#Essentially he’s worried he’s leading her on or setting her up to feel betrayed.

[thedragonnerd]

Rayaari headcanon - let's have some angst set in the interim 6 years

(inspired by this lovely anon)

For the first few months after the Druun's return, Raya struggles to adjust to how quiet the world is around her. She's grown up in a palace where there is always noise and the bustling of people with tasks. Her Ba was a talkative person, and they would often have conversations about the most random and ridiculous topics over dinner. Now, the only companion she has in the world is Tuk Tuk, and she clutches him against her side at night, fearful that he too will be gone in the morning.

She's always had trouble trusting people anyway - in a world where every land is out for themselves, it was hard to think otherwise (except her Ba, but she doesn't like to reflect on that). Now, after everything that has happened, she feels justified in her paranoia. The only creature she trusts without question is Tuk Tuk, who switches from the sweetest temperament to one of growling ferocity whenever she is in danger. Now he's grown, he curls around her at night instead of the other way around.

When they flee Heart, Namaari is half-carried across the bridge by her mother, too frozen in shock to do much else. Virana throws her on the back of her serlot, climbing on at the front and urging her mount to flee. Her arms clutching tightly around her mother's waist, Namaari can't help but look back over her shoulder, watching in horror as the people behind them are turned into stone. When they arrive in Fang, Virana is so busy organizing security, that she doesn't realize Namaari has gone missing. Several hours (and several years off her life) later, one of the soldiers discovers Namaari sitting amongst the serlots. No matter how many questions they throw at her, she refuses to speak.

'Trauma,' the doctors tell Virana after a few days of Namaari's silence. 'Her body's in shock.' Virana tries to talk to her daughter multiple times, but Namaari either cannot or will not speak. On the fifth day, Namaari creeps out of bed and goes to find the serlot who carried her away from the Druun. Here, she throws her arms around its neck and finally breaks down in tears, whispering about how it was all her fault that the world is now broken, and people are dead. When the sun rises, she takes a deep breath and returns to the palace, acting as if none of it happened. Virana is just relieved to hear her daughter's voice. Namaari never falls silent for so long again, but over the years, when the dark thoughts in her mind are too overwhelming, she goes to sit with the serlots, pouring her heart out to them.

Raya has been trained to be a skilled fighter from a young age, her Ba considering it to be an essential part of her education and role as Princess. But these skills are put to the test time and time again now that she lives alone except for Tuk Tuk. The world is full of desperate people, and as a young woman, she is an easier target. She doesn't dare to sleep in a town or village for the first few months after the Druun's return, too nervous to close her eyes. Even after, when she gains more confidence, she keeps a knife under her pillow every night when she's lodging in a town, one hand clutching it as she sleeps.

The first time someone tries to steal from her, she's surprised enough that they almost succeed. After that, she makes sure she takes time to train herself more, using unsuspecting trees to become faster with the blade. Over time, she learns also how to use the fact she is a young woman to her advantage. Those who dare try to target or scam her soon realize she has lured them into a trap of her own. Most of the time, she's proud of the fact that she's conned them; sometimes though, all she sees are eyes reflecting the same desperation as in her own, and she feels guilty.

Namaari has also grown up with extensive fighting training, although she has always gravitated more towards weaponry such as swords. After the return of the Druun however, she grows obsessed with becoming more proficient in hand-to-hand combat. For those around her, they merely think she is preparing herself for the harshness of this new reality. In her own mind, she is replaying her fight with Raya over and over again. Perhaps if she had been better and won...she wouldn't have had to involve everyone else. Fang would have had the Gem rather that it being broken, and the Druun would never have returned. (Raya's betrayed face would have been the same though, and she can't escape that thought.)

Fang scouting parties are often the targets of mercenary groups. The first time Namaari leads a group out on a mission, her insides feel icy in fear over the potential Druun attacks, considering they have no way to escape except to flee upon the serlots. In reality, she finds other humans to be almost as dangerous as the Druun, targeting their group merely due to the fact they are from Fang. Namaari becomes even more skilled with her two blades, in an effort to keep her soldiers safe.

Sometimes, she loses a soldier to the Druun or the mercenaries anyway. She ensures it is her responsibility to inform the family on their return, for each and every person lost. Privately, she keeps a list of names for the fallen.

Loss is not a new thing for Raya. Her mother dies before she is three years old; all of her grandparents have passed by the time she is nine. It's just her and Ba against the world, and then she loses him too. At this point, she's sure she's numb against anyone else's death. The cold statues of people become almost another fixture of the landscape, and the horror she once felt at seeing them has dulled to the point she rarely feels the jolt of sadness anymore. She worries what that says about her as a person, but she's so fatigued and overwhelmed by the state of the world.

Loss is not a new thing for Namaari either. Her father dies when she is seven. She watches as hundreds of her people begin to slowly starve to death as famine settles into Fang. In this new world, death is inevitable, but each person of Fang who turns to stone is a stab to her heart. Whenever she wishes she could stop caring so much, she reminds herself that this is her responsibility to carry: she caused this, and so she must feel each and every one of their deaths.

Raya sees Namaari several times over the years, especially during her time spent searching Fang's rivers for Sisu. Often this is from afar, as she watches the Fang scouting party ride by. The few times they do see each other face-to-face, vicious words are traded.

The last time she sees Namaari however, it is late at night, and Raya has just crept into her room. She's searching for the dragon scroll shown to her all those years ago, desperately hoping it holds more insight into Sisu's whereabouts than just visiting each river. When she finds her prize, she can't help but pause next to the window. Namaari is asleep, sprawled out across her large bed and breathing softly. Her face seems much younger in this relaxed state. If things were different, we could have been friends, Raya thinks, and then swings her legs out of the window.

Namaari sees Raya several times over the years, although often as a blurr of dust as her large Tuk Tuk rolls past. Namaari feels guilt whenever she looks at Raya, but she can't help but feel anger rise also, whenever Raya taunts her. For some reason, it is hard to control her emotions around the other girl. After a few years however, Raya disappears, and Namaari fears she was finally turned to stone.

And then, one night she is deep asleep when a small noise disturbs her. She opens her eyes in time to see a figure drop out of sight, prompting her to throw her body out of bed and run towards the window. She watches as the unmistakable figure of Raya climbs nimbly to the ground. We could have been friends, in another life, she thinks, watching the figure recede into the distance. She waits a moment longer, before going to discover what Raya has stolen.

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point. 

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up. 

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my incredible beta and to @maybege​ for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content! 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control) 

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss. 

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother. 

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine. 

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet. 

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments. 

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

 In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

  But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

 He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

 You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

  You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you. 

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be. 

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway. 

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well. 

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from. 

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life. 

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby. 

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead. 

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least. 

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes. 

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours. 

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things. 

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project. 

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any. 

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!” 

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize. 

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen. 

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way.  “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?” 

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you. 

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. 

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving. 

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch. 

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru. 

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…” 

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.” 

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod. 

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You���ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves. 

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own? 

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area. 

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him. 

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house. 

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working. 

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him. 

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours. 

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in. 

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent. 

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away. 

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams. 

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence. 

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest. 

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall.  “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover. 

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to… 

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs.  Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it,  meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso. 

 And you begin to weep with him.

 *********

 The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut. 

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth. 

 You cannot tell him for a long while still. 

 *******

 It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.  

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.  

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it. 

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

 At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words. 

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

 And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

 *****

 The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air. 

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance. 

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors. 

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.  

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”  

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.” 

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet. 

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist. 

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.  

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface. 

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.  

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.  

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality. 

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.” 

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him. 

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss. 

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you. 

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all. 

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features. 

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him. 

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth. 

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest. 

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him. 

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern. 

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in. 

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first. 

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there. 

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy. 

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity. 

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other. 

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other. 

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived.  With more than ever to lose. 

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course. 

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down. 

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile. 

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away. 

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating. 

“I can feel you staring, little one.”  He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.” 

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively. 

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest. 

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.” 

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.” 

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from. 

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter. 

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms. 

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches. 

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy. 

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin. 

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously. 

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted. 

 With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too. 

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed. 

Although first you needed a blank canvas. 

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up. 

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance. 

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created. 

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this. 

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him. 

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises. 

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful. 

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods. 

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing. 

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors. 

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now. 

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?” 

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.” 

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you. 

 You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat. 

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay. 

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan. 

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold. 

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know. 

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen. 

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it. 

Gentle. 

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again. 

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow. 

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him. 

Stars, how you want to let him. 

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture. 

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach. 

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is. 

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind. 

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother. 

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him. 

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble. 

Confident. 

Steadfast. 

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you. 

Nothing can. 

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you. 

Treasure. 

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion. 

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying. 

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him. 

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.” 

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons. 

“Darling, I’m…” 

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now. 

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping. 

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before. 

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself. 

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly. 

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists. 

“Allow me.” 

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head. 

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves. 

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening. 

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind. 

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did. 

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples. 

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing. 

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked. 

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.” 

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it. 

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again. 

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone. 

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is. 

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night. 

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him. 

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care. 

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple. 

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all. 

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control. 

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand. 

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.” 

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him. 

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all. 

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.” 

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.” 

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body. 

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips. 

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you. 

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you. 

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own. 

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time. 

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this. 

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed? 

Anchor. Anchor against me. 

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before. 

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck. 

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge. 

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought. 

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him. 

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit. 

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear. 

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back. 

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under. 

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up. 

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you,  how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this. 

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion. 

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths. 

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it. 

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth. 

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes. 

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations. 

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.” 

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough,  how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied. 

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.  

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you. 

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it. 

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity. 

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force. 

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all. 

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind. 

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them. 

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been. 

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time. 

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke. 

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair. 

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand. 

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke. 

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment. 

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over. 

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too. 

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms. 

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it. 

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle. 

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.” 

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef. 

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses. 

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day. 

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving. 

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning. 

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite? 

So is the promise of the return of the Light. 

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday

I’ve mostly been just writing the newest pirate chapter that I posted yesterday (subtle plug hahaha), but this was what I was working on just before. This is from the same fic as this WIP Wednesday. I don’t want to post this one yet because it still kind of sucks (like this, which is not edited at all), so I’m still fixing everything I have so far before actually posting. But today isn’t called Post a Fic Wednesday, it’s called WIP Wednesday, and this is a WIP!

