting in the middle. His turquoise eye shines with the gloss of tears as he sings his heart out on the stage, letting the tears roll down his cheeks freely.

Covering your mouth with a shaky hand, tears freely fall from your eyelids as your mind goes blank. You can’t seem to peel your eyes off him. Your heart beats wildly as you let out a tiny gasp.

It doesn’t matter if the two of you only just met. At a cafe.

Right now, you’re looking at someone you’ve known your entire life, and it feels ethereal.

I found you.

Finally.

Do you remember this?

Do you remember when we were the ones watching?

References:

Remember When- Wallows

Lyrics to said song

Cafe interior inspo lmao

Tags:

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For once I’m proud of something I wrote, please feel free to give me feedback, hope you like reading this<3

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soveryanon · 4 years ago

Text

Reviewing time for MAG176!

- The statement felt so short! Well, it was, admittedly, very short, and not much was technically happening (someone is being hunted by what used to be their pack, is got, is torn to shreds, and someone else from the pack is arbitrarily designated as the next victim).

It’s very funny how I had felt that The Stranger’s statement had a biiiig Hunt-vibe, and these elements also appeared here but were definitely more Hunt-y… while also displaying the poetry aspect of The Stranger:

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “So dance. Dance to the beat of the thump of the chase of the still and plastic horse hooves, which cannot break from where they are secured by bolts and glue and eggshell-thin reality that paints a visage of sense almost enough to tell you that the nausea that swells and pushes at the limits of your mind is incorrect. […] Just – keep – running…! Your feet – or are they just the shoes with emptiness within? – will pound upon the creaking wood of carousel top, or perhaps the only ground there’s ever been, so struggle not to look behind […] You tire of the chase of course, the fire of an all-relentless pace of competition, reaching for a name, identity and face that has long since worn through all reserves of hard, enduring vigour in you.”

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. […] The prey turns and runs, all grace of The Hunt forgotten as they stumble, crashing through undergrowth and dirt. Behind them, feet pound silent.”

Very fitting for a neverending chase that the statement opened and closed with the same words, just as the chase began anew.

- Small things in the dynamic of the episode: the fact that the people trapped in the chase were often not treated as identified subjects nor even grammatical subjects. The pack was first described as “teeth smile” and through various threatening elements of their bodies (“The spaces between the trees are filled with eyes that hate and hands that hold the promise of a life ended on the rotting leaves of the forest floor”), the people of the pack were “the pack”, “the killers”, there were “no names amongst the pack”; their victim was “the one who deserves to be hunted”, “their quarry”, “the prey”.

The absolute absence of name or detail allowing to give one of them an identifying detail was already a big red flag when Trevor appeared as Trevor: he had a name, he was singled-out… but in the statement, even the prey didn’t have a name. So, as Jon pointed out: he was lower than that (and bait).

- The pack’s logic was really reminiscent of Hunters that we knew, uh? It being motivated by “the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty” was already something we witnessed with Daisy, Julia and Trevor. They had felt, at first, maybe less bad than other avatars because they were targeting monsters/avatars/manifestations of the Fears… but were fundamentally just ruled by the will to hurt others, as Daisy acknowledged. We saw Trevor fall deeper into The Hunt through his statements, but here, we directly saw how the hunters are absolutely monsters (needing a victim only to serve their own purposes, regardless of facts or rationality). It’s interesting that in this domain, the Fear was both of being the prey and chased by the others, and of potentially becoming the next one? Nobody could ever win. Interesting, also, that this Hunt-domain felt a bit Slaughter-flavoured: it reminds me of MAG112, with the same ambiguity, the purpose being the chase, the friends turning against you… but also with the revelling in the butchery.

(As usual with the Fears twisting something that could have been positive, but taken to another extreme: the feeling of a “pack”, of individuals sharing a cause and being united by it. But here, this “unity” is intrinsically linked to the desire and the need to exclude, to punish, to hurt someone (“it is the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty that pulses through every fibre of them”), and that motivator turns the whole situation into the monstrosity that we witness. Really reminiscent of cult-like organisations, uh?)

(- I’m aware that the statement was apparently a reference/homage to Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, but since I’m not familiar with it, I don’t have anything to add about that except that it joined my to-read list!)

- Jooon, CHILL OUT:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “They can each smell it wafting from the others, but who will it be…? Who is the most afraid? Which of them held back? Which of them… [CRACK] There. You. [GRASS RUSTLING] Blood on your hands, no doubt; blood on your lips; but not much.”

I feared for a moment that he was pointing at MARTIN in that moment.

- It’s not the first time that we heard sounds related to the statements while it happened, but it’s been pushed through the roof in this episode, sounding as though we were running with the prey:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. [IN THE BACKGROUND, CONSTANT SOUND OF A CHASE IN THE FOREST: FEET RUNNING, PANTING, SHUFFLING OF LEAVES AND BRANCHES] Teeth smile. Ready to kill. [SHUFFLING OF BRANCHES] The lashing branches reach and claw and try to hold back the charging vengeance of the pack.”

And. I wonder what these sound effects are. Jonny had said, back in the season 1 Q&A, that all the sounds we were hearing were canon in-universe (background atmospheric music excluded). How come we’re hearing these sounds of pursuit as if we were participants in the chase (while Jon was staying where he is)? Could Martin hear them too? Are they somehow “created” on the tapes through dream-logic?

- A super nice touch was the two different kind of birds that we could hear during Jon&Martin’s exchanges, the trill and the squawk – as if already announcing that there were two people following them. And Basira arrived right after another squawk!

(MAG176) MARTIN: What aren’t you telling me? [LONG TRILL OF A BIRD] ARCHIVIST: Martin, please. I’m trying to find our way to Basira. MARTIN: Talk to me, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I’m fine! [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Glad to hear. [TRILL OF A BIRD] And the fact that we’re hunting our friend, in a domain of The Hunt isn’t getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Hm? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this. […] Besides, the chase isn’t… really the point of this particular place. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] MARTIN: Oh, no?

