#everything is good and nothing hurts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heavenlymorals · 2 years

Text

Norðrljós

The Ragnarssons spend time with each other, marveling and bonding over the beauty of the sky, for everything is good.

Thank you so much @bragisrunes for allowing me to take inspiration from one of your headcanons. Your galaxy brain is just too powerful ❤❤

"I see a…a knife!"

Ubbe turned his head slightly to the side to see his youngest brother Ivar point at the ink-stained sky streaked with wisps of clouds and an intense sprinkling of stars. He returned his head to face the heavens, with the back of his neck resting comfortably on his overlapping palms. He craned his neck upwards a bit to try to find the celestial weapon that Ivar created with his colorful imagination.

"Where?" Ubbe inquired, trying his best to create a pattern with the stars that matched Ivar's constellation.

Ivar tutted a bit and began pointing again, going slowly in angular directions to paint a picture of the blade. "See? It's there. The big star starts the pommel. And there's the crossguard. And those two pairs of stars that are parallel to each other and then come together at that bigger star is the blade."

Ubbe squinted his eyes a bit and tried following Ivar's trailing finger. After a bit, he made up the shape and smiled. "I see it. How about you guys, do you see it?" Ubbe turned to his opposite side and was faced with Hvitserk removing his forearm from his eyes to find the star. Hvitserk's lying body occulted Sigurd's, but Ubbe was able to make out some movement as Sigurd wiggled on his back to find the knife.

"It looks more like an erect penis…" Bjorn's lazy voice wrang out, cutting through the tranquil air, disturbing the ambiance of the excited chirping of the crickets and the hushed hooting of the owls. Their eldest brother wasn't lying on the harbor's bank like the rest of them. Instead, he was resting upon the trunk of a tree, his hands holding, coincidently, a knife. He was busy shaping a hunk of wood into a spearhead so they could go fishing the next day. Ubbe felt his thin lips crack into an open smile, Hvitserk snorted and Sigurd chuckled before propping his body of his elbow to have a full gaze on his younger brother, an amused grin plastered on his lips.

Ivar scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Where-I-honestly, how do you see a penis? Please, big brother of mine, explain your thought process, you dog."

Bjorn shrugged, putting down the crude spearhead and started connecting stars with his pointed finger. He connected a few other stars with the crossguard to make it more plump, so they now looked like two balls. He ignored the grip and the pommel entirely. The silver light spilling from the moon lit up Ivar's fate and it was obvious that there was a flush of red painting his boyish features. A quaint little mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

"Do you not see the pommel and the grip? And those other stars that you connected were not even a part of my constellation!" Ivar sputtered, jabbing his finger intensely in the air to redraw the path of the stars to extinguish Bjorn's crude mind.

"I still see a penis." Obviously, to no avail.

Ivar rolled his eyes and tried to show Bjorn his point of view once more. What a stubborn boy. His attempts were interrupted by the gleeful voice of Sigurd.

"Mm, I have to agree with Bjorn, Ivar. Your 'crossguard' looks more like a pair of testicles. Come on, Ivar, you're old enough to know what the male anatomy looks like when it's hard. Or is Mother just far too protective of her precious baby's innocent little mind-" Sigurd was promptly cut off by a small stone hitting him flat against the forehead. He yelped, surprised, as he then rubbed the spot where the rock assaulted him. No one could say that Ivar's marksmanship was nothing short of legendary.

"Shut up, Sigurd-"

"Sigurd, Ivar, please. We came out here to relax. When we go back to the longhouse, you can both squabble to your heart's content. As of now though? Stop being children." Ubbe growled. He was tired after a long day of hunting and working at the outskirts of Kattegat before coming to the bank of the harbor with his brothers. Hunting, skinning animals, and tanning leathers from sunrise to sunset left him feeling unbelievably exhausted. It was an ache that made its home in his bones and the soreness left him longing for a night of peaceful tranquility, which was going quite well in his humble opinion, until now.

Fortunately though, the two of them huffed simultaneously before collapsing back onto the ground and staring back at the sky. Ubbe wanted nothing more than to see his two youngest brothers get along with each other. Of course, it wasn't as if they were like hostile cats with each other all the time. In fact, sometimes, rarely, once in a blue moon, they even got along with one another. But again, it was rare. Ubbe, perhaps being far too idealistic, wondered why he and Hviterk were able to get along so well with each other while Sigurd and Ivar were like fire and water. He wished that they would be their own pair of support and friendship, much like he and Hvitserk were, but alas, that was simply not the case. Of course, he could pinpoint some reasons as to why, but to him, the main reason why they couldn't get along was because they were both stubborn bastards with skulls thicker than that of a smith's whetstone.

Hvitserk cleared his throat and tried to revert the topic back to the original subject. Daggers drawn from stars. "I wonder which of the gods dropped the knife…"

Ubbe turned his head slightly to the side and saw a small ghost of a smile on Ivar's face. He seemed satisfied knowing that his imagined constellation still held some legitimacy instead of being completely degraded to a starry cock.

"Maybe Heimdallr dropped it while he was guarding the Bifrost?" Ubbe suggested, bouncing off of Hvitserk's words. They always worked well together, and it was obvious to the both of them that they were trying to guide the conversation to more…peaceful? Respectable topics? Topics that didn't lead to unreasonable and frankly ridiculous tensions about anatomical constellations in this quaint night.

"Doesn't Heimdallr wield a sword, though? What's it called again?" Sigurd wondered out loud. Bjorn opted to help out.

"Hmm, I think it's called either Hofund or Lævateinn. Ivar, you probably know more about the gods than all of us combined because of how much you spend time with Floki, which one is it?"

"It's Hofund. Lævateinn is Loki's sword." Ivar said.