Essentially, Link is tasked with training Zelda to defend herself after a series of Yiga attacks on her life. After some time, they’ve become good friends. She has him come to her room for lessons she doesn’t want ‘on the record’ basically, which is why Link is chilling in her room in this section. Totally not to make things unnecessarily dramatic.

~~~

When Link arrived that night, Zelda wasn’t in her room. He poked around for a moment just to make sure, and then relented to sit on her bed to wait for her, setting down his belt on the chest at the foot of her bed as he always did.

It was unusual that she wasn’t there. However, for the past several days, he’d been finding her waiting for him at the window, usually watching him scale the building with a look that betrayed her awe and her horror.

By her bedside were notebooks and tombs, all with marked pages. They ranged from geography, to biology. His hand reached out to take a book about plants, but he heard footsteps in the hall, followed by the booming voice of King Rhoam.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around quickly before he slid into the closet just as Zelda’s door opened.

“—with the new treaty. I think that would be useful.”

“Yes,” Zelda agreed, softer than her father. “I think that would work, but we’d have to find a way to incorporate the Gerudo as well. Urbosa is instrumental, and I don’t believe we should keep her out.”

“That’s favoritism.”

“That’s being practical,” she challenged.

Rhoam chuckled. “You are learning well, Zelda. We will contact Urbosa immediately to inform her and see her position.”

“Thank you.”

“Well,” Rhoam said, “I’m going to head to bed now. Is there anything you need, or are you all set?”

“I’m fine; thank you.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said wistfully.

“Since the Yiga attack? Yes, quite a while.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as attentive.”

“No, but it’s really okay. I know the thought is there.”

There was the sound of rustling fabric that Link assumed was Rhoam hugging Zelda.

Then, “What’s that?”

Link peeked his head out to see what the king meant, and when he saw his belt still on Zelda’s trunk, he groaned as quietly as possible.

Zelda was fast, though. Her eyes darted around, looking for him, but she simply tsked, a lie springing to her lips far too easily. “It’s Link’s. He left it after we trained, and I didn’t feel like searching for him afterwards, so I just brought it back with me. I’m going to return it in the morning.”

“Ah,” Rhoam said, picking it up. “You should have gotten it back to him immediately. Looks like there’s some stuff he needs on here. I’m surprised he didn’t seek you out.”

Zelda swallowed and shrugged. “He’s diligent. Maybe he didn’t want to leave his post. Or he has spares. Or, most likely, he knew I’d just return it in the morning.”

“Hrmm, true.” Rhoam examined one of the daggers. “You should keep it in your wardrobe rather than laying around. What if someone did manage to get in here? A Yiga, or some other threat? Then you’ve just left a whole arsenal at the foot of your bed.”

“Then I’d just have weapons at my disposal to defend myself.” Zelda took it and made her way to her closet. “But I understand your point, father. You’re paranoid but—” Zelda yelped in surprise at the sight of Link innocently standing hidden in the closet, his head between two of her dresses.

“Zelda?” her father asked, hurriedly turning to her. “What is it?”

With a quick motion, Zelda pulled the dagger out just a bit and slid her thumb along it.

She turned to Rhoam with a light stream of blood moving down her wrist. “I cut myself. Don’t worry.” Handing Link his belt, as if she were hanging it up, she closed the door, giving him an exasperated look as she did.

Rhoam bit his lip nervously and handed her a nearby cloth. “Good thing you two haven’t covered blades yet. Make sure Link gives you all the safety protocols first. We don’t want that to happen on a larger scale.”

“Yes, father. I know.”

“Need any help with that, or are you all set?”

“I’m just going to wash it out. It’s fine, but thank you.”

“Okay then. Goodnight, Zelda. May the Goddess watch over your sleep.”

“Goodnight, father.”

Rhoam looked her over one more time before closing the door behind him with a tell-tale thud.

Zelda breathed out a sigh of relief. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Stepping out of the closet, Link grinned at her and tossed his belt right back onto the chest at the foot of her bed. “You were late.”

“I’m the Princess of Hyrule. I’m not late.”

“Terrible logic,” he said, snorting. But he grabbed a wash basin and brought it to her.

“Thanks.”

He watched her dip her hand into the water and flinch as it lapped over her wound. Resisting the urge to help her, he grabbed the top book from her pile instead.

“No, wait!” Zelda said, crossing the room quickly to try to snatch the book from him, hand dripping still.

“Plants and Horticulture of Hyrule Field.” He raised his eyebrow and flipped to her bookmark. “Are you planning to start a gard—oh!” A grin spread over his face as he read the words on the page. “Guardian technology? Hoarding your blasphemous texts, are we? Are you going to start tinkering with them again?”

“You know I’m not allowed to, so give it back!” Zelda burned red and grabbed his arm to try to pull at him, but with one hand, it was a losing fight. Still, she tried feebly, knowing he’d already seen it, so there wasn’t much reason to really fight anyway. It wasn’t as if he was going to rat her out either. She was simply at the mercy of his teasing for a few moments.

“How did you even get ahold of this?” he chuckled, turning the page at random as his eyes scanned over the words. “Isn’t half of this stuff forbidden to be this close to the castle?”

But they both answered at once, the obvious answer hitting him immediately as Zelda was ready to confess: “Purah.”

This time, Zelda just crossed her arms. “I wanted to… experiment. So, I have a fake cover on it in case someone nosey decides to grab the book! You know my father is paranoid.”

“I do know that.”

“It’s just harmless fun!” she said, still feeling the need to defend herself and her thick tomb. “I’m never allowed to have fun, especially with the books they make me read. I want to read about the blast radius the Guardians have while powered by a massive ancient core! And I want to know the components of a Sheikah slate, so, so badly. My father won’t let me do any of it. I just want to read something that isn’t so political!”

Link hummed and nodded. “That’s true. Those books are the worst. My favorite was, gods, what was it called? An Economic History of the Merchant’s Guild of Hyrule. That’s the one that only spit out rupee facts that you kept telling me, right?”

She blushed a bit more fiercely this time at the level of attention Link had paid her without her realizing, and she pushed him by the arm. “Okay, get out.”

He watched her turn redder by the minute and turned back to her to tap his fingers against the hardcover book tucked in her arms. “You know I’m not making fun of you, right? I think it’s admirable how much you prepare.”

Letting out a breath, she threw herself back onto the bed and slammed her book into her forehead with a groan.

Link chuckled and pried the book from her hands. “I’m serious. You’ll make a good queen.”

Her eyes suddenly darted up to his. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anyone tell her that, except maybe her father during her moments of absolute despair when he knew she needed to be cheered up.

Flipping the pages of the Guardian text, Link narrowed his eyes, flipped another page, glanced at her, and then flipped the page again. He waved the book in front of her face. “You wonder why the Goddess doesn’t like you; it’s because you write in your books. Ink is permanent you know.”

She ripped the book from his hand and hit him in the arm with it, doing her best not to let her laugh at his jab break through her angry façade. “I’m aware.”

Watching a drop of blood trail down her finger, Link reached out and cupped her hand in his just before the long trail dropped onto the page. “That’ll stain almost as much as ink. You should wrap that up.”

Zelda let him lead her back to the water, keeping the blood in his hand until they were safe. He dipped his hands in first and shook them out, noticing that there was only one rag.

“Thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that, you know,” Link said, watching the water turn redder.

“I had to think fast, okay? Try ‘thank you for not letting me get caught in your closet, Zelda.’ If I can do it, so can you.”

“Fine. Thank you. I appreciate you covering for me, but you didn’t have to injure yourself to cause an appropriate distraction.”

“You’re so annoying,” she breathed. “End it at ‘thank you.’”

“Why do you put up with me?” Link laughed, handing her the rag.

She wrapped it around her finger, letting the wound clot. “Because.”

“Because--?”

“Because. Because I just do.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Fine. Because I think you’re amusing. Whether that’s a good thing or not is dependent on the situation.”

Link grinned softly, barely noticeable in anything but his eyes.

Zelda watched him, content in their mutual silence.

But even that had to end.

After her cut had stopped bleeding, Zelda pointed to the empty space in the room. “Okay. Get on the ground.”

“Demands, demands, Princess.”

[scarletdawnxx-blog]

Nightmare Chapter 2

Continuation 

When you finally woke back up it was dark out. Blinking you could see you were in the med bay. Sitting up and groaning, you grabbed your head, it was pounding and the bright lights weren’t helping.

  “You really overdid it today,” Bruce said from behind you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you dim the lights please,” you asked the A.I. that ran the complex. Instantly the lights dimmed and your brain thanked you. Bruce handed, what you suspected was something to sooth your throbbing head, along with a glass of water to you. Thanking him and taking it willingly.

  “What happened in there today? That man will need a padded room for the rest of his life after you got to him.” Bruce asked, taking the glass from you and looking you over.

  “I don’t know. I was able to feed him fear without touching him. That’s never happened before. I was able to magnify it, I felt his mind breaking in my hands.” You said looking down at your hands noticing a little dried blood on them.

“Your powers seem to be growing, but also looks like they are taking more out of you, you will want to work on not only mental but physical stamina. I’m going to suggest increased training time for you as well as meditation. But first, nurse what I can only guess is a massive headache, and get some rest.” Bruce said with a smile. 

You nodded and hopped down from the table. Ignoring the hunger pains in your stomach and going straight to your room. Rushing to your bathroom you scrubbed your hands nearly raw trying to get the man’s blood and sweat off. You looked at yourself in the mirror, uncomfortable with what was staring back. You were never the type who wanted to hurt people, you had wanted to become a doctor for crying out loud. But today, you had enjoyed hurting that man, it made you feel powerful, strong. You liked hearing his screams. You turned your shower on, hoping it would clear your mind, sat on your bed in just your towel and fell back, too tired to move. You were woken by screams again. Bucky’s screams. You must not have been asleep long, because your hair was still damp, and your towel was still firmly wrapped around your body. Not bothering to put clothes on you quietly made your way to his room again and calmed his mind. This time was easier and didn’t take as much out of you. Your abilities were certainly growing.

In the weeks that followed you took Bruce’s advice and increased your physical and mental training. Seeing how far you could push your mind, body, and abilities. You no longer needed to touch someone to use your powers. Some you needed to at least be able to see to affect them, except Bucky now. You didn’t even need to be in the same room as him to quiet the nightmares. They were barely able to begin before you quieted them. Like an invisible thread held the two of you together now. His attitude had been changing. Like a weight was being lifted off of him. He smiled more, laughed more, joined the group as a whole more often. More and more you could feel all the hurt he had endured replaced with something else, a sense of calm and belonging. Natasha was the only one who knew the change in Bucky was your doing. That was until one night Steve caught you sitting outside of Bucky’s room. A Blanket draped across your lap, your nose buried in a paper about something called the X-gene. Wondering if it could be the key to understanding your abilities.

  “What are you reading?” He asked, sitting down next to you, leaning against the wall.

  “An interesting paper that could help explain why I am, the way I am,” you said, setting it down in your lap. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

  “Why are you sitting outside of Bucky’s room, looking like it's where you plan to sleep?” He asked back. You stared at him, not really sure what to say, looking down at your hands, almost feeling ashamed that you had been caught doing something wrong. “Does it have anything to do with the fact Bucky’s nightmares have almost stopped and I have been seeing my best friend come back? With what happened with the Hydra agent last month? The bruises on your neck?” You looked up at him shocked. How did he know about the bruises? Had Nat told him? “We saw them when you passed out. Bucky had caught you before you hit the ground and carried you to the med bay. We saw them as Bruce was looking you over. He knew you had been in his room, he knew he must have done it.” Steve explained.

“His screams had woken me, he didn’t know what he was doing, I didn’t want the team finding out, thinking he was crazy and a danger,” you offered.

  “How many nights have you sat out here quietly taking care of him?” his eyes looked sad, like he had failed in some way.

“Not as often as when he first arrived.” You looked back down at your hands in your lap “I think I might be able to help him though, to end the nightmares once and for all. To remove what Hydra did.” You confessed. “I’ve been reading and developing my abilities. I think I could remove the programming.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to give him false hope?” Steve asked, searching your eyes.

  “I want to at least try and help him. Steve the screams, what he feels all the time, it's overwhelming, like drowning all the time.” You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath.

  “You are a good person Y/N, even if your abilities scare me a little sometimes,” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder. “When do you think you would be ready to try?”

“Soon, do you think he will let me? I’ll have to take a walk around his mind, every thought, every memory, every emotion he has. I’ll know it and feel it all.” You asked.

  “I don’t know, but we have to at least try.”

  You both sat in silence for a little while longer before Steve bid you good night and headed back to his room. Bucky was deep in peaceful sleep, so you made your way back to your own bed. Would he let you help him? 

Even without the invisible tether that you felt with him always, you two had grown close over the last month. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had in training. You were grateful to him for it. A friendship was blooming and he was more at ease every day, yet the nightmares always returned, and the constant threat of Hydra always lingered. As long as what they had done to him remained, he would always be at risk and you swore that he would never fall into their hands again and you would protect him at all cost. 

Your powers had been steadily growing since the incident with the Hydra agent. You could now walk through someone’s mind like you were watching a movie. Nat had volunteered to let you practice on her, the first few times were difficult. She had lived so many lives through her spying it was hard to see what was true or not, but soon you could flush it all out and even learned how to plant false memories and change the emotions attached to others. You could even leave suggestions for future behavior. Essentially brainwashing them to do whatever you wanted. The first time it happened it made you sick. You erased it from Nat’s mind and felt like you had betrayed her, but if that information got out, that you could mind control people now, bend their minds to your will, there was no telling how people would weaponize that. You didn’t even trust Tony and Steve with that info.  God forbid Nick Fury ever learn about it. You saw what being someone’s weapon did to a person and you would not let that happen to yourself.

  A few months after that first night Steve caught you outside Bucky’s room he sought you out again, asking if you were ready to approach Bucky with your plan. The Hydra attacks had become more frequent and the last lead you had all those months ago you had unfortunately turned to mush and he was no use in figuring out their plans. He had been secretly sent to a mental facility and you had locked yourself away for a week after hearing the news. You wished you had never received this power, or learned how to use it. It was Bucky who finally pulled you out of the slump. Convinced you that if you didn’t learn to control it and accept it, it would eat away until there was nothing left of you.

“What if I make it worse, or I ruin his mind completely?” you worried to Steve.

“We have to at least try. I hate to say it but as long as his mind is susceptible to Hydra’s influence, he is a liability and in danger and I can’t lose him again.” Steve said, rubbing his hand along his face.

  “Lose who?” you both turned and saw Bucky leaning in the open-door frame, arms and legs crossed, looking oh so casual.

  “Hey Buck, what are you up to?” Steve asked, giving his friend a smile and hoping he hadn’t heard the conversation.

  “Was just passing by,” he said with a shrug.

“Well since you are here there is something Y/N and I would like to talk to you about.” Bucky’s eyes flicked from Steve to you, and you wished the bed would swallow you whole.  

“Sounds serious,” Bucky said with a tone that was trying to keep the mood light.

  “Well as you know, Y/N powers have been growing, and we think her powers could help reverse what Hydra did to you.” Steve said hoping Bucky would agree without a fight.

“No.” he stated simply

“No?” Steve asked. “Buck we have a chance to get that crap out of your head and you say no?” he was getting angry.

“No, I’m not gonna let Y/N walk around my brain, she’s been through enough, I’m not going to expose her to the crazy that is in there,” He motioned to his head getting more heated. He knew she had been using her powers on him to quite the nightmares, he hoped that she hadn’t gone further than that, trusted her that she hadn’t gone further than that.

“That is shit Buck and you know it,” Steve yelled.

“Hey! Language.” You reprimanded him. “You two will not engage in a screaming match in my room.” You stood and placed yourself between the two super soldiers who were nearly chest to chest at this point. “James, I really think I could help you, I want to help you,” you said, turning to him and he just blinked at you. No one called him James, not in a long time, not even you. Always calling him Barnes or Sarge.

  “You can’t know that for sure, I do want to be rid of this but what if it doesn’t work,” What if you can never look at me the same ever again. He wanted to say.

  “Will you at least let me try?” You asked, searching his eyes. Forgetting that Steve was in the room anymore. All you felt and saw was Bucky. You wanted to reach a hand out to his face, to try and soothe and comfort him. Steve, however sensing he was not needed or really wanted, quietly slipped from the room.

  “What if I hurt you again,” Bucky asked quietly.

“Hurt me, you have never hurt me.” You stated.

  “That’s not true, we have never spoken about it, but I know those bruises on your neck were from me. I know you came into my room that night. What were you thinking, I could have killed you.” He sat down on your bed, shoulders hunched, looking at the ground, not able to meet your gaze.

  “You did nothing wrong, you didn’t even know you were doing it, so deep in that nightmare. I couldn’t let you lie there and scream.” You said and stood in front of him. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, we will find another way, but know that I will never let anyone or anything hurt you, not even the nightmares.” You said quietly. 

Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly. This wasn’t the first time he had touched you. He had laid you flat out a few times in the training room, but this was more… intimate. He was so tired, tired of fighting, tired of not being able to trust himself or his mind. You placed a hand on top of his head and stroked his hair. “Please, let me try.” You asked again. “As long as what Hydra did to you is still in there, you will never find peace. I want to help you find peace and calm.”

  “You have already,” he whispered. “I know you what you have been doing almost every night,” He admitted to you and you felt the guilt.

“I’m sorry, I know it is an invasion of privacy, I never went further than quieting the nightmares. I would never…violate you like that.” You told him.

“I know, you are a good person Y/N.” Bucky said looking up at you.

“I know that until Hydra is out of my head, I will be hunted and put the team at risk. If you think you can do this, then let’s do it. Just try not to make me any crazier than I already am” he said, giving in. You sighed in relief hugging him back, standing there and not letting go until he did.

[realisaonum]

book meme

thank you, jen @det395​ !! i feel like this meme got away from me a bit, but no shame! i love talking about books and writing so onward ~under the cut~

1- how many books are too many books in a series? 

mhmmmmm i guess it depends on the objective of the series, right? is the plan to have x number of books in the series and if so, when we finally get to the end will it be satisfying considering all the books we’ve read leading up to it? OR is the objective of the premise / characters just to exist doing whatever? both can be done well. i would say a lot rides on how much i trust the author.

2- what do you think about cliffhangers?

so this is meant for cliffhangers in a series like between books? i don’t really care if there’s a cliffhanger as long as i have the next book sitting right next to me. otherwise uh, only if the wait between books is tolerable, because at that point you need to know that the author can clear this mess up, right? there’s this other thing, like you know how if the entire series was already written, then they might release the books a month apart or a quarter apart - that could be alright too. but years in between? not especially a fan. is anyone a fan?

3- hardback or paperback?

jen, you and me are complete opposites here. paperbacks stress me out. i will go out of my way to buy a used hardcover if given the choice. of course, there are some publications i don’t mind in paperback —thinking poetry and super indie books that don’t have a hardcover release OR books where the spines are thin enough they won’t break and i won’t be holding them long enough for them to wear. hardcovers are sturdy and i don’t have to worry i’ll accidentally bend the cover in some damaging way. I am invested in keeping my books nice to the point that i create covers for my books out of kraft paper or brown grocery bags while i am reading them. this is something i started when i was in college and didn’t want these books i was hoping to probably resell get thrashed coming in and out of my bag for all these classes. My home library is probs more half and half paperback/hardcover but if given a choice usually it’s hardcover.

4- least favourite book?

i think it’s good to at least attempt to meet a book on its level. there are lots of books i didn’t like, but i wasn’t meeting them on their level and i know that so we’re ignoring those. i do however have a shelf on my goodreads dedicated to books that i have beef with so i’ll just go off on two of them.....

tana french’s the likeness for being plagiaristic shit. it is essentially poorly concealed alternate universe OC insert fic of the secret history. you’ve got french’s dublin murder squad folks and then this group they are investigating who bear a STRIKING resemblance to the greek students in tsh 🤔. this would be one thing. it is pretty well acknowledged that nothing is original and there are enough changes to The Likeness that MAYBE i could let it slide if not for this other thing: french’s book, the likeness, has lines that are just basically reworded quotes from the secret history and french positions these lines so they are said by the counterpart (essentially same!) character that gave them original life in tsh. i cannot stress this enough: you can HEAR how similar the sentences are and their core intent is always the same. it’s thinly veiled theft! it astounds me that French hasn’t been sued frankly. it is one thing to want to capture some of the genius that tartt’s debut novel holds, but it is completely lazy and disgusting theft to go about it in the way French did with this book. and YES the secret history was published before french’s book. if i could stomach how fucking goddamn boring the likeness was to read it a second time and cite every one of these offenses i would, but that’s yet a third strike against it—it’s too boring to be worth it. 

