#treated and raised compared to here and how the coldness and detach is seen as prime and better example of good parenting

[stelashe]

There's always something so alien and off putting in North Europeans movies. It's like watching a world that is quite similar to yours but different,off and sinister

[falling-pages]

Bend the Knee: Kyoya x Reader

Thanks @ouranbound for the idea <3

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“I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present."

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Sometimes Kyoya's betrothed needs help adjusting from their commoner life to one of splendor.

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Kyoya Ootori x gn! Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship, arranged marriage, Commoner! Reader

Warnings: None

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“Quit.”

“What?”

“Quit. You complain about that job every night, so just resign.”

You sit up on the couch, gasping to even begin to make the young heir understand how preposterous his words were. He barely even noticed, just kept his eyes glued to his novel as you were having a crisis. Just another normal Tuesday in this household. “I can’t quit just like that, without two weeks’ notice.”

“The other employees did.”

“But I’m their best,” you scramble, “I can’t bail while they’re still looking for two more people.”

Kyoya scoffed, licking his fingertip and turning a page. “Is that how they treat their best? Overworked and underpaid? They don’t sound like very good bosses to me.”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

It was that. It was exactly that, which made his smug smile all the more frustrating, igniting that fire under your nails to just punch his lights out. But then you’d have to admit it’s bothering you, and he would win, and even though you were engaged to marry this man, you just couldn’t have that.

You ran your hands through your hair, dropping back down onto the couch. His office futon wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, perhaps to discourage relaxation during work hours, but it’s what you dealt with in order to spend time with him in the evenings, a change you would certainly implement once your name was on the deed and in the will--a revamp of his working space was imperative.

But you supposed you couldn’t complain. It was your little life together, where he manages a multi-billion dollar empire and you whine about your job, where he pretends to not pay attention while you spill your guts. What was the sense in commenting when he knew you wouldn’t take his advice?

“I’ve worked hard for this position,” you settle on, closing your eyes and letting your brain do the work. “I’ve climbed the ladder and gotten promotions and I used to feel so important, and it isn’t my dream job, sure, but I’ve enjoyed the process.”

“Then it’s time to move on to something different,” he suggests, and his tone is softer than usual, though still careful to sound detached. “You know I have more than enough money to provide for you and our family someday. Is that not enough?”

You open your eyes when the voice sounds closer, right above you, and you see him kneeling down beside you on the couch. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back down, helping you stretch out your spine, shake out the stresses in your limbs. And when he takes your hand, drawing his long fingers over the arch of your wrist and against your palm, you were startled to see him at eye-level.

Kyoya Ootori bent his knee to no one except you, and only once, when he slipped that pretty gold ring on your finger. But here where you lay, your faces were on the same level, and you felt like an equal.

“The world I come from isn’t black and white, Kyoya,” you say, as he strokes the back of your knuckles. Such tenderness was seldom seen from him, but you revel in it, grasp onto it with dirty fists and brazen recklessness. To have him so attentive to your needs and listening to you was rare. It was a privilege, a standard you would soon be held to, as well. “To be just...launched into fame because my dad won the lottery is hard, I still need to adjust. It can all be gone in a second, so I can’t just drop something. I can’t...sever the safety net. They need me to keep the place afloat, and even as tough as it has been, I can’t leave on such bad terms. They need me. Just for a little bit longer.”

He sighs your name like the afterthought of a prayer, settling his other hand beside you on the couch. His fingers dig into every indentation, as if joining your discovery of its stiff cushions. The sheen in his glasses signaled he’d look into it, but there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

He remained silent, odd for a man with all the answers, but he continued to look at you, not like he was trying to drill a hole through your head, but like you were a puzzle he was just beginning to figure out.

“Have I really been so absent, my love?” he whispered, raising his hand to your face. One finger stroked along your cheek, slowly, lulling you into peace. “I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present. Please, forgive me.”

All of the air was knocked out of your chest as his gentle words, so soft that you almost didn’t recognize him. When your parents betrothed you, and when you fell in love with him, agreed to marry him, even, you knew that he would always be an Ootori, with every string attached. You were ready for the challenge, ready to be with this man no matter what--but his sudden kindness was unexpected, the poetic words unfamiliar in your ears.

“Kyo, you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” you ask, taking off his glasses.

He let you, and when you set them on the nearby stand, his dark eyes glittered with something you had never seen before. Deeper than love, deeper than compassion, a feral protectiveness mixed with sadness skating across his face. It was so rare you saw him without this shield of his, you had almost forgotten how his eyes were like galaxies, like the murky night sky, expansive, swallowing everything in its path.

“If I had been suffering so, I wouldn’t forgive my partner had they not noticed,” he said.

“I’m not suffering...”

“Mmm-mm.” He shuttered your lips closed with his finger, and you couldn’t help but return the affection and press a kiss to it. He smiled, softly, and you thought about how long it had been since you had seen that smile, and how long it had been since he’s seen yours, too.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing my feelings,” he said, and when you snorted, he rolled his eyes and leaned away. “See, this is exactly why.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, giggling. The feeling was foreign in the pit of your chest, drumming near your spine. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, softly wiping where you had kissed him, a repetitive, soothing motion. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings. I’ve been raised to think that if you throw money at something, it will go away. It’s a powerful position to hold, knowing you can change everyone’s fates on a whim, but…” he swallowed, breaking eye contact, and you felt his energy shift into something vulnerable. “But you changed that. You make me feel...you make me feel. And at first I didn’t like it. I loved you, but I didn’t like what you did to me. I didn’t like how you made my world shift off-balance, until I realized my world was no longer my family’s company or stocks or what other stiffs thought of me. It was you.”

You tried to lean up and kiss him, but he grabbed your hands and held them in his own. “Please, let me finish, I want...I want you to know. We’ve been betrothed for so long, but I’d like to think we were only truly engaged when I bowed to you with that ring.”

“Okay,” you breathed, shallowly, taking it in, squeezing his hands to help him along.

“Because that took everything in me,” he continued, and his voice shook, his hands shook, and all you wanted was to gather him in your arms and hold him till he relaxed. “I was raised as a superior, but I’m not. Not with you. You are my equal, and I love you, and there’s no future with us if I can’t look beyond my own problems to see yours.”

Your stomach quelled in light of his confession. The life of luxury and fame you had so recently come to know was a blur compared to his childhood swathed in privilege. Only six years ago you were waiting tables to save up for college when your dad bought a lottery ticket for the hell of it. Now you were attending charity balls and engaged to the son of the richest man on earth.

He took a shaky breath and kissed your forehead, seeming to only find the courage once his lips met your skin.

“I notice. I swear I do,” he said. “I tried to act disinterested when you vent to me because it was a protection, it was a way to stay cold, because that was all I ever saw from my mother and father. They were separate people who happened to live in the same house. That’s not us. I’m not my father. I swear I notice. I notice your tired eyes and your tense shoulders and your fake smile and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how, so I clam up. I shut down. And I’m sorry. I truly am, my darling. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

It was an absolute miracle that you could even breathe at the end of his speech, panting almost as heavily as he was. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, this time he didn’t object, but pulled you even closer, shrouding your body with his, his sharp scent overwhelming your senses, clouding the air around you, even when there was no distance between you. His mouth was hot with passion, yet reserved, and though it wasn’t the first time you kissed, it was the first time you thought he meant it when he told you he loved you.

“Kyoya, I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I have for so long. I wouldn’t have stayed with you if I didn’t, no matter what our parents said.” He laughed, nipping your bottom lip lightly. “And I don’t want you to change for me. You’re under so much pressure, I understand why you act like you do. But our home isn’t Wall Street. My heart isn’t some business bargaining chip. You don’t need to fight your nature to love me. It’s one and the same.” One of his tears splashes down onto your face. “So just see me. Love me. Choose to be vulnerable. I promise it won’t scare me off.”

“I will. I promise.”

He kissed you again, burning his brand against your tongue, hard like a handshake to know he meant it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, like you were breathing the same air, using the same lungs, the same heart beating in tandem.

When you let go, his forehead remained pressed against yours. His eyes were slightly open, watching you, eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He was so soft, like this. You wanted to hold him forever.

“Come to bed with me,” you whisper, trailing a hand through his hair. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He kissed your forehead, rubbing his nose against yours in compliance. “I’ll spend all the time in the world with you, beloved,” he sighed, capturing your lips once more. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

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Kofi

[tomdiddlyumptious]

Can u do a dad Tom holland x mom black reader where they have a 2 year old son ( Elijah ) and a 1 month old daughter (Ellie ) and his fans are being mean because your baby girl is darker than her big brother and Tom tells them to stop on a livestream but they don’t and he takes a break because he more frustrated than reader is . And the next day y/n go to Toms parents house and y’all talk about it and y/n sobs ending in fluff

YOU WONT BELIEVE THE SWEAT I HAVE DRIPPED FOR THIS ASK, I DID DO A LITTLE OVERBOARD, NICE ASK, NICE COCK 👍🏽 OH AND I MADE A MISTAKE ABOUT THE NEXT DAY THING, I WAS CAUGHT UP IN THE MOMENT

warnings: I DONT KNOWWW, NO SMUT BUT SËX REFRENCES- FLUFF? AND CHILDRENN NOT PROOF READ BITCHES

T.H| TITTIESSSS

Tom smiled as he posted the picture, cuddling into his small daughter as you took care of your son. You both weren’t really doing anything just binge watching Soul Eater because you refused to watch love island.

“I don’t get this show, it’s terrible” “your terrible” you chuckled at him, noticing that Ellie was slowly starting to tear up. “I think someone’s hungry yeah? Come here Ellie” you cooed, Tom picking up the small child and placing her into your arms while he took Elijah, whos currently side tracked from TV, you pulled down your, Toms, oversized shirt to feed Ellie. Smiling as she sucked the soul out of you.

“You know-“ “we can’t have sex” “but Ellie gets to get your nipples and I don’t?” “Do you want her to starve?” “No I want to have sex” he clarified, rolling your eyes you placed some of her hair behind her ear.

Toms phone started to ding and he furrowed his eyebrows, he opened his phone and read the comments “it’s the girl being darker then the boy for me” “why is Ellie darker then Elijah?” “she’s a cheater- I told you Tom” and some trying to defend “y/n is literally darker then Tom, what did you expect? I’m so sorry this is happening” “did y’all really have to put the baby in this? We all know y/n doesn’t play about her kids”

“What’s wrong Tom?” You say, now playing with Eli’s hair. Tom only frowned at you “I’m tired of people thinking that they know most, at this point it’s really annoying” “what’s wrong Thomas?” You asked, more sternly as you pulled lee away, but she starts to cry some so you put her back.

“Nothing love, you hungry though?” He asked, trying not to make you feel anyway at the moment. “No I want you to tell me what’s wrong and right now Thomas, forreal” you made eye contact with him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not telling you y/n” he simply says, getting up forgetting his phone and walking into the kitchen.

“I have to find out myself then!” You yell, taking his phone and scrolling through your guessing comments?. You aren’t the one to scroll through his phone at any cost because you trust him entirely, but he’s pissed and you need to find out why.

Patting lees diaper you sequenced you’re eyes to read the comments, zendaya saying “they are both so cute! Where have y’all been be seen I need to come over, like right now”, Jacob B commenting “look at lil man!” And others but as you continued to scroll down you found the negative ones.

Just reading them so fast as your blood line ran cold, you didn’t notice that Tom was coming back. “Y/n stop” he says, putting the glass of water down and reaching over Eli to take the phone but you snatched it back. “Is this what they think of me? Of my kids?” You say weakly, showing him the phone as your eyes started to water.

“Don’t listen to them, we brought Eli and Lee for ourself, not for them. Let’s just take a-“ his heart dropped as tears silently trailed down your cheeks, still reading the comments. “You are only making it worse, give me the phone Y/n” “no” “give me, the phone” he said madly, not at you but at others. He reached all the way over, watching out for the kids and taking the phone without a fight.

You detached lee and fixed yourself, lifting your knee and placing her on the pad of your thigh wiping your tears and you took her small hands.

Tom only through his phone on the nightstand and turned off the TV “what are you doing?” You ask him, “let’s take a nap yeah? I’ll when we wake up I’ll do a live or something to communicate with them” he took off his shirt and sat on the bed, sighing as you only seen the back of his head, he ran his hands through his hair, not letting them, his so called ‘fans’ get to him.

Tom laid down and threw the blankets over him, turning off the light and making it as dark as possible although it was only about 1 in the evening. “I don’t think I can go to sleep” you say as he turns in your direction, “then try darling, I really don’t want us to be stressed out love” he gave a smile, playing the the loose curls in Eli’s hair while looking at you.

“Yeah okay” you nod, Tom taking lee again while you took Eli. Eli smiled as he gave you a slimy kiss “ew!” You smiled, you let out a sniffle and Eli frowned at it, kissing your nose. You giggled and wiped it off, noticing an arm around your waist trying to pull you closer you came closer, Toms hand going down to yours and putting his fingers in between yours as you did the same and gave a squeeze. “I love you, y/n” he mumbles, his thumb brushing your knuckle. “I love you too”

“Ready?” He asked, you sitting next to him and the babies are sleep, you nod, “ready”. He started the live, about two minutes in everyone started to join. He took your hand and smiled down at you, returning it you kiss his cheek. Sooner or later he had about 6-9k and he cleared his throat,” I’m pretty sure you’ve all seen the comments and I’d like to ask all of you to stop” he simply asked, the comment bar flooded of hurtful words, they weren’t gonna stop anytime soon. “Lee is a child she doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, you not only hurting her your hurting my wife, MY wife” he pointed to his chest “you also hurting me, y/n doesn’t do SHIT-“ he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing his back.

“She doesn’t do shit but tries to show you how happy we are, for all of you saying that she’s cheating she isn’t, she’s been with me, do you see her skin?” He asked, looking at you and kissing your cheek “she has color, I don’t of course Ellie is going to be darker then her brother, they aren’t fucking twins!” He yells. He gets tired of it and pins one of the comments “maybe you should stick to your color and this wouldn’t of had to happen, you shouldn’t even be here”. “That’s the shit nobody should say, don’t talk to my wife like that you fuckin-“ “that’s it Thomas you asked, calm down” you whispered, his face red as his jaw is clenched, he bites his lip as he apologizes “I’m sorry, but please I just- I’ve worked so hard and found love, I found a wife. It makes me mad that you can’t accept that-that I can’t be happy without one paparazzi and news about me, I want a break and I want a family, and now that I have one none of you support me- or most” he refused to cry infront of them but is was heart clattering. “I-bye” he simply says, grabbing his phone and ending the live.

