#future roy

[jamietwat]

3/?

[eaglerayys]

I'm thinking a lot about the Olympian!Dick Grayson stuff floating around.

What if during their rebellious late teens/early 20s Dick and Roy just dared each other to go to the Olympics. And so they show up out of nowhere and qualify at the last minute for their respective sports (gymnastics/ archery) without anyone really knowing them.

So they go to the Olympics and it becomes a story, because what are the odds that TWO different orphans-turned-billionaire-heirs are competing. They get hounded by accusations of having bought their way in, and they both use it as an opportunity to rave about their pre-wealth lives and their tight-knit communities that taught them their sports while (not so) subtly landing digs at the media/government for all the harm they've done to their communities.

All the while the two of them post a ton of videos and pics together so it becomes a Thing, because even without the rest of the story the idea of childhood friends (and maybe more 👀) both making it is enough to drive the internet crazy.

It only gets more insane when they both win multiple gold medals. For once, no one can claim they bought their way in as they annihilate the competition.

But then they disappear from their sports again and people speculate, desperate to find out if they have any intention of returning. For years no one gets a straight answer out of either of them.

Then, just as qualifying begins for the next Olympics, they suddenly show up again.

And Dick Grayson qualifies in archery and Roy Harper makes the USMG team as a specialist.

[sailforvalinor]

On the topic of post-Promised Day Al thoughts:

It takes him a long time to get out of the habit of ducking/walking sideways through doorways

Getting used to feeling pain again must of course have been rough (I have to imagine building up his pain tolerance again must’ve been excruciating), but personally I headcanon that the experience of coming to terms with the fact that stubbing his toes actually hurt again was a nightmare. Almost nothing makes him angrier. Winry will hear a thud followed furious, inarticulate, banshee-like yelling from the other room and assume it must be Ed, only to find a red-faced Al hopping around on one foot having stubbed his toe on a chair leg

Al got so used to being able to drag and/or pick up Ed and remove him from any given situation where he was being difficult that it became a habit he was completely unable to break, and what’s more hilarious is that even though he’s no longer a suit of armor twice Ed’s size, and in the time he was recovering they’ve grown to be about the same height, he can still do it. They’ll be visiting Central and Ed will be getting a little too riled-up at Mustang (now the Fuhrer himself) and Al will just sigh, shoot Hawkeye an exasperated look, and then throw his entire adult brother over his shoulder mid-sentence, deposit him (shrieking, of course) in another room, and return with a polite smile and a “sorry, you were saying?”

[ethmaron]

dickroy tonite 👀 dickroy tonite queen?? dickroy tonite 👀

yeah okay

[jamiesfootball]

“Roy?”

“Hm?”

“I don't want you to die before me.”

“The fuck?” Roy jerks right out of his half-slumber. He tries to sit up, but Jamie flexes his calves and traps Roy back down against the sofa. With a pillow stuffed against his chest in a death grip he looks pathetic, like someone's just told him his favourite puppy needs to be put down.

Roy huffs. “I’m not dying.”

“I know,” Jamie says sincerely. “But you’d tell me if you were, right?”

Roy rolls his eyes.

“Roy,” Jamie insists, and God help them both, but there’s real stress in his voice.

Roy pats one of the calves holding him down. “Yes. I’d fucking tell you. You’d probably be the first to know beside my sister.”

The muppet nods, at least not arguing with his being placed behind Sarah. Roy has a brief moment of deluding himself that that’s it for Jamie’s tangent into mortality logistics, before the prick adds with all the subtly of a hammer, “You’re almost fifty.”

Fuck.

The sigh that escapes isn’t entirely free of weight. His age isn't something Roy can ignore these days, not with how his body has started to hold him back more and more. Sure, he’s still fit. He’s able to do 5ks for charities without much effort, but not without restraining himself down to a steady job. His heart's in fine shape, a history of strict nutrition guidelines has left him with a habit of eating well. As far as his doctors are concerned, he’s fit as a whistle, with no pressing concerns that should keep him up at night.

But he feels old now, in a way he didn’t even five short years ago. When he looks around, the signs of his age reflect back. His hair isn’t as thick as it used to be, still thicker than most but he can feel the difference when he washes up at night. His skin’s lost some of its elasticity, a paper-like consistency creeping in around his joints. Strangers have started to hold doors open for him when he's out on his own. More than a few times now, he’s been asked by a fresh-faced juvenile if he qualifies for a senior discount.

It's not just him either. His niece is almost an adult, long weedy limbs beginning to steady into a permanent shape. She's looking at universities, her exacting list of demands narrowed down to an aggressive handful of final round picks. His little sister’s hair has gone grey, streaked and wild. It's been years since Roy's needed to step in to cover a last minute emergency. Sarah's become a hit on the lecture circuit, and years of extra shifts have given her a cushion of stability that she can rely on outside of her brother.

And Jamie, sulking at the other end of the couch, has crows feet the flutter from the corners of his eyes whenever he smiles. He’s not smiling now, but Roy can still make out the faint outline of them below the skin. The sight of them has become a familiar ache; when they first met, Roy already had those.