T. Kingfisher’s second book of the Clocktuar War duology : The Wonder Engine. this is a book that i feel violated the contract between writer and reader. the first book feels almost like a YA book. the stakes while described as very high are treated, as actions unfold, as very low. nothing truly irreparable happens until the climax of the second book and the fallout of that action is so off-tone of everything that came before i felt deeply betrayed. no, like, completely betrayed as in it ruined the rest of my afternoon, i am still viscerally angry eight months later, and i will never trust this author again. sure, maybe none of those actions that led to the climax were out-of-character, but there was nothing NOTHING in the proceeding action that even came close to that level of consequence. it’s a pity because right up till that point i was having a really good time. the entire vibe of the rising action to the climax of book one all the way through the rising action of book two was just a quippy fun version of roadtrip/quest - it felt like a comfort read. the abrupt tone shift had all the subtlety of dropping a graphically, brutal murder into Blue’s Clues. you don’t do that - this is a basic tenet of a writer / reader relationship. i’m not touching this bitch’s shit again.

5- Love Triangle, yes or no?

not so much. i like jen before me will scream ‘just be poly.’ love triangles that lead into poly relationships? yes, awesome will be glad i read. but i am at a stage in my life where your standard will-they-won’t-they-love-triangle is just fucking pointlessly frustrating to me. an example: i read a Nic Stone’s book Odd One Out a couple years ago and something about the synopsis or the hype made me think that it would resolve the love triangle that way, so when that did not happen i was incredibly frustrated and immediately wanted to resell the book. it’s the potential of the thing. stone’s book could have been the perfect vehicle for opening up the concept of polyamory to a ya audience but instead just really squandered that potential with weak floundering — in my opinion!

6- the most recent book you just couldn’t finish

uhhhhh i’ve got two and i’m not sure i’ve entirely given up quite yet buuuuuuuut 

fucking dune. i got really pissed off with this book. So just…setting aside the whole vaguing at a pedophilically inclined queer coded villain - it’s done so poorly, that it's almost funny? like it doesn’t (as of half way through) actually have any consequence on…anything at all and is tacked on like an afterthought to the end of his scenes. honestly it all could just be cut out entirely with no recourse to the larger story. So my actual beef with this book is the pacing is ATROCIOUS. like yo, not only do you expect me to give a shit about these Atreides cunts, when we just met them and we spend the same amount of time with them IF NOT MORE with the antagonist? but you also expect me to believe Paul was able to just convince the leader of the Arrakis people —the leader of an entire planet!!— with a single fucking sentence??? yeah, not so much. it was not set up for me to believe that Paul could do that! maybe if Kynes hadn’t died immediately after—or at least not died at that moment? baring the fact I thought he was by far the most interesting character, IF he had been convinced by Paul in that scene, it would have been great to see some actual work done around that - with a transfer or a liaise of power between Kynes and Paul and the Fremen. By not having any substantive scene that does it - it begs the question of what the fuck was the point of the character in the first place? unplumbed potential!!! over all there seem to be some key scenes missing to get the reader to where the narrative expects us to be? but the choices made of the characters we spend time with and the moments we see with them, the benefit to the larger story…is not always there. hey herbert, these words you have written aren’t doing what you want them to?? i feel like i should finish it but i reaaaaallly don’t want to :) the only thing i can say is it looks like from the trailer, villeneueve is giving space to these moments so that the viewer can foster a genuine connection with the characters? radical concept.

our lady of perpetual hunger - i started this one optimistically bc i like chef memoirs, but i am at the point where she has just given birth to her son and honestly DON’T CARE. i still haven’t officially given up on it yet since i actually fucking bought it like a dope. i certainly would not have if i knew how much NOT about working the line this was gonna be

7- book you are currently reading

Aside from the failures mentioned above, I am working on the second book in B. Catling’s Vorrh trilogy, The Erstwhile. Also very close to finally finishing Iain Sinclair’s The Last London - there’s a review of his work from the LA Times that goes “One of Sinclair’s greatest skills has always been his ability to take diverse if not chaotic source material and refashion it in a way that sometimes seems downright alchemical” which captures some of the wonder I experience when reading his work. His style and how he creates atmosphere and setting is just unique and astounding.

8- last book you recommended to someone

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Before that I told my brother to read Eat a Peach, as we both love Anthony Bourdain and David Chang talks about him a bit here, plus it’s just a fucking great book. any book that gives insight into Chang’s methodology and paradigm is worth a shot.

9- oldest book you read

I think it might have to be Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (which apparently according to wiki premiered on the stage a whole four months before Hamlet so that’s what we’re going with) and if plays don’t count, I don’t care. I think they count and that’s what we’re going with.

10- the most recent book you read ?

Given the previous question, the most recently published book, right? It’s gotta be the one I just finished: The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic - Revised and Expanded edt., which like just came out this summer. I watched Jessica Hopper’s promo zoom, curtesy of my local indie bookstore, and went ahead and bought it. This was a great decision! It was just what I needed to read these last couple of weeks. i love there’s lots of short pieces that made the read quick and the fact that it’s non-fiction so there was no pressure of a plot or the emotional weight of character investment when I had a lot of big stressors dragging me down irl -it was such a relief. Hopper’s criticism is fun to read and there’s some real art in her appreciation of music here.

11- favourite author?

These are the top in a kind of order but not really: Donna Tartt, Jeff VanderMeer, Megan Whalen Turner, Flannery O’Conner, Chuck Palahniuk, Anthony Bourdain

Other faves very much worth mentioning: Emily O’Neill, Richard Siken, Brandon Sanderson, Warren Ellis, Nathan Englander, Stephen King, Eddie Huang, Carl Hiaassen, Anne Carson, and Iain Sinclair.

12- buying books or borrowing books?

Depends on if my library has it, of course! I nearly always see if my library has a copy first if i have never read it or the author before. If i’ve read the book before or trust the author, I’ll buy it. Like I’ll straight out buy new stuff from Jeff VanderMeer even though with him it’s either this-hits-exactly-and-is-my-new-fave or i-really-disliked-this-but-admire-the-boundaries-you’re-pushing-my-dude - so it’s always a gamble but a worthy one.

12- a book you dislike that everyone else seems to love

a little life (just bc it's torture porn elevated to art doesn’t negate the fact that it’s torture porn. Yanagihara’s project here is repugnant and the fact that this book is lauded as moving lgbt fiction makes my skin crawl)

sharp objects (good writing, compelling story, BUT typographical scarification doesn't work like that - i am not going to get into it but i know from first hand experience how Flynn described it is not accurate)

nesbø’s the snowman (what kinda dumbass detective would think THAT when a woman finds her missing father’s corpse? absolute idiocy - so obviously reverse engineered with that end in mind)

the raven cycle (fuck ronan lynch to start and then fuck him to end as well - there’s some other stuff but mostly he’s a total CUNT and if i don’t say that once a day i have probably died)

14 - bookmarks or dogears?

Bookmarks and sticky notes. Then I can place it pointing directly to the paragraph I last stopped on.

15- The book you can always reread?

This is my question because I reread all the time. ALL THE TIME. Books I reread often: The Secret History, Medium Raw (especially chapter 17 The Fury), Crooked Kingdom, The Violent Bear It Away, and The Goldfinch. Every year like clockwork (since it came out apparently) I will reread Stephen King’s The Outsider.

Other books I feel the urge to reread: VanderMeer’s Acceptance, Englander’s Dinner at the Center of the Earth, Frazier’s Nightwoods, Fresh Off the Boat, the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, the Peter Grant Series (which is queued up for another go here soon I think), any of the stories from A Good Man is Hard to Find, Sanderson’s Wax and Wayne Mistborn books, simon vs the homosapiens’ agenda, and there are two of Alan Morinis’ books on Mussar that I am technically always revisiting—when i need a reminder, i’ll jump around and read specific sections to get centered again.

16- can you read while listening to music?

Yes, but only ambient or near ambient (only usually one track on repeat) or a soundtrack I am extremely familiar with. No new music. I do usually need some audio stimulation or my mind will wander terribly.

17- one POV or multi POV?

Multi pov can certainly be done well (looking at the soc duaology and VanderMeer’s Acceptance) but working a multi-pov means there are more plates spinning, it’s more of a challenge, and some authors pull it off better than others.

18- do you read book in one sitting or in multiple days?

I don’t really do this anymore. that might have something to do with me picking up thicker books? but also i have a full time job now and let’s be real the book has to be hella good if i don’t want to put it down. the last book i attempted to shotgun was the final installment of my favorite series and it still took me two days so....i can get through a lot of books but none of them are ever in one sitting anymore.

19- who to tag:

@sybilius​ @mouth-rainboy​ @iwonderifthatisart​ @phereinnike​ @magnificentmoose​ @wambsgangs​ @moriarteaparty​ and anyone else if you feel so inclined!

Bonus Question: What’s on your to-read shelf? 

As for me, I am excited about one i just picked up, Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines, which i might start tomorrow and I will be taking Paul Madonna’s Come to Light on my trip to see my brother this coming weekend. 

[coffeebeannate]

The Old Guard: Vol 2-Force Multiplied (Summary &Overview)

I’d been meaning to make this post for a while, and kept forgetting. Because I know there are those who are curious about the comics and not sure about reading them, or can’t read them, would rather opt out etc. So I’ve put together a basic summary and breakdown of what happens within the issue. I’ll include some information about the characters, some timelines (as I can, we know what Greg thinks of timelines) and mostly keep it uncommented until my own general thoughts at the end.

The movie mostly follows the first comic almost completely, and bits of the second, so I’ve not created a summary of the first volume.

Under a cut, includes images and information. If you want a TL’DR, skip to ‘Final Thoughts’ at the end. Long post.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Human Trafficking, Slavery, Torture (This one I need some clarification on, gonna use the word just in case but..basically that’s what it is)

**SPOILERS**

Credits: The Old Guard Vol 2 Force Multiplied is created by writer Greg Rucka and aritst Leandro Fernandez. Colouring by Daniele Miwa. Letters by Jodi Wynne. Publication Design by Eric Trautmann. Edited by Alejandro Arbonna.  Published by Image Comics. Graphic Novel Published 2020. USA. 

Characters and Settings

Characters are the same from volume one. So we still have Andy, Joe, Nicky, Booker, and Nile. As well as more about Lykon and Noriko (she’s not Quynh in the comics, she’s Noriko). There’s more Copley too.

Additional/new characters are FBI  Agent Mustafa King  (also called Moose) and people who work for Noriko *none are named*.

Setting is California, USA and historical settings for the flashbacks we have for Andy. Summary and Overview (Basically the story overall, broken down, with my own commentary)

We open here, with a flashback of Andy’s earliest life. It’s a tiny bit vague, but provides the general idea.

I believe Andy is mortal here, but I’m not 100% sure. I believe she’s providing the narration to her first death. Which comes as the result of being betrayed in battle.

(Much of the stories focus is on Andy. I’ve noted it before, but Andy is our narrator, and a lot of the story is told via her flashbacks, over narration and POV. The comics really are Andy’s story, with the cast supporting around her.

We cut to modern day, of Andy, Nile. Nicky and Joe doing a job in California, USA. I believe the whole job revolves around taking down human traffickers, and in a couple parts. The job at the beginning has a shoot-out during the day, a car chase and then a stealth take down on a dock and shipping warehouse at night.

I just thought Andy looked cool here. Moving on.

Nile and Andy have a cool sportscar. Joe and Nicky have this very stylish *coughs* but exceptionally practical large van.

After the four of them take care of their day business, we cut to Booker being confronted in Paris by Noriko. Now the scene presented in the comics here is close to what we see at the end of the movie. Except this time it’s at night, and Noriko essentially kidnaps Booker. Since she wants to know where the others are, and Booker won’t tell her.

I’ll cut right to the chase. She uh. She tends to torture him. She’s got him on a heavy chain with a metal collar, and at one point drowns him over and over again to get him to talk. He never does, but she keeps him around anyway. 

Around this time Agent King (Moose) appears, and then manages to come across Nile. Which leads to the infamous ‘stew of romance’ scene. 

However. while Nicky and Joe are amused (and making bets on him asking her out).. (I love them)

Andy is not amused at all and loses her goddamned mind over it. To which she threatens to..spank Nile (????????) and Nicky and Joe basically tell her to calm down. (Andy’s worried that Nile befriending a mortal is going to end badly, and Nicky and Joe remind her that even if it does, they can’t just stop her. And that some things, Nile has to learn and adjust to herself. Nile is smart, and she’ll come to her own conclusions in time. Interfering isn’t right.

(They all look so sad in the bottom there, help me)

After this is the night mission at the warehouse docks.

Another shot I just thought was cool. Nicky’s sniping shots are done really well.

After they finish, Noriko comes out of the actual blue to get them. Or well..attack them. Joe’s the first one to greet her, and all she does is comment about how he (Yusuf) hasn’t changed and shoots him. She shoots Nile and Andy as well. After both of them recover, Andy and Noriko start fighting, and Nicky puts a stop to it by shooting them both.

(It’s after Andy see’s Noriko that we get the first flashback from Andy to the ships, the same storm that ended up throwing Noriko overboard all those centuries ago and causing her time at sea).

After Noriko and Andy revive from Nicky’s snipe shot, they split, leading us into the next day where Copley and Agent King (Moose, our new character) are surveying the damage at the warehouse and trying to decide what went down.

Copley already knows it’s the Guard, and is trying to explain this to Moose. I do kind of like this moment, where Copley comments to himself about Nicky being a good shot.

Hey-credit where credit is due and all.

Shortly after this, Copley falls on Nicky and Joe’s radar. And they quickly accost him at night. Which is far more satisfying than I thought it would be. A lot of the outcome with Copley and them does feel pretty good. 

(Nicky’s scary face aside, I kind of love this shot, and this moment)

They don’t beat around the bush nor give him much leeway. They let him know-without preamble, that they’re pissed and his continued existence is on their good graces unless he explains himself.

I have actually discussed this before (here-also has extra screencaps) so I won’t go too hard in detail on it.  But I do love these scenes a lot. I like that they’re allowed to be as fuming angry as they have every right to be, and that they present Copley with no bullshit. Nicky and Joe are completely on the same page. And Copley is made aware of where he stands very quickly. This is where Copley presents them with the information he’d collected in his little self driven conspiracy adventure about them, and then drops the bomb that he knows Noriko has Booker.

Around this time, Andy has more flashbacks of Lykon and her old life..including participating in slave trading of humans. (Which comes back near the end) she also meets up with Norkio. Noriko’s main belief system at present is that, they are above humans *mortals* and there is no reason to behave otherwise. They have no need to stay on the same level as mortals when they’re not.

Also around this time Nile hooks up with Agent King.

Copley gives the information about how to track Booker and Noriko to a boat that Noriko is keeping him on and Andy and Nile join them up in the nick of time. This is also where Copley informs them about how Noriko has gotten her money-organized crime..and basically whatever she can get her hands on. Which is also how Noriko has her own personal army.

‘Fancy’ Joe please.

And for whatever reason, Copley seems to think ‘undercover/distracting’ means..being as stereotypically British as possible?

Though I’ll be honest, I mostly post this cap for how badass Nicky looks.

So! Everything culminates in the boat battle, and at the end, they get Booker back, and handle Noriko. Everyone goes back to a hotel to celebrate, and things are fine until Nile asks Andy about something Noriko had told her. She’d at one point accosted Nile, and told her to ask Andy about “Law 282″ which Andy reveals is the Code of Hammurabi. Which is how they all find out about Andy’s participation in slave trades. slavery etc. Back in her more..ancient warrior days. Nile, and the others are pretty appalled and Andy has a bit of a mental breakdown and explains that she can’t carry on anymore. She won’t. She can’t keep fighting, she can’t keep doing this. Which is when Nile tells them that they have to go. 

They don’t really want to leave her, and ask her repeatedly to come with them-but she won’t. So they leave, even though Andy says she doesn’t want to be alone, they leave. (This is where I say, unless they physically forced Andy to come I don’t personally see what else they could have done without Andy fighting them, and probably figure that she’ll come around).

Next morning:

I’m not sure what ‘others’ Noriko is referring to here, but I personally think she set a lot of this up. She gave Nile that law to give back on purpose. I do wonder if it was part of a larger scheme on her end to alienate Andy from her team and swoop in, but I have no true proof of this beyond theory.

So that’s the basic summary of what happens. 

Other Points:

Noriko vs Quynh

Noriko is very very much NOT Quynh, and I don’t believe the movie is going to act as such either. I’ve seen some *legitimate* concerns with having Quynh portrayed within the movie as she is in the comics, but given the complete difference between the tone of the movies, and the comics, I think that they’ve already set it up to be different. Personally, I’m not too concerned. I have a lot of faith in Gina Prince-Bythewood, and I can already sense where they’re probably going to make alterations.

Andy/Being Abandoned

Andy’s story has some issues. It’s not..great. It is legitimately hard to reconcile the Andy we know with her past, but I don’t see the ending as the team ‘abandoning’ her to the degree it’s presented. I think they FULLY intended to give her some time to cool off and get their bearings themselves, then come back for her. She keeps telling them she won’t come, but they absolutely do try. And everyone knows that nobody forces Andy to do anything Andy doesn’t want to do.

I mean, Idk, but these just..don’t look to be the faces of people who willingly want to leave her behind.

Just Because: 

Nicky and Joe looking over Copley’s work. It’s sweet. Feat WWII Joe.

Final Thoughts

There are-without a single doubt, issues with the comics. I will never deny that. I do enjoy reading them, and I enjoy the dialogue a lot. (And Miwa’s absolutely incredible colouring). I think that there’s a definite difference in tone to them and that there are places where things could be expanded upon overall.

The comics are, as I’ve said before-Andy’s story. The other characters very much exist in support of her, and do not do a lot separately themselves. The movie is definitely more..family with them? Everyone’s personality in the comics is harsher overall. A little bit more dry and dangerous. There’s definitely less comradery with the team too and way less of a family vibe.

As characters, Nicky and Joe are very very similar to their movie counterparts, and I think they are written quite well. They seem to make decisions about what to do together, always appear on the same page *when we see them* and follow the same wavelength We get the sense that they’re completely in-sync. I also do like *though I did say it before* that they’re allowed to have the appropriate reactions and some resolution of what happened to them in Vol 1.

Nile still doesn’t feel as fleshed-out as she could be, so I’m really glad the movie put way more emphasis on her.

There’s some truly strong points in the dialogue-and I personally think dialogue and writing is one of Rucka’s strong points as a writer. Even if I still want to beg him to hire any type of historian whatsoever..and someone who can do math.

I sympathize with the math bit, this is why a helper would be good.

I’m going to wrap it up here, because holy moley this got LONG. If you’ve made it to the end, hi! Feel free to message me with any questions.

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 38

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

---

Chapter 38

"RON!"

The quill slipped from Ron's hand as the sound of Hermione's voice filled his ears from all the way downstairs. He was in one of the spare bedrooms, sitting at the desk they'd set up as a little study. 

His final Auror tests were coming up soon, and there was a theory component. It felt like being in school again, except this time it actually mattered. His results would determine his future. 

And he cared about that now.

"RONALD WEASLEY, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Ron looked hesitantly towards the closed door. He could hear Hermione's footsteps thumping up the stairs. She was angry about something, and it sounded as if he was the cause of that anger.

What on Earth had he done? He'd been in the study virtually all day, taking liberty of the whole day off he'd been given to practice for the tests. She’d been at work — he wasn’t even there to annoy her in the office. 

"Er, in here!" he called nervously, and a moment later the door opened.

There stood Hermione in her work robes, hair out of the ponytail she'd tied it in that morning. She was red in the face and her eyes glared down at him to where he sat at the desk. 

"Explain," she said.

Ron stared at her, unsure what he was supposed to be explaining. He glanced at the door. She was blocking it. "They gave me a day off to study?" he tried. But she knew that already.

Her expression darkened. "Explain," she said through gritted teeth, "why one hundred and fifty three Galleons were taken from our account last Friday. Taken out by you?"

Ron paled. He said nothing. 

That was the wrong thing to do.

"Ron!"

"I… I had to get something," he said. "Something important. Essential."

"What is so essential that it cost you one hundred and fifty Galleons?" Hermione fumed. "You're lying. Why are you lying? Are you doing something illegal?"

"What?"

"Well, I can't think of any other reason as to why you wouldn't tell me about something that costs so much. You spent so much of our money. Not just yours. Ours. What did you spend it on? And don’t lie to me."

Ron averted her gaze, staring down at his scribbled notes. "I… can't say."

"So it's something I won't like. Right. Got it."

A silence filled the room, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Ron shifted in his chair.

"Is this how our life's going to be?" Hermione suddenly asked.

Ron looked back up at her. "What do you mean?"

"You doing things with money secretly that… that greatly set us back? We have a house, Ron, and you may not be used to it, but houses come with bills. Tell me, honestly, are you doing something I won't like?"

Ron said nothing again, which Hermione seemed to take for a yes. 

"Great," Hermione said. "Just great. I thought I knew you better than that. I thought…"

"You thought what?" Ron asked, and he finally stood up from the chair. 

