#The prequels needed more of a sense of urgency at every turn. Just from like a storytelling standpoint there were—

[corellianhounds]

Amidala the Resilient

Media: Revenge of the Sith

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,942

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, pregnancy, Force-choking, blood and injuries, traumatic labor and delivery, death in childbirth, no happy ending.

Art Credit: Iain McCaig, The Art of Star Wars, Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

Summary: In a universe where Anakin gradually descended into the Dark side of his own volition from the beginning— where his ambition and love were genuine and admirable, but the temptation of power too much— his turn is something much more destructive and purposeful. Amidala’s plan for retaliation is just as much so.

Padmé Amidala can feel tension twinging in her back and thighs. The pit in her stomach has coalesced into a tight knot as she steels herself for what she must do; she’s bringing a mattock and salt to the ground where pruning shears should have been used long ago.

Anakin had been too far gone for a long time, and the fault lay in her and everyone in his life willingly turning a blind eye too often to his myriad of faults. In the past two hours she has seen actions the result of which came from an upbringing where his temper, jealousy, and ambition were allowed to slide because those who thought him destined for some great cosmic good were willing to overlook occasional— and often objectively justified— acts of wrath and ruthlessness. He had always been so good at justifying his reasons and putting his actions in a more favorable light, showing enough willingness for correction over the years people thought he was receptive to guidance and change.

What she’d come to realize with dawning horror was that the seeds of destruction had been sown long ago, and though the vines had borne occasional good fruit, they had always grown with selfish intent, inevitably choking out everything around them in an effort to keep his own desires hidden behind the barrier of thorns.

In the next hour, she will come face to face with the monster of a man he’s become.

The Jedi master doesn’t know. Kenobi knows she has some plan but wrongfully assumes it is to appeal to whatever mistaken shred of humanity might remain in Anakin. Obi-Wan— even now, even after what they saw— cares for him as a brother and would sooner cut off his own hand than see Anakin completely lost to the Dark. Padmé however has finally seen clarity of purpose.

For Anakin to be stopped, he must be killed.

The ship arrives on Mustafar. Padmé wrenches herself away from the viewport as Obi-Wan lands and she gingerly lowers herself to the cargo hold, donning a cloak. Obi-Wan hurriedly finishes the landing cycle, calling her name as she gathers her strength, but she’s hardly listening to him at this point and she knows she must conceal herself from him so he has no chance of stopping her.

A hand on her shoulder makes her flinch, and the Jedi lets go almost in surprise. “Padmé, you don’t have to do this. I will talk to him.”

“No,” she says, keeping her left hand secured across her waist beneath the voluminous sleeve as she cleared a path to the lowering gangway. “He’s made it very clear he’s past the point of reasoning with the Jedi. I will speak with him, and if I cannot convince him to come with us calmly, or I cannot ascertain his next move, I expect you to do what’s necessary to end this treasonous rebellion. That is an order.”

It was all false diplomacy, of course, for his sake. Padmé had no intention of believing Anakin was anywhere close to the realm of negotiation. They were far past that.

But she needed assurance that she could get close enough to Anakin to act decisively. She couldn’t have Kenobi interfering, not at this juncture.

Oppressive heat surrounded her as she swept down the ramp to the barren ground. Magma roiled and churned, flames flickering at the edge of the peninsula as Padmé approached the figure so cloaked in darkness an aura of blackened energy almost seemed to emanate from his form. The grip of the hidden dagger dug into her hand, grounding her as she approached.

Padmé’s eyes burned with a ferocity to match her husband’s. It was time for this to end.

When Obi-Wan had seen her determination in the hold of the ship he had never for a moment anticipated what it would lead to.

Padmé steadily approached Anakin, cloak and hood protecting her from the blaze. He could see her speaking forcefully with him, her face hidden from view but Anakin’s darkening by the moment in response. His right hand, devoid of glove, clenched the hilt of an already ignited saber, the bloodshine blade standing in stark contrast to his own cloak. Its presence alone was alarming, but Obi-Wan had been subject to so many tragedies that night already, he merely assumed Anakin had readied it in the expectation of facing his master.

What Obi-Wan hadn’t known was what Padmé concealed until she tried to close the distance between them, her own blade in hand. What followed happened in the span of a heartbeat.

Anakin’s saber blocked it on instinct, easily halting the approach of Padmé’s dagger, his eyes widening in surprise. In the following moment his left hand raised and with it, so did Padmé.

Obi-Wan’s astonishment lasted only a fraction of a second as he yelled “NO!” Padmé’s feet left the ground as an invisible force clutched her neck in a crushing, intangible grip, and in the breadth of time Padmé scrabbled at her throat, Obi-Wan acted.

Anakin stumbled back from the force of the bolt hitting his shoulder, releasing his hold on Padmé. Padmé crumpled to the ground in a heap, and Anakin’s sights zeroed in on Kenobi, standing at the mouth of the ship with both blaster and lightsaber in hand. Snarling, Anakin stalked towards his old master and brought his lightsaber down, red clashing against blue.

Padmé Amidala, heartbroken and dying, drags herself bleeding to the communication console.

Kenobi can hear her movement in the bay and yells her name, telling her not to move, that he’ll come to help her as soon as the ship breaches the atmosphere, and she stalwartly ignores him, cradling the underside of her belly with one hand and using the other to support herself on the railing around the sparse artillery deck. Her broken ankle protests at every movement, sending lightning arcing up the leg where she puts her unsteady weight. The cramps in her abdomen spread like bone-coral, sharp and hot and agonizing in her pelvis, sides, back— Every tendon and muscle in her body screams at their owner to relent, to succumb to the creeping darkness pressing around her vision, but she cannot allow herself peace until she finishes what she started.

Padmé staggers at the ship’s turbulent acceleration, her forearm slamming out against the bulkhead as the lights flicker, and she curses the unsteady pilot she thought was her friend. Perhaps if she’d been accompanied by someone more decisive, someone whose fatal flaw wasn’t a love too great for a brother that no longer existed, Anakin would have been dealt with and she’d have the wherewithal to fight against the added pain of a labor she was sure would tear her in two.

Sweat pours from her brow and forces her already shaking, slippery hands to scrabble for purchase on the blasted polished finery of a spoiled noble’s ship. Her muscles spasm and she gasps in abject terror as she feels something inside her snap; the membrane within her had ruptured.

Gravity pulls on her bones as her muscles betray her, and she collapses against the bench. Fingernails scrape vinyl and she chokes out a guttural, rending cry of pain in the effort it takes to haul herself upward into the seat.

Obi-Wan is yelling again. Traitorous coward.

Padmé punches in the covert frequency on the transmitter. Her other hand rests on her stomach, her infants moving restlessly under her touch. She forces the hot flashes of pain back, shoving down every instinctive response to curl in on herself.

“Sabé—,” she says into the comm, gritting her teeth and tasting blood once more; the contractions were stronger and with a strangled grunt she yanks the comm closer, ignoring the frantic waves of worry rolling off of the useless Jedi in the pilot’s seat.

“Sabé, if you find the man who was my husband,” she chokes, the creeping black at the edges of her vision beginning to overtake her.

“Kill him.”

Obi-Wan sat listlessly on a bench in the hold, what bloodied clothing he still wore sticking to him like a second skin. His hand rested on the makeshift bassinet, a gun locker repurposed into a cradle.

He could only imagine what directive she’d felt necessary enough to strain herself to get across the sublight waves; he could only imagine because the message was encrypted and the recipient unknown, and her mind had been shielded from his probing. He didn’t know whether to blame his failed use of the Force on the heartbroken, distracted nature of his psyche being pulled in a thousand directions as he’d manually flown from Mustafar’s orbital pull in order to make the jump to lightspeed, or to blame some unknown energy stalwartly blocking him from Padmé’s mind. Reaching out to her had felt like hitting a steel wall.

The tumult of their departure had preoccupied him until he was sure he’d escaped whatever enemy fighters Anakin’s new master had sent after them, the maneuvering less of a dogfight and more of a half-cocked evasive prayer for the hull to remain intact long enough for them to break atmo. Klaxons blared and the astronav’s interface barked orders, warning him of too many systems he already knew were damaged enough that if they took even one more hit to the hull they would be obliterated; shields were failing, exterior panelling being shorn off, the pursuing fighters gaining on them— Until by some stroke of luck he’d found a slip in space to pull through and immediately jump to lightspeed.

Lightspeed jumps themselves were already hazardous to expecting parents’ health. He was terrified of the condition she had been in when he’d finally gotten her onboard, and the fact he could sense her moving with purpose somewhere below decks while he tried to shake the fighters had sent his heart rate skyrocketing.

Piloting had never been his forte. As soon as they’d hit hyperspace he’d slammed a hand against the autopilot controls and bolted from the dash, scrambling down to the hold below.

He swore under his breath, calling her name and skidding to a halt beside her. Her face twisted in agony, her hands clutching the underside of her abdomen. Obi-Wan knelt beside her, hesitant to move her and instead ran a quick check over her vitals, astonished at what he found.

Broken bones in her leg, fractured ribs, internal bleeding, damaged trachea— how had she even moved?! By all rights she should be dead and yet something had propped her up long enough for her to drag herself to the terminal and send a message.

And now she was in labor.

“Kenobi—” she spat derisively, grabbing his tunic. “Get— up—”

“Padmé, hold still, let me—”

He was cut off as a violent shudder wracked her body, her limbs curling in on herself with a gurgling cry. Panicked desperation lanced through him as he reached out and grasped tendrils of the Force, gingerly cradling her neck and attempting to delicately, swiftly mend ligaments he couldn’t see. If he was even a millimeter incorrect, she would die.

A misaligned vertebrae shifted back into place, and Padmé screamed.

Obi-Wan bit back a sob, carefully tracing his fingers on either side of the back of her neck with as much force as he dared in an attempt to still her and provide what pain relief he could as his own energy was leached from him. Padmé gasped, her eyes flying open, her expression stricken as she looked up at the ceiling. Her iron grip loosened as the tension dissipated, if only in one area. She gulped air as if coming up from the bottom of a lake, and Obi-Wan settled as he felt his strength wane. A concrete task was better than guesswork at unknown variables.

The reprieve didn’t last long; Padmé grunted in pain, convulsing as a contraction rippled through her torso again. Further assessment revealed her leggings and the floor beneath her to be drenched, and Obi-Wan’s panic flared again.

“I have to get you up—”

“If you move me I will kill you,” she spat harshly. She trembled despite the ferocity of her glare, her hand still twisted in his robe. “There is no time— Here and now, Kenobi. Make do.”

“Padmé—”

“Look around you,” she seethed. “There’s no level surface in this blasted ship big enough to work. There are no other choices. There is no one else to help. Sleeves up. Now.”

Kenobi’s brow remained twisted as he stripped off his outer tunic, knowing it was laden with silicate and volcanic dust. Padmé propped herself up on her elbows as he raced to scour his hands and forearms, coming back to remove her boots so he could work her outer garments free. Whether the blood seeping between her teeth was due to the injuries she’d sustained or because she was gritting them hard enough one had cracked, he didn’t know.

Padmé gasped again as the fracture in her shin shifted— He wanted to settle her, to fix this, but the contractions were coming more quickly and closer together. They were running out of time.

He finally seated himself before her, kneeling and shaking in just his undershirt and trousers, feeling acutely unprepared for what was to come. Battlefield triage and casualty care were the extent of his healing knowledge, and though he was adept at relieving or numbing acute nociceptive responses, it was usually with soldiers whose minds were open for him to assess areas of injury. A commander with a blaster burn would be focused on the point where his plastoid hadn’t covered. A civilian’s attention after suffering a fall would be turned to the joints and bones that took the brunt of the effects of gravity.

Labor and delivery were far too different from his experience in the medical field.

And Padmé was still blocking him out.

Her knuckles gripped bone-white to a ridge of floor plating, one knee bent and her foot planted flat. The other lay weakly to the side, and Obi-Wan grit his teeth as he raised it up to rest over his thigh despite the lancing pain he felt radiating from her, tucking a blanket beneath her and readying his hands for whatever instruction he prayed she could give. With him gathering his wits and her gathering her strength, they set to work.

The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted longer than thirty minutes, and it was the longest and most arduous process of their lives. Between her strangled cries, his intuition, and the muscle spasms that told him everything about this was wrong, Kenobi’s concern grew with the pool of blood beneath her, and she forced him to focus on the children, refusing to allow him any modicum of time spent healing her injuries between her screams. Untended bone cracked further as she thrashed, her screams echoing back in the cargo hold.

By the time Kenobi had swaddled the two squalling— living!— infants in what sterile dressing he could find from the field kit, Padmé had gone a sickly pale. Her skin was waxy under the recessed halogen lighting, her hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and different muscle groups continued twitching of their own accord as if sparked by electricity. Obi-Wan was torn between ensuring the infants had been properly cared for, and wanting to drag Padmé to the captain’s berth to fully assess her wounds and heal her: Padmé kept stubbornly shoving him away, tears tracking unnoticed down her face as she continued to choke out instructions for the care and keeping of her children.

He’d finally been forced to stop when that iron grip returned in full force— Padmé grabbed his arm and yanked him down to where she had propped herself up against the wall. Kenobi lurched forward, her ashen face now level with his. She forced her voice to obey despite the strain in her throat, rasping the words she needed to say.

“Keep them away from him.” The venom in her tone was undeniable. “You keep them safe, Kenobi, get— get them as far away as you can—”

Kenobi grunted, refusing to let her continue her orders. He pressed a palm to her chest, willing those wisps of energy to sustain her just a few moments longer as he tried to haul her up into his lap, coax her arm around him so he could lift her— If he could just get her somewhere comfortable, somewhere clean, if he could focus—

Padmé shrieked in pain, clawing at his chest and arms, and the sum of their separate fights came crashing down on him as the Force dissipated from his mind’s grasp. His knees gave out, his strength sapped from the energy he had poured into her, and they lay heavily back against the terminal yet again. The children cried distantly behind them.

“Padmé, please…” Obi-Wan pleaded, tears streaking down his face, but she shook her head yet again.

“Keep them safe,” she coughed, begging for the first time. “Get them away f-from—”

“He’s gone, Padmé, Anakin is gone—”

She shook her head fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. He’s there. I can feel him.”

“Listen to me— Anakin is dead, I saw him—”

“You’re wrong,” Padmé said. Her breath rattled. Tears dripped from her chin. “If— If you won’t k-kill him then t-take care o-of them. Wh-Whatever it takes.”

Her chest hitched as she gasped around the liquid filling her lungs. Her bloody hand trembled against his neck. She hiccuped, her eyes went glassy, and her hand fell away.

And in the stillness of hyperspace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie passed from one life to the next.

It had been an hour since then. Only an hour since Obi-Wan had had to keep himself from buckling under the weight of his grief, an hour since he’d sobbed on the floor of a ship as one of his oldest and dearest friends died in his arms. The former queen of Naboo, dying in the bloody cargo hold of a stolen ship, her own life stolen from her by the one person the two of them had trusted beyond measure while her infant children cried out for comfort he felt wholly incapable of providing. Obi-Wan wept alongside them, digging his fingers into the cold, unfeeling floor, wanting to scream as the agony of heartbreak threatened to overwhelm him.

So many dead, or lost. There was no solace even in the Force.

But as Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself doing so often in his life, he shoved his feelings down into the furthest recesses of his broken heart, let go of another loved one returned to the Force, and turned himself back to the task at hand.

The infants were asleep now. He’d shakily scrubbed at his face and arms with cold water and spared only enough time under the sanisteam to ensure he was clean enough to handle them before finding a spare undershirt for himself. He fed them, cleaned them up, and held both of them together against his chest as they squirmed, dissatisfied at their situation before accepting their present accommodations and falling asleep. By the ship’s chrono he had roughly two standard hours before the ship was due to drop out of hyperspace.

He sat unseeing in the captain’s berth with the ad hoc bassinet nearby. Padmé was still in the hold; he couldn’t be two places at once, and he couldn’t stay down there with the children.

Something bothered him about the infants in his arms, though. Once the girl had passed from Padmé’s body, it almost seemed like the barrier keeping him from sensing Padmé’s thoughts had broken. He was too drained and scattered to dwell on it as his last moments with her had been focused on her well-being, but despite his utter exhaustion he had a suspicion that had already begun to crystallize under the sheer openness of the twins’ young presences within hyperspace.

It troubled him.

Whatever message she’d sent was evidently received by the people she’d needed it to. Bail Organa met him at the hastily assembled but covert rendezvous, his ensuing shock and horror upon entering the ship’s docking ramp turning to commanding resolve as he followed the trail of destruction to Kenobi’s station. Organa had to shake him from his stupor before Obi-Wan could tell him of Mustafar, of the newly appointed Sith and Padmé’s scheme, and of Padmé’s last words. The senator’s brow furrowed. He knelt next to the Jedi, looking over the sleeping children.