“You did your best-“ you get cut off by his phone ringing. His mom was calling, he instantly answered “yeah mom- yeah” he sighed “alright we’ll be over”. “They want us to come over” he stood up and took your hand, pulling you up with him he gave you a peck on the lips. “I love you Thomas” you wrap your arms around him. “I love you to, and I’m not going anywhere”

You and Thomas walked to the door with one car seat each in your hands, he knocked on the door and was instantly met with Sam “hey! Give them here-“ “wait give me lee!” Harry said, running up and taking the car seat from your hand making you laugh, Sam took the other and they both walked off to the kitchen with distant talks like “please be my taste tester” “I wanna take photos with you!”

Tom put the keys in your back pocket, walking in he called for his mom and she told them both to come to the livingroom. As you both walked dom sat up and gave you a hug while Nikki gave Thomas a hug. “I’m so sorry about those twats, your children are so beautiful” he rubbed your back slowly.

“Thank you” you whispered, hugging him back tightly. He let you go and rubbed your arms as he gave you a sweet smile, soon treading and Nikki gave you a hug “I love you and your children, we both support you so much and want you to know we are here for you, come sit” she stops hugging you and takes your hand, pulling you to the couch.

Tea was on the white coffee table and you and Tom sat on the mint grey couch, the couch you don’t touch if you live there. “It’s just-“ you sighed, Tom rubbing your back as you fought the tears. “I love your son so much and to think that I would ever hurt him-or you guys in anyway is just so hurtful, and having the pressure of everyone going against me and our child- comparing them as if they can stick up for themselves” you cried, you didn’t fight it. They are your family now, and forever will be. Tom didn’t like seeing you cry at all, it almost makes him cry, seeing you weep and vulnerable isn’t well for him because when he met you you were a strong, independent woman, and you still are but it hurts him too much.

“Yeah” dom nods, passing you a tissue and Tom takes it, pulling your face to him and patting under your eyes. “But they don’t matter, we are your family and we know from our hearts and our mind that you didn’t do anything wrong” Nikki weakly smiles, seeing you cry really is heart breaking, you just gave birth a month ago and depression is so severe. “We love you y/n, your child is our grandchildren no doubt” dom smiles, reaching over and holding your hand gently. “I love you, you are so important to me, our children are so important to me, just all of us in general are so important to me, so important that I’d quit anything for you, for my children, it’s us, a household, a family” Thomas pulls you close.

Eli saying “yum! YAY! More!” In the background with Sam making you laugh, he ends up running to you with a spoon filled with pasta. “Taste! Yummy!” He smiles at you, his baby face and small teeth “hurry mommy!” You smile and open your mouth Eli feeding it to you and you hum in satisfaction. “It is yummy, who made it?” You asked, “I did! I helped sam” Sam walked up to the livingroom, leaning on the wall. “I’m coming!” Harry yells, airplaning lee into the livingroom “pshhhhh” Harry does sound effects, lee laughing making you all smile. Eli jumps in your lap and looks at your face “why are you crying mommy?” You let out a chuckle “because I love all of you” “love you to mommy” he hugs you, Harry handing lee to you and hugging her back, Tom joining as Sam walks closer and sits next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and soon everyone is group hugging. “Umm- your squeezing me!” Eli whispers, everyone laughing as you all just take in the whole thing, happy that this is your new family, other then your other precious family also.

[gffa]

OKAY, IF I’M GONNA DO THIS, I’M GONNA DO IT PROPERLY.  WHICH MEANS YEAH IT’S GONNA GET REALLY LONG. A couple of things to say ahead of time:  Lucasfilm’s Story Group has always said CANON > WORD OF GOD when it comes to these matters, so when I quote canon examples from supplementary materials that contradict what he says, that’s LF’s official position, but that doesn’t mean that an influential person like Dave’s views couldn’t affect how things will be shaped in the future, like Deborah Chow listening to this may be influenced by it on the Obi-Wan show, despite that Master & Apprentice contradicts him.  It’s an incredibly murky area!  Mileages are going to vary.   Another thing to keep in mind is that Dave Filoni never worked on The Phantom Menace, that was long, long before his time at Lucasfilm (which I think he joined sometime around 2007? and TPM was released in 1999), that he has worked with George more than probably anyone else, but we cannot and should not treat him as infallible or the True Authority on things, because even Dave himself has said things like: “I mean, I know why I did that and what it means, but I don't like to explain too much. I love for the viewers to watch stuff and come up with their own theories -- and they frankly come up with better things that I intended.”  --Dave Filoni, Entertainment Tonight 2020 interview Or, in the same episode as the above Qui-Gon interpretation:

So, when I dig into this, I’m not doing this out of a sense of malice or even that I suddenly hate Dave or don’t appreciate all the incredible things he’s brought to SW, but in that I disagree with his take, Dave understands that he doesn’t always get it right, that he enjoys that fans come up with different things than he does and sometimes he likes those even more.  There’s room for both of us and, for all that Dave mentions George a lot (and, hey, fair enough, the guy worked with George and I’m just quoting what George Lucas has said) doesn’t mean that this is straight from George, especially because I have never seen George Lucas utter so much as a peep about how the Jedi were responsible for Anakin’s fall.  He has explicitly and frequently talked about how Anakin’s fall was his own choice, as well as I’ve never seen him say anything Jedi-critical beyond “they were kind of arrogant about themselves”.  I have read and watched every George Lucas interview I could get my hands on and maybe I’m still missing something, but that’s literally the extent of him criticizing the Jedi I have EVER seen. (It’s from the commentary on AOTC where he put in the scene with Jocasta to show they were full of themselves, but I also think it’s fair to point out that Obi-Wan immediately contradicts this by going to Dex for help, showing that it’s not necessarily a Jedi-wide thing.) Before I go further, I want to say:  this is not a post meant to tear down Qui-Gon, he is a character I actually really do love, but the focus is on showing why the above interpretation of him is wrong, which means focusing on Qui-Gon’s flaws. He has many wonderful qualities, he is someone who cared deeply and was a good person, I think things would have been better had he lived!  But Anakin’s choices did not hinge on him, because Anakin’s choices were Anakin’s, that has always been the consistent theme of how George talks about him, the way he talks about the story is always in terms of “Anakin did this” or “Anakin chose that”, and the Jedi are very consistently shown as caring, they believed very much in love and Dave’s own show (well, I say “his own show”, but honestly TCW was George’s baby primarily and he had a lot of direct, hands-on say in crafting it, through at least the first five seasons) is plenty of evidence of that. I’m not going to quote the full thing because this is already a monster post, I’m just going to focus on the Jedi stuff, because I like the other points a lot, but if you want the full text, it’s here.  The relevant part is: “In Phantom Menace, you’re watching these two Jedi in their prime fight this evil villain. Maul couldn’t be more obviously the villain. He’s designed to look evil, and he is evil, and he just expresses that from his face all the way out to the type of lightsaber he fights with. What’s at stake is really how Anakin is going to turn out. Because Qui-Gon is different than the rest of the Jedi and you get that in the movie; and Qui-Gon is fighting because he knows he’s the father that Anakin needs. Because Qui-Gon hasn’t given up on the fact that the Jedi are supposed to actually care and love and that’s not a bad thing. The rest of the Jedi are so detached and they become so political that they’ve really lost their way and Yoda starts to see that in the second film. But Qui-Gon is ahead of them all and that’s why he’s not part of the council. So he’s fighting for Anakin and that’s why it’s the ‘Duel of the Fates’ – it’s the fate of this child. And depending on how this fight goes, Anakin, his life is going to be dramatically different. “So Qui-Gon loses, of course. So the father figure, he knew what it meant to take this kid away from his mother when he had an attachment, and he’s left with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan trains Anakin at first out of a promise he makes to Qui-Gon, not because he cares about him. When they get Anakin, they find him on Tatooine, he says “Why do I feel like we’ve found another useless lifeform?” He’s comparing Anakin to Jar Jar and he’s saying “this is a waste of our time, why are we doing this, why do you see importance in these creatures like Jar Jar Binks and this ten-year-old boy? This is useless.” “So, he’s a brother to Anakin eventually but he’s not a father figure. That’s a failing for Anakin. He doesn’t have the family that he needs. He loses his mother in the next film. He fails on this promise that he made, “mother, I’m going to come back and save you”. So he’s left completely vulnerable and Star Wars is ultimately about family. So that moment in that movie which a lot of people I think diminish, “oh there’s a cool lightsaber fight”, but it’s everything that the entire three films of the prequels hangs on, is that one particular fight. And Maul serves his purpose and at that point died before George made me bring him back, but he died.“  --Dave Filoni  I’m going to take this a piece at a time to show why I really disagree with the content of both the movies and The Clone Wars supporting what Dave says and, instead, contradicts it a lot. The rest of the Jedi are so detached and they become so political that they’ve really lost their way and Yoda starts to see that in the second film. He doesn’t explain what this means, but I’m pretty sure that he’s referring to this conversation: OBI-WAN: “I am concerned for my Padawan. He is not ready to be given this assignment on his own yet.” YODA: “The Council is confident in its decision, Obi-Wan.” MACE WINDU: “The boy has exceptional skills.” OBI-WAN: “But he still has much to learn, Master. His abilities have made him... well.... arrogant.” YODA: “Yes, yes. A flaw more and more common among Jedi. Hmm... too sure of themselves they are. Even the older, more experienced ones.” MACE WINDU: “Remember, Obi-Wan, if the prophecy is true, your apprentice is the only one who can bring the Force back into balance.” OBI-WAN: "If he follows the right path.” None of that has anything to do with being “detached” and, further, I think this is something that’s come up with Dave’s view of Luminara a lot, because he’s described her (re: the Geonosis arc):  “We were trying to illustrate the difference between the way Anakin is raising his Padawan, and how much he cares about her, and the way Luminara raises her Padawan. Not that Luminara is indifferent, but that Luminara is detached. It’s not that she doesn’t care, but she’s not attached to her emotionally.” Here, he says that the Jedi care, in the above, he says that the Jedi don’t care, which makes me think there’s a lot of characterization drift as time goes on, especially when fandom bombards everyone with the idea that the Jedi were cold, emotionless, and didn’t care.  However, look at Luminara’s face in that arc, when she’s talking with Anakin:

That is not the face of someone who doesn’t care.  She even smiles brightly in relief when Barriss is shown to be okay, that this really doesn’t convey “detached” in an unloving or uncaring way.  (We’ll get to attachment later, that’s definitely coming.) (I’m also mostly skipping the political thing, because I think that’s just a fundamental disagreement of whether Jedi should or should not lean into politics.  My view basically boils down to that I think ALL OF US should be leaning more into politics because we are citizens who live in the world and are responsible for it, and the Jedi are no different.  This is evidenced by:  - M&A’s storyline has Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan saving the day specifically because they play politics, that’s how they manage to free the slaves, through playing politics and being part of the Republic/having Senate backing. - The Clone Wars has shown that the Jedi believe “lasting change can only come from within” and “it’s every citizen’s duty to hold their leaders accountable” when Ahsoka teaches the cadets on Mandalore, as well as that politics are not inherently bad, given that Padme and Bail are working to make the system better or “create lasting change from within [the system]” - "Trying to serve the greater good does not always make you popular” says Padme Amidala in a very caring speech - Star Wars Propaganda makes the case that the Jedi might have won the war had they leaned more into politics. - Sometimes the Jedi get unfairly accused of playing politics when there’s just no good choice and they still have to choose one or the other.) But Qui-Gon is ahead of them [re: caring and loving] all and that’s why he’s not part of the council. This is flat-out wrong in regards to canon.  Mileages are going to vary, of course, on how much one takes a novel into consideration, but Dave Filoni is not a fan with the luxury of deciding what is or isn’t canon, he works on Star Wars where canon is canon.  Now, does that mean canon will never contradict itself, especially if Dave gets to write something for Qui-Gon?  Of course not, SW isn’t immune to continuity errors and they themselves have never said otherwise, even when fans want to hold them to that standard. However, this is still pretty much a big “that’s not what happened” instance.  In Master & Apprentice, the Jedi Council offer a seat to Qui-Gon on the Council, specifically BECAUSE he has different opinions from them and they welcome that.  (Excerpt here.)      “We hope it will also be our gain,” Mace replied. “Qui-Gon Jinn, we hereby offer you a seat on the Jedi Council.”      Had he misheard? No, he hadn’t. Qui-Gon slowly gazed around the circle, taking in the expressions of each Council member in turn. Some of them looked amused, others pleased. A few of them, Yoda included, appeared more rueful than not. But they were serious.      “I admit—you’ve surprised me,” Qui-Gon finally said.“I imagine so,” Mace said drily. “A few years ago, we would’ve been astonished to learn we would ever consider this. But in the time since, we’ve all changed. We’ve grown. Which means the possibilities have changed as well.”      Qui-Gon took a moment to collect himself. Without any warning, one of the turning points of his life had arrived. Everything he said and did in the next days would be of great consequence. “You’ve argued with my methods often as not, or perhaps you’d say I’ve argued with yours.”      “Truth, this is,” Yoda said.      Depa Billaba gave Yoda a look Qui-Gon couldn’t interpret. “It’s also true that the Jedi Council needs more perspectives.” Ultimately, Qui-Gon is the who turns them down and gives up a chance to shape the Jedi Council because he doesn’t like the shape they’re taking.  That he does become less political, but this is after he’s argued that the Jedi should be working to push the Senate harder, so when he has a chance to help with that, he turns it down.  It has nothing to do with caring and loving, it’s about Qui-Gon’s desire to not have to deal with the work himself, when he wants to be more of a hippie Jedi.  (I’ve written a lot about Qui-Gon in M&A, why I actually think it’s really spot-on to someone who can be both really kind and really kind of a dick, but it’s not the most flattering portrayal, even if narrative intention likely didn’t mean what came across to me.  I think this post and this post are probably the most salient ones, but if you want something of an index of the web that’s being woven with all the various media, this one is good, too.) So he’s fighting for Anakin and that’s why it’s the ‘Duel of the Fates’ – it’s the fate of this child. And depending on how this fight goes, Anakin, his life is going to be dramatically different. I have only ever seen George Lucas talk about Anakin’s fate in one instance and it’s this:  “It’s fear of losing somebody he loves, which is the flipside of greed. Greed, in terms of the Emperor, it’s the greed for power, absolute power, over everything. With Anakin, really it’s the power to save the one he loves, but it’s basically going against the Fates and what is natural.“ –George Lucas, Revenge of the Sith commentary I’ve made my case about why I think Anakin’s fate is about that moment in Palpatine’s office, and so I’m not fundamentally opposed that “Duel of the Fates” is about Anakin’s fate, but here’s what George has provably said about the “Duel of the Fates” part of the story: - In the commentary for The Phantom Menace during “Duel of the Fates” and none of Dave’s speculation is even hinted at, there’s more focus on the technical side of things and the most George talks about is that it’s Obi-Wan who parallels Luke in going over the edge during the fight, except that instead of a Sith cutting off a Jedi’s hand, it’s a Jedi cutting a Sith in half, drawing the parallels between them. - He does say of the funeral scene that this is where Obi-Wan commits to training Anakin and how everything is going to go (though, in canon we see that Obi-Wan still struggles with this a bit, but Yoda is there to support him and nudge him into committing even more to Anakin, because the Jedi are a supportive community to each other).  This is some solid evidence for that Obi-Wan is already caring about Anakin beyond just Qui-Gon. - Then here’s what he says about the “Duel of the Fates” fights and themes of them in "All Films Are Personal": George Lucas: “I wanted to come up with an apprentice for the Emperor who was striking and tough. We hadn’t seen a Sith Lord before, except for Vader, of course. I wanted to convey the idea that Jedi are all very powerful, but they’re also vulnerable — which is why I wanted to kill Qui-Gon. That is to say, “Hey, these guys aren’t Superman.” These guys are people who are vulnerable, just like every other person. “We needed to establish that, but at the same time, we wanted the ultimate sword fight, because they were all very good. It sort of predisposes the sword fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan later on. There’s real purpose to it. You have to establish the rules and then stick with them. The scene illustrates just how Jedi and Sith fight and use lightsabers.” “So Qui-Gon loses, of course. So the father figure, he knew what it meant to take this kid away from his mother when he had an attachment, and he’s left with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan trains Anakin at first out of a promise he makes to Qui-Gon, not because he cares about him.  We’ll get to the “attachment to his mother” thing in a bit--but, for now, let’s just say, George Lucas’ words on this are not that attachment to her was a good thing. Fair enough that “not because he cares about him” is up to personal interpretation, but canon has also addressed the topic of Obi-Wan’s treatment of Anakin and Obi-Wan stepped up to the plate on this.  In addition to how we see Obi-Wan REPEATEDLY being there for Anakin and being concerned and caring about him, they specifically talk about Qui-Gon and overcome this hurdle.