"I thought we were always honest with each other. We have been. If I needed something that cost so much, I'd tell you. I’d make sure we could actually afford it first.” She paused. “This… changes things."

"What, in our relationship?" Ron asked, panic suddenly coursing through him. This was the last thing he needed. Everything was all ready for next Saturday. He couldn’t tell her, but he couldn’t have her angry with him either. 

Hermione nodded. 

Ron stared at her. Her eyes were brimming with tears. He took half a step towards her, wanting to comfort her, assure her that it was okay, but then didn't. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. 

"So, because you found out that I took money out of our account without telling you, you're now questioning whether we should be together at all? You feel as if I've broken your trust? Is that what you mean?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. She looked tearfully up at him. "I don't —"

"Alright," Ron said, and he walked past her and out into the landing. 

"Ron!" Hermione said, coming after him. "Ron, don't walk away from me! I want to talk to you about it. If you need something —"

"I'm not doing anything bad!" Ron said. "I don't know why you'd think that!"

"I don't think… Ron, why are you walking away?”

She followed him into their bedroom. He was kneeling in front of the open wardrobe. 

"What are you —"

Ron took out the shoebox that had been safely kept there for a week. He'd resisted the urge to open it again since placing it there, knowing that he only had one more Saturday to go after tomorrow. 

He passed it to her. "I was going to surprise you, but it’s not worth you thinking I’ve betrayed you,” he said. “Or wondering if I'm hiding something from you." He tapped the box with his wand, removing the disillusionment charms. "Open it."

Hermione moved her gaze from Ron to the box that was now in her hands and back to Ron again. She looked a bit stunned. Clearly, she’d been gearing up for a massive argument, which Ron wasn’t giving her.

"Open it," Ron said again, this time with a small smile. 

Eyeing him with suspicion, Hermione did as he asked. The moment that the lid came off, her eyes darted back to him, wide with surprise. The last time she’d looked in it, it had been filled with Chocolate Frog Cards. 

Ron's smile grew a little. "It's exactly what you think it is. I've had the knowledge of it hanging over me for too long now, and I'm sick of it not being put to use. Open the other box."

Hermione discarded the shoebox on the floor. She had the ring box in her hand, but she hesitated with opening it. She kept looking at Ron, not speaking, and he was very aware of the fact that he was still kneeling on the ground. 

"For the love of Merlin, Hermione, just do it, would you?"

"Ron —"

"Open the damn thing."

Casting another look Ron's way, Hermione opened the ring box, her eyes widening even more as she saw what was inside.

"Ron, I —"

"Marry me," Ron said from the ground before she could say anything else. "I mean, will you marry me? Please?"

Hermione was staring at the ring in her hand, her mouth now slightly open. She had not expected this at all if her expression was anything to go by, and Ron felt pleased. It really was all he had wanted — to surprise her. 

Her mouth moved silently like a fish.

"I love you, Hermione... I love you so much, and I should have asked you a long time ago, but I'm asking you now." For the first time, a moment of panic washed over him. She had been pretty angry with him… and he'd half been expecting an instant yes, which he hadn’t gotten. "Please say you'll marry me."

"You… this was what you…"

"Yeah," Ron said. "I told you it was very important and essential. Can you give me an answer now?"

Hermione still looked dumbfounded at the fact she had come home expecting to engage in a massive argument and instead found herself holding a ring in her hand and Ron asking her to marry him.

"Read what is written on it first," Ron said, "then give me an answer."

Hermione took the ring from the box and peered at the band. "It's now or never," she read. "You said that —"

"I know when I said it," Ron told her. "And I've lived by it ever since, including this moment. I have delayed this for way too long. Hermione, will you marry me?"

And for the first time since he'd seen her that afternoon, a smile formed on her lips. The ring was in one hand, the box in her other. "You know, I should just leave you on the ground for a little bit longer as punishment. I'm not worth that much money, Ron."

Ron grimaced. "We'll talk about that later. And for the record, you're worth every damn Knut I spent on that. I have no regrets. My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner. But now you're starting to worry me. Even a no would be okay right now."

Hermione's smile widened. "Oh, Ron," she said. "I'll marry you. Of course I will. I just… wasn't expecting this. I was…"

"Ready to murder me?" Ron offered.

"I didn't know… I thought…" She beckoned him off the ground, and the moment he was on his feet, she had her arms around his neck and pulled him into a long, deep kiss. Ron could have stayed there forever, arms around her, breathing her in as if his life depended on it. He'd done it. He'd asked her. 

And she'd said yes.

He cupped her face, returning the kiss with as much as she was giving him. 

When they finally pulled apart — it could have been after a minute or after an hour, Ron didn't care — she looked up at him with tearfilled eyes and smiled. "I love you," she said. "I love you so much. I'll absolutely marry you." She took her hands from around his neck and Ron dropped his from her face. 

He wanted to cry, too. He didn't know why, he'd never thought he'd feel the need to do so, but having her standing in their room, tears now running down her face, he couldn't have been happier. 

He didn't need fireworks, or a picturesque background, or even a fancy formal picnic. He didn't need an expensive ring. He just needed her. He just wished he’d realised that sooner.

"Put it on," he said, nodding at the ring. 

Hermione held it out for him. "You do it," she said. 

Ron looked at her, smiled, and then accepted it from her. He slid it onto her finger, and it was the perfect fit. 

"It's beautiful," she whispered. 

Ron grabbed her face again and kissed her once more, hard and firm. Her arms went limp at her side. 

"Are you glad this is what I spent our money on? You're not still mad at me, are you?" he asked, grinning.

"I'm furious with you," she said through a smile. "But, I can live with that, I guess."

"You're worth it," Ron said. "This whole process has been worth it to get to this moment. It's been a shambles, it's involved Harry and Ginny telling me on multiple occasions how much of an idiot I am, but it's all worth it to hear you say yes. It's all I wanted."

"You planned it like this?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"To ask you on our bedroom floor after you discovered that I'd taken a big portion of our savings from our account without telling you, leading you to believe I was doing who knew what with it? Not exactly how I envisioned it, but I planned to ask you soon, yes."

"You were so calm," Hermione said.

"Trust me, if it was next Saturday and I had another week to stew over the whole thing, I wouldn't have been this calm. I had zero time to think about it before you told me to leave." He kissed her again. "I'll have to tell George to cancel the fireworks."

"Fireworks?" Hermione questioned.

"I had plans." He shook his head. "This is better, though. Way better. I love you. I love you so much it actually hurts. I never thought I could be so in love with someone, so happy, so incredibly happy. You make me feel a lot of things — all good things, all amazing things —"

Hermiones's lips were on his. So soft, so gentle, so loving. "You're rambling."

"Sorry."

She smiled up at him and then laughed. And then she looked down at the box still in her hand and the shoebox on the floor. 

"So you don't have an abnormally large collection of Chocolate Frog cards?"

"Somewhere," Ron said. "Not here, though. Probably still at the Burrow if Mum hasn't tossed them yet." He picked up her hand. "It looks good on you. I knew it would. It was the right one. I love you."

For a while they stood in the centre of their bedroom, looking at the ring. Ron's heart was pounding in his chest, filled with love and relief and pure happiness. 

"We should keep it between us for the moment, though," Hermione said after a moment.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Well, wouldn't we be treading on the toes of Harry and Ginny?" she asked. 

"That git knew I'd been planning it longer than he had and he just jumped right on in before I even had the chance," Ron scowled. "I would take no greater pleasure than stamping on his happiness with my own." He looked at her raised eyebrow. "But yeah, it's why I wasn't planning it until next week. But I'll have you know that I was planning on marrying you since Percy and Audrey's engagement last year. I just… couldn't afford this straight up." He touched the ring. 

"You didn't have to spend one hundred and fifty Galleons," she said. "It's stunning, but that's not a deciding factor in my decision. Not at all. I'd marry you no matter what."

Ron smiled at her, not finding the heart to tell her the real story about the ring. "That's what Harry said. And Ginny. But I wanted to. I don't regret it. I'm going to marry you and I'm the happiest man alive right now. Can we tell someone? Harry and Ginny? They won't care, they knew anyway."

"How about Mum and Dad?" Hermione said. "We have lunch on Sunday with them anyway. Let's tell them. But if we see your family… I'll just… not wear it for a while. Let Harry and Ginny have their moment."

"Okay," Ron said. He held her tightly against him and added, "I'm so happy right now." He kissed her again. 

[ithappensoffstage]

about your recent post: please do ramble 🥺 i want to hear what you think about those parallels and protag and protagoneil in general so much! please just write whatever is on your mind because we really need it 🤍

Alright, let’s do this!! Answer and--obviously--film spoilers under the cut! I’m flattered that you’ve asked me to do this and hope I can articulate this well; if I don’t, and even if I do, please feel free to ask any follow up questions/clarifications.

The subject of this rant is why some dialogue parallels are Backwards Boyfriends-esque.

In London, at Shipley’s, we have this scene between Kat and The Protagonist. (Note: I’ll shorthand him to Protag from now on). 

KAT: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s a lot of work before any kind of valuation - provenance, microscopic examination, X-rays…

PROTAGONIST: But what does your heart tell you?

This is their first meeting. Protag approaches her with an offer, blackmail, and all with the intent to use her as a means to meet Sator. Still, Protag treats her kindly. Not gentleman-Bond, sauve-seductor kind, but with human interest. He’s ostensibly asking about the forged drawing here… he’s really talking about if she believes him, what her heart tells her about HIM. Because he is about to test her faith. He is about to reveal to her that he’s brought a forgery and needs her simply to meet her arms-dealing husband.

(I don’t think this is a “heart” thing like “love.” Protag and Kat, to me, never approach romantic entanglement. That’s another ramble for another time, though.)

Now, in Tallinn, we have this exchange between Neil and Protag.

Neil: It’s unknowable. If you’re there to make a change, you’re not here to observe its effect.

Protagonist: What do you believe?

Neil: What’s happened’s happened.

Once more, ostensibly, Kat’s wound, the car chase, and briefcase. Protag here, though, is asking “Do you believe in ME? Do you believe I can accomplish or change this based on what you know of me, have seen of me, [love about me]?”.

I think it’s important to note how, in the first scene, what dialogue I haven’t included in this text is Protag asking, “What’s it worth?”--you can see it in the photos on this post. Subtextually, let’s regard this as, What is involving yourself in this scheme worth to you? Is your freedom worth it, etc. Again, that belongs in my why-I-fucking-love-Kat’s-arc rant, so we’ll just leave it there as something to consider moving through this next bit.

The most vital distinction between these scenes is the dynamic behind the reaction from Kat versus the reaction from Neil. Kat is bothered, worried, distraught: negative emotions. She caves, though, under that pressure. And is subsequently powerless to stop the story from happening to her.

Neil is frustrated: negative emotion. But he’s also teaching Protag how to be the Protag he knows, and is really the one leading the interaction here, because he gets to decide how much to tell Protag and when. Yet, he’s also giving rules given to him by the Protag in the future. Regardless of how I view their relationship, that’s extraordinarily significant because it’s this circle of deciding for one another when the other can know--a circle of giving one another power. It’s Neil’s entire thing about not giving himself an excuse to do nothing. Every decision he makes controls Protag’s future and thus also Neil’s own. So his hesitation is not, I think, that Protag might screw this mission up--what’s happened, happened and all--but that he could harm himself or Kat by doing this thing that Neil wasn’t aware happened before/yet.

Anyway, also, the framing of this dialogue. Holy shit. Didn’t I tell you this would be a ramble? This set-up is the same, and not because Nolan is a weak writer by any fucking degree. This is so purposeful.

Protag: question

Kat/Neil: answer, plus an issue with the posited next step in Protag’s plan

Protag: What does your heart tell you/What do you believe?

“Believe” being in italics really gets me. ESSENTIALLY, THEN, HE IS ASKING NEIL IF HIS HEART BELIEVES IN THE PROTAGONIST. Not in physics or some shit, but, if I go out there right now, does your heart tell me I’ll live? But Neil’s not sure because the Protag in the future, the man he knows (and loves) hasn’t died, didn’t die, but is this different? But it can’t have--and Neil is lying quite a lot in the movie, balancing what he’s aware of so he doesn’t muck up the Protag’s trajectory--so he calls it “unknowable” when what he truly means is “I know you and Kat live through this so of course I believe you live through this.”

Protag also isn’t interested in science or art, which is SO FASCINATING. Like. He doesn’t care about the x-rays; he wants to know if Kat thinks it’s (he’s) real (honest/good) at the start. He doesn’t care about the theory; he wants to know if Neil BELIEVES. THINGS. CAN. CHANGE. FOR. THE BETTER. Or at least to a degree where everyone lives. Which is why at the end he asks if they can change it so Neil doesn’t die?? Like what the fuck aNOTHER dialogue parallel to the final showdown because the two people we see Protag care most about in the film have parallel scenes (the two above), then both are put in danger, and Protag wants to protect them even though he can’t change it but he WANTS to? I’m going insane.

So, why is this Protagoniel and not Protagonist/Kat romance? For one, oh-ho, I said I wouldn’t get into this, but Kat’s whole arc is about finding her own freedom. Why the FUCK would we add a romance to that. Her relationship with Protag is beautiful because it’s about betraying Andrei in a real way, not in some gross, male-macho ownership over Kat way. MORE ON THAT IF YOU WANT IT BUT I’m going to attempt to control myself.

The Neil and Protag scene is more romantic, even without the intimate setting (Shipley’s) and the word “heart” because they make it intimate? Car chase just happened, there’s just been an inverted round shot into Kat, Wheeler and Ives are there, and Protag takes Neil aside to ask him what he BELIEVES. Here, tell me this crucial thing about yourself, what makes you into you, your beliefs and values, and tell me right before I go put myself in danger, and also, you’re the person I trust most to give me this information. Wow, wow, and more wow.

UM so I do hope this makes a modicum of sense? Thank you for your ask and please, if you have more questions, throw them my way for more messy answers!!

[coinofstone]

3x12 The Coming of Arthur pt 1

The title is such low hanging fruit I feel bad cracking a joke about it.

It's a quest episode! I love a quest episode. Srsly feel free to send me any and all Merthur quest fics. I can't get enough 😂

This is the episode responsible for the lovely Leon fanon headcanon that he's immortal. Always handy in an Arthur Returns fic.

Uther: you must go on this mission alone

Arthur: *brings Merlin*

I do love Merlin being being a smart alec and nagging Arthur while packing. Excellent banter.

Arthur said

Arthur threatening a young boy like this is such an ugly and uncharacteristic action it makes me angry.

Merlin tending to Arthur while he's sick and injured 🥺

Also I'm sorry but Merlin shows fuckin Gilli his magic but he's hiding it from fuckin Gwaine while Arthur is suffering? Silly.

Cenred's massive army makes me wonder if it's a result of his tolerance of magic or lower standards than the knights of Camelot, or some combination of both.

Poor Leon, though. He's just got back from near death in that forest and Uther sends him right fuckin back in 😂

Looks like they snuck in to Camelot via the dragon's cave. I doubt that was the intention but I still approve 😂

Knowing he's on a suicide mission, Arthur gives Merlin an out, knowing he'll never take it, knowing he doesn't even want him to: he still presents him with the choice.

How come literally everyone else gets a crown that fits them but Arthur walks around looking like he's wearing hand-me-downs?

Morgana might be evil but she looks damn good on a throne.

3x13 The Coming of Arthur pt 2

There's a post going around Twitter about ppl who nitpick at TV shows... this comment falls into exactly that category 100% but I'm sorry, I cannot just ignore the fact that Morgana's got these massive banners and an entire army's worth of uniforms, I mean look:

Every guard with the sigil on his uniform and half a dozen banners in the council chambers alone. That's to say nothing of the ones outside. I mean look at the sheer fuckin size of these things:

Look how tiny the ppl are next to em! They've gotta be at least 15 feet long, at least. Where did they come from? Were they all magicked into existence? Who designed that sigil? What does it represent? Is it Gorlois' banner? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Leon isn't someone I've ever been particularly attracted to, personally, but his defiant shout of "Long Live the King" in the face of Morgana's threats, is sexy as hell.

Depressed Arthur is such a mood.

So. Gwen. Originally in 3x12 when Morgana essentially invited Gwen into the fold (insofar as a Queen's servant can be), it seems to be a set up, because Morgana has been treating Gwen like shit for ages, why would she suddenly want her friend back? Especially since Morgana knows something is going on between Gwen and Arthur - there's no way she believes that they were actually under the spell of some random sorcerer, that just doesn't make any sense. So you kind of assume - or at least I did - that Morgana is keeping Gwen close knowing that she'll be useful as bait or a hostage, just essentially as a person of value to Arthur. She's known Gwen for too long to actually believe she'd cross Arthur, there's just no way someone as machiavellian as Morgana doesn't see Gwen's 'loyalty' as a simple survival tactic. All of this is to say, when Morgana and Morgause eavesdrop on Gwen's conversation with Sir Leon, Morgana is just like, 'welp, she's betrayed me. Guess I'll kill her in the morning.' as though she was actually expecting Gwen to do anything else?!?! Like, why? It would've made so much more sense to just cut that line entirely and go straight to something like

Morgana: it's as we suspected, she's betrayed me

Morgause: yes, now she can lead us straight to Arthur

And it would've made so much more sense than the weird sort of purgatory they've implied where Morgana changed her mind about Gwen very suddenly the night before she took the throne. It's not a super important detail in the overarching story but it's another example of how carelessly their story has been handled.

Me rn:

I do love that they made Freya the Lady of the Lake, and that she kept her promise by telling Merlin how to defeat the army of the dead.

How Merlin really sees Kilgharrah:

Gwen really is the smartest of all of them.

I do love that Merlin's first undead kill with excalibur is entirely an accident lol

The subtext between Morgana and Morgause is really gross. I haven't said anything before because I generally don't approve of ship shaming but the not so subtle subtext gives me the heebies.

This is such a great shot

Everything about it, his woman at his left and his man at his right, his romantic rival opposite him on his wife's side, as directly opposite her as possible at a round table with an uneven number of placements. It's a really beautiful shot, fitting for an equally beautiful scene. It's a very moving scene, the music really adds the exact emotion you'd expect for this moment we all recognize... and I feel like the knights' oaths are very well matched. The snarky part of me wanted to make a 'call me maybe' joke about Percival, but he's so sincere I just can't do it. The moment of levity added by Merlin's banter with Arthur is really, really well paced. Honestly I think it's probably the next perfect, iconic scene since Gwen and Arthur's first kiss. Hats off to this crew.

(Don't worry dear reader, I'm sure I'll get back to complaining shortly)

Santiago is so dreamy. I'd share his bedroll any day.

I like that despite all the talk of equality and doing the thing Uther wouldn't approve of, Gwen still worries about the company seeing her and Arthur kiss. Like, he's planning an insurrection with a bunch of commoners and two dudes who've been officially banished from Camelot, but she's internalized the classism and the rules of royalty so deeply that even amongst friends she instinctively keeps their relationship hidden. I'm not sure how intentional that was but it's brilliant.

The fight big fight scene with Merlin just barely missing the cup while the knights are cornered, and Gaius showing up like the brilliant deus ex machina that he is, honestly makes the previous budget-slashed episodes more bearable. Because this really is great, even knowing it's great at the expense of those others.

Morgana's screeching is eerily similar to Aithusa's.

I wonder if they knew they were getting renewed for a fourth season when they wrote this. Because you know, it really could've worked as a series finale as well. An open-ended series finale, but a series finale all the same.

As a Queens kid, I cannot explain to you the joy it gives me to watch Arthur and Merlin just chillin on the steps to the castle as tho it were a stoop, which I suppose, in a sense... it kind of is. Ahhh youthful days.

Commentary is Jeremy Webb and Julian Murphy.

And this kids, is why we're watching with commentary! They've just explained that Morgana's sigil is supposed to symbolize the Rowan tree that's supposed to be at the heart of the Isle of the Blessed. That suggests she designed it herself, so there's at least one of my earlier questions answered.

They talk a lot about how Emila Fox was very pregnant when they were filming her in this season, and they shot entirely around it - and I can't help but feel anger toward Joss Whedon and his 'handling' of Charisma Carpenter's pregnancy during S4 of Angel.

One of them called the round table scene 'curiously moving' and I think that is really fitting. They'd had this in mind for about two years, which is probably why it's so extraordinary. That's a great gestation period for a scene as iconic as this.

One final tidbit: the sword in the stone was filmed in France, and made it back to Wales intact. I guess nobody wanted to take it out. That's kind of an interesting thought, like a little set superstition or something. It's kind of cute.

The DVD extras/special features will get a separate post if I feel I have comments worth sharing.

[kokkoro]

Just like Heaven

Living large in a fresh and exciting new relationship, Clarke decides there’s no harm in joining her girlfriend of a month and half on a camping trip into the mountains. Little does she know it’s not the camping she’s used to.

Will she survive? Most likely. Will she enjoy it? That’s still up in the air.

(enjoy a sneak peek of the fic below. Coming maybe soon to an ao3 near you)

-

She should have said no. Is the immediate thought that crosses Clarke Griffin’s mind upon exiting the passenger seat of her girlfriend’s jeep wrangler with a severely under-prepared bag of camping essentials. When she pictured camping, she thought of those tightly packed sites with their numbers and pre-placed picnic tables dented and nicked by previous visitors, a minute walk away from the nearest bathroom--three if you were unlucky. Definitely not the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center of the white mountain national forest with only the trail in sight.

“I’ll be right back,” Lexa says, reaching out to touch her elbow, and Clarke feels a little betrayed by the way her heart skips as she watches Lexa bound up the steps into the visitors office, the lanyard with her keys dangling from the back pocket of her shorts.

