#Luke knows this guy is setting of alarm bells in the Force but without the distinctive mask and asthma he could be any Mos Eisley regular

[caitlinsclark]

GOOD LUCK BABE! caitlin clark PART III. BUT YOU KNOW THE TRUTH caitlin clark x reader ✰ bree's notes: so bc I wanna spoil you guys there will be a part 4! enjoy loves <3 not proofread. word count: 2.8k series masterlist masterlist and tag list

Caitlin’s hand hadn’t stopped gripping the ring in her pocket since the second you’d exited the locker room. She was sure that she could visualize it down to every curve, based only on the indent left in her skin from squeezing so hard.

“Ready?” Your eyes looked up at her with excitement for post win press, where they got to have fun with the questions and bask in the victory.

Drowning out your voice, she couldn’t help but think back to the rings you had jokingly discussed through as you grew up, dreams of weddings that were supposed to be far, far away. Now it seemed like a cruel present for only one of you. 

The color of the ring set off alarm bells in her head, Caitlin would have at least known to match the rest of your jewelry unlike someone. The bitterness crept into her veins, silently plotting all the details that she would knew she would be more wary of than Luke when it came to your dream day. You had pretty much planned them together years ago, after all.

All this conspiring of a wedding that she wasn’t apart of, all while you walked ahead of her toward the press room without a single clue. You slowed to stay by her side as you got closer to the door, nudging the arm that was stuffed in her pocket. A few of your teammates passed by you, watchful eyes fondly gazing at you and Caitlin which you took note of.

“I usually can’t get you to shut up after you make a few three’s,” You tease her lightly, “You get a triple double and you’re all shy now?” 

The brunette blushed from your unwavering attention on her, your eyes flittering over her nervous features in suspicion. She forced a laugh, a far cry from the normal, confident boasting one she let out unfiltered.

"Is everything okay?" You reached out to touch her arm, console whatever was bothering her.

Your focus was solely on Caitlin, ignoring the unknown body you stumbled into if not for the way Caitlin’s face soured immediately. Your head turned to find the cause, shocked to see Luke standing with his lips set in an unamused line.

Your footing was lost as you whipped around and you tripped back into Caitlin, heavily aware of the way her hands landed on your ass to hold you up. 

You expected her to move away immediately, but she made no move to. You caught a ghost of a smirk on her lips by the time you looked at her, your warming face contradictory to the off guard expression you wore. 

She took a step back as if it was casual, not bothered by the stare she was receiving by Luke, nor the one she was receiving from you. Her eyes refused to leave the blonde man’s as she settled closely next to you. 

You cleared your throat as you looked around for cameras, "So, what exactly made you decide to come, Luke?” 

In a split second you became overly aware of the ring that you’d put in your bag. A tingle went down your spine and you adjusted your feet at the memory you’d been blocking out since it happened.

Caitlin’s side was pressed up against yours, doing little to help the fuzziness of your brain since the second she’d glared at Luke, worsened by the way she helped you stay upright.

She only moved her attention to you when you shifted uncomfortably, hands moving to play around with the strap of your bag on your shoulder that seemed to weigh a ton. Luke kept his eyes trained on the brunette, watching her as she watched you.

“How nice of you to come for our fifteenth game, admirable!” Her hand clapped him on the back, a hostile undertone tainting the friendliness of her words. The man glanced at the hand on his back, his eyes expectantly moving to you but you remained silent in a panic.

“Hello,” Another voice cut in, the agitating voice from your childhood that bloomed all of your insecurities. The voice of reason that you never needed to develop on your own, because your mother always did that with her opinion.

You sighed and tried to hold down a grimace, “Hi, mother.” The phone call from earlier replayed in your head, the first signs of a migraine forming behind your eyes.

Your mother swung her hand back and forth in the air, swatting at nonexistent flies as if she were being bombarded, “Where are all these coming from?”

“Your imagination, we’re inside.” You deadpanned, receiving a warning look from Luke who tried to console the woman. But you never had the will to deal with her dramatics.

She pushed him away slightly, ignoring how he wiped his hands on his pants in defeat to play it off, “Pressing matters to discuss.” Your mother began walking away with only a flick of her hand as if she expected you to follow.

Luke eyed Caitlin up and down, lingering on where you were both conjoined by your hips. His mouth stayed shut, but the look in his eyes was screaming at you.

“I have to do press first,” You brushed off the two of them and turned toward the closed doors that concealed the group from the media. Luke followed closely behind you, calling out your name in protest but you silenced it with a quick hand gesture.

The flashes intensified with the arrival of your team and coach, everyone hyped from the win and from Caitlin’s record breaking achievement. The questions had started off light, being fielded to Aliyah and Lexie which gave you a moment to clear your head. 

“Is that yours?” Caitlin whispered as the attention was shifted to your coach for a question, though the impending lenses of the press still remained trained on your every move. She had already been looking at you once you when you glanced over discretely, her eyes shifting toward your water bottle as a signal. 

You nodded absentmindedly and she quietly thanked you before grabbing the bottle from in front of you and taking a few needed gulps. Though you remained blivious to the show she was putting on for Luke in the back, holding direct eye contact as she drank from your bottle.

In more important news, you tried not to let yourself get stuck on the way the definition in her arms glistened in the light. You had been seemingly noticing more and more about Caitlin lately, an intimate awareness that seemed to be prompted by the brunette.

Your will power wasn’t a match for the alluring sight, leading your pokerface to break when you got shocked out of your haze by a question.

The reporter spoke your name, “How do you maintain a level head during these intense games?”

“I’ll take this one,” Caitlin scooted over her chair, neck and body extending into your personal space so she could use your microphone despite her own being perfectly functional. 

You tried to lift up your hands from your lap, but she didn’t let you and you were left with her entire body weight leaning on you, trapping you in. 