No, Obi-Wan is not Anakin’s father figure, on that we definitely agree.  Anakin never really even treats Obi-Wan like a father--he says “you’re the closest thing I have to a father” in Attack of the Clones, as well as he says Obi-Wan practically raised him in The Clone Wars “Crystal Crisis” story reels, but Anakin has never actually acted like Obi-Wan is his father--”then why don’t you listen to me?” Obi-Wan points out in AOTC--as well as Obi-Wan glides past those remarks, which I’ve always taken that he doesn’t want to reject Anakin’s feelings, knowing that Anakin can be sensitive about them, but neither does he want to confirm them. This does not mean Obi-Wan was not supportive, caring, and loving.  He says, “I loved you!” to Anakin in Revenge of the Sith, he asks after him and if he’s sleeping well in Attack of the Clones, and even George Lucas himself said that the elevator scene was set up TO SHOW OBI-WAN AND ANAKIN CARE FOR EACH OTHER:

PUTTING THE REST UNDER A READ MORE FOR A BETTER LENGTH REBLOGGABLE VERSION, IF  YOU WANT.

This is further evidenced by how the Jedi do see themselves as family, they just don’t need to put it into strict nuclear family dynamics:     - “You were my brother, Anakin!  I loved you!”  [–Obi-Wan Kenobi, Revenge of the Sith]      - “We are brothers, Master Dibs.” [–Mace Windu, Jedi of the Republic - Mace Windu]      - “Did your parents bicker?” she asked. “The adoptive ones, I mean.”         A slow smile broke across Ashla’s face, curling first one side of her mouth and then the other. Whatever she was remembering, Kaeden could tell it was good.         "All the time,“ Ashla said, almost as if she were talking to herself. [–Kaeden Larte, Ahsoka Tano, Ahsoka]      -  Vos, brought to the Temple even younger than most, felt that he had hundreds of brothers and sisters, and it seemed that whenever he went into the dining hall he ran into at least half of them. [Dark Disciple]       - “It was not his birthplace, exactly, but the Jedi Temple was where Quinlan Vos had grown up. He’d raced through its corridors, hidden behind its massive pillars, found peace in its meditation hall, ended-and started-fights in rooms intended for striking blows and some that weren’t, and sneaked naps in its library. All Jedi came here, at some point in their lives; for Quinlan, it always felt like coming home when he ran lightly up the stairs and entered the massive building as he did now.” [Dark Disciple] Brothers, sisters, and other more non-traditional kinds of family are not lesser and Obi-Wan and Anakin absolutely were family, just as the Jedi are all family to each other, so, no, there was no “failing” Anakin, except in Anakin’s mind, perhaps.  (In that, I can agree.  But not on a narratively approved level, canon too thoroughly refutes that for me.) Rebels as well pretty thoroughly shows that non-traditional families are meaningful and just as important--we may joke that Hera is “space mom”, but she’s not actually Ezra or Sabine’s mother, Kanan is not actually their father, and even if they sometimes stray into aspects of those roles (as the Jedi do as well in the movies and TCW), that they don’t need that traditional nuclear family structure.  Mentor figures--and Kanan is Ezra’s mentor--are just as meaningful and needful as a “dad”.  And I’m kind of :/ at the implication that anyone without a dad/father figure or mom/mother figure is being “failed”. When they get Anakin, they find him on Tatooine, he says “Why do I feel like we’ve found another useless lifeform?” He’s comparing Anakin to Jar Jar and he’s saying “this is a waste of our time, why are we doing this, why do you see importance in these creatures like Jar Jar Binks and this ten-year-old boy? This is useless.” Whether or not Obi-Wan is being genuinely dismissive in this movie (I think you could make a case either way), the idea that Qui-Gon is better than Obi-Wan about this, as shown through Jar Jar isn’t exactly very supported given how Qui-Gon and Jar Jar first exchange words:

QUI-GON: “You almost got us killed. Are you brainless?”   JAR JAR:  “I spake.”   QUI-GON: “The ability to speak does not make you intelligent.” Qui-Gon is just as bad as everyone else to Jar Jar, he’s not somehow elevated above them. It’s also baffling because, Dave, I have watched your show.  The Jedi are specifically shown to be kind to people and creatures, not considering them “useless”.  Henry Gilroy (who was the co-writer for The Clone Wars and frequently appeared in featurettes on the same level as Dave Filoni) explicitly draws this to The Jedi Way, that “life is everything to the Jedi“, when he said this about the Ryloth episodes:

(Caps cribbed from Pan’s blog, because I cannot make another gif, save me, please.)      Henry Gilroy in an Aggressive Negotiations Interview:  "Obi-Wan truly is a Jedi in that he’s like, ‘Okay, I’m not going to murder these creatures [in the Ryloth arc of The Clone Wars].  They’re starving to death.  They’ve basically been unleashed against these people as a weapon, but it’s not their fault. They’re just doing what they do.  They’re just animals who wanna eat.’     "So the idea was–and I think there was an early talk about how, 'Oh, yeah, he’ll go running through them and slicing and dicing them and chop them all up or whatever, and save his guys.  And I’m like, 'Yeah, but that’s not really the Jedi way.  He’s not just gonna murder these creatures.’     "And I know the threat is [there], to save one life you have to take one, but the idea of him [is]: why can’t Obi-Wan just be more clever?  He basically draws them in and then traps them.     "It says something about who the Jedi are, they don’t just waste life arbitrarily.  And someone could have gone, 'Oh, yeah, but it would have been badass if he’d just ran in there with his lightsaber spinning and stabbed them all in the head!’  And 'Yeah, you’re right, I guess he could be that, but he’s trying to teach his clones a lesson right then, about the sanctity of life.’       "That is the underlying theme of that entire episode.  Which is:  A tactical droid is using the people as living shields.  Life means nothing to the Separatists.  The droids.  But life is everything to the Jedi.  And even though he doesn’t have to say that, it’s all through the episode thematically.“ It’s also Obi-Wan who teaches Anakin about kindness to mindless creatures in the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic:

"These beasts are nearly mindless, Anakin.  I can feel it.  They are merely following their nature, they should not die simply because they crossed our path. Use the Force to send them on their way.” Now, fair enough if you want to say Obi-Wan was taught by Qui-Gon, but also Qui-Gon is dead by that point and Obi-Wan growing into being more mature is his own accomplishment, not Qui-Gon’s, especially given that we see Qui-Gon himself being pretty dismissive to Jar Jar in TPM. This isn’t unique thing either, Padme is incredibly condescending to Jar Jar in “Bombad Jedi” and expresses clear annoyance with him to C-3PO when sighing over him.  Jar Jar is a character you kind of have to warm up to, pretty much the only one we’ve seen consistently being favorable to him is Yoda (and maybe Anakin, though, Anakin doesn’t really interact with him a ton) and Mace Windu warms up to him considerably in “The Disappeared” and even specifically is shown to be teaching him and helping him, which is a huge theme of the Jedi and how much they care.

So, ultimately, the point I’m winding my way towards is--the other Jedi do show kindness and consideration to Jar Jar Binks, including characters like Mace Windu, so if you’re judging the Jedi based on that, the conclusion of Qui-Gon somehow being more compassionate and loving is really pretty thoroughly disproved by The Phantom Menace and The Clone Wars themselves. So, he’s a brother to Anakin eventually but he’s not a father figure. That’s a failing for Anakin. He doesn’t have the family that he needs. He loses his mother in the next film. He fails on this promise that he made, “mother, I’m going to come back and save you”. So he’s left completely vulnerable and Star Wars is ultimately about family.  You could be charitable and say this is just from Anakin’s point of view that it’s a “failing”, but within the context of what Dave’s saying, it’s clearly meant as a more narratively approved take, not just Anakin’s point of view, and I really, really dislike the idea that Anakin--or anyone, really--needs a traditional nuclear family, ie a “mom” and/or a “dad”, or else it’s a “failing” for them. Setting aside that the idea that Qui-Gon would need to be Anakin’s dad to be kind to hi (which is ?????) is contradicted by The Clone Wars as well.  Yes, Qui-Gon is warm with Anakin in several scenes, which is what Dave is presumably drawing on to show that Qui-Gon believed the Jedi should be caring and loving, but you know who else is warm to younglings?  OTHER JEDI COUNCIL MEMBERS.

Those two scenes have the exact same kind of warmth to them.  Ie, THE JEDI ALL BELIEVED IN BEING LOVING AND KIND, NOT JUST QUI-GON.  The things evidenced to show Qui-Gon was loving and kind are evidenced just as much in other Council members, in Dave’s own show. As a bonus--have Mace Windu, known Jedi Council member, being super kind and loving towards a young Twi’lek girl he just met in a canon comic:

But I know that this is about the way the Council treated Anakin in The Phantom Menace testing scene, but here’s the thing--when I go back and I watch that scene and the Jedi aren’t ever mean to him, they’re neutral in an official testing situation, where they are trying to determine if he’s able to adapt to the Jedi ways.  They never once say he’s bad for holding onto his fear, only that he does--which Anakin digs his heels in and gets angry about, he can’t really even admit that he’s afraid and that’s a huge deal for the Jedi. I’ve made a longer post about it here (and here), but the basic gist is: - That scene has Yoda giving the famous “Fear leads to the dark side” speech which is almost word for word how George Lucas describes how the Force works, showing the Jedi are narratively correct - “Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi” may be from the sequels, but it is thoroughly supported by the movies and TCW and Rebels and even supplementary canon material, including that the Jedi literally design their tests around both Masters and Padawans for it (Ilum, the Jedi Temple on Lothal, etc. - Anakin cannot admit to his fears in that TPM scene - We have examples of Jedi younglings do admit to their fears and the point isn’t not to have them, but to face them--the younglings in “The Gathering” are the most blatant example of this, but it’s also pretty much the entire theme of Jedi: Fallen Order, especially when Cal goes to Ilum to face his fears and get another kyber crystal. The point isn’t that Anakin--who has very good reasons to be afraid! nothing in the story or the Jedi have said he didn’t!--is wrong or bad, but that he’s not a great fit for the Jedi life because he is “unwilling to accept [Jedi philosophy] emotionally”.  And they’re right about this, because this is how George Lucas describes Anakin in commentary: “The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he can’t hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn’t willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he’d have been taken in his first year and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.”  --George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary And so this brings us to A T T A C H M E N T, which, yeah, we’ve been having this discussion forever, but I’m going to state it again:  Within Star Wars, ATTACHMENT IS NARRATIVELY A BAD THING.  It is consistently tied to possessive, obsessive relationships, to greed and an unwillingness to let things go when it’s time (letting go is a huge theme in Star Wars) and equating love with attachment is fundamentally wrong according to George Lucas’ Star Wars worldbuilding: “The Jedi are trained to let go. They’re trained from birth,” he continues, “They’re not supposed to form attachments. They can love people-- in fact, they should love everybody. They should love their enemies; they should love the Sith. But they can’t form attachments. So what all these movies are about is: greed. Greed is a source of pain and suffering for everybody. And the ultimate state of greed is the desire to cheat death.” --George Lucas, The Making of Revenge of the Sith If attachment and love were the same thing, then he would be saying, “They should love their enemies, they should love the Sith.  But they can’t love.”  The way George makes the distinction shows that, no, attachment and love aren’t the same thing at all, attachment is not caring.  Further, there’s another instance of him showing there’s an important distinction between relationships and attachment and the association of attachmets with possession:  "Jedi Knights aren’t celibate - the thing that is forbidden is attachments - and possessive relationships.” --George Lucas, BBC News interview So, yes, when Anakin is attached to people, it is directly tied to obsession, possession, and greed, all things of the dark side: “He turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you’re greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you’re going to lose things, that you’re not going to have the power you need.”  --George Lucas, Time Magazine  “But he has become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village. The scene with the Tusken Raiders is the first scene that ultimately takes him on the road to the dark side. I mean he’s been prepping for this, but that’s the one where he’s sort of doing something that is completely inappropriate.“ --George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary ATTACHMENT IS BAD IN STAR WARS AS THEY DEFINE IT. Finally, I’m going to circle back to: Because Qui-Gon is different than the rest of the Jedi and you get that in the movie; and Qui-Gon is fighting because he knows he’s the father that Anakin needs. Because Qui-Gon hasn’t given up on the fact that the Jedi are supposed to actually care and love and that’s not a bad thing. Here’s the thing about this:  You know who else, by this logic, Qui-Gon should have been a father to?  OBI-WAN KENOBI. This isn’t said as “Anakin specifically needs a father” (which I think would be an interesting idea to bandy about and I’m not disagreeing, though, it’s complicated because of what Anakin refuses to accept emotionally), it’s said in a bigger context, that Qui-Gon is better than the other Jedi because he understands the need for fathers (and thus this ties into Return of the Jedi) and he’s ahead of the other Jedi, who apparently think loving and caring about people are bad things, but Qui-Gon does not treat Obi-Wan like his son.  Or, if he does, he’s not exactly a stellar dad about it. Within Master & Apprentice, there’s an incredibly consistent theme of how Qui-Gon thinks supportive things about Obi-Wan, but never says them aloud.  He thinks he should talk to Obi-Wan about the upcoming decision to be on the Council and then never does.  He could have explained why he kept Obi-Wan training the basics but he never does.  There are multiple instances showing that Qui-Gon is actually really, really bad at actually handling a young apprentice who needs him to talk to them about important things.  Qui-Gon continues this in From a Certain Point of View where he still never talked to Obi-Wan about everything that happened, even after he became a Force Ghost.     Damn, damn, damn. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for one moment. It blocked nothing; the wave of shock that went through Obi-Wan was so great it could be felt through the Force. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought Kirames Kaj would mention the Jedi Council invitation. It seemed possible the soon-retiring chancellor of the Republic might not even have taken much note of information about a new Council member. --Master & Apprentice     That comment finally pierced Qui-Gon’s damnable calm. There was an edge to his voice as he said, “I suspected you would be too upset to discuss this rationally. Apparently I was correct.”     “I thought you said my reaction was understandable,” Obi-Wan shot back. “So why does it disqualify me from hearing the truth?”    Qui-Gon put his hands on his broad belt, the way he did when he was beginning to withdraw into himself. “…we should discuss this at another time. Neither of us is his best self at the present.” --Master & Apprentice     Obi-Wan walked toward the door, obviously outdone. “At the beginning of my apprenticeship, I couldn’t understand you,” he said. “Unfortunately, that’s just as true here at the end.”     Only yesterday they had worked together as never before. How did Qui-Gon manage to get closer to Obi-Wan at the same time he was moving further away?     Just before Obi-Wan would leave the room, Qui-Gon said, “Once, you asked me about the basic lightsaber cadences. Why I’d kept you there, instead of training you in more advanced forms of combat.”     Obi-Wan turned reluctantly to face him again. “I suppose you thought I wasn’t ready for more. The same way I’m not ready to believe in all this mystical—”     “That’s not why.”     After a long pause, Obi-Wan calmed to the point where he would listen. “Then why, Qui-Gon?”     “Because many Padawans—and full Jedi Knights, for that matter—forget that the most basic technique is the most important technique. The purest. The most likely to protect you in battle, and the foundation of all knowledge that is to come,” Qui-Gon said. “Most apprentices want to rush ahead to styles of fighting that are flashier or more esoteric. Most Masters let them, because we must all find our preferred form eventually. But I wanted you to be grounded in your technique. I wanted you to understand the basic cadences so well that they would become instinct, so that you would be almost untouchable. Above all, I wanted to give you the training you needed to accomplish anything you set your mind to later on.”     Obi-Wan remained quiet for so long that Qui-Gon wondered if he were too angry to really hear any of what he’d said. But finally, his Padawan nodded. “Thank you, Qui-Gon. I appreciate that. But—”     “But what?”     “You could’ve said so,” Obi-Wan replied, and then he left. --Master & Apprentice     "I owe you that. After all, I’m the one who failed you.“     "Failed me?”     They have never spoken of this, not once in all Qui-Gon’s journeys into the mortal realm to commune with him. This is primarily because Qui-Gon thought his mistakes so wretched, so obvious, that Obi-Wan had wanted to spare him any discussion of it. Yet here, too, he has failed to do his Padawan justice. --From a Certain Point of View, “Master and Apprentice” (Further, in Master & Apprentice, Qui-Gon thinks that the Jedi give Rael Averross--who is HUGELY paralleled to Anakin--too many exceptions, were too soft on him because he came to the Jedi later than most and has trouble thinking of them as his family, and he thinks they should have been stricter with him.) It’s also readily apparent within The Phantom Menace itself:

You can take some charitable views of this scene, that Qui-Gon was pushed into a corner where he had few other options (and this is the view I generally take even!), but this is after the entire movie where he’s never once indicated that Obi-Wan was ready, has instead indicated that he still has much to learn (not just of the Living Force, but in general), as well as made it clear that he’s still teaching Obi-Wan, like on the Trade Federation ship. And I do think Obi-Wan got over this because he understood, because Obi-Wan actually is a very selfless person, he clearly cares (which is furthered by how we see him warm up to Anakin very quickly), but look at their faces. This was not a good moment, and they do somewhat make up, where Qui-Gon says that Obi-Wan has been a good apprentice, that he’s wiser than Qui-Gon and he’ll be a great Jedi--but if we’re counting that as Qui-Gon being this great Jedi, then you can’t say Obi-Wan failed Anakin, given that we show him doing the exact same thing, except better.  He tells Anakin, “You are strong and wise and will become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be.”, echoing Qui-Gon’s words, but also he never threw Anakin aside for someone else. This is kind of a major undercurrent throughout The Clone Wars, where Obi-Wan never takes another apprentice, where he continues to teach Anakin, to support him, even to the point of occasionally co-Mastering Ahsoka with him.  “This has been quite a journey for our Padawan.” Qui-Gon’s treatment of Obi-Wan in this scene isn’t the worst, he’s kind about it later (though, he never actually specifically apologizes for this), but we can see that this is a moment where Qui-Gon hurts Obi-Wan and knows it. And you know what George Lucas has to say about Qui-Gon?  This: “So here we’re having Qui-Gon wanting to skip the early training and jump right to taking him on as his Padawan learner, which is controversial, and ultimately, the source of much of the problems that develop later on.”  –George Lucas, The Phantom Menace commentary There’s nothing about Qui-Gon being right or better than the other Jedi, but instead that Qui-Gon’s actions here are a source of much of the problems that develop later on. So, ultimately, I liked some points Dave made in that speech, it’s a beautiful and eloquent one, but I thoroughly disagree with his interpretation of George’s intentions for Qui-Gon and I thoroughly disagree that that’s what the movies, The Clone Wars (DAVE’S OWN SHOW), and the supplementary canon show about Qui-Gon and the other Jedi.  I still stand by my appreciation of Dave’s contributions to SW as a whole, I think he does a really good job at making Star Wars, but he doesn’t always get everything right and this is one thing where I think the canon and George’s commentary show otherwise, as much as I love his desire to defend the prequels’ importance in the story.  Because, my friend, I have felt that every single day of my SW life.

[cherrywoes]

dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x f!reader x oc)

ii. ukiyo.

— living in the moment, detached from the bothers of life.

rating: mature for mentions of graphic violence and gore.

warnings: mentions of violence, gore, murder.

THE COLLEGE WAS not what you recalled it being. While the campus was still remotely similar, picking at familiar memories that you could only faintly recall from your childhood years, it was virtually empty besides a few staff members milling about. There were several sorcerers who appeared to be low class and unable to even be ranked properly. Ama-no-Kagaseo revealed to you as much with what little of his power you had access to. You weren’t totally oblivious to the dwindling number of sorcerers in the world, but you hadn’t exactly been kept in the loop at just how few of them there actually were.

“There are so few of you left here,” you noted quietly to Sayaka. She walked beside you at a leisurely pace, toting your bag for you—that had been a hard one to talk Ama-no-Kagaseo into solely because his cursed jewelry was in it—and allowing you to take in your first taste of freedom in over ten years. “Is the Kyoto campus any different?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Sayaka’s green eyes glinted in the sunlight, so different from when she was indoors under artificial lighting. She looked almost ethereal this way. “But it’s been a long time coming, so to speak. Irony has a weird way of intertwining with fate.”

You didn’t understand what exactly she was getting at, but nodded along as if you did and turned your attention to the male walking slightly behind you to your right. Inumaki Toge. His Curse ability obviously hinted at something verbally restrictive; Ama-no-Kagaseo wouldn’t give you much more than he wasn’t very fond of the ability in general. You were relying on context clues and looking too hard into things that might not be there, but it was the only choice you had—no one was volunteering any information to you, so you had to figure it out yourself.

“Who is that?” you inquired, eyes catching on a head of dusty pale pink hair in the distance. He was speaking with Gojo animatedly and appeared to be asking questions, as if he was as new to the experience as you were, and even wore a uniform with a customized hood. He and Gojo were the only ones you had seen so far, at least around the campus; everyone else either seemed to be hiding or doing something entirely away from socialization.

Sayaka appeared almost nervous to tell you. She looked at you from the corner of her eyes, specifically at Ama-no-Kagaseo’s dormant body in your arms, and then away, back towards the boy and Gojo. “That’s Sukuna’s vessel.”

You realized your mistake almost immediately. Ama-no-Kagaseo’s Curse energy, which usually enveloped you like a snug, warm blanket, grew frigid and cold and withdrew inside you. It felt like an ice pick to the chest, chilling you inside out, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to take over. A quick brush of wind over your hair set you straight: he would not compromise your newfound freedom over Ryoumen Sukuna just yet. You weren’t sure what to feel about that—the eventuality that he would, someday, ruin your peace just for a shot at another Curse. And though the energy of Sukuna’s vessel made him furious, he did not allow it to creep into you and inadvertently flood your system with his power. There was only so much your human body could take before you became something more. 

“Shiraishi-san?” Sayaka called to you, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She had felt the sudden vanishing of Ama-no-Kagaseo’s curse energy like the absence of the sun in winter. To have such suffocating power blink out of existence within a second had given her whiplash, dizzying her before she realized what it had been. “Are you still present?”

You had the idea to scare her and act like Ama-no-Kagaseo. But that was unnecessarily cruel and not becoming of a Shiraishi vessel. Ama-no-Kagaseo may encourage your antics in private, but your life was on the line for every social faux pas and mistake you made. You couldn’t afford to play like that.

“I’m here,” you said, reassuring her with a small but strained smile. “Sukuna’s vessel, you said? What is his name?”

Like with all things, Sayaka did not want to tell you. You could see it in her face. But with Gojou dragging him over to introduce the three of you, Inumaki Toge somehow having vanished in the brief moments you had been absorbed into your thoughts, it was inevitable you would find out. She just had the choice to tell you outright or prove she was as untrustworthy as Ama-no-Kagaseo thought she was. And it would hurt to know that your Curse was right.

She sighed. “His name is Itadori Yuuji. He’s stubborn and bullheaded, but he has a good heart.”

None of that meant anything to you. Words were just words and you didn’t trust words. You trusted actions. And with Ryoumen Sukuna, Ama-no-Kagaseo didn’t trust a word or action from him. You would have to do the same—but what about Itadori Yuuji? The human boy? You would have to wait and see.

“Sayaka-chan, Shiraishi-san!” Gojou’s unusual politeness with the use of your name made Itadori’s eyebrows raise slightly. His white hair seemed perpetually frozen as he cocked his head back to regard you with covered eyes. “So, how is freedom treating you, Shiraishi-san?”

“It’s been well.” Your eyes drifted to Itadori Yuuji for a moment, lingering on the lines underneath his eyes, and then back to Gojou. “For now. I plan for it to be quiet a little longer before I disrupt it with chaos.”

Sayaka stiffened beside you. You almost hadn’t noticed it, the way Ama-no-Kagaseo’s words slipped into your mouth, the easy way you said it almost shocking to you. You didn’t allow your face to show it, but your mind was conflicted.

“I see.” Gojou hummed. You could at least trust him not to go to the higher ups; his hatred had at least one good outcome to it. You wondered how easily he would allow Ama-no-Kagaseo to murder all of them in cold blood. “Well, chaos aside, this is Itadori Yuuji! Itadori-san, meet Fujiwara, Sayaka—she’s a real bitch, so don’t go messing with her—and Shiraishi, [Name], the magnificent and glorious vessel of Ama-no-Kagaseo.”

“Gojou,” Sayaka growled in warning, but it was too late.

Faster than you could blink, a sharp line cut a path over the sorcerer’s cheek, right through his Infinity. Blood streaked down his jaw in a crimson river and you idly watched a droplet fall to the ground and seep between the cracks in the stone.

“Testy, isn’t he?” Gojou wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his uniform. His jolly mood seemed to have faded and now he felt grim, speculative, eyeing you even behind the blindfold. “His temper sure has gotten shorter.”

“I apologize,” you began softly,”for—”

“Eh, it’s fine,” the sorcerer waved his hand dismissively. Your mouth pulled into a displeased line at the dismissal and for that he earned another cut to his knuckles, splitting them open to expose bone. “Ah, well, maybe not.”

Sayaka said nothing through the whole interaction. It wasn’t as if she could do anything to stop him. While the higher ups lauded her as the best executioner among the sorcerers, she was nothing in the face of Ama-no-Kagaseo and she knew it. One wrong move would have her beheaded, or worse, disemboweled, both tame options compared to what the Curse actually wanted to do to her, which you tried not to think about.

Itadori Yuuji was quiet as well, but for different reasons. He was staring at you in awe and surprise, with Sukuna painfully oblivious to how close his mortal enemy was standing to him. If Ama-no-Kagaseo didn’t want him to know he was there, then he wouldn’t know until he wanted him to. But by verbatim, he would figure it out eventually the next time he took over Yuuji, or even probed through his memories a bit.

“Let’s go, Yuuji,” Gojou said, finally, and with a renewed air, dragged him away towards the practice grounds.

You didn’t look back. Ama-no-Kagaseo did.

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                                     taglist: @picturethosesmiles​ (lmk if you want to be added.) 

[hedonisthierophant]

The Dead Man in the Mirror

Hi everyone, (it feels funny saying that when I imagine that the amount of people who will read this is probably in single digits.)

Here is my first fic for The Devil All The Time. It’s an introspective piece, exploring Arvin’s psyche. I’d love feedback, bonus points if you can guess what I’ve been watching lately that was somewhat of an inspiration for this. I owe the courage to both write and post this to @ill-skillsgard. I dedicate this piece to her and to @sophie-writes-for-arvin-russel who inspired it, I hope you both like this. Enjoy!

Warnings: disassociative identity disorder, blood, violence, mentions of suicide.