Two other cars pull into the small parking lot as the door swings shut with a sharp wire-like groan, squeaky on its hinges. Clarke only takes one glance, seeing the vaguely familiar faces of Lexa’s friends as they roll up their windows and turn down music, before turning back around.

Lexa appears another minute later, and she smiles at the sight of Clarke still by the bottom of the steps. She quickly closes the distance.

“We’re all set,” Lexa says, practically a whisper as her hand finds Clarke’s hip and she steals a kiss.

“Cool,” Clarke whispers back on the exhale, opening her eyes just in time to see the soft curve of Lexa’s smile.

“Do you need help with anything from the car?”

“Uh...” She thinks, unable to piece together a coherent thought in the wake of those very nice lips smirking at her. “No. I’m good.”

Lexa eyes her, and Clarke feels her fiddling with the belt loops of her shorts. She comes to the conclusion pretty quickly, wrapped up in Lexa’s arms, that there’s no way in hell she’s making it out of this alive.

-

“So you’ve… done this before?”

Clarke’s head turns, looking back behind her on the trail. Anya, Clarke remembers Lexa telling her, tall and stupidly in shape much like the rest of Lexa’s close friends. Adidas tank and hiking boots, camping gear all rolled up neat beneath a backpack that has a holder attached to the strap for a water bottle. There’s not one sign of exhaustion halfway through their trek to camp and there’s that spark of jealousy at the ease of motion Clarke watches her weave along the trail.

“I, uh--” Clarke reaches for a tree, pulls herself up forward along the steady incline of the trail. “Can’t really say it's ever been on my to do list.”

Probably would have never been had it not been for Lexa. It’s nice, Clarke guesses, smells fresh. So much so that the outdoors seems to have crawled up her nose, decided it liked what it found, and pitched its own tent.

“Jumped right into the deep end,” Anya says, following step for step. “I’m surprised.”

Clarke glances ahead, around Lincoln and his girlfriend, past Echo and a guy she didn’t bother learning the name of, trying for a glimpse of Lexa leading the way to camp. What she finds is Lexa stealing glances. Head turned, peeking between the others as they wander up the trail. There’s this unmistakable smile in her eyes.

“Me too.”

--

To be honest it reminds her a lot like how they met. Maybe not so much the particulars, but the essence--that fits. Refreshing. New.

Warm.

It’s pretty, too, Clarke will give it that, though it's impossible to ignore the aching burn in her thighs and the way her knees wobble as the group disperses among the clearing, footsteps soft among dirt and crushed pine. Through the break in the trees, the lake isn’t far off, glinting enticingly underneath the afternoon sun, and the gentle murmur of the nearby stream sits just under the breeze that filters through branches. It leaves Clarke pleasantly at ease even as she struggles to (under her breath) regulate her breathing following that last rigorous mile of their hike. Clarke hopes going down is a lot easier than it was going up.

Lexa stops beside her, thumbs hooked around the straps of her backpack, watching as the group squabbles about claiming spaces, dumping bags of clothes and gear and stretching the soreness of muscles.

“What do you think about over there?” Lexa points with her right hand, discreet, to a small patch of cleared forest floor a little further away and closer to the water than the others. Clarke studies it, but finds nothing really to write home about. She chalks it up to the aesthetic.

Bags unzip, this small compact fold out picnic table is assembled in three minutes flat thanks to Lincoln, a small cooking station set up on top that consists of griddle and a couple of pans. The good thing about traveling with near professionals, it seems, is that these tasks are completed without much need for her help, and Clarke is more than happy to be supervisor as Lexa pitches the tent with little interference on her part. Helpful or otherwise.

Clarke doesn’t complain.

--

The fire crackles, roars as it's prodded and poked and fed. Clarke watches the sparks with this kind of weary eyed acceptance, Lexa on the ground in front of her between her legs. She’s draped herself against the plane of Lexa’s back, arms tucked in between for optimal warmth, face pressed against the smooth slope of her girlfriend's shoulder, and the smell of the smoke and what remains of dinner is more than enough to make her drowsy. Her eyes open and close and minutes seem like seconds between them.

The fire is warm, but Lexa is warmer.

“--and he just wipes out, face first.” A ripple of genuine laughter rises from the earth.

Clarke opens her eyes, peering over Lexa’s shoulder at the fire and the way the flames flicker and gasp. The coals glow bright, and Lexa uses the stick she holds to push things around in the lull that follows. Clarke readjusts, unfolding her arms and wrapping them around Lexa’s waist. She feels the little hum Lexa exhales, resting the palm of her hands over Lexa’s stomach, feeling the residual heat from the fire.

Lexa shifts, and Clarke’s eyes drift closed in what she knows to be bliss. A second later she feels the kiss Lexa presses to her forehead. “Are you falling asleep?” Lexa asks, voice quiet.

Clarke nods.

“How long have you guys been together?” comes Echo’s voice from across the fire and it’s enough to sever the illusion of privacy she thought she had tucked close to Lexa’s back.

When Lexa doesn’t answer, Clarke responds, “two months,” and it comes out muffled into Lexa’s shirt. No one needs to know she’s rounding up.

“Two months? That’s it?” Echo responds and Clarke isn’t quite sure how to take the surprise that crosses her face. “Two months and you let this one drag you halfway across the country and six miles into the mountains? Must be love.”

“It sounded nice when she offered,” Clarke half-heartedly defends with a shrug, and she feels Lexa chuckle. No one needs to know that week ago she had been distracted enough that the thought of saying no hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Lexa pats her leg. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Clarke nods again, breathing in the earthy scent that clings to Lexa’s shirt. She lets go when Lexa moves to stand, her arms falling to her sides, and Lexa stretches once on her feet, languid and prolonged and Clarke watches because she can.

“Is the food taken care of?” Lexa asks no one in particular as she helps Clarke up. Once Clarke is standing, Lexa distractedly brushes the bits of dirt and grass off Clarke’s shirt.

Anya waves her off. “I’ll hang it up, don’t worry.”

“Please,” Lexa says as she reaches for Clarke’s hand.

“Hang up the food?” Clarke whispers once they’re out of the main cast of light. The pine needles crunch softly under foot and Lexa flicks on a battery powered lantern hung along the main support of the tent, plucking it from its hook. Behind them the voices carry as the conversation continues without them, but the quiet ring of Lexa’s laughter is unmistakable.

“Bears.”

“Bears?” Clarke squeaks. Her grip on Lexa’s hand tightens.

Lexa glances back at the noise, and Clarke can see bits of fire dancing playfully in her eyes before she turns back around. Lexa gently coaxes her right hand from Clarke’s grasp, reaching for the zipper of the tent and tugging. The zipper whirs. “We’re in the open woods, Clarke. Of course there are bears.”

Lexa ducks inside after slipping off her shoes and Clarke sticks close, scrambling in under the flap. The soft glow of the lantern spills out into the nooks and crannies, and Lexa places it near the edge and then neatly goes about stripping from her tank. She pulls a loose t-shirt from her bag, slips it over her head.  

Clarke follows suit. She finds a pair of sweatpants that are most likely Lexa’s, clothes thrown together, split between two backpacks when they hastily packed the night before. Things pile in the little divot around the perimeter of the tent, shirts Clarke doesn’t have the energy to wrestle back into her bag, stepping out of her pants and into the sweats as Lexa begins laying out the sleeping bags over the air mattress.

“It gets cold at night.”

Clarke lets out a huff of laughter, precariously balanced on one foot as she peels off a sock. “I’m cold right now.”

“There’s something to be said about consistency, then,” Lexa says with this quiet, teasing smile. “I have an extra blanket.”

Clarke shakes her head, tossing her socks in the general vicinity of her bag. Lexa watches them sail past their mark.

“Not a word,” Clarke says as she plops down at the edge of the mattress, glancing towards Lexa but her eyes find the insufferable quirk to Lexa’s lips. There are no words, just the widening of Lexa’s smile as she trails after her, bending over to brace her hands on either side of Clarke’s thighs. The mattress stiffens under the extra weight as Lexa leans in to kiss her.

“I’m glad you came.”

--

She sleeps like the dead, though according to Lexa that isn’t really anything new. It is a surprise considering the current... accommodations, but all things considered, Lexa is with her. Sleep is going to be as good as ever.

And for once when she wakes up Lexa is still beside her.

Clarke blinks, half of mind to think it’s a mirage. She doesn’t bother clearing her throat, and her voice comes out as gravely as coarse sandpaper. “You’re still here?”

Lexa smiles even though she doesn’t open her eyes. “Were you not expecting me to be?”

“I figured you’d be taking advantage of having basically the entire wilderness at our doorstep,” Clarke says, sneaking a cold hand under the hem of Lexa’s shorts.

“We’re here for a week,” Lexa drawls, the sound turning into this low hum somewhere deep in her throat. “I have plenty of time.”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Amnesia - Let the Games Begin

A mixture of delicious fragrances engulfed the café, compelling those who were fatefully walking by to enter the bistro. While the intoxicating scents may be what lured guests, it was the diverse set of attendants that created loyal customers. Jack Rose was founded by Hyroshi Miya eight years ago after the passing of his wife. Kaori Miya was known for having a sweet-tooth and her obsession with the tragedy of the Titanic. During Kaori’s battle with leukemia, Hyroshi developed an obsession with baking, with young Atsumu serving as his assistant. At first it served as a distraction for the duo, and a source of happiness for Kaori. However, when Kaori passed away, Hyroshi wanted to honour his wife’s life, and so Jack Rose was established. Named after the two love interests in Titanic, with an eccentric menu that no neighbouring café could challenge – it was a massive success.

“Hi, welcome to Jack Rose. Please follow me.” The rehearsed dialogue was not short of any enthusiasm, despite having said it hundreds of times.

“Oh my god, she’s so cute!” The middle-aged woman cooed to the male stood beside her, who nodded in approval. His amusement was untraceable due to the dark lenses that adorned his face, but he too was enthralled by your uniform.

A sugary smile had painted across your fuchsia painted lips, earning you a few extra points with the couple. It was a simple act that came natural to you, serving at Jack Rose had never struck you as a tedious job, rather it was a pleasurable experience.

After leading the pair to their assigned seat, a gentle hand had pressed into your lower back indicating that your replacement had arrived.

“Thank you, y/n. I will take it from here,” The mocha haired boy radiated an alluring aura, instantly capturing the interest of the two patrons. “Hi. I’m Tooru, your server for today.” Once introducing himself, his mouth twitched into his signature grin, prompting his eyelashes to flutter shut for a moment. Seated a few tables away, Oikawa’s fangirls were huddled together, squealing in unison.

“Enjoy your stay.” Folding an arm over your stomach, you bowed to excuse yourself before their hypnosis wore off, and the fangirls’ attention landed on you. Needless to say, anyone close to Oikawa Tooru was considered a threat. One they were eager to eliminate.

At the hostess stand, a familiar figure had shifted their weight onto the podium, the ends of his golden strands were frayed from the exposure to chemicals, yet with the sunlight sneaking through the glass behind, he resembled the subject of a painting.

“Oi. Are you feelin’ better today?” Atsumu Miya had always insisted that his accent was a natural product of his environment, although no one truly believed him considering the fact his family home was located in the wealthiest part of the city. Nonetheless, the accent persisted beyond his teenage years and into his young adulthood. It never bothered you, particularly because you had never heard him without it. After eighteen years of friendship, there wasn’t a single thing you did not adore about him.

“I am, don’t worry. Now will you please get off my stand? You are going to scare the customers.” Playfully you waved a hand in the air, gesturing for the blonde to reside elsewhere. “And if I’m not mistaken, you are skipping class right now, aren’t you?” As your tongue hit the roof of your mouth, a clicking sound was created to exemplify your disappointment.

“What was that? ‘tsumu is skipping class again?” If you had not become accustomed to Kuroo Tetsurou’s large and notable presence, you would have flinched the second his shadow had blanketed over you. Rather than experiencing any form of fear, his presence had only amplified your gaiety.

“Uh huh. Shall we get Papa Miya?” The bed-headed server leaned down, nestling his chin against your shoulder as he grinned provocatively at the target of your amusement. Kuroo was only a single year younger than you two, despite physically appearing to be older. The three of you were inseparable since the tender ages of six and five. When Kaori had passed away, Atsumu relied heavily on his two friends, as he had lost motivation to complete the smallest of tasks. That was why you took a job at Jack Rose, you needed it to succeed for his sake. It was a reminder of how his mother lived, rather than how she died. Kuroo had joined you in your quest a month later, and somehow your dream – Hyroshi’s dream had become reality.

“I swear yer the worst friends ever. It’s an online class! Don’t bring pops into it.” The blonde blew out a huff, turning his gaze away from those who threatened to ‘betray’ him.

“Oh my god, you guys are the worst! Poor Omi is in the back preparing all the drinks and you’re out here doing… whatever the hell this is!” Makoto Saito waved a small napkin at the black-haired server, unwilling to engage in any physical violence since it would require energy she wished to conserve. “Go back there, you man-baby. Help him. Shoo. Get off my adorable y/n.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” Kuroo raised his hands in defeat, unbothered by the napkin that was now being swayed towards his chest. Makoto had joined Jack Rose two years ago, and not because she was in any need for money – you were the reason she found herself sending in an application for what others would consider a low-end job. She had stumbled into the café one evening, boredom plaguing her after finishing a three-hour lecture. Oikawa had been the one to greet her, yet it was the positivity you emanated that brought her to return a night later. A month later, a job application was handed to you bashfully, whereas you could barely withhold your excitement. She was the second female to join Jack Rose, with Atsumu (accidentally) recruiting Ichika a year later.

“Now that he’s gone, y/n, I’m here to replace you. Omi said something about teaching you the new drink? I honestly don’t remember because I was on the phone, but let’s ignore that fact, hm?” Makoto’s interest in the boys was below minimal, the only male who was deserving of her respect was ‘Papa Miya’. Once Atsumu had jested that it was because she secretly had a crush on the much older male, to which she responded, ‘so what if I do’. The response had defeated his humour instantly.

“Oh, he must be talking about the blue pearl! It’s the newest addition to our menu.” Tapping a finger against your cheek, excitement burned in your y/e/c irises, prompting something to stir inside of both Atsumu and Makoto. What? You were so damn adorable.

“I don’t care, but you are so cute that I’ll pretend I do.” Reaching out, the black-haired girl patted your cheek affectionately. “Now go on, little bird. Fly fly away.”

“You guys better not fight while I’m gone.” With two fingers, you pointed at your eyes then at the two chaotic individuals you called friends, even with the warning, it was highly probable that the second you turned around they would begin bickering.

“Shoo, birdie.” The comment was accompanied by an unusually heavy sigh, Makoto completely intended on annoying Atsumu, but that was none of your concern.

Upon entering the kitchen, your nose crinkled at the delectable scents wafting towards you. When Sakusa Kiyoomi was working in the kitchen, everyone knew magic would materialize in the form of sweets. No one had believed the germaphobe could bake until he dropped off a box of home-made pastries along with his resume. Papa Miya was in the process of finishing his first bite when he declared that Sakusa was hired. He was just that damn good.

“You’re here.” The curly haired male had a bad habit of stating the obvious, he argued that it was key to the proper performance of his logical processes. No one tried to refute his claim, considering the fact he was essentially a genius. “Are you ready to learn?” Raising an eyebrow, his slender fingers wrapped around a glass-vessel before placing it on the counter.

“Mhm hm.” It was a bad habit of yours to chew on your bottom lip when in thought, but Sakusa found it endearing – even though he would deny such a claim out loud. Removing the notepad from your apron, your eyes darted aimlessly, searching for a writing utensil. You may have been a little too occupied with your pockets, a detail that the male picked up on, as he removed the pen tucked behind your ear.

“Are you sure you are well? If not, you should return home.” He held out the pen, analyzing your visage for any physical sign of illness.

“Woops. Sorry. I forgot it was there! But I promise, I’m fine!” It seemed that everyone was a bit on edge since yesterday, when you may have accidentally forgotten to eat and passed out mid-shift. You appreciated the sentiment, but you were fine. Really.

The curly haired baker refused to begin his demonstration until you consumed some food and water, his dark hues did not waver until each inch of the plate was clean. By the time you were done, Ichika had joined you in the kitchen for the lesson.

“I should have recorded that. I feel like I forgot it already.” Ichika was the youngest person on the team, Atsumu had offered her a job after finding her crying at a bus stop one night. The young girl was the breadwinner of her home, and due to her fathers gambling addiction, she was the only parental figure for her two younger siblings. Atsumu, after learning that her mother had too passed, was unable to turn a blind eye.

“I can show it to you tomorrow. I think I’ve got it.” A reassuring smile was presented towards her as you captured her hands and provided a gentle squeeze. “And then we all have the day off. I think everyone has decided we’re going to the amusement park, so it will be fun.”

“Okay… Thank you, y/n.” Ichika blinked excessively to withhold the tears that were brewing, she could always count on you to provide her with the support she so desperately needed. Sakusa who was simply watching the two interact was on guard with a rag to catch any tears that could possibly fall onto the counter he had just disinfected.

“Please do not cry.” The black-haired boy had almost sounded sincerely concerned for his co-workers emotional state, it was enough to fool Ichika who redirected her affections to him.

“You care about me too? Waa. I’m so loved!” As the tears began to exit her eye sockets, Sakusa jumped forward on instinct, pressing the cloth against her face. Laughter danced past your lips as you shook your head slowly. Jack Rose really attracted the strangest of people.

After your shift ended, instead of returning home to complete your assigned work, you decided to finish your assignment at the café. It was fairly quiet after 11pm, and Kuroo had offered to walk you home after closing up. Recently there were a striking number of assaults occurring in your area, and so you accepted the proposition without any hesitation.

“Welcome to Jack Rose! We are about to close soon, but I think I have enough time to serve you a drink or two. Is that okay with you, kind sir?” The words were conveyed in an anxious tone, as Ichika glanced at the clock plastered on the wall. Upon hearing the ‘kind sir’, both you and Atsumu glanced up from your laptop screens, stifling the laughter that was bubbling inside your throats.

“I won’t be long.” There was something peculiar about his choice of words, prompting your neurons to convey the word danger to your body. Before your mind could catch up with your physical movements, you had lifted from the chair and shuffled closer to where Ichika was stood. From the side of your eye, you saw your childhood friend following close behind, presumably picking up on your apprehension. But before you could utter a response to the mystery guest, the lightbulbs illuminating the bistro had burnt out.

The second darkness had enveloped the space, someone had seized your waist aggressively and a cloth was pressed to your mouth. The more you squirmed, the harsher their touch became – fear gradually paralyzed you. Or perhaps it was the chemical coating the fabric on your lips. Piece by piece your senses began to dull. Whether the person screeching your name was a hallucination or not was unclear…. All you knew was that your intuition was right, but unfortunately a bit too late.

Hume, who pioneered the bundle theory, would state that the human soul is nothing beyond a collection of still-shots and experiences. The self is a loosely connected bundle of perceptions, one that would change overtime. The question that remains is…. who will you be now? Who will you become? Without your memories as a guide, can you win the game that was designed specifically for you…? Or will you lose the never-ending battle? 

Amnesia - Let the Games Begin 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: and so it begins! also in this I may have erased osamu!? LMAO sorry 

Tag-list: @kara-grayson04 @namyari , @cuddlesslut , @iloveanime691 @shakiraisawesome @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fangirling-25-8 @krynnza @yetchann @chxrry-wxne

[captains-log-reviews]

Wendy (2020)

After my initial review of the well-known Disney version of Peter Pan, I decided to drastically depart from the traditional and go for a retelling that is a bit more (okay, a LOT more) AU for my second review. Wendy (2020) is still fresh in my mind, so it seems like the perfect time to write up a review for it.

**WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS.**

Overview/Summary:

I’ll be honest...I don’t typically like AU stories that significantly depart from the canon time period and/or location. I’m a sucker for period films, and the Edwardian London setting is, for me, almost as essential to the magic of Peter Pan as Neverland itself...so I went into Wendy with fairly low expectations, and I was very pleasantly surprised with how much I ended up liking it.

Wendy starts off in a small town American cafe sometime in the recent past (1950-1980-ish??) where we are introduced to Angela Darling, single mom and owner of the cafe, along with her three kids--Wendy and her twin older brothers, James and Douglas. Right off the bat, anyone who is familiar with the original storyline will recognize that this retelling takes a major departure from Barrie’s novel. Many of the characters we think we know are almost unrecognizable, while others (notably John and Michael, Tiger Lily, Tinkerbell, and Mr. Smee) sometimes have similar stand-ins but are ultimately missing entirely from this tale. That seems like a recipe for disaster at first glance, but the film handles the characters that it DOES have so well that the oversight can be forgiven.

Wendy and her brothers initially get the idea of Neverland in their minds after one of their friends, Thomas, disappears one day after hitching a ride on a train with a mysterious young boy named Peter (wonderfully portrayed by the ten year-old Afro-Caribbean actor, Yashua Mack). Instead of worrying about her friend, Wendy makes up fanciful stories about what Thomas might be off doing without them...but she remains fascinated by the train and the boy she saw until one day, she and her brothers decide to hitch a ride themselves. Upon arriving at the island, Wendy and her brothers are introduced to a slew of lost boys and girls and are surprised to find that their friend Thomas has not aged, though it has been a few years since they last saw him. The other children, many of whom have taken on new nicknames, have apparently never seen identical twins before and are particularly intrigued by James and Douglas, who they collectively label as, “Two-Boy.” The first half of the film (about an hour) is mostly spent on this introductory part of the story with the kids exploring their new home and generally having a good time. It’s all fun and games until they explore a shipwreck of the Mañana (a symbolically interesting name if ever there was one) and Douglas has a serious accident and is presumed dead. And THIS is where the real story begins.

