Tumgik
#or even worse you generally hate one of them. that's a pain in the ass
just-null · 2 months
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Kokichi, similar to Noritoshi in the sense that they're analytical and kinda tsun, but that's mostly it. This is another Megumi and Noritoshi situation where, on the surface, they appear to be very similar, but you squint and realize they're extremely different.
Whereas Noritoshi isn't as bold because he still holds remnants of pride, Kokichi is just shy about it since it's so new. He won't back down from it, just hesitate.
[Long ass rambles under the cut! + bonus doodles.]
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When referring to shyness, Kokichi leans into the awkward and stiff type. There's always confusion and slight fear in his eyes when he's experiencing something new or romantic. He doesn't want to mess up, but if he does, he just hopes it works in his favor.
Being born in a body where he was under constant pain and stress, someone touching him was the last thing he wanted. He'd never known the loving touch of another because the heavens decided he wasn't allowed to.
After meeting you, that yearning to be next to you became too much. To hell with his restrictions. He'd to do whatever it takes to be able to be with you even if he had to sacrifice others to do it.
In retrospect, he feels like he should've done it sooner. Being touched or even grazed doesn't feel like his skin is falling off anymore.. Plus having both arms and working legs is always a good thing. It's new and odd, but not terrible. His mind never once wandered back and regretted those he's thrown under the bus because why would it?
Unfortunately, when his body was being healed, Mahito made him healthy.. and that's all. Knowing Mahito, he'd leave Kokichi to struggle with catching up to the rest of his peers by working for his own stamina, weight, and strength from square one. Though Kokichi isn't complaining much about it. He'd still take this rather than being stuck in that god forsaken tub for a second longer.
He used to hate being fussed over because of his illness. He prefers to do things on his own and now he can. Yet, Kokichi still gets pitiful looks on other's faces when he's too weak to carry something. It makes him want to spit at them, he can use Mechamaru to do his heavy lifting for now. He doesn't need a beefed up body to do it.
Unless you're the "beefed up" one fussing over him.. He doesn't mind it when it's you. In fact, Kokichi feels grateful when it's you, endeared even. He never feels belittled or pitiful when its you.. Only you.
Judging by how he treated panda for having the ability to interact with others in person despite being a cursed corpse, Kokichi has a number of insults and creative verbal abuse he's ready to spew out once someone tries getting a little too close to you. Scratch that, he's rude in general to those he isn't familiar with.
Kokichi has a lot of anger for those he deems ungrateful. What do you expect from someone who thought he was gonna rot in a bathtub for the rest of his life to do? Not harbor resentment? Luckily, he holds just as much, if not more, love for you who he's unbelievably grateful for!
Your affection is so odd to him, a new experience that he never knew he could grow to yearn for. It's not terrible, quite the opposite. It's so wonderful he can't get enough. Every time you're around, he wants to have at least one hand on you at all times. Doesn't matter where, just as long as he feels you're around. Safe to say, he's extremely touch starved.
Oh how Kokichi would drop everything for a walk with you. He'd use every Mechamaru he had just to make sure no one disturbs either of you. Murder is just a side effect if they get too persistent. He just wants to spend time with you!
Though he likes walks, he still gets out of breath easily. Walking is nice, but he still needs time to get used to it. Offering to help will only cause him to lean against you, it's not too difficult, he doesn't weigh much for better or worse. He loves when you lend him a hand, it's just another reason to get close to you.
When you part, it's only natural that Kokichi gifts you a little trinket he made. Rejecting it will only reward you with the most devastated frown, so just accept it. If you get rid of it when coming home, it somehow always finds its way back to you? Destroying it will lead to Kokichi giving you another one.
Yes, it follows and watches you, but it's just to keep you safe! Who knows what could happen. Whether or not the little trinkets are subtle, all depends on how you reacted to him asking if it was alright to know your location at all times when he's not around. Kokichi is understanding if you're not okay with it. He'll just make his gifts extra subtle so you wont know he's watching.
He just wants to be by your side constantly, even if he's not able to be there in person. Watching you through a screen gives him a sickly familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it's better than not knowing what you're doing. He can even pick up little things about you this way for when he sees you next time! This is nothing but a win-win in his mind even if others beg to differ.
Kokichi never felt blessed. Not once since the day he was born, not until he found you. You who he feels is truly a gift from the heavens. You who he would give up everything to have. In a way, Kokichi is delusional. He sees you as the reason he got a heavenly restriction. It was as if other worldly forces tried to keep him at bay from pursuing you, but you're also the reason he broke his restrictions. He now has the body he wished for thanks to you, his drive, his motivation, his purpose, his love.
[extra shit]
Kokichi’s so fucking low key about being a chuunibyou. you're telling me he named his mech after an anime he watched. half his attacks have ultimate or ultra in the name.. HE MADE A FUCKING MECH. Your ass can't tell me he didn't watch anime while growing up and got inspired to make it a reality. He probably watched Evangelion or something.. Woah, anime dates with him where he makes your favorite creature and uses it to his advantage.. woah.
[Bonus Kokichi verbal abuse]
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argreion · 2 months
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Leon Kennedy sleepy + general HCs with your local ranter.
So sorry for clogging the Leon Kennedy x reader tag y'all. I seriously just fuckin' love TALKING! He's been my hyperfixation for months alongside RE Lore. :( I hope I can help you guys create your own little HCs like I took from some fics and the help of my friend! <3 ALSO I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR Y'ALLS HEADCANONS IF YOU HAVE THEM!!! I LOVE RAMBLES/RANTS! 🩵 No warnings, btw! Just silly stupid ass comfy headcanons I have :)
RE2 being all sweet and cuddly. Honestly, I feel like he might fall asleep to Disney movies. Just like some of the Leons to me. Always so strict on a nightly routine, too. Wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair etc. Then fallling asleep with a Disney movie on in the background? Heavenly. Perfection. The fact he might wear goofy ass pajamas too? He just SCREAMS trying to live his childhood while he still can young.
RE4 just washes his face and cleans his eyelashes. He feels more practical, yet still tries to take care of himself. Makes sure to take medication, but prefers if you tell him. It makes him feel special. I mean, Leon IS special. He likes comfort and trusting people. Sometimes waking up crying and burrowing into the bed beside you. RC and Spain wasn't fun at all! Your chest, neck, stomach, he loves it ALL. Adores a stomach cuddle, even if you got no stomach! Thighs, too, taking a nap while you watch a show.
ID Leon low-key feels like the small drop-off era. Still washing his face and eyelashes. Medication, if needed, still. You can notice slight changes, and him kinda hating the government in small ways now. The submarine, Jason and Shen Mei, and then getting judged for being pretty. Our pretty little blond, blue-eyed boy! Feel like he might be sick of it. Might be a little peeved at general compliments, but still tries to keep them in good faith. Grows his hair out, and gets a little messy. Just like in the comic, he looks like a soggy wet cat, y'all! Keeps his stubble pretty trimmed too.
Damnation Leon feels like the MAJOR drop. ID was the calm before the storm. Drinking problems start, and man starts getting less sleep. Probably five to four hours MAX. Still loves to cuddle like all the other Leons. You can kind of sense something is off. Washes his face, and that's it. Goes to sleep in his boxers, and kicks you in your sleep. C'mon, old man, stop kicking me in the ass! So rude! (I still love you, you little fucker.) Possible cartoon lover, I feel like once he gets older, he just kinda tries to relax. Man is tired constantly, and the alcohol makes it WORSE. Stubble is more grown out in my head.
RE6 Leon… Honestly 2nd fav. I'm an old man fucker, sorry y'all. Feel like the drinking is kinda toned down compared to Damnation, but spiked really fuckin' high in Vendetta. Silly cartoon watcher, I stand by that shit. I like making Leon be a stupid crusty, soggy cat. Probably really likes the cartoons from the 90s. His 'childhood' moment. Nicer than Damnation, but just more seasoned compared to RE4R and ID. Dad jokes and one-liners coming out at least three times a day. Sleeps about 6–7 hours on normal-ish nights. Tries to at least get 7. Please get on him about his meds or getting his eyes checked. He's crusty, and he needs a back brace possibly, too. Needs you to massage his back after a mission and just be there. Disney movie night with him when? He'll debate about the best Disney movie. His fav movie is up to you.
Vendetta… Oh, fuck. Man dropped off the wagon in multiple ways. He doesn't wash his face, and he probably does have a few tooth problems. Got a tooth gap for getting his ass beat, and is kinda self-conscious about it. Stubble is unshaven, and hair needs to be cut. He doesn't give a crap anymore, but the nightmares he has certainly give a crap about him. Making him think about quitting, if he could. We all know the poor man is gonna be strangled to death because of the government. Eye bags, pains in his body, and waking up with a horrible hangover. He doesn't really have a nightly routine, except pass out from drinking OR try to fall asleep normally. With a lover, I feel like he still wouldn't care. Movie buff AND nerd for mechanical shit. Rants about it, listen if he does it. It makes him fall in love with you slightly faster if you want to go that route. Also, TUMMMMMYYYY!!
DI LEONNNN! MY FAV! My little old ass kitten! Moves back to an ID state in a way. Instead, kinda hates the government still for his circumstances. Back to the cartoon AND falling asleep to Disney movies. Tries to remember his stuff more often now. He's still a little iffy, but he's got the spirit! Honestly, he might get LASIK. More of just wearing sweatpants and boxers kind of guy to bed. Got a little patch of chest hair too. Cuddly tummy and thighs. Likes hugging you from behind AND getting hugged from behind. Sleepy cuddles make his day better, and possibly more. Lastly, man sleeps like a rock now. If he's on top of you? Crushed. Your dead. Donezo.
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jasmineiros · 4 months
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I wasn't going to post this here due to the somewhat sensitive subject of idolization of celebrities and I actually already vented on Instagram stories, but once the dam breaks out it's useless to even try to contain it. And the only thing that is flooding my mind now is rage.
I already hated millionaires, but after Taylor Swift came to Brazil to that freaking circus people called a concert, I hated them even more.
In case you're not aware, Brazil is dealing incredibly badly with the climate crisis. In Rio they hit the temperature of 60°C (100F, but the sensation was of 140F). It was the highest temperature registered SO FAR. A mix of this unbearable heat and the fact that the staff managing the production of concert used certain materials such as god-damned metal to cover certain structures made several people to get severe burns and 23-year-old die of a heart attack.
Now, that's where the irony comes.
After hearing the news, the best Taylor could ever do was posting a stories saying "how sorry she was and she was so young and she was so beautiful and blablabla" but also very vehemently reinforcing that "due to her grief she wasn't going to say anything about it during the show". I mean, a person who technically loved her, had to get donations to travel across the country and literally died because of this god-damned concert and you can't even make a tiny, small tribute for her. She didn't even mention her name in the stories, which was Ana Clara, btw.