"It might've been a dart or a wand. It's probably a dart. We all know how much that bastard loves his darts…"

Ubbe felt amused at the sardonic tone in which Sigurd spoke about the mischievous Jotunn. Everyone, every year, deep down inside in the faint crevices of their very being were somewhat anxious of Ragnarok. Anxious that they may be alive when Fimbulwinter comes, that they may be alive when Skoll and Hati devour Sol and Mani, and that they may be alive when all depravity is let loose on the All-Father's creations for the bright one, precious Bauldr, is now dead because of the vile envy of Loki. No one wanted to face such horrors as long as they were alive and it was sometimes disheartening knowing it is a fate bound to happen at some point.

"Alright, it's Hofund. That doesn't mean Heimdallr might've not carried a knife." Ubbe pointed out and all four of them seemed to agree with his logic for they didn't have anything to object.

A few seconds pass in silence until Hvitserk points out his own constellation.

"I see a boar."

"Where?" Sigurd's voice was quiet and calm, a quaint little tone that paired wonderfully with the swift, yet still gentle breeze that filtered through the branches of the gnarly trees that lined the forest behind the bank. It was pleasant on Ubbe's skin, though Ivar beside him seemed to shiver in on himself. He was always more prone to the cold than the rest of them. When they were younger, Ivar had no qualms about crawling into either his or Hvitserk's beds and demanding their warmth. Ubbe was fairly certain that if Sigurd and Bjorn weren't here, he might've nestled himself between their arms to leech the warmth from either Ubbe's or Hvitserk's bodies, or both as he was between them (it was Ubbe's verdict that he and Hvitserk always lie down between Ivar and Sigurd during moments like these to prevent any unnecessary squabbles). Obviously, his pride wouldn't let him here, so Ubbe shifted a bit to pull out one of the furs from the pile underneath him and handed it over to Ivar to cover himself. Thankfully, because of the darkness, no one noticed their little exchange except themselves.

"He's rrrriiiiiggggghhhhhttttttt…there." Hvitserk connected the stars with his fingers and clicked them in triumph when he finished the constellation. Ubbe tilted his head slightly to see his brother's creation. He could definitely see the thought process behind it but it looked a bit more…abstract in its anatomy. It was very stretched out.

"It looks like someone went overboard with stretching it out and tying it on a spit." Ivar muttered, pulling the fur closer to his chin. Ubbe found himself to very much agree with that statement.

"You can make a spit with those four stars in front of the head and at the back of the legs. See? Now it looks like it's tied onto it." Sigurd suggested, and Ubbe had to agree. Now the strange position that the constellation was in originally had some sort of context. Hvitserk hummed in agreement before sighing.

"Say, when was the last time we had a spit going?" Hvitserk pondered, his elbow on his furs as his raised hand absentmindedly kept tracing over the hampered boar. His hand then went down and rested on the lower parts of his stomach.

"I think when King Harald last visited. You know mother. She always wants the best for her guests," Ubbe suggested. The last time Harald arrived, he and Aslaug were able to conduct valuable trade networks and negotiations with each other. They also reignited the alliance that Harald had with Ragnar, though in more domestic terms such as taxes and land corollaries. A rumor amongst the thralls was that on that day, Harald supposedly proposed to Aslaug, but was denied on the basis that he was far too…imposing. Of course, it was only a rumor, so Ubbe didn't really find it important to have a forsure answer for whether it did or didn't happen. And even if it did happen, Harald wanted nothing more than a child to be his heir and Aslaug had more than enough of her fair share of children.

"And what's better than a pig on a spit. Gods, we should invite someone over just to have an excuse to get the spit going," Hvitserk mused, and just from his tone, Ubbe knew that his brother was thinking of the savory meat dripping in fat and adorned with a wonderful golden-brown skin laced with char. He could've sworn he heard a rumble from his stomach.

"I mean, it's not like we're at the great hall. We're at the cabin, we can do as we please. We can set a spit here tomorrow-," Sigurd suggested but was then promptly cut off by the annoyed tuts of Bjorn.

"Absolutely not. I spent too much time creating these fishing spears. Thanks, by the way, you lazy bastards for not making your own."

Obviously, he couldn't tell since his eyes were plastered on the celestial tapestry that hung proudly in the sky, but he was fairly certain that Ivar was giving Bjorn his rather legendary eyeroll.

"First of all, you were the one who offered to make them for us since you burned our food on cooking duty. And second, can't we just use the spears to hunt…a…boar?" Ivar purposely spaced out the last three words as if he was speaking to a complete and utter dunce who had the mental capability of a rotting piece of driftwood. It made Ubbe slightly cringe. He could never imagine himself speaking to Bjorn with such disrespect. He was the oldest of them all and was the most experienced. Then again, Ivar never much cared for Bjorn's authority, so he had no problem giving Bjorn lip.

"I didn't burn it, I just gave it a light char-"

Hvitserk cut him off, always so ready to give his opinion when it came to the basis of food. "No, you burnt it. It was atrocious."

"Alright, fine, whatever, maybe I did burn it," Bjorn quickly acknowledged and brushed off, "and we could hunt boars, sure. However, I don't feel like chasing around a homicidal pig with nothing but a crudely made spear. And besides, we left our bows back in the Great Hall, because this was originally supposed to be a fishing trip." Bjorn replied, completely unfazed by Ivar's haughtiness. In fact, he seemed rather bored. Ivar huffed, but did not say anything for Bjorn was right. Ivar never liked it much when Bjorn was right because it would force the idea that perhaps Ivar wasn't this omniscient all-knowing being that drank from the well of Mimir and now knew everything there was to know about absolutely anything.