“What of Anakin?”

Obi-Wan shook his head tiredly. “I cannot sense him. I don’t believe Anakin is alive.”

“… Who else did she contact?” Bail asked.

Tears dripped onto Obi-Wan’s shirt. “I don’t know.”

Bail sighed, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry, Obi-Wan. For everything.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t respond.

Bail’s team, handpicked and vetted by the senator himself, worked below decks as the men weighed their options. The aftermath of the despotic coup was rippling out and changing by the minute; the Jedi had been slaughtered and scattered, the clones had broken all communication, and the Senate had reached a fever pitch of chaos. Anything that needed to be done had to be done now.

The feeling of loss that bordered on consuming him was one he’d rarely felt in his lifetime as acutely as he did now. The comfort he found in the Force was absent. He’d felt like a ship unmoored when his master was killed. Now it was as though he’d been dropped into the middle of a hurricane.

Bail’s hands were clasped loosely together against his forehead, elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head in thought. Kenobi could have been a corpse for how still and gaunt he was.

“Obi-Wan…” Bail began. “Are you certain Skywalker is dead?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I cannot sense him at all.”

Bail was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “… But you, of all people, couldn’t sense what must have been growing within him. Is it at all possible the body of Anakin remains, but the reason you cannot find him is because the man we knew is entirely lost to the Dark?”

A chilling fissure of clarity cut through Obi-Wan’s senses. His reaction told Bail everything he needed to know.

Even if it was only a suspicion, they could not afford to waste time figuring out the emperor’s next move. Anything that could be used to motivate Vader had to be hidden from public knowledge. They couldn’t leave a trace of his past behind.

Bail mulled over his thoughts, then stood, gesturing for Kenobi as his resolve hardened to steel. “Come. We have work to do. We will mourn when we are done.”

Sabé trembled with the effort it took to control her breathing. She stowed her bag behind the seat of the starship and brought the engine to life, moving with purpose as tears streamed unbidden down her face.

The ship rose, coordinates locked in place to meet the others of her gathering retinue. These weren’t the orders of former nobility, of a governing senator— This was the last request of a dying friend, someone whose very existence was woven into her bones. Padmé Amidala’s death would not be in vain.

Sabé looked out beyond the stars, her breathing finding stasis despite the ocean of grief beneath it.

“My hands are yours, Padmé,” she said to herself. “For as long duty compels them.”

She wasn’t going to kill Anakin. Not until he felt every bit of the pain and suffering he deserved.

Notes:

The line “clarity of purpose” comes from Saw Gerrera in the Andor TV show

I wrote Sabé’s line before seeing that one similar was used in one of the books. Good to know I was on the right track with a character I know very little about lol

[jackyjango]

AU- gust Firefighters AU

This fic can be-- kind of- sort of-- considered as a prequel to

A Cat Named Erik- https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110558

------------

‘Sir,’ Erik says, ‘You need to come with me right away!’

‘I can’t,’ says blue eyes in a posh British accent— really, nobody’s eyes should be that blue or that piercing even through thick glasses— not pausing in his frantic search. 

Erik curses people’s stupidity. To think that whatever they hold on to so dearly-- money, pearls, documents, grandmother’s china, whatever they hold on to all their lives-- is worth more than their goddam lives. 

(Once, a woman had refused to be rescued out of a burning building without her lunch box. A lunch box! Thankfully, the said lunch box had been metal and Erik had been able to fish it out from below the pile of her smoking furniture before rescuing her out of the house. People and their antics. And they call him the dramatic one!)

Any other time, Erik would have gawked at blue-eyes’s swell ass that is put on display as he bends to look under a table, or the way the hem of his overly large sweater slips from his shoulder exposing his freckled skin, or the way it reaches his mid thigh displaying his pale thighs, covering his boxer briefs and giving off the impression that the sweater is the only thing he’s wearing. He doesn’t do any of that now, because, one- Erik’s on duty, and two- they don’t have the fucking time. The only way into the small apartment had been the narrow corridor, and even that is filled with smoke now, leaving the only window on the opposite wall as their point of exit. 

‘Sir,’ Erik calls out again, injecting urgency into his voice, hoping that his voice will be carried through the barrier of his gas mask, ‘We really have to get going.’

‘I can’t!’ blue eyes says again turning on his heel to look at Erik. There’s a frantic look in his eyes and Erik wonders how much of it is because of smoke inhalation and how much of it is because of genuine despair over whatever blue eyes isn’t finding. ‘I can’t leave without Matilda!’

Matilda? But Erik doesn’t remember the landlord of the building mentioning a second person in the apartment when he’d given the list of the residents of the building who’d needed to be pulled out. Regardless of the number of people, it’s Erik’s duty to save every one of them.

‘Okay,’ Erik says, moving closer to blue eyes. ‘Where was she when the alarm went off?’

‘She was right here,’ blue eyes points at the couch and bends to look around it. ‘Matilda!’ He shouts into the small apartment, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘Where are you, darling?’

Any other time Erik would have wondered who Matilda is and how she’s related to blue eyes— is she a relative? A sister? A girlfriend, perhaps?—or marvelled at how stupid blue eyes is for looking for Matilda under tables and couches as if a fully grown human would even fit in there (But hey, in blue eyes’ defense, people do stupid shit when they’re under stress.) But now, Erik does none of that, because, one- Erik’s on duty, and two- they don’t have the fucking time. The metal rods holding up the ceiling are slowly losing their structure strength and the smoke rolling in from the open kitchen is reducing the visibility and making breathing difficult.

‘Matilda!’ blue eyes shouts again, and this time his voice wobbles around a hitch.

Spurred into action, Erik scans the small apartment for all traces of metal. Coins, buttons, hooks, clips, any form of metal that one would carry on their person but comes up with nothing. 

‘I’ll check there,’ Erik says, moving towards the closed door of the bathroom. 

‘She isn’t there! I checked,’ blue eyes says, distraught, stopping Erik in his tracks. ‘Besides, she hates water.’

That still doesn’t explain why a person wouldn’t think of hiding in the bathroom in case of a fire, but Erik drops the issue as this isn’t the right time to curse at blue eye’s idiocy. Instead, Erik asks, ‘Do you know any other place she could be, a room or a store room or an alcove?’

Blue eyes looks at Erik for a moment and shakes his head vehemently. 

Sighing, Erik starches out his hand and feels around the room with his senses once more. Though he doesn’t find anything to hint at the existence of a person, he realises with an ugly feeling in his gut that the iron rods holding up the ceiling have lost their structural integrity altogether. They have to move now- the ceiling can crash on their heads any minute. Erik can keep the ceiling from falling on them till they move out, but not for long.

‘Matilda,’ blue eyes call out again, ‘Please come out darling. I love you very much!’ Blue eyes looks like he’s on the verge of crying now, and Erik’s heart shrinks in his chest, because if it comes to it, Erik has to pull blue eyes out of the building with or without Matilda.

So in a last ditch effort, Erik calls out, ‘Matilda.’

There’s no response for a few seconds, and then, Meow.

Meow?

As if on cue, a ginger cat crawls out slowly from behind a stout bookcase and moves towards blue eyes.

Good grief, it’s a cat. 

Matilda is a cat!

‘Matilda!’ blue eyes shrieks and falls to his knees, swooping to pick Matilda off the carpet and into his arms. 

Erik sighs in relief-- relief because they’ve found the cat or because Matilda isn’t blue eyes’ girlfriend, Erik doesn’t know. Erik can’t think any of that now because Erik’s on duty, and they don’t have the time. The ceiling can fall on their heads any moment.

‘Sir, we have to move, now. We can’t go out of the main door because the corridor is filled with smoke, so we have to move out of the window and I’ll have to carry you. But don’t worry, I can levitate us-’ Erik stops, for blue eyes isn’t even listening to him. He’s clutching Matilda to his chest and murmuring sweet nothings to the cat. 

It’s Erik’s duty to declare his purpose before using his powers in the course of a rescue, but they don’t have the time for protocol now dammit. Not with blue eyes lost in another world with his cat.

Any other time, Erik would have been jealous of the cat, but now.... well.

Erik walks to where blue eyes is crouching on the carpet and picks him up with one hand below his knee and the other supporting his back. Blue eyes yelps in surprise but thankfully comes to his senses and loops one arm around Erik’s neck while he grips Matilda tightly against his chest with the other.

Melting the window frame, Erik creates an opening for them and levitates them safely to the ground.

‘You’re a mutant’ blue eyes beams as soon as Erik puts him down. ‘Oh, you have a marvelous mutation, my friend. Doesn’t he, Matilda?’ he asks, scratching the cat on its belly. ‘I owe you my life,’ he says to Erik more sincerely, straightening the glasses that have gone askew, ‘Both our lives actually. Thank you very very much.’

God, blue eyes looks even more beautiful under the sun, lush hair tousled, bare-footed and clad in nothing but an oversized dark blue sweater which puts his pale skin in stark contrast. And as if possible, his eyes look even bluer and brighter. 

‘Just doing my duty. You need not thank me.’ Erik shrugs nonchalantly, removing his gas mask and helmet. He’s not affected by blue eyes. Absolutely not.

‘Oh, my.’ blue eyes whispers looking at Erik’s face-- more to himself than to Erik, but Erik catches it anyways. His blue eyes widen some more, and in a thick voice he all but purrs, ‘If I can’t thank you, then can I cook you dinner? Out of gratitude, of course.’

Erik’s stomach flips, but Az chooses that very moment-- really dammit, Az--to waltz in with his report.

‘Everyone has been rescued and reported for, Lieutenant. Angel and the team are on clean up and damage control. We should be good to go in another hour.’

‘And what do we know about the source of the fire?’

‘According to Ororo, the source of the fire is a heavy-duty electric appliance-- likely an oven-- that short circuited in that apartment.’ Erik cranes his neck as Az points to the same window he just descended from.

‘Oh, dear,’ blue eyes pales visibly, and in a faint voice says, ‘I was just trying to bake cookies for Matilda.’

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t be cooking that dinner,’ Erik says and blue eyes turns a very fetching shade of red.

Erik shouldn’t find the chagrin of a man who almost burnt down an entire building baking-- no, trying to bake endearing. But he does. Dammit, he does.

‘We’re done here for today, then. The reports can wait till morning. Wrap up and go home,’ Erik says, turning to Az, who nods and disappears in a cloud of black smoke and sulphur. 

Confused by the loud cackle of smoke, Matilda mewls and burrows further against blue eyes’ chest.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik says to blue eyes. ‘It was an accident, and besides, no one was hurt.’

‘Oh,’ blue eyes says, breathing in relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll try to salvage most of your belongings once the smoke goes down, but that won’t be until tomorrow. Do you have any place you could stay tonight? A relative’s place or a friend’s?’

Blue eyes ponders on the question for a moment before biting his lip and shaking his head.

Erik sighs. ‘I have a set of spare clothes in the van. You can have it. And you can stay at my place tonight.’

‘Oh, my. I wouldn’t want to trouble-’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Erik says firmly.

‘Oh, thank you so much, my friend.’ Blue eyes beams and holds out a hand to Erik. 

I’m Charles! Says a voice into his head, warm and refreshing.

Erik scoffs. Blue eyes-- no, Charles is a telepath then. A mutant. All the better.

I’m Erik, Erik replies in kind, taking the proffered hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’

Charles smiles as Erik turns and makes his way for the van. Behind him Charles is murmuring to the cat, ‘We’re going to be alright in the good Lieutenant’s home, won’t we, darling? Of course, we will…’

Erik tunes out Charles and the cat, too distracted by the thought of Charles in his clothes and the dinner he’ll be cooking for Charles that night. He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t.

Goddammit!

But he’s off duty now and has all the time in the world to cook Charles a lovely dinner.

A Chicken Marsala sounds good, doesn’t it?

-

[primasveraas-writing]

Everyone Lives Prequel AU

Request: "Because fluff is my one true love and I enjoy beating the hell out of Star Wars with it can we get nothing bad happened ever in the galaxy far far away becasue the reader watched the movies,gets thrown into prequels despairs because these people are too pretty to be dead,crippled or depressed and is like well if no one else will save the hotties I will oh and others too"

Thanks for the request! I changed it a little so instead the reader is a member of the Rebellion, but still knows the prequel gang and what causes the fall of the Republic. I hope you enjoy!

All requests are open!

XXX

The galaxy falls into despair, and because you know nothing else to possibly do, you join the Rebellion alongside Bail Organa

You had been close to Padmé and consequently known Anakin and Obi-wan. Since Padmé’s tenure in the Senate, the four of you were inseparable, bonded by your wit, humor, and kindness

When everything is destroyed, you are left alone and devastated

It seems as if the darkness will never end, but then Ahsoka Tano saunters into your life and brings an opportunity to change everything

As it turns out, she is one of the few surviving Jedi, but her misadventures with the Rebellion efforts on Lothal brought her to a way of changing the past

She tells you about apparent portals in the Force discovered in an ancient Jedi Temple on the grassland planet

Few others remain who know your old friends as the two of you did, and Ahsoka feels as if you are the best candidate to travel through time

She tells you that if things go wrong in the current reality, she needs to be there to hold it together

So you are left to change the past. It takes some convincing- you know that the fate of your friends and millions of others would lie on your shoulders

But all-out war with the Empire is an ever-looming possibility, and this is a chance too great to let fall to cowardice and nerves

You accept the offer, pushing aside the doubts and every idea of what could go wrong, and stride into the Lothal temple at Ahsoka’s side

The journey through the Force is like nothing you’ve ever experienced, but you feel a dull pull from within you during the long, winding trek through the starry path. You are the one to lead Ahsoka to your mysterious destination in the world between worlds

The pull leads you to a door; in it, you see a circular picture of the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, bustling with life, and pawadans and the Force, and so much light

Ahsoka peers in, and tells you with a shaking voice that this is the Jedi Temple as it was during the Clone Wars, before the Jedi and their home fell to ruin

There are no more doubts or hesitations: this is the way to bring everything and everyone back. Each innocent life will be returned if you succeed

Ahsoka hugs you, which is surprising at first, but when she looks at you, there are tears in her eyes

“May the Force be with you” is all she manages to say, but that is enough. No words could quite encapsulate what is at stake anyways, nor the danger and urgency of your mission

But you nod, take a deep breath, and step through the portal onto the stone floor of the Jedi Temple

Instantly, calm pervades you; the tension of your daily life dissipates as the steady hum of calm and order surrounds you

Since it is still war, albeit in a time of less chaos, you can only guess that Padmé will be on Coruscant, even if Obi-wan and Anakin aren’t

Luckily for you, your final days of the war were originally spent alongside the 501st, so there are few concerns over running into a past version of yourself as you resolve to change the future, and your plan is set into motion

Somewhat reluctantly, you leave the Temple behind. It fell with the Republic, and on your way to Padmé’s apartment, you fight an uneasy feeling from leaving what was once a great sanctuary

Padmé greets you with warmth, then surprise as you embrace her wordlessly and quickly upon seeing her. Between the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat, you are too overwhelmed and inhibited from speaking

As you hugged, there was an unusual distance between you. Padmé is already pregnant; you felt her the large curve of her stomach against you

However strange your arrival is, not to mention your appearance and increased weariness, Padmé sits you down on her couch, comfortingly close, and asks what’s wrong

It’s so difficult not to pour your heart out to her; you have ached for years to update her on your life and the hardships you’ve faced. Every horror and injustice flashes before your eyes, but there is a carefully set plan it must be followed if everything is to be saved

Instead, you tell her you know. You say you know about her and Anakin and the baby, and you know in your heart that it will lead to disaster

She is stunned, then relieved. Padmé can’t deny it; her pregnancy is getting harder and harder to hide each day and her marriage is nearly obvious to anyone who has seen her and Anakin in the same room together

But finally, someone understands, and you offer an ultimatum: if she doesn’t tell Obi-wan, you will

Her hesitation is palpable, Although eased by your sympathy and understanding of the situation, as well as the consolation of having someone outside of her handmaidens to confide in, Padmé cannot betray the secret of her marriage without Anakin’s consent

But you also inform her that you know Anakin has been struggling with thoughts of the Dark Side, especially under Palpatine’s influence

You cannot quite reveal how you know all this, but your proximity to your friends is answer enough. Much of what you say has already been suspected by Padmé, yet her fear of the truth and the tumult it would bring prevented her from doing anything

The trust in you and your friendship seals the deal. She resolves to let Obi-wan in and begin an investigation into Palpatine, and with the seeds of securing victory successfully planted, you return to the Temple to caution the Jedi about Palpatine’s deeds and true identity

Getting an audience with high-ranking Jedi is exceedingly challenging. Most of the Jedi that you know are deployed throughout the galaxy

Yet luck brings you to Plo Koon on his leave, and he senses both your confusion and distress as a clear outsider, not only to the Temple, but to this time itself