She or the staff never reached out to the family to ask if they needed anything, even though they absolutely had the means to do it. Several years ago, when a Rihanna fan was murdered, she personally paid for the expenses of the funeral, because the family couldn't afford it.
And it gets worse.
She cancelled her next performances due to the climate issues. Being herself is the biggest celebrity CO2e polluter of this year so far. And she got back to the US. In a fucking private jet.
I mean, this combo couldn't be more unbelievable. She not only completely dehumanized an incredibly painful and serious situation, as she, with the 1% of magnates that literally rule this planet, is simply the root cause of the imminent destruction of this planet but it doesn't matter, as long as she still has money being shoved into that white ass of hers.
Or maybe I'm being naive, maybe it's our fault, after all, monkeys are meant to the zoo, not to be in the presence of an untouchable, perfect and almighty nature force such as she, since apparently she can't even breathe the same air we do by just using a freaking common airplane, like a sensitive and sane person would.
The fact that she will just run out and make other concerts with that same innocent angel aura, even though she displays a borderline psychopath behavior, like she still was the 16-year-old girl writing songs about her break ups is absolutely unbelievable to me.
This is just so similar to when that cryptofascist piece of trash of Aurora decided it would be just a good idea to make a shallow and generic discourse about love and acceptance and how everyone is being cancelled nowadays when a member of her band posted and gestured dog whistle supremacy symbols on more than one occasion.
Honestly I wish I could feel anything else right now, but the only thing I can still manage to internalize and express is pure hate.
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Can I have Tony’s younger sister x Loki? Tony is not okay with this — obviously. Reader is not some soft sub like most loki fics, she is strong and has a smart tongue and stands up to Loki. He likes a strong woman. Maybe they sneak off somewhere during a gala or ceremony tony is organizing? smut plss
With the return of Loki season 2, I couldn't not write about my favorite MCU character. Please keep sending more Loki requests <3
Warnings: 18+, bathroom quickie, p + v, unprotected sex,
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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Loki Laufeyson had some big reputation, both on Asgard and here — on Earth. After causing trouble on both planets, he earned a spot on Tony Stark’s list of people he hated with a burning passion — and his name was in red underline. Why the red underline? It seemed that the heart of Iron Man’s younger sister had been stolen by the God of Mischief, which made Tony hate him even more.
And what could Tony do? Absolutely nothing. 
A few months passed since the news dropped and you had hoped that your brother would have accepted your relationship by now, but he still wished Loki would stay the Asgardian fuck away from you. 
To make the situation worse, Loki adored to kiss you right and whisper the dirtiest things to you right under Tony’s nose, just to rub it in his face. After all, he was the God of Mischief.
Tony's jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his glass of scotch as he saw you and Loki in the corner of the room kissing. It wasn't just a smooch. One on the low back of your dress, touching your bare skin while kissing you passionately. You’ll need a lipstick touch-up — and another drink — after that. The sight was making any pair of eyes jealous, wishing their man kissed them like that. 
Loki generally didn't like public displays of affection, but he loved to play with Tony’s nerves.
Gently, you broke from Loki’s kiss, keeping your hand on his jacket’s sleeve. ‘’As fun as provoking my brother is, let’s not make him too mad tonight.’’
‘’But you look absolutely delightful in this dress, darling. Pardon me for being unable to keep my hands off you,’’ Loki said, proving his point by lowering his hand down the curve of your back and stopping right at the top of your ass. 
You flashed a mischievous smile at the Asgardian God, wishing you could just leave this event without anyone noticing and finish the night in your bedroom, but it was almost impossible to escape your brother’s gaze. 
As if he had read your mind, Loki leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered. ‘’Do you think anyone is going to notice if we elope for a few minutes?’’
‘’Unfortunately, there's a hawk watching us.’’ 
Across the room, Tony's dark eyes were glaring at Loki and you — especially Loki — as he watched the scene unfold before him, his expression a mix of anger, disgust and frustration. He took a sip of his scotch, trying to calm his rising irritation, but it didn't do much to soothe his nerves.
Loki rolled his eyes back in annoyance. ‘’Does he know you are a grown adult and don’t need a chaperon?’’ 
Tony’s behavior was overbearing, but he had his reasons — besides strongly disliking Loki. 
‘’He's overprotective — always has been. But he got worse after Mom and Dad died. All we had was each other now, so he stopped seeing me as his annoying little sister and gave himself the position of protective figure in my life. He scared so many of my past boyfriends away,’’ you explained with a chuckle. 
Losing a parent was a pain Loki knew. It gets easier with time, but never goes away. 
‘’I’m sorry about your parents,’’ he said, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it gently. You gave him a soft smile. ‘’His tactics are not gonna work on me, though.’’
You exchanged a sly grin with Loki, then reached for his hand and led him away. 
The second the bathroom door was closed — and locked —, your back found the wall and Loki's hands went to your hips, pulling you against him as his mouth found yours, kissing you with a passion and hunger that was reserved for private moments. You didn’t mind being kissed in a crowded room, but some kisses were just too intimate for an audience. 
Loki groaned against your mouth and shifted his hands lower, having been holding back from grabbing your ass through your dress all evening. As much as he loved it, he wanted to rip it off your body. But that would be problematic when it would be time to get back to the party. You couldn’t exactly go back in just your panties and high heels. That would be highly inappropriate — and embarrassing.
Without separating your mouths, you reached between your bodies for Loki’s belt, jostling with the buckle to undo it and unfastening his trousers. You pulled them down just enough to uncover his ass, making him smile into the kiss as his hands left your hips to grab your thigh. He hooked it around his waist as his other hand slipped underneath your dress to slide your panties to the side. 
Your time was counted. Soon, someone will come knock on the door to use the bathroom. 
‘’Ahh, Loki,’’ you sighed, your arms around his neck as he pushed inside of you. Your nails dug into the back of his neck, feeling the pleasure from the pressure and fullness of him. 
He wasted no time before pulling back out and trusting back in. ‘’This is much better than the buffet, isn’t it?’’ he asked, already knowing the answer. 
You threw your head back and closed your eyes, breathy moans leaving both of your mouths as he kept his movements quick but precise, hitting the perfect spot every time. It always surprised you how well he knew your body — your needs.
‘’Fuck,’’ Loki hissed in a drawn-out swear as you clenched around him so good. He kept an iron grip on your thigh, fingertips surely leaving bruises. ‘’If you keep squeezing me like that—’’ 
You cut him off, covering his mouth with your hand. ‘’Less talking, more fu— aah. More fucking. We have to get back soon.’’ 
You could feel your standing leg weakening at each of his deep trusts, forcing you to grip his shoulder with one hand to stop you from falling. The height and style of your heeled shoes was going to be planned accordingly next time. 
Soon, you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, climax building inside you. ‘’I…I'm about to cum,’’ you warned, your mouth close to his ear as he mouthed at your neck and shoulder.
Understanding the message, Loki’s free hand expertly found its way to your clit, skillfully rubbing it as you tightened around him, drawing nearer to your climax. He maintained his movements, his lips back on yours to catch your final moan.
A few more thrusts and he was there too, barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he shot rope after rope of his cum inside you. Loki growled into your mouth, feeling his own orgasm ripple through his body, fucking into you as deep as he could go until he was finished. 
You shuddered when he pulled out, feeling the dribble of his cum down your inner thigh and on the floor, making you regret not using a condom. It was too late now, the mess was there. 
Forcing yourself to quickly recover, you and Loki took a few minutes to fix your appearance in the bathroom mirror, smoothing clothes and re-applying your lip gloss, doing your best to make sure no one would be able to tell of your and Loki's little escapade. 
You went for another kiss before slipping out of the bathroom together, his lips tasting like cherries and the expensive liquor he had been drinking. 
‘’How mad do you think Stark be when we walk by him?’’ Loki asked, approaching the room the buffet was held at. 
With the way Loki’s shirt was slightly wrinkled and the smudge of your lip liner, it was impossible he wouldn’t pick up what you and Loki had been up to.
Instead of answering, you grabbed a chute of champagne from the nearest tray and took a long sip. Tony could be pissed all he wanted. He’d be a liar to say he had never done this in his younger playboy days.
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maxphilippa · 12 days
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max having thoughts about lucy and how the fandom treated her. this also goes alongside with the way people treated rex
just generally it comes iffy to me how people downgrade lucy's character to her stereotype and don't understand that tlm is based around deconstructing said stereotypes and that people are much more complex than you think and trying to put them on a black or white perspective completely misses the point
and how they either don't recognize that her behaviours towards emmet weren't the best, or they do but completely take it only to the extreme
this also applies to rex's character although leaning more on the second one, since he is the antagonist per say
what troubles me the most i think is that i think that both rex and lucy are really good at deconstructing the stereotypes/main ideas they're based on and people demonizing or not focussing on it sucks ass.
like with lucy they genuinely do forget the implications of her genuinely being happy pre-wyldstyle until everything went down and how the guilt is eating her alive since something she created with so much love caused so much pain at the same time. like the reason as to why she's like that for almost all of the two movies is because the pain and guilt is still there with her and it fucking sucks. it gets worse on the second movie because she does genuinely think that they're on danger and meanwhile she genuinely wants to protect emmet, she also forgot that they're a team and that proper communication is the key. that's why her arc goes around growth and opening her heart again. she took the wyldstyle persona so she wouldn't be hurt again anymore, and possibly so people don't view her as weak.
so that's why her losing her hair dye means so much to her actually growing. she can't keep hiding herself any longer and she has to accept that hey, maybe, she has to be more versatile on her point of view. that things can still change. just like emmet said. she genuinely cares about her friends and didn't take the best decisions because of that but that is okay ultimately. she is not perfect but like that's the thing. she doesn't have to be. the second movie allowed her to grow and to heal.
which is also a parallel with rex.
but we do know already that people constantly treat rex as a monster just for having terrible mental health and shitty copying mechanisms when like. depression does that to you. being isolated does that to you. thinking that your friends left you behind does that to you. and like that is super messed up actually. people more than often don't get that the reasons as to why rex got to that extreme was because he genuinely didn't want emmet to be hurt the same way he was on the past. he cares about emmet. he is so hurt by seeing lucy but he doesn't hate her. he is a mess of emotions and thoughts and the way people demonized his struggles with mental health is genuinely fucked up.
because. yeah. rex DID shitty stuff. but he had very fair reasons. he was badly hurt and left behind. he thought that his friends left him just like that. he thought that they never cared. hell, his whole persona is an copying mechanism because he didn't want to be hurt again.
he was emmet once. and people forget that always. he is not abusive nor is he a terrible person nor is he completely innocent he's hurt and tired and angry and sad and misses his friends. and lucy isn't cold hearted or uncaring or one dimensional,hell, even if we go by the hints of her band, you can even argue that she's going through survivor's guilt.
what i'm saying is that the tlm fandom doesn't understand that mental health can be awful and shitty and that it won't get better unless said people who are going through it have a support system or are trying themselves and that struggling and making bad decisions, especially with good intentions, doesn't make you a bad person.
hell the whole theme of the movie is about CHANGE and GROWTH. rex and lucy ALSO had those. but anyway what do i know i barely remember anything of the movies as of now but as someone who kind of is going through the same thing. having a character portrayed as abusive for having terrible mental health and making bad choices that DID HAVE GOOD INTENTIONS MIND YOU is terrible and i genuinely hope people get that at one point. like hell rex didn't even. fucking want to hurt emmet. sure he lied but that's because he thought it was for the best. same goes for lucy.
tldr: shut up about your twink (benny) and actually start focussing on rex and lucy on the proper way
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victimeyez · 6 months
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Levels
Professional//Victim
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LEVELS
Tommy woke up to his door shutting hard behind Caius, who re-locked it behind him before pocketing the keys. 
