#the road to my master's thesis

[courtbard-anka]

The Road to My Master’s Thesis

Week 1: fucking January.

Link to master post.

[aymayzing]

Officialy began writing my master's thesis today :3

[starchildghost]

“let me read you a story let me read you a romance I will read you will listen and this terrible night will pass”

and

“it's a love song it's a tale of a love from long ago it's a sad song we keep singing even so”

[thetriumphantpanda]

Howdy Charlie 🤠 l have been enjoying these new fic releases from you. You’re amazing and I love reading your work at the end of the day to unwind.

I’m not in a hurry as I’ve read you’re taking a break but if you do get inspired to write again, can I please request

❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜ & ❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

Pre-outbreak where reader does something that causes a huge fight with Joel and they ignore each other for days then reader thinks it’s the end of their relationship so she packs her bag to leave without a word but Joel comes home earlier than expected and stops her and they get into another fight before reconciling and he shows his sweeter side to make up to her . Can you make it EXTREMELY angsty and a lil fluffy in the end.

Thank you! 😘

Anon, when I say that I've had this fic sitting in my drafts FOR WEEKS I'm not even lying. I absolutely loved this prompt but idk I couldn't make it seem right... I've done my best, I really hope you enjoy it! I'm just on my Joel Miller bullshit atm, don't judge me.

Pairing | Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | Some angst, some fluff, mentions of alcohol, mean!Joel at one point, SMUT - oral (f receiving) no use of y/n and I think that's it.

Main Masterlist

There was something about Joel Miller that had you smitten from the start. Maybe it was the fact that he was so different to the stupid college boys you’d been wasting your time with, or maybe it was the fact that he was devastatingly handsome, or the fact that whenever you were together, he would make it his mission to make you come enough times that you forgot your name before he even thought about taking pleasure for himself. Whatever it was he was different, and you were pretty sure you loved him. 

He'd barreled into your life headfirst a few months ago. Your car had given up the ghost on a small country road and you had no cell service to call a recovery. There had been a moment of dread when his truck had pulled up behind yours, this is how so many girls died in those documentaries you’d watched, but when he stepped out of his truck and that Southern drawl had hit your ears, you thought that even if he was going to murder you and leave you in a ditch, you wouldn’t mind all that much. Got you out of finishing your thesis if nothing else. 

“You stranded, sugar?” He’d called out, keeping his distance enough to reassure you he wasn’t going to try anything stupid. 

“Yeah,” You called back, “I have no idea what’s wrong with it and there’s no cell service.”

“You want me to take a look?” 

“You a mechanic?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly, but I’m good with my hands.” 

The innuendo isn’t lost on either of you, you smirk but give him a signal to look at your car. He pops the hood and takes a few minutes to look around, “Was it steaming when you pulled over?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” You admit. 

“Looks like it’s just overheated, sugar,” He muses, “Not much to do but sit and wait for it to cool down a little,” You pull a face at the thought of having to sit in your car without the air con, “I don’t got anywhere to be so you can sit in my truck with me for a bit?” He offers, “The air-con is on.” He adds, sweetening the deal. 

So you do. You sit with him for an hour, talking about your master’s programme and how stressed you are with your thesis. He talks about his work, bailing his brother out of jail for the second time that week and his daughter Sarah. When the sun starts to set, he jumps out of his truck to inspect your engine again, deeming it safe to drive. 

“Well, thanks,” You say as you sit in the driver’s seat and start the engine up, “Literally don’t know what I’d have done if it weren’t for you.” 

“You’d have let it sit, tried turning the key a little while later and been fine,” He chuckles, “But you’re welcome, it was nice meetin’ you.” 

“Joel-” You call as he tries to walk away, “Can I maybe buy you a drink to say thank you?” 

He turns around and smirks at you, “You askin’ me on a date?” 

“Would you say yes if I was?” You arch an eyebrow at him. 

“I’d be a fool not to, sugar.” 

It’s cliché for you to say but the rest really was history. You’d bought him a drink to say thank you a few days later, he’d bought you more because he liked your company. You’d snuck him into your room a few hours after that, managing to dash past the kitchen where your housemates were having dinner, where he’d spent an hour knelt between your legs, lapping at your pussy and then fucked you better than anyone had ever done in your life. 

It was summer break now. Sarah was away at camp for a few weeks, your thesis finally done and submitted. Joel had suggested that you stay with him, he’d mumbled something about it being nice not having to sneak around to see each other and you had to admit he was right. Waking up next to him with streams of sunlight illuminating his face, that was priceless. Making him breakfast before he went to work, domesticated but you loved it. 

It had been two weeks of that, with another one still to come before Sarah came home and you had to go back to the small room in your shared apartment. One of your friends had invited you out on Saturday night – a way for you all to celebrate being done with studies. You’d planned to go back to Joel’s that night, he’d even given you money for the cab ride home – but one too many tequila shots and a dead cell phone later, you’d been led back to your apartment by your friends, plugged your phone in to charge and promptly fallen asleep. 

When you’d woken up the next morning there was dread in your stomach, reading through the texts from Joel last night. Ten missed calls and texts that read where r u and please let me know ur safe. 

You dressed as quickly as you could, grabbing your phone and keys before you called a cab to pick you up. You knew you’d fucked up. You wanted to call him, let him know you were okay, but this was something you’d have to do face to face. It took far longer to get to Joel’s, Sunday morning traffic proving a challenge as you left the city and headed for the suburbs. You took a deep breath as you fit his spare key into the door and opened it. 

“Where the fucking hell have you been?” He asks when you shut the door and put your keys on the side table, “I’ve been worried sick about you all night.” 

“I’m sorry Joel,” You mumble, you really were, “We got carried away and then my phone died, and my housemates just dragged me back to my apartment, I was just going to charge my phone a little and then come back here but I must have fallen asleep.” 

“You didn’t think to use that landline’a yours?” He was sat on the couch, but he’d turned his body towards you in the doorway, he was pissed. 

“I’m sorry Joel, okay, it was a stupid mistake, what more do you want me to say?” 

“I gave you money to get home, told you to tell someone to remind you that’s where you were going, what were you thinking goin’ out and gettin’ so drunk you couldn’t remember where you were going home?!” 

“Don’t you dare make this out like I was outta control!” You counter, “I was safe Joel, I was with my friends, I’m not fucking stupid.” 

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” He’s standing now, taking steps towards you. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Should’a fuckin’ known,” He says, mostly to himself, “Don’t think about anyone but yourself, silly little girl.” 

His words cut through you like a knife. He’d never once made you feel like this. Despite the ten-year age gap you’d always seemed like his equal. Not now, now you felt small and insignificant. 

“You are losing my interest and that’s very dangerous.” Is all he says next.

“Fuck you Joel Miller,” You spit at him, reaching for your keys, “You think you’re doing me a favour? Letting me stay in your nice big house playing families? All you wanted was a fucking maid the way you’ve been behaving.” 

You’re out of the door, slamming it behind you and pulling your car out of his driveway in record time. You make it to the end of the round and a little way around the corner before you have to pull over and sob into your hands. 

*

Four days. Four miserable fucking days and he hadn’t even bothered to text you. You’d moped around in your room for the first twenty-four hours. Then your housemate had practically forced herself in because she thought you’d died. You’d cried to her about how unfair it was, then she’d made you sit on the couch, drink too much wine and watch shitty reruns. 

If it had been four days and he hadn't bothered to message, then it really must be over, right? You led in bed that morning running through all the things you’d left at his house that you really did need back. You still had the spare key, and you knew he’d be at work until later this evening, so you push yourself out of the tangle of sheets, get dressed and make the drive over. 

Thankfully when you arrive his truck is nowhere to be seen. Definitely at work then. You open the front door, closing it behind you softly. You take a moment when you step in to remember all the times you’d been happy here. The time you’d helped him make Sarah’s birthday cake, or the time you’d snuggled up under the blanket together on the sofa and fallen asleep watching a movie. The time he’d hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter and eaten you out like it was his last meal. Or the time you’d not made it up the stairs and he’d fucked you from behind halfway up the steps. Tears pricked at your eyes. Foolish. Silly Little Girl, thinking he might be the one, just like he’d said. 

You wiped angrily at your eyes and made your way up the stairs to his room, trying to block out the shiver down your spine as you thought of the long nights and lazy mornings you’d spent wrapped up in his bed. You find your duffle bag in the bottom of his wardrobe, you set it on the bed and start pulling clothes from his drawers, shoving them as quickly as you can into the bag. 

You’re setting a bottle of perfume into it when you hear a key in the door. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all the days he could come home for lunch, it had to be this one. 