The spectacle left some of the media laughing, but you could feel Luke fuming despite the entire stage length distance between the two of you. Caitlin seemed right at home in your personal space, yet something felt off as she insistently put on a show. 

Her bun smacked you in the face causing you to puff air out of your mouth and turn your head to the side with a small laugh. She was undeterred, in fact she might’ve cuddled closer at the sign of your gleeful response.

“It’s hard to always keep your head on straight,” She flickered her gaze to yours, “But it’s a lot easier when your teammates are around to help.” 

Caitlin slowly leaned back in her chair, leisurely like she didn’t wanna stray from where she leaned against you. And if you looked in her mind you would know that she would’ve done anything to extend those last few seconds.

Your head was swirling with similar thoughts. You had never wanted press to last the way you did now as the media started to disband. Luke suddenly became a lot more present in the room with how many people filed out and you resisted the urge to flea desperately.

Caitlin was quick to steal your plan and exit as well, her hands shoved in her pockets and back hunched in defeat. You wanted to follow after her but Luke blocked your path like a boulder, which left your shoulders sagging.

But your mother was dragging you by your arm like a toddler before he could even get a word in, “I have feet, you know?” You grimaced as she yanked on your arm.

“I know, I birthed you.” She responded dryly, “I think I know your limbs.”

You breathed out slowly, “Okay, then.” The grip on your arm dropped after you had separated from the crowd and you shook out your shoulder. Finally away from the prying looks, you felt a sense of relief and let your limbs loose. The silence was nice for a few seconds and you even let your eyes fall closed in a false sense of calm.

“Your publicist and I spoke, and you and Luke are getting married.” The words cut through the air and ruined any laxness your body had acquired. 

You tried to open your eyes in a way that didn’t convey shock, but by the unamused look on your mother’s face you failed, “No I’m not.” The denial rang out like clockwork, a quick attempt to shut down any thoughts of an arrangement like that one.

“You’re an impulsive decision maker,” She completely brushed you off, barely even looking at you as she ruffled through her purse, “It's what you do. Every marriage starts like this, a little unhappy but you can’t let your flight response get to you again.”

Your face scrunched up, feeling like an objection was necessary to set this straight, “I don’t have a flight response, I’ve never wanted to leave him?"

"But you’re worried about leaving him now that marriage is in the question, no?” Your mother tapped your face and left you speechless, her attempt at some sort of affection, “Stop thinking, you love him.” 

“But mom, I,“ You didn’t know what you were going to say, something about Luke, something about Caitlin, something about the conflicting back and forth your mind had been doing for days.

“I’m so proud of you for knowing what’s best.” The first five words had been something you lacked for years now from your mother. They didn’t leave room for additional commentary when she walked away and toward the exit.

You were dazed when you slumped from the spot your mother stood in and slowly made your way toward Luke. He began talking a mile a minute, not a single word caring to register in your head.

“Can I get changed first?” You interrupted his ramble about needing to talk with a sigh, your feet shuffling again as you tried to look anywhere but him. You found yourself worriedly staring after the door Caitlin left out of.

There wasn’t much of a wait for his answer before you took off, heading toward the empty locker room to collect your stuff and thoughts. Your footsteps slowed and eventually stopped when you heard the brunette’s voice speaking freely.

Though you missed the beginning of the conversation, only walking in as the words left Caitlin’s mouth, “She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she’s been impulsive like this since High School.”

You had seen Caitlin playing with the strings of her pants anxiously as she casually mentioned your name to whoever was on the other side of the phone.

“I didn’t mean to grab it,” Her voice held guilt, a layer of anxiousness that you hadn’t heard from such a confident personality in a while.

Caitlin’s shaking fingers toyed with the ring beside her, just barely out of your view, a sick glimpse at a future she’d ached for but knew she’d never get. She always imagined a different scenario where she’d be nervously holding a ring with you in mind, not this one.

A sigh left her mouth and carried the sound of sorrow down the hall, “I don’t think she knows what’s best right now, especially a marriage.” 

You took a step into the locker room and slammed the locker in front of her shut, an unamused expression on your face as she whipped around to look at you.

The hand holding the phone to her ear lowered slightly, her thumb instantly pressing the red button.

“Thank you so much for your concern,” Your mind was clouded by the  negativity in her voice, hurt by the fact that Caitlin showed the same doubts as your mother, “I don’t think you know what’s going on but I’m fine with my choices.” 

“You are?” She challenged for the first time with animosity overly present in her words, an emotion that felt foreign for the two of you to share. 

Your eyebrows furred at the defensive switch, feeling like her opponent when all you had ever been was teammates. You had never been on different sides, not for basketball and for goddamn sure not in a fight.

Despite how weak it was, you still asserted yourself, “I am.” You tried to hold onto the eye contact she was giving you, but you found something much more interesting. The glimmering ring that belonged in your bag casually laid on her sweatshirt, definitely not where you had left it.

Your finger gestured to the piece of metal, “Where did that come from, Caitlin?” The assumptions running through your mind were unnecessary, begging for yourself to be proven wrong.

The phone call slowly began to piece together.

Her hesitance was loud, a telling sigh that had you snatching the ring back and turning toward the door. In seeing your frustration, the point guard scrambled for something to say.

“You’ve never known what you wanted.” She continued ruthlessly, knowing that it was a harsh push but her mouth couldn’t stop, “This is another impulsive decision.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” You felt like screaming, a hand resting on your forehead to soothe the pounding sensation beginning.

“Because it’s what you do,” The brunette was screaming mentally, a failed attempt to keep in the flood of judgement but she could only watch as it washed over you. She knew she was being unfair.

Caitlin had felt heartbreak many times mostly due to the love and passion she had for basketball, the one that left her feeling empty after a bad game. 

But the look etched onto your face was enough to compete with every hard hitting loss she’d ever faced. Leaving her speechless at your dry swallow, an attempt to hide the overwhelming emotion from her.