Tommy startled at the sound, and clutched his sheet to his chest for a moment, trying to calm himself. 
Caius wasn’t holding any food or medications. That wasn’t a good sign. He had that serious look on his face, the one where he pretended he didn’t enjoy his pain. Damnit. 
“You’re in trouble.”
Tommy’s stomach dropped. He started to sit up against his pillow, but hissed with the pain his movement inspired. He sank back down and pulled the sheet up over his nose.
“Why?”
Caius sighed, disappointment clear on his face.
(Fucking prick.)
“You can’t try to talk to me when you’re with a client, Tommy. You know that.”
(Oh.)
It all came back to him then. Lisa’s hair framing a face his mind had already blurred. Mark’s hands on him - no. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Stop. Stop the thoughts.
Tommy turned from him and stared at the ceiling. He hated that his eyes prickled, threatening tears. Was it not enough?  Was living like this not a punishment on its own? He felt like he couldn’t go any lower than how he felt after last night. 
“I’m sorry.” Tommy said, and his broken voice sounded sincere. He was sorry he ever tried. He was sorry he still thought there was hope. His apology was just a weak attempt to shield whatever was left of himself. 
“No meds for a week.”
He shot up in bed at that, grimacing at the pain. 
“A week?!”
“Could be longer,” Caius offered with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sucked in a breath and became silent. 
“Antibiotics?”
“You’ll get those. Nothing for the pain.”
“But- but,” He scrambled for some defense.
“Pain - pain management is an important part of the healing process, you’ll delay my recovery and it’ll be that much longer before I can - before I can go with another client.”
It was technically true. A plea to Caius’s logic was his only possible bargaining chip.
Caius pretended to chew it over for a moment. This logistic hadn’t slipped his mind, and he had already made peace with it. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it once more.
“I can wait.”
He didn’t give Tommy a chance to reply. The door locked behind him, and Tommy slumped back to his mattress. Helpless tears finally spilled from his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream. 
He hadn’t even had a chance to take inventory of the damage yet. His ass felt like he’d been sitting on hot coals, it still radiated heat like a particularly brutal sunburn. His wrists and ankles felt swollen and sore to the slightest touch. Trying to move his hands only made the muscles spasm, and they were too weak to lend him his usual control. 
A whole week without painkillers. He’d taken them away before, but never that long. It meant he could count on sleepless nights up with the agony. Even though he rarely broke rules anymore, his punishments got worse, not better. 
He wanted to scream and curse Caius, but “throwing a tantrum” would only land him a harsher sentence. He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow and punched the mattress until he was exhausted and hurt enough to slump back down to rest. 
He clenched his eyes closed, begging his body for sleep again. One week without drugs would last an eternity.
He’d made it through four days. For four days, Caius made him take daily walks to keep his body from seizing with pain. The rest of the time, he laid as still as he could and wallowed. He wanted to be left alone, but Caius suddenly had all the time in the world for him. 
“Go,” Caius instructed, gesturing to the basement steps. Standing at the bottom, Tommy could not imagine making his way up them, just as he had every other day. He didn’t want his sentence lengthened, but he swallowed hard at the prospect of another arduous journey up.
Caius’s hands found his shoulders and he guided him to the first stair, his touch agitating the wounds on Tommy’s shoulders. 
“Could you - I could follow you? I just - need a minute.”
“You can do it. One step at a time.”
He was already trembling on his feet. His ankles pulsed with a dull, merciless pain. His legs hurt, his ass hurt, his thighs were still sore to the point of weakness. 
“I don’t think I can do this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, can we just - I can walk a few times around the basement maybe? I-”
He was cut off by a hard shove between his shoulders, sending him sprawling onto the stairs. 
“If you can’t walk, then you can crawl.” 
Caius moved up onto the stairs, and leaned down to grip a generous handful of the prone boy’s hair. He started to ascend the stairs, dragging Tommy close behind by his hair. Tommy had to start scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees to try to keep up. His hands fluttered around Caius’s grip, wanting to wrench his fingers open, but he didn’t dare. The cement was cold and gritty under his palms and his knees, but he dragged himself up each step, desperate to end the pain. At the top he was released, and he crumpled to the floor, breathless with the strain. 
Caius let him lay there for a few minutes until he bored, moving again and beckoning to Tommy to follow. Tommy pulled himself onto trembling legs, leaning heavily against the wall. Caius coaxed him forwards, taking him a different path than they usually took for these walks. 
Tommy grit his teeth and walked.
He was so focused on trying to stabilize that he didn’t realize where they were heading until he was led to the bottom of the upstairs stairwell. The stairs there were carpeted and clean, with an elegant banister slithering up the side. When Caius directed him to take the stairs, he balked.
Looking into Caius’s face was like trying to read a mask, but Tommy searched for a clue if this was some kind of sick test. He had never been to the upper floor. He assumed that’s where the others lived, or worked, or whatever they did with most of their time. 
Caius waved him on, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. 
“Caius…I don’t think I’m allowed up there…” 
(What fresh hell is this? A trick? He played those sometimes…)
“I’m telling you to go up, so you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else.”
Tommy held his hands to his chest, squeezing them to console himself. The stairs looked endless, curving to the side and out of sight after an already arduous stretch.
“Please Caius, I’m trying, I am, but the stairs, I really don’t think-”
He was interrupted by the sharp snap of Caius’s fingers in front of his face, followed by a sharp finger pointing up the stairs. 
“Three more days.”
Tommy gasped, his hand rising to touch Caius’s arm for just a moment before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, he just - wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to hold onto him. He had nothing more to comfort himself than the very source of his misery. 
Judging by the murderous glare Caius was giving him, he was out of time.
When Caius got in this kind of mood, Tommy knew to shut up and put his head down. In the moment it took to register consciously, he was already stepping up the stairs, his hands reaching out to the carpeted stairs ahead of him tentatively. His back felt agonizingly stiff, but being able to support himself more comfortably on all fours helped a little. 
(Ignore the pain. Put it in the back of your mind. Move. Just keep moving.)
He made it to the top and froze, unsure of what to do. Caius was only a step behind him, and his fingers hooked the back of his collar. He guided him by the back of the neck over to a tall white door. There was a skylight above them casting soft, bright light down, and Tommy’s eyes watered with the change from his dim basement room. Tommy pushed himself onto his feet and stood uncertainly in the hallway. Caius quickly moved to corner him up against the door, and Tommy blindly grabbed for the handle, finding it locked. Caius was too close, so suddenly, and Tommy could smell him, could feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body pressing him against the cool wood, reaching beside his hip to unlock the door and turn the handle.
He released his grip on the collar with a grin.
Tommy stumbled backwards as the door gave way, sprawling on the floor in a defeated heap. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, trying to shield his face. Some days, Caius just wanted his pain. It was starting to look like one of those days. 
Caius padded in behind him and closed the door. From between his fingers where he laid on his side, all Tommy could see were his feet. 
He shivered there, for a moment, anticipating the blows. (At least the carpet is soft.)
(Fuck. Really, really soft.)
He forgot how nice a good carpet felt. The one in his “bedroom” was old and ground into a thin mat over the cement. The carpet beneath him was a clean cream color with padding beneath him, making it cushier than his mattress. 
Moments passed and there was no strike. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up until he was sat against the side of an enormous bed, a rich blue comforter spilling over the side. He looked blearily up at Caius, who crouched before him. He pinched his chin and turned his face from one side to the other, looking at his eyes. 
(Why am I in your bedroom?)
He didn’t say anything. He’d already switched gears, resigned to whatever Caius fancied doing to him today. The new environment and the big bed put him ill at ease though, and he felt nauseous. His brain was in low power mode, trying to forget what was happening as soon as it did. He wanted to walk far away from his mind and stay somewhere where the carpet was always so soft and clean.
His eyes accidentally connected with Caius’s for a moment. He always forgot what he looked like somehow, and it was so hard to look him in the face. The clear rim of his glass, the chestnut strands that cradled his face. Those dark brown eyes. 
He looked like the devil to Tommy.
“Stay.” 
He nodded numbly, grateful when Caius turned away and broke eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself look away first.
Caius pulled a long chain lead from the top drawer of his nightstand. Tommy leaned his head back and submitted his throat to him, accepting the lead locking onto his collar with nothing more than a nervous swallow.
(Better than being dragged by my hair…I think.)
When Caius rose, he pulled the leash, and Tommy struggled to his feet. He was afraid to support himself on the comforter, the fabric too fine for his calloused touch. 
Caius coaxed him onto the bed with a tug of the chain. The moment Tommy made contact with the bed he whimpered, his muscles turning to jelly in fear of retribution. But Caius joined him on the bed and sat up against his pillows, winding the chain around his fist to gather Tommy closer. He reluctantly crawled to him, the nausea growing stronger.
(Don’t do this. Don’t open that door.)
Caius settled him on his side though, and drew his head down to his lap. One hand curled possessively in his hair again. Tommy braced himself, but his fingers gently combed through, soothing and untangling the strands. Lately, he could get whiplash with how fast Caius’s moods came and went. Shocking, blinding cruelty would be followed with unnerving gentleness
. A book was fetched from his nightstand and rested open on his cheek, one wing of the hardcover supported balanced on his face. 
“Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that…”
The bed was cushy, and sank in generously at his touch. It unnerved him, a gnawing feeling plaguing him that the mattress might sink like quicksand beneath him. In spite of himself, he began to relax to the soothing cadence of Caius’s voice, slowly relinquishing the tension coiled in his body. With his face covered, he didn’t have to focus on making his expression acceptable to his unpredictable host. The fingers in his hair didn’t pull or punish, and their rhythmic caresses started to lull him to sleep.
Caius smelled…he smelled like sandalwood. He smelled clean. He smelled warm. He felt warm, his legs beneath him radiating a comforting warmth. 
