#i totally feel for you being young and in a family that wouldn't understand

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any new ideas for congratulations! It's triplets? Love the idea of Jason just freaking out and trying to figure out how to build a relationship with his kids while being made fun of by his family and said kids. Especially if he goes overprotective mode because Danny has clown trauma too and gets snagged by the joker

Jason watches as Danny- his son.- impatiently taps his fingers against the table. His boy's gaze was looking at everything, taking in the big fancy Wayne Mannor with a sort of disinterest he was not expecting of a child so young.

His sister and Brother- both with alarmingly similar names- were also disinterested, but Dani was swinging her legs, and Dan was tapping his spoon and fork against the table in a fast-paced drumming.

It's strange to know he would fidget a lot as a kid but he always resorted to finger tapping. Was the tripples little habit from him? He wonders what else they inherited and what he missed out on seeing.

"I don't understand," Jasmine said, overlooking the contract Bruce's lawyers wrote up. " Why would you want custody now? It's been five years."

"I didn't know." Jason swallows past the lump in his throat as she gives him an unimpressed stare over the paper. He feels Bruce place a hand on his shoulder, and the silent support allows him to continue. "If I have, I wouldn't have ever let them grow up without me."

"Jason doesn't want full custody," Tim cuts in with a soft voice that has tricked lesser men into selling their shares. He and the rest of his family are all sitting across from Jassmin Fenton, as she is carefully lured back to the manor to discuss their next step. "He just wants to be part of his kid's lives and would happily share that with you."

"Not telling him about the kids sort of played into that," Steph mutters tactlessly. Unfortunately, her voice carries, and the woman across from them bristles.

There is a tense moment where he thinks Jassmin is about to curse them all out before she sighs and slumps in her seat. "Well, it wasn't like I had a means to contact you when I found out. You gave me a fake name."

Jason winces. "I sort of forgot I told you my name was Petter."

"Wasn't a total lie" Dani chirps "It is your middle name."

Jasmine rubs her eyes. "Look, Jason, I don't want to stop you from seeing the kids, but this is all too much right now. I'm dealing with a lot right now-"

"You are currently homeless," Damian cuts in, causing Jasmine to stop in genuine bewilderment.

"No, we're not." Dan scoffs. "You were waiting for us at our house. Waiting to ambush us."

"The house that was on the street that Poison Ivy just destroyed," The boy says, showing everyone his phone screen. There, clear as day is, their home is nothing but rumble. Jasmine's face spams, and she quickly checks her phone, paling at what she reads.

"Oh, Ancients. It's gone. It's all gone," She whispers, gripping the phone. The three kids immediately stiffen, watching their mother with strange intensity. Too aware of what this means.

They were mature for their age, and that is never a good thing.

Oh gods. Did his children live on the streets? Had Jason's carelessness hurt his children like his parents have hurt him?

"Mom?" Danny asks and that seems to snap Jasmine out of her spirl.

"Hotel!" She gasps, hands shaking as she quickly starts tapping on her phone. Jason catches a glimpse of her screen and realizes she is making a to-do list. "I have to book a hotel room. Call the insurance company, go and try to salvage whatever we can....what else?"

"You can stay here, Fenton," Damian surprisingly offers. "Until your home is rebuilt"

"We couldn't possibly-"

"Hotels are expensive, and you must focus on other more important needs. Father certainly has the space."

Jason jerks into action. "This will also give me a chance to connect with the kids!"

Jasmine bites her lip, turning to her children. Jason could appreciate that she was willing to include them in big decisions. The three nodded, so she eventually sighs.

"Alright. But only until I can get our housing settled. And I'll pay rent"

Jason would argue but he recognized the look in her eye. She would not be sway from making payments. So he agrees, tapping his fingers on the table in a specific rhythm to make sure his family agrees too.

He knows it pains Bruce- the old man already thinks of the triplets as his grandchildren and the idea of charging them to live with him will kill him.

Jason notices the way Dan's eyes zero in on his tapping and the glance around the family members. He fights a proud grin when realization bleeds into his boy's eyes. He's got a smart one, likely aware of that the tapping is a form of Morse code.

Tim did say- after pulling up all files of the four- that his children had developed insane intelligence. Maybe he should get them tested for certification geniuses.

"Hey Mr. Jason," Dani suddenly speaks up.

"Yes Darling?"

"I suggest you remove your eyes from my mom before I remove them from your face." The little girl even punches her palm in a poor intimidation attempt. His heart melts.

Then his face turns a dark red hue at Jasmine's raised brow. Unwillingly flashes of thier last time being face-to face rise in his mind. He coughs awkwardly as his sons face become as protective as their sister, Dan cracking his knuckles and Danny reaching for a knife.

"Oh yeah" Tim deadpans watching the kids reaction "No need for DNA test. Those are definitely Jason's kids"

He agrees, he just hopes he can show his children he plans on sticking around and being the father they deserve.

No one notices Cass and Steph slip away to deal with Posion Ivy. Jason kinda wants to send her a thank you gift for making it possible to have his family move into the manor.

[hannieehaee]

omg first of all i want to say that i love your writing, you’re amazing 😫

secondly, i saw that you opened your request for 1k followers, so i was wondering if you could do and angst-to-fluff reaction including hip hop unit? the specific one i had in my mind was about finding out that you’re pregnant and some initial anger/shock/disbelief coming from the boys, but i totally understand if you won’t do it, because i know not everyone may be comfortable with this topic. if so, feel free to ignore it or do whatever else you want 🫶🏼

lots of love, anon 🥰

finding out you're pregnant - hhu

hhu, vu, pu

content: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of marriage, established relationship, initial negative reactions, fluffy outcome for all of them.

wc: 635

a/n: thank u so much for ur kind words anon T-T and tysm for requesting!! sorry i took so long ;-; it was a lil hard for me to gauge a negative reaction out of them tbh i like to assume theyd be supportive straight away but i hope u liked what i came up with anyway <3

masterlist

seungcheol -

he had always wanted to be a dad. it was one of his biggest dreams ever since he could remember. the moment he met you, he was sure he wanted to be the father of your children, often even daydreaming about it whenever he'd see you play family with him and kkuma. he was unsure as to why his first reaction upon you skeptically telling him you might be pregnant was to ice you out. he felt like a total asshole, not knowing how else to react to such life-changing news. he knew it was just the initial shock of it. he did want kids. he was ecstatic. he was just too shocked to react properly, hurting your feelings in the process.

it would take him a lot of apologizing to get you to forgive him for bis stupidity, having grown terrified that he mightve been mad at the news. he'd reassure you that he was happier than ever, almost crying at the thought of a daughter to raise with the love of his life. would eternally feel guilty he had made you doubt how much he'd love a family with you even for a second.

wonwoo -

this was all he had ever wanted ever since the two of you got together. he had immediately envisioned a family with you, a house, a long future together. he would've unfortunately reacted a bit too shocked at the news when you had first broke them to him. it was just .. you hadn't planned it. yes, he wanted it, but he didn't think it'd come this soon in your relationship. he would be initially too shocked to show any genuine happiness at it. in no way would he express disappointment or any negative feeling, but his lack of enthusiasm would have you rethinking things.

it wouldn't be until later in the day when he'd snap at himself, realizing how good these news were. would uncharacteristically begin getting emotional from how happy he was at the prospect of starting a family with you, apologizing for not showing his true emotions to you immediately after hearing the news.

mingyu -

he'd enter a state of shock, which was very out of character for the usually excitable man. his immediate lack of reaction would have you retracting, feeling like you'd somehow done something wrong. he'd immediately feel terrible about it, lightheartedly reassuring you that he was happy about it and that he'd support you no matter what.

i feel like he'd be the type to ponder over it for a few days, probably even coming to the conclusion of proposing to you if he knew you decided to have the baby. at that point he'd be happier than ever to know he was now starting a family with you.

vernon -

he was still so young. yeah, he wanted to be a dad, specially to your children, but he was at the height of his career, meaning that the time he was home was already limited as it was. he had always assumed he'd get to have a few years off after being an idol for as long as he was, allowing him to lock himself away and start a family with you. this was not how he planned it, something he had stupidly let you know when you told him the news, completely forgetting to tell you how incredibly happy the news of starting a family with you made him.

he'd feel devastated at the dejection in your demeanor after his stupid reaction, immediately backtracking and telling you how happy he was, how badly he wanted to start a family with you. there would be a lot of hurdles considering his life, but he would be willing to go through all of them if it meant building a family with you.

[dykealloy]

spoilers up to the end of dressrosa arc here but. I can't stop thinking about how Law takes on Rosinante's will. Corasan freed him from Doflamingo and the marines and the world government and everyone that ever could have touched him at the time, but has Law really felt free? “Everything I do until I die represents what Corasan achieved” is sweet until you recognise that Law is willing (and planned) to go to the grave for that belief. Until Doflamingo dies there is always a part of him stuck in that treasure chest, constrained by what Law felt happened to Corasan due to him that day.

It's crazy how textbook survivors guilt victim Law is (I’m new here so I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the first time this has been brought up), but let’s just quickly go over some symptoms:

Obsessive thoughts about the traumatic event ✅ (will go over this in greater detail below)

A sense of disconnection or detachment/need to isolate oneself from others ✅ (Law doesn't fully isolate himself but he definitely has his walls up at all times, though there are often subtle hints of him enjoying the company of the people he chooses to surround himself with. He is notably more reserved, emotionally unavailable, cold and distant than others around him, and watching closely you'll notice that even physically he has a tendency to situate himself three steps behind the group)

Insomnia, nightmares, flashbacks of the traumatic event ✅ (if we can assume some of his backstory expressed in Dressrosa are flashbacks, and also assuming that the perpetual eyeliner he wears are covering some pretty heavy eyebags. Also mention that the only time we see him resting is against Sunny's mast on the way to Dressrosa - and that was 1. a filler episode, and 2. if he was sleeping, it was very quickly interrupted by an attack by petplay guy - a nightmare in of itself)

Irritability and anger ✅ (though elements of this could just be attributed to Law's personality or a natural response to the straw hat's shenanigans, as well as Luffy's total inability to stick to a reasonable plan)

Feelings of despair and thoughts of suicide ✅ (that's Law's Dressrosa arc babe)

Now, there's many reasons why Law is unable to move past this guilt (an apparent lack of therapists in one piece being one of them) - but his inability to believe in unconditional love is likely the biggest offender.

Law may have started off (initially) with one of the most fortunate, stable beginnings, with a loving family and a big house in a rich country (wealth of which was built off the back of lies and corruption and the murder of innocent future generations - we'll get there). But he had a mother and a father who loved and nurtured Law (and were both highly respected doctors in their own right who citizens trusted and relied on). Law's happy beginnings really juxtapose the unfathomable horror that had been lying in wait in Flevance.

Even when shit started to hit the fan, at a very young age (<10 yrs old), Law was already stepping up and showing love for his little sister (lying to her when she was on her deathbed, knowing full well he would likely face the same fate after reading his charts, putting on a brave face for her so she wouldn't be afraid when the screams began to reach their front door, hiding her away when soldiers sieged their home and rushing to check on his parents). Given everything that happened in Flevance, it's completely understandable that, while Law will likely never forget the love his family gave him, remembering it became twisted in the lasting memories of his home — parents riddled with bullet holes. a closet holding a sick little sister waiting for him in a house engulfed by flames. stumbling through a town of friends, neighbours, just... people he used to pass by on the street, now all dead.

Seeing hell, knowing why and how it transpired, who were responsible (spoilers, the World Government; the same body that most citizens believe exist to protect them — yeah, sister "a merciful hand of salvation waiting to help" were perhaps the worst possible combination of words you could have left Law with here. Likely instrumental in having him lose his faith "I don't believe in anything anymore."), knowing he is the only survivor, and fated to die anyway due to the terminal illness that is slowly killing him because some figureheads years back were greedy and the governing powers above the figureheads were willing to cover up everything if it meant garnering a portion of wealth and maintaining influence and control. It's beyond grief, beyond rage. And there's absolutely nowhere Law can put it. No one he can retaliate against. Who could come out of hell knowing this and not want to see the world burn?

So, smart little Law escapes under a pile of bodies and goes to the one person infamously revered for being in the business of that kind of thing. And boy oh boy I can only begin to imagine how a young and impressionable Law - fresh from a genocide, with a hole in his heart and a hatred for everything still alive - had his concept of love warped whilst surviving those two years around Doflamingo and his family. A family where members are only welcome so far as they are useful to Doflamingo and his aspirations. Of course Law's going to pick up some fucked up ideas about how love works outside this little white fence he grew up and watched burn down.

Then. Enter Corazon.

Their relationship may begin on shaky legs (near-juvenicide via defenestration in a failed attempt to ward Law away from sticking around) but Corazon quickly becomes the one person in the world Law can trust and rely on again. And Rosinante can only do so much in terms of healing and guiding this broken kid (yes, his position both as Doffy's brother and as a double agent made things difficult, but need I mention he was only 26! 26 when he died!) but he showed Law kindness and compassion when he was at his lowest. He had faith in the existence of a cure that Law was long past believing. Was determined to help him, even against Law's wishes, even if it meant having Law relive his trauma over and over again. Corasan becomes incredibly important to Law, giving him a reason to live beyond just destruction and revenge.

After the rest of the world had long turned his back on him, when he had been nothing but a dying puddle of rage and self-destructive nihilism, Corasan saved Law. He told Law "Aishiteru" - a very rare way of saying "I love you", never used casually due to the depth of its meaning and the massive connotations behind it - in essence translating to "I love you so much I cannot possibly imagine life without you". There's a high likelihood that at his age, Law had never heard these words before, and probably didn't quite understand the weight of Rosinante saying it at the time.

Corasan frees Law, then he dies at the hand of Doflamingo, Rosinante's own brother.

All Rosinante wanted was for this poor kid to go on and live his life unburdened by his more than turbulent history and his connection to Doffy, but I think for all his planning, Rosinante's one critical error was well and truly underestimating how much him loving Law, and loving Law to the extent he did, would mean to that kid. Law really went from that ten year old hollow void sentiment of "why does anyone or anything at all get to exist when everything that was important to me is dead, burned to ashes and wiped off the map" to "I should have died at age thirteen and every second I've lived since then, I've only lived as a result of Corasan's efforts and as a personal affront to Doflamingo." This time, Law has a tangible, heinous 10 foot monster of a target to direct 1. his grief and anger and 2. justice for Cora towards, and this time he has the power and will to follow through. More than that, he believes Corasan sacrificed himself for him because he's a D. (someone destined to rain down destruction on the gods - Doflamingo, in this case). Corazon becomes a saint that Law dedicates the rest of his life to. Which is something that Law is not vocal about to just anyone he comes across, but is so unbelievably obvious once you know what you're looking at — his tattoos, his jolly roger, his crew, his ship, his ambitions, his beliefs, his fucking. custom-made Corazon jacket. all of it for this man that showed Law - at a time when he hated the world and everything in it - love. For all of six months. max.

And his whole life and personality and behaviour CONTINUES to be guided by this trauma — the way he's reckless with himself, his borderline self-destructive actions, the way he keeps telling himself that none of it would've been worth it unless Corasan's last wishes are fulfilled, the way he surrounds himself with bright people and soft things, the way it doesn't register that his crew genuinely loves and cares about him, the way he's terrified of losing anyone important to him again (and I would say this is one of his biggest downfalls as a Captain compared to someone like Luffy - who is just as reckless as Law is but trusts his crew, doesn't try to send them away, isn't afraid to let them grow and risk their lives for him like Law is with the heart crew), his inability to take a damn compliment. The way he doesn't understand Luffy AT ALL.

Doesn't understand that this alliance that he's brokered means nothing to Luffy because he sees him as FRIEND. No transactions or mutually beneficial pacts necessary. Doesn't get that he's the one that inadvertently asked Luffy to be his friend, thus breaking a long chain of people (mostly parental figures and siblings) abandoning or leaving Luffy behind/no one taking the first initiative to ask to be around him. Law is complete and utterly in the dark as to why someone would ever bat for him when the stakes are this high for no other reason than because they like them and care about them as a person.

Luffy, with his playground rules where he loves unconditionally and will take on the world for a friend he made five minutes ago, perplexes Law with his sheer simplicity.

When Sengoku tells Law, "Don't try to find a reason for someone's love", I do NOT think he takes it well. Because there must be a reason. There has to be. Between the two options of Corasan saving Law's life and freeing him because he believed in the will of D., or Rosinante saving him for no other reason than because Law was a kid that was loveable, and because he loved him unconditionally... everything we've learned about how Law functions up until this point suggests the former will always make more sense to him, and after everything he's been through, is most likely less painful for him to accept.

[annleckie]

Reading AITA sometimes is like,

AITA for refusing to cancel our family's Thanksgiving tradition?

So, we do a regular, totally traditional Thanksgiving--the family gets together, we have all the traditional Thanksgiving foods at dinner, we watch football, and of course we do the Thanksgiving Mole Hunt.

So, my daughter (27F) lost her husband about five years ago. She was understandably really upset by this, and moved away for a while and met a lovely young man (30M) who she's getting married to next year. We're all happy for her and excited to meet this new family member. But when I emailed her inviting her and her fiancé to Thanksgiving, of course I said, "don't forget to pack your gloves and your mole hammer!" and her reaction was, well. She asked if maybe we could not do the mole hunt this year. Because her fiancé wasn't used to it.

But, I mean, the mole hunt is really important to my family! And to my husband's family and honestly lots of people around here are really into it. I told her no, we're doing the mole hunt, and now she's saying she's not coming to Thanksgiving. I don't understand it.

EDIT: Look, all you people in the comments saying "just draw pictures of moles, that's what my family does" are you kidding? You're going to appease the gods of the Underworld with a picture of a mole? And if you don't dig up moles, where do you get the worms for the worm roast? And don't tell me "buy them at the bait store" because bait store worms on your pumpkin pie is just, ew.

ANOTHER EDIT: So, I didn't put this in the post originally because I didn't want it to be too long, but people are asking if there's any reason my daughter is particularly adamant about not doing the mole hunt. The thing is, her first husband drew the short straw after pie one year and nobody thought it was any big deal but it turned out he didn't have a mole. He said he "wasn't feeling it" and so he just stood around drinking beer while we all dug up our moles. My daughter offered to give him her mole but I mean, when you're appeasing the gods of the Underworld you don't want to mess around. I do a traditional Thanksgiving, that's all there is to it. Really, it's not asking much for people to just dig up a mole to sacrifice in their stead in case they get the short straw! But my daughter was really upset, and I have to admit I wanted to say Oh come on who hasn't lost a spouse in the Thanksgiving mole hunt, but I realized that wouldn't be helpful.

