The first bloke Lily meets at the speed dating event is too cold and distant; the second one lacks enthusiasm; the third one doesn’t look like the type to take initiative.
The fourth bloke is when she stops counting.
Written for the @jilymicrofics 2024 Gift Exchange and gifted to @ohmygodshesinsane!
Using @jilytoberfest 2023 prompt 5: Speed dating chaos.
Read on AO3
Completed, 1.9k words.
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The return of General Obi-Wan Kenobi: an action choreography breakdown
The action choreography for Obi-Wan’s lightsaber scenes in the Obi-Wan Kenobi series episode 4 is SO GOOD. Every one of Obi-Wan’s movements had intentional narrative impact. Every. Movement.
He starts off by striking from the darkness, still rusty and lacking in confidence. He wields his lightsaber like a vibroblade, two-handed, heavy, overextended. It takes four strikes to bring each stormtrooper down.
They run together. In the corridor, the seeker droid starts firing blaster bolts. Obi-Wan instinctively takes up a shoulder-wide stance, lightsaber aloft by his right shoulder. Form IV: Ataru. The lightsaber form of his childhood, his apprenticeship.
He deflects a blaster bolt away from Leia. Then another. Stormtroopers flood in from behind him. He tries to deflect a bolt at the Stormtroopers, but it misses, because he’s out of practice. His body is catching up with his muscle memory. But he parries again, and again, and the next shot downs a trooper. He’s stumbling through Ataru stances like half forgotten memory but each step is smoother and more fluid and then the droid is down. The last trooper is still shooting and by then he can act on instinct - and now the trooper goes down in one hit.
Obi-Wan spins his lightsaber afterwards. He doesn’t know why he does it, it’s just years of instinct, written into his bones.
In the next corridor every single deflected bolt is another trooper down. But Obi-Wan and Leia are pinned on both sides, and he finally shifts his weight and moves into a rapid series of flowing movements, a deadly whirl of light. This is the lightsaber style of ultimate defense, the style that proved in the Clone Wars to be devastatingly effective against blaster crossfire: Form III, Soresu. This is the the style Obi-Wan used in his prime.
This is lightsaber style of General Obi-Wan Kenobi.
This is how you use an action scene to show narrative progression. Obi-Wan walked into the torture chamber as a rusty, determined hermit. Five minutes later, he stood in the corridor as General Obi-Wan Kenobi.
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Heart updates! Finally got the heart monitor off a week or so ago, which was great, because first set of adhesives were melting my fucking skin. The company were sweethearts and sent me new adhesives, which.. were fine for the first week, and then started doing the same, because adhesives are just fucking hell. Thankfully, it’s all healed over well, haha, and it was kind of worth it.
I am perpetually in a state of mild suspicion towards my own experiences, because - am I genuinely uncomfortable, or am I just easily bothered? Am I in pain, or am I just wallowing? But now I have ~*official results*~, and validation that my heart does not like filling up properly, that does hurt like hell, and the wiring is kind of fucked for reasons that I’m going to have to do more tests for. And the wiring is fucked in a way that does not, remarkably~!, resolve itself by “growing out of it” (at 30, somehow). Validation of the issue.. and validation that a lot of doctors are fucking assholesss.
Also, confirmation that I probably do nooot have any of the “you will drop dead” issues from this gene, so woo (knock on wood). It’s progressive, so I have to keep coming in for fucking ever, I guess, but like a lot of things, it’s just a case of monitoring, and slapping on some duct tape as soon as problems present. So that’s nice.
But: more tests! Once my insurance approves them, anyway, because they’re generally fairly great, but they’ve got a bee up their ass over wanting the tests done in a specific order. This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact my cardio wants it all done at a specific hospital, and the waitlist for that.. already has the most accessible test scheduled for the end of April. And it wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t decide they only wanted tests in a specific order twenty four hours before I went in for a test.
I was kind of banking on the idea I’d have all of these tests done by July, and either have a pacemaker or medication to knock out this issue, whichever fucking one, but. I refuse to be stressed over this, haha. It’ll get resolved, they’ll fix this up, and then I guess.. they’ll test me for POTS, because my view of that remains “this is irrelevant to the greater issue and idgaf”, but they really want to. So at this point, I will roll with what-the-fuck-ever they want if they can fix the overall issue, tbhhh.
In related news: my mother remains batshit, which I generally expect, but I am still a little mystified by. Cutting this section, because She Is A Lot.