Tommy’s heart suddenly ached fiercely. Desperate to soothe it, he nuzzled into the warm body beside him. Caius paused as it upset his book, but he let Tommy cuddle closer without correction.
 It had just started to overwhelm him, this odd moment of domesticity. He’d been alone for so long, and the gentle touches were few and far between. He just wanted to embrace the feeling while he had it, before it could slip through his fingers. He’d spent so long just trying to numb the world out, it felt so good to be here and pretend he wasn’t prey in the arms of a predator. 
Caius held him, and it felt good.
“I never used to be able to keep a relationship.”
Tommy tilted his head to look at Caius. Their eyes met, and Caius looked into his face so fully and honestly that it paralyzed him.
“It wasn’t a problem getting them, but they never stayed. They wanted me until they saw all of me and then they left.”
Silence hung between them. Tommy was wordless at the sudden admission. 
“I guess my longest relationship is you, huh?”
A chill ran down Tommy’s spine. Caius’s hand touched his cheek and he stared at it, enraptured by the contact with his ward. There was something wrong in that look. He didn’t look at him like a lover, but like a doll. Like a muse. 
Tommy shrank away from his touch, but Caius’s hand caught him and pushed his head down to his lap. Suddenly his touch didn’t feel so warm and so gentle. The ache came back to Tommy’s chest, as the warm feeling drained from his face.
(You can’t always play pretend.)
“You know I used to do insurance? That’s how I met Rory. We just clicked, he was the only good thing about the job. One day he tells me that his tech whiz friend has got this start-up….that was Michelle. But he wanted us to relocate to Quebec. Can you imagine living in Quebec? Working for some french freaks?”
Tommy wondered if they would have taken him at all. If some boy up north was spared being in his place because of a sliver of francophobia. 
“Once he moved here, it all kinda fell into place.”
Tommy missed the other story.
“You know, I never let my licenses lapse. I’ve renewed them three times. I just kept thinking, this is too good to be true. Something’s going to happen and I’ll be back at a desk.”
His position no longer felt comfortable, and Caius’s hand was fully pushing down on his head, seemingly without noticing. He could feel his heart start to pound.
“I think I’ll let them go this year. All in, I guess.”
Anger burned suddenly on the back of Tommy’s neck. 
(Are you committed now? Finally into it? I’ve been in it all along. You took away my choice and locked me in a basement and let people torture me for money. You took my life away…but now you finally want to take the reins and invest? I hope Hell exists just so there’s a place for people like you.)
“Hey. I know you hurt. I know it’s been really hard to get through the last few days. How would you like to make a deal?”
Tommy turned his head at that. He was weak for Caius’s deals. He could never manage to turn them down, no matter how many times he paid for it. But sometimes it wasn’t so bad, so he always fell for the bait.
He stared at Caius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes again.
“That’s what I thought you might say,” Caius said with a smile, to Tommy’s obviously piqued attention. 
“You take another punishment now, and I’ll count it for the rest of the week.”
(Oh, no.)
(He had to take it, right? What’s a little more pain in the short term? He could just get his drugs right after, right?)
(No, don’t get ahead of yourself. At least ask.)
“What punishment?” he murmured. 
“You’ll get the cane,” Caius answered. He said it in that humiliating way, as if he was explaining something in a caring voice.
He mulled it over briefly. Canings were fucking agony, but it might be worth it to cut his time short.
(Fine.)
“Okay.” It came out in a whisper. 
As soon as he said it, it started to really sink in. He was suddenly stunned in disbelief that this was happening, As Caius moved him to the side and slipped off of the bed, making his way to his closet. When Caius returned, holding a long, thin whip of a stick. He suddenly remembered sobbing underneath it the last time Caius took him to task. He couldn’t even remember what he had done. Sometimes he didn;t have to do anything at all. 
Caius directed him on the bed like a trainer handling his dog, putting him in the same position his last clients had whipped him in. His face down on Caius’s soft sheets, his chest pressed to the mattress. On his knees, and Caius reached between his legs to take his hands. He pulled his hands through and coaxed him to grip his ankles, holding himself in that humiliating position. 
Caius’s hands brushed over his ass before slipping his fingers into his waistband and tugging them down. 
Tommy whimpered as he was exposed, the fabric feeling like sandpaper as it slipped over the raw skin there. 
“Wait, Caius, wait, I take it back, I don’t want to do this.” It came out in rush as the panic properly started to set in, realizing how bad this was going to hurt. He was already covered in wounds, the bruises fully ripened, the skin starting to itch and crack. He let go of his ankles and tried to pull his hands back before Caius could stop him.
He didn’t succeed, and Caius’s hands on his wrists gripped like claws. 
“No, that’s not how this works. You took the deal.” Already having anticipated this, Caius grabbed a roll of tape he had secreted onto the bed.
“You’ll keep your hands right there if you want to be forgiven the rest of the week. Otherwise, you’ll get both.”
Tommy held onto his ankles as hard as he could, until his hands hurt as much as his feet. He felt like a great weight was coming down on him as Caius wound the tape around his fists, mummifying him there as he bound the limbs together.
Tommy was already crying when Caius finished wrapping him. He felt a hand on his hip, a curious thumb tugging at the edges of his pain. Getting a good look at him in this state. He told himself he had only imagined it as soon as he heard the soft click of the phone camera behind him. 
“Caius please, please Caius, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me anymore,” He begged, but there was no answer to his prayers. 
He heard the soft whistle through the air before Caius struck him. It lit up a long slash of pain on his backside, and he panted under the blooming pain. Whip. Whip. Criss-crossing over and over on the backs of his thighs, down nearly to the backs of his knees and up to the swell of his ass. The blows were quick and merciful, reducing him to a sobbing mess of trembling flesh. It burned so bad and he pulled frantically on his bindings, trying to escape the steady battering. Caius started to hit harder, or maybe it just hurt more and more, or maybe both. Sometimes Caius just needed to work something out tanning his hide, and the pain was horrific. 
(His own, personal whipping boy.)
The soft mattress beneath him felt like less of a comfort as his face sank in, and he struggled to catch a breath as he wailed into the sheets. At least his knees didn’t hurt. The give of the cushion underneath him let him rock very slightly back and forth, the best he could do to ease the desperate need to move away. 
The steady hits sped up and plateaued, finally slowing and stopping. It could have been a hundred strikes. It could have been five, but it took centuries until he was satisfied. He was sweating frantically, and the salt stung his welted skin. 
“There we go, that got us there.” Tommy felt like a quivering slab of raw meat on a platter before him. Caius left for a while, letting Tommy cool off and finish his crying jag. When he returned, he had a pot of ointment in his hands. He worked the thick salve into his skin slowly, working an agonizing massage across the bloody strokes. Tommy whimpered and whined with the pain, but the intimate touch stirred unwanted tingles of pleasure in him. He pressed his thighs together firmly, but he couldn’t keep it up with how weak his legs felt.
Finally Caius was done molesting him and cut away the tape holding him in place. Tommy rolled over onto his side and dry sobbed until Caius decided to put him back. Mercifully, Caius helped ease him down the stairs, and took him over his shoulder to carry him the last few yards to his room.
Tommy laid on his bed and shivered. His bed wasn’t more comfortable, but it was familiar. His whole body pulsed with pain. Caius tethered him and Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was so tired after the whole ordeal, though he doubted he would be able to sleep.
(Wait. The meds.)
“Can I please have my medicine now?” The idea of getting some relief from the pain made his teary-eyed all over again.
“Yes, after the three extra days you earned.”
(No)
(No)
(No.)
“Caius!” he moaned, but then his breath caught in his throat.
“I’ll be back after tea,” Caius promised as he locked the door behind him, leaving Tommy to burn in his bed. 
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purgeturbia · 6 months
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i've been working on something for... quite a while. i'm not ready to share the whole thing yet (read: it's not even close to being finished), but this part of it, while mostly unedited, can stand pretty well on its own, so have a little bit of smitten obi-wan. as a treat.
*eta bc i forgot the first time: ~2k, canon-typical mentions of death but nothing graphic, mostly fluff
the rest of the work is not like this.
-
XXXVII. START WARS AND BURN CITIES
When he and Cody and the 212th had liberated planets from the Separatists — although he muses, now, that they had not done much liberating at all, if the end result was the desolate fear-space the galaxy has become — there had often been more time spent cleaning up the aftermath of their battles than there had been actually fighting. The machine of war was not a tidy one, and Obi-Wan hated to leave innocent people in a worse state than he had found them. 
Often, during these pseudo-recovery times, he was excluded from the physical labor. Cody tended to push Obi-Wan off into the command tent to fill out the hundreds of forms that came with successful completion of a campaign, saying, “There are thousands of vod’e, sir, and only one of you,” but Obi-Wan saw it for what it really was — a chance (an order) to rest “for once in your kriffing life, General.”
Obi-Wan, after the first few campaigns, never argued. Crash would be on his ass for trying to help with cleanup anyway, and he did so despise being hauled to the medbay. 
Though his stack of requisition forms and reports to write and casualty lists was always far larger than he cared to admit, Obi-Wan was, despite his field ban, never one to sit idle in command after a battle. He would, instead, crank out as much flimsiwork as he could before his body began to ache with the stillness of it all, and then he would mingle with the troops. The shinies, especially, were emboldened by his presence among them. They were so young, even the veteran troopers, and anything he could do to ease the pain of a life defined by war was an obligation, even if it was just a kind word here or there. 
He was never content with the mental state of his men. Even after a decisive victory, or a battle with minimal casualties, or a skirmish with none at all, there was a sharp edge to their presences in the Force. Their hands shook ever so slightly and their smiles were never quite genuine and their eyes were constantly moving, observing, calculating. 
The war lived inside all of them, himself included. The thing was, though, that Obi-Wan had had those few glorious years, before Qui-Gon and Bandomeer and Melida/Daan and the rest of his life that had come crashing down around him and never stopped, where there was no war in his bones. 
His troops had been born with the war in them, and that was a pain he could not take away.
Even so, he would move through the camp like a fish through water, dropping hands to pauldrons and calling greetings across the expanse of tents. He would bring rations and fill canteens, and linger around medical looking for tasks until Crash told him to stop lurking and go bother somebody who would appreciate it. He’d always wiggled his eyebrows afterward, though, and told Obi-Wan very dramatically where Cody had gotten off to, so it was easy to see that he was never truly upset. Obi-Wan, in return, would blush about sixteen shades of red and very pointedly stalk off in the opposite direction of wherever Cody happened to be.
It was on one such occasion, on a forested planet Obi-Wan can no longer remember the name of, that he had turned away from Crash (and, he’d thought, Cody), only to stumble upon his commander preparing to direct half of Phantom Company through the process of removing a fallen tree that had crushed a house and blocked most of the packed-dirt road stretching through one of the little settlements they’d come planetside to defend. Obi-Wan could have moved the tree himself in a matter of seconds, but. Cody had told him to stay out of the cleanup, and one of his least favorite things in a time with many unpleasantries was upsetting Cody.