“Sugar?” You hear him tentatively call from downstairs. 

He won’t get the satisfaction, you think, you won't talk to him, just get your things and leave. You hurry to gather the last of your belongings, hoping you can just leave, when you hear his work boots on the stairs.

You’re fighting with the zip on the bag when the door creaks behind you, “Hey, I was calling you.” 

“I heard.” You reply. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

You groan in frustration when the zip catches and refuses to move, “What does it look like, Joel?” You hiss, “I’m packing my stuff so I can be outta your hair like you want.” 

“I don’t want that.” Is all he says. 

“Well you’re doing a fucking good impression of it,” You turn to him, “You don’t call me, you don’t message me, you call me a silly little girl, but you want to keep me around?!” 

“Sugar, listen to me,” He’s walking forward, gripping your arms in his hands, “I was angry, and I handled it badly, I’m just-” He falters, “I’m not used to any of this, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t mean what I said.” 

You look at him and you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes plead with you like they are now. It breaks your heart a little. 

“But you called me a silly little girl Joel,” You whimper, trying hard not to cry, “Everything you said to me hurt.” 

“I know sugar, I know.” He breaths, pulling you into his chest, “I thought if I gave you some time, we’d be able to talk, but I don’t want you to leave,” His lips brush the top of your head in a kiss, “Never want you to leave.” 

You tilt your head and press a kiss to his jawline; it had always felt like home when you were wrapped in his arms. 

“Let me make it up t’ya, sugar.” His hands are roaming down your spine and you can’t resist him anymore. 

You soften into his body, and he takes it as a yes, he tilts your chin up with one of his hands and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and you let out a sigh as you wrap your arms around his neck to mold yourself closer to him. His hands are gripping at the meat of your ass as he’s walking you back towards the bed. Before he lets you fall, he grabs the forgotten bag of your belongings and tosses it to the floor, settling you to sit on the edge of the bed whilst he drops to his knees. 

His hands are pushing the skirt of your dress up to gather at your hips, his mouth leaving trails of hot kisses up one thigh and down the other. Your head drops back, and you let out a sigh when his big hands come to rest on your hips, “Can I take them off, sugar?” He asks, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

You look down at him and smirk, “If you want to make it up to me, I’d say it’s pretty essential.” 

He copies your smirk, “Lift up then.” 

You push down on your hands to lift your ass off the bed just enough for him to pull the lace off your skin and down your legs. You set yourself back down on the sheets but opt to stay in your sitting position, shifting your backside as close to the edge as you can without risking falling off, widening your open legs for Joel to see you. 

“God, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He groans, leaning down to press kisses over your mound, but never once dipping low enough to give you relief. 

He knows what you want, your hips are chasing his mouth as they move around to press kisses to everywhere but your pussy. You grumble in frustration when he moves away from you, “You want my mouth on your pussy, sugar?” He asked, looking up at you like the cat that got the cream. 

“I’d have thought that was pretty obvious by now.” 

“I gotta hear you say it, sugar.” 

“Joel-” You moan, reaching out to grab a fistful of his hair, “Please put your mouth on me.”

He responds with a grin from between your legs before he licks one long stripe up the seam of your pussy, tongue dipping ever so slightly through your folds to tease your clit before he’s pulling away, “See what happens when you ask nicely?” 

You’re about to respond with something smart when he uses his fingers to spread your lips to reveal your clit, and then he’s running soft circles on it with the tip of his tongue. A guttural moan drops from your lips and your hips are bucking into his face as he continues his teasing touches with his tongue. His hands are gripping the meat of your thighs and God you want more. 

“Joel-” You moan, gripping his hair again, “Fuck, God alive I need more.” 

He pulls away from your pussy just enough to say, “What do you need, sugar?” Before he’s back to work. 

“Fu-fuck, Joel,” You’re grinding your hips into his mouth, “Fingers, please, I need your fingers.” 

You swear you can feel him smile against you, but one of his hands moves from your thighs and you feel him slip one inside of you. You’re so wet that it’s easy for him, he pulls out and when he’s pushing his fingers back into you, there’s a second, “Oh my god yes just like that.” Is all you can managed to get out. 

He’s being more forceful with his tongue now, switching between the soft teases from the tip of his tongue to full licks with the flat of it and it’s got you on the edge already. When you look down at him it’s like heaven. You can see his tongue teasing your clit and the movement of his shoulder as he pumps his fingers into you. It’s a depraved sight but one that you never want to forget. 

“Can feel you gettin’ tight around my fingers sugar,” He mumbles into your pussy, “You gonna come for me like a good girl?” 

“Yes!” You’re crying out as his fingers curl inside you into just the right spot to have spots clouding your vision, “ohmygod Joel, I’m so fucking close.” 

He knows exactly what to do from here. He’s learnt how to play your body like a fucking fiddle, and he knows it. He’s pressing his fingers so deep into your pussy, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside of you. Then he wraps his lips over your clit and sucks whilst his tongue is still flicking tight little circles over you, and you’re gone. 

Your head is thrown back and you’re screaming his name. Your pussy is clenching around his fingers and your whole body is convulsing as it washes over you. Joel pulls his fingers from you, and you look down to watch him lick your slick off them before he’s dipping his tongue lower and literally drinking from you. Wide stripes from his tongue from your aching entrance as he cleans up what you’ve given him. 

He pressed kisses to the inside of your thigh, and you can feel your slick on the scratch of his beard, “I really am sorry, sugar.” He says and you laugh. 

“Get up here.” You say, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. 

He obliges, standing up briefly to kick off his work boots, before he’s gathering you up and placing your head against the pillows. He’s kissing you; you can taste yourself on his tongue as it molds into your own. 

He flops down on the bed next to you and you curl into his side, running your hands down his chest to rest on the bulge of his jeans before a yawn falls from your mouth, “Tired, sugar?” 

You nod, burying your face into his chest, “Not been sleeping.” Is all you offer in explanation. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, “Take a nap.” Is what he says, taking hold of your hand on his groin, wrapping your fingers together to rest on his stomach, “I can wait.” 

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up?” You ask, looking up to meet his eyes. 

“I got nowhere else on earth I’d rather be, sugar.” 

[lonniemachin]

Arwa reached out to me to help share her fundraiser. She is urgently raising money to help evacuate she and her 5-person family from Gaza to Egypt. She is almost halfway to her goal at kr223,990 NOK raised out of kr500,000. Let’s help her get all the way there by sharing and donating, and if you can’t donate, please still share!

Arwa’s Twitter/X account: @ArwaDwaba

From Arwa’s GFM:

*Please note that the conversion rate is 1 USD =10 NOK

10$ = 100 NOK

50$= 500 NOK

100$= 1000 NOK

200$= 2000 NOK

I orgnize this fundrising on behalf of Arwa Abudawaba who i know and want to help to get her family out of Gaza. For more informastion her instagram is: @arwadwaba

I am Arwa from devastated Gaza, and this is a picture of my beautiful family. Just 5 months ago, I had a father, two brothers, and a very beautiful home that we bought just 10 months before the war. My beloved father passed away just days before the war after a 4-year battle with brain cancer. Then the occupation decided to completely demolish the intelligence towers, so we were forced to flee from our home multiple times in search of safety. Our home and the entire neighborhood were destroyed.

On November 17, 2023, my brothers Mohammed and Mahmoud were martyred. Mahmoud, the handsome one, was 19 years old in his second year of university. Mohammed, the brave one, was 33 years old, a father to two daughters, Nahla and Naya, who like the moon. I wish I could have hidden them in my heart.

On the second day after their martyrdom, we were forced to flee to the south through the so-called safe road claimed by the occupation, amid our tears that hadn't dried yet. We have nothing but the clothes on our backs, and we couldn't even protect ourselves from the winter cold.

We were separated from Noha and Naya, the daughters of my martyr brother Mohammed, and his wife. Our family is now scattered, some in the north and some in the south. Only my mother, my younger sister Nebal, and I remain. My mother suffers from chronic diabetes, and since the martyrdom of my brothers, her health has been deteriorating, with no medical care or basic necessities of life in Gaza.

I never imagined losing my young brothers and being left without support. We lost our father, my brothers were martyred, the occupation destroyed our home and my martyr brother's home, and I lost my source of income and my personal project—I had an online clothing store with $5000 worth of inventory inside the house. I was also deprived of completing the second year of my master's degree and preparing my thesis. We are now homeless and destitute. Everything is difficult now.