There is little choice but to confess what you know about Palpatine, despite the suspicious amount of knowledge you have

However, the continued misgivings about the Chancellor added to your accusations are enough for Plo to call an emergency council meeting

When you explain your story, the Jedi do not wait to poke holes in your story, but Yoda stays curiously quiet for the majority of the meeting

Between Obi-wan vouching for you and the certainty of your claims, the Council resolves to investigate Palpatine despite any of their reservations

They say there isn’t enough evidence for an arrest, but a start is a start

A week trickles by, and you remain at Padmé’s side to help gather evidence into Palpatine’s corruption, becoming ever more nervous as the day the Empire will rise creeps closer

But at last, Anakin is called back to Coruscant, and instead of rescuing the Chancellor, he assists in his arrest

The Jedi’s investigation into his misdeeds, supplemented with Padmé’s own findings, amounts to a pile of corruption with the Trade Federation and endlessly shady dealings with the Separatists

Relieved from Obi-wan’s assurances that they will stand together and that he will vouch for Anakin and Padmé for whatever they will face when the baby is born, Anakin finds the strength to turn against his longtime mentor Palpatine

It still comes down to a duel, and Anakin still ends it, but this time, he kills the Sith and stomps out the evil in the galaxy

Further inquisition into Palpatine’s doings reveal his puppeteer-like control over the war, and the stringing along of both sides. Acting quickly, the Jedi manage to prevent Order 66 from happening and apprehend many of Palpatine’s allies in and outside of the Senate

Dooku is arrested and tried and Grievous is killed

Padmé gives birth to two healthy babies, and Anakin decides not to live in secrecy

The Jedi are upset and cautious about the whole affair, yet the Chosen One has just eliminated the last of the Sith. Additionally, Palpatine’s reign has shaken the foundations of the Jedi organization to its core, and the Council agrees that it might finally be time to rethink many of their policies

Anakin’s struggle with the dark has not been lost on them, and Yoda in particular senses that their future could have been much worse

Perhaps you encourage this line of thought as much as you can. After all, the blindness of the peacekeepers and leaders allowed Palpatine to take control in the first place

Yet at last, there is peace. Calm begins to settle over the galaxy; timelines converge and you exist only in the new, hopeful reality

There is still much to be fixed, many wrongs to be righted. But you have ensured that one day, all will be well and as it should be

[lurkingcrow]

Naboo, the Separatists and why Palpatine is an evil genious

So I am still seriously tired (for a number of reasons) and have a thousand other things I wanted to be working on (two half finished responses to asks that have been sitting in my inbox forever), but a thought struck me as I was browsing through my feed before bed.

It was a still from the TCW episode where Padmé meets with Mina Bonteri, and in particular the part where Ahsoka asks “Your friend is a Separatist?!”.

And that made me think. Because Mina is an obvious parallel to Padmé - they are both passionate politicians from planets in the Mid Rim who want the best for their people. And that made me realise something.

The tragedy of the Republic is that is was broken long before the events of the prequels. Even if certain Sith hadn’t intervened it was already beginning to fracture: the Outer Rim was already largely outside of normal Republic control, there was growing inequality between the systems closer to the core and those further out. Large monopolies were exerting undue influence to shape policy for their own benefits. Something was inevitably going to give.

What Palapatine and Dooku did though was change the lines on which the inevitable civil war was going to fall.

Naboo should have been Separatist.

No, really, they should have.

(meta incoming)

Yes, yes I know, I know. 

 The Naboo were dedicated to democracy, principles of freedom etc etc.

But lets revisit the situation as of TPM. Naboo was a politically unimportant system with few major exports that were tied up in a Trade Federation monopoly. Their attempts to renegotiate a deal ended in the blockade of their planet, and the response of the Republic is to send two Jedi to help with negotiations.

Fair enough, that’s their job, and one that the old canon at least suggested Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon spent a fair amount of time doing (and doesn’t that say a lot about the stability of the Republic even then). But honestly there was relatively little they Jedi could honestly have done. Nothing the Trade Federation had done was illegal at that point, because the rules had been written to grant them those powers. Unless the Jedi could appeal to the Trade  Federation’s sense of justice (Ha! Yeah right!) then under “normal” circumstances the blockade would probably have continued, to the detriment of Naboo.

Furthermore look at the events that DID occur during TPM. The Trade Federation launched an armed invasion of the planet. It was not a bloodless thing, people died (as the messages Padmé receives make clear). The only hope the people of Naboo have is for Republic intervention.

What intervention though? At this point in time the Republic has no standing army. That’s the point of AOTC. Individual systems and planets may have local military bodies, but at the same time getting them to commit to armed action outside their territory would be a hard sell. The closest thing the Republic as a body had to a paramilitary force... was the Jedi. And there are a number of reasons why the Republic ordering them to intervene in what appears to be a local dispute is a BAD IDEA (many of which become obvious if you watch any of TCW, because honestly it was a brilliant setup and reminds me just how much I hate Palpatine). So, what help were Padme’s advisers expecting?

Much like international relations here on planet Earth, influence is wielded through things like sanctions - behave badly and we will refuse to trade with you, bar access to our territory etc etc. On an individual level this may not cause too much trouble for something like the Trade Federation, but if the Senate as a whole, or even a large proportion of systems, chose to implement something like that? It is a HUGE hit to their operation. The Senate actually had a decent chance of stopping them.

But they didn’t.

Because Naboo was one planet, not particularly important, and why jeopardise existing relationships when they are so profitable? I mean it is TRAGIC what is happening, but surely it’s being exaggerated - of COURSE their Queen says it’s a bloody invasion, what do you expect? No, best take the time to look at things carefully before pulling out the big economic sanctions...

And Padmé did her best, and the idea was that as a Chancellor Palpatine might be able to use his position to convince enough systems to support broad Senate resolutions etc... but yeah, that takes time. Because it’s all about negotiations - what will you give me tomorrow for my support today. 

Which is why Amidala needed to die. A living queen isn’t anywhere near an emotional  bargaining chip as one who died tragically during the invasion. Remember, the whole point of the Naboo crisis was to put Palpatine in power and allow him to start consolidating his control of the Senate. There are all SORTS of powers that could be granted that are explained away by a man trying to end the occupation of his planet through legitimate means, and the death of a legitimately elected monarch is the kind of thing that could add a certain level of urgency - none of the other monarchies want that sort of thing happening to THEM after all. And the more he can push through under the guise of urgent action the better.

But Padmé of course doesn’t follow expectations (which would probably be to set up some kind of government in exile on Coruscant). And blah blah blah, Naboo is freed! Yay! All is well, the galaxy is at peace!

Except... 

They did it without help. In the end there WAS no Republic support (unless you count two Jedi an their tiny charge which, no not really). Hell, those responsible for the invasion escaped conviction NUMEROUS TIMES in the years that followed. Naboo basically demonstrated that when it came to going up against the powerful corporations, small systems were on their own. 

In ANY SANE UNIVERSE Naboo and all the other planets in similar situations should have been scared and angry. When it came to any sort of dispute, all the big players have to do is muddy the waters a little and they can escape completely without blame! Unless you are a Core world, or otherwise critical to the general functioning of the Republic, chances are you are going to be out of luck.

(That’s not to say that these attitudes are universal - you have systems who are trying to stand up for what is right, but as TCW makes clear, self interest is the primary motivation for many.)

Here is the natural fault line. Those who have power and those who do not. Core vs Rim, planets vs corporation. Singly, a planet can do little to reform the system and secession is not an option as it is dangerous to not be part of the Republic- the Hutts are after all just waiting to expand their influence. If enough systems band together however...

But, for one reason or another *cough - Palpatine* the Naboo crisis was largely glossed over - like I said, court proceedings were protracted, no convictions forthcoming, and for the most part people forgot about the whole thing. Naboo was rebuilding, and indeed began to flourish. 

And now, now we get into the evil brilliance that is Palpatine (and Dooku’s) plan.

Again, remember the end goal is for Palpatine to be on the throne with as much power as possible. Now I know I’ve mentioned it before, but the entire point of the Clone Wars was to exhaust the galaxy. And by exhaust I mean in every way - exhaust resources, exhaust economies, and exhaust the population. It not only made the transfer of power to a central authority more palatable (enabling his takeover) but also ensured that resistance was limited and had little support.

So, to have a draining, protracted war, your sides need to be relatively close to each other in terms of balance. And you want to minimise cohesion on both sides - internal fighting, provided it doesn’t weaken the overall forces too much, can only benefit that end goal of chaos.

And so Dooku welded the Trade Federation and Techno Union to the more generalised separatist/reform cause. And it was a brilliant move. The corporations have the resource to make the necessary army, and the planetary systems provide the moral cause.

More importantly however, it splits the growing number of discontented planets.

Because Naboo? Naboo is never going to be a separatist supporter while their oppressors remain at the helm. And the planets like them have to make a similar choice - which is worse? Senate of Corporations? Some felt the potential freedom offered by the CIS was worth bargaining with the devil. Others opted to remain with the Republic and attempt reform at a later date. Either way, their decision was not clear cut. 

Neither side could claim moral superiority, and that was exactly as Palpatine intended. The Clone Wars would sweep across the galaxy, turning brother against brother and friend into foe...

And so that leaves us where I began, with two women on opposite sides

Padmé Amidala and Mina Bonteri

In another universe they would have been allies.

In another universe they might have led a secession of their own.

In another universe there might have been a truly righteous cause for them to champion, one that never necessitated Jedi becoming Generals. 

But not in this universe.

And that’s just one more tragedy to add to the pile of angst that is the Galaxy Far Far Away...

[hayjeon]

Guys Like Him (ft. Jeongguk)

Drabble game prompt 42. “His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow.” → badboy!jk, jock!au, prequel (part 1) to You Who [M]  → 6k words, (fluff, mentions of sex, tiny bit angst) 

Y/N: Originally didn’t want to make another series about jk, but You Who got a 1000+ notes and I decided to upload this as a surprise :) Enjoy! Split it into two parts, but I’m finished with part 2 so it’ll be uploaded in less than 24 hrs! 

“Nice job boys, that was a really good practice, let’s keep it up! Go home and get some rest!” Coach Kim blows his whistle as the boys all scatter and cheer as their practice comes to an early end. Jimin catches up to Jeongguk and claps the younger boy on the back, “Nice job kiddo, you’re stepping up into the quarterback shoes pretty well.” 

Jeongguk laughs and punches Jimin back in his shoulder pads, earning a playful laugh from him, “Thanks hyung.” 

“What’re you doing Friday night? Seokjin’s frat is throwing a party soon and is inviting the entire cheerleading squad the night before the game. And I overheard Jisoo saying that all of them were gonna be going. Wanna come?” 

Jeongguk smiles, shaking his head. “Sorry hyung, but I have a date with Y/N. I promised her way before that I wouldn’t flake. And since we have the game on Saturday, we planned for Friday.” 

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I miss the days when Jeon Jeongguk wouldn’t miss a frat party for the world. What happened?” 

They reach the lockers and begin removing their heavy gear. “I ended up dating the smartest, prettiest girl on campus. Can’t risk losing that.”

Jimin catches the slight blush on Jeongguk’s face. Smirking, he comments, “Damn man, you can literally get with any of the girls on campus. And you used to! What happened? You’re so whipped for her dude.” 

Jeongguk smiles as he walks towards the showers. With a wide smile, he adds, “I am.” 

It wasn’t always like this though. Everyone knew Jeongguk as the new quarterback who ended up hanging out with the biggest fuckboys on campus, although he had his fair share of one-night stands with pretty girls here and there. It didn’t help that he was also good looking. Academics, extracurriculars, school pep, sports, and getting along with everyone; all of this came easy to him. He worked hard, played hard. That was his motto. 

Although he wasn’t as open as Jimin or Shownu were, he still had his fair share of flings, and that immediately tagged him as “one of them” as other people gossiped on campus. His cocky smirk and stocky build didn’t help either. 

Girls threw themselves at him, and secretly, there was a bet within the football team to see which players could score with as many cheerleaders as possible before the season came to a close. It was disgusting, yes, but didn’t help that the cheerleaders also had a pretty obvious bet to see who could sleep with as many of the hottest players before they graduated. 

So, many people didn’t expect him on the first day of junior year to enter the upper division physics classroom along with a binder and a full backpack. The classroom erupted in whispers as he clambered towards the back and sat down and opened his textbook, glasses perched on his nose. 

One of the whisperers were Jungyeon, who leaned over in her seat with her eyes still trained on Jeongguk, and whispered loudly in your ear. “Guess he got lost?” 

You boredly looked at the boy who was sitting at the end of your row. Shrugging, you yawned. “Probably.” You were recovering from an all-nighter of studying for your chemistry test. 

But she grabs and shakes your arm. “No,” she hisses, “Actually he’s got the textbook.” You squint annoyedly to note that he, indeed, does have the thick physics textbook open on his desk and is currently writing a few things in a brand new notebook. “Hm,” you grunt, frowning at the sight, “I didn’t know he was a physics major.” 

“I heard he was a computer science major. Explains why he’s here, but also doesn’t make sense how he can juggle both football and cs at the same time,” pipes in Jihyo on your left. You nod at her, “Yeah, my roommate’s cs and she literally has no time to even eat because of all the work.” 

“Probably gets paid off or given slack by the university cause he’s the quarterback.” Jungyeon quips, rolling her eyes, “the sports players in this uni are always given the benefits.” 

Sighing, you open your notebook as the professor walks in and begins his introduction. “Well, that’s the life of attending uni in a country obsessed with football.” 

“Good morning class, welcome to Physics 118, Quantum mechanics and Analytic Mechanics. My name is Professor Song, and I’ll be your professor for your first upper division class in the physics department, so I hope for a great year,” begins the man in the front. 

Jihyo scoffs, “Yeah right. Heard he’s the worst teacher and the hardest grader in the department. Sucks he’s the only teacher for this subject. Tenure suck my ass.” Leaning back in her seat, she crosses her arms and huffs. 

The professor continues, “To start off this year, I’d really like to get to know each and every single one of you and why you’re taking this class. But because there are so many of you, a hundred, I’ve decided to change things up this year and start you off with a group project.” Jungyeon and Jihyo excitedly grip your arms, hoping that you could be a group. “My TA’s have gone ahead and assigned partners according to each of your majors.” Groans echo throughout the hall and your friends groan as they let go of your arms. “That way, we will get to know each other and learn to help each other out, because in this class, you’ll need a lot of help. Partners will be posted at the end of class. Let’s go over the syllabus!” 

As Professor Song continues, Jihyo growls, “I fucking hate group projects.” 

You sigh, nodding. “Same. I barely know anyone who even has my major. I’m gonna be with strangers!” You slump in your seat. Jungyeon and Jihyo give you sympathetic looks, them being both chemistry majors, and most likely together apart from you, an electrical engineering major. 

The three of you sigh as Professor Song finished his lecture and pack up with urgency, rushing towards the front to look at the list that his TA posted up. Jungyeon, with her tall, lanky figure, gets to the board first and punches the air. “Yes!” She cries, turning to Jihyo with a smile, “Same team!” 

“What about me?!” You cry as other students jostle you, and you’re not tall enough to look over their heads at the list. “I got you!” she says, and turns to look at the list for a moment, before turning to you with a sympathetic pout. 

“Uh, Y/N,” she starts, dragging you away from the mess, “I don’t know how to tell you but, you only have one partner.” 

You shrug, “It’s okay. Prof. Song said that he would adjust the workload accordingly if the groups aren’t large enough. I expected it, not many people are EE majors here unless they’re EE and CS.” 

She chews her lips, and says lowly, “Yeah, but, you’re partner is Jeon Jeongguk.” She frowns, and straightens up to give you a sad pout as your head whips up in disbelief. “What?” You hiss, and you ditch her to run back and shove your way up to the front of the class to make sure, and alas, there was your name typed in Times New Roman next to “Electrical Engineering: Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Your jaw drops open as you read the pairing over and over again. It was like bad irony. Of course, in the class you were actually worried about not getting an A in, you were paired with a jock, and one that you’ve heard already so many bad things about. Sighing, you turn to your friends in defeat. Guess this semester was going to be another one where you had to shoulder the entire project to yourself. You walk up to Jihyo who gives you a pat. “You’re right, I fucking hate group projects.” 

She murmurs encouragements to you, “Maybe he just recently changed majors?” but then she stops and you turn to see what she’s staring at. Jeon Jeongguk is walking towards the three of you, the thick textbook tucked in his thick arms and the backpack hanging from a shoulder. He’d taken his glasses off, and was wearing a white shirt with ripped jeans and boots. 

“Uh, Y/N?” He tentatively approached you and you turn and try to change your grimace into something a little more polite. 