So he’d lingered on the outskirts, observing. Phantom acted, of course, as a well-oiled machine, and though fierce pride for his men bubbled up in his chest, Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He leaned against a still-standing tree just behind the houses across the way from the crushed one, and watched Cody work. He was a study in professionalism, in genius, even when faced with a task so simple as moving debris. Cody burned with a focused intensity that matched the sunburst on his armor as he paced around the tree, and they had spent long enough nights hunched together over sims and holotables that Obi-Wan could easily guess the questions being mentally asked and answered in quick succession: how heavy is the trunk? How many troops do I need to lift it? If we apply more leverage here, will the house be more damaged or less? 
It struck Obi-Wan then that he had not had time for fanciful things like poetry since the war’s beginning — but then again, maybe he didn’t need it. Maybe it had been right in front of him all along.
It was in the midst of this realization that he was pulled out of his thoughts by a presence at his elbow. When he turned, it wasn’t a clone, as he’d been expecting, but one of the locals; a wizened old woman leaning on a painstakingly carved wooden cane. She was not looking at Obi-Wan, but at the troopers as they worked. She was looking at Cody.
She had spoken before Obi-Wan could. “Strange, isn’t it.”
He waited a beat, and then another. She was silent beside him. “That would depend on what it is, I suppose,” he said eventually.
She laughed, though it was more of a huff than anything. The indulgent sort of laugh that comes from a person who knows a joke has been made but who doesn’t really feel like laughing. “All of this. The war, the clones. The Jedi, leading them. You’re not meant for this, are you.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re the first person … outside of all this, to notice that.”
She laughed again. It was no more sincere than the first time. “Am I really on the outside, Master Jedi?” she asked. “Are any of us?”
Obi-Wan knew she was right, so he merely inclined his head. Cody was positioning Phantom around the tree. It looked like his plan was to heave it up and over the houses and the road using applied leverage from the base, and dismantle it for lumber once its position was no longer an immediate problem. It was a good plan, very practical, very Cody, and Obi-Wan couldn’t quite keep a small smile from creeping across his face. 
He startled when the woman spoke again. “Is it worth it, then?”
Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed and he hummed, confused. To protect the innocent, of course the war was worth it. He wasn’t meant for it, none of the Jedi were, but he would fight it a thousand times over to save those who could not save themselves. Why would she ask him that? Why else would he be here?
He felt eyes on him, then, and turned to see the woman finally looking at him and not at his troops. Something in her face reminded him of Yoda, like she had lived a dozen of his lifetimes and known more than he could ever hope to learn. “Is it worth it,” she repeated, and continued, “for him.”
All of the breath left Obi-Wan’s body in a rush. He suddenly felt exposed, uncovered, though he was sure of his safety in the saber hung at his belt and his trusted men not forty meters away. Little gods. Two words was all it took to undo the great Negotiator. But he supposed nobody had ever come so close to his soul with two words before. He was, for the first time in a very, very long time, unsure of what to say.
“I —” he started, and stopped just as quickly, because he’d been about to defend himself, but there was no need to defend in a battle that was already over. He settled on, finally, “He is … very dear to me.”
“You would not have met him without this war.” Something in her voice was sharp, and he knew the words he spoke next would determine whether he passed a test she didn’t even know she was setting. “He would not even exist.”
He chose his response carefully. “No. But sometimes I think — perhaps it would have been a gift, for them, to never have lived at all.” He took a deep breath, steadying. “They have never known anything but war. They were bred for it, raised on it, and now they breathe it and eat it and it haunts their dreams. As much as the idea of it pains me, a galaxy without him in it, he would not exist without his brothers, and they would not exist without the war in their bones.” He turned back, toward Cody, who was helping lift the base of the tree, readying to swing it out away from the road. “How can that be worth it? The misery of millions for the happiness of one?”
The tree was suddenly standing again, propelled into the sky by Cody’s careful placement of force and the sheer brute strength of battle-hardened troopers. It wheeled above them for a moment, rotating, before crashing into the ground and sending up a cheer from the men. Obi-Wan was caught momentarily in the sunbeams of Cody’s victory smile, radiant, glorious, beautiful even from a distance. 
“You love him,” said the woman.
To hear the words out loud tore at something in him. He would never be able to say them himself, but he’d stopped denying the truth of them long ago. “Yes,” he said simply. “He deserves more than this, better than this. I would never wish this existence upon him, and in another life I would never claim this war to be worth it just so I might have the honor of —” the word loving stuck viscerally in his throat and he swallowed around it, “of knowing him again.”
Obi-Wan folded his arms tightly, wishing he had thought to bring his robes with him then, if only for something to do with his hands. Cody, having finished delegating the deconstruction of the tree, had spotted the odd pair and was heading over, bright with his success. 
The woman, looking at Cody and then back at Obi-Wan, huffed that strange not-laugh again. “If you win this war, Master Jedi, will it have been worth it?”
With Cody striding toward him, Obi-Wan was stuck between the sensations of a heart full to bursting with the pain of a love he could never truly have and the gut-punch realization that maybe, someday, he could. He barely managed to gasp out an “Oh, I —” before Cody was upon them, saying, “General, sir, I thought I told you to stay at camp,” but his smile betrayed him, and Obi-Wan found himself grinning back, breathless, and for a brief moment there was no war and no winning and no losing; there was only them, together, and the galaxy was theirs for the taking.
Now, the surface of Tatooine is dark and chilled. Wind whistles around the hut on the edge of the Dune Sea — a sandstorm will hit in the next few days, and in the morning they’ll need to start preparing. The memory of that woman comes back to him, unbidden, and he clings tighter to Cody, wrapped in his arms on Obi-Wan’s lumpy old bed. He thinks of Anakin, as much as it hurts to, and of the thousands of fallen Jedi, and of every clone forced to take the life of innocents, their bodies their own but not their minds. The war lost him everything, everyone, and everywhere he’s ever loved. But little gods. Cody is alive. He’s here, and safe, and they’re together again, his sunshine returned to him. Obi-Wan hates himself for it (hate leads to the dark — please, stop, please), but the worst parts of his soul are screaming it: maybe for this, this small salvation in the ruins, everything had been worth it after all.
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bassettmemes · 1 year
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THE LOVE HYPOTHESIS. ↳ quotes from the love hypothesis by ali hazelwood. some quotes have been edited for clarity or usability.
"carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man."
"i'm going to kill you."
"i wish you could see yourself the way i see you."
"i'm starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole."
"you can fall in love. someone will catch you."
"i'll come find you, and i'll take care of you."
"did you... did you just kiss me?"
"expiration dates are for the weak."
"i think about you before falling asleep. then i dream of you."
"it's fine. more material for my title ix complaint."
"this might be inappropriate, but, you are really extraordinary."
"i know it’s scary, being vulnerable, but you can allow yourself to care."
"everyone likes tall, broody, sullen hunks with genius iqs."
"a good kiss will do that: make a girl forget herself for a while."
"i liked you when i didn’t know you, and now that i do know you, it’s only gotten worse."
"you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? sounds like fun, no?"
"my heart may be broken, but my brain is doing just fine."
"i'm fine. i mean, i wish i were dead, but aside from that..."
"i've never been surer of anything. except maybe cell theory."
"hypothesis: the more i mention an attachment in an email, the less likely i will be to actually include said attachment."
"are they deporting you back to canada because we've been sharing a netflix password?"
"tell them we didn't know it was a federal crime."
"i think that somewhere along the way i forgot that i was something. i forgot myself."
"academia takes a lot from you and gives back a little."
"not having a life came in handy sometimes."
"i do reserve the right to comment on your abysmal taste in men."
"pumpkin spice is satan’s dandruff, harbinger of the apocalypse, and it tastes like ass—not in the good way."
"hypothesis: if i fall in love, things will invariably end poorly."
"you just had to go and make me fall for you."
"a heart will break even more easily than the weakest of hydrogen bonds."
"there will only be one bed. it doesn't matter what it says; it's always one bed."
"i must say, the line between excellent career choice and critical life screwup is getting a bit blurry."
"you probably don’t like ice cream anyway, because you don’t enjoy anything that’s good in life."
"i have access to your google calendar, asshole. you're not busy. if you don't want to hang out with me, you can just be honest."
"to be fair, i don't like people in general."
"how much do you hate this, on a scale from one to ‘correlation equals causation’?"
"hypothesis: any rumor regarding my love life will spread with a speed that is directly proportional to my desire to keep said rumor a secret."
"approximately two out of three fake-dating situations will eventually involve room-sharing; 50 percent of room-sharing situations will be further complicated by the presence of only one bed."
"i'm never going to get used to the fact that professors are real people and have first names."
"that’s the thing with science. we’re drilled to believe that false positives are bad, but false negatives are just as terrifying."
"maybe so many years alone has warped me in some fundamental way."
"did this fortune cookie just throw shade at me?"
"based on the available information and the data hitherto collected, my hypothesis is that the farther away i stay from love, the better off I will be."
"i had financially rich, but emotionally poor, parents."
"talking on the phone is the hardest, most stressful thing in the world."
"no. i don't want to fake break-up."