AND ANOTHER EDIT: Look, I don't appreciate being called a "fucking bloodthirsty loon." I don't know how you all do Thanksgiving but these are important traditions to my family! And yes, I did lose my first two husbands on Thanksgiving but if they couldn't get up and stun a damn mole on Thanksgiving that's not my fault, is it?

LAST EDIT: I'm not replying to any more comments or messages. My daughter has said she's never talking to me again and has blocked me on everything. I'm heartbroken. On the other hand, that's more moles for the rest of us.

[octopus-punching-union]

Subaru Kagami headcanons

(some spoilers for Hotarubi chapter)

kind of a foodie

Has never thought of himself like that and would deny it if you ever pointed it out

"But of course I spend hours thinking about what snacks and tea my friends would like. It's just part of being a gracious host"

He doesn't really cook, though. If he tried, he could follow a recipe competently, but he would never serve a guest anything less than perfect. And cooking just for himself is a lot of effort and he's not very good at doing nice things for himself. (He has just hot water for breakfast??! Not even tea or coffee??)

He remembers his friends' favorites and makes sure he always has something they like on hand

(don't think about him being alone after the Clash and trying to figure out what to do with his stash of Zenji's favorite things)

On a lighter note. He was checking out Sho's food truck the instant it appeared on campus — he totally went to the mystery diner exactly once when it first opened. Like, even before Ren got hired, when it was just the anomalies working there. It was extremely awkward (he had so many questions and the anomalies can't talk), but he was polite and has never gone back. He doesn't even like to walk past the diner anymore because he feels so awkward about it.

sensory issues

Since he picks up residual memories from just about everything he touches, Subaru is very intentional about everything he buys — especially clothes that are touching his skin all day

Given all the issues with working conditions in the production of clothing, he has a hard time buying clothes and needs to touch everything. There are probably a few students in Hotarubi who are really passionate about sewing, knitting, or other textile crafts, and he goes to them whenever possible.

He puts so much work into helping you pick out a yukata for the summer festivals. He's anxious about taking up too much of your time, so he'll go beforehand so that he can take his time touching everything. He wants it to be perfect and to suit you in every way.

childhood / "rebellion"

Gifted kid burnout x 1000. Subaru has been working since he was four years old and his family is a big deal — he's been in the public eye since he was very young and always had to be on his best behavior because someone was always watching. (No wonder he has anxiety...)

So like, a lot of people who had a strict upbringing kinda go off the rails as soon as they get a little bit of freedom. But to (formal, reserved, self-conscious) Subaru, "subversive" means things like: 1) being a normal student at a normal school (not actually normal at all), 2) lying about the true nature of his stigma so that he won't be ostracized by his peers, and 3) advocating, through the proper channels, for his werewolf bff to be released from prison.

He feels like he's in his rebellious phase right now though, and that's what matters. Plenty of ordinary things feel thrilling just because he was never allowed to do them. Just being around people his own age is exciting! He's never had friends before.

(Ever since he was little, school always took backseat to his kabuki career. Now he's at the top of his class! He's so good at rebelling, guys 🥲)

He is (very slowly) learning to relax and be less formal. Zenji's death really affected him, and he doesn't seem totally comfortable around Haku. I'm really hoping Sho will help him to feel more confident and free!Lyca will cause problems and help him loosen up a little.

I really want him to go on a motorcycle ride with Sho at some point. I ship it think it would be cute. He would over-apologize for being nervous and clingy and Sho wouldn't even clock it as a big deal.

as your boyfriend

No matter what you do, your relationship will be a really slow burn. He's hesitant, afraid of doing something wrong, and genuinely doesn't understand why you would want him. You'll have to be the one pursuing him. (But, if you're patient, your relationship completely changes as he becomes more comfortable and confident.)

He loathes his stigma. It means you'll never have privacy from him, and at first he thinks you haven't considered the extent of it. Of course you'll change your mind, he thinks, once you realize it's constant and unending. He thinks of his affection and desire as an imposition that you'll find offputting, at best.

(Besides, there are plenty of people who would be better suited to being your partner, he thinks. Haku is so relaxed and has no problem joking around with you. Zenji is passionate and unafraid to express his admiration for you. In comparison, Subaru feels quiet and awkward and unable to talk about how he truly feels.)

He can't control what he sees with his stigma. It's frequently innocuous, but when he sees something painful or heavy, he feels that he's betraying you. Because you didn't choose to entrust him with those memories.

So when he accidentally sees something heavier, he'll share one of his secrets in return. He wants you to feel safe being vulnerable with him in this way.

(but sometimes, when you're asleep next to him and he's feeling particularly anxious or insecure, he might touch you hoping to see any reassurance that you're happy with him. He trusts you, he really does, but what if he's not good enough? What if you're only pretending to be happy to spare his feelings? He always feels like shit afterwards.)

Because of all this, he's really uncomfortable with physical affection at first. He feels a lot of guilt for wanting to be closer and wanting to touch you, and he worries that you'll think he's creepy or trying to dig through your past. His affection is sporadic, as he spends a lot of time worrying and mentally preparing.

Also, like. He sends a two paragraph text message full of pre-emptive apologies just to ask you to get lunch. He's going to be that stressed about all of your firsts.

Before asking you to be intimate for the first time, he'll wait until he's so pent up that he can't stand it, then he'll feel really awkward about asking. Because what if you don't want him? What if he's pressuring you just by asking? It's ok if you don't want to, he assures you, and he's so relieved when you say yes.

Not at all a fan of PDA. He'll sit closer to you when you're hanging out with the other ghouls. He might hold your hand if he thinks no one's paying attention. I think he would be clingy when really drunk, but then upon sobering up would be so embarrassed if anyone else witnessed it. (Haku would like gently tease him about it and he would be dying inside.)

He expresses his affection more often with food and gifts — nothing extravagant, just little things to show that he's thinking of you. He wants to spend a lot of time with you, even if he seems distant. Some of his more formal mannerisms with always be there, not because he's uncomfortable or trying to distance himself, but as a way of showing how much he respects and cares for you.

Over time, you become someone he can relax with, someone he feels secure around. He'll always hesitate for a moment before touching you, giving you a chance to move away, but he doesn't feel the crushing guilt anymore.

(he still doesn't eat breakfast, but it's because he would rather stay in bed with you in the quiet of the early morning. It helps him calm and center himself before getting up for the day.)

He wants a peaceful life with you, unremarkable except for the love that you share.

[papirouge]

This exchange made me realize that many of you tend to forget that Carmy is a late bloomer who never had any girlfriend before Claire which actually explains his awkward behavior. I know it because I too am an awkward late bloomer (around the same age as Carmy and sharing a lot of common with him) and his behavior totally made sense to me lol

I want you all to keep in mind that when you've been closed off romantic elationships for your entire life, you're not handling them the same way people who started dating in their teens or young adult years (Carmy is most likely in his early 30s and never got into any relationships before).

Carmy, like any late bloomer, was used to never being considered romantically, which explains why he freaked out when Claire started flirting with him and stopped thinking rationally (which is very unfamiliar for emotionally avoidant type like Carmy or I - we'll come back to this later). I understand Carmy's move of giving a false number to Claire yet still accepting to go out with her later may be confusing to many people, but as a fellow late bloomer I immediately clocked it : we are not comfortable with the attention people give to us, but we *know* this behavior is not normal/unhealthy so Carmy eventually giving in may be a way of eventually getting into the mold and abide to the "if you don't open up to others and give them chances, how can you expect building actual relationships?" mantra. Because deep down we want to be like others (because being so closed off all the time can become emotionally draining) and seek to find a way to fit in.

Another thing about people like Carmy/emotional avoidant type is that by being so closed off to the world, we are also extremely deceptive about who we truly are. It makes sense to me that Carmy hides his feelings for Syd and would rather project them onto Claire. That's definitely manipulative, but we'd rather do that than get "uncovered". We tend to think very rationally and our sense of self perseveration is incredibly strong. I just know that howing his bare feelings has to be one of the most terrifying and embarrassing thing for Carmy.

We also don't mind getting confused as someone we are not in which we feel some sort of relief because it keeps our real self away from others perception (if that make sense???). Carmy passing himself as "Logan" in that party -while being quite extreme- is totally on brand actually lol. I regularly get mistaken as a male (I'm lowkey gnc) but I never bother correcting people lol I'm fine being whatever they see me as, as long it's not the real me.

Talking about self preservation: we don't ask and don't tell. Carmy sister being mad at him for never asking her whether she was okay was extremely relatable because I tend to get the same reproach from my own sisters. Very typical of us. Fleeing to the other side of the globe to cope with a family member death is something I *get* because we are avoidant in nature. We can also be insane hustlers and tend to cope with grief or unhealed emotions through work.

On the positive side, we are extremely independent and self reliant. The scene in the fridge (last episode of season 2) where Carmy loses his shit and says he was mad at himself for indulging in all "this bullshit" (= love and relationships) I FELT THAT. Countless times I prayed to God to remove from my heart my "shameful" longing for love & intimacy that I always felt hindered me in my quest for excellence & satisfaction in any other aspect of my life. Because we are very rational & practical people and lowkey despise "useless" stuff like relationships and feelings. And that's where the messed up part comes up.

I wouldn't be surprised Carmy lowkey despises Claire for being so clingy and courting him so openly. As I just said, we tend to look down on (bold) displayal of love and emotion which lowkey repulse us. I think that's why Carmy dislikes his sister's husband when he's an all around good guy. He may have a resentment (and even jealousy?) against this man that has no issue showing affection - not only to his sister, but also the rest of the family. Which Carmy still struggles to do so far.

This may also explain why Carmy is suddenly so cold with Claire when he's serving her at the table (beside him allegedly previously making up his mind to break up with her). That's why the moment he hears that voicemail of Claire saying she "loves him" he THROWS AWAY his phone. Because that's disgusting.

I think the CarmyxSyd dynamic is unique because there's a dimension of respect between both. They share the same passion for cuisine, and Sydney constantly pushes Carmy out of his comfort zone. As an avoidant emotional attachment type myself, when I think of the type of people I potentially could be attracted to, I can only think of people I have deeply respect for, and bring objective value into my life AND skills. I've seen people criticize the fact that Sydney was pretty much a "warrior worker" for Carmy (and pretty much the whole Bear crew) and that's true. But regardless it's a good or bad thing, that's pretty much the type of profile that may attract avoidant emotional type of people. Bonding through work & shared passion is our safest field to build romantic connection through. That's why Carmy made Syd sign a partnership agreement instead of a marriage contract 💅🏾 that's the safest way for him to convey his feelings.

Again, we are very rational people and in every type of relationship, we instinctively jauge whether & how this person might be useful for us. It doesn't mean we built relationship with people depending on whether they can be useful for us or not, but that's definitely in a part of our head somewhere. Yes, that's fucked up (1/because we are 2/that's why emotionally distant people can become pretty unlikable - i.e Carmy carmying), but you have to keep that in mind to understand how Carmy moves. Which tracks back to Claire's actual purpose I've elaborated just before. He definitely uses her, but most likely unknowingly.

[iikatsukii]

His duties will not die.

synopsis: what if it was lo’ak and not neteyam…?

pairings: Lo'ak x TwinFem!reader, Sully family x Daughter/sister!reader

warnings: death mention & swearing.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this first thing when i woke up this morning i had to get it out my head. also i love emphasizing words with red text. also also i totally forgot to make this clear but you are lo'ak's twin sister, koa. the story takes place like 3 years after wotw.

it was always his fault. 

it was always going to be lo'aks fault. 

no matter what he did, how hard he tried, what he sacrificed, it would always somehow wind down to being lo'aks fault

… even if what he sacrificed was himself. 

"koa…"

you ignored your father as you had been since your twin died. the day your brother's life left his eyes in your arms was the day you vowed to never speak again if the person who understood you most was lying lifeless in your arms. 

"koa, it's been years babygirl. will you please just talk to us? please, we're all hurting. we all miss him. just please say something. anything." jake would do the same thing every day. beg and plead with you to talk to him or anyone on the island. having twins was already demanding, but it's even more complicated when one dies in the other's arms. and as if it couldn't get any worse, you went mute after your brother died, so jake felt as if he had not lost one but both of his children. 

you never slept or ate with them anymore, too focused on pulling your weight in the clan. you knew deep down your father didn't really want you to talk to him. he just didn't want to have to feel like he's lost another child. and to you, nothing else in this world could make you angrier. you spent years listening to your father grovel at your feet, begging you to say something to him. and suddenly, all those years went to waste when you finally snapped at him.

"you do not miss him." your voice was hoarse but not completely gone, as you would still speak every now and then. but it was only when you were alone or with payakan. you wouldn't sleep, so you would sneak out of your marui to visit your twin's soul brother, knowing he was the only other being in the world who knew how you felt. 

that was the first thing you had said to anyone in almost 3 years, and honestly, it hurt your father's feelings. 

"koa, you cannot say that," jake tried to defend himself, not expecting his daughter's first words to him in 3 years to be dripping with poison as she spoke to him. he was confused. why were you acting this way? 

"oh, so now i cannot speak because you don't like what i said? well, it's fucking true. you did this exact same shit to him all the time. do not try it with me, it wont work." you yelled at him.

"watch your mouth young lady." your father kept trying to give you warnings because he knew this wasn't you. he knew you were just speaking out if hurt and that you didn't really mean what you were saying… right?

"no! fuck you! this is all your fault. if you hadn't put so much pressure on him, he would still be here. it was always his fault, his fault, his fault. TAKE FUCKING ACCOUNTABILITY. HE WAS YOUR SON. HE WAS RAISED BY YOU. YOU TAUGHT HIM HOW TO BE HIM. ALL HE WANTED WAS FOR YOU TO SEE HIM. ALL HE WANTED WAS FOR YOU TO BE PROUD OF HIM. HE DIED TRYING, AND YOU STILL DON'T SEE HIM AND YOU NEVER FUCKING WILL BECAUSE HE'S DEAD AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT" every sentence was paired with a punch, a push, or a shove to your father's chest. honestly, jake just stood there and took it. you were his daughter, and you were hurting, so if you needed to punch and push him a few times to release some anger, then he would allow it. at this point, jake was willing to do anything for your forgiveness.

"koa, i understand that baby girl, but you have to heal now. you've been overworking yourself, not eating, baby, you barely sleep. this can't go on anymore. i can't allow you to keep killing yourself. i can't lose anyone else." your father said, tears clouding his eyes as he took in every word you said. 

you were right; looking back on all the times he had lectured his children, he couldn't even count on his fingers and toes how many of those times it was only lo'ak getting in trouble. jake is only now noticing how he would always treat you and lo'ak differently even though you were twins. to him, you were his princess, his baby girl, his fiercest daughter, and lo'ak was nothing but an immature warrior who wasn't ready for the world, let alone any raids. 

"oh, but it was okay to lose him?" you asked, voice already hurting because of all the screaming you had done.

"i didn't say that-" jake tried to explain, but you cut him off.

"NOBODY HERE CARES." you screamed, pushing away a bit harder this time, causing his frame to shift slightly. he gently held your forearms, trying to keep you within arm's reach so you wouldn't slip away from him.

it was quiet. 

"we are supposed to be pulling our weight in this clan. i do not care if you think i am killing myself. his duties will not die with him."

your older brother was tired of your silent treatment, as his father called it. he felt like you were being selfish. everyone lost lo'ak. it wasn't just you. the whole family had experienced a loss, and instead of coming together as you guys should have, you distanced yourself. you made it hard for the family to know how you were feeling or even what you were doing. they could almost always never find you. you were always out fishing or with tsireya weaving baskets and making jewelry for the little girls and boys of the clan. 

you would also sometimes talk to tsireya. well, not really talk. your brother's girlfriend had immediately respected that you had gone mute after the whole situation. if she had enough self-control, she would probably be right there with you. she taught you sign language upon your request so that you could still communicate with her. since you two were the only people close enough to really see lo'ak, you became inseparable, much to ao'nungs dismay. 

"koa, let it go. the whole family lost someone. this isn't only about you–" your older brother tried to get you to snap out of your little pity party, but then you snapped at him. 

"NO! I WILL HUNT MY PORTION AND CONTINUE UNTIL I CATCH FOR LO'AKS SHARE. I WILL WEAVE MY BASKETS AND CONTINUE UNTIL I HAVE WEAVED LO'AKS SHARE. I WILL TRAIN UNTIL ECLIPSE, THEN TRAIN MORE TILL MORNING FOR THE TIMES LO'AK SHOULD'VE BEEN TRAINING. THIS WAS NEVER FUCKING ABOUT ME," you yelled at your elder sibling, having pulled yourself from your father's grip upon hearing the bullshit that was coming out of his mouth. 

"it was his decision to go after the spider! he's dead because of the choices he made–" neteyam said. he knows in the back of his head he didn't really mean it, and he made a mental note to apologise to you later when you're not both about to rip each other's heads off in the heat of the moment. 

"IT WAS MY IDEA," you screamed at him, tears spilling down your cheeks. the whole family gasped; they were confused, especially neteyam and kiri. it was lo'ak who came to him with the idea of getting spider back, so…

"what are you talking about?" kiri voiced what everyone was thinking.

"it was my idea. i knew how much spider meant to you, kiri. you're my sister so i couldn't not do this for you. we had to save him. i convinced lo'ak that if he could get nete on board with the plan that we could go after spider and save him. if only lo'ak hadn't-"

"LO'AK ISN'T HERE." neteyam yelled at you. he didn't know where the volume or energy to yell came from. he was tired of being reminded of the brother he had lost. this wasn't something he wanted to keep reliving. 

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?! NONE OF YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO FEEL THE OTHER HALF OF YOUR HEART BE RIPPED OUT OF YOUR CHEST. IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES NO LESS."

"koa…" your mother finally spoke, pulling you into the hug you'd needed for the past 3 years. giving you the warmth that you could've used when you were crying yourself to sleep. sharing the comfort that has been passed around the family, and now, it is your turn to experience it. 

"sa'nu, he pushed me out of the way. he saved me and risked himself. he put his life on the line for me. my twin brother is dead and–" you said, sobbing into your mother's embrace as your father and little sister, tuk, slowly joined. 

"koa, my child… your brother is with the great mother eywa now… he is safe. if you want we can go to the tree of voices right now to visit him." your mother offered the thing that brought her to ease the most, visiting lo'ak at the tree of voices. 

you hadn't dared go anywhere near the cove of the ancestors after your twin died. you didn't dare to face him. worried that he'll lecture you after seeing what you were doing to yourself. he would probably find a way to blame himself too. 