"Well, speaking of fish, I see one. It's right under the boar." Sigurd remarked and sure enough, there was a fish under the boar. Sigurd was far more refined than the rest of them so he didn't really need to point it out, as it was quite obvious. Three stars came down in a gentle slope that then connected to five more stars that created a head with an open mouth. The lower jaw of the mouth then connected to a slope inverted to the other one that then came to connect to a rather enlarged tail that connected the back and the belly of the fish. The cosmic creature had its peculiar tail raised upwards as if it was forced out of water and was now flopping around with the carnal and instinctual will to get back into its aquatic sanctuary.

"I'd like to slap you with a fish…" Ivar yawned, trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. Sigurd scoffed and heaved his upper body upwards to lean over Hvitserk and flick his thumb and index finger on Ivar's forehead. Ivar yelped rather dramatically and batted away Sigurd's hand. Probably payback for Ivar throwing that pebble at him earlier. Ubbe felt his body tense a bit and he mentally prepared himself to intervene in another possible squabble between those two. Gods know they had a history of resorting to physical violence with each other for lesser and more stupider things.

Thankfully, they didn't. Ubbe wasn't sure if the credit of that miracle was derived exclusively from the calming aura of the caliginous sky, decorated with wisps of silver clouds and the scattering of twinkling, or just their general fatigue, but he was just grateful nonetheless.

"Is that a threat, Ivar?" Sigurd snarked, and Ubbe was sure that there was a smug grin on his face. Ivar scoffed. "It is now. Just wait till tomorrow, my brother."

"I'd be careful, Sigurd. Now you know he won't just slap you with a fish." Hvitserk mused, elbowing Sigurd on his side a couple times. Sigurd pushed away Hvitserk's elbow and quickly waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

"He can try."

"Oh, now you are truly doomed." Ubbe chuckled, looking over to Ivar to try to read his expression. The moon now revealed itself from the occulting of clouds, all perfect and round. It was a full moon tonight and the spilt silver luminescence shone brilliantly on all their faces, allowing Ubbe to see the smug, upturned lips of his youngest brother. He'll pray for Sigurd's well-being. The older he got, the more intense his retaliations and pranks got.

A wave of comfortable silence followed afterwards and all five of them were not in any real hurry to break it. What accompanied the blissful silence was the minstrels of nature.

The rustling of leaves as wind sifted through gnarly branches, the soft splashes in the water as fish jerked around and small ripples hit the sandy banks, the melodic tripping of crickets, the occasional wise hoot of an owl, the ringing howling of the wolves, and their deep breathing, reminding them subconsciously that they were all together on this strip of nature that became an almost second home to them when they all wanted to leave Kattegat.

Kattegat was a beautiful kingdom in its own right, but to Ubbe, the undisturbed sanctuaries of Ymir's mummified body was far more magical and alluring than that bustling trading pub could ever be. And to share it with his brothers was an honor and a privilege that he held near and dear to his romantic heart.

It was almost as if the sweet Bauldr with all his gifts of clairvoyance heard his thoughts and granted him a boon. The sky, a blanket of deep blues that faded into lighter shades as the purple-hued mountains silhouetted against its endless domain, became infiltrated with another celestial phenomenon that was more queer and more alluring and awesome than all the stars and the moon and the sun combined.

New light, all gleaming and boasting a wonderful pallet of curious greens, charming teals, electrifying blues, and soft delicate purples, rippled across the tapestry of darkness like when a pond was disturbed by the touch of a finger. The light twisted like resplendent snakes, slow and calm, a true show to the curious eyes.

The green light seemed to overpower the other colors, and after a while, they shined so brightly that the darkness of the sky was illuminated to the degree where it looked like a faux sun was rising up from the cover of the snow-tipped mountains. The luminance, expectedly, made the stars fade into obscurity as they no longer held the sovereignty of the sky. How could they?

How could the sparks of the fire of Muspelheim ever compete with the artistry of Bauldr? When the god of light and beauty decided to experiment with his domain and create such marvels that could leave even the most cultured man speechless and gobsmacked?

Funny enough, everything around them seemed to be blanketed with silence. The beauty of the Northern Lights was so intense that it seemed not only the Ragnarssons but the entirety of the nature around them plunged into noiseless tranquility. There seemed to be no more wind rustling leaves, no crickets chirping, no howling wolves, no water slapping against the bank. Nothing, just pure silence. Even the scraping of metal on wood from Bjorn's labor ceased as he was just as allured by the lights as the rest of them.

Ubbe was sure that because of the silence, he could hear the voice of the lights. A soft rustling accompanied by crackling, whizzing, and buzzing. A more ethereal version perhaps of the popping of wood and leaves when flames lick their surface in a campfire. Either way, the voice of the lights soothed his ears, as how the glow of them soothed his eyes.

He managed to break out of the lights' trance for a few seconds, turned his head to the side, and then heaved his body upwards on his elbow to look at the faces of his brothers. Ivar was the closest to him and his face was contorted with childish awe, with his rosy lips slightly parted and his eyes, stained with that sinister blue ink, seemed to positively glow. Hvitserk bore a similar look on his face, as did Sigurd and Bjorn.

How could they not?

The knife, the boar, the fish, and any other constellation that they might've conjured became irrelevant in comparison to the grandeur of the lights.

They said nothing to each other, but it was clear to Ubbe that all of them were just as hypnotized as he was by the lights.

Like they came, they disappeared. Like they disappeared, the stars reappeared and they continued making and sharing constellations in the sky.

They could never hold a candle to the lights though.