Somehow, Jamie’s still not the age that Roy was when they first met.

At some point he’s gone from patting the calf under his hand to holding it close, warm and heavy and familiar from hundreds of evenings spent watching the highlight reels on Sky Sports.

He gives it a quick squeeze. “Let me up.”

Jamie swings his legs off of his chest. Then he shimmies around, and before Roy can complain, he crawls over to collapse against Roy’s side. Roy lets his arm drop around his shoulder, holding him close with an ease that’s taken years to weave under his skin.

He wouldn’t trade it, not even for youth. Not even for more time.

“You realise it’s not fair the other way around, right? Me watching you die before me.” Awful, the way his throat goes thick at the mere thought. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere any time soon. Short of being hit by a bus, you’re stuck with me.”

Jamie exhales. He’s tense, and without thinking Roy rubs his arm.

“Not saying I wanna die any time soon either. I’m just saying, it’s shit you’re likely to kick the bucket first.” His forehead digs into the bone of Roy’s shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d-“

He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath.

While he tries to compose himself, Roy does the same. Still sounds rough to his own ears when he points out, “This conversation sucks.”

Jamie snorts, a little wet and more than a bit thick. “Your fault, you grumpy old bastard. What were you thinking, being born fifteen years sooner than me like that?”

“Probably that someone had to be ready to look out for your sorry arse when you showed up.”

Jamie wriggles, his arms snaking their way around- one between Roy’s back and the cushions, the other curled over his front like a safety belt, until they meet around the other side, one lapped over the other.

“Yeah,” says Jamie softly. He hugs Roy like if he holds on tight enough, he can give a few years back. “Thanks for that by the way.”

Fifty years pin Roy down against the weight of the living; mentally, he vows to do everything in his power to hang on for another fifty more.

“You’re welcome.”

[rainb0wfish]

THE SILLIES

they will be bffs... someday... i know it in my heart

[humanoidhistory]

Lighthearted vision of a Moon city by Roy Kerswill, circa 1959.

(Mike Acs)

[theflashjaygarrick]

This teaser page for the All In special is so cute. Roy! Kory! Kara! Tora and Bea! Jamie!! I am actually so hyped for the new justice league cast

(Also Damian throwing away the card is so funny)

[shivroy]

future shiv

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Five: From the Ashes

Chapter WC: 7,131

Chapter Warnings: None

A/N: me: i'm not writing a love triangle. also me: writes this chapter.

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They made you a General.

After the battle on Geonosis, the Senate and the Jedi Council came to an agreement. With the Separatist threat looming larger than ever, and the Clone Wars officially begun, the Senate agreed that the Jedi would lead the Grand Army of the Republic, and that the Council would appoint the Jedi Generals to command the troops.

And they chose you.

The Council believed that your skill and experience was more than enough to merit the title, but you didn't believe that for a moment. You were one of the few left standing, and the fact that you'd been there on the front lines, fighting against Dooku and his droids, likely had more of a role to play in the decision than any supposed skill of yours.

You were one of the youngest to be given such a rank, and even Obi-Wan was shocked when they informed you. You’d tried not to let your bitterness at his lack of confidence show, but it was difficult. After everything, after what had happened, you weren’t sure you were up to the task, and Obi-Wan seemed to agree.

But it was more than that.

You were among the many who suddenly found themselves elevated above their station in the aftermath. There was a whole score of Padawans who were now Knights as well as Generals with their own command, and Anakin was among them. You agreed that it was well-deserved, but you also knew, deep down, that it was the Council's attempt to keep him under their control. To give Anakin the responsibility, and the power, that he craved without giving him too much freedom. 

You can't help but wonder if it was the same with you, or if the Council saw something different in you. They hadn't always been particularly supportive of your skills, but now, they were quick to put their faith in you. You don't know what to think, or how to feel. You're honored, of course, but there's a part of you that can't help but feel as if they're just using you. That you're nothing more than a pawn to move about the board as they please.

It's a feeling that you've been struggling with ever since you were named a Knight, and now, as a Master, the doubt has only grown.

The other Knights are congratulating each other, some even embracing, but you stay on the outskirts, your hands clasped behind your back and your head bowed. You can't bring yourself to celebrate, not with so many having lost their lives, and the weight of your new responsibilities settling heavily upon your shoulders.

The loss of life is a staggering number. Of the two hundred and twelve Jedi who had arrived on Geonosis with you, only thirty had made it out alive, and those survivors were scarred and battered, many not even fully healed from their ordeals. That wasn’t even considering the death toll of the clone ranks, numbering in the thousands.

You were lucky to have had that clone, Rex, save you, and you were grateful for his assistance, but you still feel the guilt gnawing at you. You wonder if he went back to the fight, if he perished like so many of his brothers, or if he too is nursing the pain of survival that you are.

There's a tap on your shoulder, pulling you suddenly from your thoughts, and you glance up to see Anakin standing next to you, a grin on his face.

“Well, are you going to congratulate me?” he asks.