"i don't want to see him. i want to be with him… i miss him." you cried, kiri and nete having joined the family hug as well. 

your anger had long since died down. after 3 years of pent-up emotion, you finally felt like you had people to support you. but as you looked into your mother and father's eyes, you said the one thing your family needed to hear. the one thing they needed you to say so they could properly help you. 

"my twin brother is dead, and it is my fault..." you cried to your parents. you don't really think it's jakes fault 

you think it is yours. 

your family was at a loss for words, so neytiri and jake decided that no words were meant to be said. they would determine what steps to take toward your healing tomorrow morning, but right now, they just needed to be there for you and be the parents you always needed them to be.

they wish their boy didn't have to die, trying to prove that he is beneficial to this family and not only seen as a burden. they wanted to be the parents that lo'ak always needed to be. the ones who love and do not lecture. the ones who were open-minded and didn't give orders. if only they could be those of parents for lo'ak, even if it just for one second.

[remember-digimon]

Next up is my favorite, Matt!

Wow what a cool guy.

So, Matt is usually described as a loner, Tai's rival, and the Angsty Cool Guy. None of these actually describe who he is, so let's dive into that.

1. Loner. Matt isn't a loner, he's lonely. Big difference. He keeps others at a very long arm's length as a self-preservation mechanism; due to his parents' divorce basically breaking his little heart at a really young age. He learned then that other people could hurt him by leaving, and decided from then on he wouldn't give them the opportunity to hurt him. His loneliness is so deeply rooted that it's interpreted by others as aloofness, while he is only 11 years old. Like damn wtf

2. Tai's rival. Outside of the Cherrymon incident, which was just good ol' manipulation to get the two most powerful Digimon in the group to fight, Matt was really only considered Tai's rival in early promotional stuff that had a little bio for each character. Matt likely gets interpreted as Tai's rival because they fight a lot, but it's not that simple. Matt doesn't want to compete with Tai, he doesn't want to be the leader. He butts heads with Tai because they're basically opposites. Matt is acutely aware of the group's feelings and needs, while Tai remains laser-focused on the goal at hand. This dynamic isn't like Ash vs Gary, where they're actively competing with each other. Matt gets frustrated with Tai very easily, and he feels things so intensely that he can't really help but blow up.

3. Cool Guy. Let's get one thing straight, this kid right here is not cool. This was more of a thing in the dub iirc, but regardless, his attitude is just a cover to keep people from getting too close. Hell, it takes Gabumon a few episodes longer than the other Digimon to really get close to Matt; before that point, Matt certainly isn't a total dick to Gabumon, but he isn't fully trusting yet either.

Matt's relationship with TK is an interesting one. He feels like it's his sole purpose to protect TK, not just from monsters but from anything unpleasant in life. All of the familial love and affection he gets comes from TK so it's understandable why he would feel this way.

One complaint I often hear about Matt is that his breakdown in the Dark Masters arc when TK gets kidnapped by Puppetmon is way overblown, that he wouldn't normally react that way. He left TK at the amusement park during Weregarurumon's Diner, and when he couldn't immediately leave he didn't break down like that.

The difference in these situations is obvious if you pay close attention. First of all, from the time the kids get up on the day Bakemon raid Odaiba to when they're back at the digital world and split up after talking to Homeostasis, is all one day. It feels much longer because of how many episodes that is, but they're all on at least 24 hours without sleep or taking a break. Also, keep in mind that Matt woke up earlier than the others, before sunrise, as his dad got him and Gabumon to the warehouse to keep them from getting abducted by the Bakemon.

Second, in that span of time the kids have all realized what they're up against. They've lost Wizardmon, Chuumon, Piximon, and Whamon in quick succession, the last three to the Dark Masters. Learning that his little brother has now been captured by one of these Dark Masters would lead Matt to fearing the worst.

Then there's the big fight he had with Tai just prior to the breakdown. He accused Tai of being obsessed with fighting and ignoring the others' grief at the loss of their Digimon friends. By the time he and TK are in the tree with their Digimon, he's already showing signs of wanting to break away from the group, saying that they don't need the others.

Matt also feels that his growth is stagnant compared to the others; this is untrue, as Gabumon would not be able to digivolve to higher levels if Matt wasn't growing and changing. But his self-image is so damaged that he always sees the negative aspects of his personality when comparing himself to his peers.

And of course we have to talk about the Dark Cave. Because of how the Digital World operates, Matt's depression materializes and manifests as a cave that he can't escape until he comes to terms with it. Obviously this quick recovery from a depression spiral is not based in reality, but this is an episodic kid's show so I'm surprised we even got this much.

Matt's experience in the cave is one that a lot of people who have dealt with depression and loneliness can relate to. He says he wants to be alone, but Gabumon calls him out on that and makes him realize that isn't what he wants, actually. He wants to be more open with people, he's just under the impression that he's not really important, not wanted, so it's better off to just not even try. His relationship with his mother is highly strained because of the divorce, and because he has an overwhelming sense of loyalty he probably feels he has to be cold to her for his father's sake.

As for his father, Hiroaki is at work more often than not. Every time we see Hiroaki and Matt interact, Hiroaki is either brisk and business-like or even annoyed; when Matt meets up with him at the TV station, Hiroaki is angry that he didn't stay hidden. Obviously this is out of concern for his son, but still. A moment later, when TK shows up, suddenly Hiroaki is much softer in speaking. So I imagine that this dynamic would also have an impact on Matt's mental health; his dad is almost always at work, and when we do see him with his dad, Hiroaki is a bit tough with him.

But it isn't all sad times and angst with Matt. He loves music, later forming a popular band in middle school and high school. Once he realizes that he can open up to people, and they won't intentionally hurt him, he's able to create real, lasting relationships that aren't based on the cold exterior he uses to protect himself. It's clear that he needed to learn to let others in, and once he did learn that, he becomes much happier and more willing to open up and let those walls down. Even if it's just a little bit.

[plusultraetc]

what do u think of traitor!mic 🫶 i honestly was confused abt it when i realized how popular it was relatively speaking … there was a lot of it from like? 2020-2021?!?! i wanted to know ur take on him ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

BESTIE YOU ARE ALWAYS ASKING THE DIFFICULT QUESTIONS. OKAY LET'S TALK ABOUT TRAITOR MIC.

The long & short of it is that I SEE the vision but unfortunately, he's just not for me 😭 That isn’t to say I’m not interested in other people’s takes on him (and am super open to post/fic/art recs if anyone has any; I recently saw this piece and had a full-body flinch reaction when I Realized. Like. OMG). I just have like. Zero thoughts of my own lol, because traitor!Mic is conceptually so opposed to my understanding of the character that I can’t quite au about it.

(Before I get into my longwinded nonsense, let me just add that we should have known Mic wasn't the traitor from the very start because if he had been the League of Villains would have been way more successful lmao)

So full disclosure, when I watched the first few seasons of MHA a couple years ago, I heard there was a traitor at UA and the first thing I blurted out was 'IT'S PRESENT MIC.' I honestly am not sure why I thought so at the time, other than the fact that he seemed like an incredibly unlikely candidate, and therefore was Very Suspicious to me lol. Like, I don't even think I knew he was the one who proposed the traitor theory--if I had, it would have been so over for him. I would have been convinced he was the traitor & trying to throw people off his scent maybe for the rest of my life. In reality I probably just thought he was too loud and goofy and therefore must be hiding something (what he was hiding was a tragic backstory, whoops!) But anyway I was actually really surprised when I learned traitor!Mic had become such a prevalent theory!

In many ways, I can totally see why. Mic makes a good candidate for a traitor! He's smart, he has reasons to be dissatisfied with the pro hero status quo, and as we learn, he has very distinct public and private personas--one of which is radio DJ Present Mic, and the other is really, really angry.

THAT BEING SAID. Looking back on it, I feel like the more we learned about Mic, the more the traitor theory kind of... falls apart. I almost feel like he's Too Angry under all that leather and hairspray to be a spy for the League. For example, if I was trying to stay under the radar as a villain spy, I wouldn't turn to the guy next to me and be like ‘HEY let's beat these civilian reporters up for trespassing ♥’

Mic has every reason to be angry. He lost a close friend in a villain attack at a young age, watched the toll his death took on his friends and family even while processing (or failing to process) his own grief, and later had to confront the reality of what really happened to Shirakumo--how intentional and therefore avoidable it was--as the world was falling apart around him. I’ve talked a little bit on this blog about my many Big Sad Feelings about the ‘middle generation’ of pro heroes between All Might and the up-and-coming UA students, but more than anyone else, I think the UA teachers are a very conflicted group. It’s like… not quite ‘former child soldiers raising current child soldiers,’ but a similar concept, especially for characters like Mic, Aizawa, and Midnight, who had such a traumatic experience during their own years at UA. Now they are very much responsible for the children they are going to *checks notes* send into the same, and in some cases even more, dangerous situations that chewed them up and spat them out as teenagers. Very healthy, very mindful.

So Mic does have reasons to be disillusioned, but the thing is, he very actively participates in an often-hypocritical pro hero society. (This is not a criticism of him btw; many characters in the series do, and it’s often what makes them interesting!) Something that’s come up in book club is the fact that Present Mic is a public figure with a platform of his own and absolutely no problem loudly critiquing other heroes and even students, but he like. Really Hates the media. It’s almost funny how much he dislikes them. This is as good a reason as any that traitor!Mic should have been a hard sell, because his feelings about the media are directly opposed to those of the early League of Villains--ie, the iteration of the League when the traitor’s intel would have been at its most valuable. The early League loves the media; they want to use them to sensationalize and legitimize their message. Present Mic, meanwhile, uses his incredibly limited screentime to quite literally get in their way. He could have 100% made better use of his platform & connection to the press to aid the League.

I did try to approach this question from a non-erasermic lens, but I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about Aizawa at all for two reasons: 1) unfortunately, Mic is a side character. He doesn’t have THAT many appearances throughout the series, and most of the time, he appears with or somehow-relating-to Aizawa, and 2) you can’t talk about a traitor without talking about who they’re betraying. And honestly, I just can't see him betraying Aizawa--not after everything they've been through together, not after weathering Aizawa's darkest years, and not now, when All Might's imminent retirement (that the UA faculty is aware of in advance) means that big changes are looming on the horizon for all pro heroes. Mic himself acknowledges that the age of All Might has made them complacent--he knows that the end of the Symbol of Peace spells trouble, and that current pros are largely unequipped for a world without All Might. He has a tendency to prioritize others, especially Aizawa and those he cares about, above himself, and right now would be the very worst time to sell All Might/UA/etc out to the League.

And then of course there's the obvious: he really is just. Very kind. We don't get nearly enough Present Mic throughout the series, but what we do get tells us that he's supportive, protective, somewhat-sassy and Doing His Best. Like yeah, he roasts the other characters literally every chance he gets, and he can def be judgmental, but when it counts (when Uraraka was feeling guilty that Midoriya stayed behind to rescue her during the Entrance Exam, when Bakugou and Todoroki needed someone to supervise their remedial training, when Ms. Ikoma became overwhelmed by her students' admittedly poor behavior), he steps up for the people around him. Idk he's just a really solid hero. This is my formal apology to Present Mic for suspecting him in like 2018 or whenever it was.

THANK YOU FOR OPENING UP THIS CAN OF WORMS, do you have any thoughts on traitor!Mic? Any recommendations? Does anyone? 👀

[culiehua]

Jem's ancestral origin

bc @jaimrennnn pointed it out again, here are my thoughts on Jem's maternal ancestry bc it only now occurs to me that the following are not just regular thoughts normal non chinese people have 😭:

Literary review: Jem speaks Mandarin and not Shanghainese, it's assumed he is from the north. But where? Why?

Now this is where it gets interesting:

一 The language(s)

Nothern Chinese dialects include quite a few different dialects; there are over 300 languages in China in total – and most are not mutually intelligible. At all.

(As someone who is also fluent in Mandarin and wouldn't understand a thing in ancient Shanghai... I feel his pain)

Mandarin is the official language in all of China TODAY, however, the Beijing dialect based Mandarin as we know it today did not undergo nationwide codification until the early 20th century.

And it was only in the 1800s that a shift to Beijing based Mandarin happened. Previously, and into the 1800s, Nanjing based Mandarin was the official Standard during the Ming (1368-1644) and part of the Qing dynasty (1644-1911).

While both would be plausible Mandarin varieties that he could have spoken given the time period, what we see Jem use though is the Beijing based version of Mandarin. While Nanjingese is semi-intellegible for speakers of Beijing Mandarin, it is notably different. So you are right: He does not use any other variety in the written text we see, therefore Mandarin being his only Chinese language means he or rather his family are likely not only from Northern China but speak a dialect that, at least in unintonated pinyin form, is exactly the same (note: we are assuming they don't have a notably different one bc dialect speakers are very particular about keeping their dialects alive as they do not really exist in written Chinese).

But there's more! The northern Mandarin dialects (not just Mandarin the official language) may belong to the same language family and some can be vaguely understood amongst each other (that's why it is also common to have instances where people speak with each another in different dialects, each understanding the other but unable to speak the other dialect) but 1) not all provinces above the Yangtze are Mandarin variety dominant: Zhejiang and south Jiangsu for example are predominantly Wu-dialect heavy (think Shanghainese) which are... not understandable as a Mandarin speaker lol while some dialects from Sichuan or Shandong for example may be easier to understand (remember there are many dialects, even from different language families, in each province).

and b) there's also the fact that even Mandarin varieties don't... necessarily understand each other. You can definitely hear the difference in speech even if they aren't different in grammar or vocabulary!

What do we know about Jem tho?

Jem speaks in a very... classic kind of way I suppose? There are no real regional colloquialisms, he sounds very Standard Mandarin (pronunciation not evaluable) but he does use some literary words that I'd never use in my life (separate post on that) which makes his Mandarin very textbook elegant. He doesn't have the classic /r/ marker at the end that many northeners have either. He doesn't have the Dongbei Mandarin accent either, the Xiajing dialect is something else, etc etc.

He does use the the Wade-Giles system of romanization (based on the Beijing dialect, was the anglophone system of transcription in the 20th century) when speaking English though (I Ching, Kwan Yin) which amuses (and...confuses) me bc he speaks Chinese in perfect Hanyu pinyin? So I'd say he englishifies Chinese terms when speaking English.

(There's also the problem that he was young when he lost contact to the language environment and that he had two L1s growing up resulting in crosslinguistic interference anyway. Mixed linguistic backgrounds do often result in the development of a "clearer" accent, or lack therof...)

二 The Ke family name

I've talked about it before, but Chinese family names have meaning. In the past last names were location bound, i.e. you'd have wider clan names for all the people from one region (which is what put Ke on the top 100 most common last names list in the first place. Yes that list exists). So you can look up where these names originate from or rather where they are common.

So far, I'd narrow the name origin down to these places: Shandong and Hubei (Wu dialectal regions excluded bc we assume he has no other background dialect; nomadic tribes also excluded bc traces unclear).

Why they would make sense:

Hubei the hometown of bronze and birthplace of Chinese modern industry for Steel works (haha... "they shatter even the strength of iron or of bronze". But that was after Jem). It's basically in the heart of China, a lot of cultural history, and the weather is very hot (they are called one of the three furnaces...) it's said that people there are louder and easier riled up bc of the weather. But the Hubei dialect does sound pretty different from the Standard. So there's that.

Shandong is famous for being a cultural and religious center for Taoism, Buddhism and Confucianism (Hometown of Confucius!!) ... and also for having the tallest people in the country. The people here are also very bold and straightforward but also very hospitable with a generally good reputation, the common hero personality. It is also an agricultural center (ahem, Ke ≈ tree, remember). Character wise, it fits. There are a lot of Shandong people who moved to Beijing a long time ago since it's very close.

Given that neither Jem nor Wenyu seem like hot-headed people, but rather practical, calm, honest and are believers of buddhism and chinese philosophy (reincarnation wheel + with how often Jem refers to that thousands years old book you'd believe he has it printed behind his eyelids...), I'm rather inclined to guess their ancestors are from Shandong originally, i.e. the chill ones. (Yes you cannot generalize people but we have nothing on them 😭). However, I believe they have lived in Beijing for generations.

What is also interesting is that the average victorian Englishman stood at 167cm. As of now, the English average height is 175±6(m) and 162(w). In Shandong, the average height now is 175(m) and 169(w). But in the Qing dynasty the average northern man was this tall already. So I'd go on the taller spectrum for the nephilim and say Wenyu, as a northerner, is atleast 170. Jem is considered tall, somewhere between 178 and 180cm. Calculating this into the height, Jonah is max. 178cm. Since the Carstairs weren't tiny either, this fits. (Shandong people are the tallest people in China, followed by Beijing people. Tall girl Wenyu supremacy!!). I think Shadowhunters are taller bc of exercise that's why you have Will at the same height but Jem could definitely not do as much physically, having to rely more on efficiency and genes so I believe he has tall!genes but he definitely did not get that primarily from the victorians.

三 Wenyu's pre-Shanghai residence

From what we also know, the Ke family ran the Beijing Institute as well (Jia, née Ke, and her hubby). It wouldn't be far fetched to say that they've been running it since way back. After all, the Ke's are also still in charge of Shanghai and the Herondale's ran London well into the 1990s.

What we also know is that Jem's mom, Wenyu, was sent as an ambassador of the nephilim to the emperor for a meeting at the Yuanming Yuan, burned down around a decade and a half prior to Jem mentioning it, so the visit occured before Jem could ever remember it.

Historically, from mundane history, we know this: Emperor Xianfeng ruled from 1850-61, the Garden was burned down by Europeans in 1860 during the 2nd Opium War.

Wenyu was born in 1839, so she probably went there as a late teenager. She had Jem at 21 and also moved to Shanghai with Jonah years later. Now why would China's nephilim send some random teenage girl to Beijing to talk to the ruler? Why would they send her from perhaps angel knows where thousand miles away? Unless... she was sent from the Beijing Institute? Who knows. Chaos breeds demons. (It's also odd that Cassie changed the timeline to this happening when Jem was 2 or 3. Was this supposed to mean that he might have witnessed it? Idk).

Beijing was the capital, and if the nephilim, as a race, would send an ambassador, it would make the most sense to send one from the local institute. Jem did not grow up learning another local differing variety either, leading me to believe both Wenyu and Jem were born in Beijing and learned court Mandarin.

四 Conclusion

I believe that Jem's maternal family originates from the Shandong/Beijing area but lived in Beijing for centuries before taking over Shanghai too, since they are not shown to know or speak any other distinctive dialect and the Shandong dialect, due to it's close similarity to the Standard variety, could have lost it's accent over time there with the surrounding Beijing dialect, the court dialect and their complete mutual intelligibility. Clan origin, height and personality also hint at this, as well as Wenyu's travel log. Jem's Chinese is very standard and does not deviate; he seems sophisticated and has a clear pronunciation. Beijing born and raised!