So, I ask for your help in raising the funds and travel expenses for six people. To facilitate the evacuation of my family from Gaza to Egypt, I am preparing a GoFundMe campaign to raise $5,000 for each person:

my beautiful mother,

my younger sister Nebal,

my martyr brother Mohammed's wife,

and Noha and Naya, the daughters of my brother.

and me .. Arwa

This means $30,000 to evacuate them from Gaza, not to mention their expenses for living in Egypt, renting a house, and the living expenses for 6 people without a provider.

Help us reunite our family outside of Gaza. Your support, whether big or small, will make a big difference in ensuring our safety. I am grateful for your sympathy and generosity at this difficult time. Please share this link with friends and colleagues. Thank you for standing by us. Help us start our lives anew. Even though there is no life without those we have lost, it is life.

Thank you for your time "

[redpenship]

Happy New Year! I’d love to know if you have any headcanons about Mobian culture and/or holidays, either based on things you’ve seen in the games/comics/movies etc OR just stuff you’ve made up for fun. :) Maybe this isn’t really your forte but I thought I’d ask haha!

Happy new year!

I actually don't have too many headcanons on Mobian culture itself. However, I do have HCs for their society in general which I guess would feed into the culture idea anyways. I'm just going to put all of it here because why not.

(Heads up: this post is 1.8k words long).

Thesis I: There is no Mobian state.

If you've read my fic Buzzsaw Dilemma, then you'll have already been given a basic run down on how I think this works. Since I like rambling about this kind of stuff, I will explain everything again, but this time with evidence from canon to support my theory!

To begin, it's always best to define what a "state" actually is. I prefer the Max Weber view as a state being an "organization with a monopoly on the legitimate use of force". Let's break down what this actually means with an example:

The state establishes a rule that you can't assault other people. One day, you feel that someone has wronged you and decide to punch them in the face. A police officer nearby notices this and responds by punching you in the face and detaining you. After spending the night in jail, you're charged with felony assault and the police officer is not. Why?

As a random citizen, you do not have a right to the legitimate use of force. You cannot punch people to get what you want with impunity. The police, as official arms of the state to use against domestic populations, do have a monopoly on the use of force. They can shoot people, put them in prison, and basically do whatever they want (within reason, technically, but the state doesn't like challenges to its authority and will always resist holding itself and its officers accountable for perceived illegitimate uses of force) because they're the only ones allowed to do so! Your boss at work can't kidnap you and hold you prisoner for a year because you broke a rule. The state can do that to you because it is seen as a legitimate use of force.

Now that we both know what a state is, I can explain why I don't think one exists on the Mobian islands. I am going to cite a lot of stuff from IDW since it's allegedly canon now and the games tend not to focus too much on day-to-day life on the islands anyways.

Point one: the Restoration. Since aid organizations apparently don't like working on the islands, which I suspect might be due to the Eggman Empire's fixed presence there, the Restoration was forced to step up after the war to fix up the islands. Although it's true that some states just don't give a shit about their populations, I don't think it's wrong to say that post-war clean up would typically be a job for an existing state. The lack of any central authority points to the conclusion that one may just not exist.

Here are some panels from IDW issue #42:

Here, Zavok is surprised about the lack of security at Restoration HQ. Master Zik explains that Mobians don't see a need to prepare for violence because they aren't violent to each other. This is an interesting assertion given Tails' backstory, but I guess his two tails were just that disturbing to the people at home!

The main takeaway here is that the islands don't really have security guards or police officers. I like these panels for that reason only. I'm afraid the reasoning provided by Zik still implies that police/guards would be necessary if there was violence among Mobians, so it's not really that revolutionary of a worldbuilding moment and realigns the comic with statist ideology.

So, let's summarize: the islands don't have a central authority. They don't have any means to enforce a monopoly on the use of force. Does this mean that they don't have a state? In the absence of government, does the Restoration pave the roads?

In my general opinion, yes. There are some instances that could be used to disprove this theory, such as the Everhold Prison seen in Bad Guys, which is seemingly guarded exclusively by dog Mobians:

The existence of a prison implies a functional penal system, which in turn implies that somebody on the islands has a legitimate monopoly on force. On the other hand, it's never explicitly stated that Everhold Prison is hosted on the islands, so for now I can still cope and pretend it never happened. Yippee!

Thesis II: The islands don't use money.

I hosted a poll on this subject a few weeks ago, in which I learned that most people think there's money on the islands. Allow me to argue otherwise!

The most common theory for the origin of money is that it came into existence because bartering for stuff fucking sucks and nobody likes doing it. Nothing has a standardized value, so if the guy in your village responsible for making shoes is a pompous asshole who makes ludicrous demands such as asking for FIVE bushels of wheat in exchange for a pair of shoes, even though you've heard the guy in the next town over only asks for three bushels, then you're shit out of luck and have to fork over all your wheat. Maybe the shoemaker is on a gluten-free diet and refuses to trade with you, so as a wheat farmer who only trades in wheat now you can't even barter for a new pair of shoes! Sucks to be you, buddy.

Under a monetary system, a bushel of wheat and a pair of shoes both gain a standardized value. A bushel of wheat is $1, and a pair of shoes is $4. After selling enough wheat that you have $4 in profits, you can walk over to the shoemaker, slap some coins down on the table, and tell him to get to work. Now, you might say, "wait, if you're in a captive market, can't he just charge whatever he wants and you have to deal with it?" The answer to that question is yes, but asking economic theorists to consider greed in their theories is a bit hard since they don't really care about fairness at all and still don't understand what's wrong with kids making carpets in factories since their hands are the perfect size for that sort of thing. All these stupid labour rights activists don't understand comparative advantages and it's sickening!

Here's the problem with an existing Mobian monetary system: it assumes greed! Or, at the very least, assumes that Mobians have normalized the hoarding of commodities for personal gain. I don't believe this is the case at all.

Let's recall Zik's statement to the Zeti: Mobians don't steal from each other because they are kind and compassionate to one another. I would argue that the origins of property/commodity ownership implies large-scale theft, as developing something like an apple orchard requires dispossessing your neighbours of a plot of land and claiming it for yourself. Then you grow a ton of apples on your land--that they once could have used as they pleased before you took over--and tell them that they can't eat any of these apples unless they give you something in exchange. But the apples are right there, bro, they'll complain. You can't eat all of those on your own. You'll tell them to suck it up and eventually they'll bring you items (or money) in exchange for some apples.

This doesn't seem like something we'd see the cute Sonic furries do to each other. Since we're talking about farming, here's a panel from there IDW 2022 annual where all the characters are helping out on some kind of communal farm:

Moving on, let's look at why Sonic hates Eggman so much. Eggman has always served as a representation of industrialization, environmental exploitation and degradation, and individualist greed. If the islands had a monetary system, and the ideals required to develop one in the first place, then a lot of what Eggman is attempting to implement would have already existed! Economic development requires exploitation, both of other people and natural resources. Money is the result of economic development. It just doesn't fit for me.

Thesis III: Equity as a norm.

This is basically the section on culture. Leading up to this section, I've established a rule: Mobians live in a stateless and moneyless society. Here are some cultural norms that might have lead to such a society in modern times.

Ecology as a priority. This is consistent with the environmentalist themes in the series, but also with the way that most Mobians we meet in the series seem to really care about the environment. My personal take is that they simply haven't developed the view that they are above nature, which is something seen in Eggman and other industrialists. In Sonic Prime, we see Thorn Rose react aggressively when she notices that her friends harming plants by taking more than they need from them. This may have been because they violated a strict cultural norm! Although this occurred in an alternate dimension, I like to think about its implications for the main universe, too. Is the cultural pressure to maintain and protect the land they live on enough to suppress industrial development? Maybe!

Conformity as a means of social cohesion. Generally, I think Mobian society demands a lot of personal sacrifice from people. A core tenant of collectivism is that you have to put up with not getting what you want most of the time, and sometimes this even comes at a direct cost to you. Maybe your neighbour stole your favourite toy truck and you can't complain about it or everyone will accuse you of trying to establish private ownership over something stupid. Or, maybe, there hasn't been a lot of rain this year and your communal farms are flopping. Out of desperation one day, you wander into the woods and find some bushes of edible berries that could help you survive better for the next few days. However, since eating while your neighbours starve would violate the ethical values imposed on your by your collectivist society, you must accept only having a few berries instead and sharing the rest with your village. If you're someone like Tails, who stands out because of a physical mutation, then tough luck if your village cares about appearances. Everyone knows your business and you're dependent on them for support. As soon as they decide they don't like you, you're going to suffer severely. Upsides and downsides to everything.

Alternate methods of punishment. A society without a state likely wouldn't have prisons. Building on the concept of conformity, social crimes would be mitigated through social pressure--basically, if you do something wrong, everyone will be mean to you and not like you as much as they did before. Fear of risking the judgment of peers is a very strong deterrent for most crimes, arguably moreso than prison itself.