The words of your mother synced up with Caitlin’s in your head, a painful reminder that had your heart clenching in your chest. They might as well have been shouted in your face with the internal reaction it was invoking.

You nodded your head slowly, as if the words were being processed with each movement, a flick of pain gathering in your chest the more you sat on it.

The sour taste in her mouth urged her to elaborate, forcing the words out, “I was just trying to look out for you.” It didn’t do much to cool the burn of her outburst and left you rolling your eyes.

You shook your head and let it tilt back, “I didn’t ask you to,” The pain in your voice caused a crack as confusion flooded your mind from all that’s happened today.

“And you never had to ask me to,” Caitlin insisted, her incredulous expression showing a similar fire that you were familiar with on the court. She took a step closer, a crack in her demeanor when you matched it and took a step back.

“I didn’t even get to say what I wanted yet.” Your words came out as a plea, wishing for a single person to ask you where you stood. Today had been a mess of different people with different agendas.

She followed behind you as you attempted get as far away as possible, a sickening feeling pooling in your stomach as your name shouted and echoed through the halls.

Your fleeing was halted by her gripping your waist, your body forcibly being turned to look her in the eyes. With all the courage you had, you shifted your gaze to her own, finding something unknown swirling in her irises. 

“You’re saying and doing all this,” Your eyes had to shuffle between hers, “looking out for me as a friend?” You hesitantly questioned with emphasis on the last word, knocking all the wind out of her body. 

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[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Based on the prompt: What if Luke was captured on Hoth?)

The room was dark when Luke woke. That, in and of itself, was unusual. The medical bay in Echo Base was always painfully bright. Luke squinted through the thick bacta and tried to make out his surroundings. Why was the room so dark?

Luke thought he remembered warning sirens pulsing faintly through the tank. A sense of fear and urgency. Had they cut the power to hide from a probe? No...that didn't feel right. This place was too empty. Han and Leia and Chewie weren't here watching over him, as they had been since Han found him in the snow. They wouldn't have left him if-

...if everything was okay.

Despite the warmth of the bacta around him, Luke realized that he felt cold. Maybe he was still in the base. But then, where was everyone else? Had he been left behind?

They wouldn't leave him!

...would they?

The increase in his heartrate sounded an alarm on the outer controls of the tank. All at once, the bacta began to drain out, and the harness rose. Relief washed over Luke. Obviously someone had to still be here, or nobody would have noticed the heart monitor. It was probably 2-1B. He couldn't really sense droids, after all. The medical droid would know what was going on.

A wave of heat staggered him as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. At a control panel beside the tank, a jet black Artoo unit hooted at him in a suspiciously judgmental manner.

This was not Echo Base.

This isn't right...

Luke swallowed, grimaced, and spat out a bit of bacta that had gotten under the oxygen mask.

"Droid!" a harsh, modulated voice barked, "Why did you release the subject without authorization?"

Luke whirled to find a guard in crimson robes entering through a door behind the tank. His heart sank when he recognized the design of the uniform.

Empire.

Oh no. No no please, Force no!

He had been captured.

But then, why would they let him heal? He had a pretty high price on his head! Usually Imps were scrambling to kill him, not heal his wounds.

"Put him back under. Now!" The guard approached slowly, brandishing a spear at Luke. "You. Hands where I can see them."

Luke backed away, on the verge of panic. Where was he? What had they done to his friends? Why was he unhurt?!

"What the kriff is going on?" he croaked.

Watch him, watch his movements. If that spear isn't electrified, maybe I can grab it...

"You aren't here to ask questions, Rebel, you're here to answer them. Get back in the tank before I give you a reason to need the bacta," the guard snapped.

He swung his spear closer, and Luke jumped back. His bare shoulders collided with a tank wall, and the Artoo shrieked at him in dismay. A swift glance behind him revealed that Luke had not backed into the same tank he'd come out of.

There was a second tank beside his, and it was still occupied.

Luke felt the cold again, as if the tank had been filled with ice water. Inside the cloudy liquid, a battered figure seemed to hang frozen. The figure's limbs ended abruptly in scarred amputations that looked old, but aggravated. Dark contusions spread across what little of the person's torso Luke saw before returning his attention to the guard. Was this someone else they'd been interrogating?

The guard advanced again and held the spear to Luke's throat. "That's enough, Rebel. By rights, you shouldn't even have been brought here! We're wasting perfectly good bacta on scum like you."

Fear and adrenaline swirled together into an indignant mixture not too far off from courage, and Luke spat out, "Yeah, because I'm so eager to walk forward with a karking spear at my throat. You been out in the suns too long? I'm not impaling myself on that!"

The tip of the spear pressed closer, and this time Luke felt a low humming from it that promised a nasty shock if it made contact with his skin. He could almost swear he felt faint amusement in the red guard.

"Well that's what the bacta's for, isn't it?"

A spark arced from the point of the spear, and Luke instinctively jerked his head backward. But the jolt never struck. Luke tried to look, but it was as if the air itself had turned to stone, locking them all in place where they stood. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out the spark, flickering pathetically in midair, never to land. He could breathe, at least, but it was labored and shallow. The guard seemed to be having more trouble than he was -- the only indication to Luke that this was not some kind of paralysis weapon.

"Touch him and your life is forfeit."

The voice was soft, barely audible through the transparisteel of the second bacta tank, but it seemed to ring in their ears all the same. Luke couldn't turn, or shift his eyes far enough to see the speaker, but he could guess who it might be. The other prisoner had awoken. How was he holding them in place? Was it-

Was he a Jedi?