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

hi Jake! I absolutely love your blogs, and I’m wondering if you can do some Homicidal Liu/liu woods hcs? :3 please & thank you!!

GUH LIU <333 He's my special guy I love him

TW: Mentions of abuse, trauma, very light gore, a little angst

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Liu Headcanons

The biggest thing about Liu that effects his day to day life is his DID

He grew up in a very dysfunctional home, where his parents only really had kids as makeshift butlers and to live vicariously through them

Liu, being the older brother had a lot of the "harder" tasks given to him such as cooking for the family, making sure everyone had clean clothes, when jeff was a baby he had to change jeff's diapers, etc

So both kids were very mentally unstable from the start, but what really set the hammer in the coffin for Liu developing DID was that whenever he either did something wrong or didn't do his "chores", he was severely punished by being locked in a closet with no food, water or bathroom privileges for unknown amounts of time

This being said, he has waaay more alters than just Sully, Sully is just the one that fronts the most due to Sully being the main protector of the system

Other than Sully, Liu's system is made up of mostly littles and caretaker alters

Which can be very scary at times, so he does everything in his power to make sure that if someone does happen to front, it isn't any of the littles

Ok, i'm done talking about his DID now

I imagine him to either be fully Columbian or mixed Columbian with American

Jeff is the same way

Speaking of Jeff, Liu is about 5 years older than Jeff

Also on the topic of Jeff, Liu still very much loves his brother, and understands that during the "incident" he was very mentally unstable and he wasn't entirely in control of his own actions at the moment

But after being reunited with Jeff, it took a very, very long time for Liu to even stay in the front of his mind when around Jeff, let alone feel safe around him

Over the years, their relationship has significantly improved

Liu still doesn't feel comfortable being alone with Jeff, or even really going anywhere with Jeff, but he is able to hang out with him and talk

His height is around 5'9"

He always smells like vanilla and sometimes like a grandma's perfume

SPEAKING OF GRANDMAS

Liu is a total grandma

He says "oh lordy lord" after waking up from a long nap, he does the english teacher cardigan tuck, he says "kids these days", etc

But he's chill guys I swear (Jeff come get your boy he just said "Flabbergasted" in front of the hoes)

Also he loves plants

so much

someone stop this guy

It started out innocent enough, just a few plants to take care of because he read that taking care of plants can help with depression

And then he kind of spiraled

He has names for all of them, designated personalities, sometimes he knits them clothes for their pots

He's generally a very quiet guy

I wouldn't say shy per se....but he's like....shy in a cool history teacher way

guys he takes it up the butt

Woah who said that??? wild. Anyways!

He's so gentle and calming guh..

Love that guy, he's so special to me

ALSO he doesn't techincally have any pets but like...there's this one stray cat that comes around that he feeds and in return the cat brings him little dead things

He's named him "Harold Jackson"

He likes to read

He's one of those booktok girlies with all the tabs and highlighters

Genuinely squeals like a bitch when he sees a "Penguin Classics" book out in public

(I'm projecting onto him)

His proxy tattoo is on his shoulder, like right on top of it

He got his ears pierced at the young young age of 25 (reluctantly. Jeff forced him)

And now he wears all sorts of fun earrings! (he wears those e-boy cross earrings...)

His spotify wrapped consisted of David Bowie, Hozier, Cigarettes after sex, and mitski

His favorite color is beige and his hobbies include ironing clothes and sending emails <33

Guys idk if you can tell but i love him a lot

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature. 

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours.  “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles.  He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.  

“Well, apology accepted.” 

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around. 

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.” 

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway? 

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer." 

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite. 

"I'll be there." 

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day. 

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.  

It is still completely the same.

=== 

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up. 

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?" 

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy." 

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle. 

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm. 

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him- 

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch. 

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further. 

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.  

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration. 

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake… 

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.” 

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.” 

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

 “And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-” 

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled. 

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said? 

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it. 

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind.  “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation. 

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh. 

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him. 

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety. 

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason. 

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.  

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.  

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball. 

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension. 

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest. 

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface. 

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point. 

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything! 

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.”  You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him. 

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange. 

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute. 

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.” 

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair. 

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him. 

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.” 

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.  

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride. 

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp,  “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.” 

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets.  “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.” 

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over. 

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.” 

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

 Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection. 

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right? 

Oh my God, it is. 

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with.  “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.” 

“Is there?” 

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good. 

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.  

“I’m waiting, darling.”  You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin. 

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time. 

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows. 

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well  albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.  

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room. 

Though he has no rush to join you. 

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him. 

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that. 

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.”  And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.” 

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax. 

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better. 

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance. 

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him. 

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do. 

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big. 

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent. 

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too.  “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.” 

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-” 

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.” 

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily? 

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already. 

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on. 

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan. 

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light. 

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides  into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant. 

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self. 

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks. 

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.” 

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out. 

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind. 

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

[skyfallslayer]

Should We Stay or Should We Go? || Chapter Five - Part 1

-A ST Rewrite Feat. Steve Harrington x Henderson!OFC-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🎲Summary: Hopper breaks into Hawkins Lab, while Nancy and Jonathan confront the forces that took Will and Steph. The boys, and even to their surprise, Steve, ask Mr. Clarke how to travel to another dimension; All while Stephanie frantically starts looking for Will after hearing his cries.

🎲Pairings: Will x Platonic!OFC; Dustin x Sister!OC; Slow burn! Steve x Henderson!OFC (Ex-bestfriends to Lovers); Slow burn! Byler

🎲Rating: Teen-Mature

🎲Word Count: 22,544 (In Total)

🎲Date: 7/31/24

🎲Warnings: Heavy Angst; Heavy Language & Dialogue; References To Broken Friendship; Mental Strain/Breaking Down; Physical Fighting; Lying; "Death"; Funerals; Crying; Talks of Corpses; Being Drugged; Brief Alcohol Consumption; Unwanted Touching; Suggestive Dialogue; Suicidal Thoughts; Minor Blood; A Certain "Curse" Comes Into Play Early; The Byers Family's Mental Strain; Hopper Being a Great Cop & A Total Mess; Dustin Being a Gangster & A Overprotective Brother; The Harringtons' A+ Parenting; Steve's Emotional Damage & Signing Up To Be A Babysitter; Stephanie & Will Deserved All The Love, man. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(And let me know if I missed anything)

🎲A/N: Heads up, Readers! This document is split between two parts. For some reason Tumblr said I reach my 1,000 space limit, or something like that and wouldn't let me post it because it's so long. But at the very end of this part will be a spot you can click on for the next. Hopefully where I cut it off makes sense. Hope y'all in for a treat :) - And as you probably will notice when you're reading this, I left out Lonnie, Joyce's ex-husband. I left the scene out of chapter two where Jonathan goes to meet him and inform him that Will is missing. I felt like I really did need to write that, kind of like I don't feel like writing him in this chapter either. He doesn't exactly benefit this story, and this chapter/episode, is the last appearance of the character anyway, so... I just decided to just cut him, and replace his intense "dialogue" with a scene between Joyce and Jonathan. Hope you understand, and enjoy this chapter ❤️

Hopper wasn’t sure what he was even doing or thinking anymore. He got the answers he was looking for, but there were still some follow up questions about those answers that he needed to know. When the horrible, horrible thought crossed his mind about breaking into the morgue and seeing if the poor kids’ bodies were even real, he barely even hesitated. Why he didn’t hesitate kind of scared him. I mean, did deep down he know his doubts might be real?

So he swallowed and drove over to the place, still in his street clothes, hat discarded in his seat, and smelling like cigarettes and three hour old alcohol. He got out of his car, parking illegally, and was surprised to see the receptionist outside the door.

“Hey, Patty. Heading home?” He said, and she perks up upon seeing his face.

“Oh, Chief. Perfect timing. I was just debating if I should call you or not.” She says, confusing him.

“Is there a problem?”

“I…” She sighs. “I-I don’t know. About… ten minutes ago, I would say, a young lad came in and said his brother left something behind and wanted to retrieve it. I let him do it, but I noticed he hasn’t come back. And when I try calling out to the officer in the back I get no response. Frankly, I’m a little freaked out to investigate myself.”

A young lad? An officer? That’s weird. “Did you recognize this man? The one who came in?”

“I don’t recall seeing him this morning. Just Ms. Byers, her son and of course Ms. Henderson. But that’s all I’ve seen all day.” Patty explains before pointing in the distance. “I’m assuming that’s his car.”

Hopper follows her finger, a familiar black BMW was parked a few feet away. If it wasn’t for her pointing it out, he surely would have missed it since the area had poor lighting. It didn’t take him long to realize who’s car that was.

He puts on a front to calm her. “I’ll see what’s going on. Just wait right here. I’ll make it quick. ‘Kay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Chief.”

As soon as he’s inside, his hand is already on his holster. Judging by the car, he knew the Harrington kid was here, which he’s not exactly sure why; But to be honest, him being here was his least concern at the moment. He was more concerned about another officer being here. I mean, this was a morgue, people unfortunately die all the time, whether it was just natural or part of a crime; So it didn’t make any sense why the murders of two local kids would get special treatment.

His mind of course wanders back to the bar earlier where he had to beat the crap out of O’Bannon just to get some answers.

.

“Okay…” Hopper pins him to the wall. “Let’s try this one more time.” He grabs the man by the chin, squeezing. “Who told you to be out there? What were you doing out there?” He watched for an answer, and when he wasn’t getting any, he dialed back his fist.

“I don’t know!” David shouts. “I don’t know. They… they just told me to call it in and not let anybody get too close.

“Get close to what?!”

“The bodies.”

.

The bodies. Someone told him not to get close to the bodies. There was something about Will and Stephanie’s bodies that no one was supposed to get close to, and needed a cop to guard the morgue.

And I am a little afraid to find out why though. As Hopper got closer to the back, he immediately saw something that made him draw out his gun. The cop, whom he didn’t recognize at all, was lying unconscious on the floor (At least he hoped he was unconscious). He runs over quietly, and squats down to check for a pulse. Breathing. That’s good.

Now for the real question is… why was he unconscious? Was this the teenager’s doing? He frowns and pushes open the unlock door carefully, and steps inside. The cold temperature hits him hard but he doesn’t shiver; Maybe it was the adrenaline that was pumping in his veins, and pulled his heart to his feet. It was so eerily quiet, it was like straight out of a horror movie. He had half expected someone to come through the shadows with a knife. As he move inland more, he heard some shuffling and someone muttered, ‘What the fuck’, and then decided to push open the door to the fridge.

He must have startled the other party, which so happened to be the Harrington kid, brown eyes blown wide and (Oh, the irony) a knife pointed his way. They both stared at one another in silence, both surprised to find each other here…

Both surprised that they had the same idea/doubts.

Hopper’s eyes trailed past the boy’s shoulder, landing on the table where he could see the top of the dead girl’s head. What is he–

Then he stops himself when he notices something else. In the tips of Steve’s fingers, he sees a small ball of… cotton. Afraid, but he didn’t show it, he starts walking towards the table, lowering his weapon as Steve sidesteps to give him room – Hopper’s heart almost stops. He sees the incision immediately, and the white fluff pooling out of it. The two of their gazes meet, silence was enough to tell the adult everything. 

Deciding he needed to know more, he pulls the sheet back over the body and slides her back in before searching for another one. In the drawer below, he pulls out Will’s body and pulls the sheet back. It was still a sickening sight to see, despite knowing damn well it was a fake; But he still needed to know. Still not saying any words, Hopper holds his hand out and Steve gets the message and hands over his blade.

With no hesitation, Hopper digs into the realistic flesh, the flesh that was dry and had no prior incisions like it should have, and pulls out the same fluff like the last one. 

Oh, my God. His doubts were real. The bodies were fakes. But if that was the case, where were the children? Closing the blade and handing it back, Hopper grabs the teenager by the bicep and strings him along. “Come on.”

They leave in a hurry, only slowing their pace when they see Patty outside. Hopper puts on a cheeky smile, still holding onto Steve. “Dang, teenagers. Always wanting to do a good prank.” He chuckles. “Everything’s all good. Goodnight, Patty.”

“Uh…” She stares at him, slightly confused but still waves goodbye. “‘Night, Chief.” He drags the boy back to his car, glancing back to make sure she was inside before exploding. 

“Hey, listen–” Steve begins, as he tries to wiggle out of his hold.

“What did I say about forgetting our conversation at school?” Hopper snaps, and let’s go.

He scoffs and gives him a look. “How could I forget? Especially the way you reacted? How could I forget all that?”

“Listen, son, whatever this is–” The adult gestures around. “Is dangerous. Something’s going on, and it’s a dangerous slope.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know?” Now it was Hopper’s turn to scoff. “Then why the fuck are you running head first into this?”

“‘Cause I had doubts too. I thought about everything, and nothing’s adding up, Chief.” Steve explains, getting a groan from the man. “Nothing’s making sense. They said the two of them drowned in the Quarry, but I highly doubt that. But, who knows! Maybe they did get pushed towards the Quarry, but they also took a shotgun with them. If someone was chasing them to a cliff, why didn’t they use the gun? Why did they feel like they had to make their bodies fake? Were they actually taken and not lost? Or–”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Hopper says, holding his hand up. “I know you have questions, I get that, but you really need to stop and let me handle it.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not letting this go.”

“You should. Before you get hurt.”

“They stuffed my friend like she was a fucking stuffed animal!”

“I thought she wasn’t your friend anymore?” Hopper asked, and Steve shut his mouth and looked away. His face softens a tad. Just a tad. “Listen, something is definitely going on, that’s as clear as day. But when I poked around today, I noticed someone was following me, which means I’m getting close to something that I’m not supposed to.”

“That means you’re on the right track then.”

“Yes. But that’s a track that I don’t want you on.”

“Chief–”

“Steve.” Hopper steps closer, and grabs him by the shoulder. “I know this is an emotional time, but I need you to trust me, and let me do this. Please.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can’t see another kid get hurt or die on me. So trust me, and stay away. Okay?”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. Go home. Be safe. And please, do not do anything stupid.” He warns, because he’s about to do something stupid. But Jim Hopper doesn’t really know Steve Harrington all that well.

Because the teenager was already planning on doing something stupid too.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Besides the migraine, Stephanie wakes up to the sound of screaming. She shoots up from her sleeping form, big blue orbs blown wide and adrenaline starts to spike. Memories came in slowly, remembering the way her body basically gave her the finger and shut off on its own, falling into the deepest, but dreamless sleep. Her body felt colder than usual, and hugs herself for warmth.

What is… She winces at the pain in her temples spike, followed by a small drop of blood coming out of her nose. Slowly, she reaches up to touch, her fingertips stained red. She wonders if she hit her head too hard when she fell over. That could explain the headache, the nosebleed and the feeling of being in a fog. Hopefully she didn’t give herself a concussion. That’s the last thing she needs.

And that’s when she hears the scream again.

She felt a shiver, not from the cold, run down her spine immediately. She knows that scream so familiar now, it’s engraved in the back of her skull.

“Will.” She mutters, and looks around. Sure enough everything was here except for him. “Will?!” And then another scream, and Steph wastes no time to grab her pistol and bolt back towards the house. “WILL!!”

Completely scared – heart beating, head pounding, blood trickled down her chin – and the thought of not losing her footing was keeping her going. She doesn’t know why he was gone. Did he run off on his own? Did the monster get him? She’s not so sure, and she doesn’t care. She just needs to find him and make sure he’s safe. 

“Will!” She shouts again, completely obviously how short the run time was,  and rammed through the back door and–

Right back outside. 

She stumbled to the stop, and her eyes burned in the light, the buttercream sun and the sound of peace, and the feeling of warmth she hasn’t felt for days now. Confusion hits her now, and she suddenly finds herself on her very own lawn that was connected to her very own home. She blinks, and looks around, spinning on her heels like a twirl. Everything looked… normal. No weird snow-like substance falling from the sky, no darkness, no weird plants that pulsate, and drop temperatures close to zero. She was back home, and totally not in a scary place she’s been stuck in.

But how did I– How did I get back here? She touches her head, thinking. None of it made sense. She ran through Will’s back door and now she’s here? Back at her home? The normal version? This doesn’t–

Then, a car pulled into the driveway, making her breath get taken away. It was a 1960s station wagon, her Mom’s car, her Mom’s old car, The one that had gotten totaled in an accident years ago. 

She tilts her head, squinting like it would just change at any second. Why is it–

Then the front door opened in a flash with another shocking sight. Her grandmother, the one that passed away when she was just a kid, was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on her non-sickly face.

// Oh, baby, they’re here // She says, and that’s when she’s hit with another strike to the gut.

Stephanie watched as her barely five year old self shifted around her granny, practically bouncing down the steps towards the yellow car. Her mother gets out first, with a small bundle of cloth in her arms, which her younger self was giggling about.

// Stephanie, come meet your brother, Dustin // She said, with a smile that touched her eyes and soul.

Her younger self laughed as she showed her baby sibling. // Hi, Dustin //

Stephanie stared, the confusion intensifying by hundreds, no even sure what else to say except, “What the fuck…?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hopper manages to sneak through the door just as a scientist left for the night. He was out of his mind, he knows that for sure, especially since he decided to trespass into Hawkins Labs that seemed more guarded the last time he was here. He was also more out of his mind when he decided to head inside the place that was blocked off and had two large hazardous signs on the entrance. Well… what do they say?

You only live once.

The hallway was short lived, leading right up to a door that was of course locked, and unable to access it without a passkey.

“Shit.” He said, unaware of the two security guards rushing up behind him.

“Hands up!” They shouted, guns drawn. “Forgot all the cameras, bub?”

Hopper decided to play it cool, his face calm with a smile as he slowly turned around, hands in the air. “Look, Dr. Brenner asked for me specifically. Okay? How else do you think I got in here?”

One of the guards raised an eyebrow, using a free hand to reach for his walkie. “What’s your name again?”

“It’s Jim Hopper.” A little chuckle. “Chief Jim Hopper.”

He presses the button. “Yeah, I’ve got Jim Hopper–”

And the Chief landed a punch across his jaw, sending him to the floor and grabbing his gun. He immediately points it to the other party, and pins both his arms against the wall. The guy over the radio shouts what’s going on, but Hopper ignores it and takes the guard’s weapon away from him too.

“Hey…” His fingers latched around the badge. “You mind if I borrow this one?” 