(Which also helped to prepare myself to the gunshot at the end of the episode: I had tensed up a bit at the squawk shortly before, since it was a disruption, so the gunshot wasn’t as violent and surprising as it could have been.)

- Jon was walking slowly, and later mentioned that he had hoped to be the one targeted by Trevor:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Hold on. Take it easy. MARTIN: … What? I’m going at a normal pace, you’re the one that’s slowing down! ARCHIVIST: I am not. MARTIN: You are! You’re dragging your feet. … What’s up? […] ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements. […] For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you’d go for me, but… Well.

… So was Jon stalling, staying behind Martin in the hope that he would be identified as an easier target to improve the chance of Trevor going after him rather than Martin? ;_;

- Mmm, it was speculated that Jon might be influenced by the domains he was going through on an emotional level (extremely uneasy in The Dark, chirpier in The Vast), and in this one, the fact that they were hunting Basira (/preparing a trap) in the domain of The Hunt was directly called out by Martin:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Talk to me, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I’m fine! [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Glad to hear. [TRILL OF A BIRD] And the fact that we’re hunting our friend, in a domain of The Hunt isn’t getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Hm? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this. MARTIN: It’s not a betrayal if you’re doing it to help.

So mmmm. (Big, biiiig worry if it’s the case… for when they’d reach the Panopstitute, which Jon already presented as his domain. Would he get overwhelmed by Beholding’s voyeuristic tendencies…?)

- … Alright, BigWorryTM about Jon giving us an insight into how this world operates:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: I’m glad. [INHALE] Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you. MARTIN: Hm! [TRILL OF A BIRD] Is that… really a Hunt thing? ARCHIVIST: It can be! The old divisions don’t mean as much these days. Maybe they never did. The domains are… smaller, [TRILL OF A BIRD] more… personal than the Powers. They don’t just feed on the worst fears of the people trapped there, they’re… shaped by them too. It’s enough to fear the domain itself – if not the entire Power behind it.

Because, alright, it explains something that Jonny had already explained on twitter – that what is happening to victims this season is mostly tied to their subjectivity, to their own personal fears. But it also doesn’t bode well at all when remembering what Jon said about the faint hope of removing the Fears:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, just one more, but… it’s a big one. ARCHIVIST: [SMALL] Okay. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Can we turn the world back? [STATIC RISES, STRONG] ARCHIVIST: Wow! Hum… I–if the Fears are removed, yes; but they–they can’t be destroyed while there are still… people to fear them; th–then they can’t be banished back to the space where they came from, it’s not… there anymore, I… Oh! Uh… MARTIN: J–J–Jon, what’s wrong? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it’s, uh… I’m sorry, trying to know things about them directly, i–i–it’s like… [STATIC DECREASES] [EXHALE] God, it’s like looking into the Sun…!

It’s not that the Fears are inflicted on people: it’s that, in this new organisation of the world, they’re not only parasitic – humans & Fears, in the domains, live in symbiosis. If the Fears are subjective, how do you remove them without killing the hosts (humans)? Jon has sounded way less optimistic about a chance of making things “better” since they began their journey, and I wonder if he has reached that conclusion, too… (Which doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the endgame conclusion, but we’ve yet to see other ideas.)

- We! Want! The! Forbidden! Hunt! Merch!

(MAG176) MARTIN: [HUFF] You should get that on a mug. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] “You don’t have to fear The Hunt to be trapped here…” ARCHIVIST: “… but it helps!”

Also, pretty sexy of Jon&Martin to have reached the “we finish each other’s sentences” level in their relationship.

- Martin is observant!! He noticed twice that something was going after them:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Look, though, so can we just… move on? ARCHIVIST: Soon. MARTIN: Look. Jon, I–I didn’t want to say this, but we either need to move on or you need to tell me what’s going on, because… [PAUSE] I think we’re being followed. ARCHIVIST: We are. MARTIN: Oh. ‘Kay. That’s not what I wanted to actually hear…! ARCHIVIST: I know! That’s why I didn’t mention it before. […] ARCHIVIST: You alright? MARTIN: Just peachy. I don’t, I don’t know, I f–feel like I saw something in the trees… ARCHIVIST: You did. MARTIN: Oh, fantastic! [TRILL OF A BIRD] You’re very reassuring, you know that? Is it that… “pack”-thing you were talking about? ARCHIVIST: No, they’d have… They’d have no interest in us. We’re not one of them. MARTIN: Look, Jon, if, if you know what it is, then why don’t you just tell me– ARCHIVIST: Hold on. MARTIN: –so… ARCHIVIST: Shh.

(And it might doubly sting that Jon was all “Yeah, I know” about it – Martin doesn’t have all-knowing powers to help him.)

(That’s. A lot of “Look” coming from Martin this episode? Very Beholding of him.)

- I’ve been laughing for six weeks over Martin’s barely audible “Oh-my-god”:

(MAG176) MARTIN: Oh. ‘Kay. That’s not what I wanted to actually hear…! ARCHIVIST: I know! That’s why I didn’t mention it before. MARTIN: [BARELY A WHISPER] Oh-my-god… But we’re safe, right?

Martin was feeling speechless, uh.