“Oh, hi. Are you Jeongguk?” You ask. And to your horror, he nods, a cocky smirk coming onto his mouth. “Hey, I’m Jeongguk.” He holds out  his hand and you take it hesitantly. “It’ll be fun working with you.” 

Jihyo and Jungyeon walk ahead as you and Jeongguk walk out of the classroom. “Uh, yeah. When do you want to meet? We should discuss where we want to take this project. Prof Song wants us to focus the paper on what we want to do with our majors, and I feel like stuff like that would be easier to discuss in person before we split off and do our own things.” 

Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, didn’t he say that he wants us to work on it together? Like, if he catches us doing stuff separately, then he’ll dock off points?” 

You shrug, trying to walk faster to avoid this conversation. There was no use for him to pretend like he was going to do any work. You were too used to being paired up with jocks and people who didn’t pull their weight on these projects. “It’ll be fine. I’ll make sure it’s fluid and one solid paper, so don’t worry about that. You have football stuff, so I’ll just take care of it.” 

You turn to walk up the stairs to your next class, but Jeongguk grabs your arm with a pissed off expression. “Just because I’m an athlete doesn’t mean I’m not gonna help you on this project, Y/N.” The corners of your mouth turn down at the statement. You’ve heard it too many times. But before you can say anything, he gruffly says, “Wednesday, 7 at the main library entrance,” and walks off downstairs. 

Rolling your eyes, you turn and walk briskly to your next class, slumping down on the seat in front of you. It’s not until halfway into the lecture that you realize you’ve written down no notes so far and are still annoyed at the fact that he didn’t ask you if you were okay with the date or not. 

“And he didn’t even ask me if I was free!” You exclaim, angrily chewing your fries. 

Jungyeon shrugs, chewing on her own burger. “Well, are you?” 

You slump, lowly muttering, “yes.” 

She laughs, sipping on her drink. “Well, then there’s that. He probably knows all you do is study, anyway. Which is why he was so happy to be your partner.” 

You groan. “I know! Ugh, does he really think I’m gonna fall for this again? This is so dumb.” Ruffling your hair, you lean on the table. “Don’t expect any word from me until this project is over. If I’m gonna pull his weight, it’s gonna take every minute of effort.” 

Jihyo smiles, “You need to chill a little. Those projects just take you so much because you put in way too much effort in them. You get A’s anyway. And who knows? Maybe Jeongguk’s good-looking head is good for other some other use than, well, ya know, head.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you and Jungyeon fake gag as you laugh together. 

“Oh please, his head is full of himself. His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow.” You groan as you finish your burger off and check your watch. “Ah, it’s almost 7. Gotta run, I’m supposed to meet him at the main library. See ya!” 

You get to the library and expect to stand there waiting for about ten more minutes, but then you see Jeongguk already leaning against one of the benches, scribbling something in his notebook. Raising your eyebrows, you jog over to him. 

“Oh, hey.” You start, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why do you look so surprised?” He asks and you’re caught off guard. “Did you expect me to be late or something?” He comes off a bit aggressively and you know it’s your fault for being so rude to him off the bat a few days ago, but you can’t help but snap back, “Well, yes, actually. People like you don’t necessarily have the best reputation in my books.” 

He slams the notebook shut and straightens up, heading towards the library entrance. “I told you I wasn’t like that, Y/N.” He grumbles, before pausing in front of the double doors to hold it open for you. You stop suddenly too, and then quickly scurry into the entrance. He notices your surprise at his action and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say more. 

He knows about the reputation athletes like him have. Cocky, sex-starved, party-animals, kiss-ups, lazy cheaters, and the worst people to be partnered up with. Sure, he admits he’s a tiny bit of the first three, but his parents had raised him to also work hard, and he hadn’t even wholeheartedly dedicated himself into football or lost his virginity until he got to college. In high school, he was a hard working kid who was either on the field or in the library. But of course, people like you didn’t know that. 

You find an empty table and lay out your materials. You start, “So, I want to be an electrical engineer so I can work for programming and engineering for the military.” At his raised eyebrows, you explain, “My father is a general, so it makes sense to me.” He nods, you continue, “So I think we can take the project in the direction of how it benefits in a humanitarian sense. I could also talk about the recent advances in missile engineering!” You pause to scribble it down in your notebook. 

“Y/N?” He begins, and you pause in your tirade. “Yes?” 

“Are you really planning to do this all by yourself?” He’s frowning again. 

You fidget. “Well, I’m offering. You have football and stuff, so I’d rather just do it on my own then have to worry about you meeting deadlines and all.” 

He shakes his head. “Stop talking about football for once. Jeez, that’s my job. You know that this is a shit ton of work? I’m gonna pull my own weight too. If he notices that you did everything, then that fucks me over and I’m not getting anything less than an A in this class.” He grumbles, frowning when your eyebrows shot up at the last statement. It was odd, because Jeongguk didn’t usually talk to friends like this. He was usually flirty and very smooth and patient with people he knew, but he didn’t know why he wanted to prove his trustworthiness so much to you. He continues, opening his notes. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’m gonna be doing 50% of this project. So, let me talk.” 

You nod, eyes wide as you watch him flip through some pages in his notebook and the textbook. “I switched to electrical engineering because I want to go to less privileged countries and build energy generators that are clean and sustainable. I went to Africa this past summer for an internship, and we made windmills that generated energy for an entire small city.” 

You’re genuinely surprised, because you’d been expecting him to answer some stupid shit about making money at Google or something. But this was different. His voice softens as he talks about the experience. “And so I think the way we should take this project is to, yes like you said, talk about how electrical engineering helps in the humanitarian sense. That sound good to you?” 

When you nod, he relaxes and slides his notebook over to you. On the page, are outlines of the projects and article titles and subjects that you could go over. Your eyes widen at the work. It was way more than you’d expected, and way more than even you’d prepared for this meeting. You were genuinely impressed. 

“Wow, uh, yeah, Jeongguk. That sounds like a great idea.” 

Jeongguk straightens up with a smile that has no hint of a smirk nor mocking in it and you suddenly feel really sorry. Quietly, the both of you lapse into your individual research for the next few hours, and you quietly say goodbye to him and he gives you a small smile, saying he’ll stay at the library for a little longer to finish up some work for other classes. 

You smile and turn to leave, but slowly turn back and approach him. “Hey, Jeongguk, I’m really sorry.” 

He looks up from his math homework and frowns at you. “Huh?” 

You rub your arm as you stare at the ground. “Uh, I’m sorry, if I ever made you feel like I looked down on you. I didn’t mean to assume that you were gonna screw me over, it’s just that I really haven’t had good experiences getting paired up with athletes for group projects.” You sheepishly glance up at him and instead of a cocky smirk, he’s genuinely smiling at you with a soft look. 

He pats your arm. Laughing, he stands up. “It’s okay, Y/N. Thanks for apologizing. Let’s do well yeah?” You smile and you turn to leave, but then he stops you. “Actually, sorry, I didn’t see how dark it got. Let me walk you home.” 

He gathers his books and shoves them in his back despite your protests, and grins at you as he drags you towards the entrance. When you fumble with your heavy textbook, he reaches over and grabs it from you, easily balancing the heavy brick-like thing along with his own books and football bag in his arms. He opens the door for you and you two step out in the direction of your off-campus apartment. 

He makes light conversation, and you ask him about his internship, and his eyes sparkle as he continues talking about his experience. You notice that he maneuvers himself so that he walks on the side of the road where the cars are. “Wow, it was amazing. It was hard, yeah, but I learned a lot from it. The kids there were really awesome too, we played football together a lot and that’s when I decided I wanted to take the sport seriously when I came back.” You nod as you realize that his involvement with the sport had an amazing background as well. “My dream is to go live there after I retire.” 

You hum, “Wow, that’s amazing. Really, I respect that a lot.” He turns to you and smiles shyly. “I really never told anyone about that, now that I think about it.” He bumps your shoulder with his playfully. “I guess you’re the first.” 

You smile, bumping him back playfully. In the distance, you see your home. “That’s it right there,” you turn, stopping in front of a small food truck selling spicy ddukbokki and kimbap rolls, with hot udon, and some students are tucked into the warm corner, lightheartedly drinking soju together. “Thanks for walking me home, Jeongguk. Really appreciate it.” 

He squints in the direction you pointed. “Wait, you live here?” 

You frown, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Why?” 

He looks at you oddly. “What the heck? I live here too. Building 4?” 

You laugh, “Yeah! Apartment 215!” 

He grins, “No wonder I didn’t see you, I’m floor five, Apt 526.” You smile, “What a coincidence.” 

He insists on carrying your book all the way too your door and so you start towards the apartment building, but you turn and smell the mouthwatering scent of the late-night snacks from the truck. Your stomach grumbling, you pause and call out, “Hey, Jeongguk, do you want to grab a little snack? This is my favorite place.” 

He grins as he turns around to see you pointing towards the food truck. “This is literally my favorite place. Thought you’d never ask!” He smiles as he jogs up to you and calls out a greeting to the kind lady who runs the truck. She greets the both of you with a warm smile. “Oh! My two favorite customers, it’s a first seeing you here together!” 

You smile and look at Jeongguk who also turns to you with a wide smile. Shrugging, he laughs, “We ended up doing a project together. Two servings of dukkbokki and a roll of your awesome kimbap auntie!” She smiles and gives you your orders. 

The rest of the night is a lot more fun than you’d ever had in a while, contrary to your usual visits to the food truck alone on your way home from the library. It felt nice to sit down and have a conversation with someone, as you both laughed about the guy who lived on the third floor and always walked around in bright red santa boxers. 

You guys talk animatedly home, and Jeongguk carries your bag all the way up to your door. Taking it from him, you smile, “Hey, Jeongguk, thanks for tonight. I really had fun in a while.” 

He laughs, “Me too. I’ll see you later, yea?” You nod, and he waves at you before jogging up the steps towards his own place. You watch him with a warm feeling. Maybe it was time for you to open up, because you realize, Jeon Jeongguk was actually a really good friend. 

“Are you kidding?” Jihyo screeches, as you show her the powerpoints you guys finished. “He literally did all of this?!” 

Nodding you point at the expertise math he did on one of the slides. “Yeah! He’s actually really smart. Got the secondary formula proof and all. That wasn’t even in the textbook!” 

She nods, scrolling through the rest of the slides with her mouth open. “Jesus, we haven’t even gotten halfway. Looks like you two are almost done!” 

You nod again, pursing your lips. “I looked over it like three times, and it’s right. I didn’t even know how to do it until he showed me.” 

“Think he paid someone to do it?” She asks, and you slap her arm. “C’mon, there’s no way he just memorized the proof for this on his own. I think he knows his stuff.” She rubs her arm as she finishes scrolling. “Well damn. Cause I could swear I heard he fucked the new cheerleader after the game on Saturday.” 

“Saturday?” You recall Jeongguk apologetically telling you not to schedule anything on Saturdays because of his games. To which you had agreed was totally fine, because he worked hard to make up for it on Friday and Sunday nights. “Wait what?” 

She nods, biting her lip. “I know you really trust him as a friend, but, I’m warning you Y/N. He’s not the nice guy you think he is.” 

“I’m telling you, he’s actually a really kind person!” 

She hums, “Yeah, but kind people don’t fuck girls and throw them away the way he does.” 

You sigh, “I don’t want to judge him for that. I mean, it’s wrong. But you have one-night stands occasionally too! And honestly, he doesn’t even do it as bad as Jimin or Shownu do. You know, you almost had a thing with Jimin!” 

She rolls her eyes, “It’s different! His one night stands and mine are different!” “Explain how, Jihyo!” You exclaim back, and she throws her hands up in the air. “I-I dont know! But!” she points at you, “Be careful of him! He’s not known as the fuckboy of campus for anything!” 

And you forget about the exchange for a while, spending the next two months working hard on the project and assignments from other classes. You and Jeongguk meet up often even after you get outstanding marks on the project, discovering you share a few same classes, and so it becomes a routine a couple times a week to go to the library with him for hours and then walk home together, visit the food truck, and go home together. 

You catch yourself often, though, staring too much at the gorgeous guy in front of you, engrossed in his computer science homework. He was truly good looking, and you couldn’t say you weren’t affected by it. Now that you two were much more comfortable around each other, he let loose around you, and cracked more jokes with you and fooled around with you every chance he got. It wasn’t bad, per say, because he was always doing so with a lighthearted attitude. But it didn’t help that he was touchy, throwing his arm around your neck as a joke or grabbing your wrist whenever he tried to get your attention. 

You weren’t oblivious to the looks that some girls gave you when they saw you studying every week. He only sat next to you, and when some other girls waved him over to their saved seats, he rejected them with a polite smile and jogged his way over to you and plopped down next to you. Or sometimes, you’d walk into the library a little late and see him fending off girls who asked him if the seat next to him was empty or not, and he’d always only take off his heavy backpack from the chair when he saw you come over. 

Similarly in classes, you always subconsciously searched for his curly head of hair to pop up and sit next to you, smelling like his shampoo and cologne. He’d often bring you matching cups of coffee, or if it was later in the day, an iced latte or something. 

And Jeongguk enjoyed it too. Yeah, he had his fair share of flings throughout the time, because it just ended up happening during the frat parties his team was invited to. He rubbed his eyes as he got up from the foreign bed, and looked over to see a head with long ashy hair. She was naked, and so was he. Groaning, he holds his head as the hangover rushes over him in fierce pain, and the sound wakes up the girl in the bed. 

“Mmmm” she hums, stretching, “You’re up?” He looks up and recognizes the cat-like eyes that he’d once lusted so much after. It was Jennie. He sighs and gets up, and she grabs his wrist, “Where are you going?” 

He shakes her off. “I gotta go.” 

“Where?” 

“Doesn’t matter fucking where, I gotta go.” He grits out as he throws his pants and shirts on and searches for his keys. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to that nerd girl you’ve been studying with,” Jennie sneers, glaring at him. “I hear from everyone that you’re her little bitch.” 

Jeongguk flips her off. “Fuck you,” he grabs his keys, “Don’t talk about her like that. At least her ass isn’t a bet to see which one of us can get some of it first.” With that, he leaves her seething as he slams the door on his way out. He doesn’t know why he always comes back to the library. 

Maybe its for once, he gets a break from his douchebag friends, the parties, the games, the drinks. Or maybe he enjoyed the comfortable silence that he had with you, and got a lot of work done whenever he had his study dates with you. Walking home wasn’t as lonely anymore. And he decided, after a lot of conversations with you about his dreams and the struggles he had on the field, that you were one of his closest genuine friends in such little time. 

So when that night, he receives a call, and you look up from your work to see his expression fall at whatever is spoken into the phone. He leaves and comes back after finishing the call, but you notice something is wrong immediately. His face is crestfallen and his shoulders are hunched in. “Jeongguk, you okay?” You ask, and he doesn’t reply. “Jeongguk?” 

“Huh?” He straightens up and smiles at you. “Y-yeah, just got distracted a little bit there. I’m fine!” He returns to his work and you frown at him before returning to your own work. But the nagging feeling in your head distracts you, so you decide to get up. “Ah, Jeongguk, do you wanna leave a little early today? I’m not really feeling like studying right now.” You gather your stuff and he nods, “Yeah, was gonna say the same thing. Let’s go home.” 

You walk in silence, but you can feel the struggle in his head. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your jacket pockets as you near the food truck. “Hey, you really ok?”

He pauses, and you turn to see him staring at the ground. “M-my parents, they’re…they’re getting a divorce.” 

Your mouth falls open as you suck in a breath. You understood that it was a big deal for him, and your roommate had gone through a similar thing in freshman year. Stepping up, you knew there was really only one thing that would help someone in that kind of situation. You stepped up, and grabbed the textbooks from his hands gently, and he let them go with a confused look. You set them gently down on the ground, and step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. 

You remembered when your grandmother died, a hug was all you wanted. The words and comforts and looks of pity did nothing for you, but hugs were really comforting. So you press your cheek against his chest, and tighten your arms around him and just stay still. He tenses, and you’re scared for a moment that you’ve overstepped your boundaries. You’d known him for seven months now and you hoped this was okay. 

But he slumps in your grasp, and his arms come around you, heavily settling on your shoulders as he cranes his neck down to your shoulder and rests his forehead there. You don’t say anything and smooth a hand down his back, patting him gently as he lets out a few heavy breaths against the fabric of your jacket. “I kind of knew this was coming, but it still hurts, ya know?” His voice is muffled in your jacket, and you hum as you can hear the emotion in his tone. 

But trying to be a man, he prevents himself from getting any more emotional. He squeezes you close once before stepping away from you. “Hey, Y/N, wanna buy me a drink tonight?” 

You nod, and you smile and pick up the books and walk over to the tables. Pouring him a drink, you grin as he laughs, “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” And you listen to him as he explains that his parents had been fighting for a while and he’d been pouring himself into studying and football to avoid confronting the issue. And later, buzzed, the both of you return to your apartment with smiles on your faces. He’d been able to vent to you and felt much better, and you felt a little warm at being able to know him a little better. 