He plucks it off and swipes the card, never taking his eyes on the conscious guard until the door shuts. As soon as he’s in the dark room, Hopper shoots a bullet through the card reader, trapping himself inside.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the boys were back at the Wheeler house, all lounging around in the basement, trying to process everything they heard on the radio.

“What was Will saying? Like home... but dark?” Mike said, pacing around, occasionally glancing at Eleven who was laying in a daze on his couch. He feels a bit bad that they might have pushed her too far tonight.

“And empty.” Lucas adds, face in his hands.

“Empty and cold.” Dustin says, sitting on the steps, a worried look on his face. “Wait, did he say cold? And who was he talking to?”

“Could have been your sister.” Mike suggested.

“No. He said my sister was passed out. There’s no way that was her.” Dustin groans. “That stupid radio kept going in and out.”

“Like home. Like his house?”

Lucas perks up with a snap of his fingers. “Or maybe like Hawkins.”

“Upside down.” El mutters from her spot on the couch.

“What’d she say?”

Mike was suddenly hit with realization and springs over to the table. “Upside down!”

“What?”

“Upside down.” He waves them over, and flips his upside down game board back over. “When El showed us where Will and Steph were, she flipped the board over, remember?” He flips it over again. “Upside down. Dark. Empty.”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked, meeting his other friend’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, I’m a little lost.” Dustin said, sheepishly. 

“Guys, come on, just think about it.” Mike pressures. “When El took us to find them, she took us to Will’s house, right?”

“Yeah. And they weren’t there.” Lucas points out.

“But what if they were there? What if we just couldn’t see them? What if they were on the other side? What if–” He flips the board back to its normal side. “This is Hawkins and–”  And then back to the blank side. “This is where they are? The Upside Down.”

Dustin gasps. “Like the Vale of Shadows.” It took his friends a moment to process the reality of this as he fished out his ‘unofficial’ D&D guidebook. He flips to the page he was talking about. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you, and you…” He locks fearful eyes with them. “Don’t even see it.”

“An alternate dimension.” Mike realizes, terrified as well. 

“But... how... how do we get there?” Lucas asked, worriedly.

“You cast Shadow Walk.” Dustin answers.

“In real life, dummy.”

“We can’t shadow walk, but…” His blue eyes trail to their sleepy friend. “Maybe she can.”

“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asks, hopefully. “To the Upside Down?”

Unfortunately for them…

She shook her head no.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will?” Hopper frantically called out into the darkness, frantically scanning the area with his flashlight. “Stephanie?”

From what he can tell, this area mimicked a hospital. The white walls, colorless floors, the cold. I guess he should have suspected the rooms lined in the hallway to be filled with beds, but what he wasn’t expecting was the rooms to be catered with a few stuffed animals and security cameras in them. He also got a sudden wave of sickness when he saw a drawing done by a child on the wall, one that looked pretty recent.

What the hell? And that was his last thought before he could hear alarms blaring in the distance. He was honestly surprised they didn’t sound it sooner. So with a gun back in his hand, Hopper raced frantically down the rest of the halls, checking each room he could find.

“Will? Stephanie? Kids?” He shouts, and picks up speed. Come on. Where are they?

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he finds an elevator. A slight blessing in some way, but he also dreaded what else he might find. Are the kids really here? Or is he really following a thin thread? 

“I see him!” Someone shouts just as the door opens. “Hey! Stop!”

Hopper just gives them a sharp glare as the door seals him inside, heading down yet another level. When he did arrive, this floor was a lot creeper than the last. This time it did have lighting, except only every other light fixture ‘worked’ (It was more flickering on and off), and there was something floating in the air – a substance that looked like snow, but wasn’t. 

“Will? Stephanie?” He manages to yell before breaking into a coughing fit. “W-Will? St-Stephanie? Kids!” He continued to cough, covering his mouth with his elbow as he continued his trek. “What in the world?”

When he entered the room at the end of the hall, he saw something he cannot explain. Stretching along the back wall was a very disgusting looking plant; Black veins shot out like the spiderwebs that were hanging off of them, and the middle of it, the core, seemed to glow a red hue and it was… pulsating. In a strange case of curiosity, Hopper couldn’t help but reach out to touch the stickiness.

What is this thing? And that’s when he catches something moving in the corner of his eye. He whips around, gun out again and starts looking around worriedly. And just like a fucking horror flick, a man in a hazmat suit came right out of the darkness and straight towards him. 

“Hey!” He takes a step back as a warning. “Hey! Hey!”

And then out of the depth again, only this time he did not see, another masked up individuals come from behind–

And plunges a needle into his neck.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan was rushing home rather late. His little… “shopping trip” was cut short by none other than a schoolmate, Nancy Wheeler. Never in his sixteen years on the planet did he think he would get a visit from her – and over something so strange. But now, he was trying to get back home, to tell his mother that she wasn’t insane, that he finally understood what she was saying these past few days.

When he got home the first thing he noticed was there was a big gaping hole on the front of his house. Distressfully, he did his best to rush inside, finding his poor mother shivering with a conveniently placed axe by her feet. It didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together.

“Mom, what happened?” He asked, and she didn’t even flinch – almost didn’t acknowledge he was even there. 

“Oh… hey, Jonathan.” She said, the exhaustion made her look ten times her age. “How was the shopping?”

“Forget shopping. Jesus, you’re freezing.” He replies, slugging his jacket off and placing it over her. “Just wait right here.”

It took a few minutes to retrieve a few things from the shed, but he managed to nail up a tarp to block the chilly November winds. Holding back the urge to shiver himself, he focuses his strength back onto his mother.

“Mom.” He begins, sitting down next to her (He even takes her cold hands into his own). “What happened?”

“Oh…” She shakes her head with a sniffle. “Nothing, sweety.”

“No, not nothing.” Guilt started to eat at him a bit (Why didn’t he believe his own mother in the first place?). “Why did you take the wall down?”

“Jonathan, it’s nothing–”

“Mom… that thing you saw before–” He swallows “Did it come back?”

She shakes her head again. “Who cares. Maybe it was all in my head after all.”

“No, it was not.” Jonathan reaches inside his jacket pocket, pulling a photo out. “The thing you saw, is this it?”

“Jonathan–”

“Mom, please. Just look.” He gives her a set of pleading eyes. “Please.”

It took a moment, but she did. It took another moment for her to process what she was looking at. And another for the realization to settle in. 

“W-Where did you get this?” Joyce gasps, and points at it.

Jonathan takes a second to think over his story. “Two days after Will and Stephanie disappeared, I decided to look in the area they vanished from. Somehow, I ended up at a house where one of my schoolmates was having a party; Nancy was there with her friend Barbara. Remember Barbara?”

“Yeah, I remember Barbara.”

“Well, you know she’s missing right?”

“I’ve heard. So you…” Joyce gives a look. “You saw her before she went missing?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “But before you scold me, I ended up taking pictures of the people at the party, one of them happened to be Barbara when she was alone at the pool.”

“Jonathan–”

“I know, I said wait… Please.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Continue.”

“Okay. So I snapped a picture, and as soon as I snapped it, she was gone.”

“Gone?” Her look intensifies. “What do you mean ‘Gone’?”

“It’s like she vanished out of thin air. I thought it was weird. Kind of freaked me out too, so I left.” He frowns, scared. Even when he found out what may have happened, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “It wasn’t until earlier today that Nancy came up to me and asked to see my photos, from there she revealed she saw something at the house. A man with no face.”

Joyce covered her mouth with her hand, processing. “Oh, my god…”

“Mom, is this what you saw? Is this what came out of the wall the night before?”

She shakes her head eagerly. “Y-Yes. This is what I saw.” She replies, ending with a small sob. “I… I couldn’t hear them, y-your brother and Stephanie, but I just…” She touches her chest, her heart. “I-I just had this feeling that I knew they were there, right next to me and–” She sighs heavily, feeling like she’s losing her mind again.

Jonathan starts rubbing soothing circles on her back, still holding one of her hands. “It’s okay. Take your time. Just… walk me through everything. Please.”

Another sigh, but this time it was for her to steady herself. “Okay. I… started hanging lights, ‘cause when I-I was in the store I felt their presence, the lights on the aisle flickered, so I thought maybe I can get some reaction here. It took a few hours and I did. I said, one blink for ‘Yes’, two blinks for ‘No’. But–” She bites her lips. “It wasn’t giving me the questions I needed, so I painted the wall.”

“The alphabet wall?” He asked, gesturing behind them with his head.

“Y-Yeah.”

“What did you ask them? What did they say?”

“I… I-I really could only get one answer. I asked them, ‘Where are they?’. Then, they gave me a strange response.”

“Which was?”

“‘Right here’.” She points to the floor. “They said, ‘Right here’.” She frowns. “I… I tried asking what that means, but then they told me to ‘Run’. And that’s when that… th-that thing came out of the wall.”

“It came out of the wall, okay. Um–” His eyes glance over to the tarp. “Is that why you took the axe to the wall? Were… were you trying to see if it was in there?”

“No.” Another shake of her head. “I heard him. I heard Will a few hours ago, so I… I peeled back the wallpaper, and… there was this– this bubble type thing inside, and… a-and I could see him, hear him. He was talking, and he was scared. I asked him where he was, and he told me he was here, but it was dark and cold. And… s-something was coming for him, so I told him to run, and…”

“You took down the wall to see if he was there?”

She nods. “Y-Yes.”

“Okay.” He says, nodding to. He was trying to process this. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Um… shit.” He starts rubbing the side of his head. “I… I don’t have an answer for this.”

Joyce laughs quietly. “Yeah, neither do I.” She sighs. “I don’t know… I do know what to do. All I can do is communicate when I can get a hold of him.”

“Yeah.” He frowns. “I guess…”

Suddenly, the lights flickered for a few seconds, and the boombox flipped on. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ] 

.

Jonathan had jumped to his feet when it turned on, and got all defensive. “What the–”

“See?” Joyce said, touching her son’s arm to get him to calm down. “Your brother is here.”

The eldest stared at the box, imagining his little brother laying on the floor with his legs in the air, and adding color to a drawing he’d finished. He felt a bit relieved that his brother was still “around”; But it also made him feel terrible, because…

.

.

.

He has no idea how to get Will back to them.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Will will admit… that this did not go as he planned or at least hoped it would have. He actually got through to his mother, he actually got to see his mother. Even if it wasn’t the clearest image, he could tell it was her. He wonders when the beast crawled out of the wall earlier it must have left behind some kind of doorway to the other side. The sucky part was, no matter how hard he pushed on that… disgusting bubble it wouldn’t budge. All he could do was explain where he was to her and hoping she understood before the faceless beast returned to hunt.

But Will wasn’t shaking this thing off. This thing seemed to be mad, a bit pissed off with the way the movements were, frustrated even as it let out a few growls and huffs of air. He tried to make a few runs for the door, but everytime it kept lunging and throwing him off track. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as he trips on something, losing the shotgun and literally crawling across the hallway to get away. 

He finds himself on the verge of tears at this point, wondering if this is how his life will end: By dying by a literal monster on his big brother’s bedroom floor. 

Will starts pleading quietly, the beast’s meaty hand reaching out towards him, and at the last minute, Will moves out of the way. The beast ran into Jonathan’s desk  before rerouting and stalking over his prey again. Will curls up into a ball in the corner, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ to everyone he knows…

Then his brother’s boombox fell, turning it right on, and causing the lights to start flickering like a rave. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The beast flitched hard, almost like it was hurt by the vocals coming out of the box. It made a distressful sound, Will uncurling himself to watch this turn of events unfold. 

.

[ ♪ If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The thing lets out a shriek and starts jerking its head around, before calling it quits. It practically threw its body out the room, running frantically around the house until it finally got out and disappeared. Will followed carefully, poking his head down the hallway where he was met with silence again. The beast was gone. Like… actually gone. Scared away by The Clash? It almost seemed too good to be true.

.

[ ♪ It’s always tease, tease, tease

You’re happy when I’m on my knees

One day it’s fine and next it’s black

So if you want me– ♪ ] 

.

He comes over and shuts the boombox off with a small smile, and gets an idea. Rummaging around the filth, he started stuffing some cassettes into his coat pockets until they were full before shifting over to pick up the boombox until he remembered something. A boombox is a bit hefty to be lugging around, and what if it gets to be too much and then they have to ditch it? Then what? What could they use? That’s when he remembers his brother had a walkman lying around somewhere. He eventually finds it, and starts making his way back to Stephanie. 

Will did his best to carry everything in his tiny grip, still a little scared that the beast might make an appearance again (It’s not like he could whip out his gun quick enough ‘cause his hands are full), but now he knew it’s weakness. Who knew it was something so silly like music?

Maybe… this could be our way out? He wonders about that, and he also wonders about the way he communicated with his mom earlier. If the beast could travel to both worlds, could it also be their key to getting out of here? Could there be another gate somewhere? It was questions like these that were going to be hard to answer. Hawkins was so big, how long would it take them to search every nook and cranny for a gateway home?

This is something I got to run by Stephanie. Speaking of… When he got closer to where they settled down, he noticed she was actually awake; Sitting on her knees in the grass, looking like she hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

So, she is awake. Weird. I thought she would have run after me when reading the note I left her. But he shrugs it off. Maybe she was more understanding than he thought. With a huge smile on his face, he picks up his pace to tell her the good news.

“Hey, Steph. Before you get mad, I found a way to protect ourselves.��� He explains, setting the items down next to her. “When I accidentally turned on the boombox, the monster got all frightened and ran off. I know that sounds weird, but it works! We can roam freely just by playing a song! Isn’t that crazy?”

He was expecting a scolding, maybe even a laugh, or a look of disbelief, but he certainly didn’t think she wouldn’t say anything. He doesn’t recall her being the type of person to give the silent treatment if mad. Will repeated the last sentence to see if he would get something, and that’s when he finally noticed something odd. The girl wasn’t… moving. She was just sitting there on her knees, slightly hunched over, looking like a statue.

He’s not going to lie, it was kind of freaking him out. “Stephanie?” He slowly crouches down in front of her, and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and nearly falls back.

To his shock he finds her looking paler than the last few days, and her eyes were bloodshot red and dry, but that wasn’t what was scaring him. What was scaring him was the fact that her blue eyes looked unnatural, and that her pupils had completely disappeared from sight. To him, she looked like she was possessed. 

Will finds himself growing pale himself, completely scared of what’s happening to his friend. “Stephanie?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Stephanie couldn’t help but follow them inside. Her grandmother was saying to Claudia all kinds of loving things, as her younger self wouldn’t stop expressing how much she wanted to hold her baby brother. It all seems so surreal, it felt like it happened only yesterday, but it was in fact twelve years ago. 

She runs up the stairs and through the door, as soon as she does, the memory changes. The three of them vanished, and the house looks like it was spruced up more in this scene change. Now, she sees her younger self was a little bit older, Dustin was too, and they both were sitting on the floor in the living room, playing a game on their Atari. 

// You’re cheating // Her brother pouts as soon as the score on pong changes to double digits.

She snorts. // How am I cheating? It only has one control //

// Still cheating //

// Dustin… //

Stephanie smiles at the antics. This was pretty much the same conversation every time they played a video game of some sort. It makes her laugh and feel good every time she thinks about it. But this still doesn’t explain what’s going on.

// Ugh, this doesn’t make any sense! // Dustin, a different version, yells from the dining room table. His head lays across one of his books as his big sister looks over it, perplexed. 

// I don’t remember learning any of this // She mumbles, scratching her head. 

// I’m going to fail… //

// You’re not going to fail //

// I’m totally going to fail //

The oldest shakes her head at his antics. She remembers this too, and despite the hardship of it, he still passed with a B. It’s still better than nothing.

She then nearly jumps out of her shoes when she swears something exploded in her kitchen. She rushes over, finding herself again standing off to the side in disbelief. That’s when she saw her brother standing tall and proud with batter all over his face. 

// Pancakes are done // He said, oblivious to her shock. 

She rubs her face, cringing at the time Dustin tried to make breakfast on his own which was a complete disaster. How he managed to burn and undercook everything was beyond her knowledge. Oh, Dusty.

Then, she perks up again when her little bro is replaced by her mother. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing her kiss the cook apron. “Mom?”

// Hey, Ms. Henderson? //

Stephanie gasps quietly and spares a glance to the side where the entrance to the basement was. Just like she thought, she finds herself staring at a young Steve Harrington, probably about eight years old.

“Steve?” She said, taking him in. A little stripe button up shirt, shorts and small bandage on his cheek; He was also flashing a grin with a couple baby teeth missing.

// Yes, Steve? // Claudia said, not taking her eyes off the stove.

// Can we eat downstairs? Fia and I are almost done with our game //

Fia. Her heart clenched at the nickname she hasn’t heard in such a long time. I kind of… miss it. 

I mean, her brother calls her Phanie which was special to her, but that was something only he ever called her. And Steph was just a common nickname to call all ‘Stephanies’. However, Steve’s little nickname for her was really unique and special to her.

Apparently it was still special to her.

Some more was said but she didn’t listen, and before she knew it, little Steve was running back down the stairs. 

“Hey!” She shouts and chases after him. As soon as she gets off the last step she finds herself somewhere different again. She was met with a few flashing strobe lights, loud music and lots of laughter. She recognizes this place rather quickly, it was the roller rink they built in the mall a few years back.

// Steve! Stop! // Her preteen self yells, looking like a newborn colt on rollerblades. She was hanging onto dear life to her best friend who could not stop laughing at her over reaction. 

// You know you’re going to have let go soon // Steve says, as she shakes her head.

// Nope. No way. I don’t want to fall again //

// Falling comes with the practice, you know //

She sends him a look. // Easy for you to say. You haven’t fallen once! //

// What can I say? // He starts slowly pushing her away, only holding onto her hands for support. // I’m just a natural //

// Steve! Please! // She said, a mixture of panic and laughter. // Come on! //

He hums, acting like he was thinking before he lets go of one of her hands. // Oops //

// Steve! // She warns, and slouches a bit to keep herself small so she doesn’t slip.

// Relax, Fia. I wasn’t going to let you go // He replies, truthfully, warmly. // I’ll hold your hand until you’re confident enough. Okay? //

// You better, Harrington //

// I will. Relax. Here // He pulls her back, waiting for her to steady herself again before explaining. // This is what you have to do. First– //

Stephanie couldn’t help but smile. She loves that memory so much. It was so perfect in her eyes. The all American boy was the most elegant roller skater she’s ever seen, and he was so dorky and teasing, but patient while teaching her the ropes. She wishes sometimes she could go back to this day over and over again. I miss this so much. 

.

.

“Little Stevie here can’t protect you any more.”

.

.