I wonder why Jon kept him in the dark like this, though? Was it because he came up with that plan when they were already being followed, and didn’t want to risk Trevor or Basira overhearing? Was it because he needed Martin to reek some fear (but not too much)? Was it because he thought that Martin would try to talk him out of that plan, since it relied on Trevor’s death and on Basira killing someone? Since the Change, Jon has been forgetting or not managing to express what he felt or knew often; there is still a risk that it could backfire if a bigger threat arises…

Jon did need him to remain calm:

(MAG176) MARTIN: [BARELY A WHISPER] Oh-my-god… But we’re safe, right? ARCHIVIST: As long as you remain calm, yes. Absolutely. […] Right. Martin, do you trust me. MARTIN: Uh, what? … Oh, Christ, this can’t be good. “Y–y–yes”? ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements. [FOOTSTEPS] MARTIN: Oh, okay, now I’m worried. [SHUFFLING] What d’you– Oh, AH! [METALLIC HISS] […] ARCHIVIST: It’s okay. …Trust me. MARTIN: O~kay. TREVOR: It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT] MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED AND SLOW] Jon? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me?

Was it because being afraid would feed the Hunters / Basira / Trevor? Because allowing them to fear Trevor would have (through dream-logic) given Trevor his power back, and turn him back into a Hunter? Or was it “just” because Jon needed Martin to act according to his plan? I had felt like MAG167’s statement had erased some of Martin’s doubts regarding Jon’s feelings for him (with Jon admitting that Martin was his “reason” and why Jon was able to keep going, in a situation where Gertrude would have crumbled), but Annabelle had angled her venom at whether Jon needed Martin: it’s a complicated situation overall, but. I worry a bit that Jon knowing what needs to be done and only needing Martin’s participation as a passive tool might directly feed into Martin’s insecurities and lead him to try something reckless in the future…?

- Cough, Martin’s obsession with knowing about the PLAN? Martin being frustrated to not know about the PLAN?

(MAG176) MARTIN: S–so are you… going to tell me what’s going on? What the plan is? ARCHIVIST: We’re going to find Basira. MARTIN: [HUFF] No, Jon, that’s the goal! What I want is the plan, the steps in-between that need us to be hunted through the woods. [THROUGH GRITTED TEETH] I’m flying blind here! ARCHIVIST: I– [TRILL OF A BIRD] [INHALE, EXHALE] … Yeah. I’m sorry. I do know what I’m doing. MARTIN: How nice for you, but I don’t, unless you tell me! […] [HIGH-PITCHED WHIMPERS] Oh, oh… Oh, Christ, you– This’s– He just… ARCHIVIST: Relax, Martin. MARTIN: I–I–I–I’m, I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna relax! I’m sick of never knowing what’s going on, and then…!

This is how Web!Martin can still w–

- I’m both ;_; and glad that Jon told Martin that no, their situation has not been as bad as Basira’s:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good. MARTIN: Oh my goodness, really? And here was me thinking the apocalypse was going oh-so-swimmingly! ARCHIVIST: Yes, alright, I just meant… MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True.

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: It’s tricky. She’s… [INHALE] She’s had a bad time. MARTIN: [HUFF] I mean… Haven’t we all? ARCHIVIST: No. [TRILL OF A BIRD] No, we haven’t. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Right.

… Because, yeah. Jon never wanted this new world. Jon has to bear the guilt of what Jonah made him do (of what Jonah did through him). But it’s also true that Jon and Martin are not currently stuck in a domain like the other victims, tortured by their worst fears. (… Although the new world is, in some way, Jon’s Personal Hell since he knows he contributed, unwillingly, to birthing it, and has to witness the pain and anguish it causes to everyone and has to deal with the fact that some part of himself is enjoying it.)

I wonder if we’ll get a full statement from Basira, or about what she’s been doing since the Change happened? Was her personal hell to pursue Daisy through domains, not fully sure whether she would kill her or not (and subsequently break the last promise she had made to her), or is there… even worse?

- I have the mentality of a child, but I’m still snickering so hard that lately, Jon’s need to pour out his statement has been portrayed like needing a bathroom break (down to the little detail of Martin keeping watch around them):

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: Ah… Hold up, I–I need to, uh… [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: Now, seriously? We’re almost out of here. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I’m sorry…! Not really up to me…! MARTIN: Fine. [SIGH]

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: Ah– MARTIN: … What? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [AWKWARD HUMOURLESS AMUSEMENT] Hold on…! MARTIN: Oh my god, are you actually serious? Right now? ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry! MARTIN: [SIGH] Fine, just… I’ll keep a lookout, be quick. ARCHIVIST: I’ll do my best! […] Hold on. MARTIN: –so… ARCHIVIST: Shh. MARTIN: Wh– No! [BAG JOSTLING] No, Jon, you just did a statement, I don’t care if you want another one– ARCHIVIST: Martin! MARTIN: –we’ve gotta mo–

Jon sounded almost amused at the ridiculousness of the situation, this time! And Martin dealt with it faster, too.

- I LOVE how we could tell, through Jon’s voice, that he had at least a hand on Martin’s face with his “Listen, look at me”:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: … Right. Martin, do you trust me. MARTIN: Uh, what? … Oh, Christ, this can’t be good. “Y–y–yes”? ARCHIVIST: Then, it’s very– Listen, look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I’m sorry. MARTIN: Uh– Wh– Sorry, what? ARCHIVIST: You need to remain very calm, and don’t make any sudden movements.

It was so natural and intimate at the same time ;w;

- ! There was a bit of a novelty, because Trevor knew about Jon’s compulsion:

Did Jon tell him&Julia off-tape, back in America? Jon hadn’t used it with them (or on Max Mustermann in the exchange we had heard), hadn’t talked about it, and they didn’t reference it in MAG153 either. Or did Trevor&Julia connect the dots after Jon took their statements in MAG109?

- And that’s two pennies for the swear jar!