You roll your eyes before you step forward and embrace him. He lets out a chuckle, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and squeezing gently. His new metal hand is a strange weight against your back, and a cold reminder of how much things have changed.

"Congratulations," you tell him as you pull away. "I'm happy for you."

"You don't sound very happy," he replies, his brow furrowing.

"I think you deserve it, Anakin," you say truthfully. "It's about time the Council realized how skilled you are."

“But…?”

"But nothing," you reply.

"Come on," he insists, his tone light, "tell me what's bothering you."

No one around is listening, but you can’t help but cast a glance around the chamber. You lower your voice, stepping closer to him. "I'm worried about what this all means.”

“It means you and I are finally getting the recognition we deserve," Anakin says, as if it were obvious. "Why are you so against that?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. It catches on the tangled strands, and you grimace, forcing your hand down.

"It's just not how I imagined things going," you tell him with a sigh. "I was always taught that a Jedi is supposed to serve, and now, we're leading soldiers into battle."

"We're fighting for a good cause, and we'll be helping people," he replies easily. "That's what we've always wanted to do."

You frown, your lips pressing into a thin line. Anakin is right, and you know it. But the thought of leading an army, and the idea of all the lives that will be lost, makes your stomach turn.

"You don't agree," he says in the face of your silence, a note of disappointment in his voice. You can see him deflating, and you quickly rush to reassure him.

"No, I do," you insist, forcing a smile. "It's just...a lot to take in, that's all."

"It's because of Master Yaddle, isn't it?"

The mention of her name makes your heart ache. You haven't spoken to anyone about her death in years, and you've never discussed it with Anakin. It's easy to forget, sometimes, just how much you two have in common. How many losses and tragedies the both of you have had to endure.

"Partly," you admit, the words sticking in your throat.

"You don't think she'd approve," Anakin says, his gaze softening.

"It doesn't matter what she would've thought," you say sharply. At the look on his face, you sigh and force yourself to calm down. "Sorry, Anakin. I'm just...I'm not sure if we're really ready for this."

"Well, I know I am," he replies, and his grin is back, and as always, it’s infectious. He gives you a nudge, and you can't help but smile back, some of the weight lifting from your shoulders. “And I know you are, too."

His confidence in you is overwhelming, and you have to fight the urge to scoff. You wish you had even half of his conviction, his sense of certainty.

You look at the others, the joyful conversations and laughter filling the room. And for a moment, you allow yourself to relax, to bask in the celebration and the relief that comes with it. But you can't forget the reason for it, and the weight returns, a heavy pressure against your chest.

"It's going to be okay," Anakin says, resting a hand on your shoulder. "This whole thing will be over before we know it, and we'll go back to doing what we were meant to."

"Thanks, Anakin," you say, softly. "You always know how to make me feel better."

You smile at him, and he smiles back. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, and then he's gone, lost in the crowd of Knights and Padawans and Masters. Your shoulders slump as you watch him go, and you're struck by how much he's changed.

The Anakin you knew would have scoffed at the idea of leadership, of being the head of an army. But now, he's embraced it, and his passion, his eagerness, is almost frightening. It’s hard to reconcile the boy who was so reluctant to grow up with the man standing before you. You're not sure what's changed, or what's made him so determined to accept the title, but it worries you.

The celebration is still ongoing, but you slip out unnoticed, the voices of the other Jedi fading into the background. You have a lot to think about, and a lot to consider, and you need some time alone.

You make your way through the halls of the Temple, the marble walls and floors reflecting the light from the windows. It's quiet, and peaceful, and for a moment, you can almost forget the chaos that's raging outside. Of the battles already being fought across the galaxy in the name of the Republic.

As you walk, the doubts start to creep back in. Are you really ready for this? You're barely older than the other Knights, and your experience as a Jedi is limited, compared to the others. You've had a few successes, but more failures. Your track record is hardly exemplary, and your relationship with the Council has always been strained.

They hadn't even offered you your own batallion, not that you wanted one. Not that you were ready for it. Instead, they'd simply told you that your place on the battlefield, whenever it was needed, would be alongside Obi-Wan. You were still expected to carry out your usual duties as an investigator and a peacekeeper, but the war took precedence, and your assignments had been scaled back significantly.

You were glad that you were able to remain a part of the investigative branch of the Jedi, and that you weren't being pulled entirely away from your normal duties. But it still didn't sit well with you, and the thought of being placed at the forefront of the conflict made you uneasy. It didn't help that the entire time the Council had spoken to you of it, Obi-Wan sat quietly, his hands folded in his lap, and his expression carefully neutral.

You still weren't sure how to feel about that.

The two of you have been at odds for a long time, and his refusal to support you had always been a sore spot. It was the main reason you'd pushed him away, and you'd both kept your distance ever since. But now, you would have to work together. There would be no choice, no alternative.

He'd accepted the decision with no hesitation, though as a member of the Council himself, he likely could've declined. But he'd remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, and his voice carefully controlled. You'd felt his eyes on you, the frayed remnants of your bond in the Force tugging at the edge of your awareness. But he'd said nothing, and his silence was as damning as his disapproval.