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tetsunabouquet · 9 months
Text
Basic Instinct Chapter 16
A/N: Here, we will get to precious Reader-Chan's side of what happened after the incident from chapter 13. Usual warnings apply, especially the abuse related ones. Masterpost
You dreaded going home more then anything, and dreading would be an understatement, really. You knew your mother was going to give you hell, but the scary part is that you didn't knew what to expect. That was the thing of dealing with a parent with psychiatric issues: You could learn the triggers and patterns but in the end there would always be an unpredictable element in play. And that terrified you. You felt like a soldier unwillingly sent to war, whenever you went home knowing she was angry. You knew the general things to expect and how to navigate the situation; but reality would always be different from the safe, tried simulations of training. There was always a chance of everything getting even more worse and getting hurt. Your mother's anger tantrums were definitely crossing the borders of physical abuse as of late, and her spiralling into her own anger and despair left you fearing for yourself. It had all started when you were nine, her relapse; and she was only spiralling further the more time went on. Entire days where you were ignored and given the silent treatment, where you were left scavenging the household for snacks because she didn't wanted to make dinner, entire days of arguing and fighting. All you wanted was to have your mother back, but the version she loved drifted away from you, slowly with time, and the worst part was that the reasons why you adored your mother so fiercely were getting blurrier. As if you were forgetting your mom, the version of her that you loved. Her memory drowned with time, as you looked at a mother you sometimes barely could recognize. Like a weird, inverse dementia, which made the times you needed someone or were you could remember who she used to be, all the more painful. Your father had died before you were born, so you couldn't truly mourn him at all. As a child when the fights began, you had prayed for this to be a lie and for him to come save you. But he, or the countless of other times you prayed for basically anyone to save you, never came for you. Everyone always turnt their backs to what was happening, you weren't worth fighting for to them. 'But Sei is different then everyone else. Sei actually loves me.' You thought as tears filled your eyes. You were in front of your doorstep, and trying your best not to shake. You were close to throwing up. With a deep breath you opened the door, and with the tiniest babysteps you entered your home. You closed the door behind you as your mother appeared in the hallway. You were pretty certain the hairs in your neck were raising with fear. She had her usual calm but scary composure when she was in Bad mode. It was collected and cool, but her eyes and demeanor were radiating a rage that left you quivering with terror. Your mother didn't even need to shout at you, the psychotic anger in her eyes was intimidation enough. Not that this was her only method of intimidation. You swallowed. "Hi mom." You greeted in a small voice. "You don't need to use that baby talk," your mother hissed disapproving, and you tried to keep yourself from bursting to tears. Per usual, she wouldn't even be civilized enough to greet you back before hurling her angry remarks at you. and it hurt you deeply. The lack of even basic human courtesy was so upsetting, how normal it was for her to just be angry and angry whilst you tried to be nice only to receive her hate; it was so exhausting. Your lips were trembling and your eyes were pricking with tears. "I'm sorry it happened mama. I'm really sorry." You bowed your head towards her, tears spilling over your cheeks. "Go ahead and cry, you brat! I work my ass off to let you attend that expensive school and you repay me by acting like a complete dimwit!" Your mother's controlled but harsh words were like a whip and every remark left a wound on your heart. "I cannot help that he loves me and kissed me mama! You weren't even a virgin at my age!" The words left your mouth, even though you knew you shouldn't say them. But your mother's anger at the situation when she had been the troublemaker of her school and had switched various schools when she was a teen for that very reason, was just plain unfair and hypocritical. You always did your best to be a good kid, unlike she had, so why on earth were you the one vilified for your mistakes?! 'Besides, if she doesn't wants me to talk down on her and respect her then she should better be someone worth respecting and an actual mother. It's not like I'd even know if you didn't treated me as your bestie when you are in Good mode.' But your mother was seeing red, and she was stepping close to you, looming over you like a threat. You shrunk back against the door as she raised her hand in a threatening manner. "How dare you speak to me like that?!" You swallowed and looked at her feet, close to hyperventilating. Your every instinct screaming for you to run, you slowly maneuvered past her before bolting for the basement. As you locked the basement door, you could hear your mother's voice through the door; "I don't need to see your face again. You'd better stay there if I were you." You swallowed, and cried as you went to the makeshift bed you had there for moments like these. You continued crying as you fell down the dark memories of how she controlled you like a doll and your every tiny mistake was treated like a sin. You sent text messages to Seijuro, just ranting about the memories filling your head. You sobbed into the pillow, and it seemed endless. You had been so stressed out, you weren't even hungry after an hour or two passed. You were getting sleepy from all the emotion, and you allowed it to overtake you. 'Please, don't let me wake up... Unless it's Seijuro...'
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solradguy · 10 months
Note
curious if you could elaborate on, like, specific cases(?) or just the general phenomena of gg community ignoring character flaws since i feel like i probably agree n wanna hear someone else's thoughts on it
Almost every single Guilty Gear character has done something that would get them ostracized in other fandoms, I think. But what I see sorta often in GG's community is that sometimes people will go to great lengths to defend one character and then talk about how bad another character is for the things they've done. Zato, for example, did horrible things to Millia and her hating him/wanting him dead is entirely justifiable. But Zato gets condemned for that while Happy Chaos, who brainwashed numerous people to fight and die for him just because he thought it was funny (among other things he did before and after that), rarely gets criticized, presumably because his personality is sillier and he's got a more broadly appealing design.
I get stuff like this happens in pretty much every fandom that's ever existed ever, but it's really funny seeing it in a game called Guilty Gear, where every character has done horrible things that haunts them haha. I went with the Zato and Chaos comparison because at least in some other characters' cases, the character does have some guilt over their actions or has a redemption arc of some kind (Bedman and Ky are good examples of that), but neither Zato or Chaos seem to have much remorse over how they've treated other people yet Zato is frequently hated while Chaos is adored.
Going back to Ky for a sec since he might seem like an odd choice to include there: Ky was a child soldier that wanted to utterly annihilate a sentient species capable of intelligent communication with evidence of a unique culture, and he killed them mercilessly when he could. But he eventually realized what he was doing was awful and went back on everything he was raised to believe to try to make up for what he did. And it haunts him. It wasn't like he woke up one day and just decided to stop killing Gears because he got bored of it; it's a major part of his character that the weight of what he had done was crushing him and he'll never fully forgive himself (or ask for total forgiveness) for it.
Bedman doesn't get as much of a chance before he dies to try to make up for what he had done, but it's still there a little bit right at the end. He's also young too and not having a fully developed prefrontal cortex is a pain in the ass. Sympathy to all the people younger than 25 out there.
Even Sol, the other main box art guy, has a whole list of awful shit he's done. He also wanted to destroy the same creatures that had individual thoughts and desires as Ky did and in Sol's case it might even be worse because he was partially responsible for their creation in the first place, and he was ruthless during his Holy Order arc when he fought against Gears the most. Ignoring Aria's wishes to be allowed to die peacefully from her illness and Sol wanting to sacrifice the entire world to save Jack-O' at the end of Strive are both selfish and awful in their own ways too. Sol is also THEE guilty Gear though. We know that's all weighing on him something fierce.
But this is what makes Guilty Gear so GOOD. It's not black and white. The good guys are deeply flawed and the bad guys can be sympathetic. This series has an insane amount of nuance that all too often gets boiled down to who's redeemable and who isn't and nearly everyone's a little bit of a bastard in their own unique ways.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I think if someone is a fan of a character that's taken/tried to take away the autonomy of another character, emotionally manipulated someone via dog murder, or wanted to exterminate an entire species that was mostly fighting back because of how humanity had treated them in the first place, that they should keep that in mind when harshly criticizing other characters' actions.
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tokillamockingbird427 · 7 months
Note
i wholeheartedly agree with ur response to my previous ask, especially with the trilingual and accent one. i imagine its like a somewhat thick-ish accent too that they have (rorke’s is probably more light than logans), since portuguese and spanish are probably the more dominant languages than english. (mainly my hc/theory bc of the fed that was stuttering in spanish and english before keegan killed him during the ajax mission but that’s somewhat irrelevant).
now adding onto ur trilingual hc(?), i imagine logan forgetting certain words and his mind goes absolutely blank in trying to find what the fuck the word is in any of the languages hes fluent in. (example: “i think he went to the… eh…“) and yes, this 100% applies to rorke, and if not the old man is probably WORSE. but unlike logan, rorke is way more fluent in english, as logan cant hold an entire conversation without speaking in either the other two dominant languages. of course though, i would like to think this is when logan decides to speak, because i feel like hes more of a “i hate people so i don’t talk” but is compassionate type of guy. (totally not cause we dont hear the man speak because of the silent protagonist era..)
im not sure what hesh’s(specifically) and the other ghosts reaction would be besides surprised pikachu, “he forgot english? we took THAT long???”, or “what the fuck did rorke DO.”, but im sure itd be something funny or angsty. as hesh and logan in your hc(that i adore cause it honestly suits them) are mixed and dont have that strong of an accent, the accent change from logan when he decides to talk would probably make hesh feel sad in a way, knowing he took too long to find logan before he 1) develops an accent, 2) is now trilingual, and 3) most likely doesn’t remember him or really any of the ghosts if we take that route of angst.
bonus again in favor of your lovely bonus: rorke and logan would absolutely make fun of eachother when they forget a word. (it would also be funny if its other feds who join in but they’re all probably scared of both or they all also deal with the same problem… but they might..)
and i’ll definitely send more asks in the future regarding similar topics like these or hcs in general! :)
— random anon
Logan frustrated to tears because he's gotta sort through three languages to find one word (Four if you include american sign, ASL, headcanon.) when he doesn't even like speaking. He'd make some bad joke about it being the reason he doesn't talk a lot, it's too much work when he can just stand there looking scary and let Rorke do his monologues.
Pls, calling Rorke an old man. I forget he's older than Elias because he really does NOT act like it. They gave him eternal youth in the pit or something because how the fuck was he getting his ass whooped like he was and shaking it off? (Au perhaps, curse of immortality?)
I HC that Logan's selectively mute (as do a few moots of mine) so to me it's not that he hates talking to people, it's just that speaking verbally makes him majorly uncomfortable. So instead he communicates through different avenues. Like writing things to be read, or signing, and even letting Hesh do all the talking for him. (One he uses the most, because it's easiest. Which can be used for angst when Logan then refuses to have Hesh talk for him post pit/beach EHEHHEHE.) He is absolutely so compassionate tho, I love that, I adore giving him a really big heart. Makes the angst where he's cold and angry so much more painful! :D (<- The face of a man who suffers under his own hand)
Oh the angst of the Ghosts being forced to face how much time has passed when they meet Logan again and he's changed so radically his primary language is no longer his "mother tongue." (mother tongue being spanglish, new primary being solely spanish.) Even outside a full "Amnesic Logan" au there'd still be things he'd forget and that is some good angst to explore. Hells yeah.
Hah, Logan and Rorke bullying the shit out of a each other. "Oh you stopped in the middle of your monologue, what was that? Forgot the word did you?" "Stfu that was a dramatic pause." "More like an awkward pause." "I'm gonna put you back in the pit blondie I stg." "Try me you bald bitch." (Subordinates too scared to tell if they're joking with each other or serious)
Can't wait to get more asks from you, I love it :D
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gatitties · 2 years
Text
Brat
─ Dbd x gn!teen!reader (platonic)
─ Summary: you are in another reality that is not yours and you will not stop bothering until you get what you want
─ Warnings: none
0 > 1 
*(There is no end as such, the numbering is simply by organization)*
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You thought your day couldn't get any worse when instead of waking up in the comfort of your sheets and the cozy feeling of being under them, you woke up on a snowy mountain with no apparent explanation, not only that but you were also freezing your ass off because you decided sleeping in your bathrobe and your shoes were fluffy pink bunny slippers. Obviously not intended for walking in the snow.
It got worse, of course it got worse, you just need to think something to make it happen, that's why you weren't even surprised when you thought that you had been kidnapped to do some kind of strange experiment or something similar to the Maze Runner or The Hunger Games. You had to speak up when around the corner a guy who looked like a gay K-poper was holding a bat with a sharp part and blood all over his outfit.
Assassins. Gorgeous.
It was the worst chase of your life, you didn't even know he had throwing blades, but at least you were going to die once and for all, all those jokes with your friends about wanting to end your life were going to come true, at least not you were afraid of being hooked on one of the many hooks you saw on stage, call it indifference, call it ordinariness, but the society you lived in was more than used to seeing death everywhere. If you had to complain about something it would only be that it is painful, less than expected, but painful.