(MAG176) TREVOR: [BESTIAL GRUNTS] Don’t move! Don’t you fucking move! […] It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT]

(And another example of “‘swears’ means ‘there is also gun violence in this episode’” x”))

- The scene was altogether aesthetically pleasing, super funny, and heart-breaking with the contrast between Jon, Martin and Trevor:

(MAG176) TREVOR: And don’t you say a word, or I’ll cut him open! I know what that voice of yours can do, so shut it! ARCHIVIST: Mm-hmm. TREVOR: [HEAVY BREATHING, SLOWLY CALMING DOWN] … Okay. You can talk. But slow-like. You try and do any of that… “word”-magic, and he’s dead! [GROWLS] ARCHIVIST: [UNIMPRESSED] Understood. MARTIN: [SHAKY BREATHING] ARCHIVIST: Hello, Trevor. MARTIN: … Jon? What’s going on? ARCHIVIST: It’s okay. …Trust me. MARTIN: O~kay. TREVOR: It’s not okay! Stop fucking smiling! [GRUNT] MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED AND SLOW] Jon? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me? ARCHIVIST: … He could, yes– MARTIN: Right… ARCHIVIST: –if he were still a Hunter. TREVOR: … Shut it! ‘Course I’m still a Hunter! MARTIN: [GRUNT] Mm-mm-mm! TREVOR: [BESTIAL PANTS] MARTIN: Gotta go with Trevor on that one, Jon! ARCHIVIST: … No. [HUFF] Right now, he’s prey.

Trevor, clearly erratic. Jon, ABSOLUTELY MONSTERY, confident, a bit cocky. Martin, forcing himself to remain slow and calm, but also absolutely losing it and terrified (and Jon barely reacting to his “Jon?”).

- ;___; I’m sad for Juliaaaaaa!

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: How long have you been running now, Trevor? [CREAKING SOUNDS] TREVOR: [PANTING] Don’t know… Too long…! ARCHIVIST: And Julia? [SILENCE] TREVOR: Dead. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. TREVOR: Shut it! Should’ve been me. [TRILL OF A BIRD] I’m old… slow… It’s not fair, outliving her…! But that dog of yours, that rabid bitch, she…! Killed her first, so she could see me limp away! [PANTS] It’s a game to her. ARCHIVIST: If you’re looking for my pity, I’m afraid you’re too late. MARTIN: Jon…? TREVOR: What I want is to make you feel the same loss!

I wasn’t expecting Trevor&Julia to fare for long after MAG158, given that… they had acted as terrorists, hurting (definitely traumatising, maybe hurting physically) members of Institute staff. They had fallen into The Hunt for real, and it was already so sad, given their lives and experiences? But they were also a duo and a small reconstituted family:

(MAG109) ARCHIVIST: What about you, Julia? Following in your dad’s footsteps? JULIA: Mm, it’s a legacy I’ve learned to be proud of. There are people who’d sell us all out to things you can’t even imagine. […] TREVOR: I just knew then I never had to explain anything to her. She just gave me back the knife, and we left together. Wasn’t any question as to what I was, or whatever I was doing. We just… clicked. JULIA: Hm. And we’ve been hunting together, going on seven years now.

(MAG153) DAISY: … I’d enjoy it. Start with the old bastard – he’s slower, doesn’t guard his neck. And you worry about him too much, don’t you? I go for him, you get sloppy, predictable. JULIA: Sure. Or: I slit your little bookworm’s throat…! DAISY: Do it. That give me a chance to finish off your dad. TREVOR: I’m not her father…! ARCHIVIST: Not by blood, maybe…! JULIA: Shut. it. ARCHIVIST: [GROAN OF PAIN]

So ;_; I was sad that Julia met that end, and that Trevor had to witness this without being able to die at the same time as her. And at the same time… it’s also realising exactly how Julia had mentioned her possible end:

(MAG109) JULIA: You think if you walk out of this cabin, you just keep going? Something gets you, even if it’s just time…! Mostly, though, life on this planet ends violently. It’s the most natural thing in the world. And sometimes, it makes the world a better place. ARCHIVIST: And… when something comes for you? [SILENCE] JULIA: Then I die. ARCHIVIST: That… that–that doesn’t… scare you? JULIA: Every second.

Big aouch for the parallel creeping up between Trevor&Julia and Daisy&Basira as Hunters duos. Given how Julia’s loss clearly impacted Trevor, can Basira even last for long if Daisy were to die-for-real…?

(Personal opinion, but I also prefer that it was this way around, rather than Trevor getting killed first and Julia appearing in this episode? The way Jon dealt with Trevor was awful and humiliating, which he acknowledged (reducing him as “bait”); it evened out the ratios of male vs female characters killed onscreen this season + as Trevor pointed out, it was “unfair” that he had survived longer.)

- … Technically, Trevor didn’t say outright that Daisy killed Julia. He used a vocabulary usually thrown at Daisy:

(MAG092) ELIAS: You think you’re the only police officer eager to do violence and call it justice? No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the Hunt.

(MAG118) MARTIN: Oh. That’s it, isn’t it! Martin’s just acting out! I mean, Daisy’s a rabid dog, and Melanie’s a potential killer; Tim’s a… a, a rogue element, but Martin?

(MAG153) TREVOR: What’s this…? You got yourself a watchdog? JULIA: Well, more of a lapdog…! Scrawny, isn’t she?

(MAG176) TREVOR: But that dog of yours, that rabid bitch, she…! Killed her first, so she could see me limp away! [PANTS] It’s a game to her.

And Daisy indeed turned into a beast since MAG158. But since Basira was after him… there is still a possibility that it was actually Basira who butchered Julia.