She’s spent my entire life arguing that I do not have any cardiac problems! Several family members and myself remember that I went to a cardiologist as a kid, but it’s about 25/75 on if she’ll actually admit that, and her stories do not stay consistent. When I got the genetic test saying, hey, heart issue!, she was dismissive of it, and the past year or so has been her consistently trying to pick fights with people who mentioned it, arguing that everyone has heart issues and I should get over mine because it was getting very inconvenient, and occasionally inpromptu informing me that, actually, this is all caused by a lack of exercise, or some other spontaneous decision she pulled out of her ass. Or from not eating enough, because I have chronic pancreatitis.. but perhaps I don’t actually have that, and I’m just food-averse?
Ignore the hundreds of dollars of cooking supplies and huge chunks of time just fucking around and experimenting with recipes, I suppose.
It’s been whatever! I am long, long past the point where her opinions hold weight for me, beyond occasional fits of outrage. But once my sister got confirmed as having the same heart issue on a different scale, and once tests started coming in for me, she has switched tracks.. to saying that she has a heart issue, too, and it’s like mine, but with higher spikes! And she just never noticed it, because it just happens, and it’s really quite easy to ignore, but she guesses she’ll go to a cardiologist, just to see --
We inherited the problem gene from her, and her entire family does have severe heart issues - and she herself has aneurysm issues - but I’m unimpressed. Between that and her flipflopping from “you don’t have allergies!” to “well, if you have allergies, then I probably have allergies, so I should ALSO start telling people I should avoid your allergens (of the food that I do not like, do not eat, and do not have any desire to eat)” this year, I’m just lifting my hands from that entire topic. When she brings it up, I’ve been just telling her to go talk to her doctor, get tests, and then disengaging from the topic, because.. man, haha. There’s a lot going on there, and I do not have the psychiatric degree nor the inclination to really dig into this beyond the side-long “huh, these problems really are only relevant when they can impact her, huh?”.
My dad is a little better, at least! He had a panic attack when I told him about all of this, haha, which was.. something, but now he’s taken up just consistently texting me reminders on everything. Have I eaten recently? Have I gotten electrolytes? I should go drink some Gatoraid. Have I taken my meds? GO TAKE MY MEDS. Remember if I’m going out to drink some electrolytes!
He’s kind of a pain in a different sort of way about all of this health shit, but I do appreciate the fact I don’t have to really second-guess him much - when he’s being an asshole, it’s pretty on the nose. And he’s being genuinely helpful, because I do forget shit a lot on bad days, so. #okay!
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you were so sick and tired of being pregnant. you were always so hot, tired, sore.
your due date was three days ago. you were moping and miserable. your ob didn’t want to induce for whatever fucking reason. you begged her to tell you what you could do to get this fucking baby out of you already.
her suggestion took really surprised you.
simon made sure to always be at all of your appointments, even if you assured him that some of them were complete wastes of time.
you were just so, so glad he couldn’t make it to this one because your ob had essentially suggested you go home and get boned.
you never had to expressly ask simon to fuck you. never. he just knew or he was the one to initiate it.
your face was already red as you walked into your apartment. simon was in the kitchen starting dinner (bless him).
“thought i’d make something spicy. get things moving along, you know.”
you would’ve smiled at the thought of him researching foods that induced labor if you weren’t so worked up.
you set your keys and purse down.
“how was the appointment, love? sorry i couldn’t make it this go ‘round.”
again, your heart melted at how soft of a person simon managed to become.
“um, actually, simon—”
he halted immediately, rounding the kitchen island to place a hand on your stomach.
“what? is everything okay?”
god you can do this. deep breath.
“my ob said that, to help the baby, we should uhm. y’know.”
your gaze subconsciously drifted down towards the bulge in his pants that was there even though he was soft.
you looked back up at him and could see that it hadn’t clicked. you sighed again.
“she said if we fuck the baby might come sooner.”
it was simon’s turn to nearly choke. he nodded, slightly shocked by your bluntness. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing you squirm as you forced yourself to blurt it out.
“okay,” he said decidedly. easy peasy. “if she suggested it, that means it’s safe, right?”
you nodded.
and that was that. he had you naked and rolling your hips on top of him within ten minutes. he helped you grind on his length just right, not worried about his pleasure at all.
your cheeks were all rosy and one of simon’s hands stayed firmly planted on your soft bump.
he made damn sure you came at least three times around him.
“that’s it, mama, such a good girl for me. you’re gonna have my baby, yeah? want me to get you pregnant all over again?”
you felt so loose and warm as he corralled you into the shower, making sure you were nice and clean before he wrapped you in your fuzzy robe and plopped you on the couch.
“curry will be done soon. hope you’re hungry.”
you went into labor the next morning.
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