It had stung, and you'd spent the rest of the meeting glaring at him, and trying not to let your frustration show. It was petty, and you knew it, but it was also easier than letting your feelings out in the open. Years had passed since the two of you had had any sort of meaningful conversation, and the last thing either of you needed was to have it out in front of the Council.

You let out a frustrated sigh and turn down another corridor, your steps echoing against the marble floor. The sun is starting to set, and the shadows are growing longer, the light slowly fading. It's peaceful, and quiet, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.

You stop when you reach the training rooms, and the doors slide open with a hiss. There's no better place to burn off your nervous energy than here, and a few rounds with the training droids should do the trick.

You're halfway across the room when a voice rings out.

"What are you doing here?"

Your eyes widen, and your steps falter. You'd been so focused on your destination that you hadn't noticed that the room wasn't empty. Standing by the far wall, his back to you, is Obi-Wan. His arms are folded across his chest, and his gaze is fixed on the window, the skyline of Coruscant stretched out below.

You curse yourself for being so careless, and for not sensing him sooner. You're normally more alert, more aware of your surroundings, and Obi-Wan's presence is easily distinguishable. But the shock of the day, and the chaos of the celebration, must have left you distracted.

You steel yourself, and then continue forward, keeping your pace even and steady.

"I should ask you the same question," you reply, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

He glances over his shoulder at you, and his eyes narrow. You can't help but notice the faint lines around them, the evidence of his years of stress.

"I came here to clear my head," he says, his voice tight. "And you?"

"Same," you reply, your tone clipped.

"Ah, so the promotion is weighing on you, then," he says, turning to face you. "I wondered if it might."

You glare at him, the tension between you mounting. His tone is condescending, and it sets your teeth on edge.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" you snap.

"Nothing," he replies evenly. "Only that this will be a challenging new position for the both of us."

You shake your head, and then turn away from him. The anger is boiling in your chest, and you have to take a deep breath before you speak.

"If you have something to say, just say it," you tell him, trying to keep your voice level. "You've never had a problem telling me exactly how you feel before."

Obi-Wan lets out a frustrated sigh, and then turns, crossing the distance between you. You tense, but he stops several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back. He's always been the epitome of restraint, but you can see the anger in his eyes, and it's clear he's struggling to maintain his composure. You feel a flash of satisfaction at the fact that you've managed to get under his skin.

"Spar with me," he says suddenly. "Perhaps we can get this out of our systems."

"You want to fight me?" you ask, incredulous.

"Why not?" he retorts. "It's worked for us in the past."

You snort, but he has a point. The two of you have often sparred together over the years, and it has always been cathartic. The familiarity of the activity, the way it brings out the competitiveness in both of you, has always helped ease the tension between you. And after the events of the past few days, you could use the release.

"You and I may be remembering the outcome of those matches differently," you reply archly.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. You're reminded of the countless times you've seen him use the same expression, the smugness and self-assurance infuriating and endearing in equal measure.

"Is that so?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice teasing. "Because I seem to recall winning a majority of those."

"A majority, not all.”

You push your robes off your shoulders and let them fall to the floor, leaving you in your leggings and tunic.

"And those that you did win were hardly decisive," he replies. "If memory serves, you had the upper hand on occasion, but never enough to guarantee victory."

"I'm fairly certain there were several instances where I was on top," you shoot back. You immediately wince at the words, the innuendo hitting you a moment too late.

"Yes, you certainly were," he murmurs, his voice low enough that you're not sure if you were meant to hear.

You feel a flush rising on your cheeks, and you quickly avert your eyes. It had been a mistake to provoke him, and now, the tension in the room is suffocating you. You can't even look at him, but Obi-Wan seems immune to the awkwardness, the very picture of stoicism.

"Well?" he asks, his tone businesslike once again. "Do we have an agreement, or not?"

You let out a sigh, and then nod. He takes a step back, and then removes his robe, his movements deliberate and careful. He folds it neatly and sets it on a nearby bench, and then he returns to the center of the room, his eyes never leaving yours.

You roll your shoulders, stretching your arms, and then move to meet him. You're not sure if this is the right thing to do, but it's a chance to finally get some of the frustrations and tensions out of your system. And if it gets too heated, well, that's a risk you're willing to take.

Obi-Wan draws his lightsaber from his belt and activates it, the blue blade humming as it springs to life. You can't help but notice that it's different from the one he had when the two of you were younger, different from the one he built after Naboo. The hilt is more slender, the emitter guard wider, and the color darker. There’s a twinge of regret building in your chest, the memory of the two of you making your first lightsabers together suddenly fresh in your mind.

He seems to notice the change in your demeanor, and he tilts his head.

"Problem?" he asks.

"No," you say, drawing your own weapon. The yellow blade hums as you ignite it, and Obi-Wan nods, seemingly satisfied. "First blood?"

"Or surrender," he counters. "Either will suffice."

"Very well.”