The guard collapsed, and suddenly Luke was free to move again. He turned slowly to look into the tank, barely even noticing that the guard lay where he had fallen, unmoving. The bacta was still cloudy, pumped full of heavy antibacterial solutions. But now that the man's eyes were open, they were impossible to miss. The fiery golden eyes of a dragon pinned Luke in place; they weighed him down with their gaze as surely as if he had been manacled to the floor.

Whoever the other prisoner was, Luke understood instinctively that he was a very dangerous man.

"No harm will come to you while you sleep," the man vowed. He appeared to be making some attempt to soften his dragon's stare, while simultaneously sifting through Luke's very soul. It did not alleviate the young man's fears.

"Thank you...?" Luke managed after several failed attempts at speech. "I can...keep watch while you sleep, if you want." Not that I can help much without my-

The lightsaber.

His father's lightsaber was gone. Was it still in the Rebel base? Or had the Empire taken it? Luke gripped the side of the tank for support. No friends, no weapons, no connection to his father; he had nothing but the shorts he'd been wearing when 2-1B first put him in the bacta tank.

I'm sorry! First Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen, then Ben, now I've failed you too, Father. I'm so sorry!

"Have you failed? Or did Kenobi fail you?" The man in the tank interrupted his thoughts without warning. The cold grew sharper, and shadows crept from the corners of the room to curl around the tanks. Golden eyes burned in the darkness of the occupied tank.

"What?" Luke gasped, pulling away from the tank.

"Sleep, Luke. When you have recovered, there will be much to discuss."

As Luke felt the chill close in on him again, it struck him that the dangerous stranger knew his name. And he spoke it as though he were familiar with Luke.

Luke had questions. But he wasn't sure anymore that he wanted them answered.

[addaellisplaysgames]

((Just something inspired by the new Mysteries of the Lost Gold Trailer. Probably not canon-compliant and at least a little OOC. Luke x MC/ Raven x Rosa.))

WC: 1854

His Rosa was scrutinizing something from a market stall when he found her. Luke watched fondly for a while before softly tapping her and taking her hand, careful now to startle her. She rewarded him with a relaxed smile.

“Look, it’s seaweed!” She showed him the hair clip. At first he thought it was a regular poppy flower, carved out of wire and cloth. But as his Rosa had observed, the texture of the flower, the thin carved veins on the surface, and the way it was folded resembled red seaweed with small silk beads for stamens.

“I didn’t even know red seaweed looked so different,” she mused. “It must have taken a lot of effort to carve the flower like that.” She set the hair clip down and turns to him. “Did Adjudicator get in contact with the dealer?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied. “We’ll talk about the details later.” He pinned the hair clip on her, replacing the usual clip. “It’s cute. You should get it.”

“You always say that,” she said, but her cheeks blushed happily from his compliment.

“Well, you’re always cute.”

“You silly….”

“Excuse me storekeep, how much for the hair clip?”

———

Rifle. Check. Scope. Check. Ghille. Check. Wind. Check. Target…in sights.

Luke carefully tracked the man between his crosshairs as they walked to the meeting point. He looked up and could see Libra and Rosa standing a few feet away, calmly keeping the target in position. He hated that she was so close yet so far away, and he hated that she was in danger again. But he was proud of how calm and brave she was even facing off a notorious criminal who called himself the “God of Death.”

Luke returned his eye to the scope. In the National Security Bureau, snipers were sometimes called gods of death themselves, for being able to rain silent death from afar. He preferred his Sherlock Holmes moniker, but if being a God of Death was what it took to take down this criminal, then that’s what he would have to be.

Luke took a deep breath…And fired.

Luke’s heart jolted when the rifle went off. It wasn’t the recoil or even the dulled bang of the gun. It wasn’t even the prospect of killing another human, even if the shot had been lethal. But just as he’d fired, he could have sworn he’d seen a flash of familiar red through the crosshairs.

———

Artem Wing was having a very surreal day. Raven and Rosa flirting over a hair clip was nothing unusual, and neither was arguing with King or even Adjudicator agreeing to this whole ridiculous plan with a creepy smile. But the sunny beaches and clear waters seemed too idyllic to be hiding a gang of murderers. For the legend of gold to be poison…this whole paradisal island was built on poison and blood.

Still, setting the target up for a sniper’s bullet—even if it was simply a tranquilizing bullet—sounded awfully like an assassination to him. Artem was an attorney after all, a pillar of justice and legal operation. Due process wasn’t just a motto, it was a creed he solemnly swore by. But the dealer this time was a confirmed killer, and had already escaped justice multiple times. Taking him down by normal means was simply out of the option. And if Raven was as good as he was confident, if they got the right suspect immediately…then this could be over in one shot.

The meeting and conversation itself seemed to go smoothly. Too smoothly. It was like he was in a dream world, and he didn’t even have to think to say the right words to placate the dealer. As the interaction was wrapping up, his partner suddenly whispered to him. They had the wrong guy. This had been a set up—They had to let Raven know the right target right away before a potential innocent was hurt in the crossfire—

But when that one shot happened. Artem watched in slow motion as the supposed dealer was flung back, clutching his shoulder and screaming in shock. His partner collapsed on the ground. Her eyes squeezed shut. There was blood in her hair.

Next to her laid the tattered remains of the poppy hair clip. The tiny beads scattered like dark red grains of pepper sunk into the pristine sand. The carefully carved red seaweed folds were torn to mangled shreds of cloth, like another life sacrificed before the golden alter of the God of Death.

———

According to the plan, Artem would be doing most of the talking. She glanced around, noting the dealer’s bodyguards around the space.

The dealer seemed nervous, but that wasn’t itself unusual. They were attorneys after all, and anyone would be hesitant to talk to lawyers, regardless of how many times they had gotten away. But she studied how his too-casual crossed arms contradicted the fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves—which were a tad too long for a dealer that could more than afford to have every suit hand-tailored. Yet his head seemed unusually still, as though the hat on it was a crown. Hm…

She kept one ear on the conversation as she studied the bodyguards again surreptitiously. The dealer hesitated. And then she saw one bodyguard shift—his face barely moved, but his neck moved as though he were speaking. He stopped, and the dealer spoke again.