Everything I've written here is my basic take on Mobian culture and society! In terms of holidays, I'm sure they have stuff relating to harvest times and seasonal changes.

Thanks for the question!! Sorry if this isn't what you wanted at all haha.

[isan0rt]

@lightandfellowship re: your tags on this post (just to kind of bring this out to a different post).

I was thinking about making a separate post to expand on those tags anyway because they were a little off topic to the op, but I was like, you know, it's that Xehanort was worse to the Dandelions than Luxu was, yes. But Luxu was supposed to be that callous to the Dandelions in the first place. He was supposed to think of them as tools and to just let whatever fucked up thing was supposed to happen to them just happen. And with anyone else he can, but he can't put his personal feelings aside enough to 'do what needs to be done' for this set of people alone.

But Xehanort can.

And I think that's really interesting when looking at Xehanort as the 'replacement Luxu.' Xehanort who, as observed by another post I don't have immediately to hand, speaks with MoM twice. Xehanort who is chosen by MoM and manipulated into doing his bidding the same way Luxu was, given the same coat and made the heir to Luxu's keyblade, Xehanort who actually is allowed to take action to bring the Keyblade War about and revive the Lost Masters while Luxu is only allowed to watch.

Actually I started this post with a different thesis ('Xehanort is able to put his personal feelings aside and be ruthless even where Luxu fails to follow his role') but writing that paragraph I've changed my mind actually. Because Luxu has basically no agency in this situation, whereas Xehanort does.

Like, both of them are assigned roles by their mentors but Xehanort isn't really given a road map about how to fulfill his role. He's being manipulated, sure, but he's also making choices himself all along. They're choices that are fucked up but he understands they're fucked up and is choosing them anyway because he strongly feels it's necessary for the greater good.

Luxu has been told these things are necessary for the greater good. He's been told what to do. He's been told to just watch and that he can never take action. He doesn't even have the illusion of agency that Xehanort, who is actively choosing to lean into his feeling that destiny is inevitable, does. What is that like, to live hundreds of years never having any sense of agency? For Luxu, helping the Dandelions is fucking up. It's doing what he knows he's not supposed to, what he's been told is against the Plan, but he has no agency and this is his little way of rebelling, even if this is, to us, the 'right' thing to do. There's a question of what actually is 'right' and 'wrong' here and whether Xehanort is a 'better Luxu' than Luxu for choosing to simply follow The Plan.

Also I'm rambling here but putting things together as I go, sorry to also expand on other tags on posts I reblogged from you lol, but like. Luxu also very clearly has Lucifer stuff going on, the same way Xehanort does, down to the name. Xehanort takes on the Satan imagery over time - but it was Luxu's first. And Luxu is the one who actually tried to rebel against his Creator by deviating from his role (only to watch) and intervening with the Union leaders.

The thing about angels is they are not, in Catholic traditions (I can't speak to other denominations) is that they are not supposed to have free will. Free will is for humans; angels only follow The Plan, with no agency or say in the matter. They're messengers and avatars created only to execute the will of God. The Foretellers seem to play this role, if you will, in relation to Master of Masters. He hands them roles to execute the plan he's already designed. If we're, in this analogy, considering Master of Masters to be in the role of 'god', both Ava and Luxu are ultimately fallen angels - they both question the will of their creator, both rebel - but Luxu rebelling was built into the plan. He is Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and so he was still allowed to come back to the fold at the end of kh3, having fulfilled his duty even considering his rebellion. He still had no agency in the end, even having done what he thought was exercising it by saving the Union leaders.

Anyway I'm just rambling on at this point and don't really have a conclusion to this but the whole interplay between Luxu and Xehanort, agency and servitude, angels and devils, light and dark, feels really compelling to me.

[dazai-wastelandbaby]

Excerpts of Fanfiction //BSD// Dazai x Reader.

“What is our relation then?”

"hmm?”

“You named everyone important to me except yourself, what are we?”

The question startled me a bit, up until now, I always thought myself as a side character who is just watching everything playout before her eyes, I never thought my impact on everyone else around me, but do i matter in their eyes too?

I smiled a bit, "hmmm... Let me think"

Sister? No. Friend? Too bland. Oh wait, yes I know

"I am your therapist" I turned to dazai proudly, "you can come to me anytime you have have trouble."

"oh really?" He raised his one eyebrow at me, "and what will be the price of that?"

I waved off his question with, "free therapy."

“There is no such thing as free in this world Meera, everything has a price, even the child given the gift of life is born with all sorts of debts, to their parents, to the society and the life itself, the debt of living.”

He walked quietly beside me, his steps echoing a perfect harmony with mine. I looked at him, the cold air was brushed past his hairs and for a moment the bandages in his head were visible. What he said was a sentence I've read quite many times in different forms, this is the curse of being a reader, no thought is original. Despite all of it, I don't have any counterparts of it and even if I did I know he would give me antithesis to my thesis, he is afterall, the master of language.

I looked back straight on the deserted road, "I think you are right because I am much like you, I did not find meaning in the life. I never actively pursue death but if I were to die right now, I wouldn't feel much because life is something we do for the sake of it, that is ofcourse the majority of my thoughts but then in the fleeting moments when I am with my friends, I can understand living a bit, I would think, this is it, this is why I can endure suffering they are the people for whom I live another day and they are the people I would want to see alive"

"so to answer your question, in return I would like you to live, just a day more if you can"

He doesn't answer me, he looks at me like a parent scared to tell their child that Santa doesn't exist and I say nothing further because maybe for him it doesn't thus we walk in silence, convincing dazai to live was impossible or improbable but I would love for him to live, just a little. When we reach our destination, I see the car waiting for Dazai and I don't know what comes over me but i held his wrist before he can go in, he looks at me with those curious eyes.

“dazai, do you know the difference between a morally gray hero and a morally gray villian?

"hmm? What is it?"

“the only difference I can think of is one was saved, another wasn't.”

He let out a soft chuckle before getting in that car, a mission where he will kill people was waiting for him yet still I give my sweetest smile and wave him off.

[hlficlibrary]

HL FIC LIBRARY ✤ AUTHOR REC

AO3: reminiscingintherain

Tumblr: @reminiscingintherain

STATS:

✤ Number of fics: 72

✤ Posting Since: 2015

TOP 5 FICS:

1️⃣ Latching Onto You {T, 34k}

“Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.

Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends' wedding.

2️⃣ On This Winter's Night {T, 27k}

When a random bloke offers his lap for a seat on a busy bus in December, Louis' Christmas ends up being much different, and far less lonely than he was expecting.

3️⃣ Say It With Flowers {G, 2k}

From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

4️⃣ Another One For The Road {T, 15k}

She looked up at Louis with a smile. "Congratulations Louis. You're pregnant." "Oh fuck," he said softly, before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he promptly passed out.

Or the one where Louis' on tour when he finds out the hard way that men can get pregnant too....

5️⃣ Falling {T, 4k}

"Are you already in a relationship?" Harry asked warily. "Because... I completely understand if so.""No, I'm not," Louis frowned."Then...?"Louis sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face."Look, I'm Zayn's best friend," he said bluntly.

Based off the prompt:  you’re my soulmate and I know we’d have a happy ever after but you’re my best friends ex and if I dated you they’d never speak to me again and I don’t know what to do

HIDDEN GEM:

💎 Camboy on Lockdown (series) {E, 12k}

While Louis was working on the final draft of his thesis for his Master's, the world went into lockdown around him without him realising. Now he's trapped in student accommodation, and needs a way to earn some money...

[prozac-shaped-urn]

Deborah Vance meta analysis (again)

Alright, it's time to read too much into shit but considering that JPL straight up said the whole opening sequence of season 3 with the Ceasar statue was foreshadowing... I feel like I can be forgiven for what's about to come out of my fingertips.

Anyway. I am once again putting my psych degree to use in dissecting fictional characters and story arcs. Enjoy x

So! We have the Margesson family with Fred, Martha, Deborah and Kathy. Fred and Martha were five years apart in age, as are Deborah and Kathy (considering there's a reference to Deb's age in 301 as being 70 – which was Jean's age at the time of filming – I can safely assume JPL are using J and Jean's real ages here). That's just enough of an age difference in siblings for there to be a firm power imbalance and hooboy. Hooooooo boyyyyyyyy that's an entirely different can of worms I analyzed a few years ago and turned into 98k... But before I get too into the weeds here, I should introduce my thesis:

Deborah Vance is a survivor, a provider, a mother, and an icon. She was forced to be the first three thanks to her childhood family dynamic and built an empire as a result.