You nod, and then settle into a defensive stance, your lightsaber held at the ready. You don't want to fight him, not really. Not with everything else that's happening, and the emotions that are still bubbling to the surface. But if he wants a match, he'll get one.

Obi-Wan steps forward, his weapon raised, and then launches himself into a flurry of strikes. He's fast, and precise, and his technique is flawless. Back in your Padawan days, Obi-Wan had always been the better fighter, the better everything. And even now, with your skills more closely matched, his superior strength and experience are a challenge to overcome.

But he's not as quick as you are, and he doesn't have your stamina. After the day the two of you have had, you have the advantage, and you press it, your lightsaber flashing through the air as you counter his blows. He's taken aback by your ferocity, and it doesn't take long for him to realize that you're not holding back. 

The two of you dance around the room, the sounds of clashing blades echoing off the walls. It's been so long since the two of you have sparred, and you'd forgotten how much you missed it. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the fight, the closeness of his presence, the way the Force hums between you. It's almost like the old days, before things went bad, before Yaddle died, before everything.

Back when things were simpler.

Back when you had a family.

Your blades collide with a shower of sparks, and the two of you hold there for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. Your breathing is heavy, and you can see the sweat beading on his brow.

"Not bad," he says, his tone casual.

You grunt, pushing him away, and then swing again, your lightsaber flashing through the air.

"Not bad, yourself," you reply grudgingly.

Obi-Wan smirks, and then ducks under your blade, bringing his own up and around. You jump back, barely avoiding the blow, and then spin, the tip of your blade slicing through the air. 

He blocks, and the two of you stand, locked together again. Your arms tremble with the strain, and his gaze locks onto yours. 

"You know, I think this is the first time we've spoken in months."

You scoff, pushing him back, and then launch into another attack. "And whose fault is that?"

His blade deflects your blow, and the two of you go back and forth, trading strike for parry, block for counterattack.

"You've been avoiding me," he replies, his tone accusing.

"I'm not," you insist, deflecting a blow and dodging to the side.

"You are," he says, and he strikes at your back. You duck under the swing, and come up behind him, your blade singing as you strike. He darts out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blow, and then turns, bringing his lightsaber up to block. "Ever since Yaddle, you've done nothing but avoid me."

You growl, and the anger flares. "Don't."

He presses his advantage, his blows coming faster, harder, and you're forced on the defensive. You backpedal, trying to put space between the two of you, but his blade is relentless.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges.

"You're wrong," you retort, blocking a particularly vicious blow.

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" he demands. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"And say what?" you say, your voice rising. "We have nothing to say to each other, Obi-Wan!"

He grits his teeth, and then swings again, and the two of you dance across the floor, lightsabers flashing as they clash. The sound echoes off the walls, and the heat from the blades makes the air around you shimmer. You're sweating, and your muscles are burning, but you're not willing to concede. You're not willing to lose.

The anger, the frustration, and the years of hurt and pain boil to the surface, and you lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. Your limbs are moving of their own accord, your body acting on instinct, and you give in to the emotions, letting them fuel you.

You're not sure how long the two of you fight, but the fatigue is starting to take its toll. Your attacks are slower, your blocks sloppier, and you can tell that Obi-Wan is flagging, as well.

"We used to talk," he says, his voice strained. "What happened?"

"Nothing," you retort. "Everything is fine."

"Nothing is fine!" he yells.

His blade comes down hard, and you block, the impact sending you reeling. He follows up with a series of fast, short strikes, and you're on the back foot, barely keeping up. He's angry, and that makes him reckless, and you can see the opening. You feint left, and then swing low, your lightsaber cutting a path through the air. He ducks, the blade missing him by inches, and then stumbles, his back hitting the wall.

"You're not the only one who lost someone, you know," he pants, his eyes blazing. "You said you would be there for me, and then you shut me out. Why?"

You're seething, and the words pour out before you can stop them.

"Because you didn't understand!" you snap. "You didn't understand how I was feeling, and you didn't try to. You just kept pushing, and pushing, and you never listened!"

"And you were so busy wallowing in your own self-pity that you didn't realize I was hurting, too," he shoots back. "All you could think about was yourself, and what you were going through, and you couldn't even see what was right in front of you!"

You shake your head, and the anger is boiling in your chest, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

"I needed you, Obi-Wan, and you weren't there," you say, the anger making your voice quiver. "I needed you, and you chose the Council, you chose the Jedi, over me. You abandoned me."

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with sadness. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" you ask. "You were my best friend, and you let me down."

"So did you," he says softly.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you step back, your breath leaving you in a rush. He's right. You did let him down, and you have no excuse. You'd been so wrapped up in your own grief, your own pain, that you'd completely missed his, and you've been paying for it ever since.

You're not sure how long the two of you have stood there, the room falling into silence. The anger and the hurt are still there, simmering just below the surface, but it's been tempered by a different kind of pain.

You look at him, and the memories come flooding back. Of the two of you as children, running through the halls of the Temple, getting into trouble, causing mischief. Of the countless hours spent sparring and meditating, working together to hone your skills. Of the late night conversations and whispered secrets, the friendship and the closeness. Of the love.