#vikings #vikings fanfic #fanfic #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #bjorn ironside #sigurd snake in the eye #theyre just vibing and i love that for them #everything is good and nothing hurts

13 notes · View notes

qiinamii · 7 months

Text

crown swap

#i wasn't sure to wait until i have another set of art otw of this role swap au but i figured eh it'd be a good start than anything lol #i don't have many thoughts (a lie) but love the concept everything's the same except they switched places and it definitely hurts more #to figure how they react in the same scene but as their own person in the other's shoes #i'd think when it comes to magic simon... if betty's flaw came from obsession; then he would be on excruciating guilt #she gave it all up for him and he did nothing but let it happen; do what you will with the rest #betty mad simon sad; true encapsulation of how magic ruins you #qiiarts #betty grof #simon petrikov #petrigrof #adventure time #fionna and cake #prismo the wishmaster #finn mertens #fionna campbell #tiniest cameos lol

4K notes · View notes

moeblob · 2 months

Text

I am really tired of a situation rn.

#fe three houses #felix hugo fraldarius #me using felix on my angy days because he is my angersona? you bet!#anyway if you want to try to get someones money or something bc you hurt your own car banging into mine #can you try to be a bit more timely with it buddy come on you hit me on feb29 !#why am i getting your insurance company calling me today !#also i would like to point out i didnt do it and neither of us were hurt and i filed a claim with my own insurance comp #and also filed a police report bc he didnt even suggest calling the cops to the scene #so like yeah hey man maybe you and your insurance company can move a lil faster or smth #literally everything that happened the day of is - according to my dad - an intimidation tactic #i look like im 15 and he probably thinks he can take advantage of a new driver but ya know! tough luck!#im just really tired and stressed over multiple things not negative so getting this on top of it was like #bro .................... anyway my phone didnt pick up for some reason so i called back and then nothing got resolved #cause the person who actually called me wasnt around to connect the line to from the guy who answered #idk man just its a lot despite my v minimal energy #got a job interview on monday tho ! and then also next week is an eye exam #and you might be thinking isnt that a good thing to get your eyes checked? you are correct but i am horrified #there are two body parts that give me absolute anxiety and eyes are one of them #and i know my eye sight is declining and im just v anxious #its fine im going to be fine i just have to be anxious about it

87 notes · View notes

taibhsearachd · 2 months

Text

Hey, for real? Can we stop using "biting" to describe what Wilbur did to Shelby? Because I think "assault" is a much better word. She explicitly revoked her consent, and then he hurt her more. Wilbur assaulted Shelby.

The problem isn't the biting. That's a neutral action that can be loving, can be gentle, can be consented to.

He fucking assaulted her. There are memes about it because it apparently seems childish and funny, and it's not. She asked to stop being hurt and he did not stop.

#wilbur soot #shelby grace #shubble #on the other hand... I've seen a lot of 'every time a man hurts a woman god pushes his hairline back'#just making fun of a part of wilbur's body that he is clearly uncomfortable with #...maybe associating neutral physical traits with bad actions is not a good thing #actually get fucked if you do that #his hairline is fine and there's nothing wrong with being bald #as an afab person whose hair is thinning from a medical issue and is planning to shave everything off #it's weird that you are even making this a thing #sorry to say morality does not live in the hair follicles

117 notes · View notes

3amsnek · 2 years

Text

a very merry birth to our most logical boy :]

click for better quality

reblogs >> likes!! don’t like if you don’t reblog!

#logan sanders #sanders sides logan #ts logan #ts fanart #ts art #ts logic #sanders sides fanart #logan sanders fanart #sanders sides #thomas sanders #literally Howmst the Fuck did I get this done holy shit #almost there kids!! we’ve technically done all of them but I’m gonna try to do em all in a Calendar year as well just because. I am.#apparently a masochist why the hell am I doing this again #context: one year ago today I realized it was Logan’s bday panic hed posted a random coincidentally finished thing of him I had on hand #and then vowed to draw a finished piece for Every T.s Character Birthday for the next year. absolute lunacy but here we still are #continuing for the sake of Spite if nothing else #i make. good choices #hypothetically it’s really not that bad it’s like less than 10 I think over a full year #and obviously tons of people Do do this every year #but of course in the interim i have been diagnosed with ‘oh yeah basically everything’s just gonna Hurt Forever sucks for u man’ disorder so #getting less and less realistic to set. kind of Any art goal anymore :’/#and like yes yes this is also the year i decided to do pride dragons for every identity celebration day I could find #very aware #one Certified Fool right here

536 notes · View notes

mxsticmess · 1 month

Text

se saeran is such a comfort character to me esp in fanfics where his daily struggles r shown like!! yes i feel bad and mentally ill and like everything’s falling apart but this guy went through some shit and got through it and i think he’s pretty cool

#idk how to put into words what i mean without projecting or venting a bunch but.#idk in some of my favorite fics he’s witty and sarcastic and caring deep down but just doesn’t know how to show it. but there’s days where #he still breaks down and shuts everything out and hurts himself but he still gets taken care of because he’s not a burden to saeyoung #and yeah idk he’s a good character #this is a lot of words to say nothing sorry #mysme #mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran #mysme saeran

36 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 1 year

Text

wherein anakin leaves the order

for @kana7o who requested anakin leaving the order when he’s 14 or so and obi-wan leaving with him which catches anakin completely by surprise.

(2.7k)

It’s the balino pasta that does it.

Sort of.

Well, okay, it’s a lot of things if Anakin is being honest.

But it’s the balino pasta that really, actually, finally does it.

Anakin stares down at the bowl in front of him, feeling the excitement curdling in his chest as Briyel digs her fork into a red noodle and raises it to her mouth with alacrity.

“Oh stars,” Vun says from beside him, breaking a chunk of bread and dipping it into the still-bubbling yellow sauce. “Oh stars, thank the Force Master Renwal let us go early for lunch.”

“They put souan bird in it!” Lana reports, sounding so kriffing excited.

“Oh that’s bantha shit then,” Rangok says, pushing the bowl away. “Souan’s the worst.”

Anakin can’t tear his eyes away from the pasta in his bowl the same way he can’t escape the sinking feeling in his gut, the one that tells him what he already knows:

He doesn’t belong here.

Just from the smell, he can tell it’s bland, that even though the colors in his bowl are reminiscent of fire, it will taste like nothing when it slides down his throat.

“Chin up, Skywalker,” Briyel nudges at him underneath the table with her fin. “I thought you liked Souan bird.”

“I do,” Anakin says and forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah definitely.”

He reaches for the excitement that he’d felt two hours ago when the first whispers of the lunch menu circulated through his age mates. Balino pasta.

He hadn’t known what it was, but he’s gotten very good at pretending he does with this sort of thing. He’s found it’s much easier to fake excitement than it is to face his peers’ incredulity when they remember again and again that he is different from the rest of them, raised speaking a different language, on a different planet, with a different understanding of—of everything.

Even something as simple as food.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Anakin nods and tries to make it look happy, spearing a noodle on his fork and lifting it to his mouth. “Oh, wow,” he says. “That’s wizard.”

“Oh, what?” Vun looks up from his fourth forkful. “Wait, do you actually like balino pasta?”

Anakin freezes mid-chew. The question feels like a trap, but he can’t understand how. They’re all eating it, they were all so excited about it. Surely that means they like it. And surely that means that Anakin should as well.

“Yeah,” he swallows. Frankly, he thinks, the ration bars he ate with his master while they took cover under a shipwreck tasted better than this. Kark, if Anakin’s being honest, the bugs he’d eaten roasted over the smallest fire imaginable on Tatooine tasted better than this.

But just a few months ago, he’d overheard his master talking with Master Vos in their quarters. Anakin was meant to be asleep, but he’d been so thirsty, still recovering from a sickness that had left him bedridden for two weeks. He’d just needed water, but then his master had been talking to Vos and it had taken Anakin all of two seconds to realize he was talking about him.

So of course he’d stayed. Of course he’d crouched in the shadows of the hallway leading to the living area and listened to his master’s words.

“It is like he does not want to be accepted by his age mates,” Obi-Wan had muttered, and Anakin could see the way he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Like he does not care nor desire the community they can bring him. That the Jedi can bring him.”

“From where I’m sitting, he wants to be accepted by you,” Quinlan Vos had replied, and Anakin had felt mortification deep down to his bones. “Maybe he doesn’t need agemates if he has you.”

“He won’t always have me,” Obi-Wan had said. “Not to mention that that way of thinking leads to dangerous attachment. He needs—kriff, Quinlan, I want him to feel as if he belongs here at the Temple, but he—he never wants to attend activities with his agemates, he never wakes in time for morning meditation, he hid the fact that he was sick until he almost collapsed in Mid Rim Contextual Histories class! I don’t know if—if he truly does not need the connection with his peers or if he doesn’t want to try or if he still does not trust the Jedi enough to seek his agemates out, but—” his master had cut himself off with a frustrated groan and gone quiet.

His friend hadn’t. “Obi-Wan, you’ve been given a difficult task, one that’s not been done in living memory for very good reason. Your padawan’s rough adjustment to Temple life is not a reflection of you as a master, nor of how much you care for the boy.”

“How could it not be?” Anakin’s master had said, and Anakin had gone back to his bed with a dry throat and a pit in his stomach which solidified into a resolution overnight: he would try. For that wavering note of dismay in his master’s voice, he would try harder than ever before to belong here in the Temple.

But then—but now—-

“I’ve never met someone who likes the balino pasta,” Vun says.

Anakin looks to Briyel, because nothing makes sense, but she’s smiling slightly too.

“But then—” he stutters out, setting down his fork in his still full bowl of food. “I don’t—”

Lana takes pity on him. “Everyone in the entire Temple thinks balino pasta is disgusting,” she tells him after she swallows her mouthful. “And so the cooks always give us the best dessert after to make up for it. Balino pasta means Bavaugan cream puffs, and if you eat really fast, Chef Faj gives you extra cream puffs.”

“Since you like the pasta so much, can I have your cream puffs?” Rangok asks, and Anakin’s chest feels tight, like all the pasta he’s just forced himself to swallow has gummed up his lungs.

He stands and walks out of the refectory without another word.

—----------

So it’s a lot of things, but it’s the balino pasta that really does it, really makes him understand that he can learn the rules and he can play nice as anything, he can join the outings his agemates schedule and he can stay silent during morning meditation, but he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know how to, will never be able to learn every hidden rule and tacit understanding that binds the Jedi together.

He can recite the Code in four different languages, but he’ll never know about the balino pastas of the Jedi Temple, the silent rituals that bind all Jedi together.

And he can’t think of one reason why he should keep trying.

—------------

Anakin wouldn’t say he’s an expert at leaving homes behind, but he’s done it once already, so he understands the basics.

He understands that it’s important to go fast and to not look back. He has a bit of credits, a lot more than any fourteen year old should have. He has a bit of credits and a loose plan. He’s going to leave the Jedi Order one night, and he’s not going to come back. He won all the credits he has by podracing in the lower levels, so he’ll go there first, bet on himself under a fake name, and collect his winnings. Then he’ll get off of Coruscant for good.

Out of necessity, he waits one week between the day balino pasta was served in the refectory and the night he leaves. He tells himself it’s because of the podracing schedule, but he knows it’s not.

His master is gone. He’d been sent on a solo mission a few weeks ago, and Anakin wants to say goodbye to him. He doesn’t want to just leave.

But Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found, even when Anakin thinks he should be back, and Anakin can feel the resolve in his stomach wavering.

More importantly, he can feel his disquiet slowly harden into resentment—of his agemates, of the Order, of his master.

He doesn’t want to hate anything, especially not the Jedi. Especially not his master.

So when the night of his self-imposed departure rolls around, Anakin walks to his master’s room. It’s empty still, the bed carefully made and every surface clean and devoid of personality.

He leaves his padawan braid on the blanket. His master should have that at least. It’s always been his more than it’s been Anakin’s.

It’s incredibly difficult not to linger as he walks through their quarters. He spent five years of his life here. There, the third caf table that Master had had to request because Anakin had destroyed the first two. The kitchen where Master had taught him how to make an omelet.

It doesn’t get any easier as he moves through the Jedi Temple, quiet as a mouse-droid and leaving half-hearted goodbyes in his wake even as he tries not to linger.

He knows what he should do because this is not his first time leaving a home.

But he doesn’t think he can do it, leave and not look back. He isn’t sure he has it in him.

It tears at his heart, standing in the hangar bay, hugging the shadows of the room as he waits for the last worker to leave.

He wonders when his bond with his master will fade, when his master will get another padawan. He thinks about some strange boy sleeping in his bed, and his heart falters. Maybe he can try harder. Maybe there’s still time to turn back, run back to their quarters, and unpack his bag.

He can explain away the shorn padawan braid as a training accident, he can—he can stuff this hurt deep down into his chest and try to be the padawan his master deserves. The Jedi Order can be his family, they can, he can just—he just has to pretend a little more and then he—

A hand, rough and familiar, falls onto his shoulder and it’s only when Anakin raises his head to blink tear-filled eyes at his master that he realizes he’s sunk down against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as his mind tears into his heart.

“Hello there,” his master murmurs, kneeling in front of him. “What are you doing on the floor, padawan?”

Anakin promptly bursts into tears.

When his master sucks in a startled breath and guides him into his chest, Anakin feels rotten. He’s leaving but his master is still being so nice to him. And in a few years—a few months—his master will find a new padawan, and he won’t be his master anymore and this is what Anakin wants because he doesn’t belong at the Temple, this is what he needs.

But it hurts. It hurts so much.

“Hush, padawan,” his master murmurs, and Anakin buries his face in the tunic of Obi-Wan’s robe.

“Not your padawan,” he mumbles, gripping tighter to the fabric. “‘M leaving.”

Obi-Wan huffs something that could be a laugh or could be scoff. “Oh, Anakin,” he says, free hand rubbing his back. “I know. But you must give me a few weeks to get used to the idea. You have been my padawan for five years. I’ll probably slip up and call you so for five more.”

Anakin sniffles and pulls back, wiping at his eyes. “You mean you’re not mad?” he asks, far more timidly than he means to. “You’re still going to want to talk to me even though I’m not gonna be a Jedi? And probably do a lot of illegal things to make a living?”

His master’s eyes are twinkling. “I hope we can meet in the middle when it comes to those criminal tendencies,” he says. “But as for talking to you…as your legal guardian in the eyes of the Coruscanti and Stewjoni governments, I would like to see you try to ignore me until you come of age.”

“What?”

“Ah, but please do not take that as a challenge, dear one. I imagine your teenage years will be hard enough as it is.”

“What?”

“Not to say that I’m dreading them,” his master says distractedly. “Though I suppose the accommodations I secured for us on Stewjon are modest compared to having a whole Temple that you can put between us when you’re feeling stroppy. But dreading feels much too harsh, even though I can already hear the doors slamming hard enough to shake the walls—”

“Master, what!” Anakin pushes himself fully away from Obi-Wan’s arms, frowning at his master’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a moment, as if debating something very serious before he sighs and stands, offering a hand to Anakin who takes it automatically.

“Anakin, when you stopped attending your classes a week ago, your masters let me know. It didn’t come as a shock, not to any of us, and I had several long talks with Master Yoda and the Jedi Council. We…decided that if you were to indicate that you believed you wanted to leave the Order, my resignation would be effective immediately as well.

“What they didn’t quite understand and I knew intrinsically is that you would never indicate your intentions. You would simply act upon them. Master Yoda agreed to allow me a sort of…soft exit from the Jedi Order. Enough time to find lodgings for us, to complete the paperwork necessary to make me your legal guardian so that I may take you off-world, to say my own goodbyes.”

Anakin doesn’t know when he starts shaking his head, but he can’t seem to stop. “Master, no, you’re a Jedi, you can’t just leave for me—”

“Nonsense,” his master says. “The Jedi Order is not a prison, nor is it a cult. I can leave whenever I want for whatever reason I choose. And besides, I’ve already found myself a rather good entry-level job near our lodgings in Stewjon. I’m quite excited, if I’m being honest. I’ve never paid taxes before.”

Anakin blinks and tries once more with a furious shake of his head. “I don’t—master, I never asked for this—I can do it myself, I don’t need you to—”

“Yes, I wager you probably could find your own way,” Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully. “And I know you’ve never asked this of me and that you probably never even thought to. But the truth of the matter is this, dear one: you never had to.”

Tears bead at Anakin’s eyes again as fear and guilt and relief war within him. “Master,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan’s hand lands on his head in a friendly pat before his fingers slide down to rub at the shorn end of his hair where his braid used to be. “I believe you can call me Obi-Wan, Anakin. I’m hardly your master anymore.”

Anakin sucks in a breath and lets the relief win out and flood his chest. “Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, testing the syllables on his tongue. Just Obi-Wan. His face breaks out into a smile at the way they sound, the gentle hold Obi-Wan has on his shoulder. “Obi-Wan,” he says again, and Obi-Wan laughs.

“I have a ship fueled,” Obi-Wan tells him, and Anakin looks at him in wonder.

He could have done this all alone. He knows that. But it’s an amazing feeling, knowing that he doesn’t have to, that he has someone with him to think about the little things like fueling the ship and paying taxes.

He probably has a dozen ration bars tucked away in his bag as well.

“Unless you would rather walk to Stewjon,” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow raises in an expression that’s painfully and giddly familiar. “Which would be rather hard to do as it’s several planets away.”

Anakin doesn’t say that right now he feels as if he could do it, could walk all the way to Stewjon and back. He doesn’t think he has to. It feels written all over his face.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says instead, the same way he used to say master. But it feels better somehow.

Even more perfect now that they’re not master and padawan anymore, that they’re just Obi-Wan and Anakin and the galaxy is spread out before them.

#prompt fill #anakin leaves the order au #gen fic #i mean i imagine in like 10 years they get together but this is purely platonic #they go to stewjon and live in the capital city and obi-wan gets involved in stwejoni politics #and anakin becomes a mechanic/engineer #and eventually theye have enough money to free his mom #and obi-wan works with the jedi all the time #and everything is good and nothing hurts #and eventually yoda visits and gives anakin the braid he left in obi-wan's bedroom #and obi-wan tears up when anakin gives it to him #obi-wan & anakin #kit's fics

268 notes · View notes

bnnywngs · 1 year

Text

Wei Wuxian sighed dreamily to himself as he finished his letter to Lan Zhan, his feet kicking happily against the floor. He felt giddy, so many happy emotions inside his little heart. After rolling on the floor for a while and still with blushing cheeks, he finally sealed the letter ready to send.

On his way out, he found his shijie with a serene smile and a letter on her own hands.

"To the peacock, shijie?" Wei Wuxian asked, grinning.

"A-Xian...." Jiang Yanli shook her head slightly "Yes, it's for Jin-gongzi. Are you sending that for your Lan Zhan?"

Wei Wuxian almost let out a happy giggle, but held on, looking coy "Yeah."

"Jiang-guniang! Jiang-guniang! Yu-furen is asking for you!" a disciple yelled from a distance, waving high to get attention.

"Oh. Thank you!" she waved back "Oh, no. A-Xian, could you send this for me? I don't want to make mother wait."

"Sure, shijie! Count on me!"

Jiang Yanli chuckled and patted his shoulder before walking away.

A day later, Jin Zixuan was excited to open the letter although he pretended otherwise. He walked quickly to his room to have privacy and sat excitedly by his table.

He opened the letter.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Jin Zixuan let the letter fall from his hands, too shocked to do anything. Because inside wasn't Jiang-guniang pretty handwriting or flowery words. No. That was Wei Wuxian's barely readable scrawl saying...... Ugh he doesn't even want to remember what he read. What did he mean by love? Is he... Is Wei Wuxian a cutsleeve?! Was Lan Wangji?!

And not happy enough, behind the letter was another, smaller piece of paper with a drawing of two man (please let him pretend ignorance here, for his own sake) kissing!

He wants to cry. Maybe throw himself staircase down. Why is this happening to him?!

And in the silence of Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji is softly laughing as he realizes that the letter in his hands is Jiang-guniang's for Jin-gongzi and not his Wei Ying's. It's definitely his lover's doing, Lan Wangji knows him enough to be certain.

Ah, how much he loves his Wei Ying.

He sealed the letter back and wrote a quick and small note about it, before going out to send it to Lanling, in hopes Jin-gongzi would send his letter to Gusu.

74 notes · View notes

deermook · 1 year

Text

Its early, the war is over, and you are wishing a good morning to your heart and soul before going to the creche to give a lesson to the younglings there

#your honor they're in love #everything is beautiful and nothing hurts #rots fix it #good gawd #obikin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #my art

165 notes · View notes

fortunatelyenchantingtaco · 24 days

Text

I know Geto is like a big sore spote in the whole fandom and i might be a bit insane, but i do love his story specifically because i dont think there is a way to fix it

We are being shown that well, he got really depressed and went into self isolation. In most cases, the best course of action would be to remove him from distress and have time to heal. The issue is that Geto couldnt just leave — he believes he needs to kill curses, and to become stronger he needs to eat them which distresses him further, and if he leaves people will die, and he cant ignore that just to keep himself sane. For a man like him if he head a specific goal to become strong for, i dont think the eating process would have been such a big issue, but we have to have a big distinction that jujutsu sorcerer is, at the end of the day, a profession. You’re not a chosen superhero to save the world. Those growing up in clans may have a worse childhood, but growing up with understanding that yes curses exist its part of nature does make it easier to bear. Which is one of reason why Gojo, even while having all the trauma, didnt have such gripes with reasons or goals — this is a life he was born into.

Thinking of sorcery as more than a job makes you perceive yourself as more of a hero, and heroes are good and just and get recognition. Non sorcerers dont know about them. Geto fell into a trap of doing something for others and despairing. Its easier not to think about that shit when you’re naturally good at it, and you have fun — which is why Amanai situation and Gojo becoming stronger was so bad. Now he went on missions alone, which meant no company to distract him, and now it was no longer all fun shits and giggles, its a job full of tragedies. Considering Gojo was targeted since birth, we can assume he killed people before Toji, death is, unfortunately, familiar to him. Not for Geto — not seeing someone you care about die right before you, and certainly not being that close to death himself. He’s not longer the best at it, and its no longer fun, and he gets no recognition. Tobe precise, those are not bad thinks to want — we all want them. But if you dont get them here he would have been better to ya know. Find another job probably

Like the worst part about this whole thing is that some shit like that would have happened eventually one way or another, they’re not invincible. Childhood would eventually end, and in a way Geto spiraling is inevitable. The system is inherently flawed, and the issue they deal with is cruel. Some jobs are much more dangerous and have a detrimental effect on your mental health — its just that no one thought to give jujustu sorcerers some help, which is another problem. Adding the fact that he’s neither a saviour being thanked by everyone, or a strongest, yeah, he can’t figure out how to do this shit.

In AUs, I do think there are ways he could have handled it. Like if Gojo wasn’tin school, maybe he took his whole education with the clan? Or my au where he’s in a prison realm for centuries? Like yeah, sure, if Geto was the strongest, the only person here, i do think he would have probably felt invaluable. Youre great for your profession, you were born for it, why would you leave?

This may be projecting, but i do think his way of thinking about it is inherently flawed, a very slippery slope. People need a goal, a meaning, but looking for it outward is a sure way to get yourself into a slump, I went through this shit in a nasty manner when everything i did revolved around other people. Basing your decisions on what others would think is an easy way to pretend like its not your responsibility. This is why Gojo tells Megumi to be selfish and this is why during the entrance exams Yaga says that others wont appreciate your actions and you cant base your motivations off others.

Thats the ultimate tragedy, the fact that thinking like Geto did is ridiculously easy. You go into uni on the same course as your friend just to be with them and when something goes wrong your first thought would be that you did that for them, even thought its your life choices and decision. Yeah.

I have no conclusions for you, just some ramblings. I like my Geto mean and fucked up and insecure, makes him so real and relatable as a person.

10 notes · View notes

strayheartless · 6 months

Text

Comfy Cloud things:

The series where I give Cloud a soft loving polyamorous relationship surrounded by comfy slow living things, because HE DESERVES IT!:

Of all the things Sephiroth expected to find upon entering Genesis’ apartment that evening, a blanket fort in the middle of the room was not one of them.

The coffee table and couch had been commandeered as pillars; the cushions raked from every available place; the TV had been dragged from its place in the corner into the make shift tent, and Sephiroth was sure the slight glow from inside the fort had something to do with the solstice decorations box that lay abandoned in the hall.

As he shrugged off his coat and grabbed the hoodie Angeal had left on the Radiator for him, he stopped by the kitchen to ask what was going on. Inside, he was once again shocked to find that the soft tinkering that had been coming from behind the door was not in fact Angeal, but Gen and Zack.

“Am I having a stroke?” He questioned from the doorway, as he watched Zack hook his chin over Genesis’ shoulder. The latter appeared to be making Banora spiced cider on the stove, and chuckled lowly .

“If you are, your doing a spectacular job of pushing through it dearest.” They smirked, patting at the arms around their waist for Zack to release them . “How was patrol?” They asked, shoving a spoonful of warm cider into sephiroths mouth as they approached.

“Cold” The General mumbled around the spoon. He pulled back, “that doesn’t taste nearly as dangerously alcoholic as usual” he said gesturing to the spoon.

Zack snorted, coming over to greet him as well. “Cloud said he didn’t want to get drunk this evening, there’s no alcohol in it”

Genesis made a tsking sound at the reminder and pulled a face. They mumbled something that could have been ‘such a waste’ but Sephiroth knew from the way they stayed relaxed that they didn’t truly mind.

The mention of their chocobo shaped partner had Sephiroth noticing his absence almost at once.

“I take it, the pile of blankets in the living room is their doing?” He asked keeping clouds pronouns ambiguous until he was told otherwise. It had taken a while getting used to the constant switch from ‘he’ to ’They’ with Cloud, but it had gotten significantly easier of late to pick up on it without being told.

“He’s been grumpy all day.” Gen chuckled. “Zack stuck him in there in the hopes it would spare a training room porters feelings.”

“Did it work?” Seph glanced at Zack who looked a little too proud of himself.

“Yup” the younger popped the ‘P’ “he’s spent the last few hours snoozing to cartoons on mute.”

Sephiroth was impressed. Cloud had a tendency to be unbearable when he was in a funk. On a few quite memorable occasions it had been Sephiroth’s own blade that had handled the brunt of their frustration when dysphoria was kicking their arse, or when their ability was questioned as a Mako sensitive Third class.

Sometimes though, Cloud just woke up grumpy, and it really didn’t matter what was said. He’d stay that way until somebody realised he needed a cuddle.

Would Cloud ever admit that’s what they needed? No, absolutely not. When it came to stubborn, pig headedness the only one on par with him was Genesis, but it didn’t change the fact that that was the cure.

Sephiroth hummed amused and wandered out of the kitchen, back to the blanket fort. He knocked on the hard wood of the coffee table and waited until a little flutter of blonde pulled back the curtain of thick Duvets.

Inside, the fort was quite spacious, easily big enough for four of them, though they may need to adapt the design for future grumps if Angeal’s shoulders were to fit, let alone a entire fifth body. Cloud was cuddled up in the middle, dressed in one of Zacks too big hoodies, and what Sephiroth suspected was his own sweat pants.

The bottoms of them were rolled up and the general would never say it out loud (he values his knee caps, thank you very much.) but it was endlessly adorable.

“I’ve been reliably informed you are being a tyrant.” He goads, watching Cloud glower at him sleepily. “Am I to assume my person is forfeit to pillow duty effective immediately?”

The TV remote that was thrown at his chest was enough of a ‘yes’ that he scooted closer; pulling Cloud into his arms and settling them both into the downy soft comforter.

Cloud wiggles further down, getting their head directly under Sephiroth’s chin before huffing into the man’s neck. Sephiroth chuckles, tilting down to lay a Kiss on clouds spikes.

“Better?” He whispers fondly.

“I hate you,” Cloud half heartedly kicks at the man’s shin. There’s no impact behind it to hurt though.

“No you don’t.” Seph challenged gently.

Again Cloud huffed, exasperated but so, so content.

“No,” he mumbled. “I don’t,”

Ta da! Thoughts?

#final fantasy 7 #ffvii #cloud strife #Zack fair #sephiroth crescent #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #though he’s not present #ffviicc #ff7 crisis core #sephikura #agszc #cuddles #blanket forts #comfy cloud #everything’s good and nothing hurts

20 notes · View notes