What we've been given in terms of parental backstory is minimal. Deborah mentions her dad being a drinker (304). Based on DJ's addiction storyline, I can reasonably assume JPL are educated on addiction patterns and family trauma cycles. Kathy says their mom wouldn't have wanted there to be animosity between her and Deborah (307), and based on Deborah's isolation and decision to go no-contact with Kathy, I think JPL are leaning towards Deborah needing to distance herself in order to make sure she doesn't explode and cause bodily harm... more than she ends up inflicting.

There are elements of classical narcissism in Deborah's behavior – mainly the need to have zero contact with the narcissist in order to heal. While I don't think Kathy is a narcissist, I firmly believe Frank was. He was jealous, histrionic, selfish, and cunningly manipulative. These are all traits of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and yeah, Deborah possesses these qualities too. The difference between her and Frank, though, is that Deborah is using these tools to ensure she succeeds. She doesn't use them to take someone else down. She lets Ava go so she won't get in the way of Ava's success. She doesn't want to take up all the space in the room. She wants Ava to learn from her and apply the lessons so she can also succeed. It would be very easy for someone to take a single look at Deborah and assume she's hollow – and I think the pilot did a very good job of showing just that! The only glimpse we get behind the curtain is when Deborah sees that Frank died. She doesn't react except to say, “I can't believe they used that photo,” which is classic avoidance and emotional detachment. It's a coping mechanism she developed in her childhood.

I have to interject here and mention Deborah's desire to keep DJ close when she was a child. When a narcissist has their hooks into someone, they don't let go. They will use every tactic known to mankind to ensure the safety blanket they have chosen doesn't leave. So when Frank blew everything up, Deborah left, and Frank went after Kathy because she was 19 and easily manipulated. I think Deborah witnessed what Frank was doing to her and Kathy and decided to protect DJ by pulling her onto the road in a tour bus so Frank couldn't get to her. Obviously this backfired and resulted in DJ having a healthy(ish) relationship with Kathy because Frank was a master manipulator. Deborah saw that toxic father/daughter bond and went, Nope, not trying to fix this one – I'll only make it worse. Not to mention Frank's smear campaign! I mean Jesus Christ, the guy just couldn't wait to sign divorce papers. He had to destroy everything so Deborah wouldn't get somewhere without his help. So she wouldn't succeed on her own. So he would get all the credit, much like Ira did (“He gets to take credit for me? Put my photo up on his fucking wall?” 108).

In terms of why Deborah is the way she is, that's layered and difficult to summarize. A lot of her behavior stems from childhood trauma and her early adulthood. I think if Deborah had never met Frank, things would have been very, very different between her and Kathy. I think they would have continued to support each other and openly communicate, and despite there being a power imbalance between them, as Kathy matured and Deborah witnessed her growth, I think that Deborah would have been proud of the woman Kathy turned out to be. I think she's still proud of the woman Kathy turned out to be, even if she “hates” her or whatever. The dynamic of older sister/younger sister is very fraught with a mix of caretaking and jealousy. It's a super complex relationship, which is only usurped by the mother/daughter dynamic. Judging by how deeply bonded Deborah and Kathy were before 1976, it's very clear why Deborah feels so extremely betrayed by Kathy for what Frank did to them both. And it's also very clear why Kathy's appearance triggers Deborah so harshly she vomits.

Kathy embodies all the trauma from Frank, and keeping her distanced for so long let Deborah fall into a false sense of security and assumption that she had healed from all the shit that happened (which is debunked in 206 – “I got over my husband, but I never got over [losing a late night show].”) She never did. And knowing how Deborah reacts to the possibility of failing, which is to say that she doesn't react well – insomnia, anxiety, obsessive behaviors, defensiveness, blackmail – for her to not only not be healed after 50 years but to also be so overcome by emotion that she has a physical reaction? That's unconscionable. Unacceptable. A weakness. A secret shame. She's failed and it's the end of the world. And in most cases in her childhood and marriage to Frank, it kinda was...

*big deep exhale*

Here's where the rubber meets the road when it comes to Deborah Vance's relationships. Any kind, any shape, any depth, anything. She's afraid to let someone down. She's afraid that she won't be good enough. She's afraid that she won't be strong enough. She's afraid that she won't have all the answers. She's afraid to not be able to provide the way she wants to and has been able to in the past. And it's all due to a number of factors:

Her mother died first

Her mother died when Deborah was 15 and Kathy was 10

Her father died when Deborah was 17 and Kathy was 12

Her father was an alcoholic

Her household wasn't big on rules

As I mentioned, the mother/daughter relationship is the most complicated relationship dynamic. Regardless of what gendered roles are, biologically speaking, the mother/child bond is unique in that the mother's womb is where the child literally grows. Mother and child are connected by blood and tissue for almost a whole year. There are certain things that are established at the time of conception which can never be established by the father and child. It's just that simple. Mother/child bonds are more intense as a result. Being the eldest daughter meant Deborah and Martha had that bond and it was uninterrupted for five years. As childhood psychology analysis can and will predict, having an only child status for any length of time will make the bond between mother and child more intense than that of succeeding siblings. Having multiple siblings doesn't detract from the mother/child bond, but the eldest will always have a little extra special bond with the mother. So Deborah losing that bond first was the biggest blow to her developing psyche. That was a loss she felt more acutely than Kathy.

Deborah became a mother at 15. When a parent dies, it's the eldest siblings – but specifically the eldest sisters – who immediately start parenting whoever is left, including anyone in the family unit – parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, whoever. From what we know of Boomer culture and Greatest Generation morals, there's a very good chance Fred just delegated his parental duties to Deborah and checked the fuck out entirely after Martha died. From what I see Deborah doing when it comes to parenting, I wouldn't be surprised if this is a family pattern and learned behavior based in the fear of not measuring up.

Losing both parents before the age of 18 steals away any remaining childhood. Orphaned children are immediately thrust into survival mode and will stoop to what seem like unwarranted extremes like manipulation, blackmail, histrionic behavior, and bullying simply because they have to survive. There is no real way for orphaned children to support and protect themselves unless there's also a built-in safety net of siblings. Eldest siblings obviously support and protect more than the younger siblings, but the reward of there being kind of a quid-pro-quo or IOU or something along those lines is usually enough motivation to take on the responsibility of caretaking. As supported by the text, Deborah did her job as big sister. She protected Kathy from bullies (206) and she kept Kathy close until Frank got in the way (104). She continued these patterns in other areas of her life: “I would love nothing more than to bury you in more debt than medical school ever could” (106), “I helped a lot of people. I wasn't perfect but I did what I could” (108), “You have no fucking idea how much I do for you” (104). The behavior orphaned children usually develop as a result of being thrust into survival mode looks exactly like narcissistic traits. But as is seen throughout the series, Deborah doesn't use these tactics to tear someone else down. She uses them to survive.

Having an alcoholic parent (and therefore an unreliable parent) leaves the job of parenting to the eldest children, and in Deborah's case, this most likely had the biggest effect on her choice not to parent DJ. (Yes, there could be family pattern/learned behaviors at play here, too, and it might be a mix of both.) Not only does Deborah hesitate to develop a relationship with DJ, she flat out runs away from the responsibilities on more than one occasion. She avoids supporting DJ at the trade show, she offers small comforts of hand-me-down clothes rather than healthy communication, she chides DJ for going to therapy, and she jokes about DJ's sobriety. DJ confronts her numerous times and asks for a relationship but it's all in vain. There will never be a healthy, communicative, supportive, guilt-free relationship there unless Deborah has extensive therapy. Addressing the alcoholism and addiction that runs in her family might be too painful, so she may never do it. I would like to think JPL will at least have Deborah try, because they're crafting a redemption arc with her. This is one area I would like to see developed and explored more.

Having no structure during childhood and adolescent years is very detrimental to the developing psyches of children. There is definitely a thing as too much regimen, but having no structure at all is like giving a child the keys to a car and saying, “Good fucking luck!” It's beyond the realm of unhealthy; it's destructive. The child will learn to adapt, though. Some resulting adaptive behaviors are adrenaline seeking, dangerous hobbies like extreme sports, attachment issues, Borderline Personality Disorder, and attention seeking behaviors. It seems counter-intuitive to develop traits that fit into a structure-free home, but the child is using these adaptations as a way to normalize a very destructive environment. They aren't running hog wild because they want to. They're running hog wild because there is no other way for them to get the attention and care they need. These learned behaviors continue into adulthood in the form of attachment issues, cluster B personality disorders (Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Histrionic Personality Disorder, and Anti-social Personality Disorder), commitment issues, detachment, emotional abuse and neglect.