- SUPERWORRIEDABOUTJON.JPG because, alright, it’s super pleasing to hear him confident and in control and avatar-y, but. Also. Big big red flag when he sounds like a ruthless Beholding avatar who has a power of life and death over people:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: If you’re looking for my pity, I’m afraid you’re too late. […] Maybe I spoke too soon. Perhaps I do have some pity for you…! After all, I know you, Trevor, you’ve had a tough life. Hardship from beginning to… this strange and twisted end. TREVOR: … Never complained. ARCHIVIST: No. You haven’t, have you? And maybe that’s the greatest tragedy of all this…! I’m… sorry, Trevor. TREVOR: [PANTS] For what?! ARCHIVIST: For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you’d go for me, but… Well. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] I’m sorry I’ve reduced you lower even than prey! MARTIN: Jon…? TREVOR: [SNARLS] No! ARCHIVIST: To bait. MARTIN: I don’t kn– [GUNSHOT]

With the additional fact, here, that he refused to give Trevor his pity. It wasn’t that surprising after Trevor&Julia’s attack on the Institute, but he sympathised with Oliver (MAG168: “No. I don’t want to destroy Oliver Banks. It wouldn’t do any good. I know that, and he never asked for this any more than I did.”) despite Oliver’s own actions. Trevor, currently, was already in despair and grieving, and not ruling over his domain – just a “prey” (before being reduced to “bait”). It really felt like kicking a wounded animal…?

(And Jon’s whole spiel felt… very much like taunting and mocking. There is a strong likelihood that Jon was mostly posing, needed Trevor to feel insecure and afraid of him for his plan to work (because the contrary would have allowed Trevor to become a Hunter again), but Jon very easily went into a role, came up with that the-end-justifies-the-means plan in the first place and quickly moved on afterwards… So hum. That level of scheming sounds potentially worrisome?)

- ;; Worried for Basira, too obviously. Jon had warned that she had been having a rough time, and we indeed met her as quite ruthless:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: [DISTINCTLY] Hello, Basira. MARTIN: [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Basira?! BASIRA: Don’t move. Either of you. MARTIN: H–hey, whoa! Whoa, Basira, it’s us…! BASIRA: I said don’t move. This place plays tricks. ARCHIVIST: It is us, Basira. BASIRA: Mm–mm, sure. And you just happen to wander into Trevor’s path while I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody!

She reminded me of how we discovered her at the beginning of season 4, cutting and firm because she thought she was holding everything together (as Melanie had put it in MAG131: “Basira is… hum. Basira deals in ‘intel’, these days, in usable data; assets. Not “feelings”, not… ‘people’.”) She had opened up in undirect ways during the season (staying with Daisy to allow Jon to go after Martin, giving Jon&Martin information about the Institute and sending Jon a few statements… even if that one backfired badly) so I really wonder what will happen between them, now.

(Slight negative point re: audio quality, I could hear veeeery well that Frank’s equipment was not up to the same standards as the others, I hope that RQ has managed to fix that for the following episodes! >w< Technically, in the ep itself, it gave the impression that Basira was not exactly in the same dimension as the others, which could fit if she’s a Hunter in a Hunt domain vs. Martin&Jon being outsiders.)

- M… Martin…

(MAG176) MARTIN: C… [TRILL OF A BIRD] Can I at least put my hands down? M–my arms are kind of getting tired. […] S–s–so, can I…? BASIRA: Yeah, put them down, Martin. It’s fine. You’re you. MARTIN: Ooooh…! O–o–o–oh…

He sounded on the verge of tears. Did he have his arms raised all through being threatened by Trevor, too? (To be fair, if he was carrying his backpack: keeping your arms raised with heavy shit on your back hurts like fuck.)

- … Okay, I got worried for Jon, but also he was hilarious in the WORST WAYS:

(MAG176) BASIRA: Prove you’re really Martin Blackwood. MARTIN: How?! ARCHIVIST: You could do a poem! BASIRA: Shut up. MARTIN: [HISSING] Jon, this is serious! […] BASIRA: … What about you? ARCHIVIST: I mean… I can know literally anything, so…! Ask away, I guess. BASIRA: … You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry to be an inconvenience!

You little SHIT, Jon! (Was it retaliation at the worst moment ever, for the fact that Martin had tried to make him talk about poetry in MAG165?)

- OOOOOH MARTIN… I was squinting(/crying) a bit about him being adamant that he had “friends” and qualifying Basira&Daisy as such, but I’m ezifsdjnred that he had to admit that:

(MAG170) MARTIN: I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore, I am not lonely anymore! [SHAKY BREATHING] I want to have friends, I… no, I have friends.

(MAG175) MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True. MARTIN: Besides, we can help them now.

(MAG176) BASIRA: What’s something only Martin would know? MARTIN: … What?! I don’t know! BASIRA: Fine! Then… [COCKED GUN] MARTIN: No–no–no–no–no–no, wait–wait, uh, I, God, I don’t know, we’ve never hung out much! I’ve no idea what you know about me!

… Yeah, they don’t have a deep connection, uh. There were blurbs here and there of teamwork and something that could have turned into a friendship (the assistants’ plan to take down Elias in season 3, Basira understanding from afar how the death of Martin’s mother had hit him badly, Martin&Daisy talking about Jon&Basira and Martin rejecting her to protect her from Peter two episodes later), but we didn’t really see much of it.

(I would still be VERY interested in seeing Martin trying to ask if they can consider themselves friends. Totally out of place given the circumstances but, eh, at this point, everything is out of place.)

- I’m trying to get ready for the tragedy and Daisy’s likely soon death, but also, I’ll be laughing forever at the fact that:

(MAG176) BASIRA: … What about you? ARCHIVIST: I mean… I can know literally anything, so…! Ask away, I guess. BASIRA: … You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry to be an inconvenience! BASIRA: Well, you better think of something, or… [COCKED GUN] ARCHIVIST: Basira, I know you’re not going to shoot us. There’s already too much doubt in your mind. [SILENCE] BASIRA: I told you before not to look into my head. ARCHIVIST: So you do believe it’s me, then. [SILENCE] BASIRA: … Know-it-all prick. […] It’s fine. You’re you. MARTIN: Ooooh…! O–o–o–oh… ARCHIVIST: You’re sure? BASIRA: If you were monsters, that would mean I’d get to finally kill something with your smug face. No way am I that lucky. ARCHIVIST: Can’t fault your logic…!