She suddenly remembered how the ex-con had said the dealer was particularly paranoid, and how he continued to avoid capture and death. Calling himself “God of Death”, he seduced his victims with golden poison, and commanded loyalty through fear and an antidote just out of reach. All who voiced complaint would mysteriously vanish….

The conversation was coming to a close. The dealer signaled for his bodyguards to leave, and she knew the way were running out of time. The suspicious bodyguard was turning around to leave, and she noticed he was slightly taller than the dealer. And his shoes—brand new boots, without a scratch.

“This is the wrong man,” she said quietly to Artem. “The real culprit—“

She held her hand up to reveal the decoy, and suspicion and alarm flashed through the fake dealer’s eyes. He dealer grabbed her, pulling her in front of him and shouting for Artem not to move, else he’d snap the pretty girl’s neck. But before anyone could do anything, an invisible force whistled past her head, throwing the fake dealer back. He howled, but all she felt was ringing in her ears and a forceful tug, like someone yanking her braids. The world around her turned black for a moment, and she found herself on the ground, covered in sand.

“The bodyguard!” She called out, pointing. She struggled to move but her legs felt like jelly and her head was spinning like she was thrown into a centrifuge. She tried calling out again, because Artem wasn’t looking—he was kneeling by her side, eyes blown wide with concern and fear. “The bodyguard is the real dealer! He’s getting away!”

The suspicious bodyguard was running without a backwards glance for his decoy, and the groups as quickly collapsing around him. She fought through the throbbing in her head to keep an eye on him. Marius was nearby, she knew, ready to be backup. Her fingers trembled on the phone. “King! The real dealer is reaching the road now, the one on the motorcycle—don’t let him get away!”

———

It was over. Marius had pulled some crazy motor-cross stunts and managed to take down the suspicious bodyguard. The police had arrived to take all involved into custody, and the decoy had joined them once the tranquilizer wore off. As obnoxious as the little brat was, Luke had to give Marius credit for understanding what happened and taking down the target before they could get away.

The real hero though, was perched on the couch talking to him. He handed her a cup of tea, and took the ice pack from her ankle. “Wasn’t this supposed to be for your head? Are you feeling that much better already?” He asked lightly.

Rosa simply nodded, sipping lightly on the tea. Luke had made sure it was cool just enough so she wouldn’t be dangerous even if she did spill it. “The ringing stopped a while ago. I think I twisted my ankle trying to run in the sand though.” She sat up straight. “Are you okay?”

Luke sighed self-deprecatingly. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? You’re the one that nearly got shot.”

She set the tea aside, cupping his cheeks to look her in the eye. “Dr. Ritcher said there doesn’t seem to be any damage, psychological or physical. I guess I was too focused on the case to realize I was nearly shot. You and Artem were the ones that had to watch.”

He nuzzled into her soft touch. “My heart nearly stopped,” he confessed. “He moved so suddenly. I thought I’d accommodated for that, but then I saw you fall….”

“But it was a tranquilizing dart, not a real bullet.”

“But he’s a much bigger person!” Luke exclaimed. “That dose might have been lethal for you. And it wasn’t supposed to be delivered to your head! And then…there was blood in your hair…I’m so sorry.”

His Watson—his brave and clever Watson—was undeterred. She patted him gently as she explained again. “It was just the decoy yanking my hair so suddenly and the sound of the dart so close that startled me. And it was his blood. I’m fine.” She smiled brightly, banishing the dark clouds that had been swirling around his heart with radiant confidence. “I never doubted you’d hit your target precisely. You’re my beloved Sherlock, right?”

He hugged her close, hoping he could shelter her from everything, even himself. “I’m yours.”

———

It had been a few days since they returned to Stellis. The bell of his antique store announced a visitor, and Peanut’s excited chirp announced his girlfriend. “In all the commotion after the case I forgot t give this to you,” she said, approaching the desk. She paused to hold out a finger to Peanut, who landed with a happy trill. “I thought your old keychain could use a well deserved break.”

Luke took the tissue-paper wrapped gift. It was a keychain of a distinctive detective’s hat and pipe, carved out of a seashell and coated in resin. “This was what you had gotten? I thought…I thought you’d gotten yourself a present.”

“A present for you is a present for me, silly,” she replied, entertaining Peanut with a toy. “Do you dislike it?”

“No, it’s amazing,” he said, immediately attaching the keychain to his camera. “Actually, I have a surprise for you too,” Luke said. He set a hair clip in front of her: gentle red cloth and wire, etched to look like red seaweed, but folded like a flower.

“The hair clip! You remade it?”

“Except this time as a rose,” he said shyly.

She pinned it to her hair immediately, twirling to show it off. “How is it?”

“Cute,” he said, wrapping his arms around her gently. “You’re always cute.”

“I think I like this one better,” she murmured against his chest. “You made it for me after all.”

“I do too. Truly, a rose represents you best.”

[chuckbass-love]

Why Him? | Ransom Drysdale | Part 6

A/N : Thank you so much guys for the likes on the previous parts to this fic. I hope you like this part. Some really good parts coming up too. If I haven’t already said, this is set years before the events of Knives Out. 

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than my Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3. However, reblogs are welcome.