But the same amount of alcohol between you both affects you more, and on your way home, you’re already seeing double and stumbling drunkenly. As he guides you up to your floor, you turn sharply on your heel and grab his collar. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Jeongguk,” you murmur, looking up into his surprised eyes with your hooded ones. Giggling, you lean in further, and lean up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Here’s a good night hug,” you slur, rocking on your heels and Jeongguk wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. At the action, your mind goes blurry again and you blurt out, “And here’s your good night kiss.” 

You lurch forward and press your pursed lips against his, almost missing and catching his chin. He’s frozen, and doesn’t know what to do as you cutely scrunch your eyes shut as you tip toe to press your lips to his. Fuck it he thinks as he leans down, dropping the football duffel on his shoulder to press his lips harder against yours. You mewl into the kiss, as a hand comes up to cradle your cheek and the other is still wrapped around your waist, pressing you to him. 

He swipes past your lips and literally melts at how sweet you taste, and you drunkenly try to keep up with him before you detach for some air. He’s panting for breath too, and he gazes down at you to see your expression, but you only smile drunkenly in your hazed state. “I like you, Jeon Jeongguk,” you whisper, before your lids slide shut and your head lolls against his hand and you grow limp while leaning on him. 

He takes a moment to collect himself, his cheeks blushing fiercely red before he knocks on the door to make sure your roommate isn’t home before opening the door with your key and stumbling with you towards your bedroom. He gently sets you down on your bed and lifts the covers over you, before sitting on the edge and gazing down at you. 

He sighs, lifting a hand to tuck a curl behind your ear. You were so beautiful to him, and he wanted so much to return the confession. But then your phone buzzes on your nightstand and he grabs it before it wakes you. 

But he can’t help but see the previews on your lock screen. 

[From: Jihyo, 1:11 AM] News flash! Jeongguk and Jennie had sex the other night! 

[From: Jungyeon, 1:11 AM] Ugh, Y/N, I’m telling you he’s not worth it. You deserve so much better! He’s a fuckboy! 

[From: Jihyo, 1:12 AM] Yeah, he’s not a good influence. Stay away from him! Fucking prick…boys like him should stay away from girls like you. 

Jeongguk sets down the phone on your nightstand with a solemn expression. Rubbing his lips that are still tingling from the kiss, he looks back down at you, who’s sleeping with an innocent smile lingering on your lips and in your cute little jacket. He reaches out to touch your cheek, but pauses, and decides against it with a bitter scoff. 

Cause, like the text had said, you deserved so much better. 

Boys like him should stay away from girls like you.

--> Part 02 [fin]

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. IX)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~3,500w, ****THE BIG FINALE**** (choreographed violence set to 80s music ahead)

pt. I  | pt. II  | pt. III  | pt. IV  | pt. V  | pt. VI  | pt. VII  | pt. VIII

.

.

No one ever told them whereabouts in England the compound was located, despite how long it’s been their address. It was always shuttle here, shuttle there. Clearly it’s far enough from London to justify a plane ride, albeit a very short one.

They forfeit their altitude just as Harry emerges from the quarters in the back, clad tie-to-toe in Simons’s finished product. Every seam is flawless, as if he were born in it. His chest swells as he examines the mirror. Not only does he look his new part, but feels every bit of it, too.

Except for one thing. “Here,” Martin says, approaching with a small case in hand. “Put these on. And don’t ever be without them. They cost the devil’s own fucking ransom to replace.”

Harry takes the case, opening it carefully. Inside is a pair of glasses, these in dark tortoiseshell, in same style he’s seen all the agents wearing. Up to now, he’s just assumed they all had cataract problems.

A monumentally stupid assumption, he realizes, the moment he slides them on.

The whole world is enhanced. He’d thought his vision was already twenty-twenty, but through these eyes, he second-guesses everything he knows. The picture is sharper than any television—or reality, for that matter—is capable of. When he faces Martin, a green mess of boxy digits appears, framing him in binary code that rearranges into statistics. MARTIN TURNER. ALIAS: LAMORAK. 54. FRIENDLY. He blinks, and they pixelate, then disappear.

“These are the new model,” Martin says. “They’ll identify anyone they recognize, mark the rest as possible hostiles, and broadcast video directly to the control room. Calendar and calculator functions, too. And a crap version of Pac-Man. Engineers had a bit of a laugh with that one, I think.”

The cabin lights dim, signaling descent. Pulled from his astonishment, Harry pounces on one of the windows. There’s nowhere to land, nothing but city below, full of teeming crowds and police barriers. Every Englishman knows what day it is, except, apparently, for the pilot.

“Should we be concerned?” he asks Lamorak. It’s dialed back a bit, at that.

A good call on his part. Lamorak smiles. “You’ll see.”

Flying low, the plane does a loop, away from the path of the paparazzi’s helicopters. Half a mile away from the chaos in general, if not more. They make a pass above a dead-end road, blocked off to all traffic, between two commercial buildings with ‘CLOSED’ in nearly every window. ‘FOR LEASE’ in some.

When they pass again, the street itself opens like a mailing box.

Harry watches, enrapt, as they ease down the ‘runway’ and into the earth, then gives his mentor an impressed eyebrow. “No, I wouldn’t say concern is necessary.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They disembark into an underground hangar, identified only by a single circle-K beneath the plane. Markings on the mildewed walls identify this place as a now-defunct bomb shelter, left over from the second World War. It’s a long, continuous tunnel toward the center of the city, running directly parallel to the route the royal motorcade’s soon to take. Several more branch off down the way.

“You’d think there ought to be a police presence down here,” Harry remarks.

“There would be, I’m sure, if anyone knew about it. You’d be amazed the schematics you can vanish from city records with a little ingenuity.”

“And gadgetry.”

“That too.”

It’s a long walk ahead, and they keep up the pace. Lamorak stops only once, a minute or so in, leaning one-handed against a wall to pull something from the heel of his shoe. A spiral cord follows. It’s a phone. A fucking phone, for God’s sake. He’d left that one out on the tour.

“The glasses are a two-way radio as well, but there’s fuck-all reception down here,” he explains as it rings. Then someone picks up. “This is Lamorak. Landing secured. Approaching target now. Is the way clear?”

Harry knows the answer without needing to overhear it.

Largely because it’s speeding toward them on motorcycles.

“Oh, fucking bollocks.” The phone clatters to the cement as Lamorak grips his umbrella. “Shield up, Galahad!”

He’s on it before the words have even left his mentor’s mouth, raising the cane like a rifle and deploying the canopy. A greenish disc displays their assailants as if in night vision, slaloming to dodge the spray of bullets from Lamorak’s weapon. Harry joins the fire, and the motorists deflect that too.

“Don’t turn your back to them!”

It’s impossible; the three bikes fan out before they can take any cover, circling like vultures, making caged birds of the Kingsman. Lamorak only manages to take out one before another yells in Russian, and whirling his spent shotgun, catches Lamorak upside the head. He drops like a sack of flour.

“Shit!”

A second biker skids into the wall before Harry knows it was his bullet’s doing. The third, he catches on the next go, blasting him clean away from the beast he rode in on.

He drops to his knees beside Agent Lamorak, pressing two fingers beneath the left side of his collar. Then he scrambles for the dropped phone.

“Is anyone there?” Fuck’s sake, tell me someone’s there. Now would be a wonderful time for someone to be there! “This is Galahad; can anyone hear me? Lamorak’s been decommissioned, but he’s alive. We’ve been ambushed by hostiles, three of them, of unconfirmed origin, though one of them spoke Russian. Hello?”

If anything, he expects to hear Arthur. Or static, if he’s particularly unlucky.

What he hears instead is Hamish, panicked.

“Galahad, we’ve got a problem.”

Oh, have we? Do tell! I was just hoping for a problem!

“What’s going on?” Harry barks, eyes vigilant around the tunnel. “How the hell did Arthur miss those incomings?”

“He’s unconscious, that’s how.”

Oh, wonderful, that’s it, keep them coming! One isn’t near exciting enough! “What do you mean ‘he’s unconscious?’ Has someone infiltrated us?”

“No, there’s no breach. I found him on the ground when I got here. When I checked his pulse I found a medical ID. He’s fucking diabetic. I’ve called for help but Lancelot’s just left on assignment, I don’t think there’s anyone left in the whole wing but me.”

Well, then that’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? I could do far worse.

Wish me luck, mother.

“We’re going to have to do this alone.” Harry fleetingly evaluates the three crashed motorbikes and picks the one least damaged—so not the one in flames, then—tilting it upright by the handlebars, swinging a leg over the side. There’s a gun holster on the panel that he co-opts for his umbrella. Meantime, in keeping the phone to his ear, he’s taken Lamorak’s shoe with him. He’d like a word with whomever depicted this job to be glamorous.

He tests the engine with a few revs over Hamish’s protests, partly because there’s little time, and partly because his friend sounds like this is the worst idea he’s ever heard, and that sort of negativity isn’t helpful at the moment. “You don’t even know the objective, Galahad. You don’t know who you’re looking for. And I’m not authorized to make any call yet without Arthur’s consent. We’ve got to stand down and wait for a senior agent.”

‘Stand down’ translates to ‘kickstand up.’ His hearing’s always been peculiar that way. “There isn’t time. Are you going to help me or not?”

The wait is under half a second, ended by the sound of some material object in motion. Harry knows it marks the donning of Merlin’s headset.

“Go.”

He’s off. The bike swerves beneath him as he rockets through the tunnel, unused to its carriage, making him hunch against inertia. His attempt to change the gear turns on the radio instead.

The winner takes it all The loser has to fall It’s simple and it’s plain Why should I complain?

“I’m in, I’ve found Agent Lamorak’s file,” Merlin shouts over the noise. “Take a right! Now!”

Harry barely manages to bank over without becoming a fascinating stain on the concrete.

“Two ahead, incoming!”

Up goes the Rainmaker. Four one-handed shots pick off the hostiles, sending vehicles tumbling. He rides an S curve around the wreckage.

“In case it’s on the agenda, a hint as to what the devil I’m doing would be marvelous about now!”

“It’s Margaret Thatcher.”

“I sincerely hope that came out wrong!”

“No—I mean, yes. She’s a guest at the wedding. Some vigilante offshoot of the KGB’s got plans to kill her the moment she arrives. They’re trying to start a war proper.”

He can’t spare the energy to hold his tongue at the moment. “By assassinating Margaret Thatcher? Wouldn’t Charles and Diana make more sense as targets, considering they’re actually liked?”

“They’re more heavily protected—look, the next time I take afternoon tea with Soviet renegades, I’ll ask, all right? Take a left!”

This time the bike curves obediently. It’s a relief he’s got the hang of it, at least until he sees what’s ahead.

Double doors of solid steel.

“Merlin, I can’t get through.” He races to scan. There’s no padlock, no keypad, no access point. “Open the doors. You can do that, right?”

“Hang on, I’ve got to unscramble the access code.”

Harry tries everything, but can’t get the bike to brake. There’s no room to either side to turn around. “Merlin, nothing’s happening. I can’t possibly oversell the urgency of the situation.”

“Will you give me a fucking minute?”

“I haven’t got a fucking minute to give!” he panics. “For the love of God, you have to–”

The doors pull apart just in time to slide unscathed through the opening.

“You’ve reached your destination.”

Now the brakes work. He unsticks them with a slam of his heel, pivoting to a clean stop, and turns down the kickstand, clearing his throat. “Fine timing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’d just like to say you’re doing wonderfully so far, by the way.”

“Save it for headquarters, get a move on.”

“Right.”

The sound of ABBA recedes in his wake as Harry moves away from the motorbike, expanding the Rainmaker again, Lamorak’s shoe-phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He moves ahead with caution, eyes shifting to all sides.

“Switch the glasses to thermal. There’s a setting for that,” Merlin says. “Turn the dial in the frame below the right lens. Two clicks counter-clockwise.”

One click paints his vision all in technicolor. The next reveals sketchy red blobs of humanoid shape around the upcoming corner. Four of them. In poses that give away machine guns.

“Do you need an alternate route?”

This, he can handle without question. “Ask me again in a moment.”

Digging into his pocket, he comes up with a gold lighter. His thumb flicks the cap. Rearing his arm back, he pitches.

The explosion from the next room is a cluster of crimson through his lenses. When it dissipates, there’s none left whatsoever.

“Nicely done,” Merlin commends as Harry switches modes back.

“All in the written test.”

There’s no point in asking where to go from here. It’s obvious. The only way out of this room is a lift, just ahead at his ten o’clock. Harry hurries for it, closing his umbrella, praying to no particular god that he’s still on Lamorak’s schedule. Or, if not, that at least no one will be dead by the time he catches up. Lamorak and Arthur included.

“Is there any code?”

“Not that I’m seeing, no. It should op–”

It opens with a fist to Harry’s jaw. His glasses skew; Lamorak’s phone goes scattering across the floor. He stumbles backward. A second hit draws blood.

It’s the moment he’s grabbed by the lapels that his reflex decides he’s through with this.

Bashing the Rainmaker upward breaks his attacker’s hold. Then it breaks his teeth in. Both of them grappling for it, they stagger into the lift, closing the doors. It starts to move.

A sudden hefty twist of the cane rips at his arms; his back goes slamming into the wall, feet wrenched from under him. The ringing in his ears picks up tin music from the overhead speaker.

Crack that whip Give the past the slip Step on a crack Break your momma’s back

He’s up in time to dodge a kick to the abdomen, rounding on his attacker as the steel-toed boot gongs into the baseboard. A clutch of the man’s ear threatens to tear it off as he throws him to the floor. A leg sweep brings Harry down alongside.

“Harry!” It comes from his glasses. They must be aboveground.

Answering would spend the breath he needs; it goes to a snap-roll instead. On his feet, he digs the Rainmaker’s point into the enemy’s chest, opening to keep him down, then firing. A burst of blood fills the umbrella’s screen just in time for a gentle ding from the lift’s floor indicator.

“Just a bit of trouble,” he says to Merlin, heart pounding. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“No time to rest,” Merlin warns. “I count five on the rooftop. Lamorak’s intel says they’ll be dressed like Scotland Yard, but that’s them. They’re the snipers.”

Five of them, Jesus Christ. He fights his breathing into check. “Anything you can do to level the playing field?”

“Not from here.” Then, just as quickly, he corrects himself, rapid clacking filling the background. “There’s one thing I can try, but I dunno if it’ll work. There’s a powered circulation vent on the roof.”

“What can you do with that?”

A few more clacks come over the line, the last more decisive than the rest. From outside the lift, Harry hears the erratic zapping noise of an electrical surge, accompanied by the very distinct screams of two men. Then two whumps of collapse.

“Oh, not much.” The smirk in Merlin’s voice is plain to hear. “How’s three against one sound?”

His jaw aches behind the smile that’s drawing on.

“Manageable.”

The lift doors slide open. One more time, Harry raises the Rainmaker to aim level, deployed at the ready. He creeps with careful sideways steps around the cover of a rooftop heating unit. Sounds of celebration float up from the streets below, hollering, whooping and cheering, and his peripheral vision catches the flutter of multicolored confetti. The crowd begins to sing “God Save the Queen.”

“Oh, shit—Galahad, the car’s approaching now.” The alarm has returned to Merlin’s voice. “I’m looking at the paparazzi’s video feed right now; that’s her license plate. She’s in that car. You’ve got no time at all.”

The thermal function of his glasses re-activates with the touch of a thumb. He’s not sure how it happened, but every bone in his body is perfectly calm.

“Harry, it’s got to be now!”

The red shapes that had flocked to their electrocuted friends begin to fan out. Two headed for the street-facing corners of the rooftop. The third moving backward, posing himself as a lookout.

No one notices when the third man disappears, dragged from the top of the unit with Harry’s tie around his throat. A twist of his chin, and his dead weight drops to the asphalt.

“They’re in position!”

Harry edges his way silently around the heating unit, sights set. His first shot lands square in the back of the nearest gunman, crumpling him in place.

He turns to take aim at the second.

Who’s nowhere to be found.

The crack of a rifle butt comes down across the back of his head. All at once his body gives out underneath him. He collapses like a ragdoll.

“Who the fuck have we here?”

The words filter blearily into Harry’s throbbing head. Another gruff Russian accent.

“Harry? Harry! What’s going on?”

Blinking away spots, he manages to turn himself over, glaring murder at the man with a rifle now pointed at his skull. He’s squinting down at him from under a portly brow, leaning slightly forward, inspecting him like a maggot in a pile of shit.

“Looks like some kind of dandy to me.”

The throngs still sing. “Oh, Lord, our God, arise;”

Below, the sound of engines is a block away, if that.

“Scatter her enemies;”

“How come you choose today to die, dandy-boy?”