Based on these five factors, if Deborah didn't take care of herself and Kathy when Martha died, if she didn't take care of her dad when he was drunk, if she didn't coddle to the needs of Frank's narcissism, if she didn't get a perfect score on being the strongest person in the room, then she was a failure and there were extensive repercussions resulting in her, DJ's and Kathy's safety and survival being threatened. The result of this constant need to always be right so she will survive extends into her adulthood, resulting in perfectionism, obsession, tunnel vision, stringent morals, and a lack of flexibility.

Again, I have to stress, the traits of classical narcissism that Deborah exhibits are a result of her need to survive as: the only child of an alcoholic, then the eldest daughter, then the mother figure to Kathy, then the caretaker of her father, then the sole supporter of Kathy, then the wife of a narcissist, then the rejected wife, then the emotionally wounded woman she is known as today. She's exhausted, and it's no wonder why. She's been the strongest person in the room since she was 15. She's had to be. There was no choice. She either stepped up and took initiative or she died. There was no in-between.

For Deborah, the holy grail of success is getting a late night show. It not only symbolizes an happy, intact family unit (because her dad only laughed during Johnny Carson – 304), but it also realistically equips Deborah to be able to provide for herself and her family. It gives her a tangible reward for surviving all the shit that's been thrown her way. It's a tenured career, it's status, it's reliable, it's sustainable (inasmuch as anything in the entertainment industry is). It's all the things her childhood never was. She's worked her whole life to keep her head above water, and even when she could take a day off she doesn't because she's afraid someone else will come along and take her spot – “You have to scratch and claw and it never fucking ends, and it doesn't get better; it just gets harder.” (102)

So... This is why Deborah is the way she is, and this is why I love her. I see myself in her and knowing that she and I share so many things in common is part of the reason why this show means so much to me. Yeah, it's just a fucking TV show. It's fake and all that junk, but to me it's representation. And that means the world.

I can't thank JPL enough for giving me the gift of Deborah Margesson Vance. I also wanna know when they snuck into my childhood bedroom because holy shit...

[bme-girl]

Milestones on milestones!

In the past couple of weeks I gave my first lecture to masters students (!) and had my thesis plan/proposal defense (!!)

Super cool of my prof to let me fill in on their lecture and wow time is flying by. Grateful for all the support I have to help me stay prepared, it’s time to really get this show on the road hehe

[courtbard-anka]

The Road to My Master's Thesis

Week pre-1: just gotta start somewhere.

Link to master post.

[ammg-old2]

I last saw my old professor Abduqadir Jalalidin at his Urumqi apartment in late 2016. Over home-pulled laghman noodles and a couple of bottles of Chinese liquor, we talked and laughed about everything from Uighur literature to American politics. Several years earlier, when I had defended my master’s thesis on Uighur poetry, Jalalidin, himself a famous poet, had sat across from me and asked hard questions. Now we were just friends.

It was a memorable evening, one I’ve thought about many times since learning in early 2018 that Jalalidin had been sent, along with more than a million other Uighurs, to China’s internment camps.

As with my other friends and colleagues who have disappeared into this vast, secretive gulag, months stretched into years with no word from Jalalidin. And then, late this summer, the silence broke. Even in the camps, I learned, my old professor had continued writing poetry. Other inmates had committed his new poems to memory and had managed to transmit one of them beyond the camp gates.

In this forgotten place I have no lover’s touch Each night brings darker dreams, I have no amulet My life is all I ask, I have no other thirst These silent thoughts torment, I have no way to hope

Who I once was, what I’ve become, I cannot know Who could I tell my heart’s desires, I cannot say My love, the temper of the fates I cannot guess I long to go to you, I have no strength to move

Through cracks and crevices I’ve watched the seasons change For news of you I’ve looked in vain to buds and flowers To the marrow of my bones I’ve ached to be with you What road led here, why do I have no road back home

Jalalidin’s poem is powerful testimony to a continuing catastrophe in China’s Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region. Since 2017, the Chinese state has swept a growing proportion of its Uighur population, along with other Muslim minorities, into an expanding system of camps, prisons and forced labor facilities. A mass sterilization campaign has targeted Uighur women, and the discovery of a multi-ton shipment of human hair from the region, most likely originating from the camps, evokes humanity’s darkest hours.

But my professor’s poem is also testimony to Uighurs’ unique use of poetry as a means of communal survival. Against overwhelming state violence, one might imagine that poetry would offer little recourse. Yet for many Uighurs — including those who risked sharing Jalalidin’s poem — poetry has a power and importance inconceivable in the American context.

[tennessoui]

Hiiiiiii

So, I just read the majority of your fics and just. Wow. Wow Kit, wow. I only got into this fandom a few months ago and your fics have really gotten me involved in the prequel side of Star Wars.

So, I’ve got three questions. First, have you thought about writing a second fic for the throat fic au??? I really love how you’ve written the reverse ages for Obikin. Second, I just finished reading your road-trip au in one sitting and omfg they stress me the fuck out. How big of a train wreck will it be when Obikin confess to one another? Cause let’s be honest here, they’re terrible at communication and the amount of misunderstanding in every one of their conversations is just ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Like come on guys, communicate for once, for your sanity and ours. Third, I have also read and reread your fic “building a boat with no blueprints” and omfg that one is amazing. I love how you’ve written Obi-Wan having to deal with two different sides of Anakin (in a way, the light and the dark - did you know he spent first 23 years in the light as a Jedi and another 23 years as Vader? I read about this from another user and I was like ?!?!?!!!!!). Is there any future for that fic? How much trouble will Vader be in when Obi-Wan sees him again.

Sorry for the long post, but I truly love your fics and will continue to love everything that you post in the future! Best of luck with college (I think you said you were writing a thesis at some point???) and work!

ahh thank you!! This is so sweet of you to say, I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed my fics so much! ngl i sat on this ask a bit to reread it 🥰 I love to hear when newcomers find my fics. It’s like double serotonin: a) you like my writing and b) newcomer!!! new comer to obikin!!! hello 🥹

as for your questions, let me answer as best I can!

throat fic: I absolutely have! I am actually currently writing a second fic, told from vaderkin’s pov and starting from even before he met obi-wan (in a loose vague sort of way) my personal problem with sequels and also why I have never written one successfully (pbatmb not counted) is because I’m so caught up in copying the style of the first fic that I stall out. I really liked how in the original throat fic, there were flashbacks and present moments and the reader knew the present moments because they all started with the same sentence (“obi-wan had never seen so much blood”) and I keep being like what is anakin’s never seen so much blood!!! and like the truth is anakin’s fic does not have to follow the style of obi-wan’s but in my mind they do and that’s something I have to overcome lol

but no a throat fic sequel would definitely involve Vader being super weird about obi-wan and then go more into their future than obi-wan’s story did. like about how they make their love for each other work when Vader can’t unfall and obi-wan can’t bring himself to completely abandon the Jedi tenets his master taught him 😌

road trip au fic: I promise it gets worse before it gets better lmao and I still want to finish that fic this year. I’ve talked a lot here on tumblr about how it’ll pan out, which I’m about to rehash so skip this part if you want to be completely spoiler free: basically they get to Seattle and obi-wan tells anakin to like. Wait in the hotel room or something cause he doesn’t want anakin to see what set looks like cause that’s a dead giveaway that obi-wan was thinking of anakin when fucking set. Only of course anakin doesn’t listen. Of course he trails after him to see what this set looks like and of course he freaks when he sees set looks just like him. which all leads to a tearful argument (confession) in their hotel room where anakin is like ‘i just can’t understand why you chose him? Is it because his hair is darker?? Is it because his eyes are blue is it because he’s broader in the shoulders? what is it about me that you just can’t love even when I’ve been here, loving you, for years? I’ll change it. I’ll change anything’ and obi-wan is like what. and anakin is like. what. and obi-wan is like. what do you mean you love me??? etc etc

burn every bridge fic: ah I love that fic!! I actually wrote a continuation in my ao3 fic called “although it’s been said many times many ways”. It’s a gratuitously holiday cliched fic, but it’s a continuation of those two if you want to read it! I don’t think there’s an actual sequel there for me, but if you like my reverse age stuff you should also check out the behemoth that foolproof foolhardy became & I pray the same but my gods have changed & if you love me let it remain unnamed (trust me on the last one and also only read for the vibes)

[twincaptains]