But you couldn't get your death like you expected, no sir no, you thought it was okay for some unfortunate like you to help you off the hook when it happened, however listening to an old man with pneumonia explain the basics of the world you were in actually made you want to drown yourself in acid, drink clorox, pluck the hairs off your head with tweezers... and you could go on, even preferring punishments from the middle ages rather than what awaited you here.
Eternal death and survival. Can't die? It was like a bad joke for an anxious student like you, like a nightmare from which you can't get up, what was the point if neither life nor death had meaning? Your psychologist would be very disappointed to hear these thoughts, you expected death to be an option, you found that it wasn't when in your next match you were sacrificed.
To hell with everyone, survivors and killers faced tantrums from a teen with clear problems, although you will not hate them either, you needed to take your dissatisfaction out on someone. You caused irritation on both sides, no one was going to get away with your jokes, ironies, pranks or disinterest on crucial occasions.
You got to the point of annoying everyone that even the Entity herself began to get annoyed, of course, you knew very well how to please people, but you also knew very well how to have the opposite effect. You really didn't used to be like this but you were deprived of something that annoyed you even more, which is why you needed to annoy others all the time, your mind needed to be constantly busy or else you'd be bored, what could it do something like that? Of course, what the hell does everyone have today? something that even generates obsession and dependency, exactly, a phone, in your case, any electronic device would work.
Hey, at least the complaints of killers and survivors served to appease you when one night at the campfire some thin claws came out of nowhere under you, holding out your old phone, of course you couldn't receive calls or upload content ─believe me you would be exploiting the network with Tiktok videos─ but being able to see what people in your world were doing was good enough for you to go from being an annoying brat to a more introverted teenager who was into their world.
Although you would still screw up from time to time, of course, having a phone only gave you a chance to calm down and have new silly things to do. For now they will no longer look at you as if you were going to explode at any moment saying the absurdity or making the dumbest joke that you had in mind. Not even Ghostface dared so much.
However, this made most of the people there take some appreciation for you, no matter how minimal it was with some, you were like a slap of new air, everyone was screwed to live in the misery of routine, knowing that if they survive or die they will not be able to get out of there, their eyes little by little lost the shine of illusion or hope, they developed to conform to their lifestyle.
Which you didn't, oh, you belong to gen z, do you think you were going to let The Entity get away with it? Pff-, you expected she to have a chair or something to sit on because you're such a nonconformist. That's why the survivors came out to look at you with different eyes and the killers found their hunts amusing in a certain way when you were their opposite, you always came out with some new nonsense, which sometimes made them laugh, no matter how little it was.
You were definitely a little brat.
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Ah, yeah, if you have noticed I put feminine pronouns to The Entity, it has no other explanation than that in Spanish it is La Entidad, in feminine, and it’s easier to write it that way for me :)
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titanicfreija · 8 months
Text
"These will be more personal questions, and possibly upsetting."
"Oh-kay?"
"When you die, are you frightened?"
"... No. Haven't had a good reason to be. There's places where I would be, but I haven't been."
"Is it painful?"
"Sometimes. I'm pretty good about dying fast, so not often. Surviving to flee hurts, though. Poor Sunny'll about cry if I do it too much, pretty sure she'd rather repair a corpse than heal a bullet wound that didn't kill me. Don't really blame her, they get pretty ugly. Crucible was hard on both of us for a while, but I'm pretty good at running before my shields break, these days."
"Is there a preferred or most hated death?"
"Ummm. If I've just really gotta die -- I don't like it. Even if it's not painful or scary, it's inconvenient-- but if I've really gotta pick the best and worst, it's Drop Pods and getting sniped by psions."
"You flatter us. Why?"
~
"Drop Pods are so fast they feel more like teleporting than dying. Psion snipers-- there's a few others that do this, but the psions came to mind because of you, I guess-- but so, the ones with the right firepower, I guess they're LFRs , they open whatever they shoot on the first hit. Sometimes it'll take them two, but they bust shield and plate and hit flesh before I can even register I've been shot, too busy reeling and confused, much less can I tell where it came from. Opens my helmet, ruins my visual feed, fucks with my hearing; clears armor off a chunk, at the very least a deep bruise; cripples or takes off a limb. They never kill me outright, though, so it's only going to damage and hurt. A lot. If I move fast enough, can get my barricade up-- and I have to start that as soon as I hear the charge up, I can't wait 'til I've been hit--and they're gonna hit me while I'm doing it-- I can save my ass and Sunny can heal me up before I try to run. Odds are decent that they'll pop me again before I can escape or chase me out of cover and into their allies. Prefer they get me than allies."
"How visceral."
"What's that mean?"
"It means the way you're talking about it makes it easy to imagine."
"Oh. So, yeah, I hate those things. They take juuuuuust long enough to kill me to be particularly memorable, and they're some of the hardest to escape and kill back with any kind of plain reaction-- gotta aim, they usually have friends a lot closer, and just... Yeah."
"Are you ever frightened on the battlefield?"
"... Of what? Consequences of loss, sometimes? Stakes aren't always high, but they get that way."
"Does dying frequently affect your mood?"
"... I get pretty angry after a minute. I'm usually trying to get something done, some loot or clearing somewhere important to Vanguard or civilians, and having to start over or start and stop, any time I can't get a job done when I wanted to, I get. Uh. Mean. And angry."
"It's okay. By the time she's lashing out at me, she's throwing herself into death head first over and over and I can just listen to her scream without having to hit back."
"Oh-ho!"
"Did you just make her laugh?"
"Shh."
"Hmph! Are you concerned for the lives and physical well-being of your Guardian friends?"
"Yeah to an extent. Rise hates being shot. And she's better at helping me up than I am at helping her up, so it's better for her to live than me. It's generally best to keep as many alive and healthy as possible just for the backup."
"What would you say was the worst death you can recall?"
"Woof...."
"I think that one--"
"I'm fine. It bothers Sunny more than me, because of when it happened but I was weak and reloading and a pair of Taken Knights rushed me, screaming fire all over. My shields were hardly up in the first place so it sank in quick and took way too long to kill me. And my own fire made it worse, trying to save me."
"I take it this is the advent featuring the shell with whiskers?"
"Yep. Sank deep. Hurt. Worth it! It's perfect and there's at least ten shaders that fit her look and even more that just look good. You've seen the bouncing and bobbing, we should have named her Bunny. Only thing she really asked me for, and I got it."
"Hmph. Is this pride common in Guardians?"
"I dunno? Probably?"
"Do you feel fear at all?"
"Yeah, but I'm not sure why, half the time? And I have a phobia that you will hear nothing more about."
"I already snitched. She defended you."
"I'm still not talking about it."
"Truly?"
"I-- no. Nope. Nope, don't wanna, even if I could, and I can't 'cos my mouth is doing a thing."
"Ha!"
"I know, right? What's it gonna do, kill me?"
"The methane would have."
"True. But nope. Just can't and don't wanna. How about you?"
"..."
"Sorry. Nerves."
"Forgiven. Do I frighten you?"
"Uh... I think the word is intimidating? Imposing? You being in a room makes me want to be smaller."
"I will accept this. Do you fear pain?"
"I mean... Yeah? Certain kinds and levels, I guess, getting shot hurts a lot, but I hardly think about that anymore? It's... No. I don't. I should and I don't. I didn't wanna tell you that but Sunny just 'matted out of my pocket to drive her little eyeball into my visual, and I'm pretty sure that shell is strong enough to beat some dents in."
"Your Ghost intimidates you?"
"I have to live with her. Whole other kind of damage, trauma, and fear."
"She says as though she's not the one that lashes out inappropriately."
"You knock stuff over when you're grumpy, and push stuff off the fridge."
"Freija!"
"You snitched on my thing!"
"Sunny has a temper?"
"Caiatl!"
"I'm not gonna tell you it's worse than mine, but when I piss her off, she punishes me by talking over my head, refusing to help in combat. When we're all but in love, she'll put a requested gun in my hands, but when she's mad at me, she'll put it on the ground nearby. Steps away nearby."
"Can't believe this..."
"Gives me the silent treatment and vague visual cues. The first one that goes is coordinates-- she makes me punch in my own autopilot settings and coordinates. First clue, a thing she does when she's upset and my first chance to apologize, she has a nook on the fridge she runs to. I don't blame her, I am an absolute ass sometimes."
"sometimes!"
"Do Ghosts often "punish" their Guardians?"
"Rex is fuckin' mean. Sorry."
"You also know this Rex."
"Him and his Guardian live with us. Or I live with them. They make me feel bad, won't even be in the same room most of the time, but they're not the worst. I've heard about a hundred year silence, before. One that left hers down, that's probably the worst. I've heard a lot but I don't know how true any of them are. Comfortable guessing the Ghost is at least sometimes in the right."
"Hmph! Would Sunny leave you 'down'?"
"I won't say no, but I will say that if she ever does, I trust that judgement. Whatever I've done, whatever's gone wrong, it'll be for the best."
"Hmph! This is enough. I thank you for your time and honesty, Guardian."
"You're welcome...?"
"Freija...."
"It feels weird to say!"
"Try!"
"She's laughing again, relax."
"She's laughing because she thinks it's funny that I have to beg you to stop being a smartass at the leader of a multigalactic militaristic empire that blows up suns and has the technology to disrupt us!"
"I'm a kinderguardian with a popgun on a private comm channel septillion clicks away. I've also happened to be around for some really shitty days in the last couple years. She doesn't have to hold stature and I'm powerless. She likes that part, that's why she gets to ask all the questions she isn't allowed to ask Zavala no matter how friendly they get."
"That doesn't mean you can be rude!"
"It still feels weird to say!"
"I would allow something more natural if that is what the Guardian would prefer."
"Don't encourage her!"
"Now who's mouthing off the Empress of a multigalactic legion? No problem! Happy to help."
Hard Questions
New Angle
Honest
Radio Chat
Scripted Questions
Battlefield
Fear <-
Enlightening
More like Interrogation
(In)humanity
Underlying
Ghost Affection
@annieruok94 there's multiple again, I'm gonna do links.