Length: 2K

The Dead Man In The Mirror

His father seemed to fight the devil all the time. Growing up, his father Willard had always been Arvin’s hero. His father was big, strong,  incredibly handsome, a fearsome protector, his love existed but it was distant and could be cold. His mother…well his mother’s very nature seemed defined by her ephemerality. She had been kind, gentle, quietly beautiful, wonderfully nurturing…and gone too soon. If his mother had been the life-giving spring with its gentle time to grow, his father was the harsh winter that demanded that Arvin mold himself into something different if he was to survive. When he went out with his father he could perfectly go through the motions of the lessons he was being taught but Willard somehow knew that Arvin wasn’t really learning them for himself, merely copying, the same was true of his mother, when given an example he could put on an impeccable performance of the polite and humble young man she was attempting to raise, but she too realized that she was only taking in a show. Without either of their examples to follow Arvin was simply still, empty like a mirror left alone in the dark with nothing to reflect. Arvin supposed that made him the autumn, a product of two stronger forces with the redeeming qualities of neither. People like autumn because it’s not too much of this, or that. To him, being autumn was simply the absence of being. In the stillness of autumn as the world prepares to slumber people often use the ensuing quiet and peace as a reprieve to find themselves. For Arvin though, there was nothing to find. He was empty. In the in-between where his mother’s lessons intersected with his father’s they agreed on only a single point. That Arvin must find himself and discover who he was or other people would take advantage of his emptiness and use him as a vessel waiting to be filled. He wouldn’t find out how correct they had been until much later.

           In the end the cancer itself may have only struck down his mother, but it defeated both his parents. Charlotte only knew how to deal with problems that were like weeds, insects, or disease in her beautiful garden, they could be plucked and pruned, treated with this remedy or that, Arvin remembers that she used to sing to her plants. In the absence of treatment all his mother’s ways were useless against the sickness devouring her. His father was a warrior through and through, once pointed in the direction of a solution there was no stopping him. It is how he had solved the problems of the battlefield and Arvin would learn much later that he had solved their housing situation the same way. The thankless unforgiving work of the slaughterhouse was simply another battle to be fought. In the absence of an enemy combatant, Willard was powerless. Cancer was an intangible, intransigent enemy. Charlotte lost ground to it every day, and there was nothing her devoted soldier could do to help. That desperation birthed the prayer log, a place where in Willard’s mind, he would focus all of his devotion and manifest a miracle for his beloved. Arvin, ever the mirror, was expected to reflect Willard’s zeal in order to amplify their call to heaven. In a detached sort of way his father’s suicide made sense to Arvin. The great soldier had finally lost a battle, and doctrine dictated that under no circumstances was he to allow himself to be taken alive in event of defeat. Slitting his throat from ear to ear in an inadvertent grotesque parody of the smile Arvin had been longing to see grace his lips had simply been only available recourse.

Arvin used to stare into the mirror for hours on end when he was young, he could see his mother’s fine features and soft caring eyes easily enough but from the moment he was old enough to compare he felt he was lacking because he didn’t see any of his father’s face in him, let alone his strength or determination. When Charlotte fell ill Arvin didn’t look in the mirror anymore, this was not by choice for he dearly would’ve liked to continue his nightly ritual of self-analysis, if only to take his mind away from his mother for a while and even more so as an escape from the burdensome log. His mother had insisted that they cover the mirrors as she grew weaker. His father ever the dutiful soldier, glad to be given a mission to accomplish, saw to it as nearly as soon as the words left her pale, trembling lips. Her faint wish was executed zealously as though it were an order from an empress, or an angel’s command ringing down from on high. Willard flew to the general store as fast as their battered truck carry him and returned with the heaviest sheets young Arvin had ever seen. Not one for any half measures ever, Willard affixed sheets to every mirror in the house tying the edges with impenetrable serpentine knots he learned in the war. On the inside Arvin wailed at the loss, as though he were being deprived of the priceless treasure as opposed to a simple chance to look himself, but without a physical mirror to ground him, he became lost in a spiral of self-doubt and could think of himself as only a pale reflection of his parents. Outwardly however he said nothing, his face betrayed none of his turmoil, for that was one of the mandates of winter. All these years later Arvin still asks himself why reflections were banished from their home, he thinks perhaps that not even his mother could stand the sight of her radiance fading away, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment.

Young Arvin tried to defy this edict once when he was starving for a reminder that he himself was alive. He snuck the smallest mirror in the house, a relic of a bygone age when his mother had wistfully mentioned that she wished to have a mirror to do her makeup in. His father had driven six hours next day and returned with a luxuriously polished and impossibly bright mirror from a department store in Cleveland and placed it on his mother’s dresser before she even awoke. Armed with a dull butter knife that had long since lost its luster for there was no one around to cook anymore, Arvin’s clumsy child’s hands sawed ineffectually at the Gordian knot separating him from just the smallest reassurance that he was a person. The punishments of winter were cruel, but purposeful…this would be of rather cold comfort to Arvin. His father opened the door to his room and saw what he was attempting to do, coldness came over his face as though his exquisite mien had been frozen into a perfect ice sculpture of emptiness. He approached with the inevitability and weight of a blizzard, that would bear down upon Arvin’s small, desperate, perpetually inadequate frame. There was a cold precision to the pain inflicted upon Arvin. The worst punishment, assigned to his hands, for they had been the instruments of his sin, was dealt first. He was force to immerse them in ice water for an hour, Arvin begged and pleaded, his tears melting with the instrument of the sanction placed upon him. Through piteous groans and screams and cries, and apologies and promises made all the more earnest by suffering the ice in his father’s face did not crack, but the moment the timer rang his father lifted his hands from the ice and began to dry them showing a tenderness that was rare for him. After enduring the loss of feeling in his hands Arvin was stripped and made to go outside and select a willow switch, Arvin had thought he might never feel warm again but the heat of shame proved him wrong. He was beaten with an almost… tender precision, in all things his father was in absolute control of himself and the application of justice is no different. The lashings never broke the skin never left too serious a bruise and his face and what lay between his legs were spared. The morphine held his mother under its powerful spell and his screams never reached her. Afterward Willard helped Arvin dress and gently held him in his arms before carrying him away to bed and tucking him in. The moment the door shut quietly behind him and there was enough distance between him and his son’s sniffling breaths the ice that held Willard melted his body shook with silent sobs as tears sprang from his eyes and mixed with the vermilion blood on his hands as he knelt to pick up shards of glass from the petite mirror he had shattered for daring to remind him of happier times.

The day those boys had cornered Lenora, forced her to her knees and thrown a bag over her head Arvin tried to say a prayer in his mind as he was surrounded and kicked, but it wasn’t the Lord who answered, something inside Arvin had. For the first time in his insecure, anxious, people pleasing existence, Arvin was filled with a sense of confidence. Something had finally risen and filled the emptiness inside of him. In his current situation there was nothing even this mysterious force that had brought certainty to him at last could do, but  it knew all it would have to do was wait for the right time. The presence became a constant companion in Arvin’s life, he saw a tire iron at work and the voice whispered to him tales of vengeance for him and his sister. The day he ambushed the boy on the bus and beat him with a tire iron the voice roared in approval, Arvin as he was before wouldn’t even have had the strength to lift the iron deal such vicious blows but he was possessed of someone or someone else’s strength. Later when he attacked the boys in the garage bringing the hood of a car down on one of their heads and beating the others the voice whispered that it was proud of him and a shiver ran up his spine.

The day he came home and found Lenora hanging in the shed the voice let out an unholy scream and Arvin was overcome with the sense that he’d come home to something like this once already and couldn’t bear another, even though that was impossible. What happened to his father had felt…different. When he confronted preacher Teagardin the presence took over his lips and made him whisper of dark, sexual things, urges that were not of the Lord to lure the predator into a false sense of security. When he shot the hypocritical holy man who had dared to abuse Lenora, whom he’d failed to protect the voice was elated whispering all sorts of praise that echoed in Arvin’s ears. As he struggled to catch his breath and come back to himself afterward in his car something about the situation struck him is familiar, more than déjà vu it was as though he had lived this already. The voice had snarled at the couple that had picked him up as he hitchhiked to Knockemstiff, the cold certainty that these people meant him harm came over him though the source of this feeling was not Arvin. After he had slain them the voice whispered that it had been vindicated and the photograph he’d come into possession of was proof that they were not righteous. When he confronted Lee Bodecker he was out of his depth, crouched behind a rock as bullets flew around him, the voice urged him to surrender to it promising that it had the strength and knowledge to help him face this challenge, but that he had to surrender control. Desperate and afraid Arvin agreed. He rose with the stance of someone who had seen battle, dodging from cover to cover as though he’d done it a hundred times, his fear had evaporated as though he dealt with this sort of situation regularly, the forest around him started to blur and the trees became something akin to those he’d seen in pictures of the South Pacific instead of familiar West Virginia Pines. He wielded the gun expertly and struck down the sheriff, the voice was quiet.

Before Arvin left, Earskell had said “I ain’t seen a look in anybody’s eye like that since your Daddy died.” He’d attempted to say goodbye to his grandmother before his courage had deserted him. He knew in his heart that her mind was beginning to go but she’d clutched his face close to hers, her venerable hands trembling. Her last words to him had been “Oh my dear Willard, you look so handsome.” There had never been any mirrors in the house in Knockemstiff, his grandmother held that they were objects of vanity and portals to sin, so Willard left not knowing what she’d seen in his face that had confused her.

As Arvin settled into the back seat of the hitchhiker’s car, he asked him where he was going. He glanced up and gazed into the rearview mirror. His father’s impossibly alluring face, arctic as ever, stared back at him. His voice is not his own when he answered: “well there’s a lot of no good sons of bitches out there, and I aim to get right with ‘em.”

[producerguk]

bruises, part 1

➝ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

➝ genre: angst, bits of fluff

➝ warnings: swearing, violence 

➝ word count: 4,7K

  » mafia!au jeongguk, where he’s the one that keeps you from drowning when things fall apart. 

➝ a/n: i didn’t want to portrait an abusive or toxic relationship, so i went a little out of what was requested. i’d like to thank @btsflufflysmut for editing. i hope you enjoy it. 

➝ playlist. 

Heavy gray clouds hung over your heads, the sounds of thunder announcing the coming of a storm; the weather matching your feelings once more. Everyone was dressed in black, holding white petal flowers on their hands, black bags under their eyes behind sunglasses.

You were dressed in all white. It was something you bought three years ago for a completely different occasion, and a rather happier one.

“You won’t be forgotten,” Jin said, placing his flowers above the coffin, delaying every one of his movements that led him back to your side.

You were deeply sorry for your brother. You felt as if the pain you carried on your chest for losing your best friend was nothing compared to what he must’ve felt when the love of his life died in his arms.

The mere thought of Jisoo’s body collapsing to the ground, Jin running towards her and staining his pink button up shirt with her blood was enough to leave you dizzy, trying to find somewhere to help you restore your balance.

Unfortunately, the only thing you found was your brother’s arm, and he couldn't possibly be the one you leaned for comfort yet. You forced yourself up, marching to face the closed casket, perfectly remembering what her face was like when she smiled, proud of you for doing something you were scared of.

 You didn't let the tears clouding your eyes fall, your nails digging crescent moons on your palm should be enough to keep you restrained until you were behind doors.

“You’re gonna be missed,” you spoke, resting your flowers on the place her hands were supposed to be, under the thick wood.

You went back to stand beside Jin, accepting his warm embrace as soon as he set eyes on your face, aware that your trembling lips and shaking figure had nothing to do with the cold weather.

The second worst thing was not being able to mourn the loss of your best friend. You wanted to scream, cry your eyes out and beg death to take you instead. But the only thing you could do was look slightly sad and detached from the whole event. Because although Jin was the face of the company, your brother and her husband, to the people with cameras behind the bushes, you were nothing more than one of Jisoo’s friends.

You’d been protected from all the spotlight of Kim Corp ever since you were born, simply because your father believed women weren't able to run a company, let alone one whose sole purpose was to mask the whole mafia scheme behind it. So you were treated as an outcast to the media, always in the background of photos, but never out of the headquarters, training day after day to take the leadership if things took a wrong turn, ever since you were seven.

It was your mother’s idea, you being the only second born of all the families with a seat on the council; the Kim��s secret weapon, she said. You existed for that sole reason, so you had to be the best. That meant you had to act a part, no matter how badly you wanted to let everything fall apart.

Weapons didn't cry over someone’s death. Weapons only did more damage.

┈

“Things changed,” Namjoon started, looking at everyone as he talked. “More people are going to come up against us and there'll be heavy press following the Kim’s each step. We gotta be careful now.”

“I’m looking through every city camera trying to find where they got rid of the car, but most of them have been erased at the time of the shooting,” Yoongi shared, the clenching of his jaw showing how frustrated he was.

“It's not gonna be easy, but we can't stop until we find them,” Namjoon continued, focusing with his gaze on Jin, a huge glint of empathy in his eyes. “The Dragons are probably the ones behind it, but we can't make a move unless we're certain of it.”

“I just want to kill the bastard who took the shot and whoever ordered the hit,” Jin told him, looking down at the table while he clenched his fists underneath the table. “The rest of them can get fucked for all I care about.”

“I gotta have my fun first, though.” Taehyung warned, his boxy grin not nearly resembling his thirst for blood and screams.

You laughed at his comment, nodding. You wanted to torture the motherfucker after you fucked with his whole family, just like he had done with her; eager to see him begging for mercy to come in the form of death. You wanted to be his personal devil and the face of his family’s nightmare for as long as they breathed. You wanted vengeance.

“I’ll delay the deals I have until the press lays off,” Jimin chimed in, biting his lip in deep thought. “But is two weeks maximum. Other than that, our risks and losses can grow irreparably.”

Namjoon nodded at his statement and focused on Hoseok, who only shrugged his shoulders because his targets wouldn't suffer a change. You wish you were a hitman, sometimes.

“____, you gotta be extra careful,” Jin said, turning to face you, his furrowed brows and slightly pouted lips. “The Dragons can't possible associate you as one of us, so you need to keep your distance.”

You sigh, knowing that there's no lie to his words, despite his worries as a brother. They only knew you were tied to Jin and Taehyung because of Jisoo, so her death should leave no connections left between you.

“If they took the shot, we have to assume they know how everyone functions in here, Jin,” Hoseok said, careful not to edge your brother. “It's stupidity to underestimate them.”

“So what? They know she’s the one with the responsibility to raise the whole empire from ashes once it crumbles?” Jungkook said, not once looking your way.

“Not exactly, but they probably have surveillance on each of us,” Yoongi said, shifting in his seat. “And if that's correct, they probably know that ____ isn't just one of Jisoo’s friends.”

“Of course she isn't, she's my soldier.” Taehyung joked, raising his hands for you to high-five.

You did.

“If they do stalk us, they know each of our steps so changing my routine will only confirm any of their suspicions,” you said, taking a deep breath.

“It's a risk we got maintain,” Namjoon analyzes, taking notes on his old diary.

Jin sighs loudly, not nearly calm enough to say something without breaking down. You stared at your lap as you intertwined your hands with his, drawing little circles on his skin, your way to tell him it was going to be okay.