You'd been so close, once. So inseparable. But now, the chasm between the two of you feels wider than ever, and the bridge is crumbling beneath your feet.

"I felt the darkness in you, that day," Obi-Wan says, his voice low. “And again on Geonosis.”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

"I was upset," you reply. "And I let my emotions get the best of me."

"It's more than that," he insists. "You've changed. You've become angry, and resentful, and those are dangerous emotions to carry with you. Especially now."

You grit your teeth, the frustration building. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know what I've seen," he counters. "I've been watching, and I know there's something going on with you. Something I haven't been able to figure out."

You glare at him, the tension mounting between the two of you. You don't want to argue with him, not anymore, but the way he's looking at you makes your skin crawl. It's almost as if he can see right through you, and it unnerves you.

Your blade raises, the yellow glow casting strange shadows across his face, and you take a deep breath.

"This conversation is over," you say, your tone clipped.

You turn, but he's faster. Obi-Wan’s blade slashes out, catching yours, and you're forced back. You block, and then counter, your lightsabers colliding in a shower of sparks. He pushes you further, his blows coming faster, stronger, and you struggle to keep up.

"You can't run away from this," he says, his tone sharp.

"Watch me," you retort.

He's angry, and frustrated, and it shows in his fighting style. His movements are rough, and he's sloppy, and you're able to keep pace with him, pushing him further and further as he struggles to regain control.

"Just stop!" he shouts.

"No!"

The two of you dance across the floor, your blades flashing in the dim light. You're both tired, and it shows, your movements slowing, and the fatigue wearing at your defenses. You're not sure how much longer you can keep this up, but you can't let him win, and you won't.

Your blade slices through the air, and his lightsaber flashes, deflecting the blow. You lunge, and his blade arcs up, meeting yours.

"Yaddle would want you to move on," he says. "She wouldn't want you to carry this anger with you, this resentment."

"Shut up," you snap, your lightsaber striking his, the sound ringing out through the room. "You don't get to talk about her. You didn't even believe me."

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched. "I know."

His blade flashes, and you dodge, narrowly avoiding the strike.

"You said she was murdered, and I didn't listen," he continues. "And for that, I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough," you say.

"I know," he replies sadly. "But we have a chance to make a difference, now. To do what Yaddle would have wanted."

Your blade clashes with his, the impact sending a shiver down your spine. You're tired, and sore, and you can feel the ache settling into your muscles, but something inside you compels you to keep going.

"She would want me to find her killer, and bring them to justice," you say, the words coming out in a rush. 

You launch into a series of rapid-fire attacks, pouring every bit of your energy into the assault. You're desperate, and furious, and the emotions are boiling inside you, threatening to overwhelm.

Obi-Wan blocks, and counters, but he's tiring, and he's not quick enough. He stumbles, and you seize the opportunity, your blade coming down in a powerful swing that sends him sprawling. He hits the ground, hard, and his lightsaber clatters to the floor, the blade deactivating. You stand over him, your blade humming and his eyes wide with shock.

You’ve never been able to best him before, and the knowledge is satisfying. You raise your lightsaber, the blade poised to strike, and then stop, your hand trembling. You could do it. You could end this, right here, right now. You could end the conflict, and the fighting, and the tension.

You could end it all.

"And then what?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice hoarse.

You look down at him, and his gaze locks onto yours. He's not afraid, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes. Sadness? Resignation?

You hesitate, your blade poised inches from his chest. "What?"

"Then what?" he repeats. "Once you find her killer, what will you do? Kill them?"

You recoil, as if struck. The realization of what you're about to do, of what you've almost done, hits you, and the anger is replaced by a fear so deep and so primal that it makes your bones ache.

You're horrified, and ashamed.

"No," you whisper. "No, of course not."

"Really?" he asks. He's looking at you with a mix of surprise and disappointment, and you know that he doesn't believe you. 

"No, I..." You shake your head, and the blade wavers, your grip faltering. You're not sure what's worse: the idea that he thinks you're capable of such a thing, or the fact that part of you actually considered it. "You know me better than that."

"I thought I did," he replies, softly.

"I would never do that," you say, and the words come out as a plea. "You know that."

"How can I believe that, when I don't even know who you are anymore?" he asks, his eyes never leaving yours, and the words are like a dagger to your heart. "When you've hidden so much from me?"

You flinch, the truth of his words cutting you to the bone.

You've shut him out, and pushed him away, and it's not just the anger and the resentment. It's because you've been afraid, and ashamed, and you couldn't bear the thought of him seeing you for who you really are. For who you've become.

But now, the mask is slipping, and the façade is cracking, and you can't hide any longer.

You lower your blade, the anger draining from you, and the weight of everything crashes down on you.

"I don't know," you admit. "I...I don't know." 

"I can feel it now, the darkness in you, your anger," he says. "The others may be blind to it, but I'm not. It's like a shadow around you, and it's growing stronger by the day."