… Jon and Martin ANNOYED Basira into proving that they were really themselves.

And!! It’s dry and mean, but Jon&Basira felt… a bit on the same wavelength, here? Back to sharing a weird, cutting sense of humour without feeling hurt by the other’s comment?

- Martin didn’t have a great time, at all, and had good reasons for it, with Jon hiding his plans and then not really allowing Martin a moment to calm down:

(MAG176) MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED WHIMPERS] Oh, oh… Oh, Christ, you– This’s– He just… ARCHIVIST: Relax, Martin. MARTIN: I–I–I–I’m, I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna relax! I’m sick of never knowing what’s going on, and then…! [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: [DISTINCTLY] Hello, Basira. MARTIN: [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Basira?! […] Wh… [INCOHERENT SPUTTERING] Hey, wait! BASIRA: I said come on! MARTIN: Wha…! Jon? ARCHIVIST: … After you! MARTIN: C… [SIGH]

… I wonder if he&Jon will talk it over next episode? About the fact that… Martin was put in an extraordinarily unpleasant situation (bait for the bait), without knowing what was happening, without any guarantee that he could come out of it fine? On the one hand, Jon was in control of the situation, he knew what was likely to happen and when, knew that Basira wouldn’t hurt them either; on the other hand, Martin had no clue, and Jon’s chirpiness felt dismissive of Martin’s worries. So, I could picture Martin being still a bit peeved and/or them needing to debrief about it. (They’ve been good at communicating about small issues and misunderstandings so far!)

Also: how long will Martin be covered in Trevor’s gore. Will Jon help him to get cleaned up?

- I am REALLY curious about Basira’s status. Has she gone full Hunter? Jon said that she was “faster” than them, and that Trevor couldn’t kill Martin since he wasn’t a Hunter anymore… but Basira managed to kill Trevor:

(MAG176) MARTIN: But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me? ARCHIVIST: … He could, yes– MARTIN: Right… ARCHIVIST: –if he were still a Hunter. […] BASIRA: Mm–mm, sure. And you just happen to wander into Trevor’s path while I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody!

And had been hunting him. Did she become a Hunter while pursuing Daisy? Or by getting touched by this domain? (SOB about the concept that Basira turned into a Hunter while pursuing Daisy: it’s probably the worst thing imaginable for Daisy?)

- … What is the status of “death” and “dead people” in the domains? Oliver seemed to say that only The End was interested in delivering a true death, and Jon’s ability to kill avatars looked like a special thing. We’ve seen a victim respawn in MAG163, people trapped in a neverending chase in MAG165, Francis’s puppet show going on and on in MAG172… Are Julia and Trevor truly dead-dead, or would they ultimately respawn to feed the domain? If they’re truly dead… once again, it feels like this apocalypse will depopulate extremely fast…

- ;; for the fact that Basira was reintroduced… by killing someone, and didn’t seem too concerned by it. (I mean. Yes, Trevor wasn’t a pure innocent victim; but he was already “prey” and had lost his Hunter status. Same thing as with Jon, it felt like picking on the weak one?)

I wonder what fundamentally motivated Basira to track Trevor: is it revenge because Julia&Trevor’s attack on the Institute caused Daisy to give in to The Hunt again, and Basira deemed them responsible for her loss? Is it because Daisy was initially chasing him, so Basira was trying to interrupt her hunt by removing him from the equation? What was Basira trying to achieve there…? Jon had warned Martin that Basira had it rough and that things wouldn’t be easy, so I wonder what she did, exactly, before coming here, and what is her current status (is she partially ruling this domain?).

- Sob about the fact that when Jon explained how the domain operates:

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: … Have you ever had your friends… turn on you? People you thought you could count on? MARTIN: … [SIGH] I mean… I–I’d worry about it, but… A–actually, no? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Not like a full-blown betrayal or anything. ARCHIVIST: I’m glad. [INHALE] Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you. MARTIN: Hm! [TRILL OF A BIRD] Is that… really a Hunt thing? ARCHIVIST: It can be!

… It worked on various aspects. It’s more or less what Jon experienced (and inflicted on Tim&Martin) in season 2, culminating with the discovery of Elias’s crimes and the overall betrayal of trust. It’s what Jon&Martin were doing to Basira. The break of trust is also… what Jon did to Martin in this episode (by hiding his plan from him and putting him in an unpleasant situation) and also, potentially, what Basira has been doing against Daisy, by not (yet?) honouring her promise to kill her.

- Where is Basira leading Jon&Martin? To where Daisy is? Does she need Jon’s help to handle (or find) Daisy?

… Is there a tiny tiny tiny chance to get Daisy back for a few episodes, or is her next appearance meant to be her execution…? (I want to hope that Jon’s powers could do something, whether by compelling her into remembering who she is (like he did with Tim during The Unknowing), or making her look at Basira to ground her back (like he did with Martin in The Lonely), or being able to reach her to invite her to “don’t listen to the blood, listen to the quiet”, or using a variation of the Ceaseless Watcher’s powers that he used in season 5… but ;; Very little hope, since Daisy already came back from the Coffin, and she had made her goodbyes in MAG158 ;; The “best” we can hope for her is probably for Basira to fulfil her promise and free her from doing monstrous things ever again…)

- They’re three now!! Holy shit!! Took them 16 episodes!! Welcome back, Basira!

… And there’s potentially only one domain left (The Spiral) before Jon&Martin would be able to reach the Panopticon…

I wonder how Basira knows/has understood about the apocalypse: unless twist, she didn’t know that Jonah had put his statement in the stash that she had sent to Jon&Martin and I’m… curious about her reaction regarding this.