“No changes on our schedules. Be extra careful and do not draw attention to yourselves.” Namjoon lingered his eyes on you as his last advice was pronounced.  

You nodded, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. Jungkook gave you a smirk, knowing how bad you hated to lie low.

Those were going to be a tough couple of weeks.

┈

“I’m thinking about going out tonight, what do you think?” Taehyung asked you when he was walking you back to your car.

“Where, though? We can't exactly be seen together.”

“Maybe that new club Jimin opened?” He pondered, opening the car door for you. “He told me it is going really well; many rich bitches around.”

“As long as he lets me drink his alcohol for free,” you shrugged, sliding to your seat and turning on the engine. “Text me later, whatever you decide.”

“See you later, kitten,” he said, kissing your cheek before he stepped away.

Taehyung was your best friend ever since you were four. He was the son of one of the three founders of Kim Corp, with the two other seats belonging to Namjoon’s father and yours. Taehyung was always sneaking his way to your room to play games, no matter how old you were. He spent whole nights cuddled with you, watching movies or just talking, with not a trace of shame for letting his mask of tough masculinity down. You knew his heart inside out, just as he knew yours. Taehyung was almost as close to Jisoo as you were, he understood how badly her sudden death hit you, without you having to say a word; they all did.

But you needed to be a weapon ready for destruction at any time, unlike them. The darkness inside of you had to be stronger than anything and your first response, no matter how badly it hurt. You felt relieved when Taehyung asked you to go out because a sea of sweaty drunk bodies was exactly what you needed to get your mind out of blood and tears.

┈

The first thing you did when you got to Jimin’s new club was search for your best friend’s ass. You couldn't deal with all the bodies filling the dance floor or the average fucked up man trying to get in your pants. A wave of relief struck you once you saw Taehyung, his silver hair standing out from the crowd, his back facing you from the VIP Area. Jimin was quick to notice you, waving his hand as he made his way to you.

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said, kissing your cheek and resting his hands on your bare back, escorting you.

“I’m surprised with how packed it is for a Wednesday night,” you told him, looking all the dancing bodies entranced by the beat.

“Rich bitches want good-looking people and high quality drugs, baby,” Jimin smirked, whispering the last part on your ear. “I happily offer them both things.”

“How many of them have you fucked?” You laughed, your head pointing to the girls sitting on the black leather couch, dresses as short as the white lines left on the table in front of them.

“None, actually,” he confessed and you almost whistled at his self-control, and then he laughed.“I just met them.”

That was Park Jimin, the best drug dealer and gun trafficker in the country that looked more like a model straight out of a fashion magazine, with a fucked up personality and an undying love for adrenaline. You would’ve slapped his ass if you weren't in public.

“Namjoon’s gonna be happy when he finds out you can’t keep your dick dry for two weeks,” you teased, pinching his hips.

“Girls like them can't threaten a fly, baby,” he chanted, leaving his hand on your waist.

“You’d say the same thing about me if you met me tonight, Jimin,” you warned him, lowering your voice and giving the girls your most menacing look as you approached them, replacing their silent threats with fear. “Just be careful.”

“Kitten!” Taehyung exclaimed, getting up to hug you.

As he wrapped you in his clothed arms, you let your gaze fall on the rest of the people in the area, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes when they laid on Jungkook, a girl in his lap and another one licking his lips.

“What are you drinking?” you asked Taehyung, taking a sip of his cup before he could answer.

Whiskey and coke on the rocks. Sometimes you forgot how much of a lightweight he was. You forced yourself to look around the room again, desperate to find something of your taste lying around.

“Here.”

You saw the transparent drink that filled the glass, inhaling the scent of the vodka before you forced yourself to look at him. Jungkook smiling as he offered you your favorite drink, completely ignoring obscene words leaving the girl’s mouth was a sight that almost had you choked, leaving Taehyung to laugh quietly in his seat.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the cup and a large sip of the vodka, turning your back to him.

“Children,” you heard Jimin tease, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to one of the girls he shared with Taehyung.

You turned to face the dance floor, not at all interested in the orgy about to happen as soon as they left the room. But at least you were glad that the one thing Jimin forbid in his clubs was any type of recording devices. Surprisingly, that also was one of the reasons why his clubs were always packed; there was something exciting and relaxing about being able to do anything without the risk of it coming up outside those walls.

It was nice to see how people danced without care to the beat, just moving with their own flow. You didn't have to see to know that most of the couples on the floor would soon be banging each other's brains out behind the bathroom stalls, with no punishment for it as long as it was consensual.

Freedom ran free inside.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, breaking you out of your thoughts. It was warm, calloused and you didn't have to turn to know it was him, but you still turn your head halfway to his, not looking in his face.

“How are you?” Jungkook asked and you knew he was closer than before by the warmness that radiated beside you, his breath almost hitting the side of your neck uncovered by your hair.

You had to look around the area to realize that while you were in deep thought, Jimin and Taehyung disappeared to one of the rooms, taking the three girls with them. Jungkook probably asked his bitches to leave too.

“I’m pissed, to be honest,” you said, allowing yourself to rest back on the couch, your sides barely brushing his.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His eyes on your face, aware to any trace of lie.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” you told him, flashing a light smile he reciprocated.

He got up and took your hand, making your way out of the club to somewhere quieter. The simple thought of venting to someone had you feeling better, even if it went against everything you were taught.

Some people fucked their way through their problems, some drank and others felt the need for violence. You only got better after you talked it out, and you were glad that Jungkook still knew that.

┈

You were sitting on the doorsteps of Jungkook’s house, having passed a traffic light quicker than him, arriving first. The air was slightly cold, making you shiver a little and curse your choice of clothes, that was way more appropriate for the inside of a club. You wrapped your arms around yourself when he parked his car in the driveway, getting up as he unlocked his door.

For a mobster, it was incredibly funny that Jungkook lived in the suburb. There was something almost domestic with the way he kept his plants alive, aesthetically pleasing to the eye, decorating the porch.

He motioned for you to follow as he took a step inside, careful to lock the door behind you and set the alarm back on. There was no such thing as too much precaution.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jungkook asked, walking to the kitchen with you trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

“I don’t know, maybe some water.”

“What about tea?” He asked and your vigorous nod had him chuckling, turning his back to you, preparing your drinks.

You glanced around, letting the memories flood you. The table set for ten, his garden well tended and the wall-to-wall window with a view to his backyard, grass and trees perfectly trimmed. Everything was the same as when you left, except for you and him.

“You can go upstairs if you like,” he told you, following your gaze to the backyard as he pointed towards his room. “I’ll be done in a moment.”

“Okay,” you told him, backing off the wall and towards the wooden stairs.

It surprised you how easy it was to be back. You still knew your way around his house, but you chose to blame that on his hate for change that made him keep the place the same as the one from two years ago; it was easier than accept your mind had wandered its way back a few times.

You turned the doorknob to his room and went in, not minding his messy bed sheets and dirty clothes disposed on the floor, almost running to the glass sliding doors that gave you full view of the street, behind them a simple balcony, with the most comfortable couch in the world and a round wooden table.

Sliding the doors, you slipped outside, quickly setting yourself on the sofa, not at all minding the cold of the night against your skin. Nothing would keep you away from remembering the place you used to call home.

It was comforting to run your eyes across the street, watching the calm neighborhood Jungkook had found for himself. Toys and bicycles laid on some lawns, lights inside the houses helping the lamp posts illuminate the street, the patterns of some trees painted with black charcoal on the lane.

Jungkook took his seat next to you, leaving your mug on the table and lying one of his hoodies on your lap, without saying a word. You smiled at his kind gesture, putting it on before taking a sip of the tea.

“So, how are you?” He asked once again, crossing one of his legs under his thigh, turning to have full view of your face.

“Like shit,” you sighed, lowering your gaze to your lap. “I can’t wrap my head around what happened, or why.”

“I guess none of us do,” he said, careful not to express his own concerns.

“You know how she was always dressed in black or red?” You asked him, looking back at him as he nodded his head, a faint smile painting his lips. “Well, when we were younger Jisoo used to joke she would die the day she wore white.”

“I heard that a few times too,” he laughed, not a trace of amusement on his voice. “She said that she only accepted white at funerals, because-”

“It matched the aesthetic,” you finished with him, almost being able to hear her voice.

It was almost as if Jisoo had seen it before it happened. Of course people could joke about their death, but the thing was that she got it exactly right. Jisoo had a crush on your brother ever since you were little, and when he decided to finally cave in and give her a chance when they were both teenagers, she used to tell you that she would die if they ever got married, because her heart wouldn't be capable of handling so much love.

Kim Jisoo died a few seconds after saying “I do” to Jin, with a shot straight to the heart, her blood staining her white lace dress immediately.

“I can't help but think I could've done more, you know,” you take another gulp to help with the pressure you felt around your throat. “That I could’ve saved her if I had listened to my gut.”

“Her death is not your fault,” Jungkook was quick to assure you, coming a little closer and forcing you to look at him in the process.

“I told everyone there was something wrong, I felt that,” you sighed. “The only thing my mother told me not to doubt was my instinct, and the first time I did it my best friend ended up dead.”

“There was no way you could know what was going to happen. If you blame yourself for her death, you should blame the rest of us too.”

“You don't get it, Jungkook,” you almost cried out, forcing the tears not to fall as you forced yourself to breath.

“Then explain it to me,” he begged, brushing his fingers on your knees as a form of reassurance.

“I was trained to spot threats before they even became one, but the moment I needed to be completely right, I fucked up and dismissed my gut,” you were crying now, feeling useless for not being able to uphold your only purpose in life. “I’m the one supposed to watch your backs, but I fucked up and that costed her life; her death is on me.”  

He didn't tell you anything, simply wrapping you in his embrace, stuffing your face to his chest as one of his hands found its to your hair whilst he kept the other on your back, drawing small triangle patterns.

You allowed yourself to cry, unable to keep your feelings restrained. Jungkook only hugged you tighter, wishing he could take your pain away but not knowing how. He tried to push his own ache aside, unwilling to burden you further.

“We protect each other,” he started when your crying began to cease. “I know you think you gotta be stronger and unfailing every time, but that's not true.”

You didn’t back away from his chest, snuggling into the crook of his neck, welcoming his cologne to cloud your senses. Although the pain of losing Jisoo still hurt you, you felt a little better in his arms. You had forced yourself to forget, but now you couldn't help but realize how much you’ve missed him.

“You’re not just a weapon, despite what your parents taught you,” Jungkook assured you, kissing the top of your head. “You’re a fucking human being entitled to make mistakes, to be selfish and to-”

“I miss you so much,” you interrupted him, your voice weak and choked. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and backing away just enough to look at your face.

“I miss you too,” he told you, caressing your cheeks as he leaned his forehead against yours.

It’s been two years since you had him this close. And despite what you told yourself, you’ve missed him every day since then. Jungkook and you got close when Jimin finally settled on someone to help with his dealings, with you being forced to show him how everything was supposed to work inside Bangtan.

He was so damn attractive holding a gun against targets, not missing a single headshot. The way his muscles flexed and his bangs moved when he hit the punching bag over and over again, sweat dripping down his chin and low grunts coming out of his mouth, never failing to make you hold your breath in. But your favorite moments where when he gave you his bunny smile when you praised him on something, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, the tips of his ears a burning red and his does eyes locked onto yours before he made a sassy comeback, making it your turn to blush.  

Taehyung wasn’t even slightly surprised when he walked in on you fucking in the training room, admitting it was bound to happen sometime. Jungkook and you were like rabbits, boning at every chance you got, wherever you were. Although the relationship you had was more than just sex, it didn't mean that both of you were ready to be tied down. He had girls on the side and, even if you no longer had threesomes with Taehyung and Jimin, you still fucked around with random people. His line of work didn't exactly allow him to care for someone either, since they usually ended up being a target for some rival attack.

You broke up with him after a few months, listening to Jin’s advice and redoing all your steps to avoid bumping into Jeon Jungkook. But he was one of the eight people that had a voice in Bangtan, so you would end up seeing each other a few times, forcing yourselves to ignore the history between you both.

However, with his warmth keeping you shielded from the cold, his intoxicating cologne drowning you and the force with which his heart beat in his chest, making you hear it so clearly, all made it completely impossible. You felt the way his arms wrapped against your skin, so tightly as if he was afraid you could disappear from before his eyes, the same ones that had such a longing behind them, carving into yours.

You did exactly what you wanted to do ever since he walked up to the meeting room the day after you broke up with him, with countless hickeys on his neck, dark circles under his eyes and a stinking smell of sweat, booze and sex. You leaned in and claimed him, letting your lips fall on his, lightly with the fear of rejection.

But he kissed you back, so proud and eager, crashing on your lips and claiming your mouth with his, as if you were the water he so desperately needed after days wandering in the desert. His touch against your cheek was now rough against your neck, pulling bits of hair to keep you closer, his fingers almost bruising your waist.

Your heart was about to explode in your chest with how frantic its beatings were. You pushed his back to the couch, quickly settling your legs on both sides of him, hanging above Jungkook as he only deepened the kiss, fighting for control. You got lower and started grinding against his lap, and despite the need he felt to hold your hips down and move his own against yours, he only holds your hips to push you up, detaching himself from you.

“What-,”

“I want this a lot,” he interrupted you before you could question him or yourself, moving you back to your initial position. “But I don't want it to happen because you’re fucked up with your feelings.”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings, Jungkook,” you told him, fixing the hoodie he gave you.

“It has nothing to do ours either, love,” he pointed out the way you were unconsciously using him to forget your guilt. “I want you, don't ever doubt that. But you gotta figure yourself out first.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. Before you met Jungkook you had a thing for fixing up your problems through sex. He taught you a better way, claiming he had to do the same thing and it was better like that. You didn't disagree; it ceased your worries with unexpected pregnancies and STDs.

“How about we go in?” He offered, fixing the locks of your hair he had messed up. “You can lay down, and we can talk about whatever you want to.”

“Can I be under the covers?” you asked him, already getting up and making your way to his bed. “It’s a bit cold.”

You sat on the edge of his bed as he picked up the mugs and closed the sliding doors, not worrying about closing the curtains too. He put both the cups on his dresser, moving to block your view of the window.

“You’re blocking my sight from the moon, jackass,” you told him, trying to push him off as you looked to the moon and the way it illuminated its way inside the houses, quick flickers of light when it shone against metallic objects.

“I’m the sun, what the fuck do you want-”

“Watch out!”

You screamed as you pushed him to the ground as the wall-to-wall window shattered to pieces, quick to grab the gun he always kept on his back and pointing it back to the place the shot had come from, struggling to find cover and a clear view against the wall.