You look away, the shame and the guilt washing over you. You don't know what's wrong with you, or why you're so angry all the time. All you know is that it's getting harder and harder to control, and you're terrified of what it might mean.

Your lightsaber falls from your hand, the blade deactivating as it hits the floor. It rolls away and then comes to a stop, the hilt resting against the wall. You can feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you fight them back, willing yourself not to cry.

“What if you're wrong? What if it's not darkness, what if it's just me?" You turn and look at him, the emotions bubbling to the surface, and your voice breaks. "What if it's always been me?"

He sits up, his brow furrowed, and his gaze is soft, but intent.

"Why would you say that?" he asks quietly.

"I've always been different," you say, the words coming out in a rush. “You said so yourself. I was never able to meditate properly, or to find balance. I've always had trouble with my emotions, and now, I can't seem to control them, no matter how hard I try."

You feel the tears spilling down your cheeks, and you wipe them away, angrily. “What if this is who I really am, Obi-Wan? What if I’m not meant to be a Jedi?"

You're afraid to look at him, to see the disappointment and the disgust in his eyes as he rises to his feet. But his arms wrap around you, his hand stroking your hair, and the warmth of his body seeps into your bones, soothing the ache that has taken root. You rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes closed, and the tears finally fall, hot and heavy. 

"Don't say that," he murmurs. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're just...different. Unique. It's one of the things I've always loved about you."

You snort, but his words strike a chord, and the tension starts to bleed from your body.

"I mean it," he says. "You have a strength, a passion, that most Jedi lack. And that's not a bad thing. It's just something to be mindful of, to be careful with."

You nod, and he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders. He searches your face, his gaze lingering on your cheeks, and his thumb brushes the tear tracks, wiping them away.

"You're a good person," Obi-Wan says, his voice gentle. "No matter what happens, or what you may feel, I will always believe that. But I think it's important for you to understand, and to acknowledge, that the path you're on isn't one that's easily walked."

He reaches down, and his fingers brush the hilt of your lightsaber. He picks it up, his eyes never leaving yours, and then slowly, deliberately, offers it to you.

"The choice is yours in the end. But no matter what you choose, I will be here. I will always be here."

You take the lightsaber, and then his hand, and the two of you hold there for a moment, the air still and silent around you. The tears are drying, and the ache in your chest is starting to fade, the anger and the hurt slowly melting away.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Of course," he says. He offers you a small smile. “And truth be told, I’m not sure I could bear it if you left. I...I think I would miss you, terribly."

"I would, too," you admit.

You squeeze his hand, and he returns the gesture. The bond between the two of you, the frayed remnants of a connection long since lost, stirs to life. The emotions that swirl through it are complicated, the tangled threads of years of pain and loss and longing weaving together into something new, something deeper.

And for the first time, the idea of rebuilding it, of trying again, doesn't seem so impossible.

You wrap your arms around him, and he does the same, the two of you standing there, your foreheads touching. You can feel the exhaustion in him, the fatigue from the sparring match, and you can tell he's feeling the same from you. The feedback loop of emotions is confusing, but it's also reassuring, and you find yourself leaning into it.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I know," he replies.

"I shouldn't have said the things I did," you continue. "I don't want to be angry. I just...I miss her. I miss her so much."

"I know," he repeats. "We all do. She was a great woman, a great Jedi, and her loss was a tragedy."

You nod, and he pulls back, his eyes searching yours.

"You know, she always believed in you," he says, softly. "She knew you would make a difference. That you would be one of the best."

"That's a lot to live up to," you murmur.

"Yes, it is," he agrees. "But I think she knew you would be able to handle it."

"I hope so," you say. "I really, really hope so."

Obi-Wan smiles, and the expression is so genuine, so kind, that it takes your breath away.

"I know so," he says, his voice firm.

You look away, your cheeks flushing, and you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. It's the first time he's smiled at you in years, and the familiarity, the comfort, of it warms you to your core.

You turn to him, the words coming out before you can stop them. "Do you think we can still fix this? Us, I mean?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But I'm willing to try, if you are."

You nod, and he pulls you closer, the two of you standing there, holding each other, as the shadows lengthen and the evening draws in. It's been a long time since the two of you have been so close, and the ache in your heart is tempered by the joy, the happiness, of having him back. Of knowing that there's still a chance, a glimmer of hope, that things might be okay, in the end.

"I nearly forgot," Obi-Wan begins as he pulls away, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "I have something for you."

You tilt your head, confused.

"For me?" you ask. "What is it?"

He chuckles, and then he turns to unfold the bundle of his robes. A familiar, glinting metal catches your eye, and your gaze is drawn to the hilt of a lightsaber, the gold and chrome finish gleaming in the dim light.

You beam at the sight of your shoto, the one you loaned to Obi-Wan on Geonosis. You'd completely forgotten about it.

"I thought you might want this back," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I was going to return it sooner, but, well..."

"Thank you," you say, and you can't keep the giddiness out of your voice.

You take the hilt from his hands, and the weight of it is comforting, the metal cool against your palm. It feels like home, like coming full circle, and you can't help the rush of gratitude and affection that flows through you.