“And make them fall…”

Bloody-lipped, Harry peels into a wicked grin.

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I was hoping you’d tell me.”

A flip of his ankles, one over the other, catches the man off-balance. He goes pitching to the side, arms pinwheeling in midair for a grasp that never comes, aim forgotten. Then a swift final kick sends him toppling over the rooftop’s edge, his short scream ending with a crack and a bang in the alleyway below.

Almost frantically, Harry crawls to the edge, peering over. The limp Russian lies at the bottom of a rusted dumpster, eyes open, blood pooled beneath his bloated head.

He looks left toward the motorcade route in time to see Margaret Thatcher, accompanied by aides, wave her way into St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Only then does he flatten to his back, heaving a sigh to end them all.

“Fucking spectacular!” Harry chuffs out a haggard laugh. He’d almost forgotten Hamish was on the line. “Well done, Harry! Well done Galahad.”

It’s incredibly likely he’s not catching his breath for weeks after this. “And you,” he tells his friend, wiping blood away from his lip. “Anything on Arthur?”

“The medics are here to help him now. He’s gonna be all right. And we’ve got transport on the way for Lamorak as well.”

All’s well that ends well.

“My turn to ask you a question?” Hamish queries.

He’s exhausted enough to let fair play win. “I don’t see why not.”

“How fucking hard is that head of yours?”

This time, there’s considerably more strength in Harry’s laugh.

“Very, I’ve been told.”

Simons redundantly proves his worth as headtailor when Harry finds a box waiting for him upon return. It’s a second tie, a clone of the one he’d garroted the Russian with.

Let’s do hope this one lasts longer than a day, sir, says the note enclosed. Fondly, -S.

Harry smiles. He’s not sure he can promise it won’t be a habit.

Then again, he’ll be here quite long enough to find out.

Debriefs, so they’re told, typically take place in the dining room. Today, in deference to Arthur’s health, they report to the infirmary instead. An unconscious Lamorak nurses his concussion in the bed adjacent, monitors beeping steadily that all else is well, while Arthur sits upright in his own, setting aside an empty cup of applesauce on his bedside tray.

“Two bloody hours,” he says. “Two bloody hours, and the two of you have already managed to completely defy every convention of order upon which the Kingsman operation depends.”

Standing at attention before him, arms folded behind their backs, Harry and Hamish trade a glance. This can’t possibly be a reprimand, don’t you think?

Arthur smiles. “Bravo.”

Ah, there, you see? I didn’t think so either.

Their new boss looks to Hamish first. “Merlin.” Harry is aware without looking of his friend’s immediate snap in posture, no matter how straight it already was. “I am quite impressed with your conduct this morning. Both in my own assistance and the navigation of Galahad’s mission. Three people are alive today because of your quick work. That’s something to be very proud of.”

He is. Harry can tell. He steals a peek, and the quiet way it radiates from him is unmistakable. It might be the most chuffed he’s been in his lifetime. It’s good to see.

“Thank you, sir.”

Your aunt would be proud as well, he thinks, making a mental note to tell him later.

Then Arthur’s focus is on him. “Agent Galahad.” He straightens extra in the same way, defiant of his injuries with pride. “You saw to the completion of your fellow agent’s objective, despite all reason to the contrary, and eliminated no fewer than a dozen immediate threats to not only national security, but the continued peace of the developed world. I had a feeling you were going to be a pain in my arse, frankly, and that you may yet turn out to be… But you should know that you have proven yourself more a Kingsman than any who’ve come before you.”

It’s more than he anticipated. More than he ever could’ve dreamt. He hopes the brimming of his eyes won’t be held against him.

“Thank you, sir,” he somehow manages at an audible volume. “I’m honored.”

You can’t possibly know how much.

Arthur levels his best authoritative gaze on them both. “Now. Since you’ve proven yourselves so capable, rest up. Tomorrow you’re to meet me in the dining room at oh-nine-hundred sharp. We will discuss your next assignment.”

Breaking into an insuppressible grin, Harry looks at Hamish, finding him returning the same.

Here goes the rest of our lives.

“Fall out.”

.

[azrielsiphons]

Shadows and Darkness: One and the Same (ch. 8)

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This fic is meant to be read in connection with my Azriel-centric prequel stories. I would highly suggest reading those first to get the full reading experience of this fic. 

Enjoy! Reblog!

“Why weren’t you there, Lena?”

“Please,” Lena gasped, blood trickling from her nose. Her brother only laughed, his fist colliding with her cheek once more. “Please Rhys, I tried—”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” he hissed, grabbing her by the chin to force her to look at him.

But the eyes staring down at her with hatred weren’t Rhys’s — they were her father’s.

“Rhys,” she sobbed. “I promise, if I had known what she was doing, if I had been awake—”

“If you’d known I was her whore?” Rhys spat in her face and shoved her away once again. “You would have done nothing Lena, admit it. You would have done nothing at all just so you could keep thinking you were saving him. You picked him over me, Lena. Over your brother — your only family.”

“No—”

“Yes, sister.” Rhys was before her in an instant, a blade toying at her throat. “Do you think our mother would be proud?” Lena sobbed. “Proud that her daughter picked someone else over her son? That you killed innocents over and over and over again for a curse that wasn’t even real?” He laughed, tracing the blade over her scar. “No… our mother would hate you. And every day for the rest of your miserable existence I will wish you had died instead of her.”

Lena awoke with a gasp — flinging herself out of the bed just quick enough to vomit all over the floor instead of the sheets. Her body trembled as she lay on her hands and knees dry heaving, her body rejecting the nightmare, rejecting that horror.

And as Lena magicked away her own retch just so she could curl up in a fetal position on the floor, she cried because at the end of that nightmare it wasn’t Rhys that had been torturing her — it had been herself.

~~~~~

Cassian whistled lowly as Lena met him atop the steps to the House of Wind. She rolled her eyes, the break of first light shining down upon the both of them. Feyre wouldn’t arrive for her training with him for another hour or so.

“Somebody had a rough night,” Cassian said with a smirk.

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

“Did you and Azriel… you know…” At Lena’s blank stare he gave a few over exaggerated thrusts of his hips, waggling his eyebrows.

Lena blinked. “How in all of creation do you get so many people to fuck you?”

Cassian grinned. “I’m telling you, I just pull my hair back with this leather strap and they all go wild. I don’t understand it, but I don’t complain.”

“Ah, so that’s why you grew it out.”

They laughed together, though Lena’s chuckle was clearly forced. Cassian quieted, looking at her in genuine concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping forward and resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright? I know being back here must be hard for you.”

Lena smiled — albeit weakly. “I’m fine Cas, I promise. I just… I had a nightmare.” She laughed humorlessly. “But these days, it’s almost comforting to have a bad dream for once.” Cassian looked down at his feet. “Hey, none of that, okay? Don’t feel sorry for me, or worry like I know you do. Cas, I’m happier than I ever have been. Even in the middle of a war, it all just seems… perfect. Because I’m home. With you all.”

At that Cassian looked up and met her eyes. She hoped he could see how much she meant what she said. He seemed to because a heartbeat later he was grinning, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the training room.

“So how about this. You tell me everything you know about Hybern’s armies and I remind you how we Illyrians train. Y’know, since it’s been a while for you.”

A heartbeat later Lena spun around Cassian’s back, tripping him up by his ankles and catching him in a headlock just as his knees hit the ground. He grunted as she hooked her foot around his thigh very close to his favorite part of his anatomy.

“You know it’s almost as if I spent the last few centuries training and fighting every single day I was awake, refining the very training you gave me as a child.”

She could feel Cassian roll his eyes as he tapped her wrist twice. She chuckled, letting him up. He rolled his shoulders out and glared.

“Show off.”

~~~~~

When Feyre arrived an hour later, Cassian and Lena were sitting on the ledge side by side. Cassian was shaking his head while Lena continued to say something. And whatever she was saying, she was saying it with urgency.

When they caught sight of their High Lady, both stood to their feet. Cassian turned and said something to Lena low enough Feyre couldn’t hear. With a slight hesitation, Lena nodded.

“Am I interrupting something?” Feyre asked carefully. She hoped it wasn’t too obvious on her face that she was concerned that they were clearly keeping their conversation private.

“It’s fine,” Lena waved off with a small smile.

“You’re late,” Cassian deadpanned, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow. “And I certainly hope you didn’t exert yourself too much this morning. Because this is going to hurt.”

“Two Illyrian males making me sweat in one morning?” Feyre said. “What’s a female to do?”

“Okay ew,” Lena said, shaking her head with a disgusted look on her face. “I did not need to hear that. Nope, didn’t need that mental image.” She looked up at Cassian. “I’ll go see what Rhys has to say.”

“You already know what he’s going to say,” Cassian murmured. He was oddly serious.

“Wait what’s going on?” Feyre asked.

Lena sighed. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’ll meet you when you train with Azriel later, I just… I need to clear some things with Rhys. It’s nothing too serious, I promise.”

“She’s lying,” Cassian deadpanned. “It’s very serious, she just doesn’t want anyone else to worry until she hears Rhys’s opinion.”

“I can’t give my opinion?” Feyre asked, clearly miffed. “I’m High Lady now. In case you haven’t seen the tattoo.”

Lena chuckled. “No, I know. I’m sorry, it’s just… look, I promise I’ll tell you later. Just let me talk to my brother about this first, okay?”

Feyre hesitated, but eventually sighed and said, “Okay, fine. I’ll see you later then? With Azriel?”

Lena nodded, turning to Cassian and touching his elbow with a smile before exiting the training room. As she left, Feyre looked up to Cassian in curiosity.

“What’s going on?”

Cassian sighed, flexing his fingers beneath the tape that Lena had done for him — he had forgotten how good she was at that and how bad he was.

“She wants to go do something that could get her killed,” he murmured. “But if she does it right, she could save us all.”

~~~~~

Rhys jumped, cursing as Lena winnowed right next to him on the street as he walked through Velaris. The sun was barely up and the streets were still bare, so Lena wasn’t worried about showing her face.

They still hadn’t discussed how they planned on telling the citizens of Velaris that the Daughter of the Night Court had returned.

“Got you,” Lena said with a smirk. She hoped her brother couldn’t sense the anxiety rolling off of her as they walked side-by-side. Both in regards to what she was about to ask him and the lingering nerves from her nightmare.

It wasn’t real, she told herself. Rhys loves you. Get it together.

“You know it doesn’t bode well for my image if I’m seen being scared by my own sister in front of my people.”

Lena scoffed. “These are the same people who saw us and Mor running naked through the streets on her eighteenth birthday. I think your image is safe.”

Rhys groaned. “You know I had almost forgotten that.”

“Cassian told me you were coming to see me about something important,” Rhys said as they stopped just before reaching the Rainbow. Lena looked over at it wistfully, the various artists setting up their work outside and laughing with one another. “Feyre also said you were… withholding information from her.”

“I think I may have offended her,” Lena said as she sat down on a nearby bench, Rhys joining her. “I didn’t mean to though. It’s just… I don’t know. I don’t have a good reason, if I’m being honest. I suppose I’m still wary of her. Does that make me an awful sister?”

“Of course not,” Rhys said incredulously. “You hardly know her. Though it’s my hope that you two will be much closer one day. Not just for my sake, but because I think the two of you together could truly change the world.”

Lena smiled. “I’ll apologize to her later. It’ll take some getting used to for me to really see her as High Lady. You on the other hand — it’s easier for me to see you as a leader.”

Rhys arched a neat brow. “You’re being extra flattering, which means you’re planning something and want my approval,” he stated. It wasn’t a question. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” Rhys narrowed his eyes. “Okay yes, you should definitely be worried.”

“Well Cassian already showed me what you told him about the size of Hybern’s armies. The image cut off abruptly though. Whatever you said next had him spooked, I could feel it. So go on — spit it out.”

Lena took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “The size of the King’s armies are… worrisome. Obviously. But there’s more danger than just his numbers.”

Rhys went very still. “What is it?”

“Faebane. Loads of it. He has an offsite facility deep in the middle of Hybern with caches upon caches of it. The site is atop a huge waterfall — glamoured more intensely than anything I’ve seen before. You have no idea it’s there unless you already know about it or if you’ve been there.”

“And you have?” Rhys asked.

Lena nodded. “Yes. About a century ago, when he first began amassing it, some of it went missing. An offshoot group had been planning an uprising — they wanted to use the King’s own drug against him. I… I had to find them and… put them down.”
 Lena looked away, taking a deep breath. Rhys was silent.

“The site doesn’t look big at first,” she finally continued, her voice strained. “But it’s a maze. You have to go five levels underground just to get to where the faebane is actually stored. There’s at least a hundred guards on site at any given time, and they cycle them out every month?”

“Why?” Rhys asked. “Isn’t the King risking more people knowing about what he’s hiding?”

“Being exposed to the faebane for an extended amount of time, even if it’s sealed tight has… effects. It can drive you insane as your senses slowly diminish. Before you know it, a month has passed and you don’t even realize you’re basically mortal.”

Rhys cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “What does he plan on doing with all of it? Releasing it over all of our armies?”

Lena shook her head. “He has his men douse their weapons in the strongest strains so even the slightest cut can bring your strongest warriors to their knees. He’ll send in mercenaries to taint your water, your food.”

“By the Mother,” Rhys murmured, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

And in that moment — Lena could see it. The weight on his shoulders, every ounce of pressure he put on himself to protect his people. To protect her people. To protect her.

“But I can destroy it,” she said firmly. “Every bit of it.”

Rhys sat up and stared at her with incredulity. “What?”

“I’ve been there. I’ve seen the caches, I know the pattern to getting through the maze. I can get in, destroy it all, and get out. It’ll take one night.”

“Let me see if I understand,” Rhys said, turning his body to face her fully. “You want to go back to Hybern, to a location where the King might very well be, to destroy a building full of faebane which could cancel your powers and let you be taken from us again or killed.”

Lena blinked. “Yes.”

“Absolutely not,” Rhys said. “There’s no way I can let you go back to Hybern. We just got you back Lena and you said it yourself, the King will be looking for anyway to get you back as his weapon and if that happens, he’ll find a new way to trap you.”

“Rhys I am the only person that can do this,” Lena hissed. “I’m the only one that’s been there, I’m the only one that knows my way in and out.”

“Tell us how then,” Rhys shouted. “Tell us where to look and how to get through the maze and we’ll send a team of Illyrians in tomorrow night.”

Lena huffed, leaning back and rubbing her temples. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t work like that, Rhys. The maze isn’t about taking the right turns at the right time. It’s a mental maze — fueled by the same kind of magic my dreams were.”

Rhys laughed humorlessly. “Oh perfect! That makes me want to send you even more!”

“Rhys.” Lena pulled her legs up on the bench and scooted closer to her brother, forcing him to look at her. “I am the only one that can do this. If I don’t, it doesn’t matter if our armies are five times the size of Hybern’s. We will lose.” She could see the gears in his mind turning, weighing the pros and cons. “Think about what that means, Rhys. Humans will be slaughtered and enslaved all over again. Every one of us will die a horrible, painful death. Me, Cassian, Mor, Azriel, Amren, you.” She paused. “Feyre, Rhys. The King will make sure that she has to watch you die before he kills her, trust me, I heard him say as much. You can’t risk not sending me on this mission, Rhys. You just can’t.”

Rhys stared at her long and hard.

And she could tell the exact moment his resolve broke.

“When?” He asked. “How?”

“Well that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about…”

~~~~~

“I need to ascertain if they feel right,” Azriel said as he stood across from Feyre by the lake in the forest. She had finally shape-shifted into her wings and was now — in the most Azriel way possible — politely asking for permission to touch them.

“Oh,” Feyre replied with wide eyes. “Right. Go ahead.”

With a curt nod, Azriel stepped forward, lightly running his hands across Feyre’s wings. He tapped some places and grasped others. He was almost finished when—

“Oh.”

Feyre jumped whereas Azriel froze completely, his hand still gripping the outer edge of her left wing. Lena stood across from the with wide eyes, looking completely stupefied — a very un-Lena like expression.

For a moment Azriel and Lena could only meet eyes, his hand still on Feyre’s wing. Feyre looked between them awkwardly, feeling as though caught in something much worse than what it was.

“Sorry,” Lena finally said flustered. Her cheeks turned bright red. “I uh, I should’ve let you know I was coming, I just—”

“No, no,” Azriel said quickly, dropping his hands as if Feyre’s wings had stung them. Feyre looked between them silently, not saying a word. Clearly there was some sort of line that had been crossed — or at least it had come across that way. “It wasn’t what it looked like. I was just feeling them for—”

“I get it,” Lena interrupted, a forced smile on her face. “It’s fine, seriously. They look good.” Her voice cracked.

“Thank you,” Feyre said slowly, eyeing her. “Are you two okay?”

“Fine,” they said simultaneously.

Feyre huffed. “Wings,” she muttered.