You moved to the balcony once you heard tires speeding on the street, not being able to take a clear shot of whoever drove the black Range Rover. You cursed yourself, looking around for any traces left of danger on the neighborhood, unable to find one.

“Get your keys, we have a fucking-”

You stopped on your tracks when you saw Jungkook still lay down on the floor, a pool of blood forming around his chest and the ground. You dropped to your knees by his side, desperately calling out his name as you struggle to find Yoongi’s number on your contacts, the other hand pressing down on Jungkook’s chest as a way to stop the bleeding.

“Jungkook was shot,” you told Yoongi when he picked up at the first tone, your phone between your shoulder and your head as you struggled to find a pulse and talk through your sobs. “I don't know if he’s alive. Come quick.” You let your phone fall down when you heard the call end, allowing your tears to fall, fast and painful.

As your thoughts began to rush and your hands pressed down harder, you could only feel guilt swallowing you again because you had failed. And this time there was no gut to put the blame on, only you.

[crashlea-hart]

Steter Crack

Peter was a Herbology teacher at Hogwarts and Stiles had just taken up a temp job. Filling in for when: teachers get turned to dust, obliviated, blown up, revealed to be a malevolent imposters (even though the castle has super wards and protective magic?...), carried off by centaurs never to be seen again, you know  standard magic school stuff.

Stiles slapped his cheeks and bounced up and down on the balls of feet, trying to psych himself up to face the notorious ‘Big Bad Wolf’. That week he was filling in for the 3rd year potions teacher, whose skin had literally been melted off, and needed to secure some fresh ingredients for the next days practical class. The big bad wolf in question was one Professor Peter Hale, Head of the Herbology department and by all accounts a BAMF. Stiles had initially been sceptical, as in his experience, herbology specialists were generally mellow folks who spent their free time sampling the greenery and eating too many cauldron cakes. His scepticism was broken by numerous firsthand experiences from fellow teachers and students.

‘Peter Hale is flawless.’

‘I heard he has 2 Order of Merlins and a solid gold Firebolt.’

‘His chest hair is insured for 10,000 Galleons.’

‘I hear he does broom commercials.. In Japan.’

‘I heard he was a hit wizard for the ministry but he was too good at his job so they retired him.’

‘One time, he met Gwenog Jones and she told him he was pretty.’

‘One time, he punched me in the face. It was awesome.’

Stiles shook those thoughts from his head and strode purposefully through one of the outer courtyards, to the detached building that served as Professor Hales office/ greenhouse/ strictly off limits to students unless you want to be eaten by malicious plants, or, eaten by the sharp toothed professor himself.

He found the outer door open so forewent the courtesy of knocking. His curiosity had not killed him yet  so naturally he poked around the office instead of politely waiting for Hale to return. The office (if you could call it that) was light and airy, especially when compared to the dank cold stone office in which he himself resided. The walls were lined mainly with bookshelves; housing interesting artefacts, plants and thousands of texts. Looking up he saw an open mezzanine level which was dedicated to a number of plants  bathing in the light offered by the skylight which seemed to dominate this and the next room that was partially visible to him through the foliage. Some of his nervousness was put at ease by the comforting atmosphere. That would be his excuse in any case for approaching one of the plants and all but shoving his face in it to get a sniff at the unusual scent.

He was promptly yanked backwards and a smooth voice resonated in his ear.

‘There are better avenues to satisfy your masochistic desires than having your face torn off by a carnivorous plant.’

Stiles, not known for his grace, shrieked and flailed wildly. The man who stood behind him smirked as he dodged an offending limb.

Stiles clutched at his chest. ‘Dude wear a bell and  ..oh my god,  could that plant literally have torn off my face..?!” He started pinching at his cheeks as if to assure himself that they were intact.

Professor Hale visibly flinched at being called ‘dude, his amusement faded from his face to be replaced by a sneer. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly.

Stiles came to his senses. “Oh, ah, right. I’m Stiles, I’m taking Potions until Blaise’s skin grows back, but you know how vain he is so that could be a while, like honestly have you seen the potions  in his daily routine?”

Hale stuck out a hand impatiently in the middle of Stiles blathering. The younger man had only just been able to stop himself from reaching out to jovially shake it, realizing just in time that the outstretched hand was waiting on the list Stiles held.

“Ah right.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as he handed over the parchment. “Here’s the list of ingredients I was told I’d need for tomorrows class.”

The sneer Hale held sharpened and he raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Teaching potions and you can’t even correctly identify chamomile over something that could eat you face? Tsk tsk.”

 ‘Huh?! Chamomile?!!’

 Ignoring Stiles comedic double taking, the Herbology professor hmmed thoughtfully over the  list he held.

‘It will take a while to get the correct measurements. You’re welcome to wait here provided you don’t attempt to touch anything else.”

  Stiles pouted as he briefly met the mans gaze over the parchment, promptly shifting his gaze elsewhere.

“ And Stiles, don’t believe everything you’re told.” He throws over his shoulder whilst carelessly waving his wand to conjure up a  pot of tea and  two cups.

Stiles closed his agape mouth as Hale sauntered off, he wasn’t able to come up with a witty quip while the other man was still in earshot so he settled with muttering ‘..show off..’ under his breath.

The tea set in front of him appeared to be floating on nothingness. “ Shit!” Stiles fumbled for his school mandated wand as he came to the conclusion that Professor Hale was indeed enough of an asshole to make the levitation charm extra temporary. He retrieved his wand just in time to catch the china as it began a perilous descent towards the rustic hardwood floor.

 ‘Pheww,’ he wiped his forehead in relief as he guided the set safely to a nearby desk.

 ‘Asshole.’ He griped, setting a derisive gaze on the glorified stick he was forced to carry whilst working on school grounds. Stiles preferred a less archaic magical conduit, something that couldn’t be torn away by a spell, something wearable that he could have on him without having to fumble through layers of robes. It only took seconds for someone to cast a spell that could end in death and in those seconds reaching for a wand was time no one could afford. Stiles had developed himself (with the help of his old school friend Danny and an amenable dwarf who had a stockpile of magical ores, cores and sundry materials) a modified glove/ bracer that could comfortably be worn at all times. Due to it’s position it had ready access to his magic and could be activated immediately. He felt naked without it and though spilt tea wasn’t life or death, Stiles definitely felt it was possible to die of embarrassment and quite frankly he did not want to give Hale the satisfaction.

 Well that had been an interesting encounter and Stiles nerves were appropriately frayed. This whole situation made Stiles feel he was entirely deserving of helping himself to Peter's chamomile. Smugly and spitefully he plucked some flowers and a few young leaves crushing them slightly before setting them to brew in his freshly poured cup. 

 …………….

After successfully securing all of Stiles ingredients Peter returned.  He was not at all surprised to find a drooling Stiles completely lax and clearly unconscious, half fallen out of his chair. He tutted in disappointment but was clearly amused as he approached the desk where the younger man was now slowly sliding to the floor. 

 Stepping over lithe legs he inspected the tea cup, sure enough it contained the “chamomile”, which was in fact a magically spliced Valerian, Poppy and Aconite hybrid.

 Peter had developed it as a method to treat anxiety in Werewolves. His early research had shown that members of the lycanthrope community were twice as likely as regular humans or wizards to suffer from mental health issues in their lifetimes and comparatively were also twice as unlikely to seek professional assistance. Creating a treatment that takes into account the metabolisation and regeneration rates of werewolves was one step in the right direction. The main issue to still be addressed though was the societal stigma towards lycanthropes and mental health sufferers.

 The plants less desirable effects (digestive discomfort and well, horrible death inducing poisons) had been removed but still, what worked as a sedative for werewolves, caused immediate unconsciousness  in anyone else.

 Peter sighed at his melancholic thoughts and drew his gaze towards the young substitute teacher. His eyes crinkled in amusement at the undignified position he found him in. He laughed softly but brought the splayed legs together and hefted Stiles up to settle more comfortably on a transfigured couch.

   Yell at me 😈

[crash-fics]

Steter  Hogwarts drabbles: 

Peter was a Herbology teacher at Hogwarts and Stiles had just taken up a temp job. Filling in for when: teachers get turned to dust, obliviated, blown up, revealed to be a malevolent imposters (even though the castle has super wards and protective magic?...), carried off by centaurs never to be seen again, you know standard magic school stuff.

Stiles slapped his cheeks and bounced up and down on the balls of feet, trying to psych himself up to face the notorious ‘Big Bad Wolf’. That week he was filling in for the 3rd year potions teacher, whose skin had literally been melted off, and needed to secure some fresh ingredients for the next days practical class. The big bad wolf in question was one Professor Peter Hale, Head of the Herbology department and by all accounts a BAMF. Stiles had initially been sceptical, as in his experience, herbology specialists were generally mellow folks who spent their free time sampling the greenery and eating too many cauldron cakes. His scepticism was broken by numerous firsthand experiences from fellow teachers and students.

‘Peter Hale is flawless.’

‘I heard he has 2 Order of merlins and a solid gold Firebolt.’

‘His chest hair is insured for 10,000 Galleons.’

‘I hear he does broom commercials.. In Japan.’

‘I heard he was a hit wizard for the ministry but he was too good at his job so they retired him.’

‘One time, he met Gwenog Jones and she told him he was pretty.’

‘One time, he punched me in the face. It was awesome.’

Stiles shook those thoughts from his head and strode purposefully through one of the outer courtyards, to the detached building that served as Professor Hales office/ greenhouse/ strictly off limits to students unless you want to be eaten by malicious plants, or,  by the sharp toothed professor himself.

He found the outer door open so forewent the courtesy of knocking. His curiosity had not killed him yet  so naturally he poked around the office instead of politely waiting for Hale to return. The office (if you could call it that) was light and airy, especially when compared to the dank cold stone office in which he himself resided. The walls were lined mainly with bookshelves; housing interesting artefacts, plants and thousands of texts. Looking up he saw an open mezzanine level which was dedicated to a number of plants  bathing in the light offered by the skylight which seemed to dominate this and the next room that was partially visible to him through the foliage. Some of his nervousness was put at ease by the comforting atmosphere. That would be his excuse in any case for approaching one of the plants and all but shoving his face in it to get a sniff at the unusual scent.

He was promptly yanked backwards and a smooth voice resonated in his ear.

‘There are better avenues to satisfy your masochistic desires than having your face torn off by a carnivorous plant.’

Stiles, not known for his grace, shrieked and flailed wildly. The man who stood behind him smirked as he dodged an offending limb.

Stiles clutched at his chest. ‘Dude wear a bell and  ..oh my god,  could that plant literally have torn off my face..?!”

He started pinching at his cheeks as if to assure himself that they were intact.

Professor Hale visibly flinched at being called ‘dude, his amusement faded from his face to be replaced by a sneer. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly.

Stiles came to his senses. “Oh, ah, right. I’m Stiles, I’m taking Potions until Blaise’s skin grows back, but you know how vain he is so that could be a while, like honestly have you seen the potions  in his daily routine?”

Hale stuck out a hand impatiently in the middle of Stiles blathering. The younger man had only just been able to stop himself from reaching out to jovially shake it, realizing just in time that the outstretched hand was waiting on the list Stiles held.

“Ah right.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as he handed over the parchment. “Here’s the list of ingredients I was told I’d need for tomorrows class.”

The sneer Hale held sharpened and he raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Teaching potions and you can’t even correctly identify chamomile over something that could eat you face? Tsk tsk.”

‘Huh?! Chamomile?!!’

 Ignoring Stiles comedic double taking, the Herbology professor hmmed thoughtfully over the  list he held.

‘It will take a while to get the correct measurements. You’re welcome to wait here provided you don’t attempt to touch anything else.”

  Stiles pouted as he briefly met the mans gaze over the parchment, promptly shifting his gaze elsewhere.

“ And Stiles, don’t believe everything you’re told.” He throws over his shoulder whilst carelessly waving his wand to conjure up a  pot of tea and  two cups.

Stiles closed his agape mouth as Hale sauntered off, he wasn’t able to come up with a witty quip while the other man was still in earshot so he settled with muttering ‘..show off..’ under his breath.

The tea set in front of him appeared to be floating on nothingness. “ Shit!” Stiles fumbled for his school mandated wand as he came to the conclusion that Professor Hale was indeed enough of an asshole to make the levitation charm extra temporary. He retrieved his wand just in time to catch the china as it began a perilous descent towards the rustic hardwood floor.

 ‘Pheww,’ he wiped his forehead in relief as he guided the set safely to a nearby desk.

‘Asshole.’ He griped, setting a derisive gaze on the glorified stick he was forced to carry whilst working on school grounds. Stiles preferred a less archaic magical conduit, something that couldn’t be torn away by a spell, something wearable that he could have on him without having to fumble through layers of robes. It only took seconds for someone to cast a spell that could end in death and in those seconds reaching for a wand was time no one could afford. Stiles had developed himself (with the help of his old school friend Danny and an amenable dwarf who had a stockpile of magical ores, cores and sundry materials) a modified glove/ bracer that could comfortably be worn at all times. Due to it’s position it had ready access to his magic and could be activated immediately. He felt naked without it and though spilt tea wasn’t life or death, Stiles definitely felt it was possible to die of embarrassment and quite frankly he did not want to give Hale the satisfaction.

 Well that had been an interesting encounter and Stiles nerves were appropriately frayed. This whole situation made Stiles feel he was entirely deserving of helping himself to Peter's chamomile. Smugly and spitefully he plucked some flowers and a few young leaves crushing them slightly before setting them to brew in his freshly poured cup. 

 …………….

After successfully securing all of Stiles ingredients Peter returned.  He was not at all surprised to find a drooling Stiles completely lax and clearly unconscious, half fallen out of his chair. He tutted in disappointment but was clearly amused as he approached the desk where the younger man was now slowly sliding to the floor. 

 Stepping over lithe legs he inspected the tea cup, sure enough it contained the “chamomile”, which was in fact a magically spliced Valerian, Poppy and Aconite hybrid.

 Peter had developed it as a method to treat anxiety in Werewolves. His early research had shown that members of the lycanthrope community were twice as likely as regular humans or wizards to suffer from mental health issues in their lifetimes and comparatively were also twice as unlikely to seek professional assistance. Creating a treatment that takes into account the metabolisation and regeneration rates of werewolves was one step in the right direction. The main issue to still be addressed though was the societal stigma towards lycanthropes and mental health sufferers.

 The plants less desirable effects (digestive discomfort and well, horrible death inducing poisons) had been removed but still, what worked as a sedative for werewolves, caused immediate unconsciousness  in anyone else.