Alright. So, things ongoing or established after the Change, in Arc I:

- The tapes that Martin had brought back alongside the statements in MAG160 contained exchanges from a distant past: Jon’s first birthday since he was promoted Head Archivist (celebrated by Tim, Martin, Sasha and Elias); Gertrude addressing a small testament and warning to her potential successor, whom she assumed to be Sasha, before trying to burn the Archives down (also starring Jurgen Leitner); Gertrude and Gerry discussing a hypothetical apocalyptic world and whether there would be a chance of turning it back; Tim and Sasha commenting on Jon’s first steps as Head Archivist.

The sender of the tapes is still unknown: Martin suggested that it was Jonah, as “gloating”, but we still don’t know for sure who was behind them (Annabelle?). The four sequences notably shared mentions of fire; Gertrude asked Leitner to redirect a gas main to run directly under the Institute (and it had been spotted by Jon in MAG068 after he had changed route because he had encountered spiders). It tells us that Gertrude might have planned for a big explosion rather than the fire-in-the-Archives-as-a-decoy-while-she-would-have-gone-after-Jonah’s-body that she claimed in MAG158, and that the gas main hasn’t served its purpose (yet?).

- We learned that The Web had been veeeery close to Gertrude and operating in the Archives themselves, through Emma Harvey, back during Gertrude’s tenure – Emma being the last of her assistants to die.

- Jon was hit hard by getting manipulated by Jonah to launch his apocalyptic ritual, and has expressed guilt multiple times (about it, and about the fact that his monsterhood is pushing him to enjoy it). Right now, Jon and Martin are on their way towards the Panopticon/Institute. They need to “go through everything in-between” to be able to reach it, experiencing Fear-domains where people are trapped and tortured by their worst fears.

- Jon told Martin that “[they] all have a domain here”, and that Jon’s own is the Panopstitute. It’s not absolutely clear (or left open to interpretation) whether Martin’s is indeed the Lonely house he was temporarily stuck in in MAG170, or whether another domain is waiting for him, since he managed to shake off this one. We don’t know for sure, either, why Martin is able to travel between the domains alongside Jon (benefitting from Jon’s protection? because he is an Archival Assistant and has his own connection to Beholding?).

- Beholding wanted Jon to leave the cabin:

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. It is time that I emerge…” [STATIC REACHING A PEAK]

We still don’t know whether Beholding seeks something else through Jon.

- As an avatar, Jon used to feed from the fear contained in written or direct statements for his own survival/maintenance. Season 5 kept the “statement” format, but it now differs slightly, as Jon described in its first manifestations:

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: This cabin. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape.

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: I… I’m sorry, I– There’s just so much! There’s so much, Martin, and I know all of it, I can see all of it, and I– It’s filling me up, I need to let it out! […] I–I’ll use the tape recorder…! [PLASTIC OF A TAPE] I just… [INHALE] You probably want to wait outside.

“Statements” now appear as an excess; Jon has to tell them and is only able to delay the moment he would give them for a little bit; Jon seems to now require an audience, in some shape or form (as Jon offered the tape recorder as an alternative to Martin being forced to listen).

- Jon has been acknowledged by various avatars and monsters as the bringer of the apocalypse, as “a very important part” of Beholding (Helen), as The Eye’s “Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself” (Oliver), “the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world” (Jude), “the Eye guy” (Callum), “the famous Archivist, Herald of the Ceaseless Watcher, Harbinger of the New Age, etcetera.” (Simon). Aside from Jon and Martin themselves, nobody else has mentioned Jonah nor Elias so far.

- Jon has the ascendancy over all the monsters and avatars they’ve encountered: in a world divided, as Helen put it, between “the watcher and the watched”, “subject and object”, “those who are feared and those who are afraid”, Jon can “turn the one into the other” – annihilating those whose “very existence relies on being feared”. Jon destroyed the Not!Them, Jude and Jared and sounded… extremely avatar-y while doing so (“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing”), feeding The Eye in the process. He eventually expressed discomfort at the idea of doing it, since it doesn’t change anything for the victims in the domains and is directly affecting him (“I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse.”). We haven’t, so far, seen Jon turn one who is “afraid” into one who is “feared” (unless he has done it to Martin, and that is why Martin is free to roam the world with him?).

Amongst the other avatars/rulers of domains still around, we heard about or met: Helen, Annabelle Cane, Oliver Banks (who avoided Jon on purpose, and whom Jon decided to spare), Arthur Nolan, Callum Brodie, Simon Fairchild. Trevor&Julia were killed, Daisy was mentioned to be running wild.

- The Extinction probably didn’t even need to be “born” as Peter Lukas was conceiving it: it was already there and potentially strong since people feared it.

- The domains from the new world tend to be labelable following the Smirke division, but also tend to be a mix of various fears overlapping. As Jon reiterated in MAG176, “the old divisions don’t mean as much these days”; the domains are more personal, more specific than the Smirke categories. However, structurally, Jon&Martin have gone through domains following the Smirke taxonomy (+ The Extinction), even sometimes namedropping the Fear’s name. The Spiral and The Eye being the only ones missing so far. Do Jon&Martin really need to go through the Fourteen Other Fears before reaching the Panopticon, or was it a nice coincidence to meet a domain representing each one of them? Is the new world (and the necessary steps in their journey) influenced by Jon’s own perception of the Fears, based on that 14+1 division?

- Jon&Martin haven’t travelled through a Spiral-flavoured domain yet, but Helen has been extremely present around them. She tried to encourage Jon to keep carrying on with his killing spree, and expressed disappointment when he made the decision to stop. We don’t know if Helen is just hanging around for fun, if it’s because confusing The Eye’s precious avatar is exceptionally tasty, or if she’s hiding something (someone?) and/or a more coherent agenda.