“This is the story of Two-Boy broke apart,” Wendy tells us. “All that was left was a half. His heart cracked right down the middle...and all the joy spilled out.”

Heartbroken at the loss of his brother, James begins to age at an alarming rate...starting with his right hand. Worried about what will happen to him if he continues to age, James decides that the best course of action to stop his rapid aging is to cut it off...a task he assigns to Peter, as the leader of the children. But the aging doesn’t stop and James, needing medical care, is taken by his sister to the colony of “The Olds”--a shantytown on the outskirts of the island “where Lost Boys go when they’re REALLY lost.” The next time we see him, James is an adult, forging a crude prosthetic for his missing hand out of pieces of scrap metal. This “Hook” is a far cry from the elegantly dressed, suave captain we are used to; he’s old and ragged and broken...and despite my attachment to Hook’s original design, the raw emotion we get from the actor(s) portraying James in this film is flawless.

James, having become an outcast, decides that he and the other “Olds” need to use one of the children as bait to capture and kill the Mother--a magical whale that is the source of the island’s power and the protector of the children--to avenge Douglas (who was not protected) and to become young again themselves. Wendy’s pleas to her brother and her determination to see the child he was behind the man he becomes is devastating. “James, tell them to stop,” she cries. “James, you’re GOOD. BE GOOD!” And perhaps even more heart-wrenching... “James, you gotta remember who you are. Do you remember home? Do you remember Mama?” To which he quietly and tiredly replies, “...That was a long time ago.”

Douglas, of course, eventually turns up unharmed...and still a young boy, though his brother--in his grief and anger--has become an old man. The first time they see each other again after the accident, Douglas is shocked...and James is deeply hurt. More determined than ever to capture the Mother, he moves forward with the plan...but the moment he strikes a seemingly fatal blow to the creature with a harpoon, even he knows that he has done something very, very wrong. With a rousing chorus of “I love my mother!” reminiscent of the famous “clap your hands if you believe in fairies” scene, the kids (and the adults, too) cheer on the Mother until she is revived and rejoice at her coming back to life. Only James, sitting quietly off by himself, remains silent throughout the affair until, in one of the most poignant moments of the film, Douglas slowly makes his way through the water to his brother and takes his one remaining hand. “I can’t go home,” James reminds him. Pressing their heads together, Douglas quietly replies, “I know.”

As the adventure comes to a close, Wendy and Douglas are left with the dilemma of what to do with their brother, who can't return to the "real world" but has also been banished from the camp of the Lost Boys and Girls. But then Peter gets an idea and, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, proclaims that Two-Boy is his "greatest enemy." “Two-Boy is dead,” Wendy proclaims, standing in front of her brother. “All hail Captain Hook!” James, understanding the game, smiles and raises the claw. And so the story of Pan and Hook ends...or rather BEGINS.

What I Liked:

There was so much of this film that I loved. The subtle details like the watch James is shown wearing in a scene shortly before he loses the hand, his broken reflection in the glass at the camp of “The Olds,” the symbolic meaning behind the name of the ship... It’s super well done.

The setting threw me for a loop initially but ultimately ended up leading me to feel personally connected with the characters in a way that I hadn’t before. I grew up (and still live in) a small Southern town, and I’ve met people like Angela. They were my friends’ mothers growing up. They’re my clients and coworkers and who some of my friends grew up to be now. The cafe could be one right down the road from my parents’ house. My brother and I grew up on a lake, and one of my best childhood friends and his brother (my brother’s age) lived nearby. The scene of James and Douglas catching turtles and exploring down by the water in their hometown reminded me of the days when we’d all go looking for minnows and turtles and toads in our backyard...and watching James grow up into the sad, cynical Hook from that boy who reminded me so much of my best friend really hit me hard.

James’ character as a whole was a breath of fresh air. Though the film is titled, “Wendy,” it’s really James’ story that drives the plot. It’s not often a film takes the approach of giving us a detailed backstory for Hook (books are a different story, but...), and the fact that they not only made him the real focus of the story but also made him incredibly human and sympathetic without demonizing Pan was unexpected but appreciated. Often, in making the villain likable, authors and filmmakers fall into the trap of feeling like they must, in turn, make the “hero” out to be a terrible person (as in Maleficent, where King Stefan’s character assassination was absolutely brutal and painful to watch). Instead, what we get is a lonely little boy who covers up his sadness with mischief and mayhem and a broken man who disguises his pain with bitterness...and Wendy sees past both their guarded exteriors.

This Wendy isn’t quite the proper young lady of Barrie’s fairytale, but she, like James, has the same heart as her original counterpart. One thing I love about Wendy in nearly any version is the fact that she alone seems to see the hidden grief both Hook and Pan have and acts accordingly; she mothers Peter when he needs her without condoning some of his more morally questionable behavior and sympathizes with Hook but ultimately isn’t afraid to stand before him with her head held high even when he threatens her and the boys. She’s a compassionate character, but she doesn’t allow anyone to take advantage of that and walk all over her. Indeed, she defies anyone who tries to. This Wendy is much the same. She calls it like she sees it. When James is hurt and possibly dying from blood loss, she goes against Peter’s wishes and takes her brother to the camp of “The Olds” so he can have proper “grown-up” medical care that the kids can’t offer. Once there, she isn’t afraid or repulsed by the old men and women but instead tries her best to bring out their inner child and remind them of things that once made them happy. When Peter claims that her brother has become evil and betrayed them by growing up, she blatantly calls him out on his own guilt—“You cut off his hand, you a**-face!!” (I almost choked with laughter at that one!) I’ve always thought that if anyone of the original characters could reach the goodness in Hook, it would be Wendy. This film, in making her his sister, really showcases that, and it makes for some incredibly touching moments...particularly at the end of the film when James finally re-embraces his inner child and takes on the role as Peter’s “enemy,” the legendary Captain Hook (though he’s just “Uncle James” to Wendy’s daughter).

What I Didn’t Like:

I suppose my only real complaint, if you can call it that, is that I miss a few of the more traditional elements of the storyline. There are some iconic moments that, because of changes to the story, we don’t get in this film like the fight scene when Tiger Lily is captured and freed. We also lose the crocodile in this version, which takes away some of the fear that is usually present in Hook and which I honestly consider as much a part of the character as his anger and sadness. The film as a whole doesn’t suffer for the changes that were made, however, and I can live with them because of how well done everything else is.

Would I recommend it?

If you’re a die-hard stickler for canon or favor one of the characters who doesn’t appear in this version, this might not be the film for you. BUT if you love Hook’s character and are willing to be a little open-minded, definitely give this one a shot. I had pretty low expectations going in, but having seen it now, I’d add it to my list of favorite Peter Pan retellings.

Overall Rating:

I’m taking off just a little because I miss some of the traditional characters and elements of the story, but overall it’s a beautiful film with a lot of heart. 4.5/5 stars

[aquariusrunes]

The Superfriends AU (part 11)

Her eyes stung every time a flash went off, the bright lights reflecting off the water surrounding her. She wasn’t sure when her migraine had started, but it was now throbbing and making her dizzy. And her stomach? Turning. It was like all her insides were knotted together, constricting every few minutes to remind her how much pain she was in. 

It’d been like this all morning, pretty much since Damian received the video from one of her friends. She, her cousin, Adrien and Chloé had all watched it together. It was brutal. Marinette had never seen Rose slaughter someone so seamlessly. She knew her small friend would be upset once finding out about Lila’s lies, and she knew they needed something big and loud to make clear Damian had never even met Lila, to make sure he and Colin would be protected from the girl. But it felt a little too far for her.

It all just felt like too much. Really her luck was incredible. After months of planning, all the sacrifices she’d made, the battles she’d fought, the friends she had to lose and earn back, the ones she could never get back, it was all meant to lead up to this big moment. The moment where she finally proved just how much of a liar Lila was, as well as show everyone that the girl was not only evil, because she definitely was. But also that she was working with Hawkmoth. 

Now she had to rethink her whole plan. 

She wished Lila had never even thought about Damian Wayne. While she was glad to have Mylène, Rose and Juleka back, it was just such a setback. She needed Lila cocky, confident. She needed her to feel on top of the world to fall for what she had planned. 

And now the Italian girl was at rock bottom. With only Sabrina, Alya and Nino left. Though Marinette had to seriously wonder how much longer Nino’s cover would last. If Lila didn’t know he was a mole by now, she had to be close to figuring it out. Lila was many things, like evil incarnate, but she wasn’t stupid. 

And then there was Adrien.

He’d looked so hurt after watching the video, betrayed almost. And yes, this technically wasn’t taking the ‘high road’, like he’d once suggested, but surely he had to see that she had no choice. She didn’t want to publicly humiliate the girl! Okay that was a lie, she very much wanted Lila to get her just deserts, to go through all the pain Marinette had to endure. However, her plan was not to get even, she’d come to peace with the fact that they would never be even. Because Marinette had bigger fish to fry. And she was so close to proving Lila was working with Hawkmoth! She could practically taste it. But now, now that victory felt farther away than ever. And so did her partner. 

The camera lights flashed again, several more photos being taken. She was trying her best to do as the photographer asked, but it was a tad difficult to model when you didn’t have any prior experience, and you were chained to a lake. 

Marinette’s outfit was, of course, gorgeous. Though it did make her feel a little exposed. She was in a white sleeveless tube top, that was essentially just a strip of cloth covering her breasts. She wore a low set skirt made up of strips of metallic silver and black fabric, and in her currently kneeling position the entirety of her thighs were exposed. A black shawl hung off her elbows, she’d tried to use it to better cover herself earlier but had been instructed to keep it off her shoulders. 

Her hair was placed up for this photo shoot, into a messy rose bun that left her bangs to fall in her face. A silver daedem placed on her forehead with a gemstone that matched her eyes. She hadn’t been given shoes for this outfit and walking around the studio barefoot was an experience she didn’t really want to repeat. Her wrists were bound by intricately detailed long silver cuff bracelets, which were attached to sparkling silver chains. The chains disappeared beneath the water. 

She was sitting on a semi visible platform in the middle of the set that was really, just a small man made pond. But she really couldn’t tell how deep the water went, though she doubted it could be too deep, unless Edna had cut out part of the floor to make it deeper, which she wouldn’t put past her aunt. A fake forest backdrop was behind her and flaking both her sides. She’d been sitting on the ground for what felt like hours, but the photographer still didn’t seem satisfied. 

“Maybe it’s the earrings.” A woman suggested, she was looking at the photos that had already been taken. The current pair that adorned Marinette’s ears where big dangling silver ones that ended in sapphires. They would sweep against her neck or shoulders whenever she moved. 

“I like the earring.” She heard her aunt say. 

“Oh I love them.” The woman immediately agreed. “I just meant the way they are reflecting off the water.”

“I like that effect as well.” 

“Oh I love that effect.” 

She couldn't help the eyeroll. It was ridiculous the way people kissed her aunt’s ass. It was honestly no wonder Edna asked her for her opinions, at least she knew Marinette would be honest with her. 

“Maybe we should take a little break?” Violet suggested from behind the women. “Let Marinette rest for a moment while we sort out what needs to be changed?” 

“Fine fine.” Edna waved the girl off. 

It had freaked Marinette out when she was first hooked up to the platform, the way it moved from the middle of the water to the edge, it freaked her out when it suddenly started moving this time as well. She really wished these people would start giving her warnings about stuff. 

Once at the edge it only took a moment for someone to come and unchain her, then she was helped to her feet and off the platform entirely. Violet was waiting for her with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry about all this.” She whispered to the younger girl. “I know you can get overwhelmed easily.” 

“Oh, I’m fine.” Marinette tried to force a smile to reassure the girl, but she was sure it came off as anything but. 

“Are you sure?” Violet asked. “That your fine, I mean. You’ve seemed a little off all morning.” 

“Oh.” Marinette looked down, Violet had looped their arms together and was leading her back to the makeup chairs. “I’m fine, I guess, I just...well.” 

“It’s okay Marinette, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m a good listener if you need to talk with someone.” 

“Thanks Violet.” Her smile was a little stronger this time. “I just have a bad headache, and a bit of a stomach ache. I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” 

Violet gave her a considering look before turning and hollering out. “Aisha, could you come here a moment?” Soon a tall black woman with hair dyed every color of the rainbow was in front of them, a headset on and clipboard in her hands. 

“Yeah boss?” She spoke with an accent Marinette didn’t recognize. 

“Could you go and grab Marinette here a coke with crush ice?” 

Aisha smiled at Marinette before nodding to Violet. “You got it.” The girl swaggered her way towards the elevators, she had one of the strongest walks the bluenette had ever seen. 

“Coke and crushed ice, Parr family remedy for headaches and stomach aches.” Violet turned back to face Marinette. “But, if it doesn't help, please let Edna or I know. If we need to eat into another safety day-” 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The younger girl reassured the older one as best she could. “It's probably just everything catching up with me.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Yes everything was finally catching up with her, but it wasn't anything involving Edna or this week that was causing her distress. 

“But you’ll let me know if it doesn’t get better, right?” 

“Of course.” Violet had always been so nice, whenever Marinette was near her. She was kind of like the big sister she’d always wanted. The bluenette watched as Violet walked off towards her aunt, probably to inform her of Marinette’s troubles. Hopefully her aunt would just blow them off as nerves and not come pry. Her plans needed reworking enough, the last thing she needed was Protective Mama Bear Edna getting involved. 

“You alright?” Her cousin’s slightly concerned voice was startling to the girl previously lost in thought. She raised a hand to her heart, trying to calm it’s rapid pace as she looked over to Damian, now seated in the chair next to her. 

“Fine.” 

“That’s a lie.” He crossed his arms, turning the chair to better face her. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, I just don’t feel great.”

“That’s not nothing Marinette,” Damian’s face started contorting into what those who knew him meant worry, but those who didn’t would only see as pure anger. “Are you sick? Do you have a fever?” He raised his hand to her forehead, which she was quick to knock away. 

“Seriously Damian, I’m fine. I’m not sick, I don’t have a fever. I just feel crappy, okay?” She turned her head away from him. Edna was the last thing she needed right now, the second to last was Damian prying into her business. 

“Is it about what happened this morning?” He asked, voice quieter. “You didn’t seem even half as excited as Bourgeois did when the video showed up.” 

“Sort of.” She shrugged, pulling the shall up to better cover herself. “I don’t know. It’s a few things I guess.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was quiet. He wasn’t good at this sort of stuff, she knew that. But whenever he had a problem she’d make him talk about it till he either figured out what to do or started to feel better. It was sweet of him to try and return the gesture. 

“Not really.” She laughed lightly. “But it’s sweet, what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it a lot Gremlin.” 

“I’ve never seen you look quite so down before, you’re kind of worrying me.” He placed his hand on her wrist. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he leaned closer. “If you don’t want to talk to me I could go get someone else, Adrien?” 

“No.” She answered far too quickly, and she knew it the moment the word left her mouth. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. 

Damian’s face quickly changed to one of scepticism and stubbornness, his eyes quickly scanning the room till they found the blonde model far away having a conversation with his father. 

“What did he do?” His voice was a little too threatening for Marinette’s liking.

“He didn’t do anything Damian, really.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m not!” 

“Then you aren’t telling the whole truth.” His jaw set as his eyes came back to bore into Marinette’s soul. “What’s going on?” He demanded. 

“I just…” Oh great, her voice cracked, she was going to break down. She needed out of this conversation and she needed out of it quickly. She’d been stewing in her own thoughts for too long. She couldn’t talk about it now, she’d have a complete meltdown. 

“Marinette.” Both dark haired teens looked up, view obstructed by one Chloé Bourgeois dressed in shimmering golds and bronzes, her arms crossed and hip cocked. “Edna wants you.” She was talking to Marinette, but her eyes were locked on Damian. 

Chloé’s outfit resembled Marinette's in that the top was just a simple white tube top that barely covered anything. Instead of a skirt Chloé wore pants, high waisted and made of unconnected gold and bronze metallic straps, giving the outfit a swaying movement every time she moved. A thick golden belt covered her abdomen, matching the golden gauntlets that adorned her wrists, and a gaundy golden necklace hung from her shoulders. She also wore a daedem, but her gem was a much darker blue. Her hair was down and had been teased to give it more volume around her. 

“Okay.” Marinette was quick to get out of her chair and follow the blonde to where Edna was waiting. It was strange, walking with Chloé like this, but what was stranger was when the girl took her hand and squeezed it.

“Just keep it together for like twenty more minutes. Then we’ll break for lunch.” Chloé whispered, releasing her hand and taking a step back. Marinette’s eyes were wide as she watched the girl turn and walk away. 

Had she just been comforted by Chloé? 

“Good! Dahling come here!” Marinette was pulled from her thoughts as Edna grabbed her wrist and physically pulled her forward to look down at the screen where her pictures were waiting to be examined. “What do you think of these?” She asked, eyes scrutinizing. 

Marinette carefully went through a handful of photos, trying to pretend that about ten people weren’t staring at her as she did. She pushed everything that had been eating away at her down as far as it would go, focusing solely on the problem at hand. 

“I don’t like the colors.” 

“How dare you.” 

“Edna’s colors are genius.” 

“Who does this girl even think she is.” 

The area around her erupted with criticism the moment her opinion was voiced. But it didn’t matter what everyone around her was currently saying, what mattered was that Edna was now staring at the photos and considering what she had said. 

“What about the colors bother you?” The woman asked, effectively shutting everyone else up. 

“I think it’s a little dark?” She shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess, if I had been the one to design it, I would have gone with some pastels for the skirt, like lavender and sky blue, maybe a darker blue too. But if you had wanted to keep the dark, then I would suggest making the top black. And maybe, make the straps of the skirt a little softer too, I don’t know how committed you are to the metallic material, but maybe changing it out for tulle or silk. Just to make it more flowy, it would also make it look better with the calm of the water.” 

“Violet.” Enda called and the girl seemed to appear out of nowhere. “How long would it take to make those alterations?” 

Violet quickly went to work on her tablet. “Well, ma’am, they wouldn't be alterations, it would be a whole new garment. But seeing as we’d be using the same patterns and measurements, if we got the sewing room to work now, it would probably be done after lunch.” 

“Order it.” Edna snapped her fingers. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Edna turned to Marinette, smiling. “Thank you dear, your input is invaluable as always.” The small woman then turned to the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone! Seeing as how one of our outfits still isn’t here yet, we will break for an early lunch and pick this up afterwards. Oh and Violet, call your brother for me Dahling, tell him I’ll pay double the normal fee, I’m tired of waiting.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

… 

How had she gotten here? 

One minute, she was in the elevator, tentatively sipping a glass of soda, the next she was magically in Chloé Bourgeois’s room, sitting on the girl’s bed with a tray of cafeteria food in front of her. 

She had wanted to avoid Damian. He was angry now, and she knew that anger was going to be directed at Adrien. But she didn’t know how to properly avert it. If she told Damian the whole truth, he’d be even more upset. Nothing pissed him off more than someone beng complacent. But she also wanted to avoid Adrien. He just looked so disappointed after watching that video, she couldn’t face him yet. 

She still wasn’t sure how she ended up in her current predicament. She had gotten her food, and then Chloé had grabbed her hand again, second time today, that’s more physical contact in one day then she’s had with the girl in a year. The blonde dragged her off towards the elevators. And then they were in Chloé’s room, sitting on her bed with their lunches. 

“Okay,” Chloé dropped a straw into her glass. “What’s going on?” 

“I-uh, what do you mean?” Marinette asked. 

“Don’t play dumb Dupain-Cheng.” The girl gave her a pointed look. “You were seconds away from a total break down back there. And you looked terrified of both Damian and Adrien downstairs. What’s going on?” 

“Why do you care?” The bluenette asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously. “Why would you care?” 

Chloé looked a little taken aback by the question. And a little insulted, but did she honestly not expect Marinette to question her motives. Eventually the blonde girl huffed, setting her drink down on her tray before crossing her arms. “I’m trying to be a better person, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Forgive me for attempting to help when someone is clearly holding back tears.” 

“Why?”

“I told you I’m trying to-”

“Why are you trying to be a better person?” Chloé looked even more unprepared for that question. 

The blonde sighed, turning away from Marinette and pushing some teased hair behind her ear. “It’s always come easy to you.” 

“What?” 

“Being nice. Making friends. Smiling without a care in the world.” Chloé rolled her eyes. “When I was little, all I had was Adrien. He was kept away from the world for so long, but so was I. I didn’t get to go to public school until I was seven. Your first year of school in Paris was mine too. I didn’t know how to socialize or anything. All I knew was being loud got me attention and most of the time what I wanted. When I started school I only had one person who I got along with, and then you transfered into the class and everyone decided they liked you more, including her.” Chloé looked down. “I was a bitch because I was jealous and hurt, but recently I’ve been making some emotional breakthroughs and thus have decided to be a better person.” She huffed out the last sentence rather quickly. “So, what’s your problem today, cause that’s what we’re here to talk about.” 