And just like that, the scene changes again, only this time it feels more heavy and darker – like it was sucking the soul out of her. She felt so scared all of a sudden, and when she blinked she was sitting at a bar top. The smell of booze, money and cigarettes nearly knocked her over… and sent a chill through her body.

N-No. This was a painful memory she was trying to forget. What was she doing here? What was the point of–

“Are you not having fun, Munchkin?”

Now that voice almost made her die on the spot. Terrified, she slowly turns to her left, finding the only other person inside the place. He was rather tall, 

A bit lanky but built, dark hair and blue eyes. The genes that ran so strong in this family, the genes that her and Dustin hated they both had. And he’s sitting there with a stupid smirk on his bearded face, one that makes her want to crawl into a hole or slap off. She almost couldn’t speak as she felt like she lost her voice.

.

.

.

“D-Dad?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan’s bitter thoughts were pulled back into reality the early next morning by his own mother, who was helping him with his tie.

“Why are we sending daggers at our home phone?” Joyce asked, heavy makeup covering her exhaustion, a black jacket clings to her body that acted like her blouse. 

His gaze follows back to the phone before back to her. “I know we agreed not to talk to him at all, besides it being pointless because Will’s body is a fake, but still. He can’t even give us a call about his own son’s death?”

She finishes his tie, frowning out of sadness with a hint of hate for her ex-husband. “Well, another reason why I’m not with your father. This should be a lesson to you, don’t just settle for the first person that gives you attention, or makes your rebellious phase feel ‘special’. I know I’m not the best mother–”

“You’re the perfect mother.” Jonathan pushes, wholeheartedly. “I know it was hard, but for someone doing it on your own, you always made time for us, loved us, and did only what you thought was best. A thousand times more than whatever dad did. I just…” He gets a bit teary eyed. “I just wished I believed you in the beginning. Maybe things would have been different.”

Joyce chokes down her own sob. “Oh.” She brushes a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to make me bawl.”

He quietly laughs. “Sorry.”

“And you know, I’m not upset that you didn’t believe me. I never was, and never will be. I am glad that you came around though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Jonathan?”

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t… don’t do anything stupid, okay? We’re going to go to the funeral, act like we’re in mourning, and when everything is over, we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to figure out what really happened with you brother. Okay?”

He puts on a good smile and nods. “Okay.” Jonathan agrees with a heavy feeling. He knows he agrees, but deep down he’s not. He’ll pretend to grieve, pretend that he mourns his not-so-dead brother, he’ll pretend that he’s not going to do anything with going through his mom first. In reality, it’s the opposite. 

In reality, he’s about to do the stupidest thing in probably his entire life. 

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Claudia Henderson had to fix her make up for the fifth time already, and she hasn’t even left the house, almost too scared to even leave the door. She was sitting on the couch, a ball tissues in one hand and her baby’s photograph in another. She was shaking all over, trying to hold down more sobs. Her son eventually appeared, dressed in black, pretty curls brushed back neatly, and had a glass of water in his palm.

She looks up, watching him silently offering it. “Oh, thank you, honey.” She replies, gesturing for him to set it down. He does, and scoots next to her. 

Dustin can’t stand that his mom is this way, and half of him wants to blurt out that something about his sister’s and Will’s disappearance doesn’t seem right, and the bodies in the caskets had to be fakes, but he can’t. He can’t go off a theory that has barely any evidence still.

“Oh… look at her face. I’m going to miss her pretty face.” Claudia continues, touching the picture. “Her little curls, her freckles, her… beautiful blue eyes, those…”

Dustin’s heart clenched. “Dad’s eyes…”

“Oh, not him. Not his.” She shakes her head, batting her honey brown orbs. “No. You and your sister’s are so unique.” She reaches up to cup her son’s cheek, him leaning into the touch. “Hers is like a sky and sapphire, and yours is like this cross of sky, this pale blue and, uh…”

He gives her a goofy smile. “A light denim jean.”

That got her to laugh. “A light denim jean, yes. That’s… that’s perfect.” She then pulls him into a hug. “It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to get through this. Together.”

Suddenly Dustin felt the wind get knocked out of him. What if… what if he and his friends were actually wrong? What if they were just imagining everything? What if his big sister was actually dead? 

What if… she really is gone? He couldn’t stop himself from tearing up, a single stray rolling down his cheeks, clenching his sister’s necklace in the palm of his hand like it would make her appear in his arms.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Now you know who wasn’t ready for the funeral? I mean how could he when he just woke up in a cold sweat and a dazed look in his eye. Jim Hopper finds himself on his couch, still wearing the same clothes (minus the jacket) that he seemed to have sweated through most of the thin material. It didn’t take long for him to remember what happened last night and immediately bolted up. He takes in his coffee table, which to him seemed way messier than he left it (Plus, there were a lot more empty beer cans than he consumed over the few days).

Grabbing his gun that was right in front of, Hopper wastes no time to run outside with it held high. But as he searched the land that he was all alone on, he didn’t see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. He almost started to doubt that last night even occurred. 

Almost. That’s the keyword.

Coming back inside, he examines himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to find the needle marking in his neck. It took a hot minute, the doubt was coming back until his finger picked up the tiniest drop of blood. Now, the paranoia was setting in, and that’s when he started tearing his trailer apart. Anything he could get his hands on, pictures frames, light bulbs, home phones, stereo system, VHS player, cookie jars, anything was torn apart in his hands. He even went so far by cutting open his couch cushions with a knife. 

In a hot, sweating, panting mess, he was about to give up until he noticed he forgot to check his overhead light. Just tall enough to reach it on his own, Hopper carefully unscrews the fixture and that’s when he saw it.

The bug. 

Plucking it off so hard that the wires ripped, he examined it close, the disbelief came first, and ended with sheer anger.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I guess you could say that Steve “snuck out” of his home, dressed appropriately in black attire, still thinking about what his next “detective” move could be. The funerals were being held together to make it emotionally easier for the families, and everyone in town was welcome to come. His parents wouldn’t have approved, anyone associated with them wouldn’t either, but I guess the “good” thing about coming to the graveyard is that he wouldn’t have to worry about any of them. The only person he knows that will be there is his girlfriend. Speaking of…

Nancy was quick to notice after getting out of the car herself with her family. She was honestly surprised a bit, but didn’t let that weigh her down as she excuses herself to come over.

“Steve?” She said, as he flicked her a sad smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m… I’m good. Really, um–” He replies, fiddling with his hands. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good. How’s your brother doing?”

“Mike?” She takes a quick glance back his way. “He’s coping, I guess. I don’t know. He’s been really quiet.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Steve says, nodding slowly. “Listen, Nance, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted the other night.”

Nancy shakes her head. “Steve, it’s alright. I get it. You’ll tell me about the relationship with your parents eventually. I honestly really don’t care if you do or not. It’s not my business.”

“I know, but still. I got a little snappy and–”

“Steve, it’s fine. I get–”

“My parents don’t like her.” He blurts out, silencing her. He watches her tilt her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “My parents never… approved of my friendship with Stephanie. She wasn’t up to their… ‘standards’. So…” He sighs. “My parents are probably going to gut me when they find out I’m here.”

“Gut you?” She asked, worriedly. Was it really that bad for him to be here? “Friends or not, she still was a classmate, the least you can do is show up for a quick respect.”

“Yeah, they don’t see it like that. They…” His throat felt dry. Every time he starts remembering a few things about his past, his parents, he just feels like he’s going to shut down and hide. 

“Steve?” Nancy says, pulling him out of the rut. “They… what?” She needs to know more, she wants to know more. She didn’t like that he looked like a kicked puppy. What has his parents done to him?

“She wasn’t like Tommy or Carol, or even you. Steph was sweet and caring, but didn’t dress like a girl should, she didn’t talk like a girl should, she didn’t…” He laughs, a mixture of nerves and distaste towards his parents. “She likes heavy metal, she likes to wear black and stomp around in big combat boots, and she would always do the craziest shit I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t the girl my parents wanted me to hang out with because she wasn’t a ‘girly-girl’. She fits in with the school’s ‘freaks’.”

“Steve…”

“Sometimes… I miss it. I miss going behind my parents’ backs to hang out with her.” He says, sadly. “But I… I had to end it… for her sake.”

Well that’s news. She thought, piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

“I–” His attention was caught by someone else arriving. “I… I’m going to go pay my respects. I’ll catch up to you later, Nance.”

“‘Kay.” She mumbles, watching him leave with a heavy heart.

Steve makes his way over to the family he used to call his own; The mother gets out, in her own head, while the brother immediately stops in his tracks – looking like a deer in headlights upon seeing him. 

“Ms. Henderson.” He begins, getting her attention (His throat felt tight again and his chest felt like it was being kicked in). “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Steve?” It takes Claudia a moment to recognize him. “Steve! Oh, my gosh, I do remember you.” She smiles. “You’ve grown quite into a young man.”

Steve blushes a bit. “Uh, thank you. Um, listen I… I know your daughter and I had a bit of a falling out, but I thought it would be alright if I gave you my condolences. If you… approve that of course.”

“Oh, honey, I appreciate it. Friendships, I know, tend to end sometimes, and it can be hard. But I really do appreciate you coming.”

‘That’s good to hear.” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “I’ll be going now.”

“Oh, why don’t you stay?” She said, with her son perking up at the news.

“What?” Dustin said, a bit sharp for his mother’s liking.

“Dustin.” She turned and scolded. Her son gave her a shrug of disbelief, making her sigh. “Sorry. Do you mind staying for the wake? I think it would be nice if we can catch up.”

Steve was honestly lost for words. He’s guessing that Stephanie never actually told them what occurred… at least she didn’t tell her mother the truth. His gaze falls on Dustin who was pouting a bit and looking at the ground; The bitterness he probably had makes Steve wonder if he knew the truth. It was making him feel pretty shitty right now.

Jesus. If his mom wasn’t here I’m sure he would deck me by now. But Steve ignores this and just smiles. “If you insist, Ms. Henderson.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan, or course, ignores his mom’s pleas not to do something stupid. Him and Nancy had both stepped off to the side to discuss their findings, hoping to form some kind of plan of action. “This is where we know for sure it’s been, right?” He says, holding a small map of the area, some places marked with a red X.

Nancy leans in closer. “So, that’s…”

“Steve’s house.” He starts pointing out each mark and their meaning. “And that’s the woods where they found Steph’s car, and that’s my house.”

“It’s all so close.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s... it’s not traveling far.”

Nancy locks eyes with him, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want to go out there.”

“We might not find anything.” He admits with a shrug.

“I found something. And if we do see it… then what?”

He inhales. “We kill it.”

“Kill it?” She said, surprised. “Are you serious?”

“What? You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.”

She shakes her head. “Jonathan–”

“What? You can tell someone, but they’re not gonna believe you. You know that.” He points out as she frowns.

“Your mom believed you.”

He averts his eyes from her. “She’s been through enough. It’s time for me to worry about this thing.”

“She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dustin was leaning against the wall next to a table full of snacks and drinks, ruefully chewing on some knock off brand cookies. His daggers were set on Steve who was chatting with his mom for most of the wake now. He still can’t believe he even showed up, the same boy who broke his sister’s heart and reverted her back into a bit of a hermit. Now, he loves his sister, his friends do too (probably as much as he does), but he kind of felt sad that after being disowned by Steve she decided to hang out with them more. Times at the arcade she was always driving them; The past few Halloweens she’s been stuck with them; A few times a week at school they would sneak outside for lunch and have it together. It was sad that no one else wanted to hang out with his sister, and it made him mad in more ways than one because of it. 

Stupid ass people. He thought, taking another harsh bit out of the food.

“Uh, Dustin–” Lucas says, nudging him a bit. “Maybe try to be a little more subtle on the lasers you’re shooting out at Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t answer his question, instead replying with, “These aren’t real Nilla Wafers.”

“Alright enough about him for a moment.” Mike interrupts, and tries to be the reasonable one. “How do we do this?”

“Do what?” Dustin mumbled, turning and taking another handful of cookies, making his friend sigh.

As the boys were distracted a bit, Steve had finally finished the nice chat with Claudia. He almost forgot how sweet she was, and how he remembers he wishes his own mother was like that. It could explain why he was always over at Stephanie’s house when he was young (he kind of misses it). He excused himself for something to drink, only to accidentally wander into another conversation that couldn’t help but hearing. 

Mike sighs. “Mr. Clarke. We were going to ask him our questions about another dimension.” 

“Oh, right. Another dimension.” Dustin says, nonchalantly, his friends looking at each other with confusion. 

“What’s your deal, man?” Lucas asked, confused on the sudden attitude change (and both him and Mike know it’s not about Steve). 

“My deal is what if I’m actually wrong? What if they really are dead?” 

Lucas made a look. “Dude, I’m supposed to be the skeptical one here. And besides, you’re the one who told us about hearing Will over the radio.”

“This funeral must be messing with your head.” Mike points out. “Will and Steph are alive. Where they are, we don’t know. But we aren’t going to know if we don’t ask Mr. Clarke about dimensional travel.”

“Yeah, man. Don’t be so down yet.” Lucas pats him on the back, before pointing out something. “Look. There he is.”

The Wheeler boy makes the first move, looking a bit sluggish to suggest he was sad. “Mr. Clarke?” 

“Oh, hey there.” He says, sending them a bittersweet smile. “How are you boys holding up?”

“We’re in... mourning.” Lucas replies, pretending to be glum too.

“We were wondering if you had time to talk?” Mike asks, nervously.

“We have some questions.”

“A lot of questions.” Steve says out of the blue, shocking the kids who were not expecting this. As the kids looked like they were fishes out of water, Mr. Clarke was overjoyed to see him.

“Ah, Steven. I haven’t seen you in a while. My, you’ve grown to be quite the stud.” He replies, his ex-student bowing with excitement. 

“You flatter me. Uh… the boys here were sharing a few things with me that I couldn’t really answer.” Steve points out, still having no idea where this was going and hopes he doesn’t screw it up. “But uh, hey! I always remember you were a man of answers.”

That seemed to fuel the adult’s ego a bit and got him more excited. “Oh, well, I can certainly try. Uh–” He gestures to an open table. “Let’s talk.”

Mike sits and is the first to speak, “So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Sagan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?”

“Yeah, sure. Theoretically.”

“Right, theoretically.”

“So, theoretically, how do we travel there?” Lucas asks, getting right into it.

“Ah.” Mr. Clarke nods. “You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett’s Many-Worlds Interpretation, haven’t you?” 

The boys subtly glanced at each other, having no clue who he was talking about; Even Steve was trying to remember if he ever learned this when was young. But they shook their heads ‘Yes’, and went along with it. 

“Well, basically, there are parallel universes.” The teacher begins. “Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there’s a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened.”

“Yeah, that’s not what they’re talking about.” Steve blurts out, before realizing he spoke. “Right?”

“Y-Yep!” Mike said, nodding eagerly. 

“We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows.” Dustin replies, the anger disappearing for now. “You know the Vale of Shadows?”

Mr. Clarke’s face lights up a bit. “An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic—”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mike butts in, quickly. “If that did exist, a place like the Vale of Shadows, how would we travel there?”

“Theoretically.” Lucas adds.

Mr. Clarke’s gaze locks with Steve’s, who just shrugs. “Hey, I told you I couldn’t answer their questions.” He says, rendering everyone silence.

The teacher took a moment to think this over. “Well…” He picks up an empty paper plate and takes out a pen, drawing two lines and a tiny stick figure on top of it. “Picture... an acrobat… standing on a tightrope.” He shows off his drawing to everyone, before holding in a position where everyone could see.

He continues, “Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules. You can move forwards, or backwards.” He drew an arrow on each side of the figure. “But, what if… right next to our acrobat, there is a flea?” He draws a tiny insect next to it. “Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?”

“Right.” They boys said, intrigued. 

“Here’s where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way…” He draws an arrow between the two lines. “Along the side of the rope. He can even go…” And another below it. “Underneath the rope.”

“Upside down.” The boys said, in unison (Steve just flashed them a confused look).

“Exactly.”

“But we’re not the flea, we’re the acrobat.” Mike asked, everything clicking in place. 

“In this metaphor, yes, we’re the acrobat.” 

“So we can’t go upside down?” Lucas asked, an undertone of concern.

“No.”

“Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?” Dustin asked, hopefully.

“Well…” Mr. Clarke jogs his brain. “You’d have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then…” He folds the plate in half, and aggressively pokes his pen through it. “You create a doorway.”

“Like a gate?”

“Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–”

“Theoretical.” Lucas says, almost rolling his eyes at how many times this word was repeated.

“But…” Mike shifts in his seat, another question lingering around. “But what if this gate already existed?”

“Well, if it did, I... I think we’d know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole. Science is neat. But I’m afraid it’s not very forgiving.”

The boys were left awestruck, all three of them looking at each other and agreed on something in silence.

“Wow, uh… thanks, Mr. Clarke.” Mike replies, standing up. “You, uh, really answered our questions.”

“Any time. Is there anything else I can help you with?” He asked, as they shook their heads.

“Uh, nope! W-We’re good. We’re, uh…”

“We’re off to grieve some more.” Dustin said, his friends agreeing.

“Yep. Thanks again, Mr. Clarke. See you at school.”

“Uh–” He watches his students leave, a little thrown off by the mood swings. “See you around.”

“I… better see what’s up with them.” Steve replies, taking a stand too. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.”

Steve quickened his pace to catch up with the group that was now outside, a small part of him can’t believe what he’s about to do or say. “I didn’t know you guys felt the same way.”

“Why are you following us?” Mike asked, stopping with annoyance all over his face.

“Look, I didn’t mean to bud in, but it just so happens that you guys feel the same way I do about this situation surrounding Stephanie and Will.”

Lucas rolls his eyes for real this time. “Ignore him. He probably just feels bad.” He says, and they started walking away, wanting some time alone to think their plan over.

“No, guys, come on. Listen to me.” 

“Stop following us, man.”

“Guys, just a moment of your time–”

“Leave us alone.” Mike snaps harshly. 

Steve sighs heavily, the debating he felt was necessary was suddenly over and he finally lets it out. “Her body’s fake!”

And like pressing pause on a TV, the boys immediately stopped. It took them a moment, a solid moment to process what he’d just said before turning around and staring like he was crazy.

Dustin was the first one to speak, the fierceness he spoke with earlier had returned with a hint of disbelief. “What?”

Well there’s no backing down now. Steve thought, and went along with the punches. “I went to the morgue last night, with the Police Chief. Your sister’s and Will’s bodies are fake. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever happened to them, someone doesn’t want people to know how, what or why.”

“You went to the morgue?” Lucas said, after another moment, to process what he just admitted.