"It's a good blade," Obi-Wan continues, watching you closely. “Perhaps not one worth nearly dying over, but good all the same.”

You scoff as you clip the weapon to your belt, the familiarity of it making you smile.

"You’re never going to let that go, are you?"

"I'm afraid not," he says, grinning. "That was a rather dramatic stunt you pulled, after all. You were lucky I was there to catch you before you fell."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at his words. They feel truer now than they’d ever been.

“Yes, I suppose I was,” you admit, your voice soft.

Obi-Wan nods, and you look away, the emotion in his eyes suddenly too much.

"In any case, thank you," you say. "For keeping it safe, and for giving it back. It means a lot."

He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful.

"You're welcome," he says, quietly.

He pauses, and you can tell there's something he wants to say, but he hesitates, the words catching in his throat.

You wait, patiently, and then, after a moment, he speaks.

"I want you to know, that if there is anything you need, anything at all, you can come to me," he says. His tone is earnest, and his gaze is steady. "I know we have a lot to work through, a lot of old wounds to heal, but I am here for you, always. No matter what."

The words hit you square in the chest, and the tears are threatening again. You take a deep breath, and then look up, your eyes locking with his.

"I know," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "And I want you to know, the same goes for you. Whatever happens, whatever you need, I'm here for you. Always."

He smiles, and the relief is clear on his face.

"Thank you," he says, the words carrying a weight that you understand all too well. He moves back to collect his robes and yours, helping you slip them back on.

Once they're settled on your shoulders, the warmth and comfort of the fabric easing the last bit of tension, the two of you stand facing each other. The moment hangs in the still air, neither of you willing to move, to break the spell. It's not the awkward, uncomfortable silence that has plagued your relationship these past few years, but a peaceful one. It's a start.

"Come,” he says after a moment, placing a hand on your shoulder and steering you toward the door. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

“That’s not necessary—“

"It is," he says, firmly. "I have no intention of letting you out of my sight, at least not tonight."

You glance at him, your eyebrow raised, and his cheeks flush, the words registering a beat too late.

"Oh, I mean—"

You burst out laughing, and the sound fills the room. He looks at you, bewildered, and then, to your surprise, starts to laugh, as well. The two of you stand there, giggling like a pair of children, and it feels like the weight that's been pressing down on you, on both of you, has finally lifted.

It's a good start, and the hope of more to come is enough to warm you from the inside

"Well, I wouldn't mind the company," you say at last, still smiling.

"Good," he replies, and the two of you walk side-by-side, your shoulders brushing. "Someone needs to make sure you actually get some rest, and you don't go wandering off again. You look dreadful."

"Hey," you say, swatting his arm. "That's not very nice."

"Only speaking the truth," he teases.

"Well, if you're going to be like that," you say, trying, and failing, to hide your smile as you cross your arms over your chest, "then I'm not sure I want to go anywhere with you."

"Too late," he says, and his hand slips to your back, pushing you gently forward. "You're stuck with me."

The two of you walk the hallways of the Temple, the silence between you comfortable, and familiar. As you walk, you feel the heaviness in your heart lifting, and the darkness in the Force retreating. For the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.

You glance over at Obi-Wan, his profile bathed in the dim light, his hair glowing in the soft radiance. He smiles down at you, and your heart swells with warmth.

"Thank you," you say. The words aren't enough, but they're all you can say.

"Anytime," he says, and his arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

You lean into his warmth, and as the two of you walk, the halls of the Temple a familiar, comforting sight, you realize that, no matter what happens, no matter what trials and tribulations await, you're not alone.

You have a family.

And nothing will ever change that.

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[the-blue-eyed-firebender]

In Ishval, Riza stopped counting birthdays. 

Instead she counted bullets, bodies. Scribbled the numbers on her field reports and turned them in, crisply folded. She became familiar with the space between heartbeats, the squeeze of the trigger, the wet sound of a bullet finding its mark. She grew accustomed to the tang of spent gunpowder and the bruising kick of a rifle butt against her shoulder. Through the grime of her scope, she watched orange tongues of flame roar against city streets and cloudless sky, her level crosshairs hovering over the broad-shouldered silhouette that commanded them. Her father’s ink sank deep into her blood, a poison, slow and fatal. Still, the Hawk’s Eye carried out her duties with mechanical precision. 

- Hourglass

[atorionsbelt]

when jamie said “hello uncle roy” but it was still in his low and gentle voice for phoebe

[elloras]

Ted Lasso: All Apologies

[clowndensation]

cannibalism

[waystarresourceco]

James Cromwell explaining how he contextualized Logan and Ewan's backstory in preparation for the funeral/eulogy. (x)

The reference to Ewan bringing home dead animals is (I think) from a deleted scene in Season 1, except below the cut.

Interview excerpt from an interview with James Cromwell with Vulture - May 25, 2023

Script excerpt from a deleted scene in "I Went to Market" in Succession - Season One: The Complete Scripts

[itsclydebitches]