Obsequium Part I: Chapter One: Ford's September

TITLE: Obsequium Part I: Chapter One: Ford’s September PAIRINGS:  Dipford (Ford x Dipper), Bipford, (Bipper x Ford), regular Billford (Bill x Ford) Pinecest (Dipper x Mabel), Stancest, (Stan x Ford), and possibly others. Gotta see where this thing takes me. SUMMARY: It’s been four years since Ford emerged from the portal and reclaimed the Mystery Shack. Stanley, Soos, Wendy, Mabel? They’re all gone, but he and Dipper remain to destroy what’s left of Bill. Dipper and Mabel’s parents have since divorced, their mother living alone on the east coast and Mabel living with her father in Seattle. As the Mystery Twins enter their 17th year, things seem to be going poorly. Stan and Ford are still not speaking to each other, and that doesn’t look like it will change anytime soon. Meanwhile, Dipper is receiving a top-notch education from Ford – he’s already graduated from high school and has several bachelor’s degrees. Still, something is amiss … I wonder what that might be? Is it Dipper’s perpetual sweatiness and unignorable teenage shortcomings? Or is it the whispers that keep beckoning from the woods … Ford journals about it, and is a jerk. NOTES: I am posting to Tumblr for now, but eventually will be cross-posting to Ao3. I am in line to get an account, and should have one by the end of the month. So … this thing is gonna get pretty intense in fairly short order, so I suggest you look under the cut to see if there’s any triggering content on the road ahead that might bother you. I don’t want anyone to get invested and THEN get upset.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Drug abuse, caregiver neglect OVERALL WARNINGS: Incest, sibling incest, minor, coercive control, mind control, caregiver neglect, physical abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, dubious consent (dubcon), body horror, suicidal ideation, food restriction, sleep deprivation, self-harm, drug abuse, being drugged, lost time, and I’m going to specifically going to warn for “Ford being cruel to Stanley”, because it made me upset when I wrote it so I want to warn for it. If I forgot anything, please let me know and I will fix it IMMEDIATELY. I will add more if anything else comes up.   Chapter Two is here!! Alright. Now that we’ve established where this is going … let’s get there.

FORD’S SEPTEMBER

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Saturday, September 3rd:

Dipper returned late last night from his week-long sabbatical with his father and sister in Seattle, eager to begin his fourth year of study. By the end of this year, he should have his first Masters. He says that I should find his thesis both stimulating and hilarious, which I doubt but I commend him for the effort. He is a very capable student but is still held back by some of the unfortunate distractions a boy of his age typically deals with. He confessed to me before he left to visit his family that he'd been feeling quite lonely and isolated lately, which I understand, but unfortunately that's the nature of our work. He'll have plenty of time to make friends and enemies after we finish sealing all the cracks that Bill made in the fabric of this town. While I was annoyed that we had to halt our momentum so that he could fulfill familial obligations; it did give me some time to think about how to better mentor him. Another thing: while I never had an issue with being distracted by such urges; he's clearly struggling with his hormones. An acceptable problem for a boy his age to have, but it's really starting to get in the way of our work. He can't focus on anything for longer than a few minutes and the sweatiness is starting to become medically concerning. I've tried directing him to meditate or thinking about something else, which always works for me, but I forget that not everyone has my admirable levels of self-control and willpower. He is just a boy, after all.

In my dimensional travels, I'd encountered a device that would come in handy in a situation like this: A virtual reality helmet that can quickly and efficiently satisfy biological urges and clear away burgeoning curiosities. The problem would be obtaining one of the damn things; while I can easily find somewhere to order one on the VerseWeb, they don't ship to this dimension or take any of the currency I have. Furthermore, I can't just hand a teenaged boy a device like that without calibrating it first and making sure certain safeguards are in place -- and an off-the-shelf model just isn't going to be able to penetrate the plate in my skull.

 What I am able to do is find the schematics online, modify them, build my own and then download the software so I can calibrate it myself.

So, I did that!

The next time I notice him getting all twitchy and distant; I'll sit him down and present him with the OBSEC-8177, software version 3.2.9. He can go off and do whatever for about 15 minutes, and then hopefully become a more manageable student and more productive assistant.

Today we're working on some coursework, and then after the sun goes down it's out into the woods to track down the source of the whispers we both keep hearing.

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Tuesday, September 6th: 

Our search for the whisperer was unfruitful, but it was at least refreshing. I'd been stuck in the house building the OBSEC the entire time Dipper had been gone. I sometimes forget the power of a good night walk, gets the blood pumping and the brain moving. I was able to have a decent talk with the boy, about where his studies are heading next and more about the important work we are doing.

I try not to tell him too much, for one I don't want to overwhelm him -- he's been through a lot and even though he's quick on the uptake, he still has his limits. For another, even though he has not shown me any reason not to, I don't trust him. He was very easily deceived by Bill for promises much more foolish and pettier than what I was offered, and his general anxiousness leads me to believe that he'd have trouble keeping his mouth shut if he were ever faced with torture, or even a light interrogation. He just doesn't have the focus nor the tools to endure that kind of thing.

Speaking of, the OBSEC is going to make its grand debut this evening. It didn't take long for Dipper to get distant and distracted on me, and it's very clear where his mind keeps wandering. I fear that week with his sister did little to dial down his inner tension, if anything he seems more agitated than ever. If this trend continues, I may have to insist he suspend his visits with her after next year, when he'll no longer be subject to the tempestuous family court system.

My hope is that spending some time clearing out the chemical garbage clogging up his brain will be able to help him find a proper center so that I can start letting him know about what we're doing, here. When he's done erasing all the messages Stanley's left me on my answering machine in the last few days, I'll let him take the helmet for a spin.

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Friday, September 9th:

Success! Dipper has been an amazing assistant and an above par student these last few days. The OBSEC was just the shot in the arm he needed to become fully grounded and invested in our work. We've been able to make substantial progress in expanding and fortifying the forcefield that will keep that rancid triangle out of here for good. In the meantime, it will give me some space to either figure out a way to repair the dimensional rift OR keep it so well guarded that it will never be in danger of breaking free.

For now, the only way Bill is getting anywhere near my lab (and the rift) is if he's invited.

And he won't be, simple as that.

I really can't emphasize enough how much Dipper has improved. I had him take another look at a quantum problem that he was having immense difficulty with before his break, and he was able to see past his snag and solve it almost immediately. He demanded several more to make sure he'd really gotten it, which I was happy to provide. He finally believes me that they're fun, enjoyable, and foundational for the rest of his education. We'd been stuck here for a moment, it was going to be impossible for me to move to the next phase until he understood these concepts. It seems he has found his footing now, and I have a feeling he's going to really like what I have for him next: xenostring theory.

Oh, to be young and naive again ... I'll never forget the way I felt when I started studying xenostrings for the first time. Sure, I was 43, but I still felt the same rush of excitement and thrill of discovery that I'd feel when riding roller coasters and educational dark rides as a red-faced teen. And after xenostring theory, then...

No, no. I don't want to get too ahead of myself. I'll end up rushing the boy through what should be a sacred experience that he needs to take at his own pace.

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Tuesday, September 13th

I've been busy these last few days helping Dipper with the basics of xenostring theory, which he has taken to like a duck to water. I'm encouraging his enthusiasm, which I admit is a little bit mean, as that has set him up for failure.  However, the overall lesson his failure will teach him may very well be more valuable than what he's trying to learn.

What he doesn't know, and what most that get into the field don't understand at first, is that xenostrings abhor enthusiasm and infatuation. The harder you fixate on them, the more impossible they are to discern. Dipper needs to learn to become more detached from his core emotions so that he can better perform his work, and until he learns how to do that, the array I've requested him to arrange will refuse to hold its shape. He's threatening to stay up all night to try and get it to work, and I'm debating whether I should intervene. Sleep is necessary for thinking, yet his current frustration is going to make the eventual lesson that much more potent and memorable. I'll see how I feel about it when we pause for a nutrient break this evening.

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Wednesday, September 14th

Dipper is still working on the xenostring array, undeterred. He requested some stimulant medication earlier this morning, as coffee just wasn't doing it for him anymore, and I relented and let him have some of the green capsules I picked up during my extended layover on Vulpis VII. This may have been a mistake, as he seems to be having some sort of episode over the collapsed pile of xenostrings on the lab floor. His vitals seem fine, so I'm not concerned as of yet. If he pulls any more of his hair out, I may have to force an antidote of some sort into him. I think the purple ones I got on Canis IV should work well enough, though I should probably leave him in the bathtub overnight if it comes down to that.

Still, the wailing, moaning and gnashing of teeth will all be worth it in the end. I think he's getting close to figuring out that he needs to care less about what the strings are and what they're doing, and more about the fact that the strings are just plain nifty. But not too nifty, nifty in the way a tabloid cover entertains you while you're waiting in line to buy more peanut butter.

I should wrap this up, I think he just tried to choke himself out. Maybe I should be watching him a bit closer.