Why Him? MASTERLIST

Warnings : SMUT

Claudia’s POV

My eyes open and i groan at the loud sound of my alarm, reaching my hand out to turn it off. “Good morning doll” he’s still here. “Good morning” i smile to myself, rubbing my eyes. “So daddy huh? didn’t take you as a girl with a daddy kink” oh shit. I avoid making eye contact with him as i get off the bed and walk round the room, butt naked. I stand near his side of the bed and he pulls me down, making me squeal. “It just came out” i try to lie to avoid more embarrassment “Now now doll, no need to lie” he smirks, the amusement he has of knowing something about me. “I have to pack and you’re distracting me” i state, trying to worm my way out of his grasp but failing. “You know, that’s no way to talk to daddy” my heart skips a beat. He likes it. My mind starts racing back to the steamy events of last night. Still sore from how rough he is. I stand up and walk slow to the bathroom. I look into the bathroom mirror and immediately notice the hickey on my neck. He didn’t hold back. I turn the shower on and get in when it’s the perfect temperature. I can’t believe what happened last night. I can’t believe i slept with him.

Ransom’s POV

I can’t believe it. Everything is going so well with her. It’s like it just comes so easy to both of us and i feel so comfortable around her. If things stay this good between us then i fear it will head towards me introducing my family to her and to be quite frank, i don’t think either of us are ready for that. I don’t want to scare her away. It’s not my parents or grandad it’s Meg, Joni and Walt. They hate me, always have done and always will. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the shower turning on, my head filled with so many ideas. Time for a little fun. I stand up, still naked from last night’s antics. I walk into the bathroom to see her washing her hair. Not for long. 

I step in, making her jump when she opens her eyes. “So beautiful doll” she bites her lips as she continues with what she’s doing. I trail my fingers all over her body, she’s trying to hold back a smile “Stop” she giggles, pushing me away slightly. I reach my hand down, brushing my fingers across her exposed sex, she flinches the sudden touch “Ransom” she moans out. “You like it when daddy touches you like that doll?” i mumble into her ear, she rests her head forward on my shoulders as i continue to rub figure eights on her clit “Ugh fuck” she throws her head back, letting the water fall on her face and neck. “I need to pac- SHIT” i insert two fingers inside of her without warning. “That’s it, cum on daddy’s fingers” i grip her face with force, making her look at me as i pleasure her.

I pull my fingers out, seeing the mess she made on them and i bring them up to my mouth, licking them clean. She whimpers at the sight before turning the shower off and shoving past me to get out. Wrapping the towel around her body and walking into the other room. I follow her, still naked. She starts getting ready. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She slips on sweatpants and a baggy top. Towel drying her hair too. “Sit down” she demands, looking back at me. 

I take a seat on the edge of the bed and she makes her way in between my legs, lowering herself down to her knees. She starts jerking my dick as she locks her eyes onto mine. She drives me crazy. I watch as she starts licking the tip, ridding me of the pre cum. One hand jerking me as she starts to take me into her mouth and the other playing with my balls. I throw my head back, the pleasure is insane. “Look at me daddy” this woman. She takes me to the back of her throat, bottoming me out and gagging a little. “You take me so well” she looks up again, making sure to give me direct eye contact as she takes all of me. “Fuck doll, don’t stop” i groan, gripping her hair in my hands. “Look at me when you cum daddy” she mumbles, her mouth still full. “I’m cumming” and just like that, i reach my peak. Filling her mouth up. I look at her in pure amazement as she swallows all of me. 

She stands up and continues to pack, acting like that was nothing. Now is probably time to get dressed myself. “So will i be seeing you again when we get back to Boston?” i ask, nervously. My insecurities creeping out. “What makes you think that you won’t?” she glances at me “I just wasn’t sure if we were on the same page” i explain “And what page is that?” her face now just inches from mine as i’m on the bed. “The dating kind” i state. She kisses me “I guess we are”.

*LATER THAT DAY*

Claudia’s POV

It feels so good to be home, i step foot out of my shower and into my bedroom to get into my pyjamas. I always shower after a flight. I wonder into my bathroom to turn the light off when i finish changing. I hear my phone ringing from the bed. I walk over to see it’s a FaceTime call from James. “Sup bitch” i greet as his face appears on the screen “How was New York? we’ve not spoken since before you left” i flop onto my bed and let out a breath of relief, that i’m back in my own bed tonight. 

“It was so good, okay i met Anna fucking Wintour” he’s gay and has always idolised her. “YOU DID NOT” he squeals making me almost fall off my bed from laughing. “She’s a darling, i can’t even believe it. I worked with Amy Astley mostly and Anna helped out when needed but yeah i did so much, dressed and styled models. The best experience ever” his eyes grow wide, smiling from ear to ear. “What’s new with you?” i ask as i head downstairs to make myself a hot drink, resting my phone on the stand. 

“Well, Luke is seeing someone, he’ll tell you all the details eventually. He met her at the bar the other day. Darcy is well Darcy and Me well my life is boring and you met Anna Wintour” i throw my head back in fits of giggles at his annoyed state. “I’m sorry okay, Sure there’s no gossip?” i pout, i was hoping for a good old bitch fest with my best friend. He shakes his head, trying to think. 

“Oh, i didn’t mention Britney. Jake cheated and you’ll never guess who with” i start pouring the hot water into my mug “Wai-” the door-bell goes. “Who’s at my door this late” i wonder, James raises his eyebrows “A booty call perhaps?” i give him the ‘yeah right” look. Waiting for the right time timing to tell him and the others about Ransom. I head to the door, opening it and looking around. No one is here. I then look down to see a large bouquet of roses. Wonder who these are from.

I take them into the kitchen, flashing them towards the camera for James to see. “Who sent you roses?” i furrow my brows, pulling the note from the side of the bouquet. It reads :

‘Claudia,

I’ve had the greatest time with you the past few days

I’d love to continue getting to know you more

Meet me at 1387 Chow-Stone Road tomorrow

5:00pm

Wear something fancy doll

Lots of love

Ransom x’

I cover my face with my hands instantly. This man is something else. I don’t realise i’m in my own world until i hear James talking. “So who are they from?” he asks, once again being that i ignored him the first time. “So i met a guy” he grins, squealing so loud, i swear one day i’m gonna lose my hearing. “Tell me about him” my cheeks heat up like crazy as my mind flashes through all the times i’ve had with Ransom so far, leading me to fill James in about it all.