“With the Police Chief?” Mike adds.

Dustin shakes his head, not sure how he feels about this. “H-How do I know you’re not lying? You’re the reason my sister was in a rut that whole school year.”

Steve frowns, apologetically. “Listen, I’ll admit I was an asshole, but despite that, I would never, ever lie about something like this. Even if someone I didn’t know, I would never snoop that low. And…” He shifts his weight around. “And if you don’t believe me, you can call the Chief yourself. Although, he’d probably be pretty mad because he told me to forget about what I saw. So…”

Forget being gutted by my parents later, he would definitely kill me on sight if he knew about this. Steve waits anxiously as the boys look at each other, mutely communicating like they were doing earlier. 

Lucas looks between them and shrugs (Even Mike does too, as Dustin looks a bit on edge still). “I think he’s telling the truth, man.”

“If he is, why bother?” Dustin asks, looking over at the teenager. “Your friendship’s been long gone with my sister.”

“Yeah, it has.” Steve admits, heart clenching again. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I know her, and when I found out the official ruling for her death, I knew something felt off.” His frown deepens. “I was going to do a little investigation on my own, until I overheard you boys talking about how you don’t buy any of this bullshit either.”

Although I’m still a little confused on the whole other dimension thing. But he kept his mouth shut for now as the boys looked at each other again.

“Can you excuse us for a second?” Mike said, turning around and pulling his friends into a huddle. “Listen–”

“No way.” Dustin says, putting his foot down.

Lucas sighs. “Dustin, look, I understand the hate for this guy, but either way, if we take him in or not, he’s going to be snooping around too. You know, you can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em, right?”

“Plus, he is older, and he can get away with a lot more shit when things get tough for us.” Mike points out, and they all looked back at him for a second. “Come on, man. The more the merrier, you know?”

Lucas and Mike plead with Dustin with just a look, and soon he caves in.

“Fine.” He says, arms crossed. “But the moment he disrespects my sister, he’s out.” 

“Agreed.” Lucas said, and they disassembled.

“Hey, Steve?” Mike said, getting his attention. “You think you can come over to my house afterwards?”

-To Be Continued-

Read Part 2: Here

~

-Taglist is Open-

@ladygrey03 @poppet05 @tooearlyforthis @lovesfics @lordzzz

@mirkwoodshewolf @sadbitchfangirl @olivewisp

@emsownuniverse @unspecifiedvisitor @smaryamsstuff @kitty49646 @jinxeee @bookkeeperlove @prozacgooble @goth-baby98 @aainr @luca-random-stuff @catradorapotter

[sillypiratelife]

The more I think about it, the more insane the first Mihawk and Zoro encounter is.

Mihawk adopted Zoro right in front of Zeff and went directly to tell Shanks about it???

No, but seriously. There's no way Zeff didn't feel a bit invested in the chaos. He saw Zoro giving his all for his dream and he knew that's how Sanji was too, it's just that Sanji gave up for some reason guilt. It was not only Luffy who convinced Zeff that he needed to kick Sanji out of the Baratie and sent him sailing with those idiots, but also freaking Zoro.

Zoro addressing Luffy as the pirate king in front of everyone??

Fever whenever I think of how you could say Mihawk proclaimed Zoro as Luffy's first mate on the spot. He really said "you two came in the same pack. good". It's like? Oh look, the kid I just adopted is besties with the kid of one of my friends. How convenient.

Mihawk's tiny baby knife. It reminds me of the knife Luffy cut his cheek with when he wanted to prove to Shanks that he was ready to sail with him. Except both Zoro and Luffy gained their mentors' respect, meaning that Shank left Luffy with a hat that identified him from there on, while Mihawk left Zoro with a giant scar all across his chest as the promise Zoro must fulfill to Mihawk.

The fact Mihawk identified Luffy from Shank's stories and he judged Luffy also based on his compatibility with Zoro??????? Sure, only the pirate king would be worthy of having the greatest swordsman in his crew.

Sanji. Sanji's reaction to the whole thing. The desperation in his voice. I still can't believe it was the way Sanji was truly introduced to Zoro. Of course they are not normal about each other. Sanji was screaming for Zoro to give up so he wouldn't die and Zoro was asking for death so he wouldn't be defeated.

"Why are the fighting all the time?" MAYBE BECAUSE THEY STAND DIRECTLY ON TWO OPPOSITE SIDES IN THAT MATTER???

There were already two swordsmen following Zoro?? Calling him big brother?? There were five young men around Zoro's age there and he absolutely didn't disappoint in guiding by example? It was a Zoro masterclass on how to be a strawhat. What a time to be alive.

I just love that everyone was losing their mind over Mihawk and his powers and Zoro just. Jumped to face him. Mihawk told him YOU ARE A KID and Zoro proceeded to impress Mihawk so hard, the man became a fan. It's? Simply?? Idk, idk!

Sanji's family remembers Zoro and Luffy like that. Do you understand what that means? Ussop was kinda there and Nami didn't make the best of first impressions, but Luffy and Zoro made a total show. At that point, Zeff was the kind of dad who almost forced his kid to befriend the other kids he thinks that will be a good influence.

Which again. Insane.

Luffy ready to throw hands over Zoro did not surprise me. The intensity of his panic? The hurt on the way he screamed Zoro's name? He was sweating, using all his willpower to control himself and not interrupt Zoro's fight, he was cursing Mihawk and going wild and— I cannot breathe whenever I remember how Luffy met Zoro, how their friendship started. No one else knows that Zoro was on a Marine base CRUCIFIED. Some freaking pulling this Jesus out of the cross and taking him with me to see the world shit going on here.

The whole Zoro basically crucified image and the whole cross imagery with Mihawk and— I'm not going that route today, sorry.

THE VOW. THE VOW. THE VOOOOOOOOW.

WERE YOU WORRIED ABOUT ME?

AND HE WAS.

The way Sanji calls back to the vow when he criticizes Zoro in Alabasta for being worried about Luffy losing. The Zoro Sanji knows is the one who raised his arm and called Luffy the pirate king, the one who vowed to never lose again to not worry Luffy. Sanji was not happy to see Zoro so out of himself and in a weird (their) way, he was reassuring Zoro. Ugh. My brain hurts.

But then again, Zoro was acting exactly how Luffy acted before. The first fight of Luffy vs Crocodile is clearly paralleling the Zoro vs Mihawk first encounter. I'll need a therapist after this.

I'm just now reading the version of the manga and not the anime and wjdnkdbfjej I just—

The end(?)

[deke-rivers-1957]

Kid Galahad Review

In a rare departure from the "Elvis-vehicle" formula, Elvis doesn't have black hair and isn't shoved in our faces with every scene. To be specific we go back to Loving You where, despite being billed as the star, Elvis isn't entirely the focus. This movie was made by United Artists who had a different idea on how to work with Elvis. A formula wasn't entirely perfected, so studios outside of Paramount still felt that Elvis had the range to be more than just a comedic singer.

Unfortunately, compared to the huge success of Blue Hawaii, Kid Galahad seemed to have been swept under the rug and forgotten. Colonel Parker saw this as a sign that the people have spoken and Elvis as a real actor wasn't meant to be. The "failure" of Kid Galahad officially ended any hopes of prioritizing good story telling over soundtracks. Were the doubters correct in saying Elvis flew too close to the sun? Or were the powers that be simply too harsh to pull the plug on Elvis' acting dreams? Let's find out.

We immediately get our first song. "King of the Whole Wide World" is a pretty jazzy opening song. There's a swinging brass band. As weird as it is to have this play over a truck, we have no reason to believe this isn't an instrumental on the radio. At the same time when we do have a close up of him singing, you can tell the lip-synching isn't that great. I have no idea why a recently discharged soldier wouldn't have any indication of rank. It feels like an afterthought on that front. It's nit-picky but I don't get the concept of including a detail like that and not following through with it.

So we get introduced to Walter Gulick and he's looking for work as we get introduced to Cream Valley, New York. We get introduced to the people of Grogan's Gaelic Gardens. Just in this first interaction, I get personality. I already understand why Dolly is the way she is when she says she's Willy's fiancee. For once an Elvis character being southern is explained in the story. Despite being born in that small town, Walter's parents died when he was young so he had to be raised by family in Kentucky. There's no reason to go into further detail because the story doesn't need it. A perfect balance between establishing a character and moving the story along.

So we get introduced to Willy Grogan. Just by Gig Young's acting I 100% believe that he's this deadbeat business owner who likes to gamble his money away. Given the history of organized crime's involvement in boxing and in New York period, I totally get why this is included. The mob wants its money and never appreciates someone like him not being able to pay. Naturally when he can't pay for his car, the mob takes it away. This forces Willy to embarrass himself by having to lift a ride from the grocery store's delivery truck.

He meets Walter and immediately assumes that Dolly is having an affair. This introduces the concept of Willy being so insecure about his relationship with her, that he assumes every other man has bad intentions. Walter offers up his "skills" as a boxer until he could meet with the owner of the mechanic's garage. We get more depth on the mob's involvement with Willy's camp. Turns out Willy was a witness to a crime so the boss has his lackeys hang around the camp so Willy doesn't talk. I admit even after multiple watches I don't fully understand everything that was said about this. I won't take points off for this since you still get the idea that the mob's putting Willy in a sticky situation that can't be easily resolved.

This scene works so well despite not being all that grand or climatic. We have a lot of subtlety here. That's something a lot of movies lack. We don't get a lot of characters trying to explain something the audience already knows. Even when we pan down and see Walter's trainer Lew limping, we don't get this song and dance about why that happened. Everything's explained just by watching the movie and taking in the character's expressions. Meanwhile, we get introduced to Willy's sister who looks so much younger than him. Age gaps in siblings exist but it's still an odd casting choice. Turns out she's infinitively more responsible as she has to keep bailing Willy out of financial trouble.

This is the best acting Elvis can ever do. Basic instinct requires you to duck or in some way react when you see a fist coming at your face. A human being not having that ability or even reacting to the pain of being hit simply wouldn't live long. I have no idea how you can teach someone how to consciously control an automatic response. So to see Walter constantly get hit and not have any reaction or protect his face in anyway is just incredible. We also get some nice comedy that was supposedly ad-libbed where Walter's only priority is his five dollars. The fake blood is obvious but because it's meant to be just quickly wiped off it doesn't take away from the overall quality of the movie.

Throughout this scene we get the boxers singing "This Is Living". I love this song. It's not because the song is uniquely written but in the context of this movie, it's just so perfectly intertwined with the story. For once Elvis isn't the main singer. The backup artists do most of the work for this scene and it works so well because these boxers have their own group. Walter isn't exactly part of them yet so there's no reason for him to intrude. It isn't until Joey invites him to sing that he joins in when necessary. Moments like this where we let the side characters and even Elvis just be are what make some of his movies better than others. It's letting these characters be people and not plot devices that allow you to feel something for Walter. Heck none of these boxers, including Joey, really do that much in the story. But they don't need to because just by watching Walter interact with them, we get the idea that they mean something to him. They make him feel included and give him a sense of belonging.

This image of Walter looking at Joey is a nice example of non-verbal acting being able to say more. There's a palpable tension until Joey makes a joke that assures Walter no ill will exists. I love that because they could've easily made Joey the cliched rival who gets all salty that he's no longer the best. Joey isn't jealous of Walter at all and if anything is just in awe of his natural power. He's written to be a real person instead of merely a plot device to foil Walter. So many small details like this add up to being a sign the movie had effort put into it.

So Willy wants to sign Walter to be part of his camp and Lew explains why this is obviously a bad idea. Walter boxing the way he does makes no sense to me. If he had experience boxing in the military, he had to have learned how to block. That's literally the first thing you learn so you don't get hurt. I can understand if this was any other cliched boxing movies where Walter has skill but isn't polished, but that's not the issue. Walter doesn't know how to use the most basic defensive technique. Lew explaining all of this makes perfect sense because any trainer would look at Walter's technique and just groan. Even if Walter has this insane ability to not respond to being hit, that doesn't mean he's immune to head injuries.

A confrontation happens off screen and Walter knocks out a lackey. Turns out he was hitting on Dolly and Walter stepped in. You would think this would lead to a cliched love triangle where Dolly ends up falling in love with Walter. But they don't as there's nothing to suggest she's falling in love or that he has any feelings for her. A nice twist that even the original movie used. Willy is of course jealous that Walter protected Dolly but if anything it speaks to his character that he's also mad at Dolly for not coming to him. Lew and Maynard, the cook, find that one of Otto's lackey's had a gun on him. Turns out Otto had so little trust in Willy, that he's ordered his lackeys to carry weapons. You can clearly put together that if Willy talked, they will kill him.

We get a nice blink and you'll miss it of Lew holding a poster about an actual boxing match that happened in the 1920s. I love the real life references to boxers and boxing history. It shows that the creative team did their research. People who know about boxing would know about John L. Sullivan and Jack Dempsey. Details like this add color to a movie and shows that effort was put into building this world.

I love the car that Walter and Lew find. Walter feeling this need to spruce it up no matter what it'll take is so wholesome. Lew even being in this garage with Walter and supporting his decision to do this is also wholesome. When has an Elvis movie ever had this much of a focus on his character having actual friends? It rarely happens because of concerns that they'll take the focus away from him. Here giving Walter friends, makes Walter shine even more. A good person doesn't have to be boring and by giving Walter multiple relationships with people it gives him depth.

When Rose arrives in Cream Valley, Willy shows just how terrible of a person he is. Despite her being a grown woman, Willy treats her like a child. Like she's still so young and green that she couldn't possibly help him. I don't know if it's out of male pride or if he genuinely believes she can't do it. Even when Dolly comes downstairs he doesn't dare introduce her as his fiancee. And the reason why: He didn't think she could handle such a scandalous relationship. By modern standards this would be completely ridiculous as someone Rose's age would likely have learned at least something about sex one way or another. Even the concept of Willy and Dolly living together despite not being married by modern standards is a nothing-burger. But because it's the 1960s Dolly of course is upset as even back then what Willy is doing is a bit much and if anything makes him a hypocrite. He claims to protect his sister from degenerates, yet by those same standards is also one by having relations with Dolly before marriage.

Walter meets Rose and I immediately support this pairing. The soft focus on the close up works so well. Just by watching them interact you buy the love at first sight cliche. Walter looks smitten and you can tell she appreciates him too. This immediately foils how Willy sees Rose. He sees her as if she's still a child and shouldn't dare start dating anyone. Walter however, sees her as a woman. He's attracted to her, but because he respects her as an equal he doesn't force himself on her.

Everyone's character works so well. Lew is a classic New York tough love type of guy. He doesn't hand Walter things on a silver platter but he still believes in ensuring Walter gets his fair share. Lew makes for a great foil to Willy. Lew has morals and isn't willing to let Walter get hurt because Willy just wants to make a few bucks. He's just so supportive of Walter where at times he looks like a proud mom.

The scene of Walter riding his now repaired Model T demonstrates that. They have to travel to Albany, New York for his first fight and since Willy's car was repossessed they have to take the antique. Lew can just keep to himself but he's so proud of Walter. "Riding the Rainbow" works well in the context of the movie. Walter sings along with the radio and it's such a natural thing to do while you drive long distances.

I love this face. The fact that Walter is just staring at his opponent with a blank expression is just gold. The promoter calling him lamb eyes is such a fitting nickname. It's like how some animals just don't know they're about to die. That's Walter as he's trying to comprehend the severity of the situation and is failing miserably. I have no idea if Elvis was told to look like that but it ultimately doesn't matter as it's just so fitting. Walter had never been in a professional fight before so naturally that would be overwhelming.

In spite of Walter's terrible defensive abilities, he manages to win. Everyone is stunned by this ability but now there's no doubt about his ability to win. While Muhammed Ali was renowned for the "rope a dope" method, Walter still adds a layer of complexity by not blocking. Walter not being able to register getting hit is an unteachable skill that can lead to him being very successful. And he is as he begins to go on a winning streak. He makes it up to the championship fight slated to take place around Labor Day.

Walter returns to Cream Valley where it's the 4th of July celebration. Maynard had put Dolly up to supervising his corned beef. Now obviously that's a traditionally Irish product but I admit this is the first time I've heard of people eating it for the 4th of July. If there's any Irish Americans in New York or in general out there let me know if this is a thing. Me personally I would've just went with making it St. Patrick's Day. Even though it's in March, it's not that farfetched to have a warm spring. Plus you give Walter more time to train as opposed to just giving him one summer to take on a fighter who's likely trained for years.

Walter meanwhile starts getting really close with Rose. He serenades her with "Home Is Where The Heart Is" and I love this ballad. You can tell that sparks are starting to fly. We do get a funny moment where Walter gets annoyed about being interrupted. He was about to kiss Rose then just goes "whaaaa" when Lew asks him how they're going to get to the picnic. I just love small moments like this where it doesn't mean anything in the long run, but when put together makes for an entertaining movie.

This is how you do multiple songs in a short period of time correctly. I don't care that we just had a song not even five minutes ago because both songs adequately fit into the scene. This is a 4th of July picnic so naturally there's going to be music involved. "I Got Lucky" isn't a typical ballad he uses for serenading his girl. What adds to the natural feeling of this scene is if you look closely Walter crosses his eyes near the end of the song and it makes Rose smile and almost start laughing. It wasn't intended to happen, but it wouldn't have mattered if she did laugh. If anything it would give her a nice character moment by laughing along to Walter being cheesy. Couples do things like this all the time and it helps you see these two as real people.

So the young couple start walking and talk about Walter's upcoming fight. Despite having different opinions about it, Rose understands why Walter is doing it. We don't get this cliche disagreement induced breakup where we don't see her again until the climax. I like that. It shows that this couple is fully supportive of each other even if they don't agree on decisions being made. Walter isn't doing this as his permanent job. As much as he's friends with the people in Willy's camp, Walter is using boxing as a means to get what he really wants. Walter doesn't need to learn some type of lesson and I'm glad the movie doesn't want to add drama about them not agreeing about his decision to box.

Walter is an underrated feminist icon. Because feminism is about treating women as equals. Walter doesn't ignore Rose's opinions. Even if they don't agree about him fighting against Sugar Boy, he completely understands why she feels that way. He isn't using her as a tool to spite Willy. Walter wants to get married because she wants to get married. It's a mutual decision made by two fully consenting adults. "WE DECIDED TO GET MARRIED" is the most important line in their relationship. Rose doesn't have a big role but at the same time she doesn't need to. She represents why Walter's nickname is Galahad. Walter is a gentleman who respects women as an equal. This is a relationship based on a young couple's mutual feelings of attraction. She is another piece of the puzzle that makes up Walter's forever home. That's something he's always wanted and is why he came back to Cream Valley. We have a high amount of respect for Walter because he's aware of his exploitation and isn't going to let Willy disrespect him or Rose. Naturally Willy is furious but Dolly comes to Walter's defense. After all, Walter at least has the guts to maintain his commitment to his relationship which she's obviously referencing to something Willy doesn't have.