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Saturday, September 17th

The comedown from the stimulants wasted two whole days, and I learned to never trust the boy's stated tolerance levels ever again. I didn't have to give him any antidotes, but anything he managed to learn he did not retain. He's frustrated with me, but I'm more frustrated with him for missing the point entirely. He said he felt better this morning, at least, but instead of sending him back to the xenostrings I suggested we investigate the whispering in the woods again. It was particularly potent last night, to the point both of us were sure that we could hear it indoors. Neither of us can quite make out what's being said, but it doesn't seem to be hostile in any way. Almost... inviting. Which means it's probably hostile.

Dipper had the brilliant idea of staying in the area around the house and trying to catch the whispers on some sort of audio equipment. He says that some spirits prefer magnetic tape, others prefer more modern digital means, and luckily for us we have both. He says that he has software on his computer that can enhance and analyze the audio, if we manage to catch any, which would be extremely useful if that's true. I don't really have a grasp on what computers can and can't do in this world. They were never really my forte in the first place; I just brute force my way through and have someone else clean up my mess a little later. Those were the days before software came in neat little executables and instead needed to be manually programmed and engaged each time you wanted to use it. I'll leave all of that to him, he needs a genuine win after his week of abject failures.

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Tuesday, September 20th

We certainly heard a lot of whispers, so many that we went out a second night. Dipper is arranging and analyzing the audio now, which takes a bit of time. He says that he's already managed to isolate some of what we were hearing, he just needs to finish scrubbing through nearly 20 hours of waveforms to see what else we've picked up. It's promising, to be sure! I just wish there was a way it could be done a little more quickly. He said if I knew how to use the computer even a little that I could cut his workload in half, but I have neither the time nor the desire to learn the ins and outs of that showy, anorexic rectangle he calls a computer. I have been spending my time doing something much more sensible: investigating the logistics of getting a restraining order on my brother.

He already knows not to come around here, I'll shoot him if I see him on the property again, but the phone calls are really starting to get to me. Sometimes up to twice a day, if the mood strikes him. I have no idea what he's playing at, I don't have the patience to deal with whatever con he's running. Probably just asking for money. I wouldn't know; Dipper has been dealing with these messages for years. They're just so ... incessant, lately. Sometimes I can hear his voice when I'm in the other room, and I'm just so sick and tired of it. It makes focusing on my work much harder than it needs to be.

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Wednesday, September 21st

Dipper has insisted I stop researching restraining orders, pointing out that it would only antagonize my brother further. The best thing to do, if I really want to keep him at arm's length, is to let him babble into the void. He may be correct about that, but I am more correct.

I'll just pursue it the next time Dipper's not here. I think he's expected in Seattle for Thanksgiving; perhaps I'll find the time, then. Granted, a lot of government offices will be closed, but perhaps I can yell at one of those rectangular surveillance devices people call phones and it will tell me the information I need.

This is annoying and unnecessary!

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Friday, September 23rd

Dipper presented his findings from our excursion last weekend to me today, and I have to say -- they're quite impressive. He managed to catch several instances of the voices we heard, but not all. It was fascinating because, as he said, some existed on the magnetic tapes that did not exist on digital devices running at the same time, and vice versa. Others, which we reacted to, did not seem to be picked up by the equipment at all. Dipper was able to enhance the audio and noticed that it sounded a bit like backmasking -- which inspired him to reverse the sounds using his software. To his surprise, we captured what is, without a doubt, intelligible speech. In plain English, each time it showed up in the recording, it was saying:

"You'll trip and fall right into me."

It sounds like a bad song lyric, if you ask me, but it seems rather ominous, doesn't it? The voice doesn't sound like Bill, but Bill can sound like anything or anyone. Is he behind it? His taunts to me are usually much more direct, there's no reference to my body odor which has me doubtful, but if it IS from him, what does that even mean? I'll trip and fall right into you?

Hardly.

HARDLY!

I'm more fortified than ever. There is no angle I have not considered. Any vulnerability he might exploit is either out of sight or out of mind. Dipper isn't foolish enough to be taken in by him again, and I'm not foolish enough to put him in a position where he might be.

Get over yourself, Bill. Trip and fall right into a bottomless ravine.

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Sunday, September 25th

Unexpectedly, Dipper had an interesting breakthrough with the xenostrings! He had left them alone for a few days, and sure enough, when he returned to them, they behaved much better. He's figured out that they're responding to his emotional state, which I am impressed with. It took me quite a while to get there, given how frustrated I used to become when I didn't get something that seemed obvious to everyone else.

This breakthrough also happened to come after an unfortunately needed break in our work to tend to the property itself. The leaves are already coming down, and we need to stay on top of them before they get on top of us. Then there's the matter of trimming trees, seeing if any need to be knocked down, and just general maintenance on both the grounds and the house.

By throwing himself into physical labor, and by focusing on the task of decoding the whispers we captured last weekend, he managed to detach himself from his infatuation with the strings. Maybe I should work him a bit harder; it might stimulate further eureka moments for him.

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Wednesday, September 28th

Last night was another notable one for whispers from the woods; though the message definitely has changed. Dipper and I are debating over whether it's Bill trying to mess with us in some way, or if it's some other creature trying to get our attention -- for nefarious purposes or not. We've found the more we ignore it, the more insistent it tends to be. Occasionally saying "Sure!" or "Whatever!" will get it to quiet down for a little while before it works its way back into a constant hissing in the background.

We haven't set up any equipment to try and record it yet, I'm waffling on whether we should engage at all. It seems aware we were able to figure out the first message, which is why there's something new for us to look at now. Something doesn't feel quite right about it.

I'm outside listening to them build, now. Dipper needed to take a break with the OBSEC machine, and I'm inclined to let him. That thing is a miracle, I'm finally working with the protege I deserve. It's kept him so focused and level-headed, much more able to follow my lead. We've made such progress in such a short time! I can't even begin to imagine where we'll be by the New Year.

The whispers sound even more different now, and louder than before. Probably insults I'm better off not hearing. Dipper did leave his recorders out here, though. Maybe I'll try and catch some of this, it might interest him when he gets back from putting his head on straight.

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Friday, September 30th

"Don't be so sure."

"I'm closer than you think."

Nonsense. Utter NONSENSE!

The whispers are indeed different. Still backmasked, still desperate and pathetic.

I can't believe this, I'm almost certain it's Bill now. This is what he's spending his time doing? Trying to get me to play Marco Polo in the woods? I used to think that was fun, but I don't anymore. I have no idea what he's playing at, nor why he's able to project his voice so forcefully into the barrier I spent so much time meticulously crafting.

I suppose the makeup of the town itself is to blame. I can't get far enough under the house to fortify the bedrock of the property; he might be able to seep in via the groundwater. Running water is always a problem, and of course I live in the middle of a lush forest instead of the desert.

If I'm aware I'm being taunted, I can't be taunted. Dipper is similarly unimpressed, though he does seem a bit troubled by it all. He doesn't seem as interested in eating lately, which is a sign that he's thinking too much. I think he needs some extra time with the OBSEC, the stress of both his xenostring array and Bill being annoying might be testing his limits.

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TBC In Part I, Chapter Two: Dipper’s September

[tethysresort]

Inspired by a poll, everyone who follows me gets to look at a rock per day for the month of October! 

Day 20: Today’s rock is precious opal!  And today’s story picks up from yesterday, after our visit to the opal mine. 

Fieldwork is always a logistical nightmare.  What do you eat?  Where do you stay?  Are the roads drivable or are you going to need to walk?  Where did the horse come from?  Where is the forest fire, other than on the horizon, and is it blocking your ability to drive home?  Will anyone believe you if you see something impossible? 

In this case, “where do you stay?” was this very, VERY weird elderly hotel.  The hostess was genial and happy to rent us a room for about the same price as staying at a campsite.  When she heard about my thesis she kept insisting that I “need to go up the road and visit the restaurant, it has hundreds of international jams”.  And then asked me if I was sapphire hunting in Montana too.  I wasn’t certain of where “international jams” came into the “geology master’s thesis” equation, but I appreciated her attempts at assistance. 

It made sense when we went “up the road” to the restaurant.  It was a double wide trailer that was somehow a restaurant and bar, field license station, and rock shop.  With an entire wall of international GEMS…  The food was good, and better yet we didn’t need to cook it ourselves.

The entire little community seemed to have exactly two trades: cattle and opals.  So of course I had to visit the opal store before heading home.  I came home with opals as gifts, opals for myself, and…a tile saw that we had quite a time fitting in the car.  (The shop owner was downsizing!) 

At any rate, here are the earrings that I got for myself.