“Oh Chloé,” Marinette set her hand atop the blonde girl’s. “I never meant for that to happen. I tried really hard to be your friend back then too.” 

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Yeah well, I kind of hated you the moment Alix decided she wanted to sit next to you instead.” 

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait.” She held up her hand. “Are you telling me, there was a time when Alix and you were best friends?” 

“Duh.” Chloé gave her a pointed look. “Well, not besties, but we were almost friends before you transfered. Why do you think I never mess with her?” 

“But the watch-”

“Okay, that was a total accident. And had I known it was Alix’s watch I so would have left it alone, I was only messing with it because I thought it was Adri’s.” 

“Oh my god.” Marinette sat back. She was racking her brain but she literally could not think of a single time Chloé had targeted Alix. “This is unbelievable.” 

“But back on track.” Chloé clapped her hands. “What’s going on? You should be on cloud nine after Lila’s epic take down, but you have literally looked so pensive all day.” She moved to open up her silverware. 

“I haven’t looked pensive.” 

“You have.” Chloé stabbed her salad with her fork. “Spill it Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette stared down at her plate. She hadn’t been that hungry so she just grabbed a premade sandwich and a muffin. But looked at them now, they didn’t seem that appetizing. She mainly kept herself occupied with the glass she had been handed after changing back into her sweats. 

“Back before people started believing Lila was lying, it was just me going against her. But someone else knew the truth too.” She took a sip from her glass. “Adrien had recommended I take the high road, he said her lies weren’t hurting anyone and he was sure things would turn out fine eventually.” 

“Oh that sweet naive boy.” The bluenette nodded in agreement. 

“This morning, after we watched the video, I don’t know. He just looked so disappointed. I just can’t help but feel like I let him down. Like I should have handled it differently or something. Especially considering he’s been walking around like a kicked puppy all day. I just don’t know what to do.” 

Chloé sighed, setting down her fork. 

“Okay, well first off. Adrien gave you shit advice.” Marinette’s head popped up at her harsh words. “But they are very on brand for Adrikins. He obviously views Lila in the same light as Garbage Gabe. As long as Adrien stays quiet and plays along, things run smooth with his dear old daddy. He probably thought the same rules would apply to Lila.” 

“Garbage Gabe?” Marinette asked. 

“Look, Adrien is sensitive. Yes. But he is also bad at confrontation. You just need to talk this out with him. If you explain that she gave you no choice, he’ll be fine. And besides, even Adrien has to admit that she was getting out of control.” 

“But did I have no choice? Was there no other option for me to pick?” Marinette rubbed at her arms. “Maybe the situation was the same as with you, if I’d just given her a chance-”

“You gave me a chance Marinette, remember, we just established that.” Chloé leaned back on her hands. “And Lila and I’s situations are very different. I was a bitch because I have trouble making friends. Lila is a bitch for shits and giggles. She has had no trouble befriending people at all, and she was still awful to you.” 

“But maybe I did something-”

“You did. You didn’t fall for her bull.” Chloé pointed out. “Because you weren’t falling for her tricks, she had to eliminate you before you could expose her. She runs on self preservation Marinette. I wouldn't be surprised if she was already spinning a web of venom to get back half her followers.” 

Marinette’s eyes went back down to her tray. Locked on her poor pathetic sandwich. She felt a lot like that sandwich right now. 

“Marinette, you can sit here and feel bad all day long. You can go back up to that shoot and do your thing while feeling awful, just like you were this morning. But the fact of the matter is, you aren’t going to feel better until you talk to Adrien.” Chloé leaned forward, taking one of Marinette’s hands again. “He doesn’t hate you Marinette, he could never. Trust me. I’ve only seen Adrien hate two people our whole lives. My mother, and this no name who used to work under Gabriel when we were younger. If you go to him and ask to talk he will listen.” 

“But what do I even say?” 

“Say that you’re sorry if you hurt his feelings, it wasn’t your intent. But you had to do something to stop Lila. Maybe it got a little bigger than you anticipated, maybe if you could go back and change it you would, but you’d still do it.” Chloé squeezed her hand. “Come on Dupain-Cheng, I have seen you take on so much, do not let one little model scare you into a panic attack.” 

“I’m not scared of him.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “I just don’t want him to, well, I just don’t like the idea of him thinking bad about me.” 

“He could never think badly about you Marinette.” Again Chloé squeezed her hand. “Believe it or not, I think you’re actually his favourite person.” 

At that Marinette blushed, pulling her hand away. She quickly snapched up her drink, sticking the straw in her mouth. She took a few sips. “I am not.” She whispered, chewing on the straw to relieve some of the nerves coiling in her stomach. 

Chloé shook her head, smirk gracing her lips. “Yeah, you are.” She crossed her arms. “Marinette please, he’s like head over heels for you, it’s obvious. I once saw that boy hold the door open for like sixteen people just waiting for you to get there so he could hold it for you. It was a little pathetic, but i guess kind of cute.” Marinette’s face felt hot, she was sure it was bright red by now. 

“W-we aren’t like that.” She laughed. “We’r-I mean he just sees us as friends. We’re just friends.” She tried to get her stammer under control, hoping her voice came out with more authority than she felt.

“Oh god, you aren’t on that now too, are you?” Chloé asked, eyes wide and slightly horrified. “I swear I can not listen to another person drone on about being just friends with their true love.” 

“T-true love?” 

Shit. She’d taken it too far. Chloé knew by the girl’s wide eyes. There were going to be questions now. Damn it, why had she let Jon get in her head. She never should have talked to Marinette, she should have just convinced Adrien to do it. 

“What do you mean by that?” The bluenette asked, straw falling out of her mouth. 

Chloé had two options, come clean or bullshit like she never has before. 

“That depends…” Chloé whispered. “We have two options Marinette, option one is I rock your world like it’s never been rocked before and possibly destroy this tentative friendship I’m trying to create, or option two, things stay the same and I give you a heaping pile of bullshit.” Chloé bit her lip. “I’m also trying to be more honest, but if you’d like me to lie right now, I so can.” 

“Define rock my world?” Marinette’s face suddenly became much more serious. The bluenette knew that sometimes lying was necessary, like were her identity was concerned. And also, sometimes the truth was just hard for people to stomach. 

“Let’s just say, it involves kwamis.” That was both not safe and safe for Chloé to say. It would get her point across clearly, and being a past miraculous wielder herself, she would be privy to the knowledge of their existence. Marinette would undoubtedly understand what the blonde was trying to say. 

The bluenette’s face dropped into surprise and horror. “Let’s go with the bullshit.” 

“Awsome.” Chloé clasped her hands together. “Adri has a diary and whenever I’m at his house I sneak into his room and read it.” She smiled largely. 

“We are going to have to talk about this later,” Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing as she let out a sigh. “But honestly I’ve felt like exploding all day long and I don’t think I can take anything else right now.” She whispered. “God my head hurts so much.” 

“Do you want some ibuprofen?” Chloé asked, already standing form the bed. 

“Yes please.” 

Chloé quickly went to her bathroom and collected it from her toiletry bag. She sat down closer to Marinette before handing her the bottle. “This is so my fault, I definitely slipped up there.” 

“Again,” Marinette took the pill bottle and dumped a few out into her hand. “A conversation for later.” She swallowed with the aid of her soda. “Oh my god.” She whispered. “I just-how?” She looked at Chloé, wide eyed. 

“Well I-wait, I mean, do you want to do this right now? We’ve got like twenty minutes before we have to be back and you have not even touched your food. We can talk later?” 

Marinette looked back down at her sad sandwich. If there was any hope of her surviving the rest of this shoot she would need to have something in her stomach. But she also had so many questions. How had Chloé known, does Chloé know? Maybe this is a misunderstanding. Maybe what Chloé is trying to say is that she knows Marinette was once Multimouse, and not that she’s ladybug. Though what that has to do with Adrien loving her she wasn’t sure. Oh god, did Chloé know about Adrien too? But how? This didn’t seem possible.

“Marinette?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You look like you’re about to pass out, please eat something.” Chloé pushed her tray closer to the girl. 

“Okay.” Marinette picked up her sandwich, eyes unfocused as her mind raced. “Chloé, I have so many questions.” She said before taking a bite. 

“If you want, I can explain while you eat?” Chloé moved farther back onto the bed, putting the lid back on her salad. She’d finished most of it while Marinette was talking earlier. 

“Yeah, that might be good.” The bluenette whispered. 

“Okay,” Chloé took a deep breath. “So, I guess it all started when Nathaniel got akumatized.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

(part 1)  (part 2)  (part 2.5)  (part 3)  (part 4)  (part 5)  (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)  (part 9)  (part 10)  (part 11) - Here (part 12)

Photoshoot Part 3! Thank you all so much for the likes, reblogs, and especially the comments! They are such huge mood boosters for me, they really change the whole course of my day and I appreciate them so much. Sorry this part is a little shorter, writing has kind of been kicking my ass this week. Plus with finals I’ve just been too stressed to write. But luckily I was able to find some time to unwind and get something done on this. I’m really excited for what the next few parts should bring (if everything comes out the way it is in my head right now). As always if you have any questions about the story or AU feel free to ask, I love getting them and will happily answer any question you got (even if it’s not about this AU)! And if you want to be tagged let me know! 

@graduatedmelon @northernbluetongue​ @violatiger8​ @bamagirl513​ @vixen-uchiha​ @beaversuenightly​ @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff​ @todaylillypads​ @laurakinneylance​ @vgirl-10123​ @wellcrud-blog-blog​ @silvergold-swirl​ @crazylittlemunchkin​ @an-ahez​ @queencommonsense​ @ladybug-182​ @meganemily231​ @driftingmoonlitpetals​ @kand-roo​ @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry​ @theatreandcomicfreak​ @paradoxal-occurance​ @miraculousl4dybug @thanks-captain-obvious​ @sassydepression​ @multishipper1needshalp @wegan97​ @surprisebishhhhhhhhh  @redscarlet95 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @synnesstra @fandomkitty8 @tired-yeetling @saluteswifties @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dast218 @naclychilli @royalchaoticfangirl @panda3506 @nataladriana9 @shreky-boi @my-name-is-michell @dawnwave16  @thethirdwheelfriend @quiet-oracle @heaven428 @dabub167 @kris-pines04 @severelyenchantedwonderland @urbanpineapplefarmer @goblinwhoships

[shima-draws]

Shima please tell me about your galaxy brain human Lucario AU I wanna know how it all pans out

NDASKMADMLASMKSA OMG ANON I am more than happy to share :'D This got really REALLY long, I hope you enjoy a good read lmao

So we have. Lucario. As a human. Possibly named after an actual Pokemon Lucario, idk. He's still Aaron's apprentice—trains under him at the castle to become an aura user. However, human Lucario is like. 15, making his connection to Aaron that much more powerful bc he's pretty much baby and Aaron's in his mid twenties practically raising this kid by himself. Lucario views Aaron as kind of a father/guardian figure? He's still so uptight at this point tho;; and he views Lady Rin as a mother (which. Is. SOFT). Rin and Aaron might be in love, it's hard for Lucario to tell, he doesn't Romance. He just focuses on his aura training. Pssh.

Fast forward to the time of the Big Pokemon War. Aaron realizes the only way to stop the fighting is to go find Mew at the Tree of Beginning. However he knows that this is a huge sacrifice—and knowing how loyal Lucario is to him, Aaron knows he'll follow him and be subjected to the same fate. And Aaron's like—Lucario is just a kid, you know? He still has so much more to experience and live for. So while it fucking breaks his heart to shatter Lucario's trust in him (for the time being) and totally ruin his father figure status, Aaron "betrays" Lucario and traps him inside the staff. It's some crazy magic aura crystal thing that seals something inside of it, whether it be a Pokemon, human, spirit, or whatever else. At this point it's also for Lucario's safety—bc nothing can really touch him while he's in there, and they're in the middle of a war, so yeah it's just really good timing and planning to protect his kid. However Aaron, being the adorable himbo dumbass he is, kinda forgets that this is an aura crystal, and therefore needs aura to "unseal" it essentially, which would set Lucario free. Unfortunately after Aaron goes to the Tree and gives up his life to stop the war (cue Titanic music) there's not really any other aura user around. They're pretty rare, even way back then;; so Lucario falls into a deep slumber, being sealed, and is kept there for about 1000 years.

And then!! Ash fucking Ketchum enters the picture!!

Lucario is suddenly woken because he senses Aaron's aura nearby. Absolutely pissed at Dad for leaving him behind, Lucario escapes from the staff and goes to attack, but stops when he realizes Dad is actually not Dad, it is adorable 14 year-old boy who has a similar aura to Aaron. Cue a very disgruntled teenager running through the palace, totally out of place and confused. Eventually he's stopped by Lady Ilene, who explains what's going on. Naturally Lucario's heartbroken—not only is his master/dad/guardian dead, but so is his mother figure, and everybody else he'd once known in the castle. Bc Ilene looks so similar to Rin, Lucario takes comfort from her. Ilene does her best to console him and asks if he'll do her a favor. He leaps at the chance to make her happy—apparently he's a sucker for getting good Parent Figures to like him—and agrees to go help Ash and co. find Pikachu at the Tree of Beginning.

Instead of Lucario doing the Naruto run ahead of the group (which like. How the fuck is he so fast...) he actually sits in the car in the passenger's seat with Kidd doing the driving for him, bc hell if a human can run for that long and not be totally wiped out afterward (also he just woke up from a 1000 year nap. Yeahhh. Not gonna happen.) Also baby has no idea what the fuck a car even is so he's a bit nervous around it, and Kidd's like "Um yeah no I'm not letting you drive. Just tell me where to go" so Lucario uses his aura to lead her. Things progress p much the same way, with Lucario getting strangely attached to Ash despite not wanting to, at all, but it's hard because Ash is just Perfect and a Good Boy and pretty much gives Lucario the sort of attention he craves. Eventually tho that all comes to a head when Ash brings up his friendship with Pikachu. Lucario's still bitter about Aaron and honestly can't bring himself to trust any of them—and is pissed at himself for having taken a liking to Ash despite that—so that leads into their giant fight in the first step of their enemies to lovers trope. Ha. Even so, he still gets consoled by Max (and is given CHOCOLATE!! Which is the most fucking heavenly thing he's ever tasted), and witnesses Ash unable to sleep bc of his honest worry for Pikachu. Lucario does some Deep Thinking to himself about his relations to the group.

The next day, the group activates the Time Flower that recorded Aaron's entire abandonment of Lucario. Believe it or not being a young kid in training for a war tends to give you a bit of trauma, so Lucario freaks out a little and starts attacking the hollow projections of the enemy Pokemon. Ash manages to calm him down. Lucario collapses and asks why Aaron had abandoned him. What did he do wrong? Why would Aaron turn against the kingdom? Why did Aaron trap him in the staff? He doesn't know shit and it's frustrating. Ash comes up to him and apologizes, and as soon as the waterworks turn on Lucario's like oh nooo. Oh NOOOO. Here's this boy laying his heart out on his sleeve and is so honest and open and sincere that he can't help but feel awful for how he treated him. Lucario immediately forgives Ash and is like "I will now protect you with my life" bc Ash is baby and Lucario realizes for the first time!! He's made an actual friend with somebody that isn't his dad or the queen! And if he's friends with Ash that means he can be friends with Brock and May and Max and Kidd too. The prospect is EXCITING. He can trust these people now, he knows, because they saw what happened and they believed him about Aaron. They're choosing to side with him over the "kingdom's hero" and that honestly means a lot—it's a huge commitment and Lucario's just. Super grateful that he has a group of people backing him up. Lucario promises himself that he'll reunite Ash and Pikachu, bc if he were given the chance he'd reunite with the people he once held dear too. Ash and Pikachu really care about each other and Lucario admires and respects that a lot and he wants to make Ash happy so!! He's like. It is my personal mission to see that we find Pikachu successfully. And Ash is just like :'D !!! And it's that moment when Lucario realizes that he might like Ash a biiit more than he originally thought he did. Huh.

Literally not even 30 seconds after that revelation Regirock attacks and Lucario almost has a fucking aneurysm because he JUST made friends with these people!! And now they're going to get killed if he's not careful! Story of his life. He immediately shifts into Protect Ash Mode™ and hurries everyone to safety. Things are crazy. Lucario has too much of a burden on his shoulders. He's stressed. But Ash is with him and that makes things a little bit better so he focuses on getting them to where they need to go and protecting them along the way. Big job for such a young kid. Whew!!

Traveling through the Tree of Beginning, weird antibodies keep voring people, and it's not fun. At one point Lucario takes the bullet for Kidd, but is mysteriously released (probably bc of his aura and his connection to Aaron, who gave up his life, which gave energy to the tree and to Mew. So there's a connection there. The tree kinda sees Lucario as one of its own.) Finally, finally! Ash and Pikachu are reunited! Lucario can immediately sense how close they are and how much of a bond they have. Seeing someone with so much history with Ash makes Lucario a bit shy around Pikachu, but it’s cool, they warm up to each other eventually!

Right after this, Ash and the others find out that May, Brock and Max were devoured by the antibodies. Lucario barely has any time to grieve for them before the Regis burst in and essentially trap him as Ash and Kidd are attacked by the cells next. Lucario watches in absolute horror as Ash is swallowed up. It’s like Aaron all over again—and this time it’s worse because Ash hadn’t done anything wrong, and Lucario had really come to trust him and admire him as a person. It’s absolutely fucking heartbreaking. He watches in hollow-eyed despair as Pikachu and Ash’s other Pokemon cry over him. Everything sucks. The world is a nightmare. Lucario almost wishes he’d gotten swallowed too. Why is it always him that’s the last one standing, the only one left, the remainder to deal with the carnage and the loss by himself? Then Mew performs its voodoo magic and lo and behold!! Ash and the others are miraculously revived! Lucario is absolutely overjoyed and relieved. It’s then that he realizes he’d be absolutely devastated if he lost Ash for good—even more so than Aaron. At this point he’s kinda come to terms about Aaron’s death, though it still hurts because there’s so many questions left unanswered.

Of course right after this Mew collapses and everything goes to shit again. Great. (Can he get like five seconds to maybe just breathe?? Idk.) At the center of the Tree of Beginning, Lucario finds Aaron’s gloves and things start to click into place. Maybe...the stories were true? Lucario activates the Time Flower there and realizes what Aaron had done, his noble sacrifice, and why he couldn’t bear to get Lucario involved. Lucario breaks down in tears bc he’s so relieved and yet so unbearably sad. Aaron was like his father. Someone who cared for him so immensely and deeply. Aaron urged Lucario to continue on and live his life to the fullest—that’s what he wanted for him, after all. But at this point Lucario isn’t sure if he can. Mew needs saving, after all.

Lucario decides he’ll follow in Aaron’s footsteps and save Mew, no matter how sad it makes him to have to leave his new friends so early. Ash immediately protests, along with Kidd, and Lucario tells them that it’s a risk he has to take, just like Aaron. Mew and the Tree need his power more than ever now, and he can’t just abandon them. He starts to pour all of his aura into Mew, but it’s not enough. Ash puts on Aaron’s gloves and jumps in, deciding to help out. Lucario is grateful but also very panicked because Ash literally just came back to life—he couldn’t bear losing him a second time, especially since he already lost Aaron. Lucario tries to bump him out of the way but Ash absolutely won’t let him!! If they’re going down they’re going down together. Ash tells him that he can’t watch Lucario take on the burden by himself over and over—that he wants to split the weight and make things even. Cue a very emotional tense moment between two boys about to sacrifice their lives together. Neither of them want the other to die, but they don’t really have a choice. Mew absorbs their power and then…

Lucario wakes up.

And he’s alive. Holy fuck!! (There’s no fucking way I’d kill him nope not happening not this time bitches)

Apparently splitting the burden of giving one’s life energy to another with a second person eases the consequences—leaving both Ash and Lucario alive (which makes him realize that if he’d gone with Aaron all those years ago and split the burden, both of them would have lived. But strangely Lucario wouldn’t trade that opportunity for what he has now.) Ash literally jumps on him and hugs him so tight he nearly dies a second time, but it’s fine. It’s a good way to go.

The tree is safe, and so is Mew. Ash rejoins the others, bringing Lucario with him. They all have a merry little reunion, and then head back to the castle together.

At this point, Ilene thanks Lucario for all he’d done—for Ash and co. and for the tree and Mew. She then sets Lucario free—saying he can do whatever he wishes, he can follow any path in life he wants to now! Suddenly there’s a whole world full of possibilities, and that world is there for him to explore. He can practically hear Aaron encouraging him to take a step into the unknown, journey to his heart’s content, make tons of friends, and master his aura. Except Lucario isn’t really sure he wants to take the trip by himself. He bashfully asks Ash if they’d be alright with him joining them. Ash is absolutely fucking ecstatic, of course. He asks Lucario to teach him how to properly use his aura, and Lucario has a big self revelation moment like “The student has become the master” and it’s magical. So we hit off a brand new adventure with Lucario traveling with Ash, Brock, May, and Max, and teaching Ash how to hone his aura! Which gives us more aura Ash moments, which everybody craves! And it’s kinda gay and lovely!!

And that is my rewrite happy ending for Lucario and the Mystery of Mew thank you goodnight ✌️

[takerfoxx]

When trying to write a big balloon of good feelings with the EXPRESS INTENTION of bursting it... how big is too big before it's just cruel?

A very good question, and it comes down to purpose, execution, and follow-through.

Now, given my history and reputation, those sorts of situations are something of my forte, and I’ve had a lot of experience and trial and error to work things out, so here’s how you get maximum impact out of your dark, cruel plot-twists.

First, ask yourself why are you doing this? Is it purely for shock value, or does it serve some greater purpose for the plot and characters? If it’s the second, then go ahead and skip to the next section. If it’s the first, then go ahead and put that idea back in the oven because it’s totally not ready yet.