Things get even worse for Willy as the pressure against him mounts. The Chamber of Commerce for Cream Valley and Otto's mob have differing beliefs on who should win. For the Chamber of Commerce, of course they want Walter to win. It's a middle of nowhere town nobody wants to call home, Walter winning would be a big boost to their economy. This is where the exploitation really starts. Walter's body is being sold because people are now going to Willy's camp and paying just to watch Walter train. Otto's mob is equally exploitive but in a different way. Otto had recently "adopted" Sugar Boy so they're now sponsoring him. Naturally Otto would want Sugar Boy to win and for Willy to encourage Walter to take a dive. With Willy in all of this debt to them, he doesn't have a lot of options.

Willy and Dolly's relationship is completely on the rocks. Despite the image above, Dolly is furious. The cliche breakup I mentioned earlier still doesn't exist here. It's a cliche when the drama happens out of nowhere and doesn't reflect the actual character's emotions. Dolly here has been getting frustrated with Willy since before the movie started. Despite stating exactly why she's upset numerous times before this incident, Willy somehow completely misses the point. While Dolly was upset about him gambling his money away, his lack of commitment in her eyes is much much worse.

Watching Walter and Rose get it together despite not being a couple for even a year, was the last straw. There's a difference between waiting to get married because you don't have the money for a wedding and waiting to get married because you have no desire to get married. If you're someone's fiancee for years and have heard nothing about starting any wedding plans, that's a red flag. She shouldn't be expected to wait multiple years for Willy to get it together. He's stringing her along and for all she knows he could never want to marry her. That's a horrible thing to do to someone who is committed to a potential marriage. So she finally leaves Willy and sends him to rock bottom.

The backstory behind "A Whistling Tune" is interesting. Originally it was supposed to be used for Follow That Dream. For one reason or another it was dropped and instead was used here. I'm glad that choice was made. You can argue the songs don't add anything to the movie, but I would highly disagree. The songs' meanings are SUBTLE. Watching Walter and Rose simply be together as they walk to the church is meaningful. You need scenes like this to show that this is a couple that is content with the small things. You are allowing them to exist as people and not as a means to an end because it's an Elvis film and he always gets the girl. Good writing means allowing a couple to have chemistry exist outside of "they're together because the script says so". We need to see why they should be together because otherwise they're not people and therefore un-relatable.

This couple talking with Father Higgins is just incredible. We find out that they've been together for months. So many people complain that they've only known each other for a few days. NO THAT'S NOT THE CASE! Walter's been training over the course of months because if you actually pay attention, it was 4th of July and they wanted his fight against Sugar Boy to be during the Labor Day weekend (for non-Americans that's the 1st Monday of September). They've known each other even before that, but the background is a terrible determination of how time has past. But ultimately, Father Higgins priority was that the young couple was committed to a marriage. They make a great foil to Dolly and Willy's relationship. Walter and Rose know what they want and are willing to support the other if they want something different. That's the type of beautiful, healthy relationship that I wish a lot of people have.

The pressure on Walter mounts as everyone is watching him train. Joey comes back from Boston and I love their relationship. Despite not doing that much, watching them interact gives them both depth. Joey could've easily been a throwaway character that we never see again after he left for Boston. Him coming back was a great move on the writers. It reflects how Walter is more than just a potential cash cow to the town. He's actually well respected even amongst other boxers at the camp. Dare I say these people are his family. Just watching Walter light up when he sees Joey come back is enough to say that these two are good friends.

I love the representation of different cultures. This is supposed to be New York which is the melting pot of America. Ellis Island had only been closed for less than 10 years so it makes perfect sense to have a multi-cultural community. All of the cultures represented in this movie accurately reflect the real life boxing world. Boxing was really a form of exploitation of impoverished minorities. I'll skip the history lesson, but in the US Irish immigrants were in fact considered to be a minority because of their religion. So as a way to make money they would put their bodies at risk by boxing as even with the rules in place, boxers can still get hurt and even die. It was a risk they took because they knew if they were good enough, people would sponsor them. It's a sad reality that still exists and I'm glad that the movie doesn't shy away from how exploitive it can be by Walter outright saying he wants to quit once he wins. I also appreciate how in spite of the ill will that would've very much still existed amongst older generations of immigrants, everyone gets along. Mr. Lieberman and Father Higgins do get in a back and forth regarding the top boxers in their day, but nothing comes from it. They might not agree but they get along because they both love the sport and want to support Walter.

Lew and Maynard talk about Willy's relationship with Dolly. I'm not entirely sure on what to make of Willy going to Lieberman's to try to get her back. She left in the first place because he wouldn't stop gambling and showed no commitment to getting married even after a few years. Maybe there's a part of his character that I missed, but it doesn't really make sense for him to want her back knowing he hasn't changed his mind about marriage. It's nice to see though that we have side characters being allowed to talk without Elvis even being in the room. It's moments like this that make it feel like a real movie in place of an Elvis vehicle.

Maynard leaves the room as Otto and his men come in. Since Lew is responsible for patching up Walter during a fight, they pay him $500 to not show up. Given the amount of money at stake, Otto wants to see Walter lose by being too injured to fight because he was slated to be a favorite. Despite knowing what would happen to him if he refuses, Lew outright says "No!" and rejects the money. Lew is a king for this. He knew by being in the business for so long, that saying no to a mob boss will lead to consequences but he did he anyway. He got his hands broken by some of Otto's lackeys, but to him it didn't matter. Money isn't worth Walter being in an unnecessary amount of pain to Lew. But being injured himself is worth it if it means that plan doesn't go through.

This scene had a King Creole level of tension. The whole fight scene makes you feel like someone might die. It's so incredible to see a fight scene break out and an Elvis character isn't immediately involved. Willy and Lew have a relationship that's lasted for years and we get to see that Willy has a heart. Lew isn't just an employee who didn't fall in line. Lew is his friend who very much risked his life to make sure Walter didn't get hurt anymore than necessary. Seeing him still try to fight despite the horrific injuries to his hands is incredible. It shows that even though he's badly injured, he isn't going to cower in fear.

Seeing Walter come rushing down to save Willy and Lew doesn't necessarily add anything to his character. We already know that even if Willy is treating him like a lamb being fed to wolves, Walter will still stand up for him. So why is this so important? Because it shows that Willy is finally able to swallow his pride about Walter marrying his sister. Willy sees for himself that Walter doesn't have ill will towards him. He didn't help to specifically prove himself, but because it was the right thing to do. Seeing Walter look down at a bloody Willy makes him realize that Walter is good enough. He could've been petty about their argument but he wasn't. And that's what made Willy realize he was wrong. Such a beautiful character moment that didn't have to be verbalized.

We get more development on Willy's plot and while it still doesn't justify him being so overprotective, it at least gives him some depth. It keeps him from being completely irredeemable as a person. Seeing him and the people in Walter's camp emphasize that it's not worth killing himself just to win is beautiful. I love this example of non-toxic masculinity. Walter isn't responsible for making sure people win their bets. All Walter's responsible for is doing his best. The money is nice and is a motivation for Walter, but that doesn't mean he should try to go beyond what he's capable of. It's a good lesson to teach young boys as we still sadly live in a world where men feel pressured to put everything on their shoulders.

We get to see Sugar Boy and despite his involvement with Otto I don't hate him. Sugar Boy is antagonist but he's not at all a villain. He's just as much of a victim of boxing's exploitive nature as Walter is. The sad reality is that unlike Walter, Sugar Boy not being fluent in English would make escaping it even more difficult. I can't fault Sugar Boy for taking this path as we don't even know how aware he is of Otto's plan. So when Otto's lackey shows up to try to "make Walter bleed" Willy shows his true colors by making sure it failed. He took out the saboteur and had some of Otto's men apprehended. With it being a public event, Otto would be trapped from making a scene. That's what makes Willy redeemable. When given the opportunity to do the right thing he does it.

With Walter none the wiser he walks into surprisingly non-segregated crowd. This wasn't the only one either and given that segregated crowds were still practiced when this movie came out in some parts of the country, it's very refreshing to see. We get a name drop of Elvis' boxing trainer, Mushy Callahan who was a very famous Jewish boxer. I love how they don't parade him around for the movie yet still feel the need to honor him. The ensuing fight is intense but the fake blood here is a bit of a distraction. It doesn't completely kill the immersion though since Elvis is sweating up a storm. In fact he's so over zealous that Mushy had to drag him away from Sugar Boy after the bell rang. It was an ad-lib on Elvis' part that if anything works beautifully with how a competitive fight would be. It's so lovely to see everyone Walter has gotten to know be here to support him. You don't care about logistics of whether he should've won a fight because you understand the emotion behind him winning. When he does win, and everyone erupts into cheers and applause, it feels real. You feel that there's a connection between him and the rest of Cream Valley's residents outside of just money. They bet on him because they believed in him.

The ending goes by too fast for my liking. While Otto's lackeys get caught, we have no idea what happens to Otto himself. If they had simply shown him try to leave but get caught by the security guard, we can at least put it together that he'll be punished. Also since Sugar Boy lost, you feel bad because you have no idea what Otto might do to him if he did get away with it. Dolly coming back to Willy is strange as Willy has shown me nothing to suggest he changed his mind about marriage. I get that he did go over to Lieberman's to try to win Dolly back, but I feel like it could've been done better. Walter doesn't even get to talk to Rose. He just kisses her as we get a reprise of "I got Lucky" before fading to black. Given the run time, I think you can afford another 5 minutes if not less to wrap things up.

My criticisms can be written off as nit-picky and simply be a matter of creative differences. That's how good this movie is. If we were to rate movies independently of other movies that came out and the economic situation of Elvis fans, I have no idea how the higher ups can look at this movie's "lack of success" as a failure. I can go on forever about this, but Colonel Parker and the higher ups in Hollywood were wrong to consider this a failure when compared to Blue Hawaii. This isn't a copy and paste version of every other boxing movie out there. It isn't even a copy and paste version of the original Kid Galahad made in 1937. Are there similarities? Yes but there are enough differences that to me makes it above a generic movie.

Is this a perfect film? No but it very well could be in other people's eyes. This movie can very easily be the perfect movie and is a great example of how a movie doesn't have to be Citizen Kane or The Godfather level big to be good. It's also a great example of how a smaller level story doesn't mean shallow. Therefore, I'm giving Kid Galahad my highest rating so far of 9.5/10. I highly recommend watching this movie. It doesn't matter if you're an Elvis fan or not, it's just such a nice story. Simply saying it's a movie about an army vet becoming a boxer and finding love, doesn't do it justice. There's so much depth to even the side characters that you can feel the care put into this movie. A real treat if you want the best of both worlds when movie watching.

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

AN: Thank you @arrolyn1114 for requesting this movie. If anyone wants to request a movie I haven't already reviewed feel free to send them in.

Tagging: @smokeymountainboy, @peaceloveelvis, @mercsandmonsters, @vintagepresley, @eapep, @tacozebra051, @hooked-on-elvis, @dragonkingsdaughter, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @presleyenterprise, @m5t1ld5, @huhhhhsthings, @tupelomiss, @atleastpleasetelephone, @sissylittlefeather, @sfull12345, @jhoneybees, @mitsyscoolplayhouse, @sillybookmarks and @alienelvisobsession.

[smallbearlady]

Okay I need to get something off as a both Daniel and Yuki Fan

Before you come for me: Personally i root a little bit more for Daniel than for Yuki, non the less i wish BOTH! the best: points, podiums, wins, championships.

Before even the 2024 season started regarding silly season I came to the conclusion:

- I want to see Yuki Tsunoda in the second seat for Red Bull Racing besides Max Verstappen -

- I want Daniel Ricciardo to keep the seat at VCARB and Liam Lawson to become his teammate"

And here is why:

1. Daniel is a better asset for the Faenza Team than for Red Bull Racing in Milton Keynes

2. Red Bull Racing need to face the problem in case they loose Max Verstappen and their future in the sport

3. For years Yuki has been overlooked as canditate for the second seat at Red Bull Racing although he is outperforming his car since atleast the beginning of 2023

4. They loose the purpose of the Faenza Team if they choose drivers outside the Red Bull Family yet again

+

5. If that doesn't work out with Yuki and they need an expierenced driver because the competition found a way to beat Red Bull - they still can swap out Yuki for Daniel when needed

Welcome to my Ted Talk

1. Daniel is a better asset for the Faenza Team than for Red Bull Racing in Milton Keynes

When you listen to the interviews from Peter Bayer, Laurent Mekies and Franz Tost (last year), everyone always said & still say that Daniel is a great asset in term of developing and setting up the car

To quote Franz "He has an incredible feel for the car" and Peter "With his feel and developement advises he is also helping Yuki"

They were so happy last year that Daniel was there in Singapore to help setting up the car tho he himself couldn't drive, even claiming the he was an additional factor to why Liam got points in that race (i could talk hours about singapore23 trust me)

Red Bull Racing dont need someone for developing because of the current state of them dominating and being miles ahead their competiors and be able to create a car for Max smashing the whole grid

And wouldn't it be awesome to see VCARB podiums and wins like Pierre Gasly did with this Team in 2019 - 2021 ...

thinking about Daniels Renault time in 2020 and feeling that he was the asset that helped their performance jump between 2019 and 2020

2. Red Bull Racing need to face the problem in case they loose Max Verstappen

Red Bull Racing needs to look into how they will proceed to be on to top in the case when Max leaves the sport (or to another team which i doubt) (which could be quite soon on how often Max already talked about retirement)

For that you need young talented drivers to make the step up because they can still develope themselves into a better driver and they also prob stay longer than driver who already drove over 10 years

Alonso and Hamilton are exceptions in their field and as we know WDCs usually stay longer in the sport as just race winners or podium getter or point bringers. Formula 1 also has the problem that they are almost either affraid of bringing in rookies because they are more likely to make mistakes or love to hold onto their old (washed) drivers

Too many young drivers were really good coming through the ranks of F4 F3 and F2 but never got a chance in F1. The case of Oscar Piastri who smashed everthing in F2 in 2021 still had to wait and fight to get that McLaren seat or it was moreover Mark Webber, who had to fight. Most drivers dont have a well known Manager to get those deals.

So i totally understand why Marko said that Liam Lawson WILL HAVE A SEAT IN 2025.

But I feel like Liam still has to proof his worth for some years in the VCARB before stepping up to Red Bull Racing.

3. For years Yuki has been overlooked as canditate for the second seat at Red Bull Racing although he is outperforming his car since atleast the beginning of 2023

Red Bull Racing themselfs prob still have PTSD from 2019 and 2020 with Gasly and Albon. That years showed that the big team doesn't have the patience to develope a rookie like Lawson. They also had luck with Max in that term but also had to go through a lot of crashes and imperfections back then.

Yuki Fan expierence this bias against Yuki far to long. To me in my mind come how the media shitted on Yuki in Mexico for his mistake when he was trying to overtake Oscar. The media shitted in Yuki more than on Checo Perez who took himself out.

As recap: Yuki on that day started from the back bc he got a new gearbox which was 1 aditional change to max allowed gearbox changes of the season. He started from the back and made up places, he got into the points and with his mistake he fell out of the points. You also have to understand that he was stuck behind Piastri for multiple laps to try to find an opening to overtake and prob got frustrated

Besides of that happening Yuki showed a very good race craft and teamwork in qualifying that weekend.

But regarding the Red Bull Racing seat - they barely name him, though he had very very good 2023 season regarding the car he was given

In the beginning of 2023 it was often said in the Media that Nyck De Vries was a possible candidate for the RBR seat and that Nyck will be the teamleader of AT because of his expierence and age according to Helmut Marko

And Yuki smashed that Media say with beating Nyck last year ... kinda similar how he is beating Daniel right now and the fuss about Daniel taking the

Or how Yuki Fans say: All voices that rise against Yuki shall fall

In that and also considering the precious point I am really annoyed about the fact that Checo Perez only has to do the bare minimum to keep his seat and drivers in less good cars work their ass off to get nothing out of it. Ofcourse rn he looks like he is handeling the car this years RB20 better than the RB19 .. as we saw last year that can change midseason with the increase of competion and car developements

Again - the idea of Yuki (and Daniel) may be closer to Max in quali and race pace than Checo overall but we dont know because they dont sit in the same car

4. They loose the purpose of the Faenza Team if they choose drivers outside the Red Bull Family yet again

This point is regarding the rumor about that maybe Sainz or Alonso are targeted for the second seat at Red Bull Racing if Perez doesnt perform.

If they take someone outside the family 2 current drivers have to go. There are already 3 drivers for 2 seats since Helmut Marko already sees Liam Lawson in the VCARB (they could have signed the contract already).

I see that they maybe eye Sainz (als a Carlos Sainz Fan too) as a possibility since him also being an ex-Red Bull Junior ... but i think i remember Marko saying that the mood the Torro Rosso 2015 wasn't ideal bc the drivers, mechanic and especially the DADS competing directly (Franz Tost enjoyed it according to his interview end of last year and i too would watch Papa Sainz and Jos battle it out)

Marko too said last year he'd loved to have Norris, but Lando dedicated his life to McLaren. Charles dedicated his to Ferrari and I also see how Alex Albon future is within Williams since Red Bull never really apprechiated him when he was there in 2019 & 2020

There is no reason to look outside the family if you have enough good drivers to sign and resign within the family

+

5. If that doesn't work out with Yuki and they need an expierenced driver because the competition found a way to beat Red Bull - they still can swap out Yuki for Daniel when needed

This is a lead back to the first point.

It only makes sense to sign Daniel Ricciardo for the Red Bull Racing seat if Red Bull Racing needs him in that seat.

If Perez can't give Max and the Team the teamplay or the performance they need from him, Red Bull has to make changes. Currently Yuki - a young and good driver - looks like the better and more long term replacement option out of both VCARB drivers. If Yuki fails too, then i would give the seat to Daniel and hope for the best.

Because if there is 1 thing we all know is that Daniel can be a beast in the Red Bull Racing car. That car (according to himself at the red bull interview with is race engineer) has still the characteristic that he (and Max) loves about that car and the Red Bull Racing Team know what kind of car Daniel wants and needs to perform and the kind of car in that Daniel can show his beast (honey badger) in him.

------

The season only just started and we barely had 3 race ... McLaren achieve a total overturn midseason last year ... lets watch and see what happens

Love y'all

Have a nice day