“YOU HAD SEX?” he shouts, i give him the shush signal but he doesn’t listen. “My neighbours will hear at this rate but yes to answer your question. We had sex and let me tell you. I’ve never had an experience like that before” i take a sip of my tea. My mind yet again racing through the events of last night and this morning. “He is the biggest i’ve ever had and the tongue skills” James widens his eyes “Oh dayum, You have to rub it in don’t you? Not all of us are getting laid here” my cheesy grin coming out to play. “It says to wear something fancy. James you have to help me” instant panic shoots over me. I grab my phone and head up to my closet. 

“Okay, do i go with the red or the blue” i hold up two dresses, the same but just in different colours. “The red one all the way” i agree as i hang it up, ready for tomorrow. “Wear red lacy underwear too and black heels” perks of having a gay best friend. He’s got the best advice, fashion and relationship wise. We end the call eventually as the sudden wave of tiredness flies over me. My bed is calling. 

*THE NEXT DAY*

4:00pm rolls around and i’ve just showered, done my makeup and styled my hair. Now time for the finishing touches. The dress and shoes. I zip it up and walk to my bed, sitting on the edge to put my heels on. I never dress up like this but i can’t say i don’t enjoy it. Aside from the heels that is. I lock up and make my way to my car to drive to the address he gave. As i pull up, i see a small Italian restaurant, my favourite. I park up and head inside. Ransom is sat at the candle lit table. The restaurant is empty. “Hi” he smiles as he lays his eyes upon me. “Hi” i walk over slowly, trying not to look overly keen by rushing. Silly i know.

“You look incredible” he looks me up and down, taking a deep breath. “Not so bad yourself Drysdale” i wink as i go to sit down, he pulls the chair out for me. “I was worried you weren’t gonna come. He confesses. He looks so nervous. “Are you okay?” i ask him, a hint of worry in my voice. “I’m fine it’s just, seeing you like this, it’s driving me crazy” i stare at him with surprise as i eye him up. He orders drinks and food for us both, i get lost in his appearance. He’s wearing a full blown suit. The effort he’s gone to for tonight is making my stomach do backflips. He’s so handsome under the candle light that fills the place. Not a single ceiling light on.

Our drinks arrive and i sip at it slowly as we make conversation. The one thing i’m dying to ask but i’m unsure. He notices. “What is it doll? You look bothered” there’s that nickname again, my legs turning to jelly. “I just, ever since you briefly brought it up the other night. I wanted to as-” he cuts me off “You want to know more about my family?” how did he know? “Well what did you want to know?” he sips his drink, a non-alcoholic beer since he will have to drive home. “You said that they’ve always hated you and always will. What makes you think that?” i purse my lips, staring him directly in the eye. Awaiting his answer.

“Well my cousin Meg calls me a trust fund prick if that’s some insight. Joni, Meg’s mom just thinks i’m troubled. Doesn’t stop her making digs at me to get a rise though and Walt, my uncle. He’s quite something. My last girlfriend said he asked her if she was my hooker” this isn’t family. That’s not how families behave. Not going to lie, the thought of meeting them makes me nervous but the thought of them putting him down is worse. “You know that’s no way to treat family. No matter how much they might hate you. I think it’s wrong and i’m sorry you have to put up with that” i hold his hand across the table and he nods in agreement when our food arrives. 

We spend the next hour or so just talking and joking around with each other. He’s just so different to how he was that Saturday night. So caring and gentleman like. It’s nice. I like him a lot.

A/N : I’m going to make a masterlist of this fic so all the parts will be in one place. I’ll link the masterlist on each part when i have done it. I’m proof reading and editing part 7 tonight and it will be up tomorrow afternoon.

[whentheynameyoujoy]

The Problem with Rey, or Where I Fail to Ignore the Bad Trilogy Yet Again

So, in a grand tradition of ignoring my New Year’s resolutions the second after making them, I hereby give up on trying to be less of a sourpuss this year and am going to once more plunge into the pit of negativity that’s the sequel trilogy. Namely, I’m going to put my two cents in that scene in TROS.

Or rather I’m going to try and sus out why it raised no eyebrows with me as I was watching it in the theatre, beyond the obligatory “Oh, callbacks! Cameos! That’s nice. Fuck off.”

After all, it absolutely should have. It’s an ostensible backslide in what passes for character development in these movies, a reversal in the texture of the hero’s journey, of the ST’s sketchy hint of the characters changing from broken immature children into self-actualized adults. And let’s not forget about the horrendous messaging that sees Rey forever entombed in the role of a pure virgin maiden, a replacement golden child that’s vindicated in her tendency to define herself through relations to others instead of becoming her own person.

Christ, the thing is literally golden.

And then it clicked why none of this raised any alarm bells with me.

I just fundamentally don’t take canon Rey seriously as a fictional character.

Mind you, this goes well beyond my inability to play with TROS on its own terms and stop riffing it (though it is a problem) or to view it from the Watsonian perspective instead of constantly remembering that the only reason the movie even exists is not to tell a story with any narrative integrity and artistic honesty, but to make a bazillion dollars and thus it can do without my emotional investment (though that’s also true).

My chief issue is that Rey as a character barely exists.

Now, what I mean by that is that Rey doesn’t conform to the definition of a fictional character as a purposeful construct, a set of distinctive traits making up a defined psychology that informs one’s behaviour and allows one to dictate the plot as its active agent, thus driving the story forward.

What’s confusing about this is that at the start of TFA, Rey had by far the strongest characterization out of anyone, original characters and new (although this stops being true pretty much the moment you notice it).