Lena tried to laugh convincingly, but it fell flat. She hoped Azriel couldn’t hear the way her heart was beating so fast — and not for any good reasons.

Seeing him with his hands on another female’s wings, no matter if it was completely innocent or not, and she knew it was, made her feel… horrible. Jealous. Heartbroken. Worthless.

Because that was something she could never—

“Are you going to help train me as well?” Feyre asked suddenly, shaking Lena out of her morose thoughts. “Rhys told me you were the best flyer he had ever seen.” Lena’s heart cracked at the edges. “And I have a feeling you two together are likely quite the team.”

Lena floundered for the right words, taking a deep breath. When she exhaled, her mask of a free and easy attitude was fully intact.

“Oh we certainly are,” she said flippantly. She could feel Azriel eyeing her, his hands twitching at his side. “But no, I’m just here to observe. Sorry I interrupted, I could have let you know I was coming.”

“So you’re here to see me fall?” Feyre asked with a grin.

“Of course not, you’re my High Lady,” Lena said in mock affront. “But if it does happen, I can’t promise I won’t laugh.”

“Did Rhys teach you that sass when you were growing up?”

Azriel finally snapped out of his daze and chuckled lowly. “Believe me, all of his sass was learned from her.”

Lena grinned, but her heart wasn’t in it. With a last glance at Azriel she made her way over to an overturned log and sat on it, pulling her knees to her chest and watching carefully.

It surprised him how quiet she was throughout the lesson. He expected her to offer some points of advice or any anecdotes of her own, but she was completely silent, her chin propped up on her knees as she observed. He was acutely aware of her gaze the entire time, which mostly lingered on his wings. Feyre’s too, but mostly his.

It unnerved him and also set his blood boiling.

A couple hours later Feyre was pouring sweat and Lena still hadn’t uttered a word.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Azriel said with a kind smile. Feyre sighed in relief, letting her wings drop to the ground.

Azriel was the only one who heard Lena snort under her breath. She had always been a stickler for proper wing etiquette — part of which was never letting them touch the ground.

“This tonic will help with the soreness,” he said, pulling a small vial from a hidden pocket in his leathers. “Take it before you go to sleep and again when you first wake up.”

“I would use those ice powers of yours, too,” Lena said, startling them both as she finally spoke. “It will help with the inflammation.”

“Thanks,” Feyre said. Her eyes seemed to zone out for a few seconds and she blinked rapidly, cocking her head to the side at Lena. “Rhys just asked if you had spoken with me yet. What does he mean?”

Lena took a deep breath, fidgeting with her fingers. “I need to talk to the both of you actually.”

And so she told them about the faebane caches in Hybern, and her plan to destroy them all. Feyre asked questions throughout, similar to Rhys’s, while Azriel listened silently, absorbing every detail and never giving away a single emotion on his face.

But Lena could read him. She could feel him. And he did not like the idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Feyre deadpanned.

“I’m very serious,” Lena said. “Before battle all of Hybern’s men will coat their weapons in faebane and it will destroy our chances from the outset. I know where it is, I know how to get in, and I know how to destroy it. I have to go.”

“No you don’t,” Feyre said incredulously. “There is somebody else—”

“There is nobody else,” Lena cut her off. Her voice was calm — but firm. Startling similar to Feyre’s own High Lady voice. “I have to do this. And I have to do it as soon as possible.”

“So you’re just going to leave tonight then?” Feyre snapped. “Take off two days after you’re finally back.”

“Of course not,” Lena said. Feyre loosed a relieved breath. “I’m leaving in an hour.”

“WHAT?”

“You’re going with me,” Azriel said in realization. The sound of his voice had Lena’s shoulders relaxing. “You’ll go with me to all of the Courts to see how the High Lords are dealing with their invitations to the meeting, and then we’ll go to Hybern.”

Lena hesitated, but nodded. “I can’t go alone, contrary to popular belief I do have some sense of self-preservation and there’s no way in hell I’m letting the King take me away again.”

I need someone there to put a knife through my heart if he tries to take me, she thought to herself.

Lena directed her attention to Feyre once again. Azriel watched her steadily. “I’ll go with Azriel to all of the other Courts. It will be easier for the both of us — I can winnow him easily across Prythian, he can get the job done in a day when normally it would take three or four. Then we’ll go to Hybern together and destroy the faebane caches.”

“I still don’t like this,” Feyre murmured. “How do you know you’ll be safe.”

“Azriel will be with me,” Lena said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I’ll be safe.”

Azriel’s shadows lurched towards his mate with tender affection, but he willed his feet to stay still.

“And you’re alright with this?” Feyre asked Azriel.

“I was going to go with her regardless,” he said simply. “It being her idea does make it easier though.”

Lena smirked while Feyre huffed, rubbing her temples and then wincing at the movement in her shoulders. “This is insane. You’re going back to Hybern after you just got away.”

Lena laughed. “This is coming from the female who went back to the Spring Court less than a full day after being made High Lady?”

Azriel looked over at Feyre. “She does have a point.”

“Fine!” Feyre shouted. “Fine. This is ridiculous but… you’re right. The faebane needs to be destroyed as soon as possible and if you’re the only one that can do it—”

“I am.”

“Then you have to do it. And the two of you going together makes me feel much better.”

“Good. So now that I have everyone’s reluctant approval,” she turned to Azriel, “can you meet me on the bridge in an hour after you’re meeting with Lucien.” He nodded. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

A heartbeat later she was wrapped in darkness, disappearing as she winnowed to who-knows-where.

Feyre laughed under her breath and Azriel eyed her curiously.

“I think we’re kindred spirits now, Az. Being that we’re mated to the two most self-sacrificing and powerful fae in existence.”

Azriel huffed, scooping her up in his arms to fly them back to the townhouse.