(Note: she was hanging around a lot in the tunnels, back in season 4, had explained that she had gotten a good understanding of the place, and claimed that she “suspected” what would ultimately happen. It’s possible that, since her Door was in the tunnels around the Panopticon, she got a special treatment during the apocalypse because she was directly tied to the place?)

- According to Oliver, the apocalyptic world won’t stay eternally frozen in this state of terror: although it’s in the best interest of other Fears to not kill their victims definitely (and we saw some of them “respawn”, such as in MAG163), The End needs to deliver on its promise, and thus will end up draining the victims from its own domain and then go steal the ones from other domains’, thus slowly depopulating the world and draining the Fears (and itself). At least, that’s Oliver’s interpretation; we don’t know if it’s the truth.

- The goal of Jon&Martin’s quest is to reach the Panopticon. Jon initially wanted to go back to the Archives to confront Elias and to find out whether there was a way to turn the world back (MAG162). He has got a bit more nuanced then, Knowing that they would need to remove the Fears from their world to do so, but that the world they came from doesn’t exist anymore and that they couldn’t be destroyed as long as people feared them (MAG164). Jon has been shown less and less confident about managing to do something good, while Martin is still clinging to the hope that they might find something if they manage to reach the Archives.

- Nothing about Hill Top Road as of now, although it’s still a Big Thread Left Hanging since MAG147.

- Jonah’s status is unclear: Jon was able to tell that he was still in the Panopticon, but couldn’t know more about it (“An eye can’t… see inside itself.”). (Personal speculation is that he now is the building, since his powers were a direct illustration of the Panopticon’s purpose: the prison was meant to give a feeling of constant surveillance and allows it, therefore Jonah was blessed with a power of constant surveillance. In dream-logic, it could mean… that he has merged with the building sharing that function.)

- Melanie&Georgie’s status is unclear: Jon doesn’t think they’re dead, speculated that they could be in London, but can’t really “see” them or know about them. Are they in the Panopticon? At Hill Top Road? In Helen’s corridors? Are they immune to Beholding because Georgie can’t feel fear and Melanie cut her connection to it?

(The Admiral’s status is also unclear, and Jon didn’t try to Know about him ;w;)

- Jon knew that Daisy was “Bestial. Brutal. Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood”, with Basira on her trail. He… wasn’t super optimistic about them. They just reunited with Basira, who might have turned into a Hunter herself?, and we might find out what is meant to happen to Daisy… very soon.

- Amongst the possible Chekhov’s Guns:

* Martin packed tea and a rope when they left the cabin, has yet to use them.

* It was explained that The Distortion could find again anyone who had visited its corridors: which means Jon, Martin, and, although not mentioned, Basira as well, since she used the corridors to return from Ny-Ålesund at the end of MAG143. We learned that Jon is now too powerful to go through The Distortion and that it would not be good for Helen, but that Martin could in theory use the Door – opening up the possibility that Jon&Martin might get separated this way, and/or that Jon might end Helen by going through her Door at some point.

* As usual, Annabelle.

- Martin had risen as a deuteragonist in season 3&4: he was the Assistant reading the most statements, he got episodes focusing solely on him, he even interviewed an avatar to better understand how the Fears functioned (Simon giving him an understanding that paralleled Gerry’s infodumping to Jon a season prior), he got his own plot and quest with Peter. Season 5 went further and elevated him to audience surrogate: the position used to be provided by Jon since season 1… but Jon, in season 5, is almost all-knowing and has stopped sharing every piece of information he’s aware of, every deduction he made. We, as the audience, scramble along with Martin to understand what is happening and how this world works. Interestingly: Martin is also going through the domains, across this journey. He’s not blurting out statements like Jon, but Jon included him when he explained that they needed to “experience” the domains. (So as far as I’m concerned: Martin’s chances of lasting a tiny bit longer than Jon at the end of the series are improving.)

- We heard Annabelle directly for the first time ever! And she contacted Martin. She offered “help”, which was declined, and tried to play with Martin’s confidence issues (whether Jon needed him), but we still don’t know her intentions, what she’s doing, and whether she’s targeting Martin for himself or to hit Jon through him. Jon, meanwhile, can’t feel her, can’t know where she is, can’t even know whether she’s still alive.

The possibility that Martin is currently influenced by The Web was discussed by Jon and him in MAG172, leading to Martin’s decision (and Jon’s agreement) that Jon would not check whether or not it was the case. But they’re both aware that The Web and Annabelle have been suspicious around Martin specifically.

Tl;dr WHAT A SUPER FUN AND HOPEFUL SEASON SO FAR, INNIT.

(Personal notes: the thing squicking me the most at the beginning of the season was the intra-personal violence by victims to victims in the domains, because it’s the thing I find the most thematically harsh, and because I had the Big Worry that… the bottom line of the show was meant to be that human nature is fundamentally bad and cowardly etc. etc. The season worked better for me when it sank in that, alright, I’m still in a story I can trust: it’s still an exploration of people reacting over duress, but the story is also extremely clear on the fact that the system, crushing people and putting them in that situation in the first place, is to blame first and foremost. It’s not a story contemptuous of humanity. I’m still crossing fingers, though, that Martin’s “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.” won’t just apply to our main characters by the end of Arc III!)

MAG177’s title feels absolutely appropriate for both Helen and Daisy, so mmmmmmm. It’s amazing how some titles manage to instil a big “Oh No” within the context of the series, while the word(s) used would be perfectly fine (and even positive!) otherwise.

(It might be a bit too coherent for The Distortion to purposely mess up with Jon as retaliation for his disappointing Helen by not providing entertainment back in MAG174, but “I don’t trust The Distortion” feels like the safest bet, and we know that Helen has kept an eye on Jon&Martin throughout the season: Big Fear that Helen would try to make things worse on purpose when it comes to Daisy and/or Basira… ;;)

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