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andsheoverthinks · 1 year
Text
on femcels and women's right to be horny (and have feelings in general)
i understand how being voluntarily celibate can be empowering especially for het women, but both men and women are in denial and believe women cannot be involuntarily celibate, even though the person who started the term was a woman named Alana. unfortunately now Alana's movement isn't about shy late bloomers, it's about stupid misogynist hateful serial killer rapist men. i hate that they took this term away from women.
why does everyone talk about Elliot Rodger but not Christine Chubbuck? why is a hateful misogynist serial killer tragic and overanalyzed and moralized and even worshipped while a sad, lonely woman who killed herself unimportant? in fact, many of the comments on a post about her suicide call her ugly or a horrible person, or worse, say they want to see the video, even asking where they can watch it. women's pain isn't real, it's just entertainment.
the way people talk about women's experience of romance and sexuality is very isolating for me. there's this belief that all women are swimming in dick and lusty DMs and men willing to drop everything for us and someone asked us to prom in high school and it's not true. i wish we could have more discussions about women who are late bloomers, women who are horny and unwanted and undesirable, women who are seen as below 'normal women' in a patriarchial society. if you aren't desirable, men may not see you as a sexual utility but they will still see you as free therapy, free to offload work on, and a resource to 'practice on' to learn to court and charm 'real women.' men ask for my number to pick my brain and drain me. to ask me to do their thinking and their work for them.
ugly women are invisible. sometimes this invisibility to men (and women) keeps me safe around them. sometimes it makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry because i've felt so inconsequential my whole life. like sometimes people see right through me.
i am not even that fucking ugly! i am black, and i'm flat chested with no ass, and my face is a little asymmetrical, and my top teeth need braces so i have a better bite, but i'm not even that fucking ugly! i dress nice, and i wear makeup (sorry radfems, i'm weaning myself off), and i smell nice! i'm not even that fucking ugly! i have reverse body dysmorphia or something. i look in the mirror when i've feeling like shit, and think wow, i'm actually kind of cute. would i get followers on social media? no. but i'm not even that fucking ugly.
it's deadly to your self-esteem to know that men would fuck anything and you're below anything. you are not just a woman, which is an object, you are a defective object. it's hard to talk about this because people see sexual exploitation as wrong, but don't care about emotional exploitation. when men aren't sexually active, it's a crisis and we have to talk about legalizing prostitution because women are resources not people, when women aren't sexually active, it doesn't matter because women don't have needs and feelings. especially as a black woman, i am expected to give give give. the only reason my body is not one of things i'm expected to give is because no one wants it. everything else? give give give. ever read the giving tree?
and everyone says well if it bothers u so much there has to be a guy willing to fuck you (use you as masturbation sleeve) somewhere in the world! after all u are warm body w pussy someone will come along to use u as blowup sex doll! go on tinder and sell ur body for $3.50 coffee! you want to have mutally enjoyable sex with someone who cares about you and maybe loves you and doesn't just see u as wet holes w legs? fuck you, uppity bitch! no wonder you're single!
u tried asking men out? they said no? well u must have went for 6 foot 9 figures 12 inch dick man? is that right? no? ofc you did, lying bitch!
no one would ever say this shit to a man. keep your head up bro! these hoes ain't loyal! lemme tell u what, take a shower and get a job and the bitches be flocking to u! i was just like u bro, then i met my hot wife! get ur passport and get out this country, these modern women are ran-through bitches, find urself a submissive traditional woman from (insert Slavic or Asian country).
the idea of femcels, especially dissatisfied femcels, makes terminally online men so so angry. because it suggests that women do have feelings and needs. and we shouldn't. femcels are transgressive. we're not supposed to exist. even funnier, it suggests that some of them whining and raving, have actually been turning down perfectly good women who don't fit their porn-informed standards.
if i say i want to have a romantic experience at least once before i die, i'll be told i'm just brainwashed or dick-struck (never seen one in real life) or some other kind of delusional. you don't really need it. you don't really want it. what is with the obsession of forcing women into self-denial? nothing tastes as good as skinny feels! stop fantasizing about getting to have a sloppy makeout session, you don't really want it. of course women are better than men at reducing their carbon footprint, we're used to limiting our consumption.
but it's not true, i fucked myself up already believing i didn't deserve to experience desire and have a sexuality because i was too ugly and you're not pushing me back there again. being horny is my right, i'm human too.
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blorbologist · 1 year
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😭😭😭 please i need angst
I like the idea of one of the older de Rolo siblings (Julius or Vesper) not having been present for the masacre. Maybe attending to business in town, or courting a prospective spouse. And then they come home, try to save their little siblings, and get caught. Julius and Vesper, being the heir and spare, are likely well-trained in statecraft and politics, and thus way too big a risk to leave alive (unlike, say, Percy or Cass). So they get axed - up to you if Cass and/or Percy get to see them alive before they go. The ideal candidate for this would be Vesper, given we don’t see her in TLOVM in Percy’s nightmares, yet he notes that she’s dead in his monologue to Delilah, and in canon Tal says she was thrown from a tower - suitable example for the heir who came back to try and save the day.
Inspired by a recent vent with @rightpastnowhere: I think we, as a fandom, idealize the dead de Rolos. Partially because they usually only get written in the context of happy memories or fluffy AUs where they’re infinitely better than fucking Syldor (though that bar is admittedly low as hell). In reality? The kids were likely mostly raised by wetnurses, nannies and their tutors - Johanna was the Lady, fat chance she was breastfeeding much or dealing with diapers. Percy likely was closer to Anders than his father. Cass would have likely been married off for a political ploy. They were likely prejudiced to no small degree - all the happy AUs where Vex is arrange married to Percy, they’d likely look down their noses at her either due to her birth or the half-elven heritage or both (not to the extent of Syngorn, let’s be honest, so to her it would still be a breath of fresh air. But by no means perfect, there’d be microaggressions aplenty). Julius might have unacknowledged bastards running around Whitestone from his time in brothels (ask me about my angsty Julius bastard thoughts). I do think that the pre-Briarwoods were not exceptional nobles - not exceptionally cruel, but not above bias or pettyness or practicality either. However! I think most of that could have been eased with time and exposure. Cass and Percy have both had ample time among the lower class and with their noble past completely worthless, so they’ve had time to grow past this, but both of them likely were huge privileged pains in the ass pre-Briarwoods. But they have to either live with the fact their family would dislike most of their friends today, or cling to a version of them that never existed (worse: their reaction to the quarter-elves, to Gwen). Percy isn't sure which is worse - the choice comes easily for Cass.
Gnomes are long-lived - I’d like to think Scanlan’s father is still alive. Maybe he even comes a knocking, in the decades and decades to come, if he somehow figures out the famous Scanlan Shorthalt is the son of Juniper Shorthalt he knocked boots with. I… highly doubt his reaction would be pleasant lmao. Pike might chase him off with a mace. Scanlan would likely have a long tearful talk with Kaylie, after, because man… he gets it, now. He really fucking gets it and it sucks, and he just wants to hurt this fucker for the years he and his mother spent alone. (In a similar vein, again, gnomes live so long that I suspect they have a strong culture of family bonds - Wilhand lived to raise his great-great granddaughter and that does not seem too abnormal! Chetney is 400+, and given Scanlan likely had Kaylie into his 30s-50s and Pike had their kids in her 30s-40s, you could fit a whole lot of generations in a lifetime. With that said: Scanlan must be so, so bitter that Juniper can’t be around for the lives of his children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It’s unfair. And because she died when he was fairly young, he doesn’t have nearly as many stories of her to share as he’d like. Sometimes he’s tempted to make some up. He hates the impulse.)
Send me a 😭 for one of my saddest headcanons about a character
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a-pale-azure-moon · 10 months
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Random TotK Thoughts #3
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How am I supposed to save Hyrule when there's so many distractions? I'm only now starting another regional phenomenon (the Gorons) after activating all but one of the towers, doing all the Great Fairy sidequests and doing more of Penn's sidequests. I'm up to 56 shrines completed and over 100 Koroks found. It's impossible not to get sidetracked in this game and both I love it and hate it. xD
I also collected the next three Dragon Tears. (I consulted a spoiler free guide to make sure I got them in order, if you're curious.) And wow...I sure got my wish for a demonstration of Rauru's powers, and I was not disappointed.
-I've found a couple of those "Eventide" shrines and yikes are they a pain. Two of them weren't that bad, but the one I found where it was pitch darkness? A very bad time! Took me three tries. I can't wait to see how much worse they get. /s
-I much prefer how they handled the Great Fairies in this game. I didn't get to the 4th fairy in BotW until very, very late, since she was way in the desert and cost 10,000 Rupees. The sidequests were fun and they're easy to do even with minimal health and equipment.
-I want to explore the sky more, but it's too hard to get around between islands. I guess this is my enticement to go into the Depths so I can upgrade my batteries (which is a priority but again....too many distractions!)
-I resent that the game made me hold the idiot ball when "Zelda" was kidnapped, and then the disguised Yiga mocked me for falling for it. [eyeroll] Nintendo does love to troll players that way.
-Ditto for the "Zelda" we see with Yunobo. It's a little insulting how the game is trying to convince me she's turned evil when it's also shown me that she's thousands of years in the past. The present day Zelda is clearly an imposter, either another Yiga or something similar.
-I love how Memory 4 starts, giving us our first look at non-mummified Ganondorf looking menacingly at Hyrule and declaring that he will make it bow before him. His design is awesome, and I especially like how he contrasts with Link. Ganon's just huge, a tall and broad wall of muscle, and Link's a tiny little shortking. Who will soundly kick his ass.
-I also love how the generic soldiers and Zelda are (rightly) freaking out about a swarm of Molduga, and Rauru barely moves faster than a brisk walk as he approaches the ledge. And then he wordlessly fires off his Holy Hand Grenade and obliterates all the Molduga. You can tell even Ganondorf was impressed.
-I guess that scene also definitively answers my question about how Rauru's third eye works.
-Memory 5 was a nice callback to Ocarina of Time and I appreciated the homage. I was also deeply relieved that the writers didn't make Rauru suddenly hold the idiot ball and instead made this more of a "keep my enemies closer" situation. It comes across as mildly arrogant or naive at worst, but it doesn't make Rauru look outright foolish.
-I enjoyed Ganon's passive-aggressive "compliments" and how Rauru gave him an almost bored brush off.
-So the Zonai are already nearly extinct, with just Rauru and Mineru left? What happened to the rest of them? Did they really come from the sky originally? How long had they been living on the surface before Hyrule was founded? (The ruins in the present suggest a long time.) Where do their Secret Stones come from? I want to know all of these things!
-It was completely unsubtle how the camera lingered on the Secret Stones, particularly Sonia's. I'm sure that's not significant.
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-Memory 6 was so wholesome. Zelda was so cute with the way she gushed over Link, and Sonia and Rauru both sounded like amused parents teasing her about her very unsubtle crush.
-It's also a nice callback (call forward?) to what Rauru's ghost said to Link at the end of the tutorial.
-Finally got a clear shot of the cool Triforce tattoos on Sonia's wrists too. How does the Triforce fit into this continuity anyway? We know it exists because we saw it when Zelda used her powers in BotW, and there's Sonia's tattoos and the conspicuous triangle pattern on Rauru and Mineru's shawls (and the fringe on nearly everyone's clothes as well). It's so weird how neither of these games have mentioned such an iconic object in the Zelda mythos by name, and have only made vague visual allusions to it.
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