“The Cauldron certainly does have a sense of humor.”

~~~~~

“How was the meeting with Lucien?” Lena asked as Azriel touched down next to her on the bridge over the Sidra an hour later. Her hair covered her face and her back was to the citizens of Velaris walking past, enjoying the nice day.

“Fine,” he said. He leaned against the railing beside her, feeling the heat from her skin even beneath her leathers — which were sinfully hugging every muscle on her lithe body. “I think he’s still afraid we’re going to carve him up and eat him.”

Lena tutted. “We Night Court fae — vicious cannibals, all of us.”

“Only you.”

They laughed together, feeling very… normal. Even though they knew it wouldn’t last.

“The last time we talked on the bridge together was the night we finally admitted our feelings to each other,” Lena said softly. “Everything is different now and yet…” She hesitated, pausing for a moment before shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Azriel considered pushing her to say what she was thinking, but thought better of it. She would talk to him in her own time.

“I take it you don’t want to fly to the other Courts,” he chose to say. Lena paled, catching his eyes for the briefest second before looking away and shaking her head. “That’s fine. Will you be alright winnowing though?”

Lena scoffed, looking up at him incredulously. “Of course.”

She held out her hand then, her eyes catching his with a small smile. He looked down at her long, slender fingers thoughfully.

He knew she could easily winnow him without touching him — she had done it before. But she was intentionally choosing to take his hand instead.

“Can we visit somewhere first?” He asked suddenly.

Lena cocked her head to the side. “Where?”

“The cliffs overlooking the city. Where I — where I first kissed you.”

Lena blushed, a small smile on her face. She pushed her hand closer to his. “Of course,” she said softly.

Azriel took her hand gently, reverently, interlacing their fingers together. He felt her pulse jump as he fingers brushed the inside of her wrist.

And then they were winnowing. Azriel couldn’t help but close his eyes, savoring the feeling of her darkness carrying him. A moment later their feet touched down on the cliffsides miles away from the city next to the sea. The only sound was the wind and the waves — and their fluttering heartbeats.

“Come with me,” Azriel said softly. He waited to see if Lena would drop his hand, but she only held it tighter as he led her about a hundred yards away, close to the edge of the neighboring cliffside. His hair began to curl at the edges as the salty, humid air kissed their skin.

He brought them to a stop suddenly, and Lena noticed that the grass before them was discolored in a small rectangle shape. There was a small stone resting at the top of the discoloring.

It was a grave.

“This is where I buried him,” Azriel said softly. “Breen. Right before he—” He paused, taking a deep breath. He could feel Lena’s eyes firmly trained on him. “Right before he died, I told him I was bringing him back to Velaris with me. He didn’t belong in the Middle. He was overjoyed, but ultimately, he was just happy that he had helped. That he had helped me.”

He turned to look at her then, a pang shooting through his chest as he saw the silver lining her violet eyes from held back tears.

“All Breen ever wanted to do was help someone,” he said gently, not wanting to upset her. “And he did. He helped me live so that I could be right here standing with you. He did not die in vain.”

Lena swallowed thickly but nodded, blinking away her tears. Suddenly, she thrust out her free hand and reached into a pocket realm. When her hand came back out, she was holding a small black clasp.

“That day in the Middle,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “when I was speaking to you but you thought you were hallucinating… I grabbed you by the shoulders so hard this came off of your leathers. I held onto it, I couldn’t force myself to let it go even though it hurt like hell every time I looked at it. But I wanted the pain because I wanted to remember. It was what kept me alive — remembering what I was fighting for.”

Lena stepped forward then, dropping Azriel’s hand for the briefest of moments. She set the clasp over Breen’s grave, right beneath the small gravestone Azriel had set there a century ago.  She knelt, placing her hand over the grave.

“Thank you for helping him, Breen,” she whispered. “I will never forget.”

She stood then and turned, walking back up to Azriel and taking his hand once again. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her — his mate, his best friend, the most incredible person he had ever known.

“Ready?” She asked softly.

Azriel didn’t hesitate.

“Ready.”

Her familiar darkness swallowed them once again and neither Azriel nor Lena had ever felt safer.

[andykoons]

CHAPTER 7 - LOST IN THE MAIZE (part 1)

The Leonidas Safe Zone had all but disappeared. I always thought that when I escaped Saint Joseph county, I would be going to New York City or Los Angeles, not just slightly to the left of Saint Joseph county. This apocalypse is bullshit.

Sammy and I tagged along behind Addy. She was like a machine, never slowing her pace, always facing forward.

There were cornfields on both sides of the road. Wild, overgrown corn fields, no longer in the neat rows it had been in the years prior. The brown stalks stretching skyward with no farmer to limit their potential. Weeds grew tall in the spaces between the stalks, making a dense meadow that rose above our heads. There was a small flock of crows. Every few seconds, one of the birds would swoop down into the wild crops and fly back up. Eating without fear of human intervention. This whole end-of-the-world situation was probably the best thing that ever happened to nature.

I motioned for Sammy to come closer so I could get my water out of his backpack. I took a good swig before placing it back in the bag, all while we still kept up the pace with Addy.

Sammy was staring at the sword on my back.

“So you made that?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said. “It was a bitch to make, and it’s not the best. But it holds it’s edge well and hasn’t failed me so far.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” I lifted the leather strap from my shoulder and handed Sammy the scabbarded sword. He took it and studied it’s features.

“What kind of sword is this?” He asked.

“Not sure, to be perfectly honest.” I said. “It’s half Katana, half combat knife. I call it ‘Sentõ’.”

Sammy looked at me the same way I used to look at people who said they preferred the Star Wars prequels to the originals, confused and slightly disturbed.

“You named your sword?” He asked indignantly.

“It was pretty common in medieval times.”

“We’re not in medieval times, though.”

“We’re not? Have you been sleeping for the last two years?”

He looked back to the sword.

“What’s it like to use it?” He asked. I had to think for a second.

“You can do a lot more damage from farther away. It’s heavier than a machete so you have to be conscientious of your swings, or it’ll cut right into your foot. Once you figure out the weight and get used to how it moves, then it becomes more like an extension of your arm and becomes extremely effective.“

“I’d love to try it out.” He said. “Do you—“

“Quiet.” Addy said. All three of us stopped. Addy stood like a statue, listening for something, searching with her ears.

The flock of crows had vanished. I saw the tops of cornstalks moving about ten feet from the edge of the cornfield. They were jerking sideways. Something was in the corn, and it was moving towards us.

“What do you hear?” Sammy asked quietly.

A huge black mass jumped out from behind the curtain of corn and roared so loud I was sure my ears would bleed.

“The fuck?” Addy yelled. She raised her machete and walked backwards from the beast.

“Is that a motherfucking monkey?” Sammy said.

“No.” I said. “That’s a motherfucking Silverback Gorilla.” It stood tall and jet black right in the middle of the road. Most likely an escapee from the zoo in Battle Creek.

It was huge. Actually, ‘huge’ doesn’t do it justice. It looked to be twice the size of a body builder, and probably five hundred pounds, easily. It’s coat a deep black with a silvery patch on it’s back. Makes you wonder how it got it’s name. It bellowed loudly, spit flying from it’s jaws. It was probably scared shitless and starving.

The monstrous black beast stood and pounded his sledge hammer fists on his chest to establish his dominance. It worked.

“Sammy, Addy,” I said. “Lower your weapons and crouch down.”

They didn’t seem to like the idea. I remember seeing a documentary about gorillas and how they communicate. I don’t know if it will actually work since we’re not gorillas, but at this point, it’s our only option. A gorilla is just too fast and powerful to try to take with a sword and a machete. And this particular gorilla was about to tear our fucking legs off and beat us to death with them.

“Lower your goddamn weapons and get down.” I said again.

They listened. We simultaneously crouched down to show our submission. The gorilla beat his chest again and began to charge.

“Didn’t work!” I said. Addy reached for her machete and Sammy picked up Sentõ. We were fucked.

The three of us stood together, ready for the impact of this freight train of a primate, but the impact never arrived. It stopped dead in it’s tracks, staring at the cornfield.

It would look at us, then the fields, then back at us. It was trying to make a decision, whether to kill us or whether to do something else I couldn’t figure out.

A black cloud loomed over the cornfield. It was a massive swarm of crows. Their squawking grew louder and louder as the distance between us shrank. The gorilla made up his mind and fled.

“Afraid of a bunch of birds?” Sammy yelled. “Pussy!”

What had just happened didn’t make any sense. Are they zombie crows? Never seen those before, and I don’t think the virus affects animals. So I doubt it’s that.

“What the hell just happened?” Addy asked.

“I don’t know. But I think it had something to do with that.” I said, pointing to the cornfield.

The whole field came alive with movement. Just like before, the stalks were jerking around, but instead of one isolated area with the gorilla, it was the entire goddamn cornfield. And still the swarm of crows grew closer.

“I really think we should get going, guys.” I said. Sammy and Addy picked up on the urgency in my voice. I stepped behind Sammy and grabbed his knife from his backpack, some of his blood was dried on the hilt.

“You might get your chance to try out Sentõ.” I said to him. He pulled my sword from it’s scabbard and held it ready.

We started to run down the road when the birds started to fly overhead. I turned around and saw the first zombie emerge from the field and stumble into the ditch. It was followed by another, then two more, then ten more. the crows were swooping down, landing on the zombies’ shoulders and head and pulling off small bits of flesh and flying off before the zombie can grab it.

At least fifty had hobbled out and onto the road. They had changed direction and were headed for us. The dozens that were spilling out were just following the zombies directly in front of them. Which explains how such a large group can form, and also gives insight to their behavior.

I looked forward and saw more zombies walking out of the corn ahead of us. The zombies behind us were getting too dense to get through and the ones ahead of us was getting there too. We need to head west, into the other cornfield.

“Come on!” I yelled as I pointed North. We veered to the left. Addy sliced a path with her machete the best she could. We didn’t know what would be in there, but it beats the horde behind us.

“Go west about a hundred yards then turn right.” Addy commanded. “We’ll eventually reach the end of the cornfield. If we get separated, wait there until we all can meet up.”

“Okay.” Sammy acknowledged.

I was running as fast as I could, which was more difficult than usual in the thick crops. I turned my head back and saw that nothing was close behind. My body came to an abrupt halt and I collided with something solid. I hit the ground and it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I scanned my immediate surroundings to see what I hit. Of course, it was a zombie. It was on the ground next to me and it’s grey eyes found mine. I must look pretty tasty because it began to crawl toward me, bellowing an eerily human yell. I dropped Sammy’s knife when I hit the zombie and couldn’t find it. The zombie grabbed hold of my shin and pulled toward it’s twin rows or dark brown teeth. I kicked hard with my other foot and it let me go. I crawled backward to gain some distance.

Suddenly, it became very easy, and I realized all the corn stalks were bent down in a large circular clearing. I stood and turned around, Sammy and Addy were there, staring in silence. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing.

There were at least half a dozen smaller, circular mounds of corn stalks, sticks and foliage taking the shape of craters. In each of the mounds sat a female gorilla, most with a baby hanging on their back or suckling at their breast.

“What is this?” Sammy asked.

“It’s a nest.” I answered. “And we need to get the fuck out of here before—“

A familiar deafening roar cut me off mid-sentence. The male silverback we ran into minutes before burst into the clearing, and he was pissed.

“Seriously?” I muttered.

The silverback pounded his fists on the ground and made a series of unfriendly grunts. We not only imposed on his territory, but now we crashed his boning pad with shiny pointy things. I get it, I’d be upset too.

The giant gorilla was aggressively inching forward, but a wall of the undead materialized through the corn, shifting the animal’s focus onto them. They descended upon the creature. He tried to fight them all, some were thrown around like rag dolls, sailing ten feet in the air. In the end, which was only a few seconds later, the sheer number of the meat sacks subdued the beast and the silverback became another victim of the zombie apocalypse. The female gorillas grabbed their young and fled in terror, grunting loudly as they sprinted off.

The sight was unbelievable, and if it wasn’t for Addy punching me in the arm and telling us to run, I probably would have been eaten myself. We followed the females for another hundred yards before turning northeast. This time we stayed together, making sure not to lose sight of each other.

I kept my eyes forward. I didn’t want to defensive end myself into another zombie. The corn stalks kept smacking me in the face. I’ll never eat the shit again.

We finally reached an old path in the field and stopped to catch our breath. I planted my hands on my knees and huffed like the fatass that I am.

Twin lines where tires had beaten the dirt beyond the capability to support life ran north and south. It connected the road to an old farm house where a farmer presumably cultivated the corn that we were running in.

“This guy better have a fucking bazooka and a fucking helicopter.” I said. “And a fucking manual for that fucking helicopter so I can learn to fly it and get us to the motherfucking Alamo safe zone.”

I had to stop swearing for a second so I could breath.

“Fuck.” I added.

“Relax. A little cardio isn’t going to kill you.” Addy said.

“Yeah, well that kind might.” I responded.

We didn’t say another word. We just straightened up and moved past the path and into the corn again. No longer running. No longer in immediate danger. Addy was able to more effectively cut a path through the corn with her machete since we were at walking speed.

At least half an hour went by before we reached the end of the cornfield and emerged onto a vast green meadow. We must have been heading north northeast because the road we were on before was about a mile away.

“Do we get back on the road?” Sammy asked.

“I don’t think it’s necessary. We’ll have to go north anyway when we hit the old highway.” I answered.

We looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and continued walking.

Athens is a little over eight miles from the LSZ. You go east on sixty-six, which turns due north a few miles south of Athens, and goes right into the small town. We had been walking for probably an hour and a half. At our speed, the total trip should take about three hours. However, we just had a snag in our route. The last half hour of walking was slower since it was in a cornfield, but we might have made up that lost time by accidentally walking straight towards our destination. After we reach town, it’s just a matter of following Addy to this guy’s house. Assuming “a few miles” means three miles, it might be another half hour from there. So total, we have added probably seven hours to our whole trip. Not nearly as bad as I thought. I may have been a little overdramatic in my protest of going to Athens.

I’ll keep that to myself. I thought.

I maneuvered around beige discs of old cow shit. When I was living on a farm as a kid, and was actively throwing hygiene to the wind, I would take these naturally forming frisbees and send them sailing through the air to my sisters. I was a huge asshole back then. The memories were embarrassingly fond and very saddening at the same time.

“Oh god.” I whispered.

Are my sisters safe? Are they even alive? I thought.

Olathe, the town my older sister lives in, is right outside of Kansas City, and my younger sister is in Somewhere, California. Someday, I’ll need to accept that I’m probably the last remaining Becker kid. Not right now, though, I have to focus on getting to Athens. Eventually, however, I’ll have to come to terms with the fact all the people I grew up with are most likely dead and eating people.

“You okay, Miles?” Addy asked.

“What?” My concentration broke. “Yeah, sorry. I was zoning out.”

“Looked like you were trying to burn a hole in the ground.” Sammy added.

“So, Sammy,” I said, shifting the attention off of me. “What did you do before it all went down?”

Was that a dumb question? I thought.

“What did I do?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I answered.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Homework?”

Yes, that was a dumb question. I thought again.

“High school.” I said in my most adulty, dad-voice. “I had a lot of fun in high school. Lots of good memories.” 

“That’s because you peaked in high school, Miles.” Addy said.

“That is true… bitch.” I responded, we both chuckled. She didn’t mean any harm, and neither did I.

“Your high school experience was better than mine.” He said.

“Why do you say that?”I asked.

“Did your high school girlfriend take a bite out of your mom’s face?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked forward.

“Yeah. High school fuckin’ sucked.” He said somberly.

We walked a few more steps in silence.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Addy said softly. He turned to her and forced a smile, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Addy put one of her small arms across his shoulders and pulled him close to her, hugging him and letting him know that even after losing both parents to the dead, he was not alone. I gently pat his back and smiled at him. It was all we could do for him.

[metaphorical-dragons]

fixing star wars episode viii

I am aware this is maybe article number 1 million and ten written over the past 8 months on this film. We’ve had articles praising it and articles critiquing it and articles accusing a haircut of having a secret Illuminati agenda.  But I think I can offer a perspective that is severely under-represented online.  So here goes.

Star Wars Episode VIII:  The Last Jedi is not a perfect film.  This is true.  However, it’s also true of literally any film released since the Lumière brothers were the avant-garde face of cinema.  Apart from Sing Street.  Sing Street is a perfect movie go watch it.

However, it’s also true that Star Wars Episode VIII:  The Last Jedi is a good film.  In fact, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable, beautifully shot, emotionally resonant masterpiece.  And not just surface-level good – its brilliance runs deep enough, thematically, that months after its release, I still feel like I have something new to bring to the table.

A quick disclaimer.  I’m not going to address the fact that many people do not share my unabashed, unending love for this film.  There are plenty of people, much smarter than me, already fighting that battle.  See Shaun’s YouTube video ‘Why I love the Last Jedi’ on the topic.  What follows is my take, pure and simple, on the changes I think could have helped the movie.

OK, prepare to jump to light speed.

Point of contention number one – the political situation in the Galaxy.  I have so many questions, and yes, maybe they are answered in Wookiepedia articles, but honestly I prefer to soak in my Star Wars through my eyes and my ears and my heart and not through my brain.  How long were the New Republic in power?  What did they control?  What was their relationship to the Resistance?  How was the First Order formed?  What do they control?  These are questions that, in all honesty, should have been answered in The Force Awakens (TFA), before we lost one of these three major players.  But that doesn’t let The Last Jedi (TLJ) off the hook.

We know why, of course. It’s because one of the lessons Lucasfilm has taken from the fan reaction to the prequel series is that the people are simply uninterested in the politics, at least insomuch as it relates to the Skywalker Saga.   Maybe true, probably not.  As usual, Hollywood has decided to blame the plot elements of the movie instead of admitting that, well, they may have made a bad movie.  But at least a basic grounding in the state of things is vital to understanding the plot of these films, which, after all, are at least superficially about an ideological conflict on a galactic scale.

And really, there is no excuse when every single film opens with a huge block of text perfect for getting exposition out of the way.  So our easy fix here is modifying the opening crawl of TFA, which hopefully should free both films from the lingering confusion.

 Done, dusted and onto issue number two – the pacing.  With a running time of 151 minutes, it’s a testament to Rian Johnson’s engaging screenplay that at no point in the film do those minutes seem to drag by.  And he had a harder job than JJ Abrams – it is one job to keep things tight in a rip-rolling adventure romp, where as soon as one scene finishes, it’s a wipe transition into another action set-piece. Quite another in a film that allows slightly more breathing space for contemplation and internal conflict.  TFA is a boisterous, excitable 11 year old of a movie, whereas TLJ is a more broody, introspective, but also more mature teenager.

That being said, if ever you were tempted to check your watch or stretch your legs or bake a pavlova or finish your dissertation on the economics of llama farming, I would wager you would take the opportunity at around the 54 minute mark – the first appearance of Canto Bight into the B-plot of the movie.

The entire B-plot of the film is based around the contrivance of a game of cat and mouse between two enemy starships.  Except this chase takes place over 18 hours.  Which makes it difficult to develop a sense of urgency when the occupants literally have time to watch all of the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions and make a good start on the Hobbit.  If we can’t rely on urgency – we at least need inevitability.  But sending characters on a side-mission to another planet really undercuts any tension and claustrophobia that has painstakingly been established here.  

What I propose here is not quite as radical as your imagining.  We are keeping many elements of this much maligned plot-tangent exactly the same.  Instead, our fix is simply to make this the opening scene:

The mission is Resistance-mandated:  free DJ from jail.  There is no misdirect here – DJ is the code-breaker.  It doesn’t really matter why he is necessary – maybe to sell weapons or ships, maybe for his knowledge of the First Order technology.  In any case, Poe and Finn, who are tasked with this mission, don’t really need to know that.  Poe is under instruction to retrieve DJ, then drop Finn off to go and look for Rey. Unfortunately, this last part doesn’t play out – Poe receives a distress call so they have to return immediately to the Resistance fleet.  The First Order has tracked them through light-speed and they are under attack. Cue the original opening sequence.

Allow me to fight my corner:

1 All necessary set-up can be provided in the opening crawl.  Which gets rid of the un-necessary and frankly un-nerving Maz Kanata cameo.

2 This gives the opportunity to send Poe with Finn, instead of Rose.  A favourite pairing from TFA gets more screen time together.  Seeing as Rey doesn’t meet Poe until literally the end of this film, it is important that the other two sides of the triangle formed with our original characters are strong by the end of TLJ.

3 This gives the chance to strengthen Finn’s character arc.  This way, his growth from sceptic to revolutionary is pulled into focus. Despite the injustices he witnesses on Canto Bight, he follows DJ’s advice of impartiality and tries to abandon ship.  Enter Rose.

4 The fact that DJ works for both sides can play as a reveal to Poe, so he is surprised when he realises Holdo is already aware of this.  This gives Poe more reason to be distrustful of Holdo.

5 It is important thematically that Rey, Poe, Finn and Rose are all given roughly equal heroic treatment. However, in the current situation, Rey is veering uncomfortably close to becoming a ‘chosen one’.   This streamlined B-plot helps to slightly redress the imbalance.

And finally – issue number three – Rose.  Not Rose as in her character – she is set up to introduce an interesting dynamic to our leads.  Not Rose as in Kelly Marie Tran’s performance - she brings energy and warmth and spunk to every scene she is in and I will not hear a word against her goddamn it. Instead, the problem lies in how Rose is treated within the screenplay.  She has plenty to do, but most is inconsequential, and the rest is poorly executed.  This is where I would recommend the biggest changes.

Rose is a lover, not a fighter.  And by lover I of course mean mechanic.  Give her a chance to utilise her skills.  Obviously, if everything had gone to plan she would have disabled the light-speed tracker. But it didn’t and she doesn’t. There needs to be another opportunity for Rose to display her talents.  My personal suggestion?  See those speeder things?  This planet was abandoned.  I’m very doubtful those speeders were in battle ready condition when the Resistance arrived.  Give Rose a quick montage of turning a whole heap of junk into a somewhat driveable speeder.

And then don’t make her drive one!  Let’s have some diversity in our leads!  Not like racial diversity, although that’s also a bonus.  No, I’m talking diversity in character traits.  And it is there already, I just think there would be stronger differentiation if we give Rose more of a behind-the-scenes role vis-à-vis action scenes.

What about knock-on consequences I hear you cry?  What would happen to Finn?  It doesn’t really matter – any old plot contrivance.  Have the Falcon reappear and knock Finn’s speeder out of the way. Have one of the ATATs actually aim on target and knock Finn’s speeder out of the way.  Have a giant teleporting Wookie materialise and knock Finn’s speeder out of the way.  Pick any of the above, or all of them, I literally do not care.

As a side note, I think this could also help streamline the overall thematic texture of the film.  We are definitely being sent mixed messages regarding the ethics of personal sacrifice for a military cause.  Paige’s sacrifice is brave and good.  Holdo’s sacrifice is brave and good.  Finn’s sacrifice is brave but stupid.  And that subtext is largely down to one line. ‘That’s how we’re going to win. Not fighting what we hate but saving what we love.’  Yes, I know that this is Rose talking and her views on the matter have likely been strongly influenced by the death of her sister in a very similar situation at the start of the film and this line was likely not meant to be interpreted as a mission statement.  But it still reads like that because of the language of the film-making.  Everything about this scene – the swelling score and the fiery back-lighting and the intense close-up is telling the audience that this line is of critical importance.

If Finn has to make his way back to the base before reuniting with Rose, there’s a beat in the screenplay which ensures Finn’s heroism is not undercut. Rose still gets the character depth coming from that line-reading.  And the viewer gets to understand that this is a statement coming from a character and not the screenplay itself.  Hell, she can even kiss Finn if that’s what the screen-writers want and I wouldn’t complain.

And there we have it - that is as much as I am prepared to dump on The Last Jedi.  Although I sincerely believe these few changes could transform The Last Jedi into a pretty-much flawless film, we all have to remember that the film has already been released and established in the canon, and barring a George Lucas-esque rework, it will remain that way.  This is Rian Johnson’s film, through and through, and in my humble opinion it is a masterpiece.  It is much, much easier to come up with a couple fix-all solutions after the fact (and even easier 8 months after) than to write an entire script from scratch.

That being said, please hire me Disney 😊

[kuuderekun]

Sword Art Online was never a Death Game anime

Sword Art Online was never a Death Game anime 

I want to start by saying there are lot of valid reasons to dislike SAO.  I enjoyed the Aincrad arc though it was flawed.  I had a lot of problems with Alfheim and Gungale though there were also good moments.   The two arcs that made up the second half of season 2 were great,, Mother's Rosario especially is my favorite so far. I haven't seen Ordinal Scale yet, I will be waiting for the Dubs to watch either it or season 3. A common theme I've seen among critics of SAO, especially those who hate even the original arc, including Digibro himself in the PCP Podcast on "Plebs", is a notion that it was somehow supposed to be a Death Game Anime, and that the show then ruined it's own sense of urgencey. Mirai Nikki was a Death Game anime, Fate/Stay Night and Fate/Zero are Death Game animes.  Magical Girl Raising Project is a Death Game Anime (I just watched it and am still processing my thoughts on it).  It's a genre that has an inherently limited appeal to me.  I watches RP because I'm into Magical Girls, Mirai Nikki for the Yandere and Fate/ because I'm into Arthurian Legend and other mythologies.  But if SAO had been structured like a Death Game that it'd have had almost none of what I like about it. Digibro said in the last episode of the DigiBros Super Mario 64 let's play, when they were speculating on Zelda BotW (it was recorded before the game came out) that he doesn't like when Video Games have a sense of urgency.  I agree with him on that, and that is why I like the very parts of SAO he considered the most useless.  Every Video Game he could praise for not having a sense of urgency still has a theoretical sense of urgency, if Link doesn't get to the end and defeat Ganon eventually then Hyrule is doomed.  And that is all the opening episodes of SAO were meant to do, establish a problem that they need to solve, eventually. But the appeal to me was always about these character living in a digital fantasy world, not about them getting out of it.  So my favorite episodes were largely the "Filler" which apparently came from the second Light Novel. Digibro most hated the Murder Mystery two parter.  I loved those, for the most part.  As a fan of Holmesian stories I enjoyed seeing this speculation on how you'd apply Holmsian deductive reasoning in an MMO world.  And when they figured out the deaths had been faked I was quite satisfied.  Then the story dragged on adding some more twists and I soured on it a little. I also agree that like in the original web novels Asuna should have killed that one guy.  Asuna is also Best Girl. Mother's Basement did a video on SAO where he said it was ruined by the Yui character turning out to be an AI, which he said destroyed the sense that anyone can die.  I have come to be quite personally annoyed by shows wanting to create that illusion, and viewers who ever buy into it.  If you're paying attention you can easily tell who isn't eligible to die on Game of Thrones, or the books it was based on.  Ned Stark was a character created specifically to die early on creating that illusion, and Mami Tomoe was Ned Stark as a Magical Girl, in more ways then one. And I'm annoyed by the people who want a show where anyone can die.   Whenever I'm watching something and a character death happens that did not feel sufficiently built up to, it simply comes off as bad writing to me, even when it's a character I didn't much care for.  This is part of what slowly soured me to The Vampire Diaries, a show I loved at first. And when it's done to a character I love, like my Waifu Anna, it just enrages me.  I hate when shows do things just for shock value, and plenty of my favorite moments have been completely predictable ones.   And that is Why I Like Prequels. As a Christian I like Adoption themes in my fiction, something I talked about in a Force Awakens post last year "Rey is a Skywalker but not by Blood". So in this setting I quite like the idea of our protagonists adopting an AI character.  So Mother's Basement desire to say Yui ruined SAO by being an AI offends me, just as it offends me when people say Dawn ruined Buffy. That is all for this post.  Expect maybe something in the future about SAO as a Gnostic Allegory, the first two arcs anyway.