When we first meet Rey, she’s busy living what can only be described as the Star Wars equivalent of a Dickensian existence—a parentless teenager forced to fight for survival, figuratively and literally, and earn her own living from a very young age. What her life lacks in support and stability, it makes up for in hard labour, hunger, and a crushing sense of cultivated loneliness. There are no meaningful relationships—friendly, familial, or romantic ones—and no prospects, only a desire to escape, or to be more precise to be taken away under a set of specific circumstances. And of course there’s the nagging fear that this might actually be it for her.

This will never stop being ingenious.

What’s most interesting about Rey at this point, though, is her contradictions. As we later learn, she has lashed her sense of identity to the idea of being a temporarily abandoned child, and thus she’s forced herself to live a life of perpetual childhood, waiting for her parents to come back and pluck her from Jakku instead of moving on and carving out her own existence. In a very real sense, although her life has many outward marks of adulthood, she refuses to grow up, going as far as styling herself after her former childhood self and naively asserting her belief that of course putting her life on hold and spending it stuck and waiting is eventually going to be rewarded.

At the same time, though, there are already some cracks in the childish façade that allow us to see the real person beneath—someone with a strong sense of right vs. wrong, to the point where she’s willing to put herself in danger and accept hardships on behalf of others. But her willingness to engage in conflict without a second thought can also be read as underlying anger issues stemming from her sense of abandonment, and a sign that a certain jaded bitterness may have already set in, as evidenced by her unwillingness to deal with BB-8, a non-familial entity, as a friend after saving him.

All of this creates a character who’s barely holding it together, someone bursting out of the childlike costume they’ve constructed for themselves, their mask about to disintegrate and reveal a deeply broken person underneath; a little girl who’s too busy looking into the past instead of living in the present, who doesn’t see herself as an agent in her own story but as someone who’s given meaning by others.

In other words, Rey’s challenge at the beginning of ST is to confront the truths and issues she doesn’t want to face, destroy her shell, and emerge into adulthood as a fully-realized woman.

I hope you enjoyed this bit of psychology as much as I did back in 2015 because it’s the last one she’s going to get.

The moment the movie dies.

From the second Rey meets Finn, she leaves TFA as an agent who shapes the story by her own psychology and development, and spends the rest of the runtime as a passive object that’s dragged along by the plot while having no effect on it, instead being jostled around by the actions of others. Up until the final fight, Rey:

runs away from an enemy she never engaged, who means nothing to her and she nothing to them;

is ambushed by a guy and his pet fuzzball, neither of whom she’s ever met;

is forced into defensive action by a bunch of gangsters who, yet again, have nothing to do with her or her journey;

accidentally releases a convenient plot device she didn’t intend to release. This doesn’t amount to anything;

is introduced to a map she didn’t search for, leading to a person she doesn’t know, has no connection to, and no reason to be interested in;

ends up on a planet she didn’t know about and had no plan to visit;

has her inner conflict verbalized to her by discount Yoda;

has her lights punched out and is bridal carried by the galaxy’s most try-hard Bad Boy Who Ever Baddied for unintentionally viewing the central McGuffin of a storyline that has nothing to do with her or her character conflict;

gets interrogated by an admittedly gorgeous mop of hair which triggers her Force powers, somehow. She never reflects on this;

gets saved by the screenwriter by using a Force power she had no reason to suspect existed.

Only then does she wake up from her slumber to:

fight Kylo Ren in order to protect the unconscious Finn, a type of action she’s performed twice already in regards to BB-8 and thus is nothing new for her;

and finally, having failed to reflect on being Force sensitive or express an ounce of political opinion, join the Resistance for some reason and decide to take on the responsibility of finding Luke Skywalker, a person who still means nothing to her on any level.

Simply put, Rey spends the majority of the movie treading water and then being catapulted into a position the screenwriters want her in, without first sending her on a journey which would bring her to the Resistance and Luke as a natural result of her own choices and actions, not of a series of plot contrivances.

This is further made worse by the fact that Rey’s psychology from the start of TFA when she was still in that wonderful character study test tube? Yeah, it stops existing. Or rather it stops dictating her actions and behaviour. Gone is her unwillingness to permanently entangle herself in the affairs of others and only doing so after a reluctant flare-up of empathy. Now she’s a good sport who’s just happy to be included, guys! There’s also this slight problem where her background leaves no marks on her. She has no interpersonal problems, no trust issues, no bitterness, no jadedness, no sense of abandonment, she isn’t clingy or stand-offish like most people with her experiences would. There’s only the face of childlike joy as she simply goes along for the ride because the movie needs to happen.

And these checks J.J. signed in TFA? They get cashed in TLJ where Rian Johnson is asked to wave his arms and work with a character who’s in a situation she has no internal reason to be in. As a result, instead of having a solid, meaty foundation to examine why Rey has immediately latched onto the Resistance and Jedi after spending so long defining herself through her parents and having no personal or ideological reason to be interested in either, we’re just asked to nod along and pretend that Rey being so deeply invested in any of this makes sense and isn’t worrying in the slightest. And then comes the end where any notion of moral complexity is flushed down the toilet as Rey pulls a Kylo and instead of incorporating what she’s learned into a new worldview and altering her journey, she digs in her heels and returns to the Resistance as, sigh, the last Jedi while, yet again, never examining her attachment to either. The found family trope is awesome, guys, let’s not question it.

So I must admit to not really understanding where this outrage about Rey being locked in permanent childhood by the end of TROS is coming from. She’s never stopped being a child. The sequel trilogy has always preferred to view her as a pure ray of sunshine (pun very vomit-inducingly intended) and an embodiment of good that’s free of internal conflict; a figurative representation of a child who’s spent the movies in a state of arrested development (a few unmotivated moments in TLJ being a notable exception), cycling through different parental figures until she’s finally gotten it right and can now restart her childhood, new and improved.

You may call it yucky but I don’t see how it’s surprising.