 Peter sighed at his melancholic thoughts and drew his gaze towards the young substitute teacher. His eyes crinkled in amusement at the undignified position he found him in. He laughed softly but brought the splayed legs together and hefted Stiles up to settle more comfortably on a transfigured couch.

[bookmawkish]

Prompt fill: Unexpected Hero, part 2

Part 1 here

@worldoftherandom I don’t know if you even remember sending me this one but I got inspired to continue so here it is

It’s fortunately past closing at the Dino Bite when Riley decides to share his confusing day with everyone else and turns up to bang at the door with one arm around Heckyl at his side. Tyler answers, a broom still in hand. He looks startled as he unlocks and opens the doors.

“Before you say anything,” Riley says, pushing past and dragging Heckyl in with him, “the answer is, I don’t know. But he just stopped me from getting beaten up by Snide and a whole bunch of his friends, and he’s hurt, and I couldn’t just leave him out there.”

“Wait, Snide was there? And Heckyl? They’re separate?”

“Yeah. Very much separate. And really, really mad at each other. Can I just -”

Riley gestures to the booth seats, and at Tyler’s nod, he slides Heckyl onto one of them. The alien is barely conscious and Riley carefully tilts him forward so he’s leaning his head on his arms on the table. Riley lowers his voice. “Look, he fought Snide off, as well as a bunch of Vivix, and a couple of outlaws. And I’m grateful to him, but I don’t understand why he would do that.”

“I’m guessing being separate from Snide has a lot to do with it. Maybe we’ve had it wrong all this time. Maybe Snide’s had control over Heckyl all along. He’s just never been able to break free and fight back before.”

Heckyl groans, quietly, and slumps further forward onto the table. On closer inspection, he’s now fully unconscious and isn’t roused when Riley speaks to him, says his name, even shakes him.

“Now what,” Riley murmurs, genuinely upset by this turn of events. Heckyl is certainly no friend of his, but he feels weirdly responsible for the injured man. Tyler looks similarly disquieted, and the small trickle of blood on Heckyl’s face that is just starting to drip onto the table is bothering him more than he’d care to admit.

“I think we should call Ms Morgan,” he says.

 “His tattoo is gone.”

Kendall, all business, is checking Heckyl over. He’s still out cold. She is gentle handling him: lifting his head from the table, wiping away the blood from his nose and mouth with a napkin. She turns his head to the side to expose his neck to Tyler and Riley. “See? That backs up what you saw. Snide has been detached. We’ve only got Heckyl here. By himself.” After a pause and a slight grimace of embarrassment, she quickly slips her hand down across Heckyl’s vest, presses at his chest, and draws back almost as fast when he jolts and cries out in pain, his eyes snapping open.

“Sorry!” Kendall whispers, automatically, because the look on Heckyl’s face is awful, and he scrambles backwards in the booth, away from them all. “Heckyl. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just - I had to check. I think a couple of your ribs are broken. They’re bruised at least.”

“What - what am I doing here?”

There’s a very odd moment for the assembled Rangers, because Heckyl looks bewildered and frightened, as if he’s seriously considering bolting from the café: but then he seems to gather his bravado and his mouth curls in a much more familiar sneer. “If you’re going to kill me, get on with it. This is just boring me,” he snarls, his eyes darting from one to the other of them, determined not to back down. The Rangers exchange glances.

“I don’t know what it’s like where you were raised,” says Riley, “but where I’m from we don’t just kill the people who’ve saved our lives. Thanks for that, by the way. I’d love to know why you did it.”

“Well, much though this has been lovely,” Heckyl says, keeping the sharp, sarcastic tone in his voice, “I really have to be going. Right now.” And he gets up. Or at least he tries - shoving back from the table, but almost as soon as he moves he gasps, unable to mask the instinctive reaction. His hand comes up to curl protectively around his ribs and he stumbles.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” says Tyler, not without sympathy. “Sit down. We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to know what happened.”

“I’m gonna get you some Advil,” Riley says, and is indeed going to do so when Kendall says: “No, don’t -”

She glances apologetically at Heckyl. “It’s a painkiller,” she says. “But I’d rather you don’t take any. I don’t want to poison you when you’re not…I mean…”

“I’m not human,” Heckyl says, wearily, sinking back into the chair. “You can say it. I do know, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Kendall says, again. He shrugs.

“Why? It’s not your fault.” He sees the still-stricken look on her face and rolls his eyes in irritable defeat. “If it makes you feel any better, I heal fast. I‘ll be out of your hair very soon, pretty lady, don‘t you worry.”

Riley brings him a Coke instead (because of course that‘s far less potentially poisonous to aliens). Heckyl drinks it all, in one long series of gulps, and doesn’t die, so Riley gets him another one. It seems to relax him a little: he huddles over the table, but he doesn’t have that tenseness in his posture, that preparation to flee that was there before.

“So,” Riley says, when Heckyl is halfway down his second Coke, “you wanna tell us how you and your worse half got broken up?”

“Arcanon,” says Heckyl, and the venom in his voice is unmistakable. “Split us apart with the split emitters. Wrench helped him. I suppose I should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” queries Kendall, looking at him sharply.

“You think I liked sharing a body with that -”

Heckyl abruptly looks down at the table and seems to make an effort to get himself under control, flexing his fingers. Little motes of white-blue light curl between them.

“It wasn’t my choice,” he says, and because he’s busy staring at the tabletop he doesn’t see the utterly horrified expressions the three Rangers are wearing. Because this changes everything for them. The villain they’d been fighting had been himself under duress.

It hadn’t been his choice.

“Arcanon won’t let me live,” Heckyl adds, after a moment’s thought. “I am as much his enemy now as you. And so -”

He heaves himself up again, and this time makes it all the way, although he’s white with pain by the time he’s fully standing.

“ - as I said. I’m leaving.” He gives them a truly dreadful, shaky grin. Lots of teeth. Absolutely no humour. “Thank you, Rangers, for the entertainment. You’ve been. Well. Just wonderful.”

Because of their surprise, he actually makes it halfway to the door before a hand falls on his arm and grips, hard. Riley glares at him.

“You’re leaving to protect us,” he says, and ignores Heckyl’s eye-rolling, lip-curling denial. “I know you are. But I won’t let you. You didn’t ask for this. You’re just as much of a victim as I was when Snide attacked me tonight.”

“Oh please,�� Heckyl scoffs, shaking Riley‘s grip loose, “you’re dreaming. Maybe you think you can ‘save me’. “ He inserts the air quotes seamlessly. “I’m not your responsibility. I can look after myself. I’m a grown-up. In fact, I‘m so grown-up compared to all of you that -”

“But you‘re hurt,” interrupts Kendall, quietly. “If you go after him now he’ll kill you. But if we go after him together -”

“I don’t need or want your help,” Heckyl spits, immediately, but it’s too late - Tyler and Kendall alike have seen the flicker of fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

“No,” says Tyler, and he glances at Kendall, who nods. “I guess you don’t. But you’re going to get it anyway. And we’re going to start by getting you healed up. Come on. You can’t rest properly here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Heckyl hisses, sinks into a combat stance, and his hands spark with electricity. Immediately, Riley spins on one foot, kicks Heckyl accurately in the back of the knees, before leaping back to avoid being fried. Except that Heckyl is too busy sprawling on the floor to attack. He’s shaky and weak, and the power pooling in his palms fades as he tries to stop himself from collapsing completely. Knelt on the ground, furious and helpless, he looks up to see Riley bending to his side, his face showing nothing but compassion.

“Sorry,” Riley says. “but you made me do that. Please, Heckyl. I want to help you. Just let me. You can shout at me while I do it if it‘ll make you feel better, I don‘t care. Just - please.”

And Heckyl, shuddering and scowling on the floor, his hand clutched to his injured chest, hangs his head in defeat.

He protests all the way to Tyler’s house, but it’s obvious the fight has gone out of him now and it’s just words. Tyler puts down a camp bed in the den, and Heckyl allows himself to be installed in it without more than a token protest. He’s obviously exhausted and while he grumbles vindictively at Tyler when he’s brought a blanket (“I’m not a child. I’ll kill you in your sleep.”) he crashes out very fast and is asleep in an untidy sprawl within minutes of pulling the blanket over himself. True to his word, Kendall notes that the bruises on his face are visibly fading as he sleeps. Fast healing, indeed.

“Phew,” Riley says. “He’s hard work.”

“He doesn’t know how to be nice,” Kendall says, quite accurately. “He’s had no practice. I think he’s actually doing quite well, considering.”

“I feel bad,” Tyler says, unexpectedly. When the others look to him, he adds: “Look, I know we didn’t know. But he was innocent. All this time. Snide was holding him prisoner.”

“He’s still hard work,” says Riley, grinning. “He’s even more sarcastic than my brother.”

“We can’t change how we treated him in the past,” Kendall says. “But we can change now. And we can finish Snide for good, if he’ll help us.”

“Sure,” says Tyler, unconvinced, his gaze darting down to Heckyl again. Heckyl is snoring, his head lolled back on the bed. “I’m sure he’ll be a great help.”

[waterworldcraze]

Are Betta Fish Hardy? 6 Things You MUST Do

With their flashing colors and long slinky fins, bettas are one of the most eye-catching fish species you are going to see in a pet store. Besides their good looks, bettas are also known for being resilient and easy to keep, which makes them hard to resist.

But, are betta fish hardy? Yes, betta fish are hardier than many other types of fish. Bettas can survive in water with lower oxygen levels and they need less space than other species. While easier to keep, bettas aren’t low maintenance pets and have to be properly cared for to thrive. Otherwise, they can get sick and die.

Although this is a rather short answer, it will satisfy your curiosity for now. Continue reading to find out the most common betta fish diseases and how to keep your betta healthy and strong.

How Hardy Are Betta Fish?

Although they are one the hardiest aquarium fish, bettas can still get sick and die just like any other less resilient species.

You have probably seen bettas living in vases with nothing except a plant on top to feed them. While it is true that they can survive in these conditions, they won’t be happy or healthy living contained in a tiny bowl or a container.

Bettas need filtration, warm and clean water, spacious tanks, regular feeding, environment enrichment like plants and caves to remain healthy and strong. Even the hardiest betta will be susceptible to diseases and waste away without these basic things.

The most common diseases to affect betta fish are:

1. Fin Rot

Fin rot is a bacterial infection that eats away the fins, leaving a majestic betta looking crippled. In most cases, this condition is the result of poor water conditions that stress the betta and lower her immune system’s ability to fight off the disease.

If left untreated, fin rot will work its way into your betta’s body, and eventually, kill it.

Treatment consists of complete water change and medication for the initial bacterial infection. Furthermore, anti-fungal medications are also used to prevent any chances of a secondary infection.

2. Ich

Ich, also known as white spot disease is one of the most common and persistent parasite infections in freshwater fish.

The first sign of this disease is a few white spots on betta’s body, fins, and gills that look a lot like a grain of salt. However, these tiny spots are actually cysts that contain the immature stage of the parasite known as tomites.

An infected betta will rub against any surface in the tank or clamp the fins as it tries to get rid of the parasites. This condition is highly contagious and deadly if not spotted in time and treated.

Treatment includes rising the water temperature and using malachite green or other ich treatments that will encourage the cysts to detach and burst.

3. Velvet

Also known as rust, or gold dust disease, velvet is caused by parasites found in the tank’s water. An affected betta will look like its covered in gold dust or rust and will start rubbing against anything in the tank.

The treatment for velvet looks a lot like the treatment for ich and includes raising the temperature of the water, diming the light inside the tank, and treating the betta with malachite green.

You should know that velvet is highly curable when diagnosed on time, thus your betta will have a good chance of surviving.

4. Bloat

Bloat, also known as dropsy or edema is a common problem for many bettas. This condition is characterized by a swelled abdomen which causes the scales to stand out.

Overfeeding is the most common cause of bloating, however, bacteria, viruses, and parasites can also be to blame. A bloated betta might have breathing difficulties, decreased appetite and act lethargic.

Treating bloat is relatively easy and includes fasting your betta until the bloating subsides and then adjusting its diet accordingly.

Care Tips For Keeping Your Betta Hardy

As I stated earlier, bettas are hardier than most other aquarium species, but even the heartiest betta will get sick and fade away if not taken care of properly.

Contrary to popular belief bettas are not low maintenance pets, but taking care of them won’t be hard once you get used to the routine.

Here are some tips for keeping your betta healthy and strong:

1. Spacious Tank

Indeed, bettas don’t need a lot of space compared to other fish species, but keeping one in a container is out of the question! To keep your betta healthy, opt for a 5-gallon tank at least. But if possible, bigger is always better. We show you here how you should set up the tank!

2. Keep The Water Clean

While bettas can survive in poor water conditions, they won’t thrive and will eventually get sick. Thus, you should invest in a filter and do weekly partial water changes.

3. Get A Heater

Bettas don’t like cold and their preferred water temperature is between 76 and 82°F. So, unless your home is already heated to this exact temperature, you should consider investing in a tank heater.

4. Appropriate Diet

Bettas are carnivorous and will need a specific diet that reflects that. To stay hardy your betta will need to eat varied foods such as insects, insect larvae, specialized betta food pellets, and freeze-dried grub.

Make sure to feed your betta twice a day and only as much as it can eat in a couple of minutes.

5. Tank Accessories

To keep your betta hardy make sure to add plants and caves inside the tank. Live plants are always better and will create fun places for your betta to explore or hide in.

Caves and other decorations can also serve as hiding spots and will transform a dull-looking aquarium into a cozy and betta-friendly environment.

6. Cycle The Tank

Putting your new betta in an uncycled tank isn’t a good idea, and it will lower its immune system making it susceptible to bacterial, viral, and parasite infections.

Thus, before you bring a betta home, make sure that you have a cycled tank prepared and ready for the new inhabitant.

Where To Get A Hardy Betta Fish: Breeders or Pet Stores?

Bettas got their reputation for being hardy because they can survive in tiny cups. And if you have ever been in any pet store you have probably seen many bettas living this way.

However, surviving and thriving isn’t the same thing!

Bettas that are kept in these conditions can’t stay hardy for long and usually have a lowered immune system. Furthermore, there is a big chance that they are already sick but without any notable symptoms.

In most cases, these bettas can’t live long and will die sooner rather than later even if properly cared for in their forever home.

On the other hand, a reputable breeder is aware that bettas aren’t happy in small spaces and would never subject his fish to any harm. Furthermore, the breeder will know what type of food the betta needs, how to keep the tank clean, and will interact with his fish daily.

As a result, these bettas are hardier, healthier, happier, and will live longer. Of course, they might also get sick, but chances of that happening are significantly lower.

Hence, you might want to consider buying from a breeder and paying a bit more for a fit and lively betta than getting one from a pet store and watch as it gets sick a month later.