Look, as a writer, I get the appeal of shock value. Shock value got Imperfect Metamorphosis on the map. Shock value is in my blood. But if all you have is that shock and nothing else, then it’s shock value for shock value’s sake, which is just shallow and useless. You want to shock and disturb, yes, but you also want your audience to keep going to find out what happens next! Dangle that emotional catharsis in front of them! Give them some measure of hope that this is leading somewhere satisfying! Even stories like Chinatown and The Mist, which ended with the protagonists losing in horrible ways despite all their efforts, still felt like they were saying something bigger about the human existence and didn’t feel like they were cheating the audience.

For example: Marisa’s death in IM. I’ll freely admit, the idea first occurred to me and became part of the plan for the shock value, a way to throw down the gauntlet and show that no one is safe. But since the idea came to me early in IM’s run, I had literal years to refine the idea, build towards it, and map out how the fallout would go down, so that by the time it came around, it had turned into an essential part of the plot, from which the rest of the story would lead.

See, here’s the thing you need to understand about dark plot twists: they follow the same rule as edgy humor that breaks societal taboo. And that is this: the twist is not the payoff; the twist is the set-up. Think of the difference of between a rookie “comedian” who thinks that saying shocking things that you’re not supposed to say constitutes as “funny” and those who are offended just don’t have a sense of humor, and a genuine master like George Carlin, who used edge subject matter and taboo breaking not as the punchline, but as the set-up to the bigger joke and thus earn the big laughs when he managed to land the punchline and say something bigger about the topic at hand. It’s a wire act without a net, something that is spectacular if you can pull it off and lead to something greater, but will end in disaster if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Now, let’s move onto the next part: execution. Here you have to be careful, because while it’s perfectly acceptable (and in fact encouraged) to break the rules and conventions of the story’s genre, you still have to ensure that it’s keeping with your story’s internal consistency and rules, and that it makes sense! You want such-and-such a character to betray their friends and turn bad guy? Okay, but it has to make sense and be consistent with their backstory and motivations. You want to pull the rug out from under the heroes and ruin everything they had been working toward? Okay, but it has to be consistent with the rules that you had set up.

I’ll give you a few examples. Now, Game of Thrones might be in the doghouse due the dumpsterfire of a final season, but there was a time when it was upheld as the gold standard of dark plot twists, with the two big examples being Ned Stark’s execution and the Red Wedding. The reason why those moments were so shocking and effective wasn’t because they came out of nowhere, but because they broke the conventional rules of storytelling. OF COURSE the main character would survive! They even gave him an out by having him sentence to the Wall where his bastard son was, where they would no doubt reunite and plan their next steps! Ned’s the hero, after all! Except no, this isn’t that kind of story, Joffrey is still a sociopathic narcissist, doing what sociopathic narcissists do.

And the Red Wedding? OF COURSE it would work! Walder Frey had accepted the compromise, and we’ve put a lot of time and investment in Rob and Cate and their retainers. Rob was practically the new main character, and the driving force against the Lannisters. What was more, he was winning, and he was going to keep winning, even with his one or two slip-ups...except no, he wasn’t, because he had been warned about Walder Frey’s easily bruised ego, he had broken his word, so there was going to be consequences when the Frey’s cut a deal with the Lannisters, so welcome to Medieval-style skullduggery!

Hell, you can have some real fun with this too! And if I may toot my own horn, let’s look at the most recent dark twist from IM: the return of the Shadow Youkai.

Now, I know what my reputation is, and what people expect from me. As such, I can use those expectations to play a sort of follow-the-cup game with the plot. Everyone knew that the Shadow Youkai wasn’t gone for good; the epilogue of Fires of the Sun pretty much showed that. But no one knew when she’d be back, and that let’s me play with expectations a bit.

So I put together a big beach trip, where Rin takes all of her friends, new and old, out into public. And since this is Rin’s story, everyone expects it to go wrong. She expects it to go wrong. Because things always go wrong for Rin!

Sure enough, here comes Hong Meiling and Koakuma, two people with reasons to ruin Rin’s life! Surely they’ll catch and bust her! In fact, it turns out that Koakuma is Elis’s cousin, so surely that would mean she would...except no, they have a short chat, Koakuma doesn’t expose them, and they all go their separate ways. Nothing happens.

Oh shit, here comes Reimu! Not only does she know Rin, she also knows everyone in Team Nineball, and has fought most of the other girls as well! This isn’t good, how will Rin wriggle out of this (no pun intended)...except she doesn’t need to. Reimu and Rin’s various friends walk right past each other over and over without noticing, she chitchats with Hong Meiling and Koakuma for a bit, and then she’s called away to the next chapter’s plot. Rin never even so much as realizes that Reimu was there. Nothing happens.

But wait! Flandre is still a problem, and Seija’s still loose out there! And there she is, taking advantage of Rin’s absence to trigger Flandre’s madness! Surely THIS is the big disaster that’ll...except no, Kogasa quickly gets Seija to piss off and Wriggle coaxes Flandre back to sleep. Nothing happens.

Wait, the beach party was...a success? Nothing bad happened? Everyone had fun and made friends like they were supposed to? And it ends with Rin actually saving a stranger’s life and getting praised for it? Which story was I reading again?

Oh hey, there’s Minoriko, someone who hasn’t been seen a long time, and she says that Hina successfully devoured the Shadow Youkai’s essence, so there’s nothing to worry about. Well, that’s a relief! Strange though that a little curse goddess could handle something of the Shadow Youkai’s caliber, seeing how Sariel already mentioned how unsafe it is to use anything other than the original sword to do so, and how Rhapsody of Subconscious Desire already established that the Shadow Youkai is capable of taking over a secondary host, provided that she had access to their subconscious, and-

Click.

Boom.

So if you’re going to do it, make sure you set up believable reasons why it would happen in advance, even if the audience doesn’t notice them at first. Otherwise, you get Vince Russo’s booking of late-90′s WCW, where everyone was switching allegiances on a dime left and right just for the sake of having a SHOCKING SWERVE! Remember: it’s a highwire act without a net. Know what you’re doing.

Also, for the love of God, if you’re going to have a bad guy do a really bad, shocking thing in one part of the story but later join the good guys later on, don’t just sweep said bad thing under the rug. If Cain the Bloodspiller butchers little Timmy in book one but becomes Cammy the Bloodsaver in book five, then don’t let little Timmy be forgotten. Make sure that there’s still consequences.

And finally, the follow-through. Justify this shocking twist. Have it mean something. Take your time to explore the consequences. Show how it affects the characters. Dig deep into their psyches and make it feel real. The reason people STILL talk about Aeris’s death in Final Fantasy 7 is that the gameplay itself was designed to make you feel her loss, both from the viewpoint of the characters and you, the player.

One of my favorite dark twists is Mami’s death in PMMM, because it follows all of these conditions and does so spectacularly. It sets up how dangerous fighting witches is and explains that someone could really die while doing it, while tricking us into not expecting that to happen by already showing us how Mami kicks ass and establishing her as a main character with a promise to form a lasting bond with Madoka right before pulling the trigger. And afterward, it takes the time to really dig into the consequences of her death, from Madoka’s depression to Sayaka’s increased recklessness to being the catalyst that brought Kyoko into the story in the first place. Everything that happens after does so as a result of that moment.

So yeah, by all means, do that shocking thing, but make sure you put in the work to both earn and justify it.

[littlemarvelfics]

Whatever Comes Next

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Steve x Reader (platonic-ish)

Word Count: about 3k

Warnings: cheating, swears

Square Filled: K4: Office/Corporate AU for @buckybarnesbingo

A/N: I’m so bad at timing. Were all these supposed to be spread out? Yes. Did I not realize that May 31 and June 1 were one after the other? Apparently not. But this is my entry for @buckysforeverprincess Hop Into Spring challenge! The prompt is bolded below. This was gonna be fluff and then… shit got weird. But I hope you still enjoy! Please send in requests!

You stood in your five-year-old daughter's room, flipping through her clothes until you found a suitable outfit. Your little family had been planning on seeing the Easter bunny at the mall for weeks now but Bucky kept canceling and Becca didn’t want to go without him, claiming she was nervous about it. You understood completely, in the pictures of you and the Easter bunny from your childhood, you look terrified- standing as far away from him as possible, while still being in the frame. Your daughter came bouncing into her room and flopped on her bed.

“What do ya think of this dress bug?” you asked her, holding up the slightly poofy dress with a vintage floral pattern on it.

“Yay!” she exclaimed, giving you a thumbs up.

You returned her gesture before hanging the dress on the back of her closet door and ushering her into the bathroom to give her a quick bath before the two of you got ready. You washed her quickly and brushed out her brown hair that looked almost exactly like Bucky’s and set her up with her favorite TV show on the iPad while you got ready. You styled your hair and started on your makeup when you felt a tap on your leg. You looked down at your blue-eyed daughter and smiled.

“Yes?” you questioned.

“Can I sit with you and watch you put your makeup on?”

You chuckled as you lifted her up onto the counter. Becca crossed her legs and watched intently as you applied your makeup quickly, giving her a kiss on her cheek when you finished your lipstick, causing her to burst out into giggles.

“How are my girls?” Bucky asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway. You had to admit, even after being together for nearly ten years, he still took your breath away. He had on a navy blue suit, his light blue shirt slightly open at the collar.

“Daddy!” Becca squealed, wiggling off the counter and running into her father’s legs, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

You squeezed past them into your room, running into the closet to grab your outfit for the day, a long-sleeved floral dress that stopped below your knees and some white flats.

“Let's get a picture with the Easter bunny!” you cheered, trying to hype up your daughter who was now balanced on Bucky’s hip.

“Yeah… about that…” Bucky started with a grimace.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down, you didn’t want to fight in front of Becca.

“Becca baby? Will you go get mommy’s phone from downstairs? And then wait in the kitchen?”

She smiled at you and Bucky kissed her head before setting her down. You watched her run down the stairs before turning your attention back to Bucky.

“Are you kidding me Bucky?! Again?!” you said, not trying to hide your annoyance.

“It’s work baby! If I don’t go close the Stark deal I’m done for. The proposal is this week. I gotta go!” he defended.

“It’s always work and you always have to go! What am I gonna do here huh? She wants her dad there with her today and you’re just gonna bail on her?!” you said, venom lacing your words.

Bucky just stood there staring at you, seemingly waiting for you to tire yourself out but you were far from done.

“Are you going to say anything? Or are you just gonna stand there? Just be her dad when you decide it’s convenient? It doesn’t fucking work like that James,” you seethed. “I cannot keep living like this. Becca can’t keep living like this. You have got to figure out who you’re gonna be in this Bucky. I’m tired of being a married single-parent. You need to make a choice.”

You pushed past him and went to find Becca. You found her sitting at the kitchen table playing with your phone and heard the front door slam- Bucky had left. You took a deep breath and prepared to put on your best fake smile when Becca spoke up.

“Daddy isn’t coming?”

You could see the tears threatening to fall down her face and you immediately crouched down beside her.

“He’s gotta work bug. But how about this, you wanna call Uncle Steve and see if he’ll come with us?”  

Becca seemed to perk up at the mention of her favorite uncle, not that you would ever tell Sam that Steve was her favorite. You took your phone from her and got ready to dial.

“Do you wanna ask him or should I?”

“I wanna!” Becca replied quickly. You hit the call button and handed the phone over.

“Uncle Steve? It’s Becca!”

You couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation but whatever Steve said made her giggle.

“Will you please come to meet the Easter bunny with me and mommy?”

It didn’t take long for a full smile to spread across her face as she mumbled an ‘okay’ and handed the phone to you.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Hey Stevie,” you said.

“Why are you making that kid meet the Easter bunny. He’s terrifying,” he said without preamble.

“I dunno. Family memories or some garbage. Will you come with us? She’s nervous and having her Uncle Steve come along might help.”

“Of course I’ll come. You know I’d do anything for that kid, including see the spooky bunny.”

“You are an absolute lifesaver! We’re leaving in a few minutes, I’ll text you the address?”

He agreed and you hung up your phone, quickly texting him where you were heading. You grabbed your purse and strapped Becca into her car seat and set off towards the mall. The two of you sang her favorite songs from The Little Mermaid the entire way, stopping only when your phone interrupted with a text from Steve, letting you know he was in the parking lot. About five minutes later, you pulled into a spot and smiled when you saw Steve getting out of his car two rows over. You hopped out as he jogged over, quickly beating you to the side of the car where Becca was humming to herself in her car seat. Steve quickly opened the door and you heard Becca’s excited squeal when she saw Steve. Steve unbuckled her and picked her up carrying her over to you. You reached out to grab her but she turned away from you and buried her face in Steve’s neck.

“I’ve been betrayed by my own daughter,” you scoffed sarcastically.

“Yeah well, she knows who the fun one is,” Steve replied.

You leaned towards Steve and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. You took a moment to admire how he was dressed, a sweater over his checkered shirt, paired with a black tie and black pants. It suddenly dawned on you that he probably had other plans.

“Oh my God Steve.”

“Oh my God what?” he asked.

“Did you have plans today?! I cannot believe-”

“Woah, slow down,” he said, cutting you off. “I didn’t have plans and even if I did I would drop them for the two of you in a second.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and gestured for Steve to lead the way into the mall. He looked over at you briefly while you were distracted on your phone. He meant it when he said he would do anything for you and Becca. He cared for the two of you more than he would ever admit. You were his best friend’s girl but even Steve could see that Bucky hadn’t been as prepared for fatherhood as he thought. So Steve had stepped up, doing everything he could to make sure you and Becca knew that you had someone to turn to if things got too rough.

The three of you quickly found yourself in a line of parents and children, some of whom were crying. Other kids were screaming and a select few were quietly waiting their turn. Steve put Becca down to let her explore and so he could talk to you with some semblance of privacy.

“You know I’m overjoyed to be here,” he said, slight sarcasm coating his words. “But why isn’t Buck here?”

“Work,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Work?” Steve questioned. “What work? It’s Sunday. They would have called me too if something had happened.”

Steve and Bucky held nearly identical positions at Sheild, a tech company founded by Nick Fury. They were essentially both second in command.

“I dunno. He said he had to work on the Stark deal for this week.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about Steve? I don’t work there!”

“The Stark deal already closed…” he replied carefully. “I don’t know why he said that. But the deal was done last week, even the drop period ended.”

“So why is he at the office?” you pressed.

“I swear, I have no idea,” Steve defended.

“You would tell me if you knew something right?”

“Of course I would! I don’t know why he would say he’s at the office.”

“Steve… I need you to be honest with me right now,” you started. “Is he cheating on me?”

“I’m always honest. I could never lie to you. That being said, I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything to me but even he knows telling me would be a dumb move.”

You silently looked off to the side, avoiding Steve’s gaze. You had been worried that something was going on with someone else. Bucky had been staying at the office later and more often than usual. You knew Steve wouldn’t lie to you but you also couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

“Mommy!” Becca yelled, bringing your attention back to her. “Look! Bunnies!”

You followed her finger and sure enough, there were three or four white bunnies in a little pen in the middle of the chaos. Ever the curious kid, Becca started pestering you with questions. She finally landed on one you weren’t ready for.

“Why do they have bunnies here?”

You could clearly see they were meant to be sold, something you already didn’t agree with. But you also didn’t want Becca to know they were available to take home, knowing she would spend the foreseeable future begging you for one.

“They’re um…” you trailed off, searching for an answer that wouldn’t end in you taking home a bunny.

“They’re the Easter Bunny's helpers, Bec,” Steve chimed in.

Becca gave Steve a skeptical look.

“I don’t believe you. Why would the Easter bunny need helpers?”

“Well,” Steve said, crouching down to Becca’s height. “The Easter bunny has to get around just like Santa does right?”

Becca gave him a nod of confirmation, although she still looked skeptical.

“These bunnies are his helpers, like how Santa has elves!”

Becca looked between Steve and the bunnies a few times before nodding and smiling at him.

“How do you know so much stuff?” Becca asked Steve.

“Because I’m a grownup. But no one knows more than your mom.”

“She’s the smartest,” Becca confirmed.

“That’s exactly right,” Steve said with a chuckle.

Before you knew it, it was your turn to sit with the Easter Bunny. He waved at Becca who instantly grabbed Steve’s hand and shuffled closer to him.

“It’s okay Becs! All those other kids did it,” you tried comforting.

“No,” she mumbled, pressing into Steve’s legs. You rubbed her back and looked up at Steve, already accepting defeat.

“Hey Becs,” he said, crouching down to look her in the eye. “Why don’t you go up there with your mom? It’ll probably make you feel better.”

“You too,” Becca whispered.

Steve looked over at you and you nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay, c’mon!” he cheered, picking her up and walking her over to the bunny. You walked over to the seat and smiled at the bunny, still a little uneasy around them. Steve handed you Becca and you perched yourselves on the arm of the chair next to the Easter Bunny and Steve came up behind you, rubbing your arm to calm you down.

The three of you smiled for the picture and it was all over quickly. You picked Becca back up and carried her over to the photo counter to make your purchases. You admired the picture of the three of you, Becca looked adorable and Steve looked handsome as always. You looked like a family- except you weren’t. Your husband was off doing God knows what and you were here with his best friend. It should have felt wrong. But looking at that picture and thinking back on all the times Steve had been there for you and Becca, all the things Bucky had missed out on but Steve had been there for, it felt natural.

“Hey,” Steve said, lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Because I mentioned ice cream and you’re not frothing at the mouth,” he said with a chuckle.

“Actually, can you do me a huge favor?” you asked, getting an idea.

“Can you take my car and take Becca to ice cream? I’ll meet the two of you over there in a little bit?”

“What are you gonna do?” Steve questioned worriedly.

“I’m gonna swing by the office real quick. Just check in on Bucky.”

“I’m not sure you wanna do that…” he said.

“I do Steve. I do want to do this. I have to know. I really have to know what’s going on. I can’t just keep wondering!”

“Okay, alright. I’ll take Becs for ice cream. But please be careful,” he warned.

You and Steve walked Becca out to the car, she was so excited about ice cream with Steve that she wasn’t even worried that you weren’t with them. You gave her a kiss on the head and hugged Steve, promising you would be to the ice cream shop soon.

As you drove over to the office building where Bucky worked, you couldn’t help the building feeling of dread that was building in your stomach. When you met Bucky, you thought you had met the man that you would spend the rest of your life with. Now you weren’t so sure. The past few years had been hard, something had shifted between you and Bucky and neither of you knew how to get back on track, not that either of you had really tried talking about it.

Before you knew it and probably before you were ready, you were pulling into the parking lot of the office building. You used the badge Bucky had given you years ago to get into the building without having to buzz up.

You quickly made your way through the office building, walking into the elevator and pushing the button for Bucky’s floor. The doors opened and you quietly stepped out. All the lights were off except for one, the light in Bucky’s office. Maybe he was working after all and just got jumbled with who’s contract he was working on. As you neared the closed door, your stomach dropped. A girlish giggle followed by some low murmurs made your entire body tense. Before you could chicken out, you whipped open his office door.

Bucky was leaning against his desk, wrinkled clothes haphazardly throw on while his secretary, Jill, was standing between his legs with her arms around his waist and her lips on his neck.

“Really Bucky?!” you yelled, causing him to jump and push Jill away. “Your fucking secretary?! Could this be any more cliche right now?!”

“Baby… what are you doing here?” he said, moving towards you.

You took a step back and threw your hands up in surrender.

“Don’t touch me. Keep your goddamn hands off me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jill gathering her things hastily and preparing to exit.

“Nope, you stay,” you said with a false smile. “You stay Jill. I’m leaving.”

You turned your attention back to Bucky.

“I want you out of the house. I don’t care where you go but you’re not coming home to me.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, trying once again to reach out for you.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you anymore Bucky. I’m sorry that me and your daughter weren’t enough.”

With that, you turned around and left, closing the door behind you and jogging to the elevator. You made it in and when the doors closed, your tears began to fall. You felt stupid. How could you not have seen this coming? You briefly wondered how long it had been going on but quickly pushed the thought away; none of the answers would make you feel better. You got back into Steve’s car and after confirming that they were still at the ice cream shop, you set off in that direction. The sunlight hit your wedding ring, drawing your attention to it. You glared at it for a moment before pulling it off and throwing it in your purse.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize you were at your destination. You took a deep breath and leaned your head on the steering wheel. You couldn’t think about the disaster that was your marriage right now. You needed to be a mom first. You wiped your eyes and got out of the car, walking into the ice cream shop and searching for Becca and Steve.

“Mommy!” Becca yelled from her spot on Steve’s lap.

You walked over and sat across from them, kissing Becca’s head as you went. Steve watched you carefully. He could tell something was wrong and when he saw your naked ring finger, he knew. Steve reaches out and squeezed your hand that was laying on the table. You gave him a shaky smile and squeezed back. Steve didn’t care if Bucky was his best friend. He would be